7/4/07 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia

see my travel map here

First of all, happy g*dd*mn Fourth of July. And [in my very best dubya voice] may God continue to bless America.

so, yeah, it's been quite a while since the last blog entry. a lot has happened in the past 3+ months, and i've been pretty negligent in recording it all -- unfortunately i can't really attribute it to anything much more than laziness. as i've told several people in emails already, it would be different if i had a laptop and could write whenever i felt the urge, but i just can't seem to bring myself to sit in an internet cafe and write for a few hours in addition to catching up on emails, etc. But now, in an effort to compensate for my neglect, i thought the most appropriate thing would be to knock back several stiff drinks at the Foreign Correspondent's Club here in Phnom Penh and then crank out an entry.* Although to be perfectly honest after my hours in the FCC I feel like i should be sitting in front of an old Underwood typewriter...

*Shortly after finishing my 5th Jameson (straight up, cut with a bit of cold water), the waitress came over to see if I wanted another and with a pointedly raised eyebrow informed me that "Now happy hour", the clear unstated meaning being "you rich idiot barang (foreigner), you've been drinking these $4 whiskey's all afternoon, when you could have waited until now and had them for half price (which is still more than i make in a day)." I was intending to switch to beer (cross my heart and hope to die), but all I could do in response was chuckle (after all, guilty as charged) and, after a moment's deliberation, say, "OK, one more."

Highlights, Observations, Rants, etc.

• The Ritz Bali - So when I planned my world trip, one of the few things I knew for certain was that my friend and former housemate at Penn, Jack Tsai, was going to be getting married on Bali at the beginning of April, and I had to be there. It turns out the wedding to be held at the Ritz-Carlton (at various points rated one of the top resorts in the world), and in a fit of grandiosity, I and 2 my friends Emre and Dave decided to rent the most expensive room in the place for our first night's stay, a 3 bedroom villa generously discounted at the special wedding rate. The room was spectacular, but it was honestly worth it alone just for the look on the staff's faces (including that of the guy who was introduced to us as our 'butler') when we three 3 scruffy-looking 20-somethings (2 from having traveled 20+ hours to get there, and me from having been traveling period for the past 10 months) showed up at the front gate and announced we were checking into the 3 bedroom villa. From there we were whisked to the 'villa lobby' (itself situated in the middle of an infinity pool looking out lush gardens and the ocean) and treated immediately like royalty, although while sipping our welcome drink I couldn't help noticing the somewhat puzzled look our hosts tried politely to hide but couldn't quite fully conceal -- we certainly weren't their usual guests. As for us: you couldn't have scoured the silly grins off of our faces with a wire brush...
  After 2.5 months of backpacking around India the opulent luxury of the Ritz (made even to seem even stronger by contrast with the basic hotels I had grown accustomed to staying in) was a very welcome change. Granted, I spent 10x more for one night than the most luxurious place I stayed in India, but given the fact that it was probably 100x nicer (the villa was complete with our on private infinity pool overlooking the sea), it was a bargain. At least that's how I managed to justify it to myself...
• Getting Around Indonesia - I had an absolutely brilliant time in Indonesia, which probably overtook India and Ireland as my favorite travel destination (apparently i have a thing for countries that begin with 'i' - i guess i'll have to move iceland up the list of places to go in the future, since iran, iraq & israel aren't probably the best choices at the moment...). But arguably even better than the beautiful scenery and soooo friendly people was the experience of getting around the country almost exclusively using the same means the locals do. Public transport in Indonesia is an absolute riot: a mix of rides on the back of private motorcycles, 'normal' buses (where teenage something guitarists hop on, sing a song or two, then pass around a hat just about everytime the bus stops), and shared minibuses, called 'bemos'. The latter provided my favorite experiences, the absolute top notch one being a ride down from a town up in the mountains near one of the volcanoes I climbed (which I reached to the previous night riding in the back of full-sized truck with about 20 indonesian men on their way home from work, but that was nothing in comparison). After waiting for 40 minutes or an hour at the appointed spot, during which my local hosts played the age old game of 'take the piss out of the foreigner by teaching him dirty things to say in the local language that he won't understand' (thankfully I've become accostomed to this game and am now usually able to figure out when people are trying to surruptitiously teach me slang words for genitalia), the minibus came flying by and stopped a good ways down the road after I had run out towards it waving both arms. It was already full, and even after my pack had been hoisted and tied to the roof, I wasn't sure how I was going to fit inside. A joke was made that I was supposed to climb onto the roof as well, but I don't think anyone would have seriously objected if I had climbed onto the roof, where a few subsequent passengers ended up riding. Hurtling down the horrific road descending the mountain, we continued to pick up more and more passengers on the way, with me in greater disbelief at every stop (of course the driver was getting paid for each passenger, so it was in his interest to take on as many people as possible). At least two different times I tried twice and failed twice to get a proper headcount, but I swear that at one point there were at least 20 women (including a middle-aged one who spent the first 10-15 minutes of the ride hilariously professing her undying love for me in halting English), 8 men, 10 children, everyone's luggage, 5 bundles of wood, 2 bundles of grass, and a bicycle in, on, or hanging off of a vehicle not much bigger than a normal transport minivan. Think of a clown car packed to the gills with Indonesians ... and me. After giving up my seat (itself a stool next to the door barely a foot wide) so 2 old ladies could sit down, I spent the next 45 minutes hanging out an open door, fighting for a toehold with both the elderly man standing behind me and a 20lb bag of rice (needless to say the bag of rice wasn't giving way, and the old man also held his ground pretty damn well), and desperately praying that we wouldn't roll going around one of the hairpin turns or after hitting one of the crater-sized potholes. Finally, we made it to the bottom and the mass exodus of humanity made it possible to sit normally again, but I'm not likely to forget the ride any time soon.
• The King and Thais - The people of Thailand have a reverence for their monarch that I find extremely surprising in this modern age. Pretty much anywhere in Thailand, pictures and symbols of King Bhumibol are almost never out of your line of sight, despite the fact that he's not exactly what I would call an imposing figure. Frequently pictured with his nerdy glasses and an old school camera around his neck, he strikes a far less than regal picture, although it's a good thing I'm not writing this in Thailand, given the fact that it's a serious crime to insult the king or royal family in any way. Speak to the vast majority of Thais about good old Bhumibol, and he's not referred to as "the king", but rather "my" or "our king." But the kicker came on my 2nd day in Bangkok: a Monday. For some reason I couldn't begin to fathom, at least (and probably significantly more than) half the population was decked out in yellow polo shirts. Baffled, I finally asked a young woman waiting next to me for the above-ground-subway what the deal was with the yellow shirts. After rephrasing my question a few times until she understood, she responded that it was "in honour of our king" and his 80th birthday. I was a little surprised that I hadn't already heard about it being the king's birthday or that celebrations other than the everyone-wear-yellow tribute weren't planned. That is, until she told me that it wasn't his actual birthday, rather this year was simply the 80th anniversary of his birth, and so ever Monday everyone wore yellow in his honour. Not quite sure I had understood properly, what with her limited English (and, to be fair, my nonexisant Thai) and all, I later asked someone else, who not only confirmed the accuracy of her explanation, but added that last year, for Bhumibol's 79th birthday, light blue shirts were the order of the day. In his defence, from the little I've read, in comparison with his modern day contemporaries elsewhere in Asia and the Middle East, he does seem a fairly enlightened monarch: actively promoting democracy and economic and social development. But I'm still curious what the 81st birthday color will turn out to be...
• Seeing My Life Flash Before My Eyes (Literally) - So it's now the rainy season in Cambodia (and at least theoretically in Thailand as well, although there was far less evidence of it there than here), meaning almost every afternoon - and occasionally in the morning - it positively pisses down for at least an hour or two. It seems like I've had especially bad luck (or at least bad timing) with the weather, as during longer bus or boat rides it has often been clear, only to have the sky open up within minutes of getting off. So it came as no real surprise that literally 15 seconds after I walked through Angkor Wat's main gate for the first time, I had to stop to don my raincoat and put on my packcover. Given the downpour, I was going to get wet regardless, so I trudged through the rain toward the main temple, only to see an American girl I had spent a morning rock climbing with in Southern Thailand, and learn from her that the temples were closing for the day. We turned around and headed across the causeway over the moat surrounding the temple when I suddenly found myself on all fours with a strange feeling in my chest and a loud ringing in my ears, recovering from an sudden and incredibly bright flash of light and an equally loud burst of sound. For a split second, I thought I had been struck by lightening, until I realized I was fine and looked over toward Bridgit, who was disoriented but also OK. I then slowly grew aware of the commotion not more than 10 meters in front of us, where 2 people were yelling and violently shaking an unconscious third. I ran up, still a bit out of sorts myself, to see the young woman's eyes rolled slightly back in her head. I tried (without much success) to convince them to lay her flat, and quickly attempted to take her pulse, albeit in my growing panic unsuccessfully. In doing so, I caught a glimpse of the darkened skin around her neckline, which made it seem like a necklace she had been wearing around her neck had burnt up and charred the skin underneath. Horrified, also at the fact that I no longer trusted myself to perform the CPR I had been taught 10 years ago in high school but had never bothered to learn properly, I yelled to Bridgit that I was going to get help, kicked off my sandals, and sprinted full speed down the remainder of the rain-slick causeway. In the parking lot, no one seemed to know how to or be willing to contact doctors or an ambulance, continually referring me to nonexistant police who had already left for the day. With a growing sense of despair, I saw Bridgit walking down the causeway toward me with my sandals in hand. She said that someone there had managed to get in touch with the police, and that doctors were on their way. I returned to retrieve my bag, which I had unconsciously dropped as I approached the girl (and which was thankfully still there, at her feet), and was relieved to see a Spanish girl administering CPR and hear her say what I thought to be "sta respirando" (she's breathing), before walking away after the police arrived and the crowd continued to swell. As I was riding my rented bike back toward Siem Reap, shaken and not a little morose, an ambulance wailed past me - at least 10 or 15 minutes after the lightening strike and far too late to have saved any remaining life the girl had in her. A few days later, I learned through a random acquaintence (a colleague of a friend of the girl, who was a student at a university at Siem Reap) that she had died from the lightening burns, although whether it was instantaneous or only later - and after the lack of immediate action I could have given - I'll probably never know. Apparently she was barefoot and walking through a puddle when the lightening struck only meters in front of me; amazingly only minutes earlier I too had been barefoot, having taken off my sandals for better traction on the slippery paving stones, only to put them on again just before crossing the causeway...

Photos

Next Stops

• The Mekong Delta and then Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, then off to Japan