Well this is an interesting place. As I've mentioned, we happen to be in Cambodia during the tourism low season. As a result, Otres Beach feels like a ghost town. We check in to our beachside resort to find that we are only two of perhaps four or five guests. It's sleepy around here, also because mostly everyone we meet is stoned. The perpetual haze of weed and stormy weather makes Otres a little creepy but also fun. People who flock here are typically in no hurry to leave, or do anything at all for that matter. Most of the bartenders are fellow travelers who decided to settle for a while. They like the chilled out vibe, and it's an easy place to live where nobody really expects much action. Evenings are spent in a flurry of alcohol and weed, and the mornings only differ in the sense that most people are nursing hangovers or comedowns.
Like anything, we enter the orbit of this place and quickly find ourselves entertaining the same debaucherous whims from our homes in California. We eat big meals and laze around to excess, even renting a private living room where we watch an entire season of Game of Thrones from midnight to 10am. This is not the sort of thing I expected to do at any point in my travels, but we rolled with it full tilt and it felt absurdly good. Being in that sort of coastal resort area, it seems that people flock here to indulge. There just isn't much else to do other than read, eat, and sleep, especially during the rainy season. So why fight it? We befriend the various kittens and dogs running around the resorts here and at Koh Rong, just living easy before our Vietnam road trip!
As I approach the end of Cambodia, I search back for any things I may have forgotten or am unable to put in order. Here are some tangentials and retrospectives:
Cambodia has many beggars, much like India. I watch as a man with crippled legs moves along on his arms, each hand holding a plastic flip-flop as he tries to sell necklaces to uninterested tourists (myself included). These are some of the harder things to see. You want to help, but also any money given is just a temporary solution. I dislike how insensitive I feel about it. I've learned to ignore the beggars like the tuktuk drivers. This feeling of turning off part of your empathy circuits is disheartening, but I don't know what to do about it.
Another example would be with the two boys who escorted us down some stairs near the killing caves in Cambodia. They simply walk with you and ask for a donation. When you don't offer anything they will drop an occasional, "Only if you feel like it!" However, this low pressure tactic is quickly abandoned when we head back up the steps. The boys start to pout and block our path, even turning surly. At this point we can hardly even do the sightseeing we came for, so we move on to the next spot. And meanwhile the parents just encourage the kids to do this. They don't need to go to school because the prospect of even a single donation is more alluring than education. They don't need to be literate as long as tourists give in to their pressure. Someone is teaching them, surely, but I can't imagine the parents know any better. They probably did the same as children and they're passing the torch to theirs. And the awful thing is that an education doesn't guarantee you a better life here. Or anywhere for that matter. There are no such guarantees, but at least it would give a kid some options.
But this was just one example of many. At another point I was pulled over by a policeman while riding a moto in Sihanouk Ville. He told me that I can't ride without mirrors and I need an international driver's license, but if I pay the ten dollar fine it's okay to go. I told him that I'll just return the bike (with his permission) because the owner who didn't add mirrors is at fault. He lowered the "fine" to five dollars and but insisted that I pay because I am in the wrong. I politely argue with him for ten minutes before succumbing to paying. It wasn't worth the chance of them taking the bike if they wanted, but of course they know that. It's really easy to get money this way, but I wonder why the police do this or why a government would allow it. Things like this really turned me off to Cambodia, but this place still has its redeeming qualities. Just not enough to ever want to come back.
It's kind of a funny thing when you feel the boredom set in. In the moment you feel trapped or stuck, craving something new but with no idea how to achieve it. Unfortunately these are also the moments that leave you feeling uninspired and bleak. Even books start to lose their appeal when you enter this slump. My desire to write about anything at all plummets. My mind goes numb and I enter the endless race of insipid, selfish, and fruitless thoughts. Each time we go to a new place we roll the dice, but you never know what you'll find stimulating next. Or something so overwhelmingly underwhelming. Sometimes you just detach for a while, but after long periods of intense novelty we forget how to change gears, to change expectations. It takes me a bit of time to pull myself out, but things do start to get their colors back. It's a relief, but the change is imperceptible.
Some days I think the boredom or discomfort will never end. But on other days, the moments of great pleasure and joy beyond words, I never pause to think that it will, for me, end.
I thought it would never end. I never thought it would end. There's something amusing about this distinction to me. When the days are trying, all I can think about is how difficult things are for me. I withdraw and think about all the things I want that I think would solve this "problem" I am facing.
But on the great days, I don't even know how amazing they are until they're over. You rarely get the stillness in life to appreciate them. We don't get ample time to analyze what it was that made us so content. And to echo some more clichés about our temporal faculties, we typically only remember the extremes which account for so little of our lives. The mediocrity feels the longest, but eventually pales. The countless hours of video games, books, grooming, chores, errands. They amount to so much in quantity, but we want the peaks. We want extremes to punctuate our life stories.
So I adapt this into my views on travel. I expect a lot out of myself, but just because I'm moving from country to country doesn't mean I'm cramming any more minutes into my life. When you move quickly you miss things. You see plenty, and some things will always stick out. But you can't possibly know what details will emerge after just one more day, or even another minute in any place. Maybe I'd have a drastically different opinion of Cambodia if one more of those peaks happened to coincide with my time here. All I can do is remind myself to persist in looking and doing and feeling and all the things we do at home.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
This grave is too small. This grave is too big!
Like most things in Asia, the night bus is not built for people over 5'6". The bus is arranged not with upright seats but something resembling a lounge chair, but you can neither fully recline or sit upright. This allows there to be two tiers of beds and accommodate more people, however they length of each bed-chair is cut a little shorter than my body likes. So the night is essentially spent trying to squeeze into a small space and find any shred of comfort that doesn't threaten to wrench my back. Once again I'm reminded of the low standards for comfort in Asia. I recall the boy in Burma sleeping facedown on a wooden bench with his legs folding back over his body. Why can't I do that? Why do I need a bed of my own, or a room of my own? They seem to have no problem stuffing people into the smallest places here.
But this is only temporary for me. I don't foresee a time in my life when I'll be without the comfort of ample space, not for any prolonged period. I don't mind the discomfort in retrospect, but that's probably because I know it's temporary, that I have a nice, comfortable place waiting for me no matter where I go. They cater to our higher standards here, but mostly only foreigners can afford it.
Phnom Penh is relatively clean. The downtown area is on a simple grid layout and it's not too difficult to traverse by foot. We are greeted by some nice thunderstorms which drizzle on us throughout the day, keeping the temperature down and the mood pensive. Nicole and I walk around to see a few monuments and parks, making note of restaurants to check out later.
We spend one evening with new friends, Vaclav from Czech Republic and Marcus from Germany. Single serving friends! Vaclav is geekish like myself and we chat excitedly about computer games. We both worked in similar tech environments, but hearing about Vaclav's experience certainly made me appreciate the lackadaisical vibe at DMDC that much more. In his job he was mostly anchored at his desk to answer support calls, and it occurred to me that the freedom to get up and walk to the office of my customer is a luxury in a world where most tech support jobs are outsourced. Even with remote controls to tap into a client's workstation, sometimes the job would just be easier if I could make a diagnosis in person. Also, I got way more out of the personal interactions I was able to have because of this. This really made the environment feel familiar and consequently somewhere I didn't dread going day in and day out. Vaclav, on the other hand, was truly feeling the wall of the dead-end job. I could tell he was beyond relieved to put that behind him and go on a solo Southeast Asia adventure.
One morning we team up with Marcus and visit the infamous Killing Fields, which in actuality is just one of hundreds of mass graves like it. Our entrance fee included an audio tour guide so we spend a few hours listening to the stories and associating them with the various remnants of this horrific place. On the surface there isn't much left to indicate what exactly happened here. Even long after the genocide, this particular grave remained undisturbed until a farmer excavated some stench-ridden limbs instead of potatoes. It wasn't until the early 2000s that Choeung Ek (the name of this one mass grave) was discovered. In fact, it was decades before the people responsible for these murders were even convicted by the UN. The leader of the Khmer Rouge himself, Pol Pot, lived out his days with his family until he was placed under house arrest. Even then, he parted from this world peacefully in 1998, almost ten years before his compatriots were tried in court.
I walk around at my own pace, just listening and watching. Most of the structures are long gone: the holding cell for prisoners, the tool sheds that held the various artifacts used to carry out the executions, the barracks for soldiers. The graves have been excavated, appearing now as a series of tiny rolling hills along the field, the remains sorted and placed into a large memorial stupa erected in the center of the site. Our audio narrator turns our attention to a small tree called the sugar palm, the fronds of which are jagged and sharp. I feel the edges and they are rigid and smooth like some sort of plant-like obsidian. This is one tool the soldiers used to cut the throats of the prisoners. The irregular teeth of the palm frond make for a ghastly image and I find myself rubbing my throat to quell the thought of it.
Other implements were gruesome in different ways. They used various farming equipment like hoes or things like hammers, machetes, unknown blunt objects. Bullets were too expensive. I imagine that most of the prisoners were not even killed before they entered those pits, left to bleed out as their brothers fell on top of them. Some graves were filled exclusively with women and children. Infants were easily disposed of by dashing their heads against a nearby tree and tossed inside the pits. Each grave held a few hundred bodies, but some were much larger. They were covered with a chemical called DDT to diminish the stench.
Prisoners wouldn't be held very long before execution, usually occurring at night under the noise of generators and speakers blaring patriotic music to mask the screams.
This grave is in a very idyllic, quaint area. You wouldn't assume it was home to such gruesome events. Even today, it feels so tranquil. Any place can be beautiful or terrible, and this one is an eerie and fascinating combination of the two. There's something poignant about the rain washing up the teeth and tattered clothing of the dead, or the bracelets marking the spirit houses and trees. Even the scars heal slowly, but they are not covered up.
We still have several days until our visas for Vietnam go into effect on July 20th, so we head to the beach town of Sihanouk Ville.
But this is only temporary for me. I don't foresee a time in my life when I'll be without the comfort of ample space, not for any prolonged period. I don't mind the discomfort in retrospect, but that's probably because I know it's temporary, that I have a nice, comfortable place waiting for me no matter where I go. They cater to our higher standards here, but mostly only foreigners can afford it.
Phnom Penh is relatively clean. The downtown area is on a simple grid layout and it's not too difficult to traverse by foot. We are greeted by some nice thunderstorms which drizzle on us throughout the day, keeping the temperature down and the mood pensive. Nicole and I walk around to see a few monuments and parks, making note of restaurants to check out later.
We spend one evening with new friends, Vaclav from Czech Republic and Marcus from Germany. Single serving friends! Vaclav is geekish like myself and we chat excitedly about computer games. We both worked in similar tech environments, but hearing about Vaclav's experience certainly made me appreciate the lackadaisical vibe at DMDC that much more. In his job he was mostly anchored at his desk to answer support calls, and it occurred to me that the freedom to get up and walk to the office of my customer is a luxury in a world where most tech support jobs are outsourced. Even with remote controls to tap into a client's workstation, sometimes the job would just be easier if I could make a diagnosis in person. Also, I got way more out of the personal interactions I was able to have because of this. This really made the environment feel familiar and consequently somewhere I didn't dread going day in and day out. Vaclav, on the other hand, was truly feeling the wall of the dead-end job. I could tell he was beyond relieved to put that behind him and go on a solo Southeast Asia adventure.
One morning we team up with Marcus and visit the infamous Killing Fields, which in actuality is just one of hundreds of mass graves like it. Our entrance fee included an audio tour guide so we spend a few hours listening to the stories and associating them with the various remnants of this horrific place. On the surface there isn't much left to indicate what exactly happened here. Even long after the genocide, this particular grave remained undisturbed until a farmer excavated some stench-ridden limbs instead of potatoes. It wasn't until the early 2000s that Choeung Ek (the name of this one mass grave) was discovered. In fact, it was decades before the people responsible for these murders were even convicted by the UN. The leader of the Khmer Rouge himself, Pol Pot, lived out his days with his family until he was placed under house arrest. Even then, he parted from this world peacefully in 1998, almost ten years before his compatriots were tried in court.
I walk around at my own pace, just listening and watching. Most of the structures are long gone: the holding cell for prisoners, the tool sheds that held the various artifacts used to carry out the executions, the barracks for soldiers. The graves have been excavated, appearing now as a series of tiny rolling hills along the field, the remains sorted and placed into a large memorial stupa erected in the center of the site. Our audio narrator turns our attention to a small tree called the sugar palm, the fronds of which are jagged and sharp. I feel the edges and they are rigid and smooth like some sort of plant-like obsidian. This is one tool the soldiers used to cut the throats of the prisoners. The irregular teeth of the palm frond make for a ghastly image and I find myself rubbing my throat to quell the thought of it.
Other implements were gruesome in different ways. They used various farming equipment like hoes or things like hammers, machetes, unknown blunt objects. Bullets were too expensive. I imagine that most of the prisoners were not even killed before they entered those pits, left to bleed out as their brothers fell on top of them. Some graves were filled exclusively with women and children. Infants were easily disposed of by dashing their heads against a nearby tree and tossed inside the pits. Each grave held a few hundred bodies, but some were much larger. They were covered with a chemical called DDT to diminish the stench.
Prisoners wouldn't be held very long before execution, usually occurring at night under the noise of generators and speakers blaring patriotic music to mask the screams.
This grave is in a very idyllic, quaint area. You wouldn't assume it was home to such gruesome events. Even today, it feels so tranquil. Any place can be beautiful or terrible, and this one is an eerie and fascinating combination of the two. There's something poignant about the rain washing up the teeth and tattered clothing of the dead, or the bracelets marking the spirit houses and trees. Even the scars heal slowly, but they are not covered up.
We still have several days until our visas for Vietnam go into effect on July 20th, so we head to the beach town of Sihanouk Ville.
If you want a tuktuk...
Then you've come to the right place!
Nicole and I arrived to Siem Reap, Cambodia on July 7th. After feeling a sort of stagnation in Bangkok we were quite eager to get moving again.
Siem Reap accommodates a large volume of tourists who come to see the Angkor archaeological site, which is host to hundreds of beautiful temples in various states of repair. We spend an early morning seeing Angkor Wat and a few others in the area. One particularly ruinous temple features immense trees growing from its cracked foundations. These towering trees are now home to swarms of bees, with each hive leaving behind a large fin of mineral deposits along the tree branches. It was quite a sight.
Other than temples and the like, Siem Reap is like most other towns. Night markets smelling of bizarre foodstuffs, pushy tuktuk drivers, brown water running through canals. Cambodia is approximately like most places in Southeast Asia as far as I can surmise. I still have more to see, but I wouldn't say I'm overwhelmed. Nor does that mean Cambodia isn't enjoyable. It's just different on the surface, and getting to know any place takes some time.
After three nights in Siem Reap we are more than ready to move again. We enjoyed plenty of good vegetarian food (one perk of the heavy tourism industry) and even a yoga class. But certain things about this place just wore me out. Mostly being accosted by people any time you walk around. They offer tuktuks and MDMA and smoke and boom boom. Constantly. It got to the point that we pick the least pushy driver out of the hordes. I understand that it's the low season and fares are far and few between, but it just seems so unnecessary.
Our next stop is Battambang, an unassuming little town a few hundred kilometers to the southwest. Here we visit what's known as the Killing Caves, although in actuality there are dozens upon dozens of mass graves throughout Cambodia from the genocide from 1975-1979. We start to glean bits and pieces of Cambodian history during this time, learning about the leader of the Cambodian Community party Pol Pot and his horrific purging of Cambodian people and culture. This particular cave became the resting place of some 8,000 people. The human remains have mostly been excavated, some to be preserved and stored in a memorial within. These people did not die quickly, often bludgeoned over the head and dropped in the cave from a height of 25 meters or so. It was impressive and awful all the same to stare into that dark pit.
This large network of caves is also home to inestimable number of bats. Some say in the millions, but it's hard to say how far back into the cave they live. At about 5pm we see a spike of activity as the bats wind up for their nightly insect hunt. They fly in circles near the cave entrance for several minutes, each bat slowly joining the swarm until it reaches a critical mass. At that point the bats begin to pour out of the cave in a thick stream, following a corkscrew trajectory over the nearby rice fields. The bats continue to flood out steadily for more than half an hour, and the remaining number inside the cave appears to be the same. They just keep coming with no sign of thinning numbers. The horizontal tornado of bats eventually breaks off into smaller squadrons by the hundreds, and for miles one can see cluster after another of little dots against the early twilight sky.
After a long evening, we get on the night bus to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia.
Nicole and I arrived to Siem Reap, Cambodia on July 7th. After feeling a sort of stagnation in Bangkok we were quite eager to get moving again.
Siem Reap accommodates a large volume of tourists who come to see the Angkor archaeological site, which is host to hundreds of beautiful temples in various states of repair. We spend an early morning seeing Angkor Wat and a few others in the area. One particularly ruinous temple features immense trees growing from its cracked foundations. These towering trees are now home to swarms of bees, with each hive leaving behind a large fin of mineral deposits along the tree branches. It was quite a sight.
Other than temples and the like, Siem Reap is like most other towns. Night markets smelling of bizarre foodstuffs, pushy tuktuk drivers, brown water running through canals. Cambodia is approximately like most places in Southeast Asia as far as I can surmise. I still have more to see, but I wouldn't say I'm overwhelmed. Nor does that mean Cambodia isn't enjoyable. It's just different on the surface, and getting to know any place takes some time.
After three nights in Siem Reap we are more than ready to move again. We enjoyed plenty of good vegetarian food (one perk of the heavy tourism industry) and even a yoga class. But certain things about this place just wore me out. Mostly being accosted by people any time you walk around. They offer tuktuks and MDMA and smoke and boom boom. Constantly. It got to the point that we pick the least pushy driver out of the hordes. I understand that it's the low season and fares are far and few between, but it just seems so unnecessary.
Our next stop is Battambang, an unassuming little town a few hundred kilometers to the southwest. Here we visit what's known as the Killing Caves, although in actuality there are dozens upon dozens of mass graves throughout Cambodia from the genocide from 1975-1979. We start to glean bits and pieces of Cambodian history during this time, learning about the leader of the Cambodian Community party Pol Pot and his horrific purging of Cambodian people and culture. This particular cave became the resting place of some 8,000 people. The human remains have mostly been excavated, some to be preserved and stored in a memorial within. These people did not die quickly, often bludgeoned over the head and dropped in the cave from a height of 25 meters or so. It was impressive and awful all the same to stare into that dark pit.
This large network of caves is also home to inestimable number of bats. Some say in the millions, but it's hard to say how far back into the cave they live. At about 5pm we see a spike of activity as the bats wind up for their nightly insect hunt. They fly in circles near the cave entrance for several minutes, each bat slowly joining the swarm until it reaches a critical mass. At that point the bats begin to pour out of the cave in a thick stream, following a corkscrew trajectory over the nearby rice fields. The bats continue to flood out steadily for more than half an hour, and the remaining number inside the cave appears to be the same. They just keep coming with no sign of thinning numbers. The horizontal tornado of bats eventually breaks off into smaller squadrons by the hundreds, and for miles one can see cluster after another of little dots against the early twilight sky.
After a long evening, we get on the night bus to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Bangkok... again?!
Lo and behold, we have returned to the promised land! By circumstances well within our control we leave Myanmar through Bangkok with the intent of moving on to Cambodia the following day. I bump into some Peace Corps logistics that appeared to be time sensitive so we decide to stay for a few days and handle it. During the extended stay we figure we might as well hammer out the plan for the next part of our trip, namely obtaining visas for Vietnam. This process didn't take much effort on our part, but nonetheless involves waiting 5 days for the papers to be pushed around.
As for my logistical conundrum, I had to find a way to get my fingerprinting done for the Peace Corps. This didn't turn out to be as difficult as I imagined. My dad sent the blank fingerprint forms to me in Bangkok and the Thai police department was able to print me and make it official. I sent them back within a few days. Easy peasy, lemon squeezey. Nothing official to report in terms of acceptance, but I'm doing my best to stay on top of these things as they come. If accepted I'll be teaching English in another country for 2.25 years, but where I go is still up in the air. Given the list of options I have, I went with my sometimes questionable intuition and put down Malawi, Madagascar, and Moldova as my top three. I know very little about these places, so this might be the best time to alter my perspective.
I'd like to say that traveling has made me wise, but most of the time it just makes me aware of how ignorant I am. I'm learning slowly, but it doesn't feel fast enough to keep up!
Well, one thing I definitely learned in Bangkok is that I'm not immune to the local bacteria, and one morning found myself wrestling with the Tummy Tumults that have occasionally threatened to take over a few times during my travels. This time, I regret to say they were successful in taking down some of my defenses. By the afternoon I didn't think I could stomach any more so I leapt up to use the bathroom. Which orifice would fail first I did not know, but alas neither happened as all I can remember is waking up face-down on the hallway floor. That's funny, I thought, standing up to try again, only to wake up ten feet away from my previously designated nap-time floorspace. By the third time I caught on to what was happening and cleverly opted not to stand up immediately. I crawled back to the bedroom and opened the door, propping myself upright in the jamb. The corners of my peripheral vision drew inward as everything turned gold and fuzzy. Of course at this point Nicole and other roommates were making sure I was stable, but I couldn't quite figure out what was going on. I remember making some hilarious jokes but I couldn't really hear what other propped were saying. Eventually I caught on to the word hospital and soon I was on the hot Bangkok streets with Nicole, waiting with my face in my palms as she hailed down a cab.
Fortunately this happened in Bangkok, not Myanmar.
Based on a recommendation from our hostel staff, we endure the traffic and head a bit farther from the city center to a government operated hospital. I survive the car ride well enough, but almost faint again as the staff take my blood pressure on arrival. It was something like 70/37.
Soon enough I am admitted into the ER triage area and poked with needles and given fluids. The cooling sensation rushing into my arms was initially quite soothing, but moments later my body decides that it's freezing and this liquid is freezing and maybe I should shiver or convulse wildly to counter the effect. Commence jaw pounding for the next thirty minutes. The lack of control over my body makes me panicky, and I lose even more control. Nicole wraps me in blankets and holds my hand. It was so touching you would vomit at the sight of it, but fortunately I can only think to cry stupidly as I thank my friend for being at my side. I know that I'm not in any severe danger, but the whirlwind of events leading up to this moment never let up until now, the whole ordeal just leaving me to sob quietly and feel stupid.
Eventually my body stops fussing and the deathly pallor afflicting my face begins to relent. The staff move me to my overnight quarters and I just try to get some sleep despite the awful discomfort of my pounding, aching head.
Fortunately I turned around rather quickly. I boot up the following morning and initiate a quick self diagnostic. Head stability is around 80% and climbing. Stomach is noticeably contorted but under control. Bowels.... the away team hasn't returned but we'll send a rescue later. The rice soup goes down easy and I sit in bed as my body absorbs the remaining intravenous fluids. I've had enough needles poking me for a while, I decide, and ask to be discharged. It doesn't take me long to pay, pick up the meds, and find a cab back to VX. Total cost of visit was only $40 USD so while my body was still ravaged at least my mind was no longer fretting about the trip. Over the next few days I don't eat much, each small meal seemingly causing insurmountable pain. But almost imperceptibly the pains go away, and here I am in Cambodia a week later, scarfing down pizza and ice cream. I'm lucky I had access to affordable care so quickly, and I don't doubt that's the reason I was able to bounce back and feel healthy so soon. Phew.
Nicole and I spend our remaining Bangkok days indulging in the decadence of the multiplex shopping malls. We go to the movies and eat popcorn and some days sleep and read and write. I finally finish Infinite Jest and Nicole catches up entirely on her blog after a month of backlogging. It was a productive visit, but we're eager to get our visas for Vietnam and get back in motion!
As for my logistical conundrum, I had to find a way to get my fingerprinting done for the Peace Corps. This didn't turn out to be as difficult as I imagined. My dad sent the blank fingerprint forms to me in Bangkok and the Thai police department was able to print me and make it official. I sent them back within a few days. Easy peasy, lemon squeezey. Nothing official to report in terms of acceptance, but I'm doing my best to stay on top of these things as they come. If accepted I'll be teaching English in another country for 2.25 years, but where I go is still up in the air. Given the list of options I have, I went with my sometimes questionable intuition and put down Malawi, Madagascar, and Moldova as my top three. I know very little about these places, so this might be the best time to alter my perspective.
I'd like to say that traveling has made me wise, but most of the time it just makes me aware of how ignorant I am. I'm learning slowly, but it doesn't feel fast enough to keep up!
Well, one thing I definitely learned in Bangkok is that I'm not immune to the local bacteria, and one morning found myself wrestling with the Tummy Tumults that have occasionally threatened to take over a few times during my travels. This time, I regret to say they were successful in taking down some of my defenses. By the afternoon I didn't think I could stomach any more so I leapt up to use the bathroom. Which orifice would fail first I did not know, but alas neither happened as all I can remember is waking up face-down on the hallway floor. That's funny, I thought, standing up to try again, only to wake up ten feet away from my previously designated nap-time floorspace. By the third time I caught on to what was happening and cleverly opted not to stand up immediately. I crawled back to the bedroom and opened the door, propping myself upright in the jamb. The corners of my peripheral vision drew inward as everything turned gold and fuzzy. Of course at this point Nicole and other roommates were making sure I was stable, but I couldn't quite figure out what was going on. I remember making some hilarious jokes but I couldn't really hear what other propped were saying. Eventually I caught on to the word hospital and soon I was on the hot Bangkok streets with Nicole, waiting with my face in my palms as she hailed down a cab.
Fortunately this happened in Bangkok, not Myanmar.
Based on a recommendation from our hostel staff, we endure the traffic and head a bit farther from the city center to a government operated hospital. I survive the car ride well enough, but almost faint again as the staff take my blood pressure on arrival. It was something like 70/37.
Soon enough I am admitted into the ER triage area and poked with needles and given fluids. The cooling sensation rushing into my arms was initially quite soothing, but moments later my body decides that it's freezing and this liquid is freezing and maybe I should shiver or convulse wildly to counter the effect. Commence jaw pounding for the next thirty minutes. The lack of control over my body makes me panicky, and I lose even more control. Nicole wraps me in blankets and holds my hand. It was so touching you would vomit at the sight of it, but fortunately I can only think to cry stupidly as I thank my friend for being at my side. I know that I'm not in any severe danger, but the whirlwind of events leading up to this moment never let up until now, the whole ordeal just leaving me to sob quietly and feel stupid.
Eventually my body stops fussing and the deathly pallor afflicting my face begins to relent. The staff move me to my overnight quarters and I just try to get some sleep despite the awful discomfort of my pounding, aching head.
Fortunately I turned around rather quickly. I boot up the following morning and initiate a quick self diagnostic. Head stability is around 80% and climbing. Stomach is noticeably contorted but under control. Bowels.... the away team hasn't returned but we'll send a rescue later. The rice soup goes down easy and I sit in bed as my body absorbs the remaining intravenous fluids. I've had enough needles poking me for a while, I decide, and ask to be discharged. It doesn't take me long to pay, pick up the meds, and find a cab back to VX. Total cost of visit was only $40 USD so while my body was still ravaged at least my mind was no longer fretting about the trip. Over the next few days I don't eat much, each small meal seemingly causing insurmountable pain. But almost imperceptibly the pains go away, and here I am in Cambodia a week later, scarfing down pizza and ice cream. I'm lucky I had access to affordable care so quickly, and I don't doubt that's the reason I was able to bounce back and feel healthy so soon. Phew.
Nicole and I spend our remaining Bangkok days indulging in the decadence of the multiplex shopping malls. We go to the movies and eat popcorn and some days sleep and read and write. I finally finish Infinite Jest and Nicole catches up entirely on her blog after a month of backlogging. It was a productive visit, but we're eager to get our visas for Vietnam and get back in motion!
Monday, June 2, 2014
Pyin u Lwin to Hsipaw
After a rough morning with my stomach I decide to take precautionary motion sickness counter measures in pill form (thanks Toby!) which induces a nice sleepy euphoria for the bus to Mandalay. I oscillate in and out of sleep while trying to read Infinite Jest, but finally I just give up and stuff my headphones in to drown out the sappy, puerile pop ballads playing at top volume out of the hot bus's overhead speakers. I'd almost say I can't complain, but the volume is often ear splitting when playing music or telenovellas, the latter of which either feature bizarre scenes of people enjoying the shit outta their noodles (tolerable volume and puzzling enough to be intriguing) to dramatic altercations involving screaming couples (deafening and generally not interesting if you can't understand). They also play an obnoxious backtrack a là pipe whistle Stooge-esque aesthetic. Then again, I enjoy some shows with canned laughter (IT Crowd) and at a certain point I become oblivious to it. But still, hard to ignore or even be neutral when it's being shoved into your earholes.
We don't spend any more time in Mandalay than we have to, immediately boarding a pickup truck to take us into the mountains. The truck has a canopy over the bed sporting a cargo rack to accommodate large packages or sacks of grain or other produce, which means we are forced into spine-bending hunched positions for a few hours. We cram in with about 7 other people (followed by a weed whacker) and try to find the least uncomfortable ass-to-bench ratio for the journey. Within the first few minutes a young girl vomits all over her mom's foot. Toby and I exchange a glance but we're all pretty used to this by now.
We emerge from the pickup 2.5 hours later and stretch our wings in the bustling mountain town of Pyin u Lwin. We check into a hotel and begin the long search for oh look there are restaurants everywhere. South Indian food? Score! Six-dollar massage from cute Burmese boys? Ummm... yes please!
Commence self indulgence to the max.
Pyin u Lwin seems to be somewhat more affluent than any other city we've been to thus far. I'm largely basing this off of the fact that there's a golf course here, and many expensive lakeside cafes and restaurants featuring an ample wine selection and hundreds of food items. The houses are still somewhat modest in town, but they become more exorbitant around the lake. We imagine this might be where the well-off Burmese come for vacation and to escape the heat. Which is exactly what we're doing right now.
And then there's the botanical garden. We rent bicycles and head down to the lake, spending hours getting lost in this neat little place.
One evening we sit around the portable speaker and write out the lyrics to On n On by Justice, which we should now all be able to sing by memory. Most of the words are discernible but it comes down to one stubborn stanza that, no matter how correct it sounds on paper, we decide the lyrics don't quite fit the theme and hold out on the belief that the gibberish in our heads was somehow better. I suppose hearing something in another language for instance can have a pleasing sonic quality without any understanding of the words, but learning the meaning will alter the effect. Nonetheless we rock out all night and enjoy some cheap Burmese whiskey.
After three nights of this we're both ready and reluctant to move on to Hsipaw. I think that's a healthy level of ambivalence.
We board our commuter train in the morning and Toby points out that the plant debris covering our seats is likely from scraping past the ample foliage. We quickly see what he means when branches are nearly whipping us in the face and we have to take a defensive position any time we hear the loud thwacks ringing ahead of us. But the scenery is astounding and I find myself daring more and more to stick my head out of the window, even if it results in a reprimanding sting. Worth it.
The train moves to the motion of the ocean, as in rocking up and down and side to side and even front to back when the speed changes and the train-cars slam into each other. However, having a bit more space to move around on the train leaves us feeling less drained than the similarly tumultuous bus rides, and we arrive in Hsipaw with plenty of time to check out the town after finding a guesthouse.
Situated along the Dokhtawaddy River, Hsipaw makes for a scenic little place, offering markets at any which hour of the day (including a 3am gathering lit by candles stuck in mangoes) and some excellent food options.
We hike up Sunset Hill in the evenings, one night getting caught in a beautiful thunderstorm complete with sideways downpour and retina-smashing bolts of lightning. We find respite from the rain under a rudimentary shelter and decide to continue to the top even when the rain is soaking through our shoes. The monks offer us some tea as we dry off and wait for a break in the rain. I took some time to enjoy the mental silence of the loud rain, missing my friends but also feeling somewhat steeled for perhaps moving away if and when Peace Corps pans out. The idea still scares and excites me, but at this point I just want to lean into it and see what happens to me. It might chew me up and spit me out, but I could use that every now and then.
Once most of the storm passes overhead we tentatively follow its drizzling wake down the hill. We missed the sunset but seeing Hsipaw in the post-storm twilight made my day, despite getting drenched (don't you dare, Varun!). I'm reminded of adventures through the botanical gardens with Nicole in Gothenburg, where getting soaked was half the fun. The abhorrent and lingering odor eminating from my socks in the following days made for the other half of the memory.
One afternoon Toby, Nicole, and I begin our search for the renowned Mr. Shake's restaurant, which we are told we can't miss. We miss it of course, so we stop to ask a competing juice stand owner for directions. Thu Zar Min Min introduces herself and tells us a little bit about her life in Singapore as she walks us over to Mr. Shake, leaving us to our impending gorging, telling us to swing by her stand another time.
I visit Min Min the following day and she stuffs me silly with delicious fried mini doughballs filled with any combination of tomato or peppers or chickpeas. She keeps bringing me limeade and other treats until I'm bursting at the seams. I ask her how much for the refreshing treats and she refuses to take any of my money. On top of that, I bring Nicole back later just to say hello and Min Min then invites us to have brunch with her the following day.
Min Min and her friend show up at our guesthouse via scooters and we ride pillion to their home just down the road. We get to meet her family and, as we have come to suspect, they stuff us silly with a tasty spread of Myanmar cuisine. Shan style noodles, chickpea noodle soup, onion/cabbage/cilantro-ish salad, seasoned boiled eggs, mushrooms and sweet potato leaves, and then some. We awkwardly shovel food as they watch and chat with us. Min Min translates a bit and we get to talk with her family, but mostly we just sort of look at each other and bask in the friendly environment. It's a novelty for all of us, but it certainly is remarkable how kind most people are in this country. It must be a special place if you can just open up your home to foreigners so readily.
Min Min lived in Singapore for eight years working as a maid, only recently coming home to Hsipaw to be with her parents as they enter their golden years. She explains that this is the custom and she's happy to come home, but hearing how much she misses Singapore and her two dogs Clifford and Butch makes us feel for her. It's hard enough to leave the country once, and she says she doesn't think she'll do it again anytime soon.
It's hard to imagine someday putting my life on hold like that, even changing trajectories entirely, although my parents certainly did for me and my siblings when we came into this world. Maybe they don't see it that way in retrospect. And the way they cared for their parents in those final years was a heartening reminder to pay back all of the privilege they've bestowed on me. They've saved me so much trouble in my life, but also helped me understand the stuff I couldn't avoid. I don't think I'll have feelings of remorse or regret of time lost (not any more than I already do as life keeps expanding with friends and places that feel like home), but rather an opportunity to glimpse into that nebulous, far-off, inevitable phase of life. As fresh adults we crave a life of independence and novelty. We don't want to be anchored. And it's difficult to imagine the pull back as we reach the apex, but it'll come one way or another. Although the orbital metaphor seems sort of bleak, to be compelled by some force to return to your origins, I find it quite exciting to think about. Those golden years for my parents will be a significant calm of recollection and hopefully a distillation of happy memories. They will have toiled most of their lives to support themselves and these little asshole satellites that keep their distance (but not so far that they can't receive the occasional SATCOM) to finally experience what I imagine will be an immensely gratifying change of pace, perhaps with a swing in their steps. And in some way I want to be there for that. I'll experience it first hand later, but I also want to see what it looks like from this perspective. Maybe it'll temper my expectations. Maybe I'll discover new things about my parents. Maybe they'll discover new things about themselves and that gives me hope of doing the same throughout my life. That it doesn't just end abruptly, novelty depleted, floating listlessly into space. There is certainly more meaningful life to experience. But it's just hard to imagine!
Brunch is short but sweet, and we get dropped off at our hotel after a nice photo shoot so we can all go to our friends with photographic proof as if to say, "You'll be so jealous!"
Toby returns from his two-day trek and we all hop on the same bus back to Mandalay, exchanging stories on the way.
Toby is a great reminder of how much dumb luck is involved in making friends, especially when the days you'll share are numbered. But the fact that we managed to spend over a week together while still moving just shows that sometimes you're not ready to say goodbye! It was rewarding to have that flexibility in our plans so we could enrich each other's travels by that much more. Like when Toby brought a bouquet of flowers and jasmine back to our hotel room. I mean, who does that? What a guy. Come to think of it, what did *he* get out of the whole thing? Other than endless snarky bullshit, of course.
We have one last day together in the city, sharing a few bottles of white wine one afternoon and having some incredible chapati street food and fresh lychee and mango and ice cream. Also Toby takes me longyi shopping but I don't think I'll ever have the courage to rock one in public like he does. We part ways with happy embraces, one of us heading home for a glorious reunion with Game of Thrones and nachos while the others make their way to Cambodia. Or Laos. Or who knows.
We don't spend any more time in Mandalay than we have to, immediately boarding a pickup truck to take us into the mountains. The truck has a canopy over the bed sporting a cargo rack to accommodate large packages or sacks of grain or other produce, which means we are forced into spine-bending hunched positions for a few hours. We cram in with about 7 other people (followed by a weed whacker) and try to find the least uncomfortable ass-to-bench ratio for the journey. Within the first few minutes a young girl vomits all over her mom's foot. Toby and I exchange a glance but we're all pretty used to this by now.
 |
| "You've gotta be kidding." |
Commence self indulgence to the max.
Pyin u Lwin seems to be somewhat more affluent than any other city we've been to thus far. I'm largely basing this off of the fact that there's a golf course here, and many expensive lakeside cafes and restaurants featuring an ample wine selection and hundreds of food items. The houses are still somewhat modest in town, but they become more exorbitant around the lake. We imagine this might be where the well-off Burmese come for vacation and to escape the heat. Which is exactly what we're doing right now.
And then there's the botanical garden. We rent bicycles and head down to the lake, spending hours getting lost in this neat little place.
 |
| Linking up the friendship chain. A common sight here (as it was in India, too). |
One evening we sit around the portable speaker and write out the lyrics to On n On by Justice, which we should now all be able to sing by memory. Most of the words are discernible but it comes down to one stubborn stanza that, no matter how correct it sounds on paper, we decide the lyrics don't quite fit the theme and hold out on the belief that the gibberish in our heads was somehow better. I suppose hearing something in another language for instance can have a pleasing sonic quality without any understanding of the words, but learning the meaning will alter the effect. Nonetheless we rock out all night and enjoy some cheap Burmese whiskey.
After three nights of this we're both ready and reluctant to move on to Hsipaw. I think that's a healthy level of ambivalence.
We board our commuter train in the morning and Toby points out that the plant debris covering our seats is likely from scraping past the ample foliage. We quickly see what he means when branches are nearly whipping us in the face and we have to take a defensive position any time we hear the loud thwacks ringing ahead of us. But the scenery is astounding and I find myself daring more and more to stick my head out of the window, even if it results in a reprimanding sting. Worth it.
 |
| A little too close for comfort. |
 |
| Wow, Burma sure is ugly. |
Situated along the Dokhtawaddy River, Hsipaw makes for a scenic little place, offering markets at any which hour of the day (including a 3am gathering lit by candles stuck in mangoes) and some excellent food options.
We hike up Sunset Hill in the evenings, one night getting caught in a beautiful thunderstorm complete with sideways downpour and retina-smashing bolts of lightning. We find respite from the rain under a rudimentary shelter and decide to continue to the top even when the rain is soaking through our shoes. The monks offer us some tea as we dry off and wait for a break in the rain. I took some time to enjoy the mental silence of the loud rain, missing my friends but also feeling somewhat steeled for perhaps moving away if and when Peace Corps pans out. The idea still scares and excites me, but at this point I just want to lean into it and see what happens to me. It might chew me up and spit me out, but I could use that every now and then.
Once most of the storm passes overhead we tentatively follow its drizzling wake down the hill. We missed the sunset but seeing Hsipaw in the post-storm twilight made my day, despite getting drenched (don't you dare, Varun!). I'm reminded of adventures through the botanical gardens with Nicole in Gothenburg, where getting soaked was half the fun. The abhorrent and lingering odor eminating from my socks in the following days made for the other half of the memory.
One afternoon Toby, Nicole, and I begin our search for the renowned Mr. Shake's restaurant, which we are told we can't miss. We miss it of course, so we stop to ask a competing juice stand owner for directions. Thu Zar Min Min introduces herself and tells us a little bit about her life in Singapore as she walks us over to Mr. Shake, leaving us to our impending gorging, telling us to swing by her stand another time.
I visit Min Min the following day and she stuffs me silly with delicious fried mini doughballs filled with any combination of tomato or peppers or chickpeas. She keeps bringing me limeade and other treats until I'm bursting at the seams. I ask her how much for the refreshing treats and she refuses to take any of my money. On top of that, I bring Nicole back later just to say hello and Min Min then invites us to have brunch with her the following day.
Min Min and her friend show up at our guesthouse via scooters and we ride pillion to their home just down the road. We get to meet her family and, as we have come to suspect, they stuff us silly with a tasty spread of Myanmar cuisine. Shan style noodles, chickpea noodle soup, onion/cabbage/cilantro-ish salad, seasoned boiled eggs, mushrooms and sweet potato leaves, and then some. We awkwardly shovel food as they watch and chat with us. Min Min translates a bit and we get to talk with her family, but mostly we just sort of look at each other and bask in the friendly environment. It's a novelty for all of us, but it certainly is remarkable how kind most people are in this country. It must be a special place if you can just open up your home to foreigners so readily.
Min Min lived in Singapore for eight years working as a maid, only recently coming home to Hsipaw to be with her parents as they enter their golden years. She explains that this is the custom and she's happy to come home, but hearing how much she misses Singapore and her two dogs Clifford and Butch makes us feel for her. It's hard enough to leave the country once, and she says she doesn't think she'll do it again anytime soon.
It's hard to imagine someday putting my life on hold like that, even changing trajectories entirely, although my parents certainly did for me and my siblings when we came into this world. Maybe they don't see it that way in retrospect. And the way they cared for their parents in those final years was a heartening reminder to pay back all of the privilege they've bestowed on me. They've saved me so much trouble in my life, but also helped me understand the stuff I couldn't avoid. I don't think I'll have feelings of remorse or regret of time lost (not any more than I already do as life keeps expanding with friends and places that feel like home), but rather an opportunity to glimpse into that nebulous, far-off, inevitable phase of life. As fresh adults we crave a life of independence and novelty. We don't want to be anchored. And it's difficult to imagine the pull back as we reach the apex, but it'll come one way or another. Although the orbital metaphor seems sort of bleak, to be compelled by some force to return to your origins, I find it quite exciting to think about. Those golden years for my parents will be a significant calm of recollection and hopefully a distillation of happy memories. They will have toiled most of their lives to support themselves and these little asshole satellites that keep their distance (but not so far that they can't receive the occasional SATCOM) to finally experience what I imagine will be an immensely gratifying change of pace, perhaps with a swing in their steps. And in some way I want to be there for that. I'll experience it first hand later, but I also want to see what it looks like from this perspective. Maybe it'll temper my expectations. Maybe I'll discover new things about my parents. Maybe they'll discover new things about themselves and that gives me hope of doing the same throughout my life. That it doesn't just end abruptly, novelty depleted, floating listlessly into space. There is certainly more meaningful life to experience. But it's just hard to imagine!
Brunch is short but sweet, and we get dropped off at our hotel after a nice photo shoot so we can all go to our friends with photographic proof as if to say, "You'll be so jealous!"
 |
| The cutest kid in existence. Let's take one home. |
 |
| Thu Zar Min Min and Nicole |
 |
| Min Min's father looking like a badass. |
Toby returns from his two-day trek and we all hop on the same bus back to Mandalay, exchanging stories on the way.
Toby is a great reminder of how much dumb luck is involved in making friends, especially when the days you'll share are numbered. But the fact that we managed to spend over a week together while still moving just shows that sometimes you're not ready to say goodbye! It was rewarding to have that flexibility in our plans so we could enrich each other's travels by that much more. Like when Toby brought a bouquet of flowers and jasmine back to our hotel room. I mean, who does that? What a guy. Come to think of it, what did *he* get out of the whole thing? Other than endless snarky bullshit, of course.
We have one last day together in the city, sharing a few bottles of white wine one afternoon and having some incredible chapati street food and fresh lychee and mango and ice cream. Also Toby takes me longyi shopping but I don't think I'll ever have the courage to rock one in public like he does. We part ways with happy embraces, one of us heading home for a glorious reunion with Game of Thrones and nachos while the others make their way to Cambodia. Or Laos. Or who knows.
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