Twin Towers

I just enjoyed one of life's greatest luxuries, catching a movie spontaneously. And, on top of that, catching a great chick flick, "Sex in the City 2". I am sure my husband will be relieved to learn that he will not now need to see it with me. I really enjoyed it, in all it's cheeziness and decadence. And sitting there by myself in a Kuala Lumpur theatre, I was surrounded by women mostly wearing head coverings. I couldn't help, but thinking that here we all were from such very different lives laughing and tearing up together over a very American phenomenon.

I have spent the day surrounded by Americana and the western world. I spent the day inside of the KLCC or the Petronas Towers or, as my taxi driver said, the Twin Towers. That place, for me, is something etched inextricably into Americans' memories, a place we will never see the likes of again. For practical purposes, though, that is what this place is and, in some aspects, represents the same ideals. And, because of the association I make to the fallen NYC World Trade Center, I can't help, but feel a bit shaken up here, a bit on edge. I have wondered more than a few times today if it is safe to be in such an icon of the western world and a gathering place of so many people. I tell myself the thought is nonsense and it quickly floats away, but it has come back a few times.

I am sitting inside the towers now, well, the shopping center part of them at the base anyways, enjoying a chicken pesto sandwich and a latte before I head to the airport to go back to Bali tonight. Today feels like a vacation within a vacation. I went to The Gap and bought another of their sundresses I like so much. I spent the rest of my time just meandering through the mall's many levels soaking in the labels, designer and name brand, and all the baubles, those ridiculously expensive and those relatively not so, but still out of so many's reach. It has been a very nice day, but I will be happy to be back in Ubud and back at yoga class tomorrow.

The taxi driver dropped me off this morning at one of the entrances to the Towers, formally called the Kuala Lumpur Convention Center (KLCC), at the front doors to a branch of the bank I used to work for. Seeing the blue and white sign gave me an almost physical jolt. It almost felt like deja vu, another lifetime coming back to haunt me, simultaneously so long ago, but also so fresh in my mind and emotions. I left that job for many reasons. Today's reaction made me realize that I am still coming to terms with both the incredibly good and bad experiences I had while working there. The memories of which still seem to snap me into a confusion of emotions as if I am suddenly forced against my will onto a roller coaster where the last five years are played before me. I remind myself, though, that this means progress. That jolt I felt means I have been able to gain some distance, both physically and mentally.

Enjoy your weekends, everybody!

Cutting corners in Kuala Lumpur

I am in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia on a visa run to renew my Indonesian visa. Aaah! You just have to accept the inefficiencies. I am trying to look on the bright side. I stocked up on some hard to find books at a huge Borders bookstore here and got some much needed toiletries (like contact lens cleaning fluid). I am also taking in the free wifi everywhere that KL has to offer.

I am sitting in Chinatown right now at an OldTown White Coffee (like a Starbucks). I booked the cheapest hotel I could find and lucked out in that it is in a local neighborhood away from the typical tourist destinations. I am sitting here amongst circles of local men chewing over the day's headaches and gossiping while watching a World Cup match on a big screen t.v. My hotel just covers all the bases...just. Unbeknownst to me it seems to cater to a, how do I put this, vivacious, transient crowd of couples. The walls are so thin that I could hear every word and kiss and...of the Asian couple in the room neighboring mine. They weren't speaking English, but it was clear what was going on. I can only imagine why they were doing what they were doing at 4.30 on a Thursday afternoon, but I try to tell myself they were just lusty tourists and not a local guy and his escort.

I turned on my television to the National Geographic channel just loud enough so I could hear the words of the program and so could my neighbors, thus, making it clear that I could hear them if they could hear my television. I hoped a documentary on shark fin poaching would squelch, umm, quiet them down. No luck. They just went on louder, now with mocking, vulgar language in English. It was like listening to a bad X rated Asian movie that's been dubbed over in English (not that I know from experience, but I can imagine). I changed rooms.

On the ride up from exchanging my room keys at the front desk, I noticed the women at the front desk's narrowed eyes and terse whispering and, following their gaze, stepped onto the elevator where I joined another questionable couple of obviously different ages (the woman a decade younger). Thankfully, the couple got off at the first floor and I continued to the second.

Going Green

Here are some more pictures of Puri Padi hotel...

From Wednesday, June 16

Boredom has been creeping in. Well, that and a growing anxiousness about my southward bound bank balance. A friend, a longtime traveller himself, reminded me to not worry so much about money because, from his experience, it can always be earned back, but that it won't always be possible to take a trip like the one I am on. Thanks for that!

Nevertheless, I had originally planned to take a week of cooking classes here, but when I looked into a few and realized they start at $25 per class, I quickly changed my mind. Besides, The Netherlands probably has the biggest per capita consumption of Indonesian food outside of Indonesia. It has to do with The Netherlands' many centuries of interest in (for trade purposes) and influence over these islands. The rather bland Dutch alternatives probably have something to do with it too. I ate Nasi Goreng and Chicken sate with peanut sauce many times before ever trying Stamppot (a hearty dish of potatoes mashed with spinach or a similar green and topped with a sausage or another kind of meat and sometimes also sauerkraut). I will just buy an Indonesian cooking book when I return home and try recipes from the comfort of my own kitchen.

I got to thinking, though, about things I have always wanted to do, but have never made time for. First was yoga and a close second was reading. For as long as I can remember, I have had this fantasy of shutting myself away somewhere quasi remote and reading a pile of books that have for various reasons interest me. I imagined I would be on a porch of some wooden cabin in a semi-remote forest overlooking a lake. A Balinese hotel with a pool, ponds of koi fish, frangipani trees, hostas, and birds of paradise is a close second.

So yesterday I went to a new and used bookstore and bought a few books. The first I read was a non-fiction called the "Longevity Diet". I will save you the vagaries of the book except to say that it emphasizes eating a relatively low calorie diet of lots of fruits and vegetables. It isn't anything revolutionary which is actually reassuring to me. It's health claims were convincing enough for me to give up my new potato chip and large Bintag beer per day habit and to commit myself to adding fruit to my breakfast and vegetables to my dinners and aiming to have a vegetable and fruit centered lunch.

To that end, I decided to go to one of the healers mentioned in "Eat, Pray, Love". If you have read the book, it is Wayan. If you haven't, it is the friend Gilbert makes when she goes in search of an herbal remedy for a bad cut she gets from a bicycling accident. Gilbert ends up going in everyday to Wayan's shop for a vitamin lunch. I imagined Wayan now having a menu of food options. I was wrong. The menu IS the vitamin lunch and it costs just over $6. That is expensive by Ubud standards and I wasn't really all that interested in having turmeric to clean my kidneys, for instance.

I promised I would come back when I was ready for a big lunch and hurried across the street and up the stairs to Bali Buddha, what Lonely Planet calls an Ubud mainstay with a great menu. I ordered a smoothie called Green Boost or something or other. To my surprise, I was completely shocked when a thick liquid green concoction was put in front of me. What else should I expect? I have no idea what made it green. It had apples and maybe banana along with ginseng, spirulina, and there must have been ginger because it had that trademark heat in its aftertaste that just sticks in your throat. Sticking to my vow and not all that hungry, I also got hummus and carrot sticks. I will definitely be going back to Bali Buddha regularly, but to try it's banana chai smoothie, not it's green concoctions.

I was hoping the Green Booster would somehow give me an energy boost and cure my almost constant thirst. It did give me a boost, but actually just made me want to drink more water to kill the ginger burn in my throat. Not even the deepest massage will relieve all of the aches and pains I am feeling from my first week of yoga, though. Sitting in a chair and doing little else besides reading is just what the doctor ordered, I think.

This morning's yoga class was Vinyasa Flow. It was like Bikram yoga without the +100F heat and without any other beginner yogis. At least that is what it seemed to me. Holy yogi! The instructor, unlike in my few classes at home, did all of the poses with us and showed us all of the variations to make the pose more difficult. He would just fluidly fling himself from a plank (push up) forward and up into an elbow stand (propping one's knees on one's bent elbows with only one's hands supporting the body) and then up into a hand stand. I didn't really need to know the variations, but I was one of the few. The class included hand stands, head stands, pigeons, camels, and a whole zoo of other tantric positions.

I was just proud of myself for fighting the overwhelming urge I felt about thirty minutes into the hour and a half class to duck my head and silently run out of the class. The teacher was very nice and helpful and the rest of my classmates were very zen about everything, but that kind of made it worse. I was just focused on remembering to breathe. While on my hands and knees, I remember staring down at my already quivering arms wondering how the hell they were going to hold up my entire body in a hand stand. I think I will go to the beginner's yoga class tomorrow morning...for some easy stretching and to build my confidence again a little.

"Eat, Pray, Love"

From 10 June...

I thought it appropriate to spend my first night in Ubud listening to “Eat, Pray, Love” read by the author Elizabeth Gilbert. Oh, thank you, thank you for this book. It brought me here. It has not brought me to Ubud for the same reasons Gilbert came, but the mention of the town got me on the path to coming here. And, once on the path, I realized that there is yoga here and a buzz that is a little less party than Kuta and a little more zen than the rest of Bali.

So far, despite my first day’s experience here, I really like it. I am really looking forward to going to the Monkey Sanctuary to see the cheeky, wild monkeys. I am slightly terrified about getting back into yoga. I will start tomorrow. I will start tomorrow. I am not going to kid myself about getting across town to the 7am beginner’s yoga which is probably the most appropriate class for me, but I hope to get there for, let’s see, what was the name of it, they have so many. Yes, either Hatha yoga at 8.30 or 10.30 Vinyasa flow. (I ended up at an afternoon beginners' yoga class. I spent the morning moving to a new hotel, but more on that later.)

I can’t wait to be a regular there. The stepping in the door for the first class terrifies me. I will be fine once I get there, I am sure. It is just the first step. To this end, I think I need to stay in a hotel close to yoga. No more excuses, sweetheart. That and the hotel I had arranged for myself for these twenty days has really pissed me off by forgetting my reservation and not having space for me upon my arrival. I have no room for pissed off in Ubud. Granted, the hotel I found is about double the price of my original choice, but $15 extra per day seems a small reason.

I so want to fall in love with Ubud that I have the idea in the back of my head to come back here again after my husband and I part ways at the end of July. Everyone looks at me skeptically when I tell them I plan to stay here for twenty days, though.

From 11 June...

Last night was a restless night. The paper thin walls and windows of the guesthouse meant I heard every door shut, every word of the conversations by family that runs the guesthouse, every rain drop dropping into the plastic bucket outside my room, every motorbike drive by on the busy street, every crow of the roosters, and every hammer of the workers on the neighbor's roof. The dirty bed sheet masquerading as a curtain blocked little of the light coming from the street lamp hung by my window or the sun that rose at about 6am. The ceiling fan above did little more than cut through the stale heat in the air.

The breakfast, served on my private balcony, was delicious (see picture). It was a huge banana pancake drizzled with chocolate sauce, fresh fruit, and a cup of coffee. But, once I was drenched in sweat ten minutes after I had taken a shower, I knew I needed a room with air conditioning. I just can't explain the relief it is to have a respite from the heat in the evening or even in midday when the sun is at it's hottest.

I returned to one of the several hotels I visited yesterday, this one the cheapest option close to my yoga classes. I met with the manager in the end and, using a tip from some British travellers I met in Padangbai, managed to get the price negotiated down from about $30 to $25. It may not sound like much, but when multiplied across 19 days, it adds up. The tip was to reassure the person that you would keep the price secret from other guests. I also forced myself to just sit their quietly with as little of an expression as I could muster. In the past it was always my tendency to either lose my patience with the bargaining process and leave or to soften my face and essentially acquiesce with my body language to the other party's selling price. I still find myself losing my patience oftentimes with smaller purchases until, in a huff, I finally give into the price from the fifth store I have visited to buy a bottle of beer or t-shirt or whatever it is I am after.

The hotel was beautiful when it opened probably ten years ago. I am sure of it. But, like I have seen in so many buildings in SE Asia, Malaysia, and Indonesia, little maintenance and the lack of routine, thorough cleaning has quickly faded the building and its amenities. Eight rooms at the back of the property stand derelict. From them, I get the idea of just how difficult it is to fight off the affects of humidity on even the finest of materials like marble.

But for now, I am overjoyed to move into my cool, spacious air conditioned room. I unpack and easily get settled before changing my clothes and heading out for my first yoga class five minutes' walk away.

I will upload more pictures of the hotel later, but here are a few of the four room bungalows nestled into the lush property and a view of my carved wooden doors that lead out onto my huge balcony. That's not cement you see, either. It is all marble!

The plane, the plane!

One last thing about Layang Layang...the resort arranges the only transport to and from the islands. My husband was looking forward to taking the Russian aircraft carrier that the travel agent had mentioned to us. As an as yet recovering phobic of turbulence, I was just wishing for a plane that could reach the highest altitude and get us their the fastest. We were both surprised.

It is called a twin otter, but to me it was the flying canoe. It is THE smallest plane I have ever been on. As a person that flew weekly to and from London on a Fokker 50, that is saying something. I call it the flying canoe because when one of the other passengers shifted seats to take a picture on the opposite side of the cabin, I expected the shift in weight to cause the wing to drop and us to veer in the direction of the passenger's movement much like a person standing or shifting their weight will cause a canoe to dip abruptly. You can see by one of these pictures, people were moving about the tiny plane excitedly snapping pictures of the tiny cockpit and views of the reefs in the waters below. The plane didn't dip or veer, but I still found myself, in a cold sweat, tensing up with each passenger's movements.

I think the plane had ten seats. A flight attendant was not necessary. There was no galley for his/her cart nor tray table for passengers nor seat. We sat in the front row and so could see the cockpit in its cramped entirety. I tried to comfort myself by watching the pilot and co-pilot. They flipped switches, turned knobs, pulled and pushed on levers and wrote in a log in a practiced, unrushed manner so I reassured myself that things were going as planned.

It is funny to look back on the pictures now because the people on the flight with us ended up being the people we dove with every day. That is how the hotel arranges it. We are assigned a flight and a boat and we pretty much spend our days together, for better or worse. We were really lucky!

Bali Hai

I arrived in Ubud, Bali today. From reading "Lonely Planet" and "Eat, Pray, Love", I have pretty high expectations for Ubud. I should know better by now....

I have been e-mailing back and forth with the Teba House. They didn't get back to me about arranging a pick-up from Kuta, but I decided to just relax about it and figure out my own taxi. I should preface this by letting readers know that I am planning to stay in Ubud for twenty days and, if I like it, may come back in mid-July for another few weeks. So I had confirmed a twenty day reservation with Teba House...only to get there and for them to have no recollection of my reservation. Apparently, the person doing the e-mails does not talk to the person doing the reservations. Of course, the person that I e-mailed wasn't anywhere to be found.

Beginning tomorrow, they will have a standard room available for me so I am staying next door in a neighbour's guesthouse. The problem with the standard is that it only has a fan and I am afraid I am just too much of a princess to go without A/C for sleeping. We'll see. I will give it a try tonight and tomorrow. I spent the rest of the day scoping out other hotels. I found one for $30 per night next to the place I will start yoga, but I am hesitating. It is nearly double the price I had budgeted myself.

Other than that, my first impression is to really like Ubud. The yoga place, Yoga Barn, looks great - intimidating, but great. It runs classes basically all day and on so many different kinds of yoga, it is impossible to get bored. That is what I am here for...to get back to yoga. I have decided that is my main goal for my time in Bali - to get back in-touch with my body. It sounds air fairy, I know, but it is pretty easy to put one's body on the proverbial shelf while travelling. Trying to go for the cheaper options - whether accommodations, food, or transportation - usually isn't that friendly on the back or rest of the body. I am not complaining, don't get me wrong.

Yoga will have to wait until tomorrow, though. I knocked the edge off my disappointment and off my thirst after walking for a few hours with a large bottle of Bali Hai beer. Here is a picture of my plate of Mie Goreng and beer. It was delicious! I am quite the cheap date these days with regards to drinking so one large bottle of beer and I am set for the night pretty much. That means no yoga. Could you imagine drunk yoga?

Layang Layang

I know it has been awhile, but better late than never....

In mid-May, my husband and I spent five nights on the island of Layang Layang off the northwest coast of Malaysian Borneo. As you can see, there were beautiful sunsets. There were also some really nice diving. We were just a little late and so the schools of hammerhead sharks were gravitating lower and thus out of our reach to see well. When the visibility was good, we could see some off in the distance probably twenty meters (60 feet) below us. That was fine with me, to be honest. I have gotten comfortable with seeing most sharks in the water especially those that are smaller than a human, but hammerheads have such a mixed reputation that I am happy to keep my distance. Instead, I really enjoyed the manta ray and turtles.

I would recommend any divers to take a trip to Layang Layang, but to not leave it as late as mid-May. I hear Mid-April is perfect timing. I really only recommend Layang Layang, though, if you can stay on a liveaboard. We stayed at the only accommodations on the island and they just weren't worth what we paid for them. I have been told that it is typically Malaysian to build a resort or any building and to do little to no maintenance. From the beginning, though, they used cheap materials inside the hotel - from the veneer walls to the AstroTurf carpeting - it felt like living on a very cheap boat. The walls were so thin that we could hear the conversations of people in the hallway and adjoining rooms. One friend we made there joked that she could hear all of the phones ring on her floor when the daily wake up call for divers was sent out by the front desk.

The staff also only sporadically cleaned the common areas. I could tell that management was, for instance, requiring staff to keep the tile floor in the dining room of the three times daily buffet clean, but it was obvious by the dark ring around the tile in the swimming pool just above the water line and the layer of tanning oil on the water's surface that management thought the pool would pretty much take care of itself and that the deck furniture would naturally stay clean by leaving it out in the rain.

As an icing on the cake, so to speak, the hotel decided the night before our departure to change the three flights they arrange for transportation back to Borneo to one large flight. Fortunately, we took our travel agent's advice and booked our connecting flight the next morning, but most people weren't so lucky. Forunately for us the re-scheduled flight was also a few hours late. Otherwise, from a diving safety point of view, we would have been cutting it really close to the minimum nitrogen detox waiting period required before flying.

The issues were mostly overshadowed by the nice diving and the other divers we met. For the most part, everyone we met was an experienced diver so it made for really relaxing dives. And, above the water, we were fortunate to meet other couples our age to hang out with. The lackluster buffet style meals would have been unbearable otherwise.

One lesson I have taken away from diving in SE Asia is to bring my own equipment. It is a major pain for someone travelling for an extended period of time, but it is really worth it. The equipment maintenance in Malaysia and Indonesia at least is ridiculous and verges on dangerous. I will be heading to Fiji in a few months too, and from what I read from reviews online, it isn't much better there either. So yesterday, I bit the bullet and bought a new suitcase, one more suitable for my dive equipment. My original backpack was huge at 65 liters, but this Quiksilver surfing bag on wheels is enormous at 96 liters. Fortunately, my husband will be able to bring my bcd and regulator with him when he joins me in Indonesia in July so I will then have all of my own gear (sans my fins).

Popping up in Gili

Just wanted to let everyone know I am in the Gili Islands now off Lombok, Indonesia. My apologies for going MIA. I will be heading to Kuta, Bali tomorrow and back to the land of strong wifi connections.

So...stay tuned for blogs about orangutans, manta rays, and my 100th dive!

Taking a little of Phnom Penh with me

Thursday, May 13
Yes, I will be taking a little of Phnom Penh with me. I thought it would be the memory of my last day at the Montessori school receiving a big handmade card from the students and eating local sweets to celebrate.

Instead, I am taking with me a mysterious intestinal bug. It was just a matter of time, I suppose, and the timing was actually not all too bad, but it still scared me. Luckily, I am staying in a guesthouse in my own room with its own en suite bathroom and I do not fly out until Saturday morning. I don't even want to think about how I would have coped in the volunteer house I was staying in previously or how horrible my seemingly endless trips to the toilet would have been for my housemates.

I am still convinced that my 'bug' coincided too close to the beginning of my taking Malarone malaria tablets yesterday, but the doctor I went to see today insists that I caught an intestinal bug somewhere. She also told me to switch to a different malaria pill too, though...hedging her bets, I guess. I was so dehydrated that she offered to put me on a drip, but I am opting to drink a hydration drink. We'll see. I am pretty bad at keeping those down. It is down to my texture issues again so I may end up going back tomorrow for a drip if I don't feel hydrated enough.

For the next few days, I can only eat plain toast or plain white rice. Yum! Looking forward to that. I am glad I had a slice of toast with peanut butter on it before I went to the doctor :)

Today
Thankfully, my medicine kicked in at about 5pm last night. I was able to join my friends for a going away dinner at a French restaurant just down the street from my guesthouse that I have been meaning to try. The food looked great. I was relegated to white rice, but my friends all really enjoyed their food.

I went back this morning to get a baguette on my way to Gloria Jean's for my doctor prescribed black tea. I felt quite Parisian walking down the streets nibbling on my baguette. The tuk tuk drivers shouting, "Tuk Tuk, lady!" snapped me out of that, though.

Fortunately, I have also been able to keep down the hydration powder. I am taking Royal D. I highly recommend it. I usually hate powdered drinks, all things orange flavored, and most Gatorade-like hydration drinks, but I am able to drink this one quite easily. I won't say I enjoy it, but I probably would if it weren't orange flavored.

I fly out tomorrow morning to meet up with my husband and head to Malaysian Borneo...not a moment too soon!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Ugh! They are playing a new CD this morning at Gloria Jean's coffee. Right now Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" is playing and it is all I can do not to cry. That song gets me every time and it seems even more poignant today. Everything seems more poignant today. I am just on edge a bit emotionally.

I am beginning my last week here in Phnom Penh. It is is fairly clear that I am not cut out to be a primary school teacher so I will not necessarily miss that, but I will miss all of the volunteers that I have met while here and the children. The children are nothing short of beautiful. They are still children with all their ploys and snot and crocodile tears, but they are adorable and filled with the innocence and joy I would expect of children and am so glad to see in a country that has come so far in the past few decades.

We visited the Killing Fields (Choeung Ek) and S-21 (Toul Sleng) this weekend. These two locations symbolize the pure terror wrought out by the Khmer Rouge regime from 1975-1979 when they killed an estimated 1.2-1.7 million of their own people. The Killing Fields were a Chinese cemetery 17km outside of Phnom Penh converted by the Khmer Rouge to a series of over 100 mass graves. S-21 was a school in Phnom Penh converted to a prison during the regime's reign. I won't go into the gruesome details, but will recommend people read the books "Stay Alive my Son" and "S-21" (among many others written on the topic).

Two things will stay with me from these sites. First, at the Killing Fields, I was overwhelmed and appalled by the ways the local people have been encouraged to beg from visitors, thus preying on the visitors' pity and guilt. It has turned what should be a remembrance of their countrymen and what could be a statement about what cannot be allowed to be repeated into a money grabbing tourist trap. Last year, my father and I visited Dachau, Germany, the site of a concentration camp during World War II. It was a gut wrenching day. It is my feeling that, in places like these, the truth is horrific enough. Present the facts, wish peace upon those who suffered, and demand that history not be repeated....all against a backdrop of silence. I am no expert, but that seems the most fitting and chilling memorial to me.

Upon entering the Killing Fields and paying my $2 entrance fee which goes to the Japanese firm that now owns this Cambodian memorial, we left the ticket counter and were asked by a man at the next ticket window if we were interested in a tour. His sales pitch was, "If you don't get a tour, you don't know anything." And then he added that we were only asked to make a donation after the tour. I thought, "Go on then. It is too bloody hot to give it much thought. Besides, why not? We might as well get as much information as we can while we are here." (Side note: Saturday got to a high of 38C and it was probably 34C when we arrived at The Killing Fields at 9am.) Tour guides make me sceptical, but it was donation based so I didn't feel like there was anything to lose.

The man, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge, led us past a half dozen mass grave and gingerly picked up a skull and then an arm bone and waved it around a little before gently tossing it back on the pile of other arm bones while he repeated the same words as posted in English on the sign boards he was standing next to followed by the interjection, "Horrible!" At random, as if on-cue, he then told us his entire family had been killed by the Khmer Rouge and that he was the only survivor. I nearly dry heaved when I heard the arm bone clank against the others in the pile. These were human beings! These were his countrymen! And here he is throwing their bones back into a pile just like the Khmer Rouge dumped them into mass graves. Can't we just give them some respect and a little peace?

The tour continued with him providing no more information than we could have read from the signs. I was planning to walk away at the end of the tour without a donation until he implored us to 'Pay him now...." followed by, "People usually pay me $1 or $2 each." In a country where most people earn less than $1 per day, it was outrageous for this man to ask for upwards of $12 from the six of us for a 15 minute tour. I showed my protest by giving him only $1 instead of $2. My guilt was still in high gear and I told myself that $1 means nothing to me and so much more to him. I am sure this is what they count on.

The second thing I will take with me is from S-21. I had heard how the prison had been converted in a museum centered mostly around displaying the mugshot pictures the Khmer Rouge had taken of its victims when each entered the prison. I had also been warned about the post mortem photos they had taken that were now also on display. While I did not expect to be emotionally prepared for the sight, I felt sure that I wouldn't experience the element of surprise that so often accompanies me to such tragic places. I was wrong.

The pictures, of the women especially, will haunt me for a long time and possibly forever. There haircuts were what got me. I will never forget an image of a woman standing in front of the camera for her mug shot with what seemed to be not the slightest trace of fear and a layered haircut. Maybe her defiance was masking the fear, but there was no mistaking the layered haircut. It was a style I have seen on so many women worldwide. And then I noticed the same in all of the other women. They looked so contemporary. They could easily have been walking the streets of Phnom Penh today. They could easily have been the girls and women I work with everyday in the Montessori school.

The Khmer women I work with in the Montessori school are some of the friendliest people I have ever met and they seem to genuinely want to improve the lives of the children and, as a result, Cambodia. I wish them all the happiness and success in the world. Their personalities and dreams seem quite similar to most women I know. It is shattering to even imagine them harmed in anyway. And yet, their own people did far worse. That is why those images will stay with me forever. There were so many promises and innocent dreams shattered here. It is the dark legacy that cripples Cambodia.

Now Dave Matthew's Band's song "Lover Lay Down" is playing. Oh, the memories of college rush in. I think immediately of my college's radio program and our DJ friend playing this song as a request going out to my sister from her crush at the time. It seems a million years ago now, but the song brings it right back to the present for me every time. I love how songs can do that.

I miss my husband so much. Volcano ash and the winds over Europe willing, we are meeting this Saturday in Singapore before flying onto a two week diving holiday in Malaysia. I have not seen him in three months. Well, I have seen him via Gmail Chat (God love the inventor of video chat), but I am still beside myself with anticipation at meeting up with him at the Singapore airport. So, one can imagine how upset I was to find out that the Icelandic volcano is erupting again and closing airports in Europe again. The Netherlands has not been affected yet, but I am still nervous. We have travel insurance so it's not the money I am worried about. I am just SO looking forward to my best friend joining me on my journey.

Weekend in Phnom Penh

Last night, I took a tuk tuk to join my teaching friends at the Foreign Correspondents' Club (FCC) for happy hour.

This morning, I walked to Phnom Penh's Central Market. Aaaahhh! There is nothing like the smell (and sight) of fresh chicken and beef in the morning....

My Phnom Penh in pictures

Here are some pictures from Phnom Penh. I think I will always remember my days here against a background of David Gray songs (which could not be more perfect, I think). They play the same cd every morning at the Gloria Jean's Coffee shop where I start each morning. The playlist includes David Gray, U2, and Tom Petty songs from the mid-1990s.

Ants in my pants

That's it! I caved! I moved into a guesthouse, Goldie Boutique Guesthouse. I checked-in yesterday after school let out for the day. I felt better just walking into my room. Yes, I am the first to admit that I am a wimp, but I do feel a little justified.

Here are my rationalizations:

1. "Don't go on your balcony." - The volunteer house was robbed the week before my roommate and I moved in. They broke into our room and stole all of the volunteers' valuables while they were sleeping. The owner has installed horizontal bars across the balcony and vertical bars across the window and added several door locks that open onto the balcony, but we have been warned several times not to go out onto our balcony because it will tip of any would be burglars of where the 'westerners' are staying. This was said after we'd both been out on the balcony, of course. So, I spend at least an hour each night laying awake in bed freaking out over footsteps, convinced someone is breaking into the house.

2. Ants in my pants - The house is infested with what we initially thought were minute spiders, but they are probably fleas or mites. They have bitten me all over my legs and are heading north to my torso and arms despite my best attempts to apply mosquito spray every few hours. On a whim, I checked under the chairs in our setting area and found the source. Each chair in our kitchen and sitting area is covered in webs. My roommate and I sprayed them down with Raid, but it does not seem to have done the trick. So now I prefer to eat my meals standing if I can help it. We sprayed all of the floors and cushions with Raid again a few days ago which seems to help a little. It did not kill the ants that parade across the counter tops and bathroom floor, though. And it does not stop the geckos from running across the counters and walls of the kitchen and creeping me out nearly every time I enter the kitchen area.

3. Three's company, fifteen is a hairball circus - Ten people sharing one shower. Fifteen people sharing two toilets. Ten people (including all of the schools' and headmasters') sharing one washing machine and two clothes lines. There are several students and staff that live at the school as well as a half dozen workers. The students and staff share our shower and washing machine with us. Everyone shares our two toilets with us.

4. The guesthouse without guests - One part of the school, the part directly facing our volunteer housing, is being converted into guesthouses. While I find it endlessly ironic that all volunteer's were subject to a background check, but anyone willing to pay to stay in the school's guesthouse has easy access to children streaming around the school and pool area, the unending construction is was gets to me most. They begin work seven days a week at 7-8 am and stream through our house for no apparent reason. One greeted me as I left the shower in nothing, but a towel. They left shards of glass in the pool area that were identified only after a few kids got pieces wedged in their feet. Half seem to just stand and stare at us from the guesthouse, watching our every move with rapt fascination. It is just creepy. My breaking point was being woken up on Saturday at 7am, without warning, to two men scrapping and hammering on the other side of our bedroom wall.

5. No A/C - We have moved a third fan into our room to help us sleep, the swimming classes all afternoon help immensely and I quite like being known by name at the neighborhood Gloria Jean's Coffee shop. I am almost tearing up just thinking about how great it would feel to walk into a a/c cooled bedroom.

Week 1: Phnom Penh

Written on Friday, April 30...
I am nearing the end of my first week of volunteering as a teach here in Phnom Penh. I am exhausted and spend more than my fair share of the day feeling confused. I keep reminding myself of something the headmaster told me a few nights ago, "It is not about you."

She was referring to the change in dynamics between my previous jobs and this position as a teacher. In my career, it was always about meeting objectives and doing my best to make a good name for myself and advance my career. Volunteering as a teacher in this Montessori school means putting the children and their learning first. The philosophy of the school is for teachers to provide a framework to help the children educate themselves and find their own interests. It is a great philosophy.

I have been challenging myself to think what would be best for the children and what would make learning more fun. I am not sure that is the aim for all of the teachers, though. There are some very real practicalities like discipline and basic safety that necessitate teachers to step in and limit or steer what the children are doing. It is also quite easy, though, to get lazy as a teacher. It is pretty easy to justify sitting back and watching the kids do whatever they want or letting a toddler cry unrelentingly all in the name of teaching the child to help herself.

It has been great to see an environment where the approach is to let a child explore a toy or topic or activity instead of just jumping to dictate directions or a list of instructions. It is fascinating to stop and ask a child what they are thinking or why or why not they want to do an activity and hearing their responses. Sometimes a child's answer is really interesting and surprisingly informed. Sometimes a child's pushback is very justified and sometimes they are just rebelling for the sake of it.

The lack of structure that this philosophy naturally leads to can be really frustrating and, in this school's case where I think it has just slipped a little too far, can be incredibly inefficient and ineffective for a child's development. I can't speak to the entirety of the Montessori way, but this one seems mired down by its lacking administrative organization and budgetary control.

Two more weeks to go...I am leading the morning circle with the nursery kids, teaching Level 1 English in the morning, and helping/teaching swimming all afternoon.

School Daze

Today was my first day teaching here in Phnom Penh. I am volunteering at a Montessori school for three weeks. To say it is a relaxed environment, is an understatement. I was informed at 8am this morning that I would be teaching a 1st grade English class and also give private lessons to some students that need a little extra attention. I had been told all along that I would be working in the nursery with the four year olds.

It turned out to be a great switch because it turns out there are a very limited amount of times in a morning that I can play make believe restaurant and the memory game. My imagination apparently has not been used in a long time!

And today at the after school faculty meeting, I was volunteered to start teaching physical education in the mornings. This includes swimming lessons. I am not quite sure how I am going to fit it all in, but I am very glad that I will get a break from the heat during the swimming lessons. I am also glad that I packed a tankini and one pieced bathing suit.

For lunch, to add to the culture shock, we attended part of the wedding festivities of one of the teachers at the school. I had never before met the twenty-something bride, but they welcomed us with open arms. The bride, groom, and the groom's father shared a table with us for lunch. It was beyond strange, but the food was really good. We had a whole steamed fish, some kind of sweet and sour soup, and a stir fry with vegetables, shrimp, squid, and kidney (yes, the organ, not the bean).

Tomorrow, to celebrate my birthday, the kids are helping me to make two banana cakes with lemon icing in the school's solar oven. Everyone cross their fingers, the cakes rise! More later...off to the big western supermarket for ingredients.

Banteay Srey & Samre

It is my last day here in Siem Reap before boarding a bus tomorrow morning for a six hour trip to Phnom Penh where I will start volunteering as a primary school teacher for three weeks.

This morning, my tuk tuk driver from the previous day, San, drove me to some of the more remote temples that come highly recommended from Lonely Planet - Banteay Srey and Banteay Samre. It took us about an hour to get the 37 kilometers to Banteay Srey, but it was a nice trip. We drove by most of the sites I have already seen and then continued into the countryside which I have not had a chance to see yet.

These two temples were fascinating because many of the carvings are still in-tact or have been restored and because of the sheer amount of things the builders have managed to cram into relatively small spaces.

Banteay Srey

Banteay Samre













Oh, and I just had to show everyone this sign commonly found in toilets here.

More temples

Today I hired a tuk tuk driver to take another half day tour ($6). This time I went to some of the lesser known sites - Preah Khan, Neak Pean, Ta Som, and Pre Rup. The temples were so much less crowded. It could also have been because I took my tour during the hottest part of the day, from 10.30am-1.30pm. I am so much more willing to put up with the heat than to get up early!

I took along my copy of Ancient Angkor and was able to read either in the tuk tuk on our way between sites or in a shaded area at each temple. It wasn't as easy as having a guide along, but it was nice to have a day to myself and time to just let my thoughts wander in these ancient architectural marvels. It truly amazes me that the works of man can last thousands of years.

It is also quite shocking to me how desensitized I have become to the touts that line the parking lots and even doorways of Angkor's temples. I haven't yet mentioned them probably because I wish they didn't exist...that they needn't exist. There is the mother that offers passers cut pineapple over the whines of the toddler perched on her lap. There, of course, are the tuk tuk driver's clapping their hands and shouting, "Lady! Tuk Tuk?!" "Lady! Where you going?!" There are also the teen aged boys that stand at temple entrances and offer to tell the temples 'story' for $2 or want to sell you a copied book.

Worse are the small children with their little baskets of bracelets or postcards. Two girls (age seven or so) walked with me for several minutes, one on either side, trying to sell me identical bracelets. They bargained between each other, alternating between English and Khmer. They were down to seven bracelets for $1 without my saying a word. When I kept walking, one changed her tactic and asked if I had any gum or candy or a pen for her. It caught me off guard and I looked her in the eyes and smiled at her wittiness and told her that no, I didn't have anything to give her. Immediately she started saying, "Why won't you give me your candy," as if I were holding out one her. "Since you won't give me candy, you should buy my bracelets." Such tactics! I just went back to ignoring them and walked to my waiting tuk tuk.

The worst of all are the landmine bands. I don't know if that is their official name. They are a group of four or five men playing handmade wind and string instruments. In front of their rug or wooden platform, they display a sign stating they've all lost limbs to landmines. The sign really isn't necessary since they oftentimes line their prosthesis (horrible plastic ones, at that) along the stage. They typically line one of the shaded walkways up to a temple. I am a horrible person. I have not stopped once to give them money. I will look at them and smile as I walk by, but I just can't bring myself to stop.

Angkor What?

I am in Siem Reap, Cambodia this week. So far, I have taken two half day afternoon tours of various sites in Angkor with two friends I met on my Vietnam Intrepid Tour. We hired a guide and an air conditioned car organized by our hotel. I had read on Tripadvisor about so many great local guides that I thought we would be fairly safe in using whatever guide the hotel came up with. That is so not the case. The guide was fine and at $15 total for a half day was not a huge investment, but we would have done just as well on our own with a copy of Lonely Planet. It was a much better alternative than joining a huge Sinh Tour again since we could dictate the pace and had the guide to ourselves. He also took some great pictures for us like the one of me Eskimo kissing one of the one hundred and forty eight remaining faces of The Bayon.

Last night, we bought copies (really high quality, color photocopies) of Ancient Angkor by Claude Jacques, a great book explaining the history and symbolism behind Angkor's temples. My friend managed to bargain a vendor in the Night Market down to $3.50 each copy, a much better bargain than a guide. I have been reading it and am going to take it along the next two days as I revisit Angkor Wat and explore some of the lesser known sites. Earning the title of the largest preindustrial city in the world at 1,000 square kilometers, I won't get anywhere close to seeing all of it, though.

We woke up at 4am on Monday to get to Angkor Wat for sunrise. It was worth it...just. Thankfully, we hadn't booked a tour that morning so we gladly took our tuk tuk back to our hotel where I was asleep again by 9am.

Rolling on the river

Today is my last day in Vietnam before flying out tomorrow morning to Siem Reap, Cambodia. I have been here for only 17 days, but I am ready to move on. Saigon and the Mekong Delta especially just rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps I toured the country in the wrong order. Maybe I should have started my tour in the Mekong Delta, the poorest region in Vietnam, and then gone to Saigon, the crazy place Vietnamese call The City of Dreams, and then headed north to the less polarized areas.

It is just irritating and shattering to get paraded around on buses and boats to stare at people that are trying to get on with their day. The tour is so popular because the people living in this region are some of the last to live primarily on boats. I have included pictures of their boats - usually a larger one room craft that serves as their home and storage space for the goods they sell along the river on a daily basis and a small boat used to ferry between the other boats selling at the floating market. It just felt like we were on a tour to see how poor and how unusual they lived. It felt really judgement and unfair to them since they are just doing the best they can with what they have.

The tour was organized by Sinh (Cafe) Tourists and, at 40 persons to a group, was a much larger group than I was used to after my Intrepid Tour with only seven other people. It was also very hot on the unairconditioned and sometimes even unshaded boat trips. To top things off, I also got a stomach bug. I upgraded my hotel from the basic option offered by Sinh and, instead, spent two nights at what I am told is the nicest hotel in the Mekong Delta, Kim Tho. While the standard is comparable to any American mid-level hotel, I was really happy with my stay. It was great to have a very comfortable room with all the amenities I could want and a full day without a tour to enjoy it. The timing was right too since I didn't want to be far from a 'happy room' (Vietnamese for 'toilet').

Picking up the pieces

Wednesday, 14 April

Yesterday was the most difficult day of my journey thus far. We left Nha Trang on a night train and arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) at 5am. After getting to the hotel, taking a shower, and taking an hour and a half nap, I was off again on a day trip to the Cu Chi tunnels a two hour drive outside the city. Then the difficult part began.

I am just starting to put the pieces together of what the Vietnam War did to this country's people. I will never be able to fully understand it. My last post seems almost embarrassing in its simplicity. The Vietnamese government takes every liberty in turning the Cu Chi tunnels and the War Remembrance Museum (which I visited in the afternoon) into tools of propaganda, but the devastation caused by the war is undeniable. A war by definition is destructive, though, so it is really difficult for me to reconcile what could be par for the course or what could be, as the Vietnamese government puts it, an unpunished crime against humanity. The answer is likely to be somewhere in between. Saigon and its surrounding areas in particular were quite literally bombed back into the Stone Age and seemingly kept there for the next several decades until the U.S. lifted its trade embargo in 1995. I do not really have an opinion on the use of embargoes. I can understand, though, why that action was taken and supported for so many years. It was the ultimate retaliation.

The tunnels of Cu Chi so infamous to soldiers and to the world are in an area just outside of Saigon that was once know for its beautiful orchards and lush landscape. The napalm blanketed across the countryside by US planes not only shrivelled up the vegetation, it infiltrated the waterways and insidiously crept into the soil. Only recently have the rubber and bamboo trees typical of the area started to grow again. The orchards won't be back for years. In addition to the soil deprivation, it seems the locals would rather focus their resources on catering to the tourists that flock to the tunnels by the bus load.

American sized mannequins provide ridiculously over-sized re-creations of the Vietnamese farmers turned soldiers and are posed in various spots along an area of the forest that has long ago been trampled down by tourists' feet into a smooth dirt pathway from entry to entry of the underground tunnel system. A group of Chinese tourists ahead of our group gamely climb onto the remnants of a bombed out US tank to pose for pictures. In white English lettering, it describes how the Cu Chi farmers used leftover pieces of enemy artillery to re-craft into booby traps to attack the tank. They proudly boost how many American soldiers were killed in the process.

Later we watch a film honoring the fighters - one a teenage girl. They were awarded military metals based on the number of US soldiers they could kill. I suppose it sends shock waves similar to those experienced by Vietnamese upon hearing of the US military's policy at one point in the war that "a dead Vietnamese is a dead VC," thus implicitly giving troops the green light to kill innocent civilians. As we look at replicas of the booby traps created using converted ditches, some originally created to catch wildlife, lined with sharpened and treated bamboo sticks, the commentary takes on that of a hunting expedition fueled by rage and revenge. I lost count of how many times terms like "American devils" and "American imperialists" were thrown out throughout the day.

The tunnel system was originally three levels deep. Sections of the first level just a few meters below the ground have been widened for tourists. Nevertheless, I still had to fold myself in half and bend my knees almost completely to be able to walk through the tunnel. I took the first exit available, but had I chose to continue, I could have walked for several minutes to one of the many submerged bunkers before exiting. I just can't begin to imagine what surviving in those tunnels would do to a person physically and mentally. And, after hearing my guide brag about how successful the fighters were in infiltrating nearby American posts, I can only imagine how paranoid it must have made GIs.

The War Remnants Museum was originally called The House for Displaying War Crimes of American Imperialism and the Puppet Government of South Vietnam and was later renamed the Museum of American War Crimes until relations between the U.S. and Vietnam improved in the 1990s. There is some blatant misinformation inside, for instance, a timeline of major world conflicts that states that World War II lasted for only a few years which is really unnecessary. The message that the U.S. led a very dirty and unpopular war that targeted innocent civilians and that maimed the country and its people for decades really does not need exaggeration to get across the point. Frankly, it just left me skeptical about how the Vietnamese government was able to get authentic pictures of U.S. soldiers in the act of such heinous activities as throwing a prisoner from a helicopter and carrying the charred remains of a VC soldier killed by a Napalm bomb.

In addition to dozens of pictures depicting the effects of Agent Orange to both civilians and the later genetic mutations suffered by offspring, the museum goes even further and displays jars of still born infants killed by the toxins. It just crosses a line from education into the bizarre and vulgar. They even recreated a section of the museum grounds into the torture chambers and guillotine used by the South Vietnamese soldiers on their northern countrymen. It is not a memorial and it does not encourage any of us to take a step forward and move on. I felt afraid to admit I am American.

There were reconstructed US helicopters and fighter planes in the front lawn of the museum. I do not understand why the government went to all that expense, but leaves the top floor of the museum unfinished and has not thought to install air conditioning in the building. After a few minutes in "The World Supports Vietnam in its Resistance" and "Historic Truths" Rooms in the stifling heat, I was sweating far too much to concentrate on reading the captions under the displays. The gift shop was even worse and, anyway, what could one possibly want to buy as a souvenir?

I am not going to post pictures for this entry, but I have provided links to the Wikipedia entries which provide pictures.