Tuesday, August 3rd: The dust settles in some places, not in others

The alarm goes off at 5AM on the dot. I look over at Blandine, she's completely KO. I lower the aircon a bit and jump into my red PSE T-shirt and shorts. Outside, everything runs smoother today: the exact amount of kids - thus meals - is known, the menu itself is delicious, the sun is shining a bit less hard. All monitors are on time... well.... except Pablo, the P2 camp leader. Tanmay, the Indian guy who studies with Pablo Caprile in London, assigned himself to buy ice coffee, a welcome boost to my system. 5AM is early, no matter how you turn it. The people/food deliveries run well. As the heat of the day starts striking down on the driver cabin, I pull into a petrol station. Lo and behold: in Cambodia you get a free soda for pumping USD 20 of petrol, a welcome refresher. Today is a good day, baby!

There's another girl with fever in P1: I bring her to the infirmary at base, then bring around the Ginger beef with bell peppers, and loads of rice. No surprise there. That reminds me: a few years before apparently a guy had volunteered with PSE, and upon arrival he mentioned that he was allergic to rice. He didn't have the best month of his life, I can tell you that.

I have lunch at P1 and wash down the ginger beef with an ice coffee in a little house/bar just outside the premises. The afternoon goes by in a breeze: some pensionnaires are invited to join the kids in the paillottes so I bring them over. And back.

Blandine's a bit tired, so I head out alone to Mala's a.k.a "Mc Noodles" for dinner. The place is once again packed to the limit with happy, chatty PSE monitors. When asked how I appreciate the French, I bring up my classic story of the crepe/galette incident in Paris; the one where the man in the crèperie wouldn't serve me a "crèpe with mushrooms, ham and cheese" until I ordered a "galette with mushrooms, ham and cheese". Every self-respecting person knows that crèpe batter is for sweet toppings, and no ignorant Belgian tourist is going to get away with that.

Alex, Blandine's team leader, pulls me apart to congratulate me on her pregnancy. Word goes around fast it seems, and it was supposed to be a secret to everyone. Actually Marisa has chosen to inform Alex, which makes sense. I tell him to keep it to himself, after I thank him for his kind words. Turns out Alex likes to play a bit of basketball and before I realise it I find myself committing to an after-dinner basketball game.

There's no inside gym, instead we play in a half-covered area, on a sandswept concrete floor, barefoot. That adds a little twist to things. It's fun, because there are a few really good players amongst the Spanish monitors.  After an hour or so, I get hungry, and leave the game.

When I get back to the guesthouse, I find the more mature crowd (Joaquin, Marisa, Mitessa) chatting on the balcony, over some olives and jamón Ibérico. Today 870 kids passed through central camp! I stay for a few minutes, then head off to the room, to hear about Blandine's day. It turned out okay, except for a little inconvenience: the part of the pensionnaires that had been invited to the paillottes didn't want to play any games. How annoying.