Angkor, Beaches, History of Horror, and the Melting Pot of Malaysia

The Cambodian shoreline

After the tremendous last couple months, the whole world deserves a few moments and a deep breath with a sunset like this.


It's been a while. Here we are in Brittany (Bretagne), France with our good friend Stephane, enjoying some downtime after our month long African safari. Last time posting on our time in Cairo was more pertinent and time sensitive, which leaves us a little behind. There has been upheaval in the whole middle east and north of Africa (the results of the movement in Egypt we've been watching very closely), a terrible tragedy in my hometown I didn't learn of until we'd left the beach, genocide museums in both Cambodia and Rwanda, and now tragedy in Japan. The whole world feels so sad and severe that I have to feel guilty posting on what an incredible time we've had while so many affected people just try to move on with their daily lives. My heart goes out to all the people at home, whom many of us are connected to when you play seven degrees of separation, who are still grieving and recovering after the horrors inflicted by a single psychopath. It's very hard to be so far away when something effects so many people so close to home (my first job was three blocks up the street, my bank was in that shopping center, and I frequented an ice cream shop there as well). 


We're drinking wine and eating cheese and chocolate while the world is crumbling around us, but the residency Match for our former classmates is this week (Congratulations and good luck!!! we are with you!) and there are good people and conversations everywhere. Life must go on - by varying degrees.


Speaking of which, while we were gone, we missed a momentously happy event. My grandmother's 90th birthday! I'm the blacksheep of the family for not being there (and stopping my stepdad from making her smoke a cigar - shame on you Mario) but we'll celebrate when we get back. In fact, we'll celebrate all year! Happy Birthday Grandma!!


We'll be relaxing here for nearly two weeks before returning to the states for the weekend for our friends' wedding, which we're terribly excited for. Which means(!) I should be able to post on Africa as well after a while. I just need to sleep in several days more before I can do this again. How nice it is (and how grateful I am) to be doing this on Stephane's mac with high speed internet though. What a first world wonder the web is.


Much of this was written beforehand and I'm only now filling in some parts, so there will be a varying expanse and paucity of detail.


The update for this length:

• Crossed the border into Cambodia with Stephane and Chris in tow
• Siem Reap and three days of exploration in Angkor, plus a mini medical emergency
• Week on the beach in the isolation outside Sihanoukville
• History of the Khmer Rouge and genocide in Phnom Penh
• Re-entering Thailand with a quick stop in Bangkok before the train to Malaysia
• Kuala Lumpur from a closet, visiting the big city and the Batu Caves
• Melacca cuisine, cultural harmony, and the guidance of an amazing American
• Palau Penang - a little taste of everything - and monkeys
• Bangkok and the flight out to Cairo, of which you already know

To start, last full entry I had a little technical malfunction. Many actually but only one that really matters. A section of text was deleted that I feel was crucial enough I need to reshare it here. I tried to explain the misery of elephant training techniques (search pajaan on the last entry) but I wasn't doing this to horrify you or make you feel sad or hopeless. The point was to empower you, because now you know (and if you don't it will take you thirty seconds to go back and read it). Before being at the park, I would have thought an elephant ride to be a fairly trivial thing for such a large animal. Now I know better. I know what it took to subdue and suppress the will of that wild animal that I have so much respect for. And I feel the smallest thing that I can do is to pass that on to you and ask that you know and, when the time comes, that you remember. I don't ask that we all become activists, simply that you do no harm. Very medically relevant, don't you think?
There's my soapbox for you, so on with the show.

View from the bus at the border - January 1, 2011 - a fresh view for a new year

Back tracking a bit - When last we left them, the weary trio were in the south of Laos getting ready to cross into Cambodia. We took a boat back to Nakasang from the islands and then sat to wait with a large group of tourists. In the meantime, the company tried to get us to pay them extra to "coordinate" our border paperwork for us and make things easier. As veteran border crossers, we weren't going in for it. Wasn't necessary anyway.
I sat and watched a man watering the dirt road in front of his shop. We'd seen this done daily, everywhere. And yet I continue to wonder at the difference in price, economic and environmental, between the daily water and a maybe one time layer of asphalt. But I know full well the resources aren't available. So I sit and philosophize, why?

We took a minivan to the road where we stood and waited for the bus from Pakse. It was a quick ride to the border, where we found many extra fees, such as the temperature check (where I fibbed that I hadn't had the problems I'd been having in the last two days). We figured the officials were probably pocketing it all.
I took my first picture of the year from the bus of a couple kids playing near huge piles of trash on the Cambodia side. It was very telling but in truth could have been either side of the border.

The trip was long but had a pleasant view. We had elected not to change money at the unofficial brder crossing but no where we stopped was developed enough to give us another opportunity. We knew this could be a problem.

The bus stopped and let those of us going to Siem Riep off to switch buses at a bus station. I realied as we got on the much less comfortable bus that I'd left my special roll-up pillow on the other bus. I had a swearing fit that led one of the other passengers to ask if I'd left my luggage. I have actually done well without it (it was a problem in S America but here you usually get a pillow and towel and maybe even soap) but bought a new one for Africa with Pooh Bear playing in the leaves on one side and blue with flowers on the other.

We stopped for dinner which neither Stephane or Chris was interested in. But I opted to try and paid in dollars (one actually), which marked the beginning of using dollars almost exclusively in Cambodia.

Whe we arrived in Siem Reap, they tried to drop us in the middle of a big road outside of town instead of at the bus station so we'd be forced to use their tuk-tuks. The boys were pissed. I wasn't surprised and just tried to evaluate the situation. I really wanted to regroup and couldn't make it happen with Chris walking away and Stephane trying to reason with/morally lecture the driver in English with him obviously not understaning. I didn't feel either approach did much to help and eded up more ticked at the boys than the situation. In the end, they succumbed to our price but didn't have enough tuk-tuks so kicked some poor lone soul off to ride a motorbike back instead (we saw him the next day and apologized). 

Watching at Banteay Srei

They took us first to the hostel we'd chosen but damn it all, it was full. So we agreed to go see their hostel. A big touristy bar and noisy mess of a place. They couldn't make anything work for three in a room or Stephane on his own so we headed out on the road with our bags on to find another hostel. We ended up on the main Vegas-like strip but in a place far enough down, above an Indian restaurant that didn't absorb much of the noise.
So there we were in Siem Reap. And why, do you ask? Well Siem Reap is the home to Angkor Wat, and you really should know what that is since they call it the eighth wonder of the world. Angkor Wat is actually only one temple but the whole area is just full of the most intricate, ornate temple built by the Khmer Empire from the 800s to 1200ish. It's an amazing place and a tourist must-see in Asia.

We decided to start our first day of three (passes can be bought for one, three or seven days and Stephane had to fly to Bangkok on the fourth day) with the furthest temples. This would require hiring a tuk-tuk. There were a cluster always waiting outside our hostel but they were always expensive (it seemed the thought was one guy would go outrageously high and the another swoop in with something more reasonable). The first guy wouldn't budge on his price, so we kept walking and found a very calm guy who agreed to slightly less. This pissed the first guy off so much that he circled back and forth swearing loudly in English and Khmer at us. Thank god we didn't go with the crazy guy.

We took the main road out of the city, stopping as you always had to at the ticketing station to purchase or show the pass with your picture on it. We walked through and rejoined our guide. He took us around the major temples nearby, which we watching in passing between green leaves and many branches, and twenty or thirty minutes to arrive at our first temple - Banteay Srei.

Intricate carvings at Banteay Srei

The name of this temple (one way or another arbitrarily assigned centuries later) was said to mean the temple of women because the carvings were so detailed that only a woman's small fingers could accomplish them. However, the signs explaining the temple at the front that changes in phonetics over time could indicate the original name was the auspicious temple. Interesting either way and it was a great place to start for its incredible detail.

I should say now that in all places we go their is obviously something of the experience lost in translation as I attempt to relive it and attempt to arbitrarily choose the salient details. Even more than that, there are experiences which simply do no translate. There are no appropriate words to describe what was seen or felt. Perhaps no where is this more applicable than in what we saw at Siem Reap. I can share pictures to try to demonstrate but even then, it isn't properly captured. The only solution is that you'll have to go and see Angkor for yourself.

The first thing we were confronted with as we entered the site were children, not begging, but selling postcards with pictures of the site. Only one dollar. Just one dollar. Please you give me money for school. It was very sad. The thing was no matter how much money we spent on them, it seemed their parents sent them out to work and they would not be going to school (though this was Sunday and I was incredibly grateful to see there were far fewer kids out the next two days). We often bought postcards or the like - a few of you may have one coming your way.

The site was crowded but not packed. Their were ruins in columns leading up to the main site with three somewhat small towers (a design that seemed to repeat itself often in the area). We could see immediately that it was so much different from other temples we'd already seen in Thailand and Laos. 

Walking around the wall that served as a perimeter for the central complex, we took our time in viewing the larger scale before getting to the detail. A few locals were selling things at the far entrance including a man playing a stringed instrument in his lap selling CDs. It added a very interesting air to the experience. Inside the ruins (till open air in this set), I was overwhelmed by our first experience of the detailed stonework. Every curve, every facial feature was so skilled and purposeful. We walked slowly through, very camera happy, and then out along the perimeter before heading out.

Outside, there are stalls selling absolutely everything a tourist could want. They follow you to the bathroom and they are absolutely relentless. We went to look because we'd read it was better for the people to buy at the sites than in the city and we all wanted to see the typical Cambodian krorma - a checkered scarf used mainly to cover the head for sun protection but which worked for nearly everything. Some of the women followed us everywhere. When Chris and I had canned mango juice, a couple kids followed us waiting for our cans. I eventually followed one back to her stall and talked her down on a dress (which was still expensive enough and I wouldn't wear that week because it didn't show proper respect in the temples). She'd pulled the selling line we'd hear over and over - I remember you. You remember me okay? My name is _____. When you buy, you buy from me, okay? It's a good guilt trick using their name the first couple times you hear it. Eventually you have to become immune to it or you'll go broke. We bought postcards from the kids who pulled the same line out front (Chris' remained in quarantine a couple days after he noticed the kid's runny nose), and then we went to find our driver, napping in the tuk-tuk. 

The next site, Kbal Spean, was the furthest away we would go to - though there were many further still. I thought it was great for the first day because we got a great view of the countryside riding out - water buffalo head butting in the field or placidly grazing with an egret standing on their backs, women cooking lunch in enormous metal vats outside houses all set on stilts, scarecrows with metal implements or fake weapons/guns outside the house instead of in the fields (I couldn't tell if this was spiritual or a warning to thieves like the hung scarecrows we saw in Peru), and just lush green everywhere. It was so much more rural than Laos. This quiet countryside that seemed untouched by tourism despite sitting right in the center of it. This is what I'd been missing - signs of real life that cared nothing for our presence.

Banteay Srei

Getting to the site involved going over a fun sandy road, which over driver found amusing. We checked in at the trail (this was a mile or two uphill hike through the forest) where I watched a troop of five or six puppies playing with a guard. The man laughed at me watching. The trail was fun but quite easy. It was marked every 100m so the impatient tourists would know how far they had left to go. 

At the top of the site was a small stream with figures carved into the rocks nearby. It was small in comparison to what we'd just seen but still intricate and beautiful. Further down the stream, the river rocks hd been carved into hundreds of lingas, the essence of the Hindu god Shiva, to purify the water before it reached the temples throughout the area where the water had previously run. I was ticked to watch a couple white ladies climb over the rope to stand on them and take pictures. These two were unsurprisingly with the guy on the trail who'd been talking business on his cell phone. I've grown sick of letting the impolite behavior of others get to me but it takes so little to show just a little respect or courtesy. I don't get it. We moved quickly to try to get ahead of this group going back down. 

At the entrance, I was pleased to see the puppies all asleep in the dirt and we were all pleased to see our driver still there (you pay at the end of the day but it looked like a couple girls might have had their driver leave them). We head off knowing it was getting late and there was still one more temple on the agenda, but we requested to stop at the Cambodia Landmines Museum on the way back.

Landmines Museum view of the road

The museum had been started by a man who was recruited as a child soldier into the Khmer Rouge. He knew he was an orphan but could not remember his parents dying. He switched sides in the 80s and because of all the damage done by the unfound mines people like him planted during the war, he is now a one man army going out to find and disarm them. He also opened a rehabilitation center for child victims of landmines behind the museum. He was featured on CNN Heroes. 

The museum was our first small bit of history on the regime of the Khmer Rouge but also the best individualized story. The founder has had printed some of his story on displays because he says he has grown tired of reliving the past and wants to move on with the future and his family. He talked about being given an AK-47 as a kid and the grown soldiers laughing as he tried to learn how to hold and carry it. About other little boys who accidentally shot and killed themselves with their guns. About how after he switched sides, he found himself shooting one day at his uncle and his comrades suddenly confused as to why he wouldn't fire - they are both alive and still laugh about it today.

The museum also commented again on the US' role and unexploded ordnance. The new aspect was the international accord on banning landmines which only a handfull of countries hadn't signed (most of the notables you would expect), apparently including the states until last year - siting the 38th parallel as a reason not to sign.
It was a quick visit but very heavy and enlightening. Chris and I both bought bracelets from the giftshop made by kids in the rehabilitation center.

Banteay Samre at dusk

It was getting dark and we sped on to our final stop, Banteay Samre, which was somewhat off the beaten path. Our driver dropped us and we were immediately attacked by kids selling scarves and small handicrafts. I don't remember how it came up but a couple of them spoke to us in Spanish. They'd learned it from tourists. Wow! They pulled the remember me line but it wasn't necessary. They all backed off as they got to the entrance.
This site was almost entirely empty at dusk and the only sound was that of an occasional helicopter nearby (you could pay something like eighty bucks for the view). There wasn't a perfect view of the sun but the red light coming up over the ruins of the stone was beautiful. They had to chase us out at closing time.

As soon as we started back on the path the the main road, the kids started running at us. Literally running. I should have taken a picture. I bought a little acrylic scarf from one of the two girls I'd talked to and a little multicolored star from the other that was made by her mom. It's still hanging on my small backpack. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough and there were more kids. Some of the others guilted Chris with, See, Sara's buying! until he also bought an acrylic scarf. You can try but you just can't win.

Goofy faces and new scarves in the back of a tuk-tuk

We tipped our driver nicely and he directed us to the old market just up the road when we asked about non-tourist food. There were a few open air restaurants there where we ate cheaply of juices and curries and fruit plates every night (and sometimes morning too). The boys loved their mango smoothies and I had the pleasure of trying my first ever frog from Stephane. Not half bad. The specialied Amok curry of Cambodia was a favorite for everyone. Chris especially always tried different hings but always came back to curry.

We wandered the night market as well. Rather pushy and kitchy but always interesting. They had bags made of recycled food bags (like the big bags holding rice) that I now really wish I'd bought. Chris and Stephane got to go wander and hang out a bit too. Have their boy time. They also found a stall for pure cotton krormas where visiting monks were shopping and they both bought there. Chris is still using his krorma.

The next day, we decided to rent bikes to go out into the nearby temples. It was a pleasant ride the rest of the day but getting out of town was hell. It's hard enough walking or trying to cross the street on foot in Siem Reap (scooters are coming from all directions!) but being on a bike adds a new horrifying level to things. We made it out all right by constantly looking all around and dodging into traffic to avoid hitting the people always sweeping in the bike/parking lane. But then we made it to the ticketing area and we were in prime start time for tours and everyone was diverted through here. There was a mass of cars, vans, and tuk-tuks. Stephane and I carefully steered our bikes around the outside through the maze of vehicles but Chris initially tried a different route that didn't work. When he finally got to us, he was walking his bike and obviously pissed. What was wrong? He was walking next to a car - more in front of it - and the guy (white guy) turned toward him and hit his knee. Chris left a dent in the hood for the guy's lack of attention. Asshole. His knee hurt the rest of the day and a little the next couple. Good timing with biking, walking, and loads of stairs.

We rode past the entrance to the infamous Angkor Wat, our first glance, bu continued on as we'd heard sunset there was the thing to do. Stopping first at a small set of ruins on the side of the road, we climbed up the sets of stairs surrounding the outside and peered into the small shrine within with a big wasps' nest in the arch of the doorway.

Gate to the city of Angkor Thom

Next we entered the ancient city of Angkor Thom, passing through the large intricate gate after stopping to take pictures - like everyone else - of all the statues and faces. We enjoyed the peaceful ride up to the first big temple of Bayoun a short ways in. This would be one of my favorite sites. It wasn't quite as intricate as Banteay Srei but had this maze like quality in the array of levels and walls. The top level within the inner wall was the most impressive, as evidenced by the tourist presence, and displayed large rock faces thought to be of the king Jayvaraman VII who constructed the temple looking in the cardinal directions.  


I had a hard time understanding why people continually needed to pose, like model type posing, in front of the ruins. We hardly got any pictures of ourselves (I'm sorry but we're all ugly compared to the structures we were looking at - no matter how sleazy the outfit you let your 15yo wear). The boys and I got separated and I had the misfortune of being stuck repetitively behind a couple who needed a pictures of her in her shoulderless, short dress (I was freakin hot but I take it very seriously that you're supposed to cover shoulders and knees at temples) doing her best pouty face and come-hither look. Was there an ancient site model shoot no one told me about? I patiently waited my turn to move through and take pictures.

Sculptures at Bayoun

Poor Stephane encountered someone with a less patient attitude. As he was standing waiting his turn to photograph something as someone in front of him snapped pictures, the Eastern European guy next to him became exasperated and said, Aren't you ever going to move? Can't you see I'm trying to take a picture here? To which Chris stepped in and gave him the very mellow, Hey man, we're all here to enjoy the ruins and we've got to be patient. The guy scoffed and then had his guide take a picture of his profile nose-to-nose with a stone bust in profile. I'm sure it made a wonderful facebook profile picture.

We rode on and parked our bikes to walk through the area holding the elephant wall, palace and royal temple (a great climb but not much up there actually), the carvings of the leper king (along with his thousands of concubines/bed slaves who might have multiple pieces falling off), and the temple housing a large reclining Buddha sculpture under reconstruction. We also took an outer path a bit farther up (all of this still enclosed within the old city wall) to see some of the less frequented ruins where we saw a man high up in a tree knocking down small fruits for his family to gather. For a medicinal remedy they say.

Carvings at Bayoun

The day was absolutely scorching and we needed to go buy more water and use the restroom but that meant going into the food/shopping stall area, which would be hazardous. As soon as we came near, a woman holding a menu actually started chasing after Stephane on foot despite his numerous cries of I'm not hungry, I'm not going to eat. This type of thing repeated itself often. But there were monkeys in the area. Too close to humans because of being fed but still fun to watch.


The rest of the day we rode through some of the other ruins, including Ta Prohm where the jungle is taking over the sites. Trees literally sit on hundreds of years old stone walls with their roots traveling long distances exposed in the air before they reach the ground. 

In Angkor Thom

We made a final stop at Angkor Wat (the biggest temple - designed to mimic the layout of the earth in spheres of land surrounded by a moat of water) on the way back. There wasn't enough time to go in and completely through but we walked the grounds and the perimeter. It was impressive in size and the reliefs along the sides of the building but I probably most enjoyed taking pictures of the monkeys. Dusk at Angkor Wat was nice but they chased us off before the actual sunset.

Boys on bikes leaving Angkor Thom through the Victory Gate

When we rode back, it was dark. We made it through the maze of the city without incident or heart attack and returned the bikes. Dinner was in the same market stretch. Stephane ordered frogs legs. It was my first time trying frog. Tasted like chicken.


The next morning, after a full breakfast at one of the same restaurants we frequented, we hired a tuk tuk to set out for our last day. We had thought to wake up early to go see Angkor Wat at sunrise but we were all too tired. We arrived early enough in the morning to still enjoy some nice light and be surrounded by a large number of tourists. The tower in the highest sphere was closed for the day and we'd been too late the day before. Stephane and I weren't thrilled. We walked and explored the inner grounds, keeping in mind that we had many places to go for our final day.

Evidence that mother nature always conquers - Ta Prohm

We were in the first area within the main walls walking around when I noticed a man laying on the ground with people standing over him. I alerted the boys with a fairly appropriate, Oh, crap. As we moved closer, most of the people moved off, save the woman who must have been with him. We figured, Okay, if people are moving, he must be okay. So we kept walking but then the woman started to awkwardly try to raise him up. I called out were they okay and did they need help? No and yes, please. They were an Australian couple on their second or third day out of three weeks vacation. He was quite experienced in wrist fractures from previous experience and knew immediately after he'd fallen backwards off the steps of the small temple structure they were climbing that he'd broken both his wrists.


Chris and I set about trying to help them and immobilize his wrists with a scarf. Stephane ran off to find help and eventually a small group of people (different from the group who'd originally left them without any help) gathered. One was a doctor who came up with a very authoritative, What's going on here? We and the poor guy explained and he made some comment about how he just needed to get to a clinic, get some X-rays, and they'd probably have to set it and he'd be fine. He thanked the doctor profusely. Meanwhile, we were still trying to stabilize his wrists and the concerned doctor walked away. Thanks for the help buddy.

Angkor Wat

Chris later pointed out that we'd made a very crucial error in jumping in and assisting the girlfriend in getting him up. Granted he was already moving but we should have done an initial assessment of his back and neck (make sure nothing was broken) and pulses/sensation and the rest, instead of later like we did. It's always a learning experience but luckily for us and most especially for him, nothing else was wrong. 


None of the people standing around offered the extra scarf we needed for the second wrist. Eventually we found one they had and stabilized him as best we could. Guards had showed up, called for a car, and we rushing to get him moved and take pictures for insurance purposes. They certainly didn't help the scene. 


We got him up and moving with a little help and I had to hang back and make his girlfriend sit down when she started to look like she was going to pass out. We sat for a minute and her color started coming back.


We got them to an entry way and sat, checking him out and trying to readjust the scarves while we waited for the car - not an ambulance. For better or worse, we tried to give them a little advice - especially to make sure a translator was called and that they were asking enough questions. The guards weren't especially helpful in moving him when the car arrived (Stephane had gotten back by then too) and didn't really understand that we were trying to prevent a second fall while he moved down the stairs. We got him set up in the car and were invited to go see how the Cambodian healthcare system works. We declined, knowing that we certainly just be in the way. But we forgot to exchange information and still don't know what happened to them. I hope he was okay and that they finished their trip.

The boys

We found our driver and continued up to the other temples north of Angkor Wat that we hadn't seen before. Afterwards, we made the very long drive to the oldest set of temples to see Phnom Bakheng (I think). After which we head to the site on a hilltop overlooking the lake for sunset. There were very few ruins there but the view was phenomenal. We were again chased out before the full sunset but watching the red sky over the rice paddies as the sun made its descent was simply breathtaking.

The path to Phnom Bakheng

We had a nice dinner, wandered the night market, and turned in on Stephane's last night. The next morning we had breakfast together and bid each other a temporary farewell (though it feels strange saying that now while we're in France and I'm sitting in front of his house on the only sunny French day we've experienced thus far). Chris was especially sad to see his friend go but we knew we'd meet up again soon. It was a great trip together.


Chris and I spent the rest of the day in town. We went to a fancy artisan workshop/collective where we got to see them making some ornate, exquisitely beautiful pieces and we spent far too much money on a couple. We ate dinner at the Indian restaurant beneath our hostel and Chris spent a while travel chatting with the owner.

Sunset over the rice paddies - by Stephane

Our bus for Sihanoukville on the coast that night was supposed to pick us up but were thirty minutes late and then turned out to be just around the corner and we walked anyway. It was another sleeper car but with partially inclined sit backs, just enough for you to slip downward all night. I slept okay. Chris didn't. 


We arrived at the terminal forewarned of the price-gouging scheme set by the tuk tuk drivers. So we started walking. We didn't really know where the terminal was but there was no way we were paying what was being asked for. So we didn't. We started walking and many of them followed. They simply couldn't believe we would walk. One (just on a motorcycle) followed to the point that we had to start ignoring him. After a while, one came and I asked the price. After following us a bit, he finally brought it down enough that we said yes and he took us to Serendipity beach where after only a few minutes, we realized we wanted to go further to less frequented places (they had fireworks every night and the whole shore was packed with bars). We found a tuk tuk driver who took us to Otres beach. It was over a little hill he couldn't come back up so we had to walk the last leg.


We found a decent place with a big, hard bed, a mosquito net, and the biggest gecko I've ever seen crawling on the walls. He was bigger than my forearm. It was so cool. We lay at the beach (twenty steps from the hostel deck), reading and being pestered by people selling sunglasses, necklaces, massages, sarongs, and hair removal treatments. We walked down the mile or two to the next beach where there were only four or five places to stay (all owned by expats) and nearly no people. We decided to move there the next day. 

Night view from our New Otres bungalow

That night we had wonderful food - seafood curry for me - and were absolutely attacked by mosquitos. The next morning we grabbed another tuk tuk and moved to the further section of beach - New Otres Beach.


Our little bit of beach turned out to be exactly what we'd hope it would be. Away from the noise and the people. With crystal clear emerald blue waters that Chris commented were more like a lake than the ocean. Tranquil, tranquil waters, tranquil people, tranquil place, just tranquil. It was a place that was easy to lose yourself in - especially with our open air beach front bungalow (15-20 feet from the water), which is probably why we ended up staying a whole week.

The view from our bungalow, remind anyone of a beer commercial? 

Mainly we spent our days between the bungalow and the beds on the beach, reading, sleeping, swimming, walking, and searching for food (often difficult, expensive, or "out of" on that end of the beach). I finished three books. One day we took a kayak out on our own to a nearby island and then up the shore until we found our own private beach for the afternoon. It was incredible. My first time on a kayak too (only a little woozy).


On our beach you could pass a whole day seeing only twenty or so other people. And other than napping, your sleep was perfectly regulated. Other than dinner, there wasn't anything to do after dark except to sit in the net and read, since otherwise you'd be eaten alive by mosquitoes. We had the sunset every night on the water in front of us and woke not too long after it was light out.

The only real intrusion to that tranquility was the construction equipment visible between the first and second beach along with the realization it brought that this was one of the last beaches of its kind and it would soon be gone. I can't imagine finding anywhere like it again. 


We met some lovely people there, a young teenage Norwegian couple, a Kiwi family we talked to a lot. But best of all were the dogs. There was one bad boy I yelled at a lot, especially because of the wimpy one he kept attacking (who I also yelled at for being a wuss, but then pet and gave my leftovers). But there were puppies, beach puppies. About six of them. Especially near sunset they'd run out to play. I scared the crap out of one and made him yelp once. Think he peed on me too. They were ridiculously cute and so fun to play with. 

The water was indescribably gorgeous. There were nearly no waves and the temperature was perfect. Chris loved playing with the crabs and searching for fish. I had my first (multiple) experience(s) of jellyfish. 


We had fresh fruit all the time, used a veritable ton of sunscreen, went without internet, looked away when Euro man thongs passed by (WHY?!?!), coped with mosquitos, watched as cows walked by on the shore, listened to geckos chirping at night, and were pleased with our choice to move when the night was noiseless and without music. The week passed effortlessly. I think we could have stayed forever. The biggest bummer was that Stephane missed out. We both felt so guilty that he'd seen difficult travel in Laos but missed this.

Shell searching on our own private beach

Leaving the beach was somewhat bittersweet, but in the end, I guess we were both ready to go - there can eventually be too much of a good thing. I woke up that morning in the dim early light, before Chris. I thought something must have been wrong with him. I never wake up before him. He must be sick, I thought. But no, Chris was fine. So something must have been wrong with me but I enjoyed a quiet morning on the beach nonetheless.


It was quiet until the sheepish dog ran up to me and nearly under my chair, apparently seeking shelter from the big dumb one who came bounding up on his tail. The thought worked and the imminent attack was avoided. Disaster averted. The only casualty was me actually since the first dog was infested in sandflies looking for breakfast, and they transferred to me when they saw a bigger target. Eventually, I just had to jump in the water for me last swim to rid myself of my bitey attackers (little Leishmaniasis anyone?).

We picked the New Zealand family's brains for Malaysia experiences and ideas that morning (they'd just been), which sealed our plans to head straight down. We'd planned to go to Vietnam but decided only two weeks left simply wasn't enough time and we didn't want to short change a country we'd heard such amazing things about. 

The hostel, after receiving our less hefty than expected payment, called a tuk tuk for us and we said goodbye to the lovely New Zealand family and thanked the kind people at the Golden Sunset hostel.

My happy moment

The road back into town was miserable. And though neither of us like the idea of further development in the area, we agreed something had to be done about the road. 

The most interesting view from the back of the tuk tuk came just as we turned away from our parallel path to the beach. Small tin and corrogated metal shacks lined the road filled with people selling things and lots of small children eating lunch. My first thought was damn, why didn't I see these when I ran out of TP during my cold (little sniffle the last few days)? But Chris had the most prescient thought, one which I perhaps would have realized later but maybe not. Maybe I am too naive to have realized - these people were displaced from the beach by tourism, by us. It took a moment for the meaning of this to truly sink in as I pictured the pristine waters and smooth sands where we'd spent the last week and compared this to dust covered shacks of rusted metal sitting to the side of a dirt road. You might not normally stop to ask yourself what happens to the normal people when Westerners find their vacation paradise, but it's an important question to ask. My guilt at my complicity was enormous and even worse when I realized how relieved I was to learn this after the fact and not before, when it would have haunted me. I (we) wouldn't have been able to enjoy such a beautiful time and I think we both really needed it to recharge. But it remains a purely selfish thought. And I suddenly realized why the community living at the end of our beach put up a fence. I truly hope their small bit of tangible protection holds up.

We arrived in town surrounded by tourists, tourist shops and restaurants, and every level of hotel or hostel imaginable. It was hot, busy, crowded, and generally unappetizing. We felt immediately pleased with our decision to move away from the main beaches. But we knew before we left where we'd be coming back to - the place with pumpkin pancakes. Oh yeah. Give either of us pumpkin anyway, but pancakes? Oooh that sounded nice. The tuk tuk driver, the same who'd driven us from the old to "new" Otres, offered to wait for us and even watch our big bags. This didn't sit with me well at first since he wasn't actually asking an outrageous price. What kind of a scam was he pulling? Was he going to run away with our bags? It was only when Chris pointed out the dozens of other drivers sitting without fares that I relaxed a little. In Siem Reap, there is a ban on any foreigners owning or renting scooters. There is no such ban (or it's not exactly followed) in Sihanoukville. Every tourist can rent a moto for four bucks a day and the tuk tuks were rendered useless except for to and from the buses (thus the price gouging). That and his being such an amiable guy anyway (he was the first person I saw wearing a Child Safety Network shirt - againt child prostitution in Cambodia), I was reassured.

I cannot describe for you the pumpkin spice pancakes we both had. They came two to a smallish plate. Chris had his with ice cream (who's surprised?) and I went in for apple cinnamon topping. I now think I need to make pancakes every morning for a month when we get back. But really all I was looking for was an actual pancake and not a crepe (they aren't the same!). Bliss in my mouth is the sum of the experience. I felt myself filling up on just these two very normal sized (as opposed to IHOP enormous sized) pancakes. That just wasn't going to fly. I sat up straight. Took a few deep breaths. Made a little more space (my burps smelld of cinnamon pumpkin wonderfulness I assure you) and plunged back in for more. There's always room for more pancake.

The only downside to the meal was the crotchety old white guy who came upstairs to the patio where we were. The waitress smild brightly and wished him a good morning. And the jerk cut her off and commensed barking his item list order. No hello. No please. No thank you. Not even an and. I really wish I could say otherwise but there really are a lot of a-hole tourists out there. It just so upsetting to me to see these people who can afford to come out into the world, see such amzing places, not have to speak the native language, and still somehow fee entitled. No one owes you anything! Appreciation is lacking in our lives and entitlement abounds. It simply makes my blood boil.

It still and always holds true that anyone with an English-centric view of the world needs to travel. But sometimes I am afraid that the where and the how of their travel will do nothing but reinforce their incorrect beliefs. English is somewhat pervasive, from what we've seen. From European tourists in South America originally from neighboring countries to Asian tourists and locals, it's been incredibly common for us to hear, see, meet people who use English as an international language card. It's become the language of travel. Even so, there are stll places where it is scant or nonexistent. As perhaps it should be with so many native, tribal languages disappearing the world over. But as much as we acknowledge the fault on our end everytime for not knowing the country's language (though I fully admit I've had moments of loud frustation at mis- or lack of communication like any other Western tourist), we both agree that like with our wonderful hostel on the beach, English skills are becoming prerequisite in the tourist industry. The English speaking world prevails yet again. But not rightly so...

Bath time on the Cambodian shore

Our driver took us to a bus company's office instead of to the bus station. It's further to the station but I'm sure he got a commission so there was a little scam involved.

The first company didn't have anything leaving for the capital of Phnom Penh for nearly two hours. So I went across the street to another company who turned out to have a bus leaving in ten minutes. But from what I gathered it was a lot more expensive.

So I crossed the street again through the crowded flow of motorbikes and told Chris maybe I coul haggle them down so we could go sooner. Then a man from the first company came at us quite excitedly and insistently telling us we could buy the tickets from him for the other company at a better price. It seemed off, some scam involved, but we couldn't figure out the catch so we bought them. 

After crossing the street with all our things (Chris' bag is back to monster size though we can't figure out how), we boarded the bus and I saw my mistake. The sign I hadn't seen said 13k riel but with an accent, it's hard apparently for me to tell the difference between thirteen and thirty. I spent the first half of the trip fuming over my folly and the few extra bucks the other company made off of us. Either way, it was nice to not have to wait.
This was the local-frequented, cheaper bus company in Cambodia. But the seats were decent and it was AC, too powerful though. We stopped for lunch and had some curry noodles with chunks of chicken fat.

We arrived at Phnom Penh a little later than we expected but it was still light out, which was the whole point. I heard the tuk tuk drivers howling/yelling/jeering/bidding for me even before I got off the bus (Chris was still gathering things). It felt something like an ambush. But we knew the side street right next to our drop off was where we were going to stay. So I had the fun job of trying to brush them all off. I had so many hands flung up in the air at me (like raising their hands to answer a really crucially important question in class) to show they were there and that I obviously needed a ride while we were in Phnom Penh that I started to seriously consider slapping some of those hands. Get out of my face please.

The hostel we chose was only about a half a block in. It was cheap, clean, secure (actual video cameras), had free internet (though only one computer worked), and a TV, mini frig, and fan for the room (but only two outlets). In order to get a decent bed, we had to accept a room with no windows. At first, I didn't think anything of it. Then I felt ridiculously claustrophobic. Then, I was okay again.

Chris flipped on the TV and found for me the live action 101 Dalmatians. Pretty sweet. It stayed on in the background as we discussed our coming plans with only the occasional coo from me.



Having seen the tremendous traffic of the city, we decided nonetheless to walk across the city to the area by the river - the big tourist hot spot. Nearly half the city was on motor bikes and scooters (I've yet to figure out the real difference between the two in Asian countries). The other half was in big vehicles trying to squeeze through the mess of scooters or took a break from the mess, having parked all over want appeared to have previously been a sidewalk. It was dangerous and the driving was flat out stupid. Crossing the street was miserable and I began to start think about clotheslining some of the motos that got a little to close. They mostly had helmets so it wouldn't actually do much damage. I swear I'm not normally a violent person but Phnom Penh really brought it out of me. It was just such a city!



Chris asked me if I thought Cambodian drivers were the best or the worst in the world to be able to navigate as they do. It's a good question. But I hold to my first answer - by far the worst.



Once we got a little further beyond the traffic, we came to see a little more of what Phnom Penh is made out of as a capital city. It was a place for me in which the experience of such extremes in opposing realities created a sort of palpable tension in the air. For a long time now I've been thinkig of the mental action I've been taking to sort through these troubling differences we've seen throughout the world without coming up with a proper word for it. The differences here felt so extreme that it finally drew it out of me. Reconciling. We constantly have to reconcile the extremes in society or the opposing forces we are exposed to: the Laotian rate of underfed children versus seeing most people even in rural communities talking on cell phones, the beauty and tranquility of the beach in Sihanoukville with the pollution and mounds of trash tourism has brought along with the displacement of the local people, or living with the Peruvian elite who have weight problems and don't eat vegetables because they are too inexpensive vs spending every afternoon with local kids who are thin, don't eat enough overall, but are eating too much sugar because they have less access to fruits and vegetables. Those are just a few examples and maybe they feel a bit unfair but I do feel I have to often reconcile the reality of the things we see.



No where else has this been more apparent to me, this dichotymous world we live in, than in Phnom Penh. Walking in an obscurely lit alleyway beside the royal palace (where the king still lives - though it is something like Thailand in that it is technically a democracy), there were people walking dogs and playing badminton and you could see the lit up peak of the towering temple on royal grounds. But there on the sidewalk, just in front of the royal academy for fine arts where they put on a performance later that night (which the locals were peering over the bushes to see and the tourists likely already had seats), was something that seemed entirely out of place. My eye was first drawn by the figure of a naked little boy running in front of what looked like tents. Showers were being had in the street. Hammocks and tarps were hung. The men lay eyeing those who passed by and a few women tended to children, naked or half-clothed, and washed plates. It appeared as almost a small shantytown sitting quietly, unnoticed outside the walls of a palace, just beyond the reach of elegance and regality. Here they were, the two worldly foils sitting in opposition in their own quiet corner of the world. The highest and lowest caste of society living in such proximity but as though they lacked the knowledge of the other's existence. This did not by appearances seem to be a choice of living location (or condition) of protest but rather a matter of reality. This was as good a spot as any.



This city had more piles of garbage on the streets and sidewalks than I'd previously seen elsewhere. But there was a new element - peopl constantly digging through the garbage. It was so common that some even went so far as to wear a headlamp to enhance their searching. Yet there we went to the bright, clean boardwalk along the river to have frozen yogurt that cost more than a typically meal, walk among tourists paying nearly ten times what we were for a room, as well as locals simply enjoying the evening or participating in a public group dance session (rather like tai chi in the park though less tranquil looking), and we all continued along in this pristine piece of landscape as though none of the rest of the city existed.



It was also the city where I saw the most piles of puke in a single night. Everything was sick and dirty. And maybe just from a mood, but also quite depressing. It was just a big city. The type you feel you can't help or save but feel powerless to look at. We were both ready to leave quickly, but we were there for the history. There was a moral obligation to learn the horrors this country had gone through.



To go to see the Choeung Ek killing fields as well as the Tuol Sleng prison site in one day we thought might be pushing it. But it was an accomplishable feat. We elected to take a minivan from the bus company next door for three dollars a head after all the tuk tuks had tried to rip us off the night before just coming back to the hostel. We walked - but at our own peril. There are lots of concrete and metal objects sticking out of the ground to which a couple toes were subject to, which is in sharp contrast to Laos where there were many, many holes to avoid falling in. So anyway, we got a great deal that the driver took us and two other tourists to the killing fields and then dropped us at the prison on the way back in to town. It made it a lot easier to focus solely on the sites rather than having to worry about transportation.

Memorial Stupa at Choeung Ek killing field

For those like myself either born after these historical events or too young at the time to remember, it's probably worthwhile to give a slight review from my miniscule knowledge. Judging by my mother's reaction when I told her we were in Phnom Penh, most of you will probably already know more than what I have just learned. The Khmer Rouge was a communist regime that took control of Cambodia in the early-mid 70s. They were at first received, in some places, with excitement, announcing the new Democratic Kampuchea, as it was then called. But then the soldiers came. The short version is that their reign caused the deaths of some 3 million Cambodians by starvation, disease, murder, and execution. People who were seen as intellectuals, who wore glasses, lived in the cities, or eventually even fought with the Khmer Rouge (apparently especially in the eastern regions) were likely targets for imprisonment, interrogation, torture, and eventual execution. The terror of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge was brought to an end by the Vietnamese in, I believe, 1978 or 79 because they Rouge had been crossing the border and raiding (not because of human rights issues or that they were making communism look bad as I first supposed). The years that followed were occupied by civil war as the Khmer Rouge fought from near the Thai border. During all of this, the Khmer Rouge received support from numerous places (including of course the US, it makes me really sad I'm not even surprised) and was given the Cambodian seat at the UN by the general assembly. Anyway, Choeoung Ek is one of the more infamous killing fields which is found outside Phnom Penh where they have found more than 120 mass graves and more than 20,000 bodies.



Upon entering, we first visited the small museum to see a short film in which the men who first found the fields after the Khmer Rouge retreated and abandoned them described what they found. They recounted the sheds full of "tools" and instruments used to kill people. Next to one of the graves they found a large tree covered at the trunk and pieces of brain matter which soldiers had used to smash babies head against. When their parents were shot in the head or had their hads severed, at the very least a quick death most of the time (but not always as they had to hang a large speaker to drown out the wails of those still dying in the graves), I still can't fathom why they saved the greatest cruelty for infants.



Walking into the area, you first see the stupa (a tall building previously intended to house the relics of Buddha now also used as a funerary tower) which was built in the Khmer style to commemorate the dead in the 80s (remember that Khmer is the name of the ancient civilization, like Angkor Wat, and is not synonymous with the Khmer Rouge). There was a small contingent of local people there chanting and praying at the base of the structure. They were there the entire time we were. They may have been part of what we later learned were newer tours for people who lived through the horrors of the regime that they may see and come to grips with what happened to their countrymen. We read that in one case, viewing the pictures of prisoners at Tuol Sleng, a woman on one of these tours found out her brother had died there after decades of not knowing.



Walking up the steps to the stupa, you are greeted with billowing smoke of numerous incense bowls burning. Then, if you are observant, you will notice the drinks commonly left for spirits near the entrance. But more unique to this site, there are also baby bottles. Walking at the base of the stupa in the four or five foot wide corridor circling the eight or ten foot wide square base, you would see the first of the seventeen levels filled with clothes, colored, dirty, tattered rags pulled out of the ground. The next level up, and a few after that, displays to you layer upon layer of skulls. Some with obvious bullet holes, some with more signs of blunt trauma, all a testiment of what has come to pass here. You can look straight up knowing the other levels hold numerous other types of bones, excavated, cleaned, classified, and settled into a life of display. Even though you cannot see them, you can feel something powerful in the pit of your stomach telling you they are there.



I am not the sort of person to tell you I believe in a place having energy. So when a woman asked me to take a picture of her and a boulder and Machu Picchu and told me, You can just feel the energy coming off this rock! I had to do my best not to laugh. But here, in a place where thousands have died. You can feel an imprint left by the violence that has happened here. And whether through the knowledge of what has happened here or even something more spiritual, there is absolutely an energy here- and there is certainly nothing to laugh, or smile, about.



As you walk around, there are sites at which the rain and flooding have disturbed the earth to bring up new evidence, tooth and bone sticking up out of the dirt. The covered sites are labeled - the grave where they found more than a hundred headless soldiers, the grave of women and children, the tree where the babies were beaten to death. Certain of these sites are flat land, covered over, while others are still open, but shallow pits more numerous than the bomb craters around the Plain of Jars in Laos. You could try to count them all, but why count death and destruction when their existence is painful enough without quantification? Or you could, as we did, walk the path along the dike built to prevent flooding in the area without saying a word, without having the first clue what to say. And you would likely feel an instinctive softening toward the Cambodian people, your eagerness to be polite going on high alert having no other way to show your sympathy or correct what they've gone through. Or maybe, like me, you will displace a little of the anger that this place necessarily evokes and feel very upset with all the tourists who couldn't be considerate enough to cover their knees and shoulders at such an (un)holy site. No matter what, the ditches and the bodies you cannot help but imagine in them lay an indelible mark on your mind, and your heart.



Our next stop at Tuol Sleng left much less to the imagination, which I think makes the reality that much more haunting. Tuol Sleng was previously a high school. And you can tell by looking at it, if it weren't for all the barbed wire and tourists. Tuol Sleng was used asa Khmer Rouge prison for the captured dissidents, or just people the ruling party felt needed or deserved to die. There are four separate three story buildings.

A torture room at Tuol Sleng adorned by a picture of the actual use

The first is perhaps the most shocking or profound. This is where supposed conspirators were tortured into admission or submission. Each room is large, a small classroom, with yellow and off white tiles on the floor. In the center of each room there sits a large metal bedframe onto which prisoners were chained and tortured. Sometimes one or two of the actually old, rusted metal implements lay on the bed as well. Most importantly for us the viewers was the presence of a single enlarged black and white photo on the opposite wall. Why they chose to have prison photographers I cannot grasp but as horrifying to see as they are, the future will benefit from these very real, horrifying reminders of what can come from tyranny.



Each picture was distinct and yet so very very similar. There was a body, near completely disrobed, with an upturned rib cage just pushing to get through the skin, arms with disturbingly bony recognition, a face near unrecognizable - likely a combination of what they had gone through along with the age of the photos - with eyes looking up and away into nothingness, and then in every picture, the blood. A floor covered in drying, congealed, fresh, self-replenishing blood appearing as a large lake of black beneath the bed or the body in these colorless photos - still more vivid than any color I have ever seen. With pictures like these, the mind runs wild, and tries very hard not to.



The next building was the first to display some of the thousands of photographs that had been taken of the twenty thousand prisoners kept there for months at a time before execution (only seven are known to have survived). The other rooms had been converted to small cells, closet like enclosures without a roof made of wood or brick. This is where the people were kept, without light or air or human touch, waiting to be taken to die or to be tortured.


I walked into one of the human cubby holes with my back to the door, trying to imagine what it must have been like. Every sense prickling at the possible sensation - hearing the wails of your neighbors as they cry out in pain and are beaten for not being quiet, smelling the mounting stench of human shit and urine that each person must inevitably give rise to, tasting thick, dehydrated spit tinged with blood, feeling the same rough marks on the floors and walls with their fingertips to avoid having to feel their own scars or newly scabbed over injuries, seeing the same walls and the ceiling up above with no hope of seeing your families faces again, and then at night, seeing blackness of the most frightening shade.



I saw people moving at different exhibits to try to get a good angle for a picture because that is what you do. Trying to make it look prettier, create a better scene. But there is no art here, no poetry. There is nothing but death and the painful memories of it. Never have I before been in a place that made me think of nothing but death. This place is permeated by the most horrible sense of the end, life ending for nearly every soul that ever entered yet. And yet, just a couple dozen meters away, the city roared on, now as perhaps it did then. Living on, moving on. But when you are in these walls, it is hard to imagine any of that. All you can think of is darkness.
We walked through these corridors behind barbed wire fences on each level, meant to keep prisoners from jumping and committing suicide, without saying hardly a word. There wasn't much to say. The air was already thick with so much unspoken emotion that we couldn't give voice to.



There was an exhibit on the Khmer Rouge leaders that are now finally facing trial (only one, the head of Cheoung Ek, pleaded guilty and Pol Pot died in the 90s - in his own home!!!!) as well as the European and American lawyers representing them. That part sparked a lot of conversation. There was also an exhibit on the psychology of the young soldiers who are now the middle aged in Cambodia. It tried to examine whether they were guilty vs victims, without drawing any conclusions. It was a very interesting point and incredible to see the then and now pictures of each person.



They also had on display many of the pictures taken of individual prisoners when they were brought in. Many were simply, or rather not simply, sad. Others were defiant. But the ones I found most interesting were the few that were smiling. Had they been tricked, didn't know what was going to happen? Were they forced to smile for the guards amusement? It may have been the last time these people ever smiled and it seemd incredibly cruel and of course sad to think about.



This is what we came to see. It was both powerful and incredibly important. Despite not loving Phnom Penh it was a necessary part of our time in Cambodia.



We ate very quietly at the fancy tourist restaurant across the street (another case of realities at odds) where we each had a much needed salad and I, for the first time in my life, refrained from having pumpkin gnocchi.


After walking back through the city to our hostel, we visited the local market, which we found to be incredibly similar to the cancha in Bolivia, and braved some of the worst traffic I've ever seen crossing the street. We visited the grocery store and got some odds and ends done that night. When Chris fell asleep, I pretended to study but ended up watching Surrogates instead. Much better than I expected, plus it's always nice to watch a movie every once in a while.

We left early the next morning to Malaysia by way of Bangkok. We were on a small bus that first played music videos (this time it was someone's real wedding reception with music over it) and then a very loud sort of comedy variety hour. It was irritatingly loud but it didn't stop either of us from napping a bit. There was AC again too, which seemed to just be the norm in Cambodia since we weren't on a tourist bus.



Crossing the border was easy on foot but also sad. There were a lot of kids out begging or just sitting there because their parents probably sent them out to beg. I saw one little girl holding a baby brother (assuming of course) in a fabric sling and just holding it out away from her as he started to pee. It was such a desperate and hopeless situation to watch.



There weren't many of us that crossed the border so we were switched from a bus to a very cramped smaller van with no really space for our luggage where Chris and I got stuck in the back. I was irked but it passed when the guy, who'd driven like an absolute maniac (even Chris felt a little sick), got us there a couple hours early (despite an hour or so of inner city driving).



We went straight to our last hostel and paid a small bit more for comfort. Chris went down to the train station early the next morning when he woke up and found it would be hard to get tickets for that day. But with some investigating we found tickets from a travel agency (the place we went to use internet) that were more expensive but was for AC and would get us out that day. Running short on time, we decided that it was better to pony up the cash and just go. 


So after some calls home and a quick bite in the Khosan area, we headed for the train station.
The last time we'd managed to master the Bangkok buses from our area to the station with our bags, but that had been at night. The bus took some tim in arriving to our closest stop and then it was nearly full. We got on anyway and did our best to fit. But in an attempt to slowly turn around, I took out some poor lady with my bag. It wasn't that bad bu I apologized profusely and as Chris put it, she was very New York about the whole thing anyway (she was getting so dramatic I half expected her to faint). The up side was guys quickly wanted to give up a seat for me so I wouldn't hit anyone else.



Chris had his dunkin donuts coffee at the station and I bought us donuts for later. We got situated on the train just fine. But had to do some moving. You see it's a kind of fold out bed system and we as top bunks had backward facing chairs across from each other for the several hours before bedtime. But people were trickling slowly at other stops, so we'd take available seats while we could so I wouldn't yack facing backwards.

Train knitting

Chris knitted and we both read a lot. It was quite relaxing. Lots of people would get on at the stops to sell food out of plastic bins/laundry baskets. The train also sold expensive food too but we came prepared and had no problems.

When we arrived in the southern Thai city of Hat Yai, we booked our return train tickets (to get better seats this time) and went in search of buses to Malaysia. The search took a while and in the end, we missed the bus headed for the southern city we were hoping for, Melacca. So we settled on going to the capital of Kuala Lumpur first via a 15 hour bus ride.

The border crossing was nice and easy. After which we partook in our first Malay food in buffet form at a bus stop. Nice and spicy though a litte unsafe being at a bus stop. The bus was comfy and again had AC. We both read



At our next stop, I got out to go to the bathroom and when I re-emerged, I couldn't find the bus. I ran after the nearest one as it started to move, but that wasn't it. Then, I went to the one parked by the corner of the store but peering up through the windows, I didn't recognize any of the faces. It felt very Are you my mother? Panic started to set in.


Eventually I recognized someone from the bus and asked in English where it had gone. He explained that it went to the back of the property and should be back soon. What a relief. Chris showed up a minute later having walked a ways back (this is all at the same station mind you) while they replaced a tire, knowing I wouldn't know what the hell was going on. You always have to worry about a bus leaving you but in all our travels, this was the first time it'd seemed to actually happen. I didn't like our driver very much.



Although we still arrived after dark, we were an hour or two ahead of schedule which was nice. We were dropped off on the street. It seemed random and really threw us off at first. We braced for the normal attack of taxi drivers but saying no once was all it took. They just backed down. Say what?! No really, they actually listened the first time. It was amazing.


We walked to the nearest intersection and stood looking at our book map until a young man asked in very clear English where we wanted to go. He pointed to the neighborhood on the other side of the street as Chinatown. We were liking Kuala Lumpur already.



But then we entered Chinatown. It was a congested, smelly clump of stands and businesses thriving in the night. It would have been a lot more pleasant if it hadn't been for the fact that it was really expensive. We settled in a closet of a room with two beds and only about two and a half feet besides. The toilet was in a wet tiled closet with a showerhead down the hall and I had to ask to find the sink in the very noisy laundry room that I never saw anyone else use.



We wandered for a while in attempts to find some of the great inexpensive food we'd read about. We found noodles. Nothing special. Not the cheapest. We went to bed vowing to only stay a day in the huge city.


Exhausted, we slept in. Walking out of Chinatown, we found the surrounding area much more bearable. But the problem was, it was just like being in New York or Philadelphia. Perhaps a little more smelly but otherwise it was really developed. And a good bit cleaner than any other capital we'd been in. There were 7-11s, McDonald's, KFCs, and even A&Ws all over. When we went to see the towers, there was even a Chili's! It was incredible.


We walked up to Little India passing by the city market, the skytrain, a big mosque, and through numerous stalls selling lots of clothes, largely head scarves.

Malaysia is a largely Muslim country but it's mix of culture is incredible compared to the homogeneity we'd seen elsewhere in SE Asia. Even on the bus coming in, there'd been the darker skinned Malays, Chinese, Indians, Indian women in beautiful saris, and Eastern Asian women in head scarves (later we'd see more Africans and women in burkas as well). It was so much more of a melting pot. We were really the only people who stuck out as foreign and even then, I felt so much more at home.

Entrance to Batu Caves

We found a small area with many food stalls and looked around with wide and overwhelmed eyes. It's always fun and intimidating the first time you approach a public eating area because you just have no idea how it works. Landing at a stall at the very end, we each got a very small dish of vegetable curries with chapati for a buck each (or three ringgit) - with a mango lassi of course. It was our first really good food and it perked Chris right up.


Then, we walked back and got on a train to the Batu Caves, after connecting at the central terminal with the McDonald's. It was really cheap and an easy ride out into the suburbs to these spiritually important caves. When we got there, we were more than a bit surprised by what we found. It was like a circus. There were tents with food vendors edging up into the crowd to try and force free samples upon you and blaring music from all corners. We finally found the actual cave entrance, and not the places they tried to get you to pay to take pictures with snakes, as evidenced by the world's largest statue of the Hindu god Murga (a golden 43m high) and the 272 steps up, though it really doesn't feel like that much.



Starting up the steps, we encountered monkeys. Then within the large, open roofed cave, there were more monkeys. The people in charge appeared to have put out coconuts specifically to draw them in. They were cute, and fearless. They'd obviously been fed too much and been around far too many humans. Then there were the people who tried to interact inappropriately. I had decided I should really be taking more pictures since I'd have plenty by now for a photo journal called The Stupid Shit Tourists Do. Nothing bad happened here unfortunately but the guy trying to feed monkeys soda from his can and the young people who kept trying to hand them coconuts got lucky in my humble opinion. In any case, they were cute monkeys and Chris enjoyed watching his kindred furry spirits scrambling up the rocks.



The caves themselves were gorgeous, a couple of large and expansive chambers. But I found them somewhat lacking in religious presence until I saw as we were leaving that the actual temple had something of an entrance to another cavern so it was a bit hidden away from the irreverence of tourists. I liked it that way.



The Batu Caves is apparently known for the masochistic acts of the religious who come here en masse for a holiday called Thaipusam. Chris had seen some of it on a TV special before and I was of course only vaguely aware of it. But we knew it was sometime in January or February and here we were in January. We actually saw a couple of people engaging in the ceremonious masochism as we descended the stairs. We'd seen many people coming up in traditional Indian clothing all golden, I believe, and many using one hand to carry a sort of pot on their head - as well as many Indian men with shaved heads and gold paint on their heads. But there were two people we saw, a young man and separately a young woman, who at first glance appeared to be carrying some sort of metal rod in their mouths. On second glance, it became apparent that this long, thin strip of metal was actually pierced through the corners of the mouth.  It was interesting. I apologize I haven't had the time to research more about what we'd seen. We later saw that Thaipusam started full swing only a few days after we left.

Monkeys at Batu Caves - you blinked!

Taking the train back through some fairly heavy rain, we thought our afternoon would be spoiled but it let up by the time we reached Center City. There we went to see the joined Petronas Towers which had previously been the tallest in the world. They don't really look much taller than anything else we'd ever seen but they were quite pretty. Plus standing on the bridge in the nice little park, we were approached by orange-robed monks who asked to have our picture together. First just with Chris, then with me as well. Then with other tourists. Chris got to talk to them for a moment and learned they were from Tibet. They were incredibly friendly and so happy. It was adorable. The picture I have I asked permission to take. It seemed so very different in comparison to Thailand where you aren't supposed to take pictures of monks and certainly wouldn't expect to have them ask to take a picture with you. What a great experience!



Then, we took turned helping some couples get there "I was there" shots (the ones Chris and I don't always feel inclined to take) until suddenly I was almost run over by an angry white jogger who yelld at us to get off the running track none of us had noticed in the middle of this perfect tourist site. It sparked a good conversation about how the majority of the angry people we've met in our travels have been white foreigners.

Tibetan monks in Malaysia - they asked to take pictures with us

After that, short on things to do, we went to check out the KL convention center (holy modern batman!) and happened upon the aquarium. So I treated Chris, the boy who aspired to be a marine biologist, to a trip. It was well organized and really nice. We learned there was an aquatic mammal that has it's nipples on its back for its young to nurse more easily in the water. How cool is that! It was also really funny that we saw a large amount of animals we'd already seen (and in a couple cases eaten - Pacu are yummy) in the Amazon. It was ironic to be here in Asia where these animals are exotic going, Ooooh, I remember that! The aquarium also had one of those great underwater tunnels with sharks and rays and turtles. We had to go through it twice of course. It was actually really fun.


In attempting to leave the park and center city, we got a little lost. So began the saga of continually getting lost in Malaysia. We eventually found civilization again and made it through some very hoity areas and heavy traffic to what had been described as food stalls. They were actually only a few open air restaurants but we found one and had a nice meal. We walked the long way back to our closet hostel.


We maybe overslept a little again before getting up to go check out the central market, which turned out to be much more like a mall, and go back to the same stall in Little India for a last bite. The staff had briefly lost and then found my laundry the night before and I was able to leave with some clean clothes. The regular bus terminal was only a few blocks away but it was being renovated so we had to take a half an hour bus ride to get to the bus station to head out of town. The bus itself had AC and a TV with news and movie trailers in English - including something abut the Kardasians - and public service messages in Malay (Bahasa Melayu is the official language but English as a fourth language is so widely spoken that I only learned how to say thank you - terima kasih) that seemed to imply that if you rob someone your wife or mother will be hit by a car. It was an interesting idea to be sure.

Aquarium underwater walkway in Kuala Lumpur

We were quickly cornered getting off the bus and bought our tickets to Melacca quickly knowing that the buses are subsidized and thus all cost the same. There were only four other people on the bus and our luggage had its own seats instead of being stowed underneath. We watched Kuala Lumpu pass away on the highway with a feeling of satisfaction. We'd (quickly) seen some great things and gotten comfortabe with the city. One of the few capitals we really enjoyed other than Bangkok.



The ride only took an hour and a half as opposed to the quoted two to three. Malaysian highways are jut so incredibly smooth (and big!) that you seem to always get where you're going early. It's great.



We arrived at the terminal 5k or so out of town and took the city bus in. Immediately a woman in front of us started chatting with Chris (he was closer). Everyone had just been so helpful and friendly. Most of the tourist sites in this UNESCO World Heritage Site are in the Old Town/Chinatown area but we elected to go to the newer area of Melacca Raya knowing it would be cheaper. It still took a while to find a sufficiently cheap place. I was being a little overly stingy and trying very hard to pinch pennies after seeing how expensive Kuala Lumpur was. It wasn't necessary. You save where you can but shouldn't sacrifice all comfort (or privacy). Our room was a closet type room built in the larger space with a fan, shared bathroom, and very thin walls. We talked about changing to the nicer, slightly more expensive places when I came to my senses but ended up staying there anyway since we were sick of moving.

Petronas Towers, Kuala Lumpur

After settling, we walked back up to the Chinatown/Old Town area. To get there was a little walk, just a nice chance to stretch our legs, bu meant walking through or around two of the three megamalls that were all right next to each other. I'm not talking markets either, these were full on malls. Ridiculous. We also had to walk around St Paul's hill where a church had previously stood.



So a little Melaka history to tell you why we went there. It was originally settled by an Indonesian sultan who was then conquered by the Portugese, who were then taken over by the Dutch, who handed the area off to the English, who were in control until independence in 1957. This all makes the area, as well as the country, amazingly culturally diverse, and more importantly, a great place to sample a lot of different types of food.



Our first walk through the area was nice - seeing the leftover bricks of the old fort, the old red Christ Church Melaka built in the mid 1700s, the thin streets and numerous temples of Chinatown, and the numerous places to eat. The streets don't exactly meet up the way you'd expect, so we got a little turned around again. But this led to my first monitor lizard sighting. I saw three big old lizards running in the smelly, wet drains that run throughout the cities here. Chris was jealous and spent half our time walking with his nose down to the drains searching for one. I'm surprised he didn't run into a pole.



On our way back, we stopped purposefully at the mall closest to us. I'd just talked to my brother for his birthday while we were in KL and he said Tron was so good he'd already seen it three times (nerd). That was it. I'd already missed Harry Potter (nerd) and I needed to see Tron in theaters. Sometimes it's just not the same experience. So Chris saw the theater sign at the mall and suggested we stop in. They had it! But we missed the one showing at noon and planned to come back the next day.


On the way out, we saw an archery shop. No, not like buying a fancy bow, like paying for a quiver and using their bow and targets. I'd always wanted to (did you know Geena Davis was an Olympic archer?) and never had - Chris did in high school. It was cheap and we both said why not. So for a few bucks a got 12 arrows and Chris and the lady running the place trying to tell me how to do it. I never got a bullseye but I also nver missed the target. I walked out with such a big smile. I shot my first bow and arrow at a mall in Malaysia. Excellent. Then we had oreo ice slushies.



We assumed Melaka would also be pricey for food and so decided to check out the food stalls first (we'd eventually learn that since Malaysia has great infrastructure but relatively less tourism, the so-called tourist areas aren't that pricey and open air restaurants are the way to go). I had some decent, non-descript noodles with chicken but Chris' noodles were covered in dried fish and tasted, as he described it, "like licking a raw fish." He didn't eat it. We wandered around and eventually hunger overcame bullheadedness and he decided wanted to eat something else. We went into a nice looking Indian restaurant. Chris ordered something like saag paneer with naan and a mango lassi. He got, literally, thickened cream of spinach with packaged pita bread and mango juice. 


My fruit plate was quite refreshing. Chris went to bed ticked off, not impressed thus far with the food in Melaka.


The next morning I encountered some internet frustrations with loans, plane tickets, etc. and my liquid face soap had exploded all over my bag. So I was looking forward to seeing Tron. The more excited you are for something the less likely it is to happen. It was a Friday and Malaysia actually worked like the US with regard to changing movie schedules on Fridays. No more Tron. We checked the theater at the other mall. Nuh-uh. I was ticked.



We walked around looking for lunch in the Little India area that we never actually found (but we did have a great chat with a sweet Christian Chinese lady at her shop about racial difficulties, tourists from Singapore, and how it's good for the man in a relationship to be older). So we gave in and ate at the Indian restaurant we'd been reserving for the next day. They served our biryani on banana leaves. We had mango lassis and ate with our hands (we were the only ones not offered silverware actually but there were sinks available and our hands worked just fine). It ewas a little more expensive than they told us but it was delicious.

Outside a Buddhist temple on Harmony Street, Melacca

With very full bellies, we set off to take the city bus to find the Portugese settlement. Everyone had been so nice and helpful, always keeping an eye out for us but we got the feeling this driver wasn't looking out for our stop. We were right but we didn't realize it til we were on the back side of our hostel. We'd come full circle. He said we should stay and that we'd get back again but it would take an hour. No, no, no, stop the bus, I'm getting off here. We walked to the Portugese settlement under the blazing Malaysian sun. I sweated out my frustration.



On the way, we tried to go to St. John's fort, an old historical site, but our dinky little tourist map didn't give great directions. And despite KL being a great city for walking, Melaka didn't exactly have a lot of sidewalks outside of the tourist area. Still infinitely better than Phnom Penh but still too close to traffic for comfort. We knew this was the hill but had to walk around both sides before finally finding a small sign. Finally, we made it.



Other than the couple local power walkers (it was the only hill around) and a guy who was fixing his car, there was no one else around. No other tourists. We thought this was strange for how many tourists were around but it didn't seem there were many people who came up here on their own. Their wasn't much. White walls and several cannons. But it had a great view (including of the Holiday Inn and other tall hotels between the malls and the beachless shore, this is Straits of Melaka we're talking here - continual culture shock).



We walked a while and eventually found the Portugese settlement with a small square encompassing several restaurants, a big hotel, and a small pier with open air food stalls, which opened at night. Despite wanting to try the infamous dish of devil curry, we were early and after enjoying the pier and walking around a bit, we decided there wasn't much to keep us occupied (though the little girls at the convent school pointing and laughing at "Jesus" was of course entertaining). We took the bus back into town after someone was kind enough to point out the bus stop (we waited with little girls in a nearby car shouting and waving the whole time).



That night we waited in line for nearly an hour to eat at Capitol Satay, which served satay celup. The best way to describe this is to say peanut sauce fondue. There were other restaurants that had the same thing next door and across the street. They were all empty and I felt really bad and guilty about it but this was the infamous place. The wait on the side of the street was long (long enough that we heard the next night a girl had passed out once we'd gotten inside - she was okay) but we toughed it out.



We got our own table in the back corner next to an industrial sized fan and across from the refrigerated pay-by-the-stick section where you chose your own meats, seafood, or a few veggies/tofu to dip in the sauce. We piled up our tray, they came and poured the sauce into the pan in the center of the table and turned on our heater (which could boil the contents as proven by the splashes all over my shirt), and we waited for it to properly heat up.



While waiting a waitress came and asked if we wouldn't mind the company of a lone gentleman. Of course we wouldn't mind! Enter Terry, the bohemian chef as he calls himself, originally from Chicago, lived in Boulder for decades and now in San Francisco running the only Chicago hot dog stand in San Francisco and teaching in home cooking classes based on the international cooking classes he takes while traveling. He'd been coming to Melaka for nine years to see friends and take cooking classes. He'd also been coming to Capitol Satay for that whole time. He was great company. He was just such a jovial, out-going guy.

At first, when he would greet the waitresses and said how wonderful it was that they remembered him, I wasn't quite buying it. No way would people remember someone who only came once a year. They were just being nice. Well, I don't think they knew his name our anything like that but they certainly knew and recognized him. He was the sort of personality you just don't forget. We talked a lot about Melaka and his food experiences.  The next night he was going to a Pakistani restaurant he frequented and had gotten the chance to cook in the previous year (resulting in a very lovely burn scar from reaching his arm into a fiery claypot to slap in some naan), and he invited us to join him. He agreed to meet us the next morning to at least show us where the place was in case we decided to show up.

We said farewell and until tomorrow. It was a lovely evening with great, albeit unexpected, company. Though to be honest, the satay was good but not spectacular. A great experience though and I would definitely try it again.


The next morning, I was stuck on the computer trying to deal with some plane ticket booking problems while Chris went to meet Terry and got what sounds like a lovely little tour of Chinatown. When I showed up I got to say a brief hello before we went off to find our dim sum for breakfast. It was my first even dim sum (compared with the day before when I finally got a bun with chicken and not pork, which I'd been searching for for weeks!). It was delicious and a great start to a very food oriented day.



After that, we did our own little tour of what is called Harmony Street for the presence of a Hindu, Buddhist, and Muslim temple on the street, showing the harmony of cultures in Malaysia (note the Christian churches across the little river in Old Town). We were invited into the courtyard of the Buddhist temple and got a lovely look around. We also encountered a small contingent of Indian girls who asked our help with a clue they had for a scavenge hunt (Amazing Race variant apparently) but we were worthless.



Then, Chris took me around for most of the mini-tour Terry had given him, starting with the last maker of shoes for binding women's feet. This man's family had been making the shoes for generations, actually leaving the country when they were outlawed in China. He owns some of the last patterns of design in the world and only has one customer left. The shoes were ornate and beautiful but I couldn't have even fit one fist into them. The idea that someone's foot could fit was a little horrifying. They were unable to even walk on their own.



We ate lunch on banana leaves at the same Indian restaurant, Selvam, where they had their "special" biryani (which I knew when he said it meant the price was higher). It was nine different veggie sides with rice drenched in ghee (fat!) and of course a mango lassi. We had to be rolled out of the restaurant.

Banana leaf Indian food and mango lassi, can't beat that

We spent the afternoon in a 4-in-1 museum, though we only went for one. We got to see the people's museum - explaining a great deal about Malaysian heritage. Malaysian of Malay and Indian descent are Chitty, while of Malay and Chinese descent is Baba-Nyonya and Malay and Portugese may have had a third name which I now can't remember. Next came the 3D history museum, which was just enough without being too much. Then, we visited the kite museum, which was a lot of fun. Upstairs, in any area marked "air conditioning failure," was the museum we'd come to see - Enduring Beauty.



The title of this museum is meant to evoke both the lasting time in which beauty "endures" as well as the pain one must go through or "endure" to achieve beauty. This was an exhibit of different perspectives on beauty around the world. The presented material ranged from ear piercing and lip piercing/gauging with huge wooden blocks that must stay in during eating and sleeping (and the size of which determines a woman's dowry) in Africa to tatooing both with ink as well as with scarring (taking advantage of African people's tendency to keloid) to corsets and anorexia in Europe and America. The two most fascinating exhibits to me were those on the supposed neck lengthening bangles and binding women's feet in China.



You will have likely seen the pictures of women with long necks from tribes in Asia or Africa. They had pictures (including X-rays!) illustrating the point Chris had recently learned that the neck is not actually longer but that over time as more levels are added the collarbone and shoulders and depressed. In many places, this is a traditional ornamentation but people no longer know what its original purpose was. They said the collars could be removed but that the neck muscles have been so severely stretched that the woman requires a brace to hold her head up.


Foot binding to make women's feet progressively smaller from a young age was banned in around the 1930s, I believe, though it met much resistance and took multiple previous efforts to implement a ban. In order to begin binding, the foot is broken. This must be done so the foot can be placed in the shoe in such a way that the big toe sticks out into the point and the four remaining toes are curled completely under the foot. I believe it was every two weeks that the shoes were changed to a smaller size at which point blood and necrotic tissue was cleaned off. Gangrene or infection could easily develop and women could die. It was believed that the wobbly motions of the hips that occurred when a woman with small feet walked were sexy. It was also a symbol of class status as the women could not walk much at all and required attending to for the rest of their lives. It was upsetting and not to use the word lightly but barbaric. Previously, Chris had been considering buying a pair but after reading more about what they were used to do, he wasn't sure if we wanted to have something like that on display. The whole museum was incredibly interesting.

Little girl trying to read ruins at St Paul's Hill

That night we decided to go meet Terry for dinner instead of going back for devil curry. We tried to take a shortcut but the road we took ran parallel without a turn to our desired street for so long that we were lost again for more than half an hour. Though it was a very interesting look at suburbia. We hadn't yet seen any trace of the shacks and shanties we'd seen throughout South America and Asia. But we never went to the East coast, so who knows. Everything just seemed so extremely wealthy by comparison.



At Terry's suggested restaurant, I shared in Chris' tandoori chicken - some of the best either of us had ever had. We had a lovely conversation sitting at a picnic table in a parking lot under Malaysian night skies about our coming travels and Egypt. And I thought, Good God, look at us! Look at where we are and where we are going! I am continually aware of and grateful for what we are doing but some moments bring it out more than others and this was one of them.

We took some pictures of Terry and the chef brothers showing off their arm scars from similar burns. They said our meals were on the house but I didn't want to take advantage of our hosts and insisted, probably overly so, that I pay for us. Hopefully no one took offense.



After eating and saying goodbye to the restaurant family, we headed over to Jonker Street, the main tourist road in Chinatown, lit up and selling everything for the weekend evening. The first thing we saw when entering was a huge, permanent stage with locals singing karaoke. They were decked out and dancing, and really getting into it. This was an event for them. It was really incredible to see. Then, we wandered down the street, all three of us talking and marveling at the food and miscellaneous, banal trinkets for sale. 

Pakistani restaurant with Terry's friend

When we reached the end of the street, it was late and time to part. Terry was bummed we were leaving the next morning since there was so much more great food and things to see but it was the appropriate time to be moving on. He pulled out a postcard he'd bought in the hopes that we'd come for dinner with a picture of the binding shoemaker's father on it. It was incredibly sweet. Given what Terry does, I think it's only appropriate to say that he added great flavor to our experience of Melaka. He's just a great, out-going guy who lives to, as he puts it, toss the ball out there and see who throws it back. We were very grateful to have met him.


After thinking about it, I realized that Terry has found, or rather created, exactly what we look for in traveling. There is an element that was missing in our travel that had thought was due to the language barrier. We had experienced it in South America and now found it mostly missing in SE Asia. But here was a man who spoke no (or little) Malay and had re-created that attractive atmosphere of meaningful interaction with local people. He was a man of the people no matter where he went and had found that element of travel that we've found to be most important. As he put it, you just have to "throw the ball out to see if they throw it back." I hope very much to emulate his amazing outlook on life.



The next morning we woke early and walked out with our big bags to catch a bus to the central terminal. It took a couple tries but eventually a bus stopped without our even hailing it and we manged to squeeze our wide selves through the aisle. At the terminal, we found that the buses going on to the island of Pulau Penang were actually later than we'd been told. So we settled down to read and wait a couple hours. Eventually, a food cart opened up and I was able to try the combo of sweet corn and waffle I'd been obsessing over since I first saw it when we arrived in Melaka. Fantastic. And greasy.

Jonker Street, Melacca

Getting on the bus, I was wondering aloud to myself, as I am wont to do, whether this was the correct bus and found myself answered. A tall white guy with dark hair. Very friendly. We threw our big bags under the bus and got settled in. We dozed most of the way to KL, where we stopped The same guy from the front of the bus earlier was getting out and was told we'd be a half an hour for lunch. He told us as much, which was very nice to know. We got out for a stretch and quite a temperature difference from the chilly AC to the heat outside. We found chicken meat buns to snack on. Chris didn't like it but I didn't care much, it was a bun.



On the bus, my reading was interrupted by the TV going on. My second and third ever Stephen Seagal movies, one old (thinner) and one newer (not so thin). I know dialogue isn't a big thing in action movies but I think my ears actually started bleeding. How did this guy keep getting work?



When we stopped at a rest area, I heard the driver tell the other female tourist heading out ahead of me that we'd have five minutes. So when I emerged lazily from the bathroom after two, I was more than a little surprised to see my bus moving. It was going slow and at first, so was I. I kept looking around expecting to see it somewhere else, was that really my bus? Finally, I just started running. He was headed for the freeway on ramp and if he got there, I was screwed. He kept stopping and starting until he finally stopped and the door opened. I bursted on, "You said five minutes!" He apologized. Two other guys got on board after including the tall white guy. We gave each other the WTF look. When I got on, it looked like Chris was just getting up but he was actually sitting down. He'd had to make the driver stop or the guy really would have left without us. Malaysia was mostly really easy but it had some troublesome points. That was the second time. And it turned out we were only about five minutes away from the bridge to the island so I guess the guy just needed to pee really badly.



When we arrived, we got ourselves together and tried to figure out a bus into town (they always leave you farther out than seems necessary). We were joined by tall, young looking white guy. His name was Eric. He was nearly forty and when it came to the what do you do part of the conversation, we were medical students and he was an ER doc. I felt strangely awkard and quiet at first. There are many docs I feel very comfortable with at home but suddenly I just hd this keen sense of the American medical hierarchy. And he really wasn't that type of guy either. 


We all got on the bus and eventually started talking travel more and even medicine too (he broke the good news to me that I'm apparently young enough to still be on my mother's insurance plan under the new legislation, something she knew already apparently- Sweet!). We got off in Chinatown and looked for rooms together.



We settled in separate places and agreed to meet for drinks or dinner in a bit. The hostel wasn't by any means ideal but Chris was fed up with moving earlier than usual and just didn't want to deal with any more crappy places. So we stayed a little while til we realized that the window shutters were missing and mosquitos could get in. Plus the door didn't actually lock. The next room they showed us wasn't much better either, so we left. After looking at a couple closets, we ended up splurging on a little room with a decent bed and AC in the same place as Eric.



The three of us headed of to the area our book had labelled for Chinese food where we found a place with dim sum, tea, and stir-fried veggies to share (the food here is great but there is again a profound lack of vegetables with ice cream much too readily available). After which, we wandered up to the shoreline near some food stalls and had a pleasant first view of Butterworth's lights on the mainland.



Wandering the streets, we happened upon a very early Chinese New Year celebration. The people were very welcoming and invited us to come see. There was an apparent calligraphy master (one of a handful who is considered good enough to be given artistic license Chris was told) at work, a booth for kids to draw (all involving rabbits for the year of the rabbit - by the way Chris is a monkey and I'm an ox, who didn't see that coming), and a book signing inside the gallery. They offered us to try the thin cookies and also gave us wrapped oranges (that was awesome). An artist gave us each postcards of his own design and signed them for us. Chris bought us the calligraphy symbol I liked the most signifying prosperity (it looks like a wizard waving his wand in the air with a ribbon coming off it), which was great since Chris wanted art from Malaysia and we never found the market. 


People were ridiculously open and friendly for what a private and small seeming celebration it was. I was sad not to have my camera there but so thrilled that we accidentally got to experience a little bit of Chinese New Year, truly authentic to the sound of kids throwing little poppers like firecrackers. You seem to find the greatest experiences when you aren't really looking.



Next to the hostel, we all had a beer (dark ones of course - Royal Stout, a big one, for Chris and I and a Guiness for Eric). We talked about lots of things, as will happen over a beer, but it was really interesting to hear about his experience in medical school in Israel (very relaxed and almost no SCUT) and working locums short term and getting to travel. I don't remember how it came up but he's also a writer. Talking about it, I didn't feel comfortable bringing up my own feelings of being a writer with my current works being what they are, but Chris rather stood up for me as it were, and made sure to mention that I write too. Sometimes I find it hardest to initiate a conversation based on something you have in common because of the inevitable sense of comparison that comes from it. 


Especially with people who are more self-assured or have far more experience under their belt. But such is life.


Our room had no windows and so it was Eric's knock around 10 that woke me up. He invited us to come see the beach at Batu Ferenggi (I know it's not spelled right but get the reference Star Trek people). He was still there when we finally got up so we all went.



It was a long bus ride but we received a little guidance from a fellow tourist when we got there. It was a well developed area with lots of tourists out sunning. We walked up and down a bit and finally went to some food stalls for lunch. Chris got to try something he was looking for called laksa. Penang is also a UNESCO site and infamous for it's food. Laksa is something of a fish soup with some mint and tamarind to add flavor. Apparently it was very fishy but at least he got to try it.



Chris konked out in the afternoon and we learned later that Eric got a nap in too. I read. That night we went out for Indian and again had absolutely amazing tandoori chicken. Then we went to the food stalls we'd seen the night before to try a traditional dessert. We'd already tried cendol on Terry's recommendation and were now going to try ABC (I can't remember the full name). These desserts involved black beans, jellies, and shaved ice with cane syrup juice and maybe some condensed milk. The only difference between the two I could tell was ABC had corn and could be ordered "special" with ice cream on top. They were interesting. How someone ever thought up something like that, I couldn't guess.



We had a beer at the food pavilion this time next to the shores, where if you looked down into the rocks, you could see some really big rats. Eric told us some break stories, including being in Bethlehem at Christmas and sneaking into a VIP area to sing Christmas carols with Yasar Arafat. Someone accidentally hit the lights and he thought they were all going to die. What an experience!



We said goodbye that night and Eric left early the next morning. He was a really great guy and as much as it felt a little stilted for the three of us to talk about medicine so much, it was great to still feel interested. And we got some interesting ideas for the future from him.

Penang Park

The next morning we woke up early and took the bus out to the national park in hopes of going to the turtle sanctuary (it's a decently large island). I was tired that morning but once we were hiking, you just got into a rhythm with the sound of the rainforest - mostly birds and the ever constant metallic hum of cicadas. It was a beautiful place and lovely to get out and stretch our legs. Plus, we were on the path that didn't go to the canopy walk, so it was relatively deserted.



On the way out, we encountered two troops of monkeys. The first time we both heard noises and started looking. Originally I thought it was a bird but it was a monkey hissing and baring his teeth at us. These were much more wild and untame than those we saw previously. The jumped from tree to tree, stopping only to observe our unwanted presence. It was an impressive sight. We were grateful that we both of us had gotten so used to seeing and looking for animals (on the way back we stopped because I smelled mammal pee) and we wondered how many people that day had walked right by them and missed them. The first troop were long-tailed macaques and the second were dusky leaf monkeys (very pretty with a ring of white around the eyes). The second group was a little more hazardous because they were eating and dropping the fruits that were too hard to eat to the forest floor with a hefty thud. To save our heads, we ran through.



We reached the lake just before the beach but it was dry, which was a shame because it was supposed to be one of the few meromictic lakes in the world (a separate layering of fresh and salt water as the lake forms near the sea). The sand on the beach was made of thick tan granules like when you order a smoothie but they don't keep the blender on long enough. There were a couple turtle crossing signs, which stoked our excitement.



We went out on the small wooden pier to have a snack and rest. We watched a bird of prey flying over the sea that appeared to be battling with something in its talons. The fishing boats came in and out of the bay. It was beautiful and secluded. Chris lamented not having a tent (there was a camping area) and vowed he would for future, shorter trips. The other tourist who'd given use some guidance around Batu Ferenggi had said Penang wasn't the best for anything but it had a little taste of everything and that's what gives it its draw. At the time it seemed a little pessimistic, but now I can see what he meant.



We made our way with what felt like very heavy feet around the beach to the turtle sanctuary. We knew that turtles laid their eggs here at night but we were hoping to maybe see the babies our something The site had a little room with a some stuffed big turtles and a lot of preserved dead babies (a little morbid seeming) but not a lot of information. Otherwise, it was an important site for protecting the eggs, which were fenced off to keep away animal and human predators. We were told the eggs in the sun would be male and those in the shade would be female, though I cannot attest to the veracity of this statement. That was the extent of our visit.



The trip back was thick and wet, punctuated by one more monkey sighting and being able to hear the Muslim call to afternoon prayer through the forest. I couldn't help but wonder what the wildlife thought of it. When we were back on the main path closer to the entrance, I thought I saw something the size of a small dog dash into the bush. Turning to look, we were distracted by a rustle to the right and saw a HUGE monitor lizard (they are in the same family as the komodo dragon). I gasped. A guy coming up the path said, What? There a spider? Thanks for the assumption guy but no it was quite a bit bigger than that. You never know what's in the forest around you if you don't look and listen carefully. It made me keep thinking of the rain forest in Costa Rica, which as an American, I thought of as THE rain forest. But it's kind of funny all the best animal experiences we've had of the rain forest have been everywhere else.



After taking the bus back, I think I took a nap in the afternoon and then we got some work done. That night we gave it one more try and left on a bus from the central station for the cinema at Gurney Plaza. Traffic was bad and we ended up in a parking lot on the seventh floor before we got there (after rushing by a fire-breathing display on the first floor - now this is a mall!). It was more expensive than in Melaka (but still cheaper than home) and they only had it in 3D but they had it! I was so preoccupied with this fact that I forgot to ask if it was in English. We got into the auditorium (with assigned seats) just as Tron started. We both hated the glasses but the 3D wasn't so bad. And the movie was of course awesome. Jeff Bridges is the man. And the character was so him! It was really nice to just sit in a movie with AC (you really can't underestimate how humid it is here) and forget where you are. It was great.

Inside a Malaysian mall

Wandering around in search of dinner, we found another food plaza with singing and karaoke (English songs you knew the tune to sung in a different language - like Red River Valley). We tried another noodle dish on our to-try list. It was okay and followed by a shared waffle with ice cream for dessert (yam flavor for me).



The next day was intended for food and a little bit of sight-seeing. We started with dim sum and veggies again. Later there were samosas on the street, a "snack" of Indian food with multiple juices (including lime mint), more Indian food later including the tandoori that I didn't order, and a final ABC. Our main tourist stop was the Khoo Khongsi, the meeting hall and center of the Khoo family community with a well done museum with way too much genealogy (40 some generations?). The architecture was absolutely stunning with amazing art and so many carving detailed by hand. It was really impressive.



The following morning, Wednesday, I finally figured out the flight ticket situation that had been plaguing me for so long and got a better deal than the travel agency was able to find (Go Orbitz!). We packed up and hopped on the ferry back to Butterworth to catch a train to Bangkok. The ferry was big enough there was no sway and populated near entirely by locals, two Asian women signing to each other, a little boy with a pinwheel he kept wacking on the seats, a raven jumping from bench to bench for crumbs, and a big man sleeping with his head slumped, mouth open. It was an agreeable ride to me but poor Chris hadn't slept and was showing it.

Chinese family meeting hall Khoo Khongsi

We got to the train station and found out our departure time had been given in Thai not Malay time (one hour difference). We had two hours to kill. Luckily, the bus and train stations were connected to the ferry and we were able to walk over to the bus area to find food. But we couldn't do so without being accosted by ticket salespeople. One guy wouldn't believe Chris when he said nowhere so he leaned into our faces and bellowed, "Where are you goooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiing?" To which I leaned forward and barked, Food! and then, smiling, Thanks! He didnt seem to appreciate that.



We had a decent meal for very cheap. But my noodles came with my first ever head on shrimp and I had to cover it with my spoon and couldn't even eat it when Chris offered to disassemble it for me. He had a coffee and I had Kickapoo Joy Juice! (soda). We tried to waste some currency on snacks.



The train was two hours late. There were only two cars. Our only concern was getting Chris back in time for his embassy appointment to get the newpassport pages he needs for Africa (quite expensive). This time we bought an upper and lower bed so I'd have a forward facing seat without having to worry about someone kicking me out of it. It was nicer that way.



We had a very fun older guy with white hair and a white moustache from Germany come talk with us. He told us about a performer like Fred Astaire who is now 108 but is hated by his Dutch countrumen because he performed in Germany during the war. He told us about traveling in all the parts of the world we have been and will be whe no one else was traveling, when you'd stop someone on the street because it'd been more than a week since you'd seen another traveler. We were jealous.


Then the railway workers got on the train. They broke the calm. Ever time the porter passed by he would shhh them and point to us reading. As soon as he passed by, the noise crescendoed once again. Then the train stopped and sat, for what may have been hours. I think Chris only survived becauseone of them said they were all getting off at the border, or it would have been a very long night.



We reached the border after 8, or 9 by Malay time. We waited a long time due to the lack of staff, which is understandable late at night. While waiting in line, I noticed a sign on the Thai side about a regulation from 1979 describing the appearancd of a hippy and how anyone fitting this description would not be let in our would be deported - silk pants not formal in appearance, sandals not part of traditional costume, long or unkempt hair, etc. Looking at us, and many others, this appears to me only a historic mandate.



In the station, we got a last glance at the prayer rooms present like restrooms throughout Malaysia. It seemed like such a pleasant present but a reminder of huge culture differences.

Back on the train, I opened my can of Stagg turkey chili (really) that I bought in Cambodia and thought how for some reason it always feels so nice to come back to Thailand. I guess they just really know how to take care of tourists, but part of it is the attitude and culture. It's just so damned comfortable.



I found it interesting to see that the sink water only lasted a couple hours with a train car full of tourists but was still running when I went to brush my teeth on a car full of locals. Guess if you use the butt-hose nothing gets dirty. Unless of course someone sullies the hose. Ewww.

It was unfortunate that someone had to prove us wrong after we'd just been remarking how nice it was that people were keeping their music to themselves in Asia. At least it was a very brief interjection. And it wasn't rap or country.

Making Pad Thai in the street, Bangkok

Chris made the comment that he would take trains over buses any day. And so would I. Your bag stays with you (there's a mesh compartment next to the seat/bed to throw even big bags in), I don't get motion sick (at least not as bad), and you can lay flat and sleep, which means no twitchy legs for me. Plus, I can read, knit, or write to my heart's content. Pretty sweet deal. I love night trains.

After that, the compartment attendant was nice enough to come by to us as the only two obvious tourist and show us some printed out suggestions for safety while riding the train. It was very sweet but we weren't at all worried.


Then, a guy passed by again offering us beer (the food salesmen were very persistent and when it wasn't food, it was beer they offered). I guess a lot of tourists drink on these trains. Ironically, Chris had talked about buying a can before we left for the train but I vetoed for me with my tummy on the mend and he didn't want to drink alone.

Music is of utmost importance on the train. I chose my music rather carefully for this trip before I put it on my iPod. It's a small old, an old gift that doesn't hold charge for long, but it's invaluable. I find more and more how valuable it is because my mood and thoughts are so exquisitely susceptible to music. If our travel hits a snag and I pop on the bus in a bad mood, my music goes a long way to fix things. I still have a lot of melancholic or thoughtful music but the more experience I gain in life the more happy music that I love to sing suddenly appears on my playlist.

One of my favorite songs since meeting Chris has been Real Life by Colin Hay (previously of Men At Work fame). It is about staring off at the horizon and waiting for something to happen - his real life to begin. In a sense I suppose a lot of it deals with not being able to be present in the moment. But that's only part of what speaks to me about it. My favorite line goes, I woke up today and suddenly, nothing happened. I connect with it in having felt this absence, waiting for something different. As someone with a massively overdeveloped imagination who has grown up in the Disney era with the influence of far too many movies, I had a hard time ameliorating my sense or understanding of the immense excitement and possibilities life could hold with the reality. Books and movies I always looked at as an escape but really they have served as a rescue. A rescue of what often seemed the mundane.  Because there was always this small voice in the back of my head that said life should be as exciting as all the fantastic books and movies you can think of. We are raised in a world of fantasy and then grow up to be slapped in the face by the logistical confines of reality. Some people, many I'm sure, find their pattern and settle and are happy. All the power to them but I realized very early on that I wasn't ever going to be one of those people.

I think up until recently, I was still looking for that escape or rescue, still looking for my real life to begin. It's only recently that that's started to change for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm still eager as hell to get through residency and be to the point of self sufficiency. But the point is that I'm here. I'm in a place in which I'm taking control of my own circumstances and figuring out what it is I value and appreciate in my life. I'm figuring out what I want my life to be and learning that it isn't static. We spend so much of our childhoods trying to figure out our little piece of the immediate world around us, and now here Chris and I are trying to figure out a little bit of the rest of the world too. And I'm so excited to take account that we are still growing as people. That we always will be. So here I am no longer feeling like I have to wait for anything but taking responsibility for what I want my real life to be. And I now know that that means never settling. I want to move and grow and see what is out there and where I can be of the most help. And I'm so glad to have found this amazing guy who really feels the same way, just maybe came to some of these conclusions a little earlier. For each person, it's something different and I commend everyone out there for finding, knowing, and accepting what works for them. As for me, I am young and on the move and figuring out what works for me, and I hope to continue that progression for the rest of my life.



That was probably longer than it needed to be but my point is that I am incredibly grateful for my life, for where I am today, and to be perpetually moving, literally or figuratively, in the direction of my choice. And of course with a partner who is also hell-bent on never settling. I wish you all your own slice of happiness, and of course, whatever else floats your boat.

Ronald McDonald says Wai

Being on the train, the servicemen were always passing by with food. Didn't seem too appetizing until one bowl appeared to be tomato soup. It was actually a red curry of course but it gave me a real hankering for tomato soup. It got me thinking about food at home, which may seem a little ridiculous when we're surrounded by so much good food here, but inevitably, these things happen. I already have a menu set for my first ever back to red meat day (I allude to it a lot but for those who don't know, I've been a no mammal eater since the beginning of college): McD's sausage mcmuffin for breakfast, Olive Garden zuppa toscana soup for lunch, and extra long cheese coney from Sonic for dinner (I also almost never eat fast food, if you don't count Chipotle). You can tell I only really miss sausage. So in thinking about it, here's the menu for the first day in our new place back in Denver: oatmeal banana blueberry pancakes for breakfast, HUGE salad with a salmon burger patty for lunch, and tomato soup with a chicken sausage and grilled bell pepper sandwich for dinner - plus a glass of Vander Vijier Mellow Yellow. Man my mouth is watering. Oh well, guess I'll just have to deal with all the delicious local food for a few more months. Poor me.

Chris was kind enough to let me have the more spacious, comfortable lower bunk. Meanwhile, he again slept poorly. I woke up a couple times with at least some sense of time based on whether it was still dark out the window. But when I finally woke up, I had the distinct feeling I was being watched. I turned to see we'd stopped at a station and the car on the opposite track was full of people who could see in and watch me sleeping. Creepy.


We had a quasi-breakfast in bed and just hung out reading for the morning. Chris' appointment at the embassy had been for 1:45, the latest available. After the problems the previous night and multiple stops that day, we arrived in Bangkok five hours late- an hour after Chris' appointment time. He wasn't happy. We got him a dunkin donuts coffee - and of course a donut - to try to help alleviate his anger. I opted for a chicken sausage roll, with a couple donuts for dessert.

We caught a cab from the train station. Even though we'd become quite adept at using the bus system, we were quickly running out of daylight. The problem was he dropped us on the other side of Khaosan road, farther from the river, and so we had to walk through a great madness of people with our big bags on. Coming back to Thailand I've said feels great but this time it started to grate on me quickly. We got to our nice quiet area where we'd stayed the last couple times and it was of course full. So we checked a neighboring hostel and settled quickly. 


Afterall, we were only going to be there a little over twelve hours and just needed a bed and a fan. It was a closet type space with rather scuzzy bathrooms but it was still cleaner than the very first place we stayed in Bangkok and was only five bucks (for both of us!).

After getting some business taken care of (arranging the airport shuttle and finding a place with a real dryer for laundry), shopping was the big item for the evening. Chris really wanted to go to a specific fair trade shop but the internet offered varied locations for it and we didn't have enough time. He did find a different one but it was on Khaosan so it was too ritzy for us. We did wander the streets a while. I found tank tops for a little more than a buck a piece (I somehow keep running low on clothes) and Chris found a very suitable hippy cotton shirt. We got our last bits of street food (pad thai for me and roti with banana and nutella for Chris) and replenished our pharmaceutical supplies for Africa. 

Eventually we settled in at our favorite street stall for dinner. We each had a juice and a veggie curry and shared a big Chang beer and thai basil tofu. It was a nice big last meal. I sat there and people watched in all the noise and hub-bub. The area (a street next to the infamous Khaosan actually) just has such a distinctive symphony to it. It starts with a sort of sliding cackle, moving between witches and chickens depending on who's talking around you. Then, there's the punctuation of the scene by the occasional noisy motorbike passing through. In the background, two distinct sounds stand out. One is whatever hip-hop, club-type music someone is playing down the street. The other comes from the native dressed women who stand and demonstrate (often in your face) the wooden block in the shape of a frog played with a stick across its back, adding its own distinctive croak to the scene. 

Khaosan Road, Bangkok

I'd told Chris earlier that I wanted to treat us to a quick massage for our last night. There are parlors and chairs set up all along the street, by no means in short supply. I ended up breaking very nearly even on my baht (thai currency) and so I was going to pass on the massage. I'd had my first real Thai massage as well as a foot massage at Elephant Nature Park. But Chris insisted I should, despite the fact that he didn't want one. So while he wandered and shopped (more thai pants to buy), he treated me to a half hour neck and shoulder massage for 100 baht (a little more than three bucks). Half was really relaxing and half was just an experience. I had painful bruises at the base of my skull and my temples the next day. Regardless, I found it fascinating that I was able to relax with that orchestra of sound I just described. Whatever else we accomplish, I think Chris and I will have become much more capable of tuning out background noises from our travels. Oh, and the guy popped my whole spine on his knee. That was pretty cool.



We got back to the hostel with our last souvenirs and clean clothes around midnight, which quickly became after midnight with packing. We had a brief fitful slumber before getting up around five to catch our shuttle.


The morning in the last bit of darkness was an interesting mix of Thai people beginning to cook and set up food carts on the street, monks coming out for morning alms collection, and tourists coming back in a very loose stagger after drinking all night (including the one who scared the crap out of me while brushing my teeth and the one peeing on a car bumper). These last two were so at odds I pictured them fighting all claymation Celebrity Death Match style. I think the monks would win (as Chris says, they've got Buddha power).



We were early and waited nearly forty minutes for our late shuttle. The driver actually put on a strange, mystical Asian movie for a while to distract the van full of white people from his crazy driving. I kept watching and thinking that statistically, someone like this has to have an accident eventually. I just hope I'm not in the van when it happens.



Check in was easy enough. We'd arrived two and a half hours in advance and it ended up being the first time either of us has ever needed that long. The passport control was a nightmare. We waited in line with people pushing and cutting (I had strong feelings about Russians that day) for an hour and a half. When we first walked to try to find the end of the line, I was incredulous. There was no end! Why stand in a line like that when there's no rollercoaster at the end? Now we can look back and say it wasn't too bad because they'd done away with the airport departure tax Chris had previously had to pay. So we saved money.



After security, we entered into shopping hell. I think we had to walk nearly half a kilometer just to get to the gates. Then one of us had to run back to find water. We should have had plenty of time but while Chris was gone they started boarding. And within ninety seconds, the sign then said final call. Those are strong words for someone like me. Chris made it in time having found water that cost enough to take up nearly all our leftover baht.



We flew on Gulf Air. It wasn't the best flying experience we've had. The food was good but the experience was really tainted by the people. This huge middle eastern guy in front of me was terribly rude to the attendant and put his chair so far back that I had no leg room and had to strain to watch movies on the mini TV. And he smelled terrible! He was on the next flight too but a couple rows up. That time he insisted the attendant stop serving dinner to pull down his overhead luggage so he wouldn't have to get up. I was not impressed. Otherwise, I had a guy grab my elbow to move me out of the way instead of saying excuse me (any language would get the point across!) and the bathroom was either covered in crap or had a pile of paper people thought they weren't allowed to flush. I watched The American, A Solitary Man (utterly creepy but perfect Michael Douglas), and Going the Distance - in bits and pieces.



Our layover was in Bahrain, which I have to admit we were both clueless about. I figured in the middle east but didn't know if it was a city or country (the latter). It is a cluster of islands, a kingdom, and gave women the right to vote in 2002. And it was a big culture shock. The makeup of the passengers on the plane had already been a little different (so few women). But here... there was just so much traditional Muslim dress that I don't know how to classify. 


There were men wearing the white headdresses that make me think of sheiks and women in full burkas (one where you couldn't even see her eyes - that was new for me). We stuck out and it was uncomfortable. I am disappointed to say I found myself contextualizing from my limited American knowledge. And when your knowledge is nil, you start to manifest some of the negative imagery you see in mainstream media. It wasn't intentional or malicious but to be surrounded by such a great and extreme quantity of newness, my first reaction was to be uncomfortable. It didn't help that my normal method of disarming locals is a friendly smile. Usually people reciprocate. This did not appear to be the right approach with Muslim men.



With all this going on, there was also the background worry about Cairo. I think really I was more concerned about our parents than us since we'd just heard that the internet servers were being shut down to cut off protester communication. The biggest concern I had at the time was our airport pick up since I'd only made the reservation through email the night before. If they didn't come, we'd have to try public transpot right through the area where the biggest demonstrations were supposed to be taking place. Well, as you may have previously read, none of that really mattered. But we made it through.


And there it is. The end of our time in Southeast Asia. As always, an incredible experience from which we have grown and for which, we are grateful.


With any luck, I should have the rest up in a week or so, making good use of our downtime and Stephane's computer. I journaled mostly day by day while we were in Africa so it may be a little shorter but loads more pictures.


Good luck again to all our former classmates! We will be thinking of you this week.


With love, good wine, smelly cheese, and the lovely feel of keeping your toothbrush in the same place more than a few days,
Wishing you a happy St Paddy's from France,
Love,
Sara and Chris

Your monkey moment of zen from Angkor Wat