1/25/09
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
So...Cambodia is trying to kill me. Okay, that might be a bit of an overreaction. To be fair I can't be certain that it is actively trying to off me as I'm only privy to one attempt...but that's enough right?
So there I was, sprawled out bare ass naked across my luxurious double bed, fast asleep folded in my blanket of humid muggy night, when BOOM! CRACK! SHATTER! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! (gotta love the onomatopoeia) and I was somewhat awake, but definitely upright. I'm not sure if I actually said "I didn't do it!" but I certainly remember thinking it loudly enough. I fumble for the switch and click on the florescent tube on the opposite wall. My first panicked thought was regarding my camera, but I quickly spotted it secured where I left it. It only took me a split second after that wave of relief subsided to notice the shards of plastic and metal scattered across my body. "What the...?" I follow the bigger pieces off the bedspread and find the intended weapon of my demise battered on the floor. The ginormous overhead fan that had been making that awful screeching noise and now disintegrated. Apparently it had been less of a squeal and more of a death rattle. It takes me a second to fully comprehend how bad that could have sucked if I had been two feet over on the other side of the bed. Note: for those of you who doubt that it matters what side you sleep on but you have an instinctual preference anyway...just go with it. It might be the key to adverting catastrophe.
So, naturally, I pack up my shit, get some clothes on and wait patiently for someone to pay for Internet time at the front desk. Even though I know he won't understand I couldn't resist saying "Hi, yes, um, my room tried to kill me." Expectantly greeted by his perplexed look I then rephrase my story, utilizing props and wild gestures to act out the scenario. He just sits there, unimpressed like I was complaining about the cold water or some stupid falang shit like that. No, no, no. Not overreacting about missing luxuries- appliances trying to kill me! Big difference. Still, he says "tomorrow. Fix tomorrow." I counter with "New room?" only to be rebutted with "No. Chinese New Year. Full." Of course...damn Asian holidays. I ask if other hotels have rooms. He says no, but I go around and check anyway. Yup, sure enough, SOL. I fins one for three dollars, but it wasn't even remotely worth it. So, dejected I come back to the hotel and settle for demanding a new fan. "Tomorrow." "Tonight? Please?" I have to admit I smiled a lot, knowing he had a little bit of a crush on me. He smiles back, "Okay, wait." He disappears behind the door into the restaurant next door and returns triumphantly with a nice, safe standing fan. "Ahp Khun, Ahp Khun!" I thank him enthusiastically and trudge up the stairs to my room.
Lying in bed, the thought occurs to me: 'Should I be worried about visiting the Killing Fields tomorrow?' After all, if there was ever a place for this country to do me in, the aptly named massacre site would be a rather fitting and poetic place to do it.
I glare warily at the bright red fan at the end of my bed and position it facing away from me, just in case. Who knows, it might launch it's front spokes in a projectile attack when I'm sleeping. Not that paranoid a thought considering the last one staged an airborne assault. I brush off the remaining fragments of it's predecessor and resume sprawling. "Goodnight, Evil Room of Death.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Extremely Brief Update
1/24/09
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Day two in Cambodia and I still have both my legs firmly intact and not blown off. Must be doing something right. I slept fairly well, despite the appliances of my room cavorting together to make my night miserable. My overhead fan, though a very important piece of equipment, screeches out a high pitch wail for oil every full rotation. Traveling in uncomfortable circumstances has prepared me for such little annoyances though and I can easily ignore it. Luckily, the sound is rather high pitch and melodic so I can convince my tired brain it's merely some exoctic tropical bird. Seems to be working so far. Aside from that, the basic buzzes of powerlines outside and the din that seaps through the thin walls are merely little welcoming whispers of the region and don't really bug me.
Speaking of which, I have yet to encounter a single mosquito. When I first noticed their absence I figured it might as the little refuge girl had warned in the second Alien movie: "they mostly come out at night...mostly." (yes, I just quoted Aliens. Are you really that shocked)? So, naturally when night fell on my first day I was backed onto the corner of my bed, clutching my DEET and preparing for the impending attack...it didn't come. Yet. Though mark my words, when I see the squall of Volkswagen sized harbingers of Malaria rushing my way, I will be ready. Oh yes. I will be ready.
Note: I may have watched one too many Southeast Asian guerrilla warfare movies prior to coming here...
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Day two in Cambodia and I still have both my legs firmly intact and not blown off. Must be doing something right. I slept fairly well, despite the appliances of my room cavorting together to make my night miserable. My overhead fan, though a very important piece of equipment, screeches out a high pitch wail for oil every full rotation. Traveling in uncomfortable circumstances has prepared me for such little annoyances though and I can easily ignore it. Luckily, the sound is rather high pitch and melodic so I can convince my tired brain it's merely some exoctic tropical bird. Seems to be working so far. Aside from that, the basic buzzes of powerlines outside and the din that seaps through the thin walls are merely little welcoming whispers of the region and don't really bug me.
Speaking of which, I have yet to encounter a single mosquito. When I first noticed their absence I figured it might as the little refuge girl had warned in the second Alien movie: "they mostly come out at night...mostly." (yes, I just quoted Aliens. Are you really that shocked)? So, naturally when night fell on my first day I was backed onto the corner of my bed, clutching my DEET and preparing for the impending attack...it didn't come. Yet. Though mark my words, when I see the squall of Volkswagen sized harbingers of Malaria rushing my way, I will be ready. Oh yes. I will be ready.
Note: I may have watched one too many Southeast Asian guerrilla warfare movies prior to coming here...
Welcome to my Holiday in Cambodia (consult your Dead Kennedys for the reference)
Alright, as promised here is an abbreviated version of my first thoughts on Cambodia. They're not extremely detailed, mainly because my first impressions of many aspects of this culture were already written about in my Thailand journal.
Once again, not that interesting...but then again, you don't have to read it.
1/23/09
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Well, I've been in Cambodia an entire 12 hours and have yet to lose my legs to a landmine. I'd say that qualifies this as a fairly successful trip so far.
After some 20 odd hours of being seated behind the only oblivious asshole on the entire flight that pushes their seat the ENTIRE way back and entertaining myself by musing over important questions like 'why, oh why, do they have ashtrays on flights when they insist there is absolutely no smoking allowed?'I emerged into the balmy terminal of Phnom Penh's International Airport.
I breeze through the visa check point and collect my bag, then turn into the women's bathroom to do all the important self grooming things to make myself somewhat presentable- brush teeth, change clothes, attempt to drag a comb through my rat's nest excuse for hair. But alas, the travel gods were not with me and as I turn the corner I'm greeted by a line of about 15 women waiting for the one stall. I shrink for a second, then shrug. Fuck it. I'm going to look like shit until I get some sleep anyway. I pull out my brush in front of the Customs' people anyway and tear through a few snarls for posterity's sake- after all, I don't really want to scare anyone.
Raen, my tuk tuk driver spots me before I can spot my own name. Guess I'm pretty obvious as I'm the only white girl on the flight. He leads me to my waiting chariot and we muddle through pleasantries in broken English. I confirm the price twice before hopping on.
It only takes about 15 seconds aboard the vehicle before it hits me. Not the excitement; there's still no flutter of anticipation of the unknown, and I don't think I will get that here...not in this city at least. No, the feeling that washes over me is more akin to that of a homecoming, strange as that might sound. The similarities between the streets of Phnom Penh and those of Phuket Town, my former SE Asian home, are immediately apparent. Present are the same crumbling sidewalks and dirt lots lining the never ending string of mom and pop storefronts filled with eclectic assortments of toiletries, clothing and prepackaged foodstuffs. Outdoor markets whiz by and I try to make a mental note of the more exotic looking stalls. Winding snakes, skewered and grilled next to the feet and internal organs of some animal that Andrew Zimmer probably worships. The biggest culinary difference I notice are the motobikes draped with chicken and other fowl. Not dead though. Strings and strings of tethered birds hanging off the sides just kinda chillin' and taking in the sites with me. That's probably a common site in a lot of places in Thailand too, but it wasn't something I remember encountering in such an abundance. The traffic, of course, is chaotic and hectic. The painted lines on the road where there's pavement bare absolutely no purpose as hordes of motobikes, tuk tuks, bikes, and the occasional car honk and weave through each other, sweeping confidently through and across oncoming traffic without so much as a glancing thought to their personal well-being and safety.
We arrive safely to a chorus of motobike drivers outside my hotel cat-calling and yelling out variations of "Where you go pretty girl? I drive," one asks me where I'm from and I throw "California," over my shoulder as I hurry into the lobby. They make approving noises before the door closes. I tell ya, as a western woman, if you ever need to feel appreciated, just come to Asia. Though I'm truly and deeply annoyed by the constant attention, I have to admit there exists a shred of flattery that I am quite careful to keep hidden.
Up to my bare quarters I go, paying my tuk tuk driver, and locking the door behind him. The room is probably how most people imagine prison quarters in the states, except the toilet is enclosed. Despite the lack of standing room though, I am extremely grateful for the large bed that dominates the space. I strip down and collapse on my bed, relieved to be greeted by clean sheets. As is custom, I take a self portrait of my arrival to a new country...but I'm too lazy and can't be bothered to actually aim my camera back at my face, so I prop one foot up and snap an artsy shot entitled "Dirty foot, clean sheets, wall, door." I start to feel myself sink into the firm mattress and shake myself awake. How lame would it be if I just slept my first afternoon here? I came for adventures right? Besides, I want to get on Cambodian time as quickly as possible. I jump into a cold shower which helped to jar my senses, changed into appropriate 90 degree attire, and headed out to explore.
I walk through the small dirt roads packed with carts, store fronts and eager tuk tuk drivers yelling as I pass. The shake off I grew accustomed to in Thailand returns to me automatically. (Note: Later I learned how to pair it with a respectable verbal refusal as well). I walk for a good couple miles before turning around and heading back to my temporary homestead. Just as I make it back to the main alley my hotel is down, my sandal breaks. Of course. Beyond salvage I reluctantly go barefoot (yay tough mountain feet) and suddenly become very grateful for having my tetanus shot prior to departure. I hold up the mangled shoe to the first store front I come to. The elderly woman behind the counter shakes her head and points down a little offshoot of the alley to another store. Who needs verbal language? A minute later I've found flip flops that fit (easy to find small footwear in Asia) and negotiated a fair price. My first purchase and I don't feel like I got ripped off. Always a good start.
I resume the short trek back to my room, but within 50 ft of the entrance I stop dead in my tracks. Could it be? No...really? An Irish pub. Two doors from my hostel. That serves curry all day. And Jameson for less than a dollar.
I almost cried.
I love Cambodia.
Once again, not that interesting...but then again, you don't have to read it.
1/23/09
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Well, I've been in Cambodia an entire 12 hours and have yet to lose my legs to a landmine. I'd say that qualifies this as a fairly successful trip so far.
After some 20 odd hours of being seated behind the only oblivious asshole on the entire flight that pushes their seat the ENTIRE way back and entertaining myself by musing over important questions like 'why, oh why, do they have ashtrays on flights when they insist there is absolutely no smoking allowed?'I emerged into the balmy terminal of Phnom Penh's International Airport.
I breeze through the visa check point and collect my bag, then turn into the women's bathroom to do all the important self grooming things to make myself somewhat presentable- brush teeth, change clothes, attempt to drag a comb through my rat's nest excuse for hair. But alas, the travel gods were not with me and as I turn the corner I'm greeted by a line of about 15 women waiting for the one stall. I shrink for a second, then shrug. Fuck it. I'm going to look like shit until I get some sleep anyway. I pull out my brush in front of the Customs' people anyway and tear through a few snarls for posterity's sake- after all, I don't really want to scare anyone.
Raen, my tuk tuk driver spots me before I can spot my own name. Guess I'm pretty obvious as I'm the only white girl on the flight. He leads me to my waiting chariot and we muddle through pleasantries in broken English. I confirm the price twice before hopping on.
It only takes about 15 seconds aboard the vehicle before it hits me. Not the excitement; there's still no flutter of anticipation of the unknown, and I don't think I will get that here...not in this city at least. No, the feeling that washes over me is more akin to that of a homecoming, strange as that might sound. The similarities between the streets of Phnom Penh and those of Phuket Town, my former SE Asian home, are immediately apparent. Present are the same crumbling sidewalks and dirt lots lining the never ending string of mom and pop storefronts filled with eclectic assortments of toiletries, clothing and prepackaged foodstuffs. Outdoor markets whiz by and I try to make a mental note of the more exotic looking stalls. Winding snakes, skewered and grilled next to the feet and internal organs of some animal that Andrew Zimmer probably worships. The biggest culinary difference I notice are the motobikes draped with chicken and other fowl. Not dead though. Strings and strings of tethered birds hanging off the sides just kinda chillin' and taking in the sites with me. That's probably a common site in a lot of places in Thailand too, but it wasn't something I remember encountering in such an abundance. The traffic, of course, is chaotic and hectic. The painted lines on the road where there's pavement bare absolutely no purpose as hordes of motobikes, tuk tuks, bikes, and the occasional car honk and weave through each other, sweeping confidently through and across oncoming traffic without so much as a glancing thought to their personal well-being and safety.
We arrive safely to a chorus of motobike drivers outside my hotel cat-calling and yelling out variations of "Where you go pretty girl? I drive," one asks me where I'm from and I throw "California," over my shoulder as I hurry into the lobby. They make approving noises before the door closes. I tell ya, as a western woman, if you ever need to feel appreciated, just come to Asia. Though I'm truly and deeply annoyed by the constant attention, I have to admit there exists a shred of flattery that I am quite careful to keep hidden.
Up to my bare quarters I go, paying my tuk tuk driver, and locking the door behind him. The room is probably how most people imagine prison quarters in the states, except the toilet is enclosed. Despite the lack of standing room though, I am extremely grateful for the large bed that dominates the space. I strip down and collapse on my bed, relieved to be greeted by clean sheets. As is custom, I take a self portrait of my arrival to a new country...but I'm too lazy and can't be bothered to actually aim my camera back at my face, so I prop one foot up and snap an artsy shot entitled "Dirty foot, clean sheets, wall, door." I start to feel myself sink into the firm mattress and shake myself awake. How lame would it be if I just slept my first afternoon here? I came for adventures right? Besides, I want to get on Cambodian time as quickly as possible. I jump into a cold shower which helped to jar my senses, changed into appropriate 90 degree attire, and headed out to explore.
I walk through the small dirt roads packed with carts, store fronts and eager tuk tuk drivers yelling as I pass. The shake off I grew accustomed to in Thailand returns to me automatically. (Note: Later I learned how to pair it with a respectable verbal refusal as well). I walk for a good couple miles before turning around and heading back to my temporary homestead. Just as I make it back to the main alley my hotel is down, my sandal breaks. Of course. Beyond salvage I reluctantly go barefoot (yay tough mountain feet) and suddenly become very grateful for having my tetanus shot prior to departure. I hold up the mangled shoe to the first store front I come to. The elderly woman behind the counter shakes her head and points down a little offshoot of the alley to another store. Who needs verbal language? A minute later I've found flip flops that fit (easy to find small footwear in Asia) and negotiated a fair price. My first purchase and I don't feel like I got ripped off. Always a good start.
I resume the short trek back to my room, but within 50 ft of the entrance I stop dead in my tracks. Could it be? No...really? An Irish pub. Two doors from my hostel. That serves curry all day. And Jameson for less than a dollar.
I almost cried.
I love Cambodia.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Boring, Self Indulgant Ramblings That Only a Sister Could Love
Alright, so here's the deal.
I don't have the time or energy to rehash my journal entries into something internet appropriate, or even into anything that would be remotely interesting to anyone else. But, fuck it. This is primarily for my sister anyway, and Em understands that my journals are closer to scattered field notes than cohesive, eloquent memoires.
You've been forewarned.
January 21, 2009
SFO Airport
10:40 pm, PST
It's an hour before boarding time and I've discovered an oasis, that, having now found, can't imagine how I ever survived air travel without. Two words: Airport. Bar. Even though I had to pay a staggering $8 to get a glass of Jameson...now I have a glass of Jameson, the joy and warmth of which far overshadows any of the pain and humiliation of the financial butt-raping I have just endured. Ah, yes. No matter how many locks I put on my luggage, no matter how well I secure my pockets, an alcoholic is always an easy, eager and willing mark if the bait is their favorite poison. At least you can drink away your shame.
...But enough about booze.
I let my tired eyes fight against their heavy lids and space out onto the rain-slicked tarmac and wonder why I couldn't sleep last night. Anticipation and anxiety of the impending trip should be the obvious culprits, though if I was being honest, I'd have to admit that neither of those jittery travel pests have come out to play yet. Even the boy that was passed out next to me can't be blamed. (Note: Entry edited for content). Of course I'm going to miss him- hell, looking out on my plane and realizing he had successfully identified it from the terminal walkway and I hadn't believed him, it's already hitting me already how much it's going to suck not being able to talk or message him whenever I want. Who knows, our banter might fall out of practice. As he's pointed out though, (as have the more favorable voices in my head), we've been friends for 10 years now. I don't think much is going to change in 2 months...or however long I'm staying.
So if it's not my heartstrings being plucked, or my nerves being shredded, why the restless night? Who knows, maybe it's merely my body's preemptive defense against the jet lag waiting for me on the other side of the Pacific. Or maybe I'm just failing to acknowledge some nagging question I've banished to the back of my mind...
Whatever the case, as I stare down at my behemoth craft and think of the long flight that lies ahead of me, I hope I'm tired enough to simply curl up and sleep through most of the 15 hour flight to Taipei. I pour the last swig of whisky down the hatch, gather my stuff from the now deserted restaurant table, and make my way to my gate.
.................................
NOTE: There's another entry in between these two that is filled with all the oh so important first impressions of Cambodia. Its got all the good exotic details you probably want to hear about, but, it's long, I'm tired, and it's going to have to wait. Deal with it.
.................................
January 23, 2009
Khmer Restaurant
11:40 am, Cambodian Time
Alright, I have no idea what prompted me to take out my book and write, but whatever it was, it's far inferior to the Chinese soap opera that's playing on the screen in the back of this restaurant. Let's see if I can do this justice:
A disheveled, obviously strung out chick clad in cream colored silk pajamas is heavily shackled, sitting on the edge of her bed, muttering to herself and rocking back and forth with a white dove clutched on her lap. Now this could be dismissed as a bad acid trip, but then we meet the other players. Another chick, concerned, comes up and sits next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and most likely reassuring her that she'll come down in a couple hours. Slowly, the quiet soothing words reach the bound one as she slows her muttering and faces her friend. She seems to understand and cracks a small smile. Then she bites her. Straight for the jugular. Oops, okay, maybe she doesn't completely understand. The broad who got mauled is now reeling back in shock and pain, which is to be expected. That's only lasting a second though and now she looks more pissed. Also to be expected. Okay, now she's smiling. Alright...I don't know if that's an appropriate response. Now she's completely switched gears into sinister psychopath mode. Eyebrows pulled together, wide toothy grin, still bleeding but apparently unperturbed, she starts speaking in dark tones that can only accompany a "I'm going to kill your puppy and force you to eat him" type of speech. It cuts away to some sing-a-long love story segment in a field, (oh yes), and then returns to the chewed-on chick swinging the girl's precious dove upside down just out of the other girl's frantic reach. The evil chick laughs, and the screen fades to black.
Wow. And that's just the basic cable programming. NOW do people understand why I love this part of the world? It's not just entertaining either, but chalk full of important life lessons. Okay boys and girls, what have we learned today? That's right: stay away from Chinese acid.
I don't have the time or energy to rehash my journal entries into something internet appropriate, or even into anything that would be remotely interesting to anyone else. But, fuck it. This is primarily for my sister anyway, and Em understands that my journals are closer to scattered field notes than cohesive, eloquent memoires.
You've been forewarned.
January 21, 2009
SFO Airport
10:40 pm, PST
It's an hour before boarding time and I've discovered an oasis, that, having now found, can't imagine how I ever survived air travel without. Two words: Airport. Bar. Even though I had to pay a staggering $8 to get a glass of Jameson...now I have a glass of Jameson, the joy and warmth of which far overshadows any of the pain and humiliation of the financial butt-raping I have just endured. Ah, yes. No matter how many locks I put on my luggage, no matter how well I secure my pockets, an alcoholic is always an easy, eager and willing mark if the bait is their favorite poison. At least you can drink away your shame.
...But enough about booze.
I let my tired eyes fight against their heavy lids and space out onto the rain-slicked tarmac and wonder why I couldn't sleep last night. Anticipation and anxiety of the impending trip should be the obvious culprits, though if I was being honest, I'd have to admit that neither of those jittery travel pests have come out to play yet. Even the boy that was passed out next to me can't be blamed. (Note: Entry edited for content). Of course I'm going to miss him- hell, looking out on my plane and realizing he had successfully identified it from the terminal walkway and I hadn't believed him, it's already hitting me already how much it's going to suck not being able to talk or message him whenever I want. Who knows, our banter might fall out of practice. As he's pointed out though, (as have the more favorable voices in my head), we've been friends for 10 years now. I don't think much is going to change in 2 months...or however long I'm staying.
So if it's not my heartstrings being plucked, or my nerves being shredded, why the restless night? Who knows, maybe it's merely my body's preemptive defense against the jet lag waiting for me on the other side of the Pacific. Or maybe I'm just failing to acknowledge some nagging question I've banished to the back of my mind...
Whatever the case, as I stare down at my behemoth craft and think of the long flight that lies ahead of me, I hope I'm tired enough to simply curl up and sleep through most of the 15 hour flight to Taipei. I pour the last swig of whisky down the hatch, gather my stuff from the now deserted restaurant table, and make my way to my gate.
.................................
NOTE: There's another entry in between these two that is filled with all the oh so important first impressions of Cambodia. Its got all the good exotic details you probably want to hear about, but, it's long, I'm tired, and it's going to have to wait. Deal with it.
.................................
January 23, 2009
Khmer Restaurant
11:40 am, Cambodian Time
Alright, I have no idea what prompted me to take out my book and write, but whatever it was, it's far inferior to the Chinese soap opera that's playing on the screen in the back of this restaurant. Let's see if I can do this justice:
A disheveled, obviously strung out chick clad in cream colored silk pajamas is heavily shackled, sitting on the edge of her bed, muttering to herself and rocking back and forth with a white dove clutched on her lap. Now this could be dismissed as a bad acid trip, but then we meet the other players. Another chick, concerned, comes up and sits next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and most likely reassuring her that she'll come down in a couple hours. Slowly, the quiet soothing words reach the bound one as she slows her muttering and faces her friend. She seems to understand and cracks a small smile. Then she bites her. Straight for the jugular. Oops, okay, maybe she doesn't completely understand. The broad who got mauled is now reeling back in shock and pain, which is to be expected. That's only lasting a second though and now she looks more pissed. Also to be expected. Okay, now she's smiling. Alright...I don't know if that's an appropriate response. Now she's completely switched gears into sinister psychopath mode. Eyebrows pulled together, wide toothy grin, still bleeding but apparently unperturbed, she starts speaking in dark tones that can only accompany a "I'm going to kill your puppy and force you to eat him" type of speech. It cuts away to some sing-a-long love story segment in a field, (oh yes), and then returns to the chewed-on chick swinging the girl's precious dove upside down just out of the other girl's frantic reach. The evil chick laughs, and the screen fades to black.
Wow. And that's just the basic cable programming. NOW do people understand why I love this part of the world? It's not just entertaining either, but chalk full of important life lessons. Okay boys and girls, what have we learned today? That's right: stay away from Chinese acid.
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