The Life of a Backpacker

Backpacking is full of highs and lows. So many people always tell me “I’m so jealous- you’re so lucky” and yes I’m fortunate but its not all exotic locations and interesting people. Lot’s of days are spent dirty, exhausted and frustrated. Here is glimpse into that side of my life in the tale of my journey from Dharamsala to Delhi.

After a few days soaking up the calm mountain settings mingling with peaceful Tibetan monks and refugees in the Dalai Lama’s home it was time to be moving on. I bought a ticket for the overnight bus back to Delhi and had been warned that the twelve-hour bus ride was pretty brutal. However, as I boarded the bus and saw it was only half full- leaving me with a seat all to myself- I thought this couldn’t be too bad.

A mere 15 minutes later we made an unexpected stop and the members of a very large, extended Indian family consisting of grandmothers, aunts, uncles and about 7 screaming children boarded, filling up the remaining seats and packing the rest of us in like sardines.

As we came down through the mountains the road resembled a rollercoaster with hairpins turns and steep inclines. It took about 2 hours before the first person got carsick and after he lost his lunch it was like a virus that quickly spread through the bus. Sounds of retching filled the air and one of the sick passengers happened to be the man sitting directly in front of me. Thankfully I was quick enough to close my window just in the nick of time as he bolted for the open air and splattered the side of the bus with vomit. I wasn’t feeling too great myself and the sounds of everybody puking was almost enough to make me join them. Especially the guy in front of me who after a few minutes was joined by his female companion who shoved him aside as they both fought for window space. Our bus driver continued to careen around the turns like a madman completely unfazed by the effect his driving was having on his helpless passengers.

Meanwhile the nice Chinese man sitting next to me has fallen into a coma and has lost all control of his head which keeps slamming into me like a runaway watermelon. No matter what position I wriggled myself into I couldn’t avoid his bobbing melon and even when I physically picked up his head and placed it leaning the other way the man didn’t budge. Eventually I had to give up and having a stranger lying on me all night made sleep impossible.

We crept into Delhi as the sun came up and I was immensely grateful to get off the bus. As I grabbed my pack I notice that one side of my shirt looked all wet and after some pondering it hit me- it was a grease stain from the China man’s excessive use of hair gel. Sleep deprived, hungry and now stained I decided I have two options- laugh or cry. I opt for laughing and fall into such a fit of delirious giggles my rickshaw driver kept giving me sideways glances all the way to my hotel- where if I’m lucky the fan will work, the toilet will have a seat and I won’t have to share my room with a family of cockroaches.

And this, my friends, is only 12 hours out of my 6-month journey.

This- is my life.

Golden Temples and a Lama named Dalai

One of the best things about traveling without a set agenda and on my own is that I can change my plans on a moments notice or at the suggestion of a fellow traveler. Over the last 5 months I’ve seen too many temples to count and wasn’t planning to go out of my way to see another one but it seemed like everybody I had met since arriving in India said that the Golden Temple was a must see- some said it was the best thing they saw in India. So I headed north to Amritsar to see what al the fuss was about.

The Golden Temple is the Sikh’s holiest shrine. Sikhism is a religion derived from Hindu and Muslim practices and around 30,000 people make daily pilgrimages to worship at this temple that is suppose to be made of 750kg of pure gold. It’s located in the center of an artificial lake and stands out like it’s on fire against the plain, white, marble buildings that make up the compound. Before entering the courtyard all visitors must take off their shoes, wash their feet and cover their heads with a scarf. Inside the temple four priests chant in Punjabi from the Sikh holy book and their singing is broadcasted through loudspeakers around the complex day and night.

The Sikh men adore their hair. They wear turbans and grow ZZ Top style beards to go along with their long, white, flowing outfits and often carry long spears or wear sharp knives strapped to their hips. The complex has a huge dormitory area and dining hall where the thousands of pilgrims (and tourists) can sleep and eat for free.

The temple definitely lived up to all the raving and I am really glad I made this detour. It was really interesting to see a place of such active worship but it was also very strange walking around because everybody wanted to take photos with me!?! I felt like a celebrity as whole families lined up beside me to take a “snap”…very strange and not exactly my favorite position on that side of the lens.

Amritsar is only 30km away from Pakistan and I headed up to the boarder one evening to watch the daily closing ceremony. Everyday at dusk hundreds of people gather at the boarder to support their country. The event has gotten so big that stadium seating had been built on both sides so spectators can have a better view. It was sort of a confusing ceremony- some of the highlights included the crowd chanting victory cheers, some random men from the audience twitching away in typical Hindi dancing fashion and the very serious Indian guards- straight-faced in highly starched uniforms- marching with their knees so high they almost hit their chins and then kicked their legs like Michael Jackson at each other. The finale is when each country lowers their flag just before the sun goes down. It’s amazing because the crowd gets even more rowdy at this point and all I kept wondering was how do they do this every single day of the year!!!

After Amritsar I headed to McLeod Ganj to check out the Dalai Lama’s home. McLeod Ganj reminded me a lot of Nepal and that included the weather. It rained nonstop, low clouds hid all the mountain views and Tibetan monks made up most of the population. Unfortunately the Dalai Lama was up north so I didn’t get to hear him speak but it was nice walking around his residence that is filled with temples and prayer flags.

The best and worst part of McLeod Ganj was all the tourists. Next to Tibetan refugees tourists make up the bulk of the population. It seems like westerners come here to “find themselves” and that means learning to meditate and taking up yoga. However, having so many tourists around also meant real Italian food!!! I can’t begin to explain the sheer pleasure of eating something that actually tastes like you expect it to and to top it off my favorite restaurant in town, Nick’s, served a proper warm chocolate brownie topped with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce! I thought I died and gone to heaven! It’s amazing how the simple things from back home can make me so happy after being on the road for so long.

Holy Cow!!!

I think the first thing I noticed about India was the smell. Varanasi was my port of entry after leaving Nepal and the stench of too many people living too close together was overwhelming. The mixture of rotting garbage, human waste and cow pies- suffocating. Men urinate where and whenever they have the urge and as I tried to navigate the small alleyways I had to tiptoe around mounds of steaming feces left by the city’s many roaming cows. And the holy cows are everywhere!! They are found anywhere a human is and it seems like their favorite place to nap is in the middle of a busy intersection completely oblivious to the parade of traffic struggling to carefully go around them.

When I managed to get “use to” the stench- and I use that term loosely because you never really get use to a smell like that- it just becomes a little less surprising- I was able to see why so many people are lured to this holy city.

The main attraction here is the Ganges River. Life revolves around this long, dirty, holy river and is worshiped by Hindus who believe in its healing powers. Everyday people come to bathe, wash clothes and bless themselves in the putrid water. Sadhus- holy men with long Medusa style dreadlocks and matching beards- walk in packs along the river holding long three pronged spears and stop at the many scattered temples to accept offerings and worship Shiva. Mamas in bright saris carry babies with kohl-lined eyes as little boys practice flips off the side of the concrete steps that form the river’s bank. It’s a place of nonstop commotion and nonstop devotion. Thousands of Indians come to Varanasi hoping the river will wash away their sins and send little paper boats- filled with a burning candle and flower petals- floating down the river with hopes of bringing their family good luck.

There are several “Burning Ghats” along the river where the dead are taken to be cremated. I happened to be staying at a hotel along the funeral route and on many occasions watched the funeral processions march by. They chant prayers while carrying the corpse- swathed in silk cloth and fake flowers- and each male family member carries a log to fuel the funeral pyre. I was expecting something more gruesome at the burning ghats. I had visions of a heap of dead bodies all thrown together but it was actually quite nice- as far as funerals go. Each deceased person is dipped in the river three times then the wood is used to build a small square hut around the body before it is set on fire. The ghat runs 24 hours a day and over 300 people are cremated here daily. The ashes are then thrown into the river securing the deceased person’s soul a path to heaven.

After a few days in Varanasi I boarded my first of many Indian trains headed to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Being a novice to the train system I had been mislead and was waiting at the wrong platform. I realized my mistake just as the correct train started rolling away, made a mad dash for the right platform and tried to leap onto the moving train with all my luggage- which weights about 60 pounds. I got one foot on when the weight of my pack started to pull me back towards the platform. So now I’m hanging half on half off to the train while my Chilean traveling companion is running behind me trying to push me on and board himself. Thankfully 3 Indian men came to my rescue and dragged me on to the train. I dissolved into a heap of bags and fell into a fit of giggles that lasted the rest of the journey.

We rolled into Agra bright and early the following morning and just in time to see all the men come out to the tracks for their morning poo. There must have been around 50 men squatting next to the tracks in the not so high grass doing their business for all the world to see and sadly not one of them was carrying a roll of toilet paper…

Agra is a pretty nondescript town without much appeal or lure except of course to go see the Taj. Seeing the mausoleum was a very surreal experience. It seemed like a mirage, like a photo and even walking barefoot around the cool, white, marble courtyard and tracing my fingers along the many flowered carvings it was hard to believe I was actually there. I’ve never been so affected by a building before and I’m not sure if I ever will be again. Breathtaking is an understatement.

Next it was off to Delhi and I was greeted by the worst exhaust and pollution I have ever experienced. My body reacted promptly to the world’s most populated city by turning my throat into a sore, scratchy mess leaving me without any motivation to go and see any of the sights. Plus, my preferred mode of transportation in cities are my own two legs but the mob of vehicles, people and garbage make a leisurely stroll impossible. The one time I did take an auto rickshaw I was fearing for my life as my driver- a 16-year-old boy with three chin hairs- kept taking his eyes off the road to tell me he’s a good driver and I should pay him more as he drove like a madman narrowly missing people, cows and trucks that could have turned our little 3-wheeled vehicle into a tin can upon impact.

Before coming to India I was felling very apprehensive. I had heard so many horror stories from other travelers who all seem to think that a blonde woman traveling on her own in India was a very bad idea. Most of their concerns stemmed from the typical, sex-starved, aggressive Indian male. Their concerns turned out to be not too far fetched as I’ve found the men here to be the most disgusting creatures I have ever encountered. Every single time I leave the sanctuary of my hotel room and brave the busy streets I have to stare straight ahead and pretend not to notice all the leering, lustful glances pointed at me like I was Pamela Anderson in a thong while really wearing oversized pants and baggy tee-shirts. Staring back at the men only provokes them and encourages their rude comments. However, it could be worse because I haven’t been groped yet like many women I have talked to. But what’s really mind boggling is trying to figure out how a country where women are seen as second-class citizen and nothing but baby makers recently elected their first woman president!?!

Despite the unwelcome advances and pollution I’m finding India the most interesting country I have ever visited. The people, colors and just the manic speed of their lives is exhilarating. It’s been complete madness but I’ve got to be honest I kind of love it.

My Soggy Safari

My luck with the weather finally ran out. I had been skirting around Asia’s monsoon season all through Southeast Asia but the rains finally caught up with me here in Nepal and most forcefully while visiting Royal Chitwan National Park where I was on a 3-day safari.Our canoe ride down the Rapti river was a complete washout. Buckets of rain poured down on me and four Chinese tourists who were wiggling around so much in our already unsteady vessel I thought our dugout canoe was definitely going to go bottoms up- And although I decided to take a little dip into the Nile last year in Uganda, we had seen a crocodile in this river on the previous day and I was not interested in another close encounter.

Our “jungle walk” was more like a jungle swim sloshing through shin deep water in elephant grass that stood 6 feet tall and was swarming with leeches. The highlight of the walk was seeing some Rhino poo-which was extremely exciting as you can imagine. Did you know Rhino’s relieve themselves in the same exact spot and that they drop about 20 kilos every time they have to go! Anyway, we then trudged over to an elephant-breeding center and used cookies to entice a sweet baby elephant to join us cuckoo tourists out in the pouring rain so we could feed him.

My favorite part of the safari was definitely the afternoon elephant ride through the actual national park. The rains eased up enough to make it an enjoyable ride through some pretty intense jungle. It was really amazing watching our elephant “work” as it cleared small trees from the path with ease. We found a sleeping rhino under the brush and our guide steered the elephant directly towards it in order to flush it out into the field for a better view. Being at a safe vantage point from on top of the elephant we were able to get very close to the big male rhino who seemed kind of annoyed we woke him up and soon stormed off, in a full sprint, in the opposite direction. I was really hoping we would spot a tiger on the safari but alas the illusive Bengal remained hidden- we did see some deer, birds and wild boar- but I’m pretty sure the tiger would have been a little more exciting.

Although my safari ended up being sort of a bust the little town of Chitwan was an exceptional place and I really enjoyed just hanging out with the local Tharu’s. I spent some time taking photos of the young boys who were fishing and swimming in the crocodile infested river and befriended some of the teenage girls who proudly showed me their homes made of dirt and cow dung. It’s hard to explain but the town had a very special feeling to it. Women would sift through dried corn on the street as men would ride by in horse drawn wooden carts and at the same time an elephant would come walking down the small dirt street without anyone batting an eyelash. The rains might have kept the animals hidden but discovering the people who live among them was well worth the trip.

Nepal

The journey from Vietnam to Katmandu, Nepal was quite a whirlwind. I spent three days traveling through four countries (Vietnam, Thailand, Bangladesh, Nepal)- was up and down in airplanes 5 times and went through 8 different custom checkpoints! But I arrived safe and sound in an environment completely different than Southeast Asia. Walking the streets of Katmandu is a sensory overload- the new sights, smells and sounds was as overwhelming as it was exciting.

The streets of Thamel, the section of the city where I was staying, are tiny, muddy mazes overflowing with people, miniature taxis and men try to pedal their 3-wheeled rickshaws through the chaos. There are tiny wooden storefronts painted with Coca-cola or Pepsi logos, spice sellers guarding their colorful mounds of powder and shops filled with trekking equipment and scarves made of cashmere or yak wool.

Women shop and mingle through the streets dressed in lavish sari’s all the colors of the rainbow- standing out like rays of sunshine- against the brown dirty streets. Teenage boys in Brittney Spears tee shirts- from back when she was still beautiful- try to look tough flirting with girls walking by and bright-eyed schoolgirls, in pig tails tied up with ribbons and tiny studs in their noses, giggle excitedly at the chance to practice their English on a westerner.

Wandering through the city I would occasionally encounter a “Holy Man” dressed in a bright orange robe who would trap me, chanted something over my head while holding a yellow carnation then smudged a red dot on my forehead for good luck before proceeding to demand a hefty donation. I’m not one to shun somebody who wants to give me some good luck but I had to start refusing these men who for some reason only want to give their “good luck” to tourists with seemingly big pockets.

Walking through the many temples in Durbar Square was a great afternoon as I admired the intricate designs of the chiseled wooden facades and blushed at the explicit karma sutra depictions that were everywhere. There are also numerous Buddhist stupas to visit all over the city. The white temples are decorated with the all seeing blue eyes of Buddha looking out over Katmandu from all four corners of the temple and they are dripping in technicolor prayer flags that look like spider webs crisscrossing through the courtyards sky. The air is filled with chanting streaming through the open windows of nearby Tibetan Monasteries where little boy monks pray and clank away on instruments creating a wonderful spiritual ruckus.

I really enjoyed the Nepali people. They are warm, friendly and don’t try to rip you off too bad. But the best part of their culture was seeing the men just as busy as the women. While traveling through east Africa last year I was totally disgusted by the bulk of the men because of how idle they were and how it was the women who bore the burden of all the work. But here in Nepal there was no job too small or frivilous for the men. They sold fruit on the sides of the tiny streets, gave other men a clean shave on the sidewalk and the small sherpas, bowlegged and bulging with leg muscles, would carry anything from couches to refrigerators on their backs!

Before arriving in Nepal I only had one thing on my adgenda- to see Mt. Everest. I wasn’t into doing any kind off long trek to the base camp or anything, I just wanted to see the darn thing! The plan was to take a nice relaxing 1 hour mountain flight over the Himilayas. However, after talking to a bunch of other travelers and doing some research I became enthralled with the idea of reaching base camp and experiencing at least a tiny bit of what so many people have suffered through before me. Unfortunately my timing in Nepal couldn’t have been worse. I arrived at the height of their monsoon season and all flights to Lukla, the small mountain town where you begin the trek, were cancelled. I waited for over a week, went back and forth to the airport several times and finally had to give up my hopes for reaching base camp. Sadly, the miserable weather even grounded the mountain flights so I couldn’t go back to my original plan. It was a pretty big let down coming all the way to Nepal and not getting to at least see Everest. I’m a pretty stubborn person and if I say I’m going to do something there is very little that can stop me. The monsoon may have won this time but Nepal is a place I would have liked to come back to anyway- now I only have more of an incentive.

The Sa Pa Life and Dog For Dinner

Reaching Vietnam’s northern mountain town of Sa Pa was like taking a much need breath of fresh air- literally. No more of Hanoi’s exhaust and pollution- just clean mountain air surrounded by a place of immaculate beauty. I had originally planned on only staying for 3 days in lovely Sa Pa and ended up lingering for 8 soaking up the relaxing life of the hill tribes.

My days were filled with wonderfully strenuous hikes through the most stunning countryside I have seen in Southeast Asia. I loved watching the small tribal boys, that couldn’t have been more than 9-years-old, herd enormous water buffalo around their land- the massive beasts obeying their tiny masters dutifully. Or observing the women, knee deep in mud, working the rice paddies flooded in golden sunlight. Each day I would stumbling upon breathtaking views, as I got lost on several occasions, looking for remote villages to explore and I couldn’t help but to stare at the tiny, old, wrinkled ladies carrying impossibly heavy loads on their backs up the steep trails, slick with red clay.

Visiting the town’s popular street market was a routine excursion and always entertaining. Livestock would be herded down the main street while the women try to sell their handmade goods decorated with colorful, intricate designs.

There are around 8 different tribes that reside in the mountains surrounding Sa Pa. I became closest with women from the H-Mong tribe. Women from this tribe wear huge, heavy necklaces, several large hoop earrings in each ear and they wrap their waist length hair around their heads- wearing it like a crown. Most marry at the age of fifteen and many have one or two children in tow before they reach twenty. Their arms and hands are generally stained indigo from dying their handmade clothes- something that looked almost like a uniform because everyone wore the same exact thing- and they are tiny! For the first time in my life I felt tall- like a giant actually- walking next to these fiercely strong, little women who barely reached the shoulders of my 5’3” frame.

One wonderful afternoon I befriended a pint-sized girl from the this tribe who took me to her home a mere 8 miles away. 10-year-old Maya walked with ease, never once slowed down or took a break and carried a basket on her back that had to have weighed about 20 pounds. When we reached her home- a wooden shack nested into a cluster of bamboo trees with a million dollar view- I couldn’t wait to sit down and rest my weary legs while she proceeded to race around the house cooking me lunch!

I found it terribly interesting that these hill tribes don’t consider themselves Vietnamese. Being so secluded and holding on so strongly to their rather ancient ways and traditions, I would have to agree- they were definitely different than the Vietnamese I had encountered in the rest of the country. They were a lot more welcoming, a lot more friendly and although they would hassle me to buy things from them- “no” actually worked as an answer and it wasn’t held against me. But what was most surprising was that these people who look so traditional, so primitive-like they haven’t changed in the last 100 years- spoke English very well!!

In addition to my daily wanderings it was incredibly gratifying to sleep in an environment where I wasn’t covered in sweat as I tried to get a good nights rest. Curling up beneath a cozy comforter was something, at the time, I didn’t realize how much I missed. It rained almost daily for an hour or two usually in the morning washing away all my guilt as I slept in late trying to recover from my strenuous journey though the rest of the country.

Anyway, it became sort of a joke among myself and a few people I had been traveling with when we saw something strange or unusual- we would laugh and say that you really see something new everyday… well here in Sa Pa I was out for one of my daily walks and watched a man put a skinned dog into a big pot of water- presumably their dinner. I had heard about the Vietnamese’s strange culinary tastes but I also heard dog has been off the menu for some time now. I almost vomited on the spot and began a fearful account of every meat dish I had eaten in Sa Pa- praying that this house wasn’t supplying the local restaurants with their special meat. I try really hard not to judge these different cultures I come in contact with but seriously- EEEEUUUWWWW!!!! No Fido fillets for me please!

It was so nice to end my time in Vietnam in the town of Sa Pa. Everyday, walking through such breathtaking scenery and among these peaceful people was an invigorating experience. I am always so amazed- well more like impressed- when I come across people who have the modern world knocking on their door and they refuse to answer. They appear perfectly content to live the way their great grandmothers did and although through our eyes they appear primitive I can’t help but feel a little envious of their undying pride.

Vietnam- Mekong to Hanoi

The three weeks I spent traveling from Vietnam’s Mekong Delta to Hanoi was, to put it mildly, a very trying time. At first glance Vietnam appears to be a country easy to travel through. A large part of their economy is based on tourism and they are very big into organized outings offering loads of cheap tours to the most popular destinations. Buses run, amazingly, on time and stop at the best places along the long, skinny country. However, it was incredible how difficult it was to communicate with these people who deal with foreigners on a daily basis. Simple questions, like “What time does my bus leave?” were met by blank stares at so-called tourist information booths and even exaggerated hand gestures, like pretending to shovel food into my mouth when I was looking for a restaurant, only produced more confused faces. I guess the fact that only about 20% of Vietnamese get an education has something to do with this but Vietnam is the seventh country I have visited so far on this trip and it has definitely been the most difficult and disappointing.

Besides the impossible language barrier I was also very saddened by the bulk of people I met. Every single day I had to fight for a decent price on a bottle of water and every time I made a purchase I had to carefully count my change which more than 90% of the time was wrong- the person always trying to short change me. Once a restaurant even tried to charge me extra for the napkin I used even though this mysterious charge was not listed on the menu. All these little petty extra fees left me with a bad taste in my mouth. As a tourist you are already paying at least three times the local price but it’s still really cheap on our standards so you don’t mind paying- but when they are constantly trying to take more and more, even if it’s just a few cents, it makes you feel so used, so targeted, like your really being taken advantage of. The blatant exploitation of tourists was really irritating and unfortunately left me a little disheartened about the country as a whole.

Ok- now that I’ve vented about the things that made me want to pull my hair out- it would be unfair to say that my whole experience here was abysmal. There were many wonderful, special experiences- pockets of the beauty I was expecting to see- that helped lift my spirits.

For instance, I really enjoyed getting a glimpse into the daily lives of the people who live on the Mekong Delta’s floating markets. Boat owners serve as middlemen between farmers and consumers on the river and these markets are the main way farmers sell their crops. It is extremely cost effective for farmers to transport their goods by water and by selling on the river they avoiding paying a hefty government tax land vendors have to pay. Generations of families are raised on these boats that putter up and down the massive river bartering vegetables and fruit. When children are grown and marry they move off of the family boat, buy their own and the process starts all over again. The long wooden boats are adorned with laundry hanging from clotheslines and children napping in hammocks that sway like cradles on the gently rocking vessels.

While visiting Ho Chi Minh- or as the locals still refer to it, Saigon, I felt morally obligated to visit the historic war museum which left me feeling worse than learning about the atrocities that occurred in Cambodia. This was probably because the horrors on display were a direct result of our country. I know both sides committed disgusting and horrible acts during the war and both countries suffered greatly. However, I was horrified seeing the effects of our use of napalm and Agent Orange- it seems so much more inhumane, so much more evil to attack the environment and use chemical warfare than just our standard, deadly bombs and guns. There are people still being affected by Agent Orange today and parts of their environment still haven’t fully recovered from our aggressive attacks.

Coming up the coast Mui Ne’s wonderfully barren sand dunes and fishing villages with tiny basket boats kept my camera happy and a few days exploring the superb lakes, waterfalls and evergreens of the cool mountain town, Dalat, was a welcome change to the sweltering coast.

Hoi An has a sublime beach dotted with palm trees and it was easy falling into pace with the mellow old town ambiance. The old town’s colorful buildings are swarming with tailors that will make anything and everything for you at a ridiculously low cost. I was ecstatic at the thought of having a dress handmade for me and what should have been a fun experience turned out disastrous. A pounding headache and four alterations later I ended up with a very risky looking number that I will probably only wear if I decide to dress as a hoochie Asian girl for Halloween!!! YIKES!

Exploring the many caves and temples of the Marble Mountains was an unforgettable afternoon and appreciating the captivating limestone formations during a relaxing boat ride up the Ngo Dong river in Tam Coc helped me forget the everyday annoyances I was facing- at least for a little while.

When I finally arrived in Hanoi it felt like I had just finished a very long race and I was extremely thankful that I would not have to endure another sleepless night on a hot, crowded, bumpy overnight bus. I’m not much of a city girl and most of the time I don’t have much an opinion about cities- I can really take them or leave them. The one thing that really struck me here in Hanoi was how strange it was to see whole streets dedicated to one type of store. There was a street for just sunglasses, one of only clothing shops, another of spices… it seems like a bad business move considering every single store is selling the same exact thing. It would seem to make more sense spreading them out throughout the city but I had to stop asking “why” about things along time ago. Also, Hanoi has to be the winner of the busiest sidewalk award. One of my pet peeves about Southeast Asia on a whole is that walking on the sidewalks in these incredibly busy cities is virtually impossible. Motorbikes and vendors take up every inch of the sidewalk forcing pedestrians to fend for themselves in the streets among the thick traffic as a symphony of horns blare at you like you have any other choice about where you can walk.

It is not like me to be so negative about a place in general and I’ve been trying to look at my experience here with a more positive attitude. I am also taking into account that some of my frustrations were due to a terrible bout of homesickness that snuck up on me- but sadly the people I interact with are what makes or breaks an experience for me. Despite my everyday annoyances I have a great deal of respect for the Vietnamese. I am full of admiration and a little confusion at how a country full of such unpretentious people were able to force out the French, Chinese and good ol’ USA from their beloved land. Obviously they are a wonderfully resilient people and amazingly forgiving. My parents were concerned that I might be met with some hostility while traveling here- the war something they still remember with clarity- but not one person seemed even remotely put off by my birthplace. It seems that they are perfectly happy leaving the past just where it is-history.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Cambodia’s capital, Phnom Penh, was a city full of incredible highs and disturbing lows. The lows came from learning all about the genocide Cambodians faced in the 1970’s. A communist party called the Khmer Rouge killed thousands of people in attempt to turn Cambodia into a peasant-dominated country. Anyone suspected of having an education, spoke a different language or in some cases just wore glasses was slaughtered. Visiting the well-known prison S-21 and the killing fields was an educational but horrible day. The goose bumps and sick feeling in my stomach was as real as the hundreds of faces, mug shots, of the prisoners that were brutally tortured and murdered at S-21. It was sickening seeing photos of the tortured prisoners, lying dead or dying on the prison’s checkered floor, and then standing on that same floor as in the photo.

The killing fields were just as awful with it’s shrine to the victims made up of over 8000 skulls and seeing bits of tattered clothing and pieces of bones poking out of the dirt paths that lead to you the sites of the mass graves. A sign telling visitors “Killing tree against which executioners beat children” made the whole experience almost too much to take. Approximately 17,000 men, women and children were executed here.
I can’t begin to understand the mindset of people who could do that to another human being. How does a person or a group of people get to that point? Almost 2 million Cambodians died between 1975-1979.

On a brighter note I had one of my most inspiring and wonderful days on this trip visiting Phnom Penh’s Lighthouse Orphanage. To say I was greeted warmly would be a terrible understatement because from the moment I got to the orphanage I had a child glued to my side, clinging to my hand, eager to show me around. About 40 children ranging in ages from 18 months to 17-years-old call this place home. They spend their days going to school at the compound and playing volleyball or futbal in the courtyard. They sleep in tiny twin bunk beds, usually 3-4 children per bed and are each responsible for scrubbing their clothing clean using buckets and water from an old pump well.

On Sundays visitors are invited to come and play with the children. The older kids get all dolled up in make-up and costumes and perform traditional Cambodian dances while the younger ones gather around wildly clapping and smiling from ear-to-ear at the performance. The way these kids smile, laugh and play you would think they are the luckiest people in the world. They were so sweet and friendly that the second you sat down you had a child crawling onto your lap. It’s so amazing to see happiness in such a raw form. In reality they have very little to be happy about and yet their joy was so strong it was contagious.

Angkor Wat, Cambodia

I left Bangkok in a comfy air-conditioned bus headed to Siem Reap Cambodia- a 14-hour bus ride. 14 hours in a bus is a pretty daunting experience but due to the relative comfort and even movies playing on the TV I didn’t think I would be too miserable. However, as I crossed the Thailand/Cambodia boarder I thought I had been teleported back to Africa. Suddenly we were transferred from our “luxury” bus and piled onto a stuffy, old rickety bus cover in dust. On the Thailand side of the boarder the road was paved, buildings built properly- a relatively modern place. In contrast to the Cambodia side where the stores are made of scraps of wood and metal and the road became an endless stretch of potholes, pools of mud and loose dirt. Crossing the boarder was like crossing into a different world- suddenly all sense of order was lost.

It was really exciting to be back in such a rustic place. Most of the Asia I had seen thus far was very modern (excluding my little Indo rainforest jaunt). Here the local homes became wooden huts built on stilts with beautiful brown-skinned babies playing in the red dirt that is their front yard. They would stop briefly from constructing mud pies to wave at our bus, full of white faces staring out, as we crawled by. And crawling we were- the journey on the Cambodian side was brutal. Every time a car, truck or bus passed our pokey vehicle a storm of red dirt would come pouring into our open windows. And closing the windows was not an option because there was no AC or fan to stir the thick air and cool off our bodies crammed into this bus from hell.

The land here is extremely flat and rice paddies stretch across the landscape for as far as you can see. As the sun went down and it’s purple light turned to black hundreds of blue florescent lights were came on illuminating the side of our treacherous road. I thought they might be for the drivers but was then informed that they were actually cricket catchers- roasted cricket is a popular snack among Cambodians- as well as tarantulas, beetles and snails. At the bus stops women carrying trays full of cooked tarantulas try and hustle their snack sold by the kilo. You could buy yourself a very filling kilo for about 25 cents- Tempting- but surprisingly I declined.

We crept into Siem Reap late at night and again I was shocked having come from a completely rural environment to the towering 5 star hotels that were suddenly my view. I can’t imagine coming to Cambodia, an immensely poor country, and spend $1200 a night on a hotel room… my room cost $4 per night.

Siem Reap is a major tourist destination because of all the ancient temples that surround the small town. I spent an exhausting day wandering through some of the favorites; Angkor Wat, Bayon, Preah Kahn… trying to imagine what life was like when people actually lived in these amazing stone palaces. It’s incredible that people are still allowed to explore these temples because many of them are crumbling pretty badly. In many places the jungle has simply taken over the temple, reclaiming its territory, as massive trees and roots grow directly out of the ruins. However, the heaps of fallen rocks and debris definitely added to the whole Indiana Jones ambiance. I kept imagining some tribal guys jumping out from one of the many dark corridors taking me into a secret room beneath the temple lit by torches and ripping my still beating heart out of my chest! Ummm not really- but it was still fun to imagine.

I’m not sure how people spend several days at the temples. After 2 or 3 different ruins they all started looking the same to me and in 90+ degree weather I couldn’t imagine doing more than what I did. Ironically, my favorite part of the day ended up not even being at a temple. I found a small village near one of the temples where all the monks live and hung out with them trying to piece together Buddhism from their broken English. Kind, humble and very welcoming- their village is only a stones throw away from the popular Bayon temple and yet they said tourists rarely ever come to talk with them. I think people sometimes feel intimidated by monks. Like I said in Thailand they seem so pure, so other-worldly but in reality most of them are just kind young men who want to be monks for a few years and then leave and get married. They even asked if I had a boyfriend!?! Behind the saffron robes, pious existence and shaved heads they are still just men…

Thailand- Phuket and Ko Phi Phi

Phuket was my first Thailand destination after leaving Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and it turned out to be a crash course to all the craziness Thailand has to offer. Ladyboys, bar girls, gross old farangs (westerners) hunting the saucy Thai girls…madness. The beaches were a huge disappointment lined with tourists lounging, not on the nice sand, but in beach chairs that occupy every inch of the beach… and you couldn’t walk more than 2 steps without someone harassing you into buying a souvenir priced about 3 times what it should have cost.
I had been warned that Phuket wasn’t the place for Thai culture but it was still amusing going out at night and watching all the revolting lewdness. I can’t remember a time when I laughed harder as I watched the sweaty old men try to pick up the beautiful bar girls and was speechless at how stunning most of the Ladyboys (transvestites) were. All I kept thinking was how bad I felt for the men on holiday- looking for a little fun- because some of these boys had had the full operation and are very, very convincing as women. You would all be shocked!

Two days was more than enough of Phuket and I hopped on the ferry out to Ko Phi Phi, the island where the movie “The Beach” was filmed, in search of the paradise portrayed in the movie. Phi Phi did not disappoint. Crystal clear water, white sand beaches and practically no one else around. I got to go diving at two world-class sites and saw tons of gorgeous coral, schools of tropical fish, moray eels, barracuda and even a sea turtle.

The nightlife was really fun here too with brilliant fire shows every night and crazy, reckless dancing on the beach- a result of lots of Chang beer… very good times. Needless to say I didn’t want to leave and what was suppose to be 3 quick days turned suddenly into an 8 day jaunt before I had to drag myself onto the ferry back to the main land.

Railay beach was my next stop where I spent the next couple of days doing some extreme rock climbing and kayaking around the gorgeous limestone rock formations that line the coast.

Then off to Bangkok to take in some of the sites including a giant, golden reclining Buddha, getting hopelessly lost in one of their swanky malls (where I couldn’t afford anything) and taking a little adventure to a traditional floating market.

It was here in Bangkok where I got my first glimpse of Buddhist monks and couldn’t help but stare at the peaceful men in bright orange robes as they went about their daily lives. Every morning at like 6AM they walk the streets and people bring them gifts, offerings that they tuck into a pouch under their robes, and then hurry back to their temples. Seeing these men, so content, so at ease, walking barefoot through all the madness that is Bangkok was such a beautiful thing. They seem so other worldly- like they are on a higher plane of existence- like they know the secret to happiness. Simplicity? Maybe…