CAMBODIA
My first week in Cambodia has been like a figurative 10-blade to the heart. I began my usual sightseeing with a visit to the Choeung Ek Killing Fields Memorial—one of the more than 300 found throughout the country where Cambodians were delivered by truck in the middle of the night, blindfolded, brutally beaten to death, then thrown into pits to rot amongst a pile of other bodies. I followed that up with the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, which was formally a prison for those that were eventually taken to the killing fields. Shortly after that, I watched The Killing Fields, a documentary that depicts the story of this period through the eyes of an American journalist. By the end of this day, I was left gutted with tears of compassion while also feeling incredibly bothered by my oblivion, shocked by the history, devastated by the tragedy and moved by the resilience of the Cambodian people. 

VIETNAM
I decided to skip northern Vietnam this time and set route to Phnom Penh via slow boat on the Mekong Delta (that blog will be posted soon). However, just before the final leg of the three-day trek I read about Phú Quốc, a nearby island and actually the largest in Vietnam. It is well-known for its beautiful, sandy beaches, fresh seafood, fish sauce (made from anchovies), unique black pepper and most recently, pearls. So before I could say groper, I found myself embarking into the Gulf of Thailand on yet another new, spontaneous adventure (3hr bus/2hr boat for $18).

Whilst on the journey I met a family from Poland and we chatted the entire way. They asked if I was traveling alone and gave forth high praise for the guts, but I just thought, you’re traveling with two young children through Southeast Asia…that’s respect. I also introduced them to my newfound travel obsession, the National Geographic Travel Guide (http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/city-guides/). Due to its history, culture, religion and etiquette coverage, as well as the details of a true off-the-grid experiences, its like the North Star in the galaxy to all other guide books. 

Finally the boat docks and all I can think is, MASSAGE ON THE BEACH. I’ve yet to get back rub here in the land of $5/hr massages but after five weeks, I finally feel like I’ve earned it. Alas, like every country in Southeast Asia, as soon as you depart the boat/bus/train/taxi/tuktuk/minivan, there are always a dozen or more local motorbike men that swarm the exiting passengers like mosquitos hoping you’ll choose them to take you to your next destination. Little do they know, I like the quiet guy in the back who calmly waits for me to inhale/exhale, grab my bag and take a sip of water (or beer) before making my next move. He’s hard to notice, but he’s always there, and I always choose him.

So Yó, my new motorbike friend, and I set off north for the Mushroom Guesthouse ($6/night) in Duonng Dong, the main hustle and bustle hub for tourists right in the center of the island. During the drive, I noticed the freshly paved roads, fancy new airport and a wide variety of restaurants and bars with style and flair, but surprisingly this island is not as touristy or popular as I thought it would be. It’s fast growing, but still developing in a lot of ways.Yó very kindly offered to rent me his family’s motorbike for “cheap cheap” and I had a tinge of excitement at the notion, but mostly a flames of fear. 

Why, you ask? Let me tell you something about Southeast Asian motorbikes: They are literally everywhere—we’re talking for every one person in Vietnam, there are three scooters…thats 27,000,000 choppers! Locals pile them full, three or four at a time and/or carry objects that should never be logically transported by a moped (e.g.: TV screens, mattresses, window frames, etc). With thousands of these little revving machines on the road at the same time piling up like mobile rubbish on city street corners, you’d think there must be injuries and accidents abound. But no. The only people I’ve seen with a motorbike injury are tourists, hobbling around Asia like hospital patients—bandaged from elbow to wrist, thigh to angle, head to toe. Forget malaria pills! We need motorlaria prevention! This observation is the main reason I’ve been hesitant to rent a scooter. We’ve neither had the nature nor the nurture to handle this kind of motorbike exposure in such strong doses. 

However, I found peace in the tranquility of this island almost instantaneously and concluded that this would be a perfect place to learn how to roll around on motorbike. After all, the literal translation of Phú Quốc means "prosperous country"—how could I not prosper at whatever it is I set my mind to? 

So, I turned to Yó and said with attitude, “Yó, teach me how to scooty.” 

With warranted apprehension, he rambled out a few incomprehensible driving tips, handed over the keys and set me free. Seconds later, I ran into a building. 


Try, try again they say. After two days, I managed to circumnavigate the island (50km/31mi) in bits and pieces, however I did nearly run over a human and maul over an entire vegetable display, as well as passionately crashing face first into two different, incredibly overbearing mud ponds. Let's be real, who has ever prospered without a little failure along the way? I think it’s safe to say I am ready for more scooty in my life, but would never suggest anyone to be my passenger just yet.

As for Phú Quốc, it’s been a leisurely, lively break from the rest of my go-go destinations. I made a new lifelong friend, played limbo with locals, ate my first Discus (fish) and sipped down my first cup of snake/scorpion/seahorse vodka (good for your health, says Mama & Papa). 

Next stop: Phnom Pen. For real this time. 

The research below is meant to rid myself of an unnecessary phobic response to cockroaches so that next time I find a cockroach crawling on me in my top-bunk dorm bed, I won’t shriek and leap off to my near death. I learned this method from a new friend from England (thank you, Laura), but have adapted it. She said she cured her fear of spiders by imitating Steve Irwin--state the scene, describe the critter and chronicle the peaceful removal of the spider from said spot of discomfort. To both our shock and awe, it worked! So, if you're like me and find yourself cringing, leaping, running or screaming at the site of any cockroach, I welcome you to join me while I mix detailed research, comforting knowledge and an exuberant Aussie accent to forever banish our cockroach creeps.

What is so scary about a cockroach anyway? Yes, they’re creepy looking pests, but more specifically, they are the most primitive winged insects still with us. They are modern day ancestors for bloody sake! They prefer warm conditions, which is why they can be found within buildings, but can survive better than cavemen in freezing temps. They’re mainly nocturnal (except for the Asian cockroach, which seems to prefer [reading] light[s in hostels]). The spines on their legs help in locomotion on difficult terrain (actually their legs have inspired robotic legs). They leave behind chemical trails in their feces, as well as emit airborne pheromones for swarming and mating (nothing a Lysol wipe can't fix). Female cockroaches may produce up to 300 to 400 offspring in a lifetime and development from eggs to adults takes apps 3-4 months. Males have been known to live for up to four years. They are often heard hissing or chirping (these sounds have regional additions and variations for mating purposes). 

Cockroaches are omnivorous (except for a few wood-eating species) and breath through the tracheae. They can remain capably active for over a month without food, but still need only very limited resources (eg. glue form postage stamps) and can go without air for over 45 minutes. Drowning them would be ineffective. They can survive even after being decapitated. They are radiant resistant…it is popularly suggested that cockroaches would inherit the earth if humanity destroys itself in a nuclear war. Cockroaches are linked to allergic reactions in humans, but nothing more dangerous than that. In fact, ethnic tribes in Southern China near the Vietnam border use cockroaches to treat ailments and energies (such as burns, heart disease, hepatitis, trauma, etc). Hm, maybe I’ll get myself some cockroach balm while I’m here. Even more, in the 1870s, many New Orleans folk had strong faith in a remedy of boiled cockroach tea (and kids, you can even try that at home). 

Point is, cockroaches are bloody cool. I'd guess, if a transformer were a bug, it’d probably be a cockroach.  

Right now I’m staring at a Japanese man that looks like a Thai celebrity (I only know that because someone told me). He’s gazing at a pensive Italian girl with wonderment. Meanwhile, I’m sandwiched between a napping Aussie and a South African bru that I think is playing footsie with me, but I can’t be sure. The sound of the slow boat motor is revving so loud, I can barely hear the jokes he might be shouting. I’ve grown fond of the sweat dripping down my back and neck at all times as it distracts me from the awkward smells of these Southeast Asian countries. Right now it’s the faint smell of tuna from a snoozing Canadian’s soggy, half-eaten sandwich. There’s a small window open about 12-feet way and outside, I can see glimpses of the Mekong River, followed by luscious green forest that seems to never end. I wish I could see more, but they overbooked our boat and our tour group was behind (beyond our control). Actually, we were informed upon arrival that the boat was oversold and we could either convince another crew to take us or somehow cram ourselves inside. We chose the latter. So here we sit, lay, stand and maneuver amongst each other in the back cargo room, with the backpacks and a slew of other worldly travelers, interspersed with a few local Laotian families. With 8-hours of floating ahead of us, we occupy ourselves with books, music, sleep or curious observation. I can't help but amused in my own thoughts of how I got here...

After nearly six days in Chiang Mai, I was feeling restless. I knew I should probably follow the masses and go to Pai, a popular tourist town just a short bus ride away, but for some unidentified reason, that direction was not tugging on my heart strings. Before I really had time to contemplate, I found myself on a mini-bus to Luang Prabang (capital of Laos) via a package deal, which involved a three day bus and slow boat ride down the Mekong River. 

DAY #1: Pleased with this spontaneous choice, I sat myself at the very back of the van like the cool kid I am and became instant buddies with the cute fellow next to me. We spent the next six hours bolstering our love of travel and seriously discussing our qualms with humanity's inability to recognize the importance of wildlife conservation, which perked up the other ten passengers for random bits of time. It was a pleasant bus ride, but I'm not sure any of us knew how well we were about to get to know each other. Our first pit stop was in Chiang Rai (Northern Thailand) to see Wat Rong Khun (The White Temple), which looks like it came down from heaven, but was touched by hell. It has to be the most beautifully intricate Buddhist temple in Thailand (out of 33,000, not bad). It’s magical, yet morbid. It has an all-white exterior (representing Buddha's purity), a mirrored trimming (symbolizing self-reflection) and a bridge (dare I say dragon sleigh?) to the entrance, which crosses over a sea of arms reaching out for help from the fiery depths of hell. It features skulls, demon heads and pop-cultural figures from the underworld, which apparently represent omens of what is to come. Inside, the temple moves from pristine to bewildering. Murals depict swirling orange flames and demon faces, interspersed with Western idols such as Michael Jackson, Neo from The Matrix, Freddy Kruger and a T-800 series Terminator. More depictions of nuclear warfare, terrorist attacks and oil pumps hammer home the destructive impact that humans have had on earth. After awhile, you get the point: humanity is undeniably wicked. 

On that realistic low note from heaven (or hell), we got back in the bus and continued on to Chiang Khong, a village just shy of the border where people stay the night before entering Laos. Of course, what should have been a night of rest and recharge became a night of wild, bonding debauchery at a place called Hub Pub, owned by Alan Bate, a boisterous English bloke that, get this, was the world record holder for fastest time to circumnavigate the world by bicycle in 2012 (106 days, 10hrs, 33 mins). Needless to say, it was a fabulous riot. The bar was full of backpackers from around the globe, all getting beautifully ripped by who? Yours truly! Why, you ask? Because at some point, Alan, his wife (celebrating her birthday) and their Dutch bartender got too drunk to choose to function so somehow I wound up behind the bar serving drinks until the wee hours. 

DAY #2: The sleeping Aussie has been replaced by a snoring German with a man bun. I've concluded the South African is definitely playing footsie with me. Everyone looks damp and hungover, except for the English girl in the corner swigging on her own bottle of Hong Kong rum. I can't help but grimace and it's my own fault. It's Halloween day, but due to our hangovers, that seems to phase no one. My butt is sore from every angle, but as uncomfortable as I’ve made everything sound, I’m still amused. My mind, body and senses are intrigued, stimulated and constantly seeking more of this breath of new, sometimes stinky air. Unwavering and content, a local Laos woman sits calmly by the small window, watching her country pass her by. I crave to see it. However, even though I am missing the outside, I feel the inside is just as much a part of this experience. Efficient travel and living (almost too much) within their means is a consistent feature of these cultures. I met a guy from Belgium who has been cycling this region for over two years since his girlfriend committed suicide. He said nothing seemed to make sense anymore so he just started pedaling. He said people here need less, want less and are demanded of less. That’s why the suicide and depression rate is so much lower. Powerful point of view from a broken Belgium man on a bicycle. 

We finally came to our place of rest for the evening…PakBang, a small Laos village along the Mekong jungle mountainside and were bombarded by business hungry locals hoping to recruit as many bedless travelers as they could for one night only. Within fifteen minutes, I was in a truck, at a guest house and drinking a cold Beerlao for just 300 baht. Could have gone cheaper, but for just $9, I had wi-fi, air con and toilet paper. What more could a girl need? We wandered over to the nearest restaurant with a cookie cutter menu, but the owner guaranteed it was, “Same same, but better.” He also claimed to have shot the buffalo in Laos with his own bow & arrow. Little did he know, he had us at the free banana whisky shots, which he made himself, of course. 


DAY #3: We arrive to the slow boat JUST in time to catch a seat in the front…literally, the last seats. Phew. After an entire day watching my fellow travelers sweat it out, now I’m ready to watch indigenous folk in their natural habitat. And oh, how culturally spectacular it is. The muddy-watered Mekong flows between voluptuous mountains, heart-stopping karsts and vibrant green, complicated rainforests gushing out the sides. I keep having jungle like urges to leap of this boat and find a way inside, but the reality is, that’s just not possible. Unless you’re an Avatar. I’ll work on it. I’m desperately keen to absorb some literary history as we float, but my LP (Lonely Planet) is never here when I need it…it's typically stuffed in the depths of Sebastian (my trusty backpack) who is busy having an orgy fest with all the other backpacks on board, like a chump. This is the final push of the voyage to Luang Prabang, which consists of another 8-hour slow boat float. Not sure what to expect upon arrival, but so far, Laos is taking my breath away. 

After 33 hours of travel, my arrival to Bangkok was nothing short of a spectacular relief. Insanely dressed in a (culturally appropriate) floor length skirt and long sleeve shirt, I was dripping sweat before leaving the terminal. I sailed through immigration after receiving a free 30-day visa stamp for Thailand (note: entering by land only grants a 15-day visa). I'd booked a bed at Bodega Bangkok from Hostelworld.com (highly recommend this site if you like to book ahead of time) and was determined to get there via the cheapest route possible. This meant AirTran (FREE) to Subway (27 baht, roughly .83 cents) and a long walk through some hectic Bangkok sois (streets).

Upon arrival, I instantly met a professional jump-roper from Baltimore (Note to self: check out CirqueDream). She had been (diarrhea) sick for two entire weeks (even hospitalized for five days) and invited me out for her first meal since it all began. What did she choose? WAFFLES. Did I come all this way to the culinary capital of the world to eat waffles?! I don't think so. I did join her though. And then broke away to wander where I discovered my overall opinion of Bangkok is average mainly because nothing really appealed to me at that moment in time. But then again, cities usually never appeal to me. I realized I've had this vision of Southeast Asia for a long time, and Bangkok is SO far from that image that I could not shake it. 

Considering Bangkok is home to over 8 million people (comparable to NYC), the streets are overcrowded with (hazardous) food carts, maniacal motorbike drivers, vendor tents with all the same various goods and bundles of (mostly empty) tuk-tuks. The sidewalks are hardly manageable for pedestrians to walk on and amidst all this chaos are the gnarliest smells that only rats should know about. What a way to kill an appetite. But contrary to my novice nose, everyone eats the next-to-nothing-but-oh-so-delicious street food. Apparently, many Thai families don't even have kitchens in their homes. So I get it. They are trying to feed their people...all 8 million of them + the nearly 30 million tourists that pass through their city on an annual basis. I just feel like they could be a little more innovative with their set up. I know I sound like a diva, but it's a logistical nightmare--there is garbage, grease and gasoline fumes everywhere. Where is the government involvement in all of this? MUST RESEARCH. I definitely like that it seems to be run by the people, but they appear to have no sanitation or safety guidelines or concerns. 

But then there is night time. And this is when Bangkok sparkles. All the grime disappears, the lights come on and it feels like a less energy sucking Las Vegas. I went out to dinner with new friends (from America, Scotland, New Zealand & Sweden) and ate my first Thai meal--squid & rice & fried egg + Shanghai beer (100 baht / $3). It was divine. We proceeded to play our own version of King's Cup, Bangkok style (see rules below) and recruit a slew of other worldly comrades, all of us buzzing with energy from around the globe, brought together through our love of travel and adventure. This, I recalled, is the backpacker's life. You're never alone, you're never bored and you're always absorbing some form of culture just by putting yourself in a new place. It's spectacularly stimulating. 

King's Cup, Bangkok Style
Ace: Bust a move
2: Fuck you
3: Fuck me
4: Whores
5: Drive & Sing
6: Dicks
7: Heaven
8: Pick a date
9: Bust a Rhyme
10: Never Have I Ever
Jack: Make a Rule
Queen: Question Master
King: Jam Session (sing-along-song)

*Next day: Overnight train ticket, tuk-tuk to the Grand Palace, Buddah.
*Next stop: Chiang Mai 

Saying goodbye has never been one of my specialties. I generally avoid it like tiny, harmless spiders and if faced with it, run away faster than I do from my next karaoke performance…with humanity in mind, of course. Short term residency makes this kind of detachment a slight bit easier than saying goodbye to Jackson, Wyo. It’s been my home for more than five years. I’ve made some of the best friends of my life here--watched them come, and go, and come back again, and go again. This place, and a lot of the people in it, have a natural magnet for human beauty that support the nomad, adopt the dweller and enjoy the ephemeral. Although I am one of those people that supports, adopts and enjoys, I also passed the threshold of letting it go with emotional ease. With only four days left before I depart on my Southeast Asia journey, my heart keeps getting waves of warmth full of beautiful sentiment & nostalgic memories, followed by uncontrollable sappy tears that have yet to reach their full potential. 

However, the resolve of all this is appreciation and love--for a place, it's people and an irreplaceable and life-changing experience I've had. A new, refreshing friend wrote me a poem (dare I say, lyric?) the other day that’s fitting for my current life status in so many ways. It reminds me who I have been here, and how I have lived and interacted with the people I have met. We embrace the moment so, dare I say, epically. We showcase ourselves with such genuine ease and explosion. Our intake and release of experience proves unique and wonderful time and time again. We make memories that change us so subtly, but so powerfully that the the thought of forgetting them, let alone leaving a place where they happen so frequently is incredibly heart tweaking. Now, for the little ditty that describes so many of us Jackson folk:

Impressive little ember and your bright sharp stealthy sparks
You strive to be the ender in wars of witty remarks
A memory is a moment whose secrets have been revealed 
Then it fades slowly, and the truth of it again…concealed