Mountains and Moxie

I have a gecko that wakes me in the morning.  I’m hoping when I get home I can find some version of his chatter to add to my iPhone alarms – it is a lovely way to wake (although I wish he slept a bit later).

After breakfast yesterday, I joined Nicola and Tiffany on their daily snorkel around the island.  I could not understand how they could do the sam activity every morning and still find it interesting. But then I looked down at the seas below me an all was clear.  Fish were everywhere – all shapes sizes and colors. I had a code for them in my head to remember which they were (old man fish, that would be a great dress fish, clashing colors fish, etc), but Tiffany knew them all by genus. (although when I queried why she was sure one fish was a female, she was did admit she hadn’t anticipated the question – it just seemed like a female.)

As we swam along, Nicola and Tiffany stopped to look at a particular fish. I swam in to see what had captured their imagination and Tif pulled me back.  That’s the most dangerous fish in the area she said as we surfaced. It will take a bite out of you.  “OK – I’m going that way,” and off and away I swam.  A short time later we stopped short in our swimming.  Below us, swimming lazily, was a turtle.  Its flippers moving him (or her) gracefully through the water.  We followed it for about twenty minutes – Nicola filming – but eventually he bored with us and swam away.

My favorite fish were the common parrot fish. There were hundreds of the beautiful brightly colored darlings. Apparently they eat coral and they would jam their hard mouths against the reef to loosed up some food. After they’d had their fill, they’d swim off, a trail of dust (poo?) behind them.

The entire experience was like jumping in the tanks at Bloomberg  – every fish imaginable.

We finished the snorkel in time for a little rest, lunch, and my massage. The massage room had a cut out in the floor and I spent the entire soothing time watching fish below me. With all the knots out of me, it was time for more.

Tiffany and I grabbed a kayak and tooled our way around the island. While it was no Saco River, the tides were strong and it took effort to get around, but was worth the strain.  As we waved to snorkelers and the boat traffic, took in the calm beauty around us.

Another short rest and off we went on our sunset cruise.  A loud family of Brits shoved their way loudly onto the boat ahead of us, and we all felt a little less enthusiastic. And just when it was our turn to board, they announced the boat was full and we’d be on the next one.

Ours had just a handful of passengers on it as we headed out in search of the sun. Clouds prevented us from seeing too bright a setting, but the boat ride was lovely.  There was a bit of commotion and excitement when someone called out “dolphin” and we all rushed to see what was a log floating in the water (ok – the someone was one of my party), but even that didn’t taint the evening.
Worn out from a wonderful day, we stumbled for another cocktail and dinner.

You will all be relieved to know that I didn’t lend my voice to karaoke night.

My morning started slowly enough yesterday. While Nicola and Tiffany snorkeled happily around our little island, I drank fruity ice tea (which wasn’t so hot as they through some ice cubes over the hot tea, and really, that never works) and waited for my new room.  Island time kicked in as the receptionists would tell me it would be ready in 5 or 10 minutes and by lunch I was floating away on tea, but still with no room.

Stashing my valuables in N and T’s room, we lunched on fish and curry and off we went on our sea trip to see turtles and manta rays. I had initially agreed to the trip because I thought we were seeing manatees, but after it was explained to me (with some amusement) that I have to go to florida to see the adorable swimming hippos and these rays will be beautiful and graceful, I was great to go.

Our young guide was on his first trip in charge of a group and he nervously explained to the group of about 15 passengers of all nationalities that we would take the boat out for a while and then when we spotted some, we could jump in and swim with them.  But we might not see them, he warned.

After about 45 minutes the boat slowed then stopped and our guide jumped in saying follow me.  Nicola, already suited up was first in the water – apparently there had been an issue with an older woman not wanting to jump off the boat on their previous trip, and she was not about to let a slow poke (me) keep her from seeing the rays.

By the time I was ready to jump in, the group of 6 or so already in the water was heading back to the boat. Nervous creatures, the ray had zipped away when bodies began crashing the water. We cruised a bit longer with no ray in site, but a school of dolphins jumped happily in and out of our wake for a while.

There was a large island in our sites and we picked that as our meeting point should any of us be left behind – a morbid little game I tend to play with myself and anyone who will indulge me. Then, just when I was giving up hope we would spot the fish,  we stopped again.  Before I could look up, Nicola was in the water.  I struggled into my gear and jumped off the boat last.  As the group swam to my left, a guide tapped me and pointed to the right and their was the magnificent ray.

Apparently they can be the size of an airplane. It was a bit away from me, but I could see it dancing in the water as it swam as far away from us as it could get.  Giddy, I looked up and realized the group was quite far off. No worries, thought I as I began to paddle my flippers in the choppy water. My legs started screaming from the effort before I was halfway to the group and the water was getting rougher by the second.  I looked with envy at a small boy with a life-preserver on, but I caught up and Nicola, Tiffany and I all gave each other the thumbs up – we’d seen what we’d come for. The group headed back to the boat and the small child blocked my way to the stairs – I wanted out of that water.

Back on board, our guide counted us all and we headed towards the turtle cove.  Nicola showed us her video of the rays (which I will post here soon), which apparently involved shoving a french woman out of her way to get the shot. The sea got rough quickly with 5 foot swells battering the boat.  As we jostled side to side, up and down, I decided silently that I would not be getting back in the water, turtles or no. No need for that though, the guide apologetically explained that the storm was getting bad and we’d have to cut the trip short.  He looked forlorn, apologizing over and over for the weather, despite the relief on the faces of the passengers.

As the seconds passed and the storm got worse, the boat got noisy with nervous laughter and our  squeals of fears each time we lurched. Nicola went over to the small boy, at this point crying and panicked, and held him tightly.  She whispered soothing words to him and soon had him laughing with delight, completely oblivious to the fear in the boat.

Actually – that didn’t happen.  Nicola resorted to her fear response – loudly expressed four letter words despite the presence of children.  Tiffany and I smiled and held the sides of the boat tightly.  Show no fear I repeated in my head.

After what felt like hours, but was only minutes, the sea began to calm.  We made it back to shore and immediately ordered a cocktail to celebrate our survival. Then another. Then a third.

After checking into my new room -a lovely cabin on the beach completely with hammock, we had dinner and another cocktail. Tiffany and I stayed up a bit later after Nicola retired and as we walked back to our cabins, she warned me to nap tomorrow (today), because we had a long day ahead and she couldn’t have us pooping out early.

Tomorrow’s not New Year’s eve, though, is it? I asked confused.

No. It’s better. She responded. It’s karaoke night!

It was an early start to yesterday.  At 4:30 I headed, takeaway breakfast in hand, to the airport. At stop in Thailand and then on to Male, capital of the Maldives. Little frustration after the candies that I’d bought to bring Nicola were confiscated at the airport (which also held signs not to carry idols meant for worship – Male is quite strictly Muslim, though the resorts turn a blind eye.

A transfer to the grand sounding Trans Maldavian Airlines had me on a small seaplane with a barefoot driver and air plugs for the 40 minute trip to Vilamendhoo, my island home for the next few days.  We landed once to let off a few passengers at another island and then headed to a dock far out in the water. We disembarked and got on a small boat which took us to the island and our welcome committee.  Well, my welcome committee.  Nicola and Tiffany, topped with Santa hats, stood waving like festive madwomen as the boat approached.  Several of my fellow passengers waved back and took photos, before they realized they were only for me.

We sat in the reception bungalow with cool towels and lime cocktails as the host talked me through my visit.  Complimentary massage, sunset cruise, restaurants, and, oh yes, I had been upgraded to a jacuzzi water villa, the most luxurious accommodations available.

Tiffany smiled graciously as Nicola bust goodheartedly out with “You got an upgrade! You always get the upgrades! It’s not fair”.  It was sadly for only one night, but we did a good job with it.  The cabins are on stilts along a wood dock that reaches out into the water.  They have large canopied beds with light coming from a deck in the back and front, but have high walls so no one can see in.  The front is an unbroken view of the water.

A couple beers (this will be a theme of this part of the vacation, I fear) and we headed back to their room about a kilometer away down the island, then off to watch the sunset with pina coladas.  Dinner was a buffet of everything imaginable capped with crepes suzette and more cocktails and then we retired to my jacuzzi.  Not really built for three, but we managed.

At about 10:30, the day hit me and I kicked them out.  Today we head off to do some snorkeling and in the afternoon a turtle cruise.

I’m in paradise.

I’m sitting in the Trans Moldavian Airlines guest lounge waiting for a seaplane to take me to the luxury resort in the Maldives where I shall end my holidays, and thinking back to yesterday and the wonderful and powerful end to my time in Cambodia.

But first – a word about my hair.

There are two kinds of thick hair. One where there is a larger than average number of strands of hair, the other is that each strand is thicker than average. I am very lucky, so says every hair professional who’ve gotten ahold of mine, because my hair is thick in both ways. I guess I’m grateful, and its really a silly thing, but the worst thing about travel for me is what happens to my hair. The water quality and lack of proper conditioner dries it out, thickens it up and at certain points it is actually heavy to hold my head up.  I don’t think I’ll stop traveling over this, but man is it bothering me today.

ANYWAY.

I started yesterday with a combodian cooking class alongside Lorna from Malta and Elsa from Belgium Our instructor, who told us he was 26, but I’m guessing he was about 20 was a graduate of the Friends School, a program which helps street children learn skills.  Our teacher has a Facebook page on which he posts videos of cooking lessons and a dream to open his own restaurant.  “I am not going to marry until I have a restaurant.  No wife for me.” I’m not sure the restaurant was the only thing keeping him uninterested in a wife….

We started the day with a walk through the market.  Neither the touristy Central or Russian markets, but a very local space filled with strange varieties of fruits and veggies, fly ridden piles of meat, and noodles galore.  The smells were divine and revolting and Else spent the visit with a kerchief over her nose.  The stone pathways were thick with muck and I dodged puddles with my sandaled feet.  Monks and children wandered through it barefoot and unfazed.

We went to a rooftop kitchen in a residential neighborhood where our teacher (I am bad with the Cambodian names) prepared our lesson and Lorna, Elsa and I got to know each other.  Lorna, a nurse, had been volunteering at a local orphanage and knew Else through another volunteer who was meant to join us, but had come down with Dengue Fever.  So that’s going around apparently.

The orphanage thing is interesting.  There are signs in the hotel and many of the Oxfam sites advising tourists not to visit the orphanages -that ultimately our tragedy tourism causes more harm than good for the children.

Our lesson commenced and we made lovely spring rolls and fish amok (fish steamed with spices in a banana leaf) which we ate for lunch.  With promises to repeat what we learned at home and to keep in touch we all went our separate ways for the afternoon.

My way, for my last afternoon in Cambodia, was to take in the hard truths of the country.  My hotel arranged a driver to take me to the infamous Killing Fields.  There were, sadly, many killing fields around the country, but one has become the symbol for them all.  You drive about 30 minutes outside of Phnom Penh, through increasingly impoverished neighborhoods, until you come upon what, if you didn’t know better, would seem like a lovely park.  The audio tour, led by a survivor of the Khmer Rouge, has selections to play at several stops along a path.  The field is marked with many ditches, now grassy, which were the sites of mass graves.  Signs warn visitors to avoid stepping on bones or teeth that may turn up on the path after rains or wind.  Several graves on the site have not been emptied.  there is a stupa in the center which houses hundreds of skulls and bones of the victims.  I wandered slowly through the site, listening to the audio explanation and stories of survivors.  Each visitor wandered in silence, sometimes with tears. It was incredibly powerful.  From there, my driver headed back to the city and began, unsolicited, to tell his story. He lost his family, was in a forced work camp and beaten daily.  Starving, one of his friends picked a piece of fruit they were harvesting and was shot on the spot. He laughed a bit as he told the story and sounded optimistic about the future.  He’d just bought the car he was driving after 10 years of working for someone else and his son was going to university.

He dropped me at the Genocide Museum.  A former high school, the buildings were used as a prison and torture chamber. Photos of the violence hung in the cells alongside photos of the many victims.  A group of saffron-robed monks were visiting at the same time as I was and they pulled out cell phones and photographed the site for themselves.  As I left I met Chum Mey, one of only seven known survivors of the prison.

The intensity of the afternoon and an early departure meant a welcome night in the hotel.

I’m now in the Maldives, paradise like none I’ve ever experienced.  But more on that later.  Now I sleep.

I woke on the day after christmas to head back to Phnom Pehn.  Siem Reap was a dream, but the reality of life in Cambodia was visible everywhere.  The poverty in this country is overwhelming and everywhere there are signs of it’s past. Everyone over 40 has a harrowing story to tell.  Everywhere there are twisted bodies with lost limbs, acid burns, blindness or worse.  There are schools and, as I’ve mentioned, most of the children I talked to said they were in school (apparently they run in shifts so students can work part of the day as well).  One girl, trying to get me to buy her wares at a temple followed me for a long time saying please help me. Finally, after I’d said no for the umpteenth time, she said “it’s very expensive for girl’s to go to school.  I just want to go to school.”  Oh – she knew the way to my heart (and I suspect that of many other women travelers) and I walked away with a couple scarves I didn’t want.

Arriving in Phnom Pehn, I was met by a driver of about 50 years old. The minute he found out I was American, he began to talk. “Americans don’t know – it is very bad here,” he said. He proceeded to tell me about losing his family when he was young – they were all killed, he lived by hiding in the woods with his uncle.  He told me about the Russians and the Chinese influences in the country. He pointed out the massive Office of Anti-Corruption building which lay opposite a Rolls Royce dealership.  “But it’s better now, no?” I said.  He laughed at me. People still die, he explained.  Just one at a time.  “America doesn’t care.”  I don’t know how much of what he said was accurate, but I do suspect that we don’t really care.

I splurged for my last days in Phnom Pehn and booked a lovely resort. It turns out, I prefer more modest accommodations. There is a guard at the door and we are instructed not to have guests come into the hotel.  The beautiful pool has pagodas with sheer curtains and uniformed staff to cater to every need.  The high walls keep the sounds of the city out.  As I sat with my delicious lime tea, I felt like I was fiddling while rome burned.  I have too much liberal guilt for this kind of a place.

After a quick shower, I headed out for a walk about the neighbor hood.  As I left the hotels front gates the guard called after me not to take a photo.  I asked what he meant and he said “oh of course you can take a photo, but be careful – they will steal your camera.” These warnings had been so often repeated to me.  I wondered through the monuments in the national museum and along the water for a while til I saw a small pizza shop.  And it was lunch time.

Normally I wouldn’t get pizza anywhere but New York or Rome, but the “happy” herb pizza had been haunting me.  Happy herbs are not technically legal in cambodia, but they are everywhere, including on the pizza.  One small pizza came with a free beer. It had onions and an egg as well as the special herbs dusted on top.  It was fine. I have no idea if it had an effect on me or not, but I headed back for a nap, so it probably had the same effect that pot has on me anywhere else in the globe – it made me sleepy.

In the evening I headed out for a gorgeous sunset cruise on the Mekong, alongside Tina and Amit, an Indian couple living in Qatar and staying at the hotel.  They were lovely company and at the end of the ride we exchanged contact information and connected on Facebook.

They headed to the Night Market and I to the Foreign Correspondents Club, the famed gathering place of wartime writers now a hotel and restaurant, where I had tropical cocktails overlooking the Mekong and fancied myself a tough girl war reporter holding my own with the cigar boys.

Today is my final day in Cambodia and I have a busy one planned – one that will find me, I hope, facing the hard truths of this country and celebrating its beauty.

It’s been a wonderful trip.

The ancient folks took worshiping seriously.  And you had to work for it.  I’ve now been to Machu Picchu, the Vatican, Angkor Wat, the Colosseum.  I’ve even seen cave paintings. And the all have a couple things in common.  They’re all hard to get to. You have to hike or climb at lot of stairs, or fight lions or whatever.  But you have to put in some effort.

The second thing is in every case, when I got there, someone before me had left some garbage.  And today’s empty bottles of water put me over the edge.

Come on, people! Have some respect.  They built the pyramids with no one but aliens to help them.  We can carry out what we carry in!

I’ve spent the last couple days speed soaking in the temples of Siem Reap. Of course, there’s the big one – Angkor Wat – but that’s just one. There are so many temples here. The girl at the front desk of my beautiful hotel said “oh, there are so many. I don’t even want to go to them any more.”  I, of course, did.

The hotel had options of tours, but of course, I wanted to make my own so we would head off in one direction for an hour or so and then another, but it would knock some high points off my list. Bunruth, my driver who’s name I now know, picked me up Wednesday morning and off we went. First stop – Banteay Srei, the “Ladies Temple.” The drive wound out of Siem Reap and through the countryside. There were rice fields of deep emerald green and scattered huts or street vendors.  Along the road were the skinniest cows and plumper water buffalo.  We stopped at the National Landmine Museum, a quirky building with cases of various types of mines. The founder cleared mines and the collection contains many he found.  Also, he seems to have collected orphaned children and there is a donation box to help care for them. It was quite humble, yet incredible powerful.

Banteay Srei, built for Shiva was a lovely small temple with cascading grounds.  I followed a sign towards boat rides and found a group of children and assorted boats.  A boy of about 15 waved me towards a boat, handed me a parasol and began rowing me through lily padded water.  He told me he was in school, but today was off. All the children I met along the way told me they were in school, but still were some how able to be at the site. I hope they were.

After my boat ride, Bunruth and I headed toward the Kompong Pluk, a lake village. But first we stopped for lunch (more noodle soup. oh how I love it) and to see palm sugar be made. Palm sugar is a lot like maple sugar, just from a palm tree – that is what I can tell you about that.  We also passed nearly a dozen wedding parties.  It is wedding season in Cambodia.

After a little while we turned on to a bumpy dirt road.  Tuk Tuks are way less fun when they a pulling up dust and navigating potholes.  The road was so bumpy that my fit bit thought I’d jogged 7000 steps -about two miles. (it’s possible fit bits are not as accurate as they seem).

The ride seemed interminable, but it did end and I got into a boat with another child driver, and a young family. The husband told me he operated a boat as well but business was slow.  The boat wound around at maze of stilted houses, one of which belonged to our family and they jumped out.  There was a temple, a floating garden, loads of animals and a bustling schoolyard. The community is made up of fisherman mostly, but tourism plays a big part as well.  We parked the boat and I was moved into one of several waiting small boats with women at the helm.  We traded through the Flooded Forest. The sun filtered in through the trees as we moved peacefully through.  It was magical.

Bunruth and I headed back to the hotel and I was asleep once again by 9pm.  Good thing too, because today started early.

At 5am Bunruth picked me up and we drove into the darkness.  He deposited me at the main gate and said just keep walking.  I did. There were a lot of iPhone flashlights on that walkway and eventually we came to a small lake.  This is where the temple reflects a voice called out.  As people jostled to get close, a women came through the crowd saying do you want coffee? You get coffee, I bring you a chair.  Done and done.  So I sat comfortably waiting for the sun.  The drama was marred a bit by a drone that some idiot had brought, but still – what a sight.  As the sun rose, I walked into and around the temple’s many corridors and courtyards.  At 7:40 the steep steps to the most holy area opened up and a line quickly formed. Women with exposed shoulders or knees were plucked out of line and the rest of us headed up.  It was worth the effort.  How this was created is a mystery, but it is a sight to behold.  Men offered prayers for money and costumed dancing girls would pose for a dollar a photo, but it still felt pure there.

Ta Prohm was our next stop and my final temple (turns out you can see to many and I’d found my limit). The temple is overrun with banyan trees who’s roots have become part of the holy space.  Lara Croft also spent some time here.  It was jammed with tourists each taking a photographic turn with the roots.

at 10:30 I headed to a most unexpected detour.  Because of Facebook, I learned that a friend from summer camp, whom I hadn’t’ seen in 25 years was also in Siem Reap.  I joined her group as they finished a lively christmas yankee swap and then she and I caught up over a cocktail.  She had to dash off for a flight, but the reunion was made.

My afternoon was quiet.  Some shopping, a massage, and a traditional dance dinner theater.  It was a lovely christmas.

The flight from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap is only 30 minutes and was filled with tourists.  I had wanted to travel by bus, the way Cambodians do and to see the countryside as I went, but the roads here are very bad and I was warned that it could be an 8 hour drive or longer.  I’m sorry I couldn’t do that, but with such a short visit, choices had to be made, alas.

It is a unique pleasure to get out of an airport, especially a chaotic third world one, to find a crowd of men holding signs in various languages looking for their guests, while others cry “taxi, lady?.” It get my blood pumping in anticipation.  The best moment, of course is to find the man (it’s always a man, or a boy, but never a woman) holding the sign with my name on it.  “YOU!” I pointed at him! “That’s me!”  He loaded my pack into his tuk tuk and off we went.  Siem Reap is one of my favorite types of towns.  What was once a small community turned into a bustling international metropolis of tourists on their way for an adventure.  Pokhara in Nepal as you head up Annapurna, Cusco in Peru as you set off to Machu Picchu, Ouarzazate in Morocco – I love them all! So of course, I love this town.

Everywhere were Santas, and trees, and holiday lights, though not a menorah to be found.  Hotels and restaurants advertised holiday special dinners.  We passed the Bug Cafe which offered insect tapas, and the Night Market, which would surely merit a visit, and arrived at the Golden Butterfly Villa, a lovely guesthouse at the end of a narrow dirt alleyway.

I was treated to a limeade drink which was a refreshing as anything I’ve ever consumed and some coconut sticky rice.  The concierge, a very soft spoken young woman, walked me through the options of tours the hotel could arrange for me.  I pointed to one and said I’d like to do that.  She hesitated and said “I cannot recommend you do that tour.  there are many poor people there.  This one is nicer” and she pointed out another option.  In the end I opted for a temple / river combination for christmas eve and Angkor Wat for sunrise on Christmas day.  There was a sunset option at Phnom Bakheng but I would have to leave right away.  I gobbled the rice, through my bags in my room and jumped back into the tuk tuk, to the surprise of everyone who thought a massage was the option I’d choose.  My driver, the same man who picked me up at the airport and who’s name I need to learn as he’ll be my driver for the duration, spun me through town and by the gates of Angkor Wat.  “Do you want to see sunset here?” he asked.  “Where is better?” “Phnom Bakheng, but you must hike.”     Oy – always I end up hiking! But in for a penny and all that.  He left me at the bottom of a trail and pointed upwards.  “I’ll be here when you are done” he said pointing towards a sea of tuk tuks, some in which the drivers had hastened hammocks as they waited for their fares.  I groaned and headed up, but the 15 minute trail was quite easy with frequent vistas to see the beautiful landscape and slowly setting sun.  So many in fact that I didn’t quite realize I needed to go on. When I did, I practically ran up the hill to reach the temple before the sun went down.  It emerged from the mountain – tall stone spires and crumbling walls. I climbed to the top and stood with the silent crowd as the sun majestically lowered beneath the horizon.  Within seconds of it’s setting, guards walked through the group yelling “closed! temple is closed now.” and we all headed down the dirt path. The twilight and rocky trail left me a bit nervous I would fall (I mean, of course I would, right?) but I did not.  I sang hiking songs in my head and thought of the many hours walking through the woods in twilight in New Hampshire. And I felt so at peace.

I was less at peace as the mad rush to tuk tuks began at the bottom of the trail.  I scanned through the darkness for my driver, running through what I could remember – striped shirt, beatles mop top hair cut… but he found me easily and we headed back through the darkness.  Small tents of vendors lined the way, their wares all looking identical.  Back at the hotel, I checked email to see if Shari, my camp friend who’d posted on Facebook that she’d also be in Siem Reap, had emailed.  She suggested dinner the next day, so I sat down to contemplate a visit to the night market.  Realizing that jet lag had caught me, I had a curry and Angkor beer in the hotel and was asleep by 8pm.

I woke at about 4 am feeling refreshed.  Hopefully that will last me one more day as I have a 4 am visit to Angkor Wat tomorrow, but for now I’m good.

I have a cup of sweet milking coffee in front of me and am about to head out for the day.

My christmas eve.

I got to my room in Phnom Penh at about midnight last night, after many many hours of travel. But despite a bit of fitful airline seat sleep, I couldn’t click into the time zone.  By 5am, I gave up on sleep, watched Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations: Cambodia on iTunes and by 7 I was out on the town.

The Central Market was just steps from my hotel (that’s why I chose it. That and the fact that it was $15/night). I love the bustle of a Southeast Asian street. Mopeds and tuk tuks alongside expensive sedans speed in all directions with no clear regulations. Each intersection is a game of chicken, but, against all odds, I’ve never seen an accident.

The Market itself is a central room of vendors with rays of shops off it’s center. The stalls are filled with fish and meats and vegetables. The smells range from slightly sickening to fabulously delicious.  Flowers, pots and pans, and shoes were sold in other alleys of shops.  After wondering in wonderment for a while I sought out sustenance.  First coffee.  The strong brew was paired with sweet condensed milk.  Then I headed off to find something for breakfast. A bowl of spicy, limey noodles with pork spring rolls did the trick.  I was thrilled with my day and it wasn’t even 9am.

First though I had to cross the street. The motorcycles and tuk tuks whizzed by as waited for my opportunity to dash.  As I looked lifted, someone grabbed my right hand and pulled.  I looked over at a woman who’s decaying teeth and weather beaten face made her seem much older than I suspect she was. She pulled me across the street saying you mustn’t be scared.  When we got to the other side, she squeezed my hand and said “welcome to cambodia. merry christmas.” and disappeared into the crowds.

I popped back to the hotel, grabbed a tuk tuk and asked the driver to show me the town. He suggested the Royal Palace and off we went. My driver left me on the corner and pointed toward an entrance. I walked off to find my way in, but at each door the guard pointed me on. The large street on which the palace sat was closed to traffic but lined with students groups and finely dressed men and women holding bright yellow and red silk flowers.  It seems the president of Vietnam was in Phnom Pehn to meet with the Cambodian king.  I waited with the crowd for about an hour.  The students flashed me peace signs and posed with their arms around each other and big smiles as only teenagers  can.  The crowd seemed to be mostly made up of Vietnamese living in Cambodia.  Whenever there was a flicker of activity from behind the palace gates a cheer went up and the student band began to play.  I stayed until a caravan of black suvs disappeared behind the gate, waved good by to the band and headed back to my tuk tuk.

We made our way along the Mekong River and around town to Phnom Wat – a temple high on a hill in the center of town.  A man leaning on a branch to support his single leg waved souvenirs at me.  I climbed the steep staircase to the temple – pausing to selfie with the marble Buddhas that lined the stairs. The sweeping views from the top were almost as fabulous as the neon alter where people made offerings and prayer.  Lit with red and green tubes of light with a flashing sign, worships knelt before the Buddha and waved lotus flowers over their heads.

Back on the street, my driver spun me around the city for another half hour or so before we headed back to the hotel. In the balmy Cambodian weather, a tuk tuk offers nice breezes and great views. When I leaned out to take a photo, a driver of an adjacent tuk tuk warned me to hold my phone tight, there were thieves about.  That on top of the warning sign in the hotel to keep my eyes peeled for child sex abuse, tainted my rosy view of the city a bit, but not much (I was keeping my eyes peeled though. No child would be hurt on my watch!)

And with that, my morning in Phnom Pehn came to an end and I headed to the airport for a quick flight to Siem Reap  – home of Angkor Wat and a Waukeela reunion!

I swear every time I travel it’s like I never have before. I’m getting pretty good at certain things – I make sure that I have a toothbrush, comfy socks, and peanut butter candy for the plane. I have a folder I use for all my confirmations and itin details. I have my travel bags sorted – big pack for everything, back pack for day trippin, and my little waist bag (ok -fanny pack) for my money and passport.

But there’s always some new system – take your belt off or leave it on.  We didn’t have to take our shoes off at JFT, but then I did because for some reason my sandals set off alarms.

My layover airport in China was full of amusingly translated signs

and shops that put Pearl River to shame.  If I’ve learned anything though, it’s that for layovers of 3 hours or more –  spring for the VIP lounge. You can shower, nap, and eat in comfort. In China, I had a wonderful nap and some steaming hot water poured over me for $50 and it was worth every penny.

I’ve arrived in Phnom Penh with enough time to nap before I head back to the airport and Siem Reap. Where the fun begins.
G’nite all!