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| I think this says it all. |
Monday, August 27, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
The Roads of Siem Reap
I had a really fabulous trip touring the temples in and around Siem Reap, and virtually all of them by bicycle. I really think that touring by bicycle is the way to see and experience the country if one has the time and the motivation. At least I think that was true for me (in my limited experience).
My itinerary went something like this:
On my first full day I rented a "town" bike (for $1) and rode around the city of Siem Reap. I also took a tuk tuk (that sounds and looks kind of funny) out to Tonle Sap for the requisite boat tour of the floating villages. A couple of other points of interest during that day made for a nice entry.
My third day I took a bike tour out to Beng Mealea, 75 km or so Northeast of Siem Reap (by backroad) at the edge of Phnom Kulen National Park. I was the only one who signed up, so it was just Sum (the guide) and me. Beng Mealea is a 12th-century temple that was rediscovered and excavated from its jungle home in the 1990s, though landmines and lousy roads made it a visit only for the most intrepid until about 5 years ago or so (or so I am told). It's a truly magical experience rambling through the rough ruins of this jungle-encroached temple, especially after a long (hot and sweaty!) bike ride through beautiful countryside.
Day four, another bike tour with Sum; this time one other person signed up, a lovely young woman from Holland (whose partner was in Hospital with Dengue Fever--ouch!). The three of us had a great time touring the temples of Angkor Archaeological Park, starting with the immense and stunning Angkor Wat. There is a really good reason why this temple is represented on the Cambodian flag. We then rode our bikes along a portion of "the great wall of Cambodia" (as Sum would say) that surround Angkor Thom, then a visit to famous and remarkable Bayon, followed by lunch (no crickets or ants today), then the unfinished (tall pyramid temple of) Ta Keo, followed by a ride through the back gate (and a very narrow trail populated largely by folks leaving and going to work at the temples on their motorcycles and bikes) to Ta Prohm, whose majestic trees vie with the structure, and in fact infiltrate it!
My itinerary went something like this:
On my first full day I rented a "town" bike (for $1) and rode around the city of Siem Reap. I also took a tuk tuk (that sounds and looks kind of funny) out to Tonle Sap for the requisite boat tour of the floating villages. A couple of other points of interest during that day made for a nice entry.
My third day I took a bike tour out to Beng Mealea, 75 km or so Northeast of Siem Reap (by backroad) at the edge of Phnom Kulen National Park. I was the only one who signed up, so it was just Sum (the guide) and me. Beng Mealea is a 12th-century temple that was rediscovered and excavated from its jungle home in the 1990s, though landmines and lousy roads made it a visit only for the most intrepid until about 5 years ago or so (or so I am told). It's a truly magical experience rambling through the rough ruins of this jungle-encroached temple, especially after a long (hot and sweaty!) bike ride through beautiful countryside.
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| On the Road to Beng Mealea |
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| Magical "Courtyard" at Beng Mealea |
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| The ruins of Beng Melea |
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| Angkor Wat--the tallest tower |
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| Riding the wall around Angkor Thom |
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| Banyon Face |
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| The Mysterious Ta Prohm! |
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| Lunch! |
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| The seriously steep Ta Keo |
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| Afternoon commute to Ta Prohm |
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Learning to Use a Compass
For my 50 th birthday last year a friend of mine gave me a compass, a really beautiful one encased in wood with inlay. I have kept it on my bedside table for over a year. I haven't actually really used the compass so much for its most fundamental job (navigating). Rather, it reminds me that there is always a way to know which direction I am going. I sometimes forget where I'm going, both in the earthly, material sense (I came downstairs to get something--what was it again?) as well as in the internal or spiritual sense. And I often get lost (just ask my daughter), or lose myself, especially when I'm in a new neighborhood.
I decided to bring a compass on my trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia. Not the beautiful one I received as a gift (it was back home in Meadville, I was leaving from Minneapolis anyway), but a standard camping compass that also had a flashlight (very useful, especially since the small "torch" I bought for my trip didn't work for some reason--I have such trouble with flashlights). I took it because my guidebook recommended a compass as many of the descriptions of the temples I was planning on visiting used North, South, East, and West as guidelines to orient the tourist. For that, it actually was helpful.
It was also helpful to me in navigating roads. Try as I may, I was unable to find a particularly good map of the area. The best I good do was the maps in the Siem Reap tourist guide. These maps had some streets listed, but not many. It turned out that didn't matter so much because I rarely saw street signs anyway. There were a few in the Old Market/tourist section of town, and a few on the other side of the river where I was staying, but really, very few. And once I got out of town on my bike on the way to see a temple, this was especially true. It seemed like there was the main roadway (two lanes largely once out of town), and then there were smaller sometimes paved roads, most mostly gravely dirt roads, many of which wouldn't accomodate a car, or at least not much of one. I loved traveling on these back roads, which I did with Sum on our trips to the temples. I did gain some confidence (or lacked good sense, depending on your point of view!) and rode on some back roads on my last day when I visited the Rolous temples, which were about 15-20 km from Siem Reap. It was longer if you took the back roads, and still longer if you missed your "exit" (i.e., got lost), both of which I did. But I had such fun on those roads, feeling intrepid without really being in any danger (I could always go back the way I came, retrace my steps--I was in no hurry and there just weren't that many roads to get lost on in the end it seemed to me at the time-oh folly!). It was a good example of, as one friend refers to it, "mildly adverse conditions."
Some friends (and a number of strangers for that matter) have wondered at my taking such a trip on my own and riding a bike on strange roads (with no helmet often, sorry dad, just not the culture there). I honestly didn't feel particularly courageous or bold, or even scared or nervous (except that one night when I was on my bike and really not sure if I was heading the right direction, at which point I really didn't have that much time, nor could I retrace my steps since I was returning a different way than I had gone out in the morning). It all felt like I was doing exactly what I needed to be doing, going exactly in the direction I needed to be going, though I wasn't always sure where exactly that was geographically. It seemed, mysteriously even to me, all to be perfectly and easily just as it should.
I know I've posted this quotation before (from the Daily Dharma, Tricycle Magazine), but it bears repeating, and reminding.
I decided to bring a compass on my trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia. Not the beautiful one I received as a gift (it was back home in Meadville, I was leaving from Minneapolis anyway), but a standard camping compass that also had a flashlight (very useful, especially since the small "torch" I bought for my trip didn't work for some reason--I have such trouble with flashlights). I took it because my guidebook recommended a compass as many of the descriptions of the temples I was planning on visiting used North, South, East, and West as guidelines to orient the tourist. For that, it actually was helpful.
It was also helpful to me in navigating roads. Try as I may, I was unable to find a particularly good map of the area. The best I good do was the maps in the Siem Reap tourist guide. These maps had some streets listed, but not many. It turned out that didn't matter so much because I rarely saw street signs anyway. There were a few in the Old Market/tourist section of town, and a few on the other side of the river where I was staying, but really, very few. And once I got out of town on my bike on the way to see a temple, this was especially true. It seemed like there was the main roadway (two lanes largely once out of town), and then there were smaller sometimes paved roads, most mostly gravely dirt roads, many of which wouldn't accomodate a car, or at least not much of one. I loved traveling on these back roads, which I did with Sum on our trips to the temples. I did gain some confidence (or lacked good sense, depending on your point of view!) and rode on some back roads on my last day when I visited the Rolous temples, which were about 15-20 km from Siem Reap. It was longer if you took the back roads, and still longer if you missed your "exit" (i.e., got lost), both of which I did. But I had such fun on those roads, feeling intrepid without really being in any danger (I could always go back the way I came, retrace my steps--I was in no hurry and there just weren't that many roads to get lost on in the end it seemed to me at the time-oh folly!). It was a good example of, as one friend refers to it, "mildly adverse conditions."
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| The road on the way back from Bakong temple. |
I know I've posted this quotation before (from the Daily Dharma, Tricycle Magazine), but it bears repeating, and reminding.
Whatever your difficulties—a devastated heart, financial loss, feeling assaulted by the conflicts around you, or a seemingly hopeless illness—you can always remember that you are free in every moment to set the compass of your heart to your highest intentions. In fact, the two things that you are always free to do—despite your circumstances—are to be present and to be willing to love.
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- Jack Kornfield, "Set the Compass of Your Heart"
Friday, August 10, 2012
It's All About the Food
Anyone who knows me knows that, for me, it's all about the food.
A little tired from five days of biking, I decided to take a day to do not much of anything, which is not that like me, but it seemed like a really good idea to just hang out and write and read and rest, maybe get a Khmer massage. I had a huge leisurely breakfast and then back to my room to relax. It wasn't too long before I started thinking about this blog, actually, and how I wanted to write about how much I love the food here.
It started something like this, with a small complaint at the outset, followed by praise and adoration for the rest of the entry:
I love my tea, and I really kind of need it to get started in the morning--like some people need their coffee. Herbal tea has its place, as does decaf, but I need black tea--English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, English Teatime. I hold a special place in my heart for Earl Grey (sorry you purists). I love English tea (Red Label, Tetley's, PG Tips) largely because they seem to be more full-bodied, bold, and fragrant. My son has pointed out to me that he thinks I have a "problem," and perhaps he's right. I have missed my tea here. It has been surprisingly elusive to find a proper cup of tea. The Green tea is just fine, but to start the day I need a real cup of tea with lemon and sugar or milk (preferably half and half, forget the nonfat stuff) and sugar, or just straight.
That said, I can live without my other familiar and loved foods, namely chocolate. Whatever. I'll get back to you soon enough. The fact is, I am in love with Khmer cuisine. And I have been trying to figure our what the most important staples to try in my short time here. Soups seem to be big and common (see previous post, "Don't Worry" for just how big). I asked about food recommendations from Sum; he obliged (we actually had many meals together if you count the breakfasts that he ate while I drank tea!). I tried lok lak, Khmer curry, fish Amok ( several times) and three dishes I shared with Sum and Lucky on our day out to Banteay Srei. This was my last touring day with them, and Sum was a little more relaxed about things, so he informed me that we would all eat together and share, and so he ordered: morning glory soup with basil, shredded ginger with beef, and some unknown vegetable with egg in a sauce that I couldn't identify. It was almost smokey and bitter tasting, and the texture of the vegetable was somewhere between a melon and okra. While it wasn't my favorite of the three, but when I put some fish sauce and chili on it it was really quite excellent.
Last night I had Cambodian BBQ down the street from me at a resaurant that Sum suggested. There were a few meats that I recognized and a whole bunch that I didn't, but I put a bunch of stuff on my tray and tried to negotiate my table BBQ, which is more like a domed reverse wok in which you put some fat substance on the top which then melts down as your meats/soya cook. They then make their way into the moat which holds noodles and veggies and whatever manner of things you deem important, and it all cooks up into a highly tasty (if somewhat mysterious in my case) stew.
I have also had my fair share of Street food. It's cheap, often fried--what else could one ask? Some might argue that it's not safe, but most of the "restaurants" that I have eaten at here don't have traditional kitchens anyway. Go ahead, take your prophylactic Pepto Bismol and eat your street food!
I love the way interactions around food can bring out what is real in us, even if that is discomfort on a blind date, or joy around a family dinner table (or vice versa). It gives us an opportunity to share in the sacred act of nourishing and caring for our bodies. But it can also be fun and joyous, even educational, as my Khmer cooking class was today. Our cooking instructor was a young 27 year-old Cambodian whose mother died (they lived in a village) when she was six; her father became an alcoholic and died a couple of years later. The children were sent out to different aunts and uncles to become part of their families. Out instructor told the story of how she became one of the chefs at the restaurant. She also said, in rather a cheery demeanor, and honestly, I think, that she didn't know how to cry, she was so young at the time, but that she did know how to cook, and to share her life through her food. And her food through the stories of her life.
Any one who knows me knows that, for me, it's all about the stories.
A little tired from five days of biking, I decided to take a day to do not much of anything, which is not that like me, but it seemed like a really good idea to just hang out and write and read and rest, maybe get a Khmer massage. I had a huge leisurely breakfast and then back to my room to relax. It wasn't too long before I started thinking about this blog, actually, and how I wanted to write about how much I love the food here.
It started something like this, with a small complaint at the outset, followed by praise and adoration for the rest of the entry:
I love my tea, and I really kind of need it to get started in the morning--like some people need their coffee. Herbal tea has its place, as does decaf, but I need black tea--English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, English Teatime. I hold a special place in my heart for Earl Grey (sorry you purists). I love English tea (Red Label, Tetley's, PG Tips) largely because they seem to be more full-bodied, bold, and fragrant. My son has pointed out to me that he thinks I have a "problem," and perhaps he's right. I have missed my tea here. It has been surprisingly elusive to find a proper cup of tea. The Green tea is just fine, but to start the day I need a real cup of tea with lemon and sugar or milk (preferably half and half, forget the nonfat stuff) and sugar, or just straight.
That said, I can live without my other familiar and loved foods, namely chocolate. Whatever. I'll get back to you soon enough. The fact is, I am in love with Khmer cuisine. And I have been trying to figure our what the most important staples to try in my short time here. Soups seem to be big and common (see previous post, "Don't Worry" for just how big). I asked about food recommendations from Sum; he obliged (we actually had many meals together if you count the breakfasts that he ate while I drank tea!). I tried lok lak, Khmer curry, fish Amok ( several times) and three dishes I shared with Sum and Lucky on our day out to Banteay Srei. This was my last touring day with them, and Sum was a little more relaxed about things, so he informed me that we would all eat together and share, and so he ordered: morning glory soup with basil, shredded ginger with beef, and some unknown vegetable with egg in a sauce that I couldn't identify. It was almost smokey and bitter tasting, and the texture of the vegetable was somewhere between a melon and okra. While it wasn't my favorite of the three, but when I put some fish sauce and chili on it it was really quite excellent.
Last night I had Cambodian BBQ down the street from me at a resaurant that Sum suggested. There were a few meats that I recognized and a whole bunch that I didn't, but I put a bunch of stuff on my tray and tried to negotiate my table BBQ, which is more like a domed reverse wok in which you put some fat substance on the top which then melts down as your meats/soya cook. They then make their way into the moat which holds noodles and veggies and whatever manner of things you deem important, and it all cooks up into a highly tasty (if somewhat mysterious in my case) stew.
I have also had my fair share of Street food. It's cheap, often fried--what else could one ask? Some might argue that it's not safe, but most of the "restaurants" that I have eaten at here don't have traditional kitchens anyway. Go ahead, take your prophylactic Pepto Bismol and eat your street food!
I love the way interactions around food can bring out what is real in us, even if that is discomfort on a blind date, or joy around a family dinner table (or vice versa). It gives us an opportunity to share in the sacred act of nourishing and caring for our bodies. But it can also be fun and joyous, even educational, as my Khmer cooking class was today. Our cooking instructor was a young 27 year-old Cambodian whose mother died (they lived in a village) when she was six; her father became an alcoholic and died a couple of years later. The children were sent out to different aunts and uncles to become part of their families. Out instructor told the story of how she became one of the chefs at the restaurant. She also said, in rather a cheery demeanor, and honestly, I think, that she didn't know how to cry, she was so young at the time, but that she did know how to cook, and to share her life through her food. And her food through the stories of her life.
Any one who knows me knows that, for me, it's all about the stories.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Trust Your Guide
As hard it has been for me to trust various guides I've had in my (not so many) travels over the last several decades, so it has been hard for me to trust (for lack of a better phrase) my "inner" guides. On this trip, for whatever reason, I have been much more able and willing to trust my guides. Sometimes I have trusted without a second thought, other times I have come to trust through overcoming doubts or suspicious thoughts, sometimes I have come to trust through experience.
On my first day, the tuk tuk driver I met at the Buddhist Pagoda (seemed to be a trustworthy place to meet a tuk tuk driver!) when we made an arrangement for him to take me to Tonle Sap (see previous post--"Offerings"). Later that night he picked me up to take me to a tourist dinner and traditional Cambodian dance show that he had encouraged me to sign up for. He was a little late in picking me up and he explained (without taking his helmet off) that his grandmother was in the hospital with an injured leg and that he had to come up with a bunch of cash to help pay for it. He then, with some difficult I think, asked me if I could loan him or give him $50. I was in a spot--he seemed genuinely upset, and we had spent the day together and I felt he was a good guy. But it was my first day in town and I had heard so much about corruption, and I had already been duped earlier that day (donate to instead of delivering directly, except for your English lessons of course, to orphanages). And his request probably hit some nerve in me about my own difficulties around money and my clear status as having privilege (which I have trouble dealing with particularly gracefully sometimes). And I also didn't have $50 on me. I resisted him, but he pressed. And I ended up giving him the $20 I had. He insisted that I should call him (he gave me his mobile phone number) and that he would drive me during my stay. We parted. You probably think I'm nuts. But I let it go and went and had a reasonably good dinner in a huge banquet hall and saw some actually pretty interesting dance.
It turns out I didn't take any tuk tuks over the next many days (except in desperation later the next night when I walked quite in the wrong direction and had to succumb to taking a tuk tuk back to my hotel). Then a couple of days ago as I was biking past the Buddhist pagoda where we first met, I saw him--he waved, I waved happily back but kept moving in the flow of traffic. Yesterday I was walking to meet my new Dutch friend for lunch and he saw me walking down the street, turned his tuk tuk around (mid-street in chaotic traffic, as is the way here!) and asked me if he could take me somewhere. I was only going a couple of blocks, but I went with him. He asked me why I hadn't called, and I explained my non-tuk tuk travel. He reminded me to call him whenever I needed him. After lunch when we were walking over to the Old Market area, we saw Rea at the pagoda. My friend needed a ride to the hospital where her partner was with Dengue Fever--so Rea took us there (a long way and often a 3-5$ expense, depending on your bargaining skills), and brought me and a young Israeli couple (another story!) back of course without charge. He reminded me again to call him.
He has been true to his word. I believe I was right to trust in my instincts about Rea. It wasn't without doubts and hesitations, but I clearly need to trust my intuition and to trust in what I think is the basic truth about humans-- that we are all basically good souls, deserving of respect and trust.
On my first day, the tuk tuk driver I met at the Buddhist Pagoda (seemed to be a trustworthy place to meet a tuk tuk driver!) when we made an arrangement for him to take me to Tonle Sap (see previous post--"Offerings"). Later that night he picked me up to take me to a tourist dinner and traditional Cambodian dance show that he had encouraged me to sign up for. He was a little late in picking me up and he explained (without taking his helmet off) that his grandmother was in the hospital with an injured leg and that he had to come up with a bunch of cash to help pay for it. He then, with some difficult I think, asked me if I could loan him or give him $50. I was in a spot--he seemed genuinely upset, and we had spent the day together and I felt he was a good guy. But it was my first day in town and I had heard so much about corruption, and I had already been duped earlier that day (donate to instead of delivering directly, except for your English lessons of course, to orphanages). And his request probably hit some nerve in me about my own difficulties around money and my clear status as having privilege (which I have trouble dealing with particularly gracefully sometimes). And I also didn't have $50 on me. I resisted him, but he pressed. And I ended up giving him the $20 I had. He insisted that I should call him (he gave me his mobile phone number) and that he would drive me during my stay. We parted. You probably think I'm nuts. But I let it go and went and had a reasonably good dinner in a huge banquet hall and saw some actually pretty interesting dance.
It turns out I didn't take any tuk tuks over the next many days (except in desperation later the next night when I walked quite in the wrong direction and had to succumb to taking a tuk tuk back to my hotel). Then a couple of days ago as I was biking past the Buddhist pagoda where we first met, I saw him--he waved, I waved happily back but kept moving in the flow of traffic. Yesterday I was walking to meet my new Dutch friend for lunch and he saw me walking down the street, turned his tuk tuk around (mid-street in chaotic traffic, as is the way here!) and asked me if he could take me somewhere. I was only going a couple of blocks, but I went with him. He asked me why I hadn't called, and I explained my non-tuk tuk travel. He reminded me to call him whenever I needed him. After lunch when we were walking over to the Old Market area, we saw Rea at the pagoda. My friend needed a ride to the hospital where her partner was with Dengue Fever--so Rea took us there (a long way and often a 3-5$ expense, depending on your bargaining skills), and brought me and a young Israeli couple (another story!) back of course without charge. He reminded me again to call him.
He has been true to his word. I believe I was right to trust in my instincts about Rea. It wasn't without doubts and hesitations, but I clearly need to trust my intuition and to trust in what I think is the basic truth about humans-- that we are all basically good souls, deserving of respect and trust.
Are we there yet?
The last five days have been about two things: The Bicycle and The Temple. I came to Siem Reap with a vague idea that I would try to bicycle to whatever temples in the area I could, though I knew some were pretty far from home base, though some also seemed doable. I also read that bikes could be rented easily and cheaply. I was right about both these things. What I had no idea about was how easy or difficult it might be to navigate to these places, or if I would hire a tour guide at some point and for what (as the literature seemed to indicate was common practice). I also knew it was going to be monsoon season and so hot, steamy, sweaty, and wet. So with little sense of what exactly I was going to do, or how, or with whom, or when, I got on a plane for Southeast Asia.
I could not have not planned any better. My first day in town I rented a "town" or "simple" bike (aka a clunker--no gears, some brakes), and while I was exploring the streets near where I am staying I came across a bike touring company (see previous blog). I looked at their offerings, and without really knowing what temple I was going to, or where it was exactly (or even vaguely), or what 75 km converted to mile-wise, I signed up for a tour leaving at 7:00 am the next morning for Beng Mealea.
When I arrived the next morning I was greeted by a very slight, smiling young Cambodian man whose first interaction with me was to offer me a high five. I couldn't remember what the temple destination was, or which direction (perhaps I was still in jet lag mode), though I did figure out the ride was about 50 miles one way--the van would bring us back, happily. I was the only one who signed up for the tour, so off we went, stopping first in what Sum (my trusty bike and tour guide) referred to as a "suburb" of Siem Reap (though I can assure you it looked absolutely nothing like a western-style suburb), and what looked like to me a village market center with "restaurants," medical clinics, food stalls, shops, petrol (sold in l and 2-liter bottles from small stands to the motorcyclists). Sum had breakfast (eggs, beef, and rice and iced tea) and I had tea--green (more on my half-hearted quest for a proper cup of tea in a different blog). We also had a toilet break--"clean toilet" toilet Sum would come to say. This toilet was very clean, and also what I call (and maybe is still called by some?) a Turkish toilet--the kind you squat over, then pour a small bucket of water into to flush it.
The terrain we covered for the next 30 or so kilometers to the half-way mark was wonderful and interesting countryside, and we had the gift of having some cloud cover so the blazing sun was simply hot and steamy. The houses ranged from small and shack-like, to relatively large with actual windows on them (though not often the case on this particular ride). Almost every one was elevated on stilts--I thought because of the water rising and falling, but Sum (who grew up in a village not unlike some of the ones we saw) says it is for storage (for motorbikes and bicycles, for food, and for hammocks). And there were a lot of hammocks. And young kids (it's a school holiday) running after us along the red, gravely dirt path yelling "hello, hello!" and "goodbye, goodbye" always with big smiles on their faces. There were motorcycles carrying all manner of things and passengers, sometimes five people to a 100cc bike, or cargo, including pigs. The pigs were in all likelihood headed to market, and there were sometimes three to the back of a bike on their backs, tied down in submission, though occasionally squealing. It wouldn't go over well with animal activists, but how does a place like this, with an economy that doesn't really support many cars and trucks and which has many more motorcycles and bikes, get to humane treatment of animals?
At the half way point , we have a bottle of water (at least) and Sum smokes a cigarette. He invites me to try the hammock at our rest stop/roadside stand. I do. I get in and I really don't want to get out. I can see how it is we have seen so many people occupying hammocks on our ride. It's comfortable and the heat and humidity require us to do less and do it more slowly. I'm a total convert.
We continue our ride and I continue to find the rice fields and planting and harvesting of rice of interest. I enjoy the stories Sum tells about life in this area as well as his own life (among other things he was a Buddhist monk for 10 years). About 3/4 of the way there the sun has come out in full force. Not a cloud in the sky. I'm feeling a little depleted--it's about 11:00am and I at breakfast at about 6:30 am and I've been pedaling for four hours. I feel the effects of the heat, of hunger, of thirst (though I've been drinking some), and of age. I ask Sum if we can stop at the side of the road, and we do, though he makes a little fun of me, but also admits that sometimes he gets a bit dizzy from the sun and heat (and which is why, he later tells me, he doesn't wear sunglasses). I eat a couple of small bananas, drink some water, feel refreshed and off we go to the temple--the name of which I can't recall. In fact, this whole time, I have no idea really which direction we are headed (the roads we take are dirt, some not passable by car), or (until the half-way point) how far we have gone, or when we might arrive at our destination. And I don't even ask. I'm in no particular hurry. I figure we'll get to where we're going. Which we do.
It's unceremonious in some ways, Beng Mealea is. There's a pretty new looking building (clean bathrooms), and a formal looking gate with a guard, though for what I don't know. We pass through and there are restaurants and shops along this dirt road, as in many places we have passed through that are a bit more populated. (Pictures soon I hope.) The temple itself has barely had the jungle carved off of it, and it is clearly a battle to keep it that way. Not all parts of the temple are particularly passable. Those that are are via some plank walkways, and sometimes just planks. Clearly a hazard in western terms. Sum tells me the story of the temple, its ancient history and its recent history.This temple predates Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom. And it has really only been cleared of landmines in the last five years apparently, though no area is ever 100% cleared it seems.
I am continuously humbled by the suffering experienced by the people in this country, and the way in which the atmosphere is generally one of joy and optimism. I guess that's one reason why I can't stop smiling as we ride by the people smiling at us on the roadside and from their hammocks and homes. I suppose I look a little ridiculous out there on the dirt road on my mountain bike wearing a helmet with my white skin. No matter. In time, we all get to where we are supposed to be, whether we ask impatiently if we are there yet, or simply get absorbed in the journey and forget to ask.
I could not have not planned any better. My first day in town I rented a "town" or "simple" bike (aka a clunker--no gears, some brakes), and while I was exploring the streets near where I am staying I came across a bike touring company (see previous blog). I looked at their offerings, and without really knowing what temple I was going to, or where it was exactly (or even vaguely), or what 75 km converted to mile-wise, I signed up for a tour leaving at 7:00 am the next morning for Beng Mealea.
When I arrived the next morning I was greeted by a very slight, smiling young Cambodian man whose first interaction with me was to offer me a high five. I couldn't remember what the temple destination was, or which direction (perhaps I was still in jet lag mode), though I did figure out the ride was about 50 miles one way--the van would bring us back, happily. I was the only one who signed up for the tour, so off we went, stopping first in what Sum (my trusty bike and tour guide) referred to as a "suburb" of Siem Reap (though I can assure you it looked absolutely nothing like a western-style suburb), and what looked like to me a village market center with "restaurants," medical clinics, food stalls, shops, petrol (sold in l and 2-liter bottles from small stands to the motorcyclists). Sum had breakfast (eggs, beef, and rice and iced tea) and I had tea--green (more on my half-hearted quest for a proper cup of tea in a different blog). We also had a toilet break--"clean toilet" toilet Sum would come to say. This toilet was very clean, and also what I call (and maybe is still called by some?) a Turkish toilet--the kind you squat over, then pour a small bucket of water into to flush it.
The terrain we covered for the next 30 or so kilometers to the half-way mark was wonderful and interesting countryside, and we had the gift of having some cloud cover so the blazing sun was simply hot and steamy. The houses ranged from small and shack-like, to relatively large with actual windows on them (though not often the case on this particular ride). Almost every one was elevated on stilts--I thought because of the water rising and falling, but Sum (who grew up in a village not unlike some of the ones we saw) says it is for storage (for motorbikes and bicycles, for food, and for hammocks). And there were a lot of hammocks. And young kids (it's a school holiday) running after us along the red, gravely dirt path yelling "hello, hello!" and "goodbye, goodbye" always with big smiles on their faces. There were motorcycles carrying all manner of things and passengers, sometimes five people to a 100cc bike, or cargo, including pigs. The pigs were in all likelihood headed to market, and there were sometimes three to the back of a bike on their backs, tied down in submission, though occasionally squealing. It wouldn't go over well with animal activists, but how does a place like this, with an economy that doesn't really support many cars and trucks and which has many more motorcycles and bikes, get to humane treatment of animals?
At the half way point , we have a bottle of water (at least) and Sum smokes a cigarette. He invites me to try the hammock at our rest stop/roadside stand. I do. I get in and I really don't want to get out. I can see how it is we have seen so many people occupying hammocks on our ride. It's comfortable and the heat and humidity require us to do less and do it more slowly. I'm a total convert.
We continue our ride and I continue to find the rice fields and planting and harvesting of rice of interest. I enjoy the stories Sum tells about life in this area as well as his own life (among other things he was a Buddhist monk for 10 years). About 3/4 of the way there the sun has come out in full force. Not a cloud in the sky. I'm feeling a little depleted--it's about 11:00am and I at breakfast at about 6:30 am and I've been pedaling for four hours. I feel the effects of the heat, of hunger, of thirst (though I've been drinking some), and of age. I ask Sum if we can stop at the side of the road, and we do, though he makes a little fun of me, but also admits that sometimes he gets a bit dizzy from the sun and heat (and which is why, he later tells me, he doesn't wear sunglasses). I eat a couple of small bananas, drink some water, feel refreshed and off we go to the temple--the name of which I can't recall. In fact, this whole time, I have no idea really which direction we are headed (the roads we take are dirt, some not passable by car), or (until the half-way point) how far we have gone, or when we might arrive at our destination. And I don't even ask. I'm in no particular hurry. I figure we'll get to where we're going. Which we do.
It's unceremonious in some ways, Beng Mealea is. There's a pretty new looking building (clean bathrooms), and a formal looking gate with a guard, though for what I don't know. We pass through and there are restaurants and shops along this dirt road, as in many places we have passed through that are a bit more populated. (Pictures soon I hope.) The temple itself has barely had the jungle carved off of it, and it is clearly a battle to keep it that way. Not all parts of the temple are particularly passable. Those that are are via some plank walkways, and sometimes just planks. Clearly a hazard in western terms. Sum tells me the story of the temple, its ancient history and its recent history.This temple predates Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom. And it has really only been cleared of landmines in the last five years apparently, though no area is ever 100% cleared it seems.
I am continuously humbled by the suffering experienced by the people in this country, and the way in which the atmosphere is generally one of joy and optimism. I guess that's one reason why I can't stop smiling as we ride by the people smiling at us on the roadside and from their hammocks and homes. I suppose I look a little ridiculous out there on the dirt road on my mountain bike wearing a helmet with my white skin. No matter. In time, we all get to where we are supposed to be, whether we ask impatiently if we are there yet, or simply get absorbed in the journey and forget to ask.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Zen and the Art of Bicycle Riding
Riding a bicycle around Siem Reap, Cambodia is a lot easier than it looks. The streets look chaotic, the crosswalks a vague notion (you see them there but they don't mean anything as far as I can see). There are afew stop lights, and the walk/don't walk signs are hysterical as well as instructive (I'll try and upload my video clip at some point). When green, there is a second countdown on top and a figure of a person walking underneath. As the seconds tick down, the figure moves faster and faster until it looks like it might go into cardiac arrest. Then it goes red. Not that anyone pays attention to any of this. But it is informative since stop lights, as far as I can see, are lowly regarded.
The greatest proportion of vehicles seems to be motos and tuk tuks, a large number of bicycles, and of course cars, trucks, and tour buses. And everyone uses their horn generously, but not hostilely. The honking is more informational than a complaint, as it often is in the States (though I realize sometimes it is informational). Motorcycles, tuk tuks, bicycles, autos-- they all can be found driving down the wrong side of the street when necessary. There are not that many stop lights, and I know there must be stop signs, but I only remember seeing a few on my sojourns. How does this city manage without continual accidents?
Here's my theory (and I'm sticking to it for now and also recognize its limitations so it comes with the usual caveats, but no quid pro quos). This is a city, a county, with a large number of Buddhists. I have commented I think in an earlier blog on how open the people generally are given recent and very difficult history. They actually, despite appearances to the naked Western eye (or at least my eye), drive with a lot of care. I know this because my main form of transportation has been by bike. I have rented a bike everyday since I've been here--either the clunker from the guesthouse I'm staying in for 1$/day, or from Grasshopper Adventures (for the two days of tour I went on with them--see other blog). Bicyclists do not wear helmets (though most of the motorcyclists/tuk tuk drivers do). Riding, as in driving in many cities, is a lot about attitude. And while it at first looks like an aggressive-NYC-get-in-there-and-assert-your-place-on-the-road attiotude might be the best strategy, it really isn't. Everyone drives very mindfully; they watch each other, they yield (though not always discernible to an observer, granted!) carefully, they honk to inform. I have only once felt the negligence of a driver asserting himself inappropriately, and I really felt some fear. Otherwise, I have felt virtually no fear in riding around the city, in the countryside, around the temples, even when sharing narrow, bumpy, nearly impassible roads with buses, trucks, motos, etc.; even when vehicles of all kinds are coming at me from the wrong side of the street, or they cross suddenly in front of me to make that left hand turn.
Riding around here has been one of the most enlightening experiences I've had in all of my driving experiences. And not just in that it is an interesting driving experience (though it is that, too). It is, like most experiences (I sound like a broken record, I know!), a life lesson. It has helped me practice paying attention, taking care. I find that I have a bit of a careless streak in me. When I'm riding my bike here, I get to give that up amongst the masses (and it does often feel that way on the city streets!) of drivers, and join in the humanity of a place long plagued by inhumanity.
The greatest proportion of vehicles seems to be motos and tuk tuks, a large number of bicycles, and of course cars, trucks, and tour buses. And everyone uses their horn generously, but not hostilely. The honking is more informational than a complaint, as it often is in the States (though I realize sometimes it is informational). Motorcycles, tuk tuks, bicycles, autos-- they all can be found driving down the wrong side of the street when necessary. There are not that many stop lights, and I know there must be stop signs, but I only remember seeing a few on my sojourns. How does this city manage without continual accidents?
Here's my theory (and I'm sticking to it for now and also recognize its limitations so it comes with the usual caveats, but no quid pro quos). This is a city, a county, with a large number of Buddhists. I have commented I think in an earlier blog on how open the people generally are given recent and very difficult history. They actually, despite appearances to the naked Western eye (or at least my eye), drive with a lot of care. I know this because my main form of transportation has been by bike. I have rented a bike everyday since I've been here--either the clunker from the guesthouse I'm staying in for 1$/day, or from Grasshopper Adventures (for the two days of tour I went on with them--see other blog). Bicyclists do not wear helmets (though most of the motorcyclists/tuk tuk drivers do). Riding, as in driving in many cities, is a lot about attitude. And while it at first looks like an aggressive-NYC-get-in-there-and-assert-your-place-on-the-road attiotude might be the best strategy, it really isn't. Everyone drives very mindfully; they watch each other, they yield (though not always discernible to an observer, granted!) carefully, they honk to inform. I have only once felt the negligence of a driver asserting himself inappropriately, and I really felt some fear. Otherwise, I have felt virtually no fear in riding around the city, in the countryside, around the temples, even when sharing narrow, bumpy, nearly impassible roads with buses, trucks, motos, etc.; even when vehicles of all kinds are coming at me from the wrong side of the street, or they cross suddenly in front of me to make that left hand turn.
Riding around here has been one of the most enlightening experiences I've had in all of my driving experiences. And not just in that it is an interesting driving experience (though it is that, too). It is, like most experiences (I sound like a broken record, I know!), a life lesson. It has helped me practice paying attention, taking care. I find that I have a bit of a careless streak in me. When I'm riding my bike here, I get to give that up amongst the masses (and it does often feel that way on the city streets!) of drivers, and join in the humanity of a place long plagued by inhumanity.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Offerings
Saturday August 4 was a day of offerings.
My first day in Siem Reap I was somehow led to three different Budduhist monasteries in and around town. And one or two additional shrines (for lack of a better term). The first one I visited in the morning when I was riding on the bike I rented from the Guesthouse. just to get the lay of the land. I really had no idea what the week's itinerary was going to look like. I knew I wanted to see the temples around Angkor Wat; I knew I wanted to bike. So I set out to see where I was and maybe figure out how to do these things. The bike was easy enough to organize. It is quite suitable for riding around the town--it has no gears, and the brakes work more-or-less, but the front break slips regularly on to the tire so as to be constantly breaking, so I am regularly leaning down to un-slip it. No bicyclists wear helmets, though many of the motorcyclists do. And the tuk tuk drivers.
It is hot--weather: high 85, low, 80, humidity 85, chance of precipitation, 60%. That's the forecast everyday.
So I am riding by the river and I spot a Buddhist "pagoda." I consider myself Buddish, plus it's interesting looking so I go in. In a while I'm approached by a tuk tuk driver. This is not unusual (except for the fact that maybe we're in a Buddhist pagoda off the street). It's low season, they are every where and every where I go I'm being offered a tuk tuk. We got to talking, and so I decide, well, yes, I could use a tuk tuk to take me out to Tonle Sap--the very large lake the rises with the rainy season, home to floating villages, among other things. He's kind I think, and, hey, we met at a Buddhist temple; I simply trust. We agree that I will meet him there at 11:30 am (about 2 hours from then). Before leaving, I sit some time in the cool of the temple where there is a large standing Buddha. I make my offering.
On my way back to Mom's Guesthouse (yes, that's really its name), I pass a small Buddhist shrine situated on a traffic island. Several young women are tending it (shoes placed on the curb, traffic zooming by), several others have come to give offerings: money, flowers, birds which they free from cages after sprinkling them with water. Across the street there is another shrine, bigger, under a kind of pagoda. There are musicians and a number of people tending and praying. I go in (shoes off first), make an offering (there is a Cambodia Red Cross box there) and contemplate my loved ones. Some who are struggling with illnesses seen and unseen.
At 11:30 am I meet Rea (the tuk tuk driver) and he takes me Tonle Sap--it's a pretty interesting 45 minute ride out. He asks me if I'm afraid of boat rides. No, I'm not, though I wonder if I should be. Especially when he asks~me two more times. We arrive and he warns me not to buy anything out on the lake. I wonder what I could possibly buy out on a lake. Famous last wonderings! When I get to the boat, I start to understand why he asks. There are multiple boats of various sizes, some with tour groups. I seem to be by myself on a really quite small boat which seems to be run by two 15-year-olds (one is 16, the other 20). There is quite a bit of water in the bottom of the boat. And we are locked in the "dock"by several much bigger boats, several boats deep. I imagine we will back out, but we go forward, pushing our way through two big boats tipping and rocking as we go. I figure they must do this all the time, even as I think we will tip over! I, in fact do tip over. I'm sitting on a wooden chair (one of about 6 or 8) and as the boat rocks as it squeezes through the two bigger boats, my chair flips over. I can't help but laugh because, well we are beyond the boats by the time I get myself up and there's nowhere else to go, so I'm on a boat (as my son would say)! It's an interesting ride with interesting conversation about the nature of the lake its inhabitants. We pass a floating orphanage, and the my boaters give me a spiel about how westerners buy food and deliver to the children. I must look incredulous (I think actually foreigners are encourage to help and volunteer at orphanages but no visit them as tourists), for they assure me this is a good thing to do. The next thing I know they stop at a floating store where I am asked to buy some food for the orphans. The prices are exorbitant (for Cambodia), but I'm fresh off the boat (in so many ways) and so I end up buying something. On our way back, I refuse to go in, but we deliver the food to one of the teachers. Even though I'm sure I was duped on some level, I also felt like the kids got some food, and the store owner got some money--it all goes into the local economy, in sore need. That's the story I tell any way, and I'm sticking to it. In any case, it was another offering. And it was only noon.
After my boat excursion we are on the way back and Rea asks me if I've seen Lotus flowers. No, now that I think of it, not in person. Though I was considering getting a tattoo of a blue lotus because of its symbolism. It is the symbol of the victory of the spirit over the sense, of wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence, the embodiment of the "perfection of wisdom. We stopped by a "field"where they were harvested--the flowers for offerings at Buddhist shrines, the seeds from the pods (after the flowers bloom and die) as a sweet. Rea leans into the edge of the wetlands to get one of these pods for me to try. He is kind and open and I trust him for some reason.
We returned to Siem Reap, I to my bike. On my way back to the guesthouse I took a side street where I came upon on the one side of the street the Peace Cafe (where they have free Khmer lessons on Saturdya and Sunday) and on the other a bicycle touring business--Grasshopper Adventures. It looked intriguing so I went inside and found myself checking out a number of tours around the area and ended up signing up for a 75 km bike trip out to a (more remote) temple of Beng Mealea.
I will show up at 7 am tomorrow at the bike shop to go to place whose name I hardly recall an hour later.
My first day in Siem Reap I was somehow led to three different Budduhist monasteries in and around town. And one or two additional shrines (for lack of a better term). The first one I visited in the morning when I was riding on the bike I rented from the Guesthouse. just to get the lay of the land. I really had no idea what the week's itinerary was going to look like. I knew I wanted to see the temples around Angkor Wat; I knew I wanted to bike. So I set out to see where I was and maybe figure out how to do these things. The bike was easy enough to organize. It is quite suitable for riding around the town--it has no gears, and the brakes work more-or-less, but the front break slips regularly on to the tire so as to be constantly breaking, so I am regularly leaning down to un-slip it. No bicyclists wear helmets, though many of the motorcyclists do. And the tuk tuk drivers.
It is hot--weather: high 85, low, 80, humidity 85, chance of precipitation, 60%. That's the forecast everyday.
So I am riding by the river and I spot a Buddhist "pagoda." I consider myself Buddish, plus it's interesting looking so I go in. In a while I'm approached by a tuk tuk driver. This is not unusual (except for the fact that maybe we're in a Buddhist pagoda off the street). It's low season, they are every where and every where I go I'm being offered a tuk tuk. We got to talking, and so I decide, well, yes, I could use a tuk tuk to take me out to Tonle Sap--the very large lake the rises with the rainy season, home to floating villages, among other things. He's kind I think, and, hey, we met at a Buddhist temple; I simply trust. We agree that I will meet him there at 11:30 am (about 2 hours from then). Before leaving, I sit some time in the cool of the temple where there is a large standing Buddha. I make my offering.
On my way back to Mom's Guesthouse (yes, that's really its name), I pass a small Buddhist shrine situated on a traffic island. Several young women are tending it (shoes placed on the curb, traffic zooming by), several others have come to give offerings: money, flowers, birds which they free from cages after sprinkling them with water. Across the street there is another shrine, bigger, under a kind of pagoda. There are musicians and a number of people tending and praying. I go in (shoes off first), make an offering (there is a Cambodia Red Cross box there) and contemplate my loved ones. Some who are struggling with illnesses seen and unseen.
At 11:30 am I meet Rea (the tuk tuk driver) and he takes me Tonle Sap--it's a pretty interesting 45 minute ride out. He asks me if I'm afraid of boat rides. No, I'm not, though I wonder if I should be. Especially when he asks~me two more times. We arrive and he warns me not to buy anything out on the lake. I wonder what I could possibly buy out on a lake. Famous last wonderings! When I get to the boat, I start to understand why he asks. There are multiple boats of various sizes, some with tour groups. I seem to be by myself on a really quite small boat which seems to be run by two 15-year-olds (one is 16, the other 20). There is quite a bit of water in the bottom of the boat. And we are locked in the "dock"by several much bigger boats, several boats deep. I imagine we will back out, but we go forward, pushing our way through two big boats tipping and rocking as we go. I figure they must do this all the time, even as I think we will tip over! I, in fact do tip over. I'm sitting on a wooden chair (one of about 6 or 8) and as the boat rocks as it squeezes through the two bigger boats, my chair flips over. I can't help but laugh because, well we are beyond the boats by the time I get myself up and there's nowhere else to go, so I'm on a boat (as my son would say)! It's an interesting ride with interesting conversation about the nature of the lake its inhabitants. We pass a floating orphanage, and the my boaters give me a spiel about how westerners buy food and deliver to the children. I must look incredulous (I think actually foreigners are encourage to help and volunteer at orphanages but no visit them as tourists), for they assure me this is a good thing to do. The next thing I know they stop at a floating store where I am asked to buy some food for the orphans. The prices are exorbitant (for Cambodia), but I'm fresh off the boat (in so many ways) and so I end up buying something. On our way back, I refuse to go in, but we deliver the food to one of the teachers. Even though I'm sure I was duped on some level, I also felt like the kids got some food, and the store owner got some money--it all goes into the local economy, in sore need. That's the story I tell any way, and I'm sticking to it. In any case, it was another offering. And it was only noon.
After my boat excursion we are on the way back and Rea asks me if I've seen Lotus flowers. No, now that I think of it, not in person. Though I was considering getting a tattoo of a blue lotus because of its symbolism. It is the symbol of the victory of the spirit over the sense, of wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence, the embodiment of the "perfection of wisdom. We stopped by a "field"where they were harvested--the flowers for offerings at Buddhist shrines, the seeds from the pods (after the flowers bloom and die) as a sweet. Rea leans into the edge of the wetlands to get one of these pods for me to try. He is kind and open and I trust him for some reason.
We returned to Siem Reap, I to my bike. On my way back to the guesthouse I took a side street where I came upon on the one side of the street the Peace Cafe (where they have free Khmer lessons on Saturdya and Sunday) and on the other a bicycle touring business--Grasshopper Adventures. It looked intriguing so I went inside and found myself checking out a number of tours around the area and ended up signing up for a 75 km bike trip out to a (more remote) temple of Beng Mealea.
I will show up at 7 am tomorrow at the bike shop to go to place whose name I hardly recall an hour later.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Don't Worry, Be Happy.
Getting somewhere in Southeast Asia from anywhere in the US is a project, I needn't remind anyone. Mine started with the 12 hour drive from Minneapolis to Detroit. A t\13 hour flight from Detroit to Tokyo, which was simpler than finding the correct Tokyo to Bangkok flight (who knew there were so many leaving at 6:30 pm?), then a 6 or so hour from Tokyo to Bangkok.
At 7:30 am on Friday morning, after a breakfast of boiled rice (which is like rice soup) with pork (I know, I know, I'm a vegetarian), I took a taxi to the Northern Bus station in Bangkok--I was reminded of the last time I was in Thailand (over 20 years ago--I sound like a really old person, I know). I could only chuckle as the taxi driver was driving 130 km/hr in the 80 km/hr zone. And I won't even mention the side streets. I got to the station and walked inside and just happened to come upon the kiosk that was selling tickets to my destination--Aranyaprathet: 250Bhat. I found the bus quay (thanks to my glasses--I first nearly went to quay 21, not quay 121 which was much MUCH closer) and I climbed right on the "first class"bus (which means it had air con). All within five minutes, which was when the bus was leaving. Brilliant! Smooth so far. I'm smiling at my good luck!
We drive for a while, stopping to pick up passengers, to get fuel (a process very slow and not like American pumping at all). At some point I wondered if I am on the right bus, ever so briefly, since it really didn't matter if I were on the wrong bus-it's not like I could get off and have a clue how to reisituate! So I enjoyed the bumpy ride in the back with the slightly smelly toilet nearby. At some point a policeman came on at a stop and invited two women to get off, which they did with hardly a shade do resistance. Meanwhile the guy next to me has gone into the bathroom, to pee I think, but I suspect he's hiding from the police when, after the policeman sees him in there and leaves him, he returns to his seat. What the heck is going on I wonder. Some miles later another official gets on-this one with a more impressive uniform. This time, when my travel partner goes into the bathroom, this guy waits for him to come out. When he does they have some very low key exchange wich I obviously don't understand, and he's invited off the bus. I thought there might be some type of resitance on his part, but no. Just strolled off the bus!
When we at last get to the stop, I' m talking to the other two Westerner's on the bus about sharing a tuk tuk to the boarder. They are taking too long getting their stuff together and the bus driver starts to drive off. I ask him to stop (the international symbol of waving hands!). We get off and in a moment he's driving away...with my bag in the hold. I start laughing and run after the bus knocking on the door as he's driving away, thinking how hard it would be to locate my bag should it leave the parking lot! He doesn't speak Engish and I don't speak Thai but pointing works well enough.
Once at the boarder at Poipet by tuk tuk, which I share with a young newlywed couple from the states-conservative kosher Jews in Cambodia--we walk across the boarder from Thailand to Cambodia. In between there are big and quite fancy hotels and casinos. It's a strange space between these borders. The Cambodian immigration is through a rather dark and dank and dripping room, with little to indicate the usual terseness of the entry process, save for the Camboidan border gaurds, who are VERY terse. It's chaos in this room as dozens of us crowd in (and out of the pouring rain) to make our way to the other side. Once through, we get on a free shuttle bus (not what you might imagine when I say "shuttle bus" I might bet) to the bus station where I get a $9 (it turns out Cambodian ATMs dispense US currency) ticket on the next bus to Siem Reap. A three-hour tour, er, ride. I get the last seat on the bus in the back and I squeeze in between an Italian student (who just got a new tattoo in Bangkok in honor of Buddha day the day before) and a youngish British man. I'm pretty sure I'm easily the oldest person on the bus. Even though Ive had little sleep the last three (or is it four?) nights, I'm wide awake for the next part of this journey, interested in the scenery and the most fascinating life story that is unfolding from my seat mate.
About two hours into the ride the bus pulls over at a restaurant (though it doesn't look as you might imagine when I say "restaurant") for a break--it sounds like he says we''ll be here an hour. Very Cambodian--there's nothing to do but enjoy the rest. I have a beer with my new friend (well, okay half a beer because I'm a cheap date and I want to stay awake through dinner) and have one of the kinds of conversations that happens in such circumstance. For me, it was a chance to practice being open, undefended, and to listen more carefully than I sometimes do. In another two hours we were in Siem Reap. I don't know what I expected, but it is quite the place. Chaotic, busy streets, night life, Buddhist shrines.
I walked to dinner to a local restaurant--Suki Soup. The menu of course is in Cambodian, but they have good pictures so I point to the vegetable soup (they bring you fresh veggies and you cook it in a broth at your table). It looked big in the photo, but when it arrived it was absoluted enormous--dinner for four easily. I couldn't stop from laughing at myself and my situattion, and the waitresses also saw the humor. But I cooked a lot of it and took some back to my room where, it turns out, I have a small fridge! So I had some for lunch.
At the end of the day as I crawled into bed, I found myself giggling at the day's events...and how hard, um, firm, my bed was. I was asleep in minutes. It's hard to worry too much here for some strange reason. But then again, why worry about that? It's easy enough just to be happy!
At 7:30 am on Friday morning, after a breakfast of boiled rice (which is like rice soup) with pork (I know, I know, I'm a vegetarian), I took a taxi to the Northern Bus station in Bangkok--I was reminded of the last time I was in Thailand (over 20 years ago--I sound like a really old person, I know). I could only chuckle as the taxi driver was driving 130 km/hr in the 80 km/hr zone. And I won't even mention the side streets. I got to the station and walked inside and just happened to come upon the kiosk that was selling tickets to my destination--Aranyaprathet: 250Bhat. I found the bus quay (thanks to my glasses--I first nearly went to quay 21, not quay 121 which was much MUCH closer) and I climbed right on the "first class"bus (which means it had air con). All within five minutes, which was when the bus was leaving. Brilliant! Smooth so far. I'm smiling at my good luck!
We drive for a while, stopping to pick up passengers, to get fuel (a process very slow and not like American pumping at all). At some point I wondered if I am on the right bus, ever so briefly, since it really didn't matter if I were on the wrong bus-it's not like I could get off and have a clue how to reisituate! So I enjoyed the bumpy ride in the back with the slightly smelly toilet nearby. At some point a policeman came on at a stop and invited two women to get off, which they did with hardly a shade do resistance. Meanwhile the guy next to me has gone into the bathroom, to pee I think, but I suspect he's hiding from the police when, after the policeman sees him in there and leaves him, he returns to his seat. What the heck is going on I wonder. Some miles later another official gets on-this one with a more impressive uniform. This time, when my travel partner goes into the bathroom, this guy waits for him to come out. When he does they have some very low key exchange wich I obviously don't understand, and he's invited off the bus. I thought there might be some type of resitance on his part, but no. Just strolled off the bus!
When we at last get to the stop, I' m talking to the other two Westerner's on the bus about sharing a tuk tuk to the boarder. They are taking too long getting their stuff together and the bus driver starts to drive off. I ask him to stop (the international symbol of waving hands!). We get off and in a moment he's driving away...with my bag in the hold. I start laughing and run after the bus knocking on the door as he's driving away, thinking how hard it would be to locate my bag should it leave the parking lot! He doesn't speak Engish and I don't speak Thai but pointing works well enough.
Once at the boarder at Poipet by tuk tuk, which I share with a young newlywed couple from the states-conservative kosher Jews in Cambodia--we walk across the boarder from Thailand to Cambodia. In between there are big and quite fancy hotels and casinos. It's a strange space between these borders. The Cambodian immigration is through a rather dark and dank and dripping room, with little to indicate the usual terseness of the entry process, save for the Camboidan border gaurds, who are VERY terse. It's chaos in this room as dozens of us crowd in (and out of the pouring rain) to make our way to the other side. Once through, we get on a free shuttle bus (not what you might imagine when I say "shuttle bus" I might bet) to the bus station where I get a $9 (it turns out Cambodian ATMs dispense US currency) ticket on the next bus to Siem Reap. A three-hour tour, er, ride. I get the last seat on the bus in the back and I squeeze in between an Italian student (who just got a new tattoo in Bangkok in honor of Buddha day the day before) and a youngish British man. I'm pretty sure I'm easily the oldest person on the bus. Even though Ive had little sleep the last three (or is it four?) nights, I'm wide awake for the next part of this journey, interested in the scenery and the most fascinating life story that is unfolding from my seat mate.
About two hours into the ride the bus pulls over at a restaurant (though it doesn't look as you might imagine when I say "restaurant") for a break--it sounds like he says we''ll be here an hour. Very Cambodian--there's nothing to do but enjoy the rest. I have a beer with my new friend (well, okay half a beer because I'm a cheap date and I want to stay awake through dinner) and have one of the kinds of conversations that happens in such circumstance. For me, it was a chance to practice being open, undefended, and to listen more carefully than I sometimes do. In another two hours we were in Siem Reap. I don't know what I expected, but it is quite the place. Chaotic, busy streets, night life, Buddhist shrines.
I walked to dinner to a local restaurant--Suki Soup. The menu of course is in Cambodian, but they have good pictures so I point to the vegetable soup (they bring you fresh veggies and you cook it in a broth at your table). It looked big in the photo, but when it arrived it was absoluted enormous--dinner for four easily. I couldn't stop from laughing at myself and my situattion, and the waitresses also saw the humor. But I cooked a lot of it and took some back to my room where, it turns out, I have a small fridge! So I had some for lunch.
At the end of the day as I crawled into bed, I found myself giggling at the day's events...and how hard, um, firm, my bed was. I was asleep in minutes. It's hard to worry too much here for some strange reason. But then again, why worry about that? It's easy enough just to be happy!
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Right Lane Must Exit
I left Minneapolis this morning after handing off some things for my daughter to Brenda, who will take my daughter in when she comes back to Minneapolis to continue her training. It's such a gift to have generous families who will take an extra body in for a week and a half--especially busy families with complicated lives. So my heartfelt thanks to them. Plus, Brenda has a crazy cool pink convertible VW bug, featured here:
The drive from Minneapolis to Detroit is a long one--nearly twelve hours. Plus I "lost" an hour. And I took a little more time than I usually do when making these long hauls. I had a lovely stop in Madison, Wisconsin for a Nepalese lunch (thanks for the tip Kerry!). And now I'm a little road weary and vibrating from all that time in the car. But I won't be doing any driving (I don't think!) for the next 12 days (except for a bicycle I imagine), so that will be a great thing. And no phone. Also a good thing (for me--I should give it up for Lent!).
I was sad to leave Minneapolis, but I'm excited about my trip. I leave tomorrow afternoon (well, today actually) for Bangkok (via Tokyo), then travel overland to Cambodia. I don't think that I've fully gotten my head around the fact that I'm leaving the country--and not to my usual European destinations--for a trip on my own. I'm really looking forward to seeing what comes of it. It seems like just the thing I need to do right now, which is a good thing...because it turns out, this is what I'm doing.
The drive from Minneapolis to Detroit is a long one--nearly twelve hours. Plus I "lost" an hour. And I took a little more time than I usually do when making these long hauls. I had a lovely stop in Madison, Wisconsin for a Nepalese lunch (thanks for the tip Kerry!). And now I'm a little road weary and vibrating from all that time in the car. But I won't be doing any driving (I don't think!) for the next 12 days (except for a bicycle I imagine), so that will be a great thing. And no phone. Also a good thing (for me--I should give it up for Lent!).
I was sad to leave Minneapolis, but I'm excited about my trip. I leave tomorrow afternoon (well, today actually) for Bangkok (via Tokyo), then travel overland to Cambodia. I don't think that I've fully gotten my head around the fact that I'm leaving the country--and not to my usual European destinations--for a trip on my own. I'm really looking forward to seeing what comes of it. It seems like just the thing I need to do right now, which is a good thing...because it turns out, this is what I'm doing.
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