Life with Chinese Characteristics, Chapter 17: Camping out in Cambodia

Well hello there, friends,

It's been quite some time since I connected with you here, and I am glad to be back to writing in this space.

If the title to this post has elicited images of me in REI pants crawling into a tent near a beach or in a jungle or whatever your ideas about Cambodia are, I have misled you. While in Cambodia, my Barcelona Bestie, Liz, and I did not sleep outside -- though we may have thought we were sleeping in a tent with the number of mosquitoes that kept us company some nights -- nor did we experience harsh living conditions (actually quite the contrary).

But I'm an English teacher. And I like alliteration.

And thefreedictionary tells me that camping out also means to live in a place other than one's own home for a period -- in our case, one adventure-filled week of living out of our suitcases in three different Cambodian cities.

To begin, we almost missed our plane to Siem Reap, which would have meant camping out in the Hong Kong airport for some time. China dealt Liz a curve ball in the form of #chinabelly. I'll leave it at that. Liz and I have actually missed a plane before -- to Dublin from Barcelona -- and we are familiar with the expensive repercussions of such a disappointing event, but luckily, this time we made it onto the plane and landed in our first host city as originally anticipated.

The first night of our vacation found Liz tucked into bed early at our lodging, the Saem Siem Reap Hotel, with me, ever the true friend, whispering nos vemos and slipping out the door to find some fine dining. Thanks to Aunt Linda's recommendation with honorable mentions to Google Maps, I found my way to Malis, known for its "living Cambodian cuisine." I ordered a delicious set menu comprised of six delicious courses and I wish I could show you some of those plates, but the camera did not eat first. I did.

While I was dining, sipping out of a fresh coconut, I reflected back to my middle school days. I had had a small part in the school play. I do not remember the name of the play, but I do remember the subject: the Khmer Rouge. I also do not remember understanding the content of the drama well, but I can recall understanding the tone to be very dark. Before landing on Cambodian soil, I read Loung Ung's memoir First They Killed My Father, and upon closing the book, I understood much more about the horrors brought upon thousands of innocent people.

I am reminded of one of the most powerful quotes I have read. Travel writer Mark Jenkins writes,

"Adventure is a path. Real adventure -- self-determined, self-motivated, often risky -- forces you to have firsthand encounters with the real world. The world the way it is, not the way you image it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind -- and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white."

During our week in Cambodia, Liz and I experienced first hand the beautiful kindness of countless people. As part of our itinerary, created by Xoa at AsiaTourAdvisor, we also visited Security Prison 21 in Phnom Penh. The experience grew our awareness of Cambodia's recent dark struggle. The lessons that come out of studying the regime led by the Khmer Rouge tell us less about Cambodia in particular, and more about, as Jenkins names it, the "bottomless cruelty of humankind" and what happens when people's desire for power is fueled by corruption and is deeply, darkly self-serving.

Alas, the trip did begin with a great deal of light and exciting adventure, especially as Liz woke up our first morning feeling much better than when we had landed the afternoon before.

Day 1:
After breakfast, our guide Vuthy met us to take us to Ta Prohm and Angkor Wat, two oft-visited ancient ruins of the Khmer people. Having trekked four days to see Machu Picchu in Cuzco, Peru, Liz and I were quite kiddy to be exploring another ancient civilization together. Rather than overwhelm this post with history, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. (In truth, I don't remember the historical facts about the ruins, but I do remember vividly our delight.)

In truth, I don't remember the historical facts about the ruins, but I do remember vividly our delight.

The afternoon finished with Liz sitting down for her sak yant, or magical, tattoo. You'll notice in the following photos that this tattoo is made permanent using a needle attached to a bamboo stick. This was a fascinating, and rather hair-raising activity to view. Liz gave an offering before she sat for the tattoo, and the tattoo was blessed after it was completed.

Nothing will make you hungry like watching your friend summon her superpowers to sit for an hour of traditional tattooing.

We made our way to Marum for dinner.

A note on Marum: It is part of the tree-alliance organization that works to take youth off of the streets and equip them with life-long work skills. Tree-alliance has sprouted restaurants in many Cambodian cities, including one in Phnom Penh called Friends. We loved the food, cocktails and service in the tree-alliance restaurants, as well as the hand-made, fair trade goods in the attached stores.

Day 2:
I so highly recommend using a guide for this trip, especially those from AsiaTourAdvisor. I am receiving no kick-backs from lauding their services. I simply could not have imagined a trip of more ease when it comes to the logistics of travel. And in wanting you to have such a wonderful experience too, I advice you to seek them out if you are traveling to Cambodia, Vietnam, Myanmar, Laos or Thailand.

Vuthy arrived to the hotel on our second full day with bikes in the van. We were heading out to more temples, those of Angkor Thom, on two wheels. It's cool that we were getting our steps and peddles in so far on the trip because we weren't going to be skimping on the amount of Cambodian fare we were shoveling into our mouths.

After a morning and afternoon of biking, Xoa had booked us for a personal cooking class. The ambiance was refreshingly rural and beautifully authentic as we chopped farm fresh meat and produce to whip up green mango salad, curry and coconut soup.

Day 3:
On the way to the Battambang, "the leading rice producing province for the country," Vuthy took us on a high-speed, open-air adventure: a bamboo train. Now I haven't ridden the high speed trains in China yet, but I don't think they will offer the same hair-whipping, grin-plastering experience that the bamboo train did. If this was my mode of transportation to work everyday, I wouldn't need coffee.

Day 4:
We arrived to Phnom Penh the following day where we checked in to the Harmony Hotel. The infinity pool at Harmony proved a perfect place with a cool view for lackadaisical froggy laps in the afternoons.

The best part of this day was seeing a friend who had worked in Shenzhen and now works in Phnom Penh. Leti is a beautiful wife, mother, friend and fellow runner and she invited Liz and I to her family's home for wine before our dinner at Friends. Spending some time with her, her husband Eric and two young boys, Gael and Luke was a delight. I have written about it before, and I continue to marvel at how this big world is actually rather small in the way that our paths can cross time and again. With your wine or tea, let's toast to friendships around the world. ¡Salud!

Day 5:
This morning began in somber fashion as our guide brought us to Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. On a date last year, the man I was dining with noted that he would never pick Cambodia as a vacation destination because it would be a trip too laden with darkness. My experience was much too full of light to agree with him, though the genocide museum and Khmer Rouge Killing Fields are how he was defining Cambodia.

The museum was a difficult experience, but I feel drawn to understand the world and humanity in all of their truths. As Liz and I walked the grounds of the prison, which had previously been a school before the Khmer Rouge occupation, we read the stories of the prisoners, nearly all of whom were executed.

What can be learned from such a museum? I continue to ponder tonight. I do not know the answer entirely. I do think about how much the world needs each of us to shine light. This will strike you deeply as you look on into the cells where men and women were mercilessly tortured. Again I am reminded of striking words, these from writer L.R. Knost:

"Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world. All things break. And all things can be mended. Not with time, as they say, but with intention. So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally. The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you."

What is most difficult, perhaps, about visiting the museum is knowing that such atrocities continue in our world today. Do I feel capable of stopping them? I do not. But my single voice, my single light, combined with all of yours, they can shift energy, and bring goodness into dark corners and help to ease others' suffering.

When I walk down the street, am I aware of the woman on the corner who could use a warm smile? When I step into my classroom, am I ready to embrace my students, whatever their moods? When I am shopping online, am I considering who is making those clothes, and in what conditions they are working? No, I cannot stop a regime, but my decisions can bring mindfulness to the world, and I hang on to hope that through some sort of butterfly effect, they spread something light far and wide.

After our time at the genocide museum, Liz and I followed our guide to the Royal Palace, which was quite the juxtaposition to the prison.

We then continued on to the National Museum which houses "many fine examples of Angor Wat statuary" within its sandstone walls.

Day 6:
Another biking expedition ensued on our 6th and final full day in Cambodia. While the bikes we rode through the temples in Siem Reap were spanking new comfortable mountain bikes, the ones we rode through the Mekong Islands were not. By the end of our ride, I was wishing that all of the food I had eaten on the entire trip had gone straight to my ass to add extra cushion.

This complaint aside, the quick ferry to Koh Dach, or the Silk Island, offered us a glimpse of more rural life. Living in Shenzhen, and working at Shekou International School, I am surrounded by fast-paced life, bright lights and a great deal of technology. Koh Dach is quite the contrast to my everyday life, and refreshingly so in many ways.

As we rode along, uniformed school children rode their bikes and scooters past us, smiles plastered on their faces as they returned home for lunch. Men and women worked in a field under the hot Cambodian sun. And a woman drove a mobile market around -- with who seemed to be her grandson -- selling meat and produce.

Our final night in Cambodia was spent back at the National Museum watching a performance from the Cambodian Living Arts troupe. As we settled into our seats to watch Earth and Sky, a "magical journey through Cambodian mythology, ancestral traditions and village life" I felt the pulse of Cambodia. It was one of life and dynamic spirit.

While Liz and I did not camp out in Cambodia in any rustic sense of the phrase, we did settle in for an epic experience. With each trip that I take, I am grateful for the new layers of life that I become privy to as I am immersed into vibrant cultures and places.

Until next time, Cambodia.

Barcelona Besties in Peru: Machu Picchu

Liz, my Barcelona Bestie, and I serendipitously met on our layover to Amsterdam, en route to our final destination, Barcelona, almost 13 years ago. I feel I am aging my 33-year-old self right now. When did I get to the point where I could age myself? Oyy. Anyway, Liz is likely the reason I did not beg the pilot, as we flew over the Atlantic, to turn the plane around and promptly drop me back on American soil. Riddled with anxiety over being away for four whole months, there was some semblance of stillness, or at least a temporary calming of nerves, when we started talking and decided immediately that we would be friends.

As it turned out, we became the inseparable kind. We ran all over Barcelona, much of Spain, and we attempted to take Dublin by storm, but we missed our RyanAir flight, actuallyhad to stay at a four-star hotel in Girona as there were no more trains back to Barcelona, nor were any hostels open that night, and thenhadto dine at a fine restaurant, again, because that was our only option.

Liz and I have a knack for making the most of anything. Our latest adventure was in Peru and it began in a much more auspicious manner than the day we boarded the train for Dublin, and proved to be one of the trips of our lifetimes.

It has been just over a week since returning from Peru. I have stared at the photos an inordinate amount of times now. It is true that all we have is the present, but I have been allowing myself to relive those delicious moments of awe and grit and laughter and camaraderie. Where history mingled with the now, where the voices of the past seemed almost audible, and where Inkan spirits were nearly visible.

I think each moment does form some kind of intangible atom that adds itself to our being, changing us, while sometimes nearly invisibly, still, significantly. Machu Picchu was just one of those experiences that added many atoms I seem to feel vibrating within my body. It was a four day trek that I believe I will distinctly remember.

If I cannot, through the current of my touch, transfer the emotion and significance of what this trek was, how will I put it into words, so that I can share with you some semblance of the experience? So that you too can know something of the magic and the beauty of the scenery, and the endurance demanded of the trail. I think the photos will speak to you, and with some interludes, I will seek to add a bit of the humor, hardness and awe that we experienced on the 42 kilometers of Inka trail, from Ollantaytambo to Machu Picchu.

In the weeks leading up to the trail, as I was reading Kim MacQuarrie's The Last Days of the Incas, gleaning all kinds of fascinating--and very violent--history, I wondered what the trek would be for me. Spiritual? ... Sacred? ... Profound? It was all of those things, in a sense, but the word that really surfaced as we connected, step by step, with the ancient Inkan-laid stones was mystical. It was four days of mystery, awe, fascination ... where the divine felt ever-present.

In the evenings, when we would crawl into our tents around 8 pm, I cracked open the book I had bought at the airport on our short layover in Lima. Mark Adams' Turn Right At Machu Picchu: Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at a Time was worth the $25 my Maracuyá Sour saturated brain decided to pay for it. While MacQuarrie has me wrapped up in names and events of the past, Adams had me chucking aloud as he recounts following the path of Hiram Bingham, the man who rediscovered Machu Pichhu (for the larger world) in 1911. I was a very eager school girl by day, nodding my head enthusiastically as the guides would stop us along the trail to give a lesson about the ruins or the Inkas that I had just read about. This was the most authentic historical learning I have engaged in and damn did it make the trek so cool.

While Machu Picchu is the "lost city" (that actually isn't the lost city because the lost city, Vilcabamba, harboring the Inkan gold that was hidden from the Spaniards, is actually still lost) that was our Mecca, so to speak, on this particular trek, there are breathtaking ruins along the way, which is reason #37 why any able-bodied person should most definitely make the trek rather than take a bus to Machu Picchu City. You simply do not want to miss this ....

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It was quite fortunate that we had new ruins to renew us each day; the trek was a good deal more difficult than I had thought. Thiiiis was in part due to being a terrible packer. Had you opened up my pack, you would have found high-healed sandals, a change of clothes for each day trekking, a pair of shorts, and then some other articles of clothing and chocolate that actually made sense to have along for the trail. I had packed everything for the entire Peru trip, including three nights combined in Cusco and Aguas Calientes, in my pack, and felt accomplished for it, until I took my 17th step on Day 1, with no fewer than 17 million to go, and felt the weight of that pack on my shoulders -- I had failed to actually try on the pack and it was now clear that it did not fit me right. But, suck it butter cup, and that I did.

I had a few moments of dread that first day when I felt the bruises already forming on my collar bone, but in the end, the extra weight contributed to feeling even more like a bad-ass lady when we played a game called "Guess the weight of Jamie's pack" and everyone gave it a lift ... with both hands.

There was reason enough, aside from a big bag, to feel like we had engaged in some real badassery on the trail. For one, on Day 2 you haul your booty up to 4,200 meters, or 13,799 feet, gaining 1,200 meters, or nearly 4,000 feet, in five hours.

You better get your game face on for Day 3. Because Day 3 is all down hill. And this sounds like a dream, exactly like the one you had on Night 2, but, in fact, it's not. No, Day 3 is a Gringo Killer. Better yet, say the 6,000 year old stairs, 3,000 Gringo Killers.

Until the cry came from my BB: Never. Give. Up! No, never give up. Because the finish for Day 3 is stunning.

So, the upside is that our third day had this really lovely, magical finish with that rainbow over the valley, and the downside is that because of Day 3 my knee replacement surgery just got 10 years closer, which means I'll be going under the knife like next week, but there are always trade-offs, aren't there?

I think we slept for about two hours this third night. It was the combined effects of a hard ground and anticipation of arrival to the sacred site, so when the cheery porters shook our tent at 3 am, their sweet buenos días was met with a couple of groans. The grumpiness did not last long, though, as Machu Picchu was now a mere five kilometers away. Within two hours, something began to materialize ...

We had several hours to traipse our tired but enthralled selves through the ruins of Machu Picchu City. Here is just a sampling of what we stumbled into ...

It’s a vibe.

As Liz and I planned our South American adventure, we decided to stay a night in Aguas Calientes, the town that "lies in a deep gorge below the ruins." It sounds refreshing, especially after four days of sweaty hiking without a shower, but I would not recommend it to a fellow traveler. Aguas Calientes is home to hot springs ... that house the grime of thousands of other dirty trekkers. The pueblo also boasts dozens and dozens of sketchy places to get a massage. We did enter one of those suspicious looking abodes to try to soothe our aching muscles, and indeed questionable massages are part of the title to this post, but it is nearing that bewitching hour, where if I do not fall asleep soon, there will be no sleep to be had, and you have been reading along for a good while now.

So all that I will mention is that you shall enter the massage parlors with caution. You will likely end up in a couple's massage with your bestie, lying on a makeshift massage table, in a room with ratty curtains that do not cover the open-air window, where construction workers are within an arm's reach, and, rather than listen to the zen music, you will hear the beating pop/hip hop mash-up blending with the voices blaring into a megaphone. It will not be relaxing, but ... but your calves will be back in working condition upon your exit. And they will agree to walk you to Indio Feliz where you will dine on the best fare of the trip.

As I close tonight, I did think that after a week of reflection and looking over photos I would be able to articulate the impact that the trek had on me -- how it is exactly that everything in me feels so awake. My heart, my brain, my soul ... it is like a fire has been stoked inside. But something is still percolating. I cannot quite name why the Inka Trail was what it was. But whether I can define it or not, the awakening exists. Sometimes we just have that sense that we were precisely where we were supposed to be. The connecting to nature and disconnecting from other distractions, experiencing the hardness and the humor with one of my soulies, the sense of ancient souls around me, it must have been just what I needed in that time and space.

Mark Adams has written it quite articulately: For the first time since dropping out of graduate school, I remembered an unpleasant weekend spent struggling to comprehend the philosopher Immanuel Kant's explanation of the difference between calling something beautiful and calling it sublime. Nowadays, we throw around the word 'sublime' to describe gooey desserts or overpriced handbags. In Kant's epistemology it meant something limitless, an aesthetically pleasing entity so huge that it made the perceiver's head hurt. Machu Picchu isn't just beautiful, it's sublime.