Cyclone Nargis

Obviously I have not been writing on my blog as this is the first post since returning to Seattle. The last month has been spent reacquainting myself with food, friends, western toilets, and, of course, a job. Everyday I find myself thinking back on my trip, whether it be a particular moment or an all encompassing lesson that I learned over the 8 months I was gone.

For the past week only one place/experience has been on my mind. Burma. For a week I have watched helplessly as the death toll has continued to rise. I remember when the BBC was reporting 2000-3000 dead, only to find that several hours later it was reporting 10,000 deaths. As of now the official death toll stands at just under 23,000 though from many of the reports I have read it is estimated to be as high as 100,000. How did this happen? Why has so much devastation been wrought on a country that has already had so much taken away from it?

As the week passed and reports came out about the slow response of the Burmese government, their refusal to allow foreign aid workers into the country, and their overall inept handling of one of the largest natural disasters in recent history I began feeling the same mixture of anger, disgust, and sorrow that I felt while I was there. I remember the conversations with those who were not afraid to express their fear of and hatred towards their government. I remember the state of the countries transportation (or lack thereof) which in the event of a disaster like this would make it almost impossible to get supplies those who need them. I remember something else as well. I remember arriving in Cambodia and thinking that I had just stepped into the modern world. Cambodia. Modern. That is the state that Myanmar is currently in. If you compare Cambodia to it Cambodia seems modern and developed. This is why the people of Myanmar need our help. The isolationist policies of their government have prevented the country from growing. Now with the devastation wrought by Cyclone Nargis the people of this country face far worse conditions than they were when I was there.

Desperate for news from inside the country I emailed the only Burmese person who’s email address I still had. Our communication has always been via email, and despite the fact that we never met face to face I felt as though we became friends through our frequent Gmail chats. Below is his reply to my email from earlier in the week.

Hello,

Thank you for your help and encouragement though we never meet before. I was really shocked on that day and I'd never forget it. It is the most terrible experience for my life. Because the flat I live is on the 7th floor , on the top of the building and the roofs were being destroyed. The Cyclone started on friday night (2.5.08) and more strong in Saturday morning and destroyed the building and killed the people and animals. Now I face with the problem of no water , no electricity and high living expenses in YGN. I couldn't support my parent who live in the small village near yangon. Their house's roofs were also being destroyed. But fortunately they are in good health.

My heart goes out to the people of Burma. In all the countries I visited I never met kinder more welcoming people. This tragedy should not be shouldered by them alone. I encourage anyone who can do so to donate money to the Red Cross Myanmar Cyclone Nargis fund.

Mama I'm Coming Home

My flight leaves in 24 hours. I can not possibly begin to explain the mixture of emotions coursing through my veins at this moment...

What a journey this has been!

Traveling Cambodia and Going Home

Cambodia is great. Actually Cambodia is better than great, it's amazing. I'm reaching the end of my trip, and I could not think of a better country to have spent my last three and a half weeks in.

After leaving paradise (Koh Tonsay) I headed back to Phenom Penh with some of my friends to take in the city a little more leisurely. One thing that helps do just that is having friends who speak Cambodian. Often times I can tell when people are talking about me (though obviously I haven't a clue what they are saying), though I don't think I was aware of just how often I/We Westerners are talked about. Walking around the central market with my friend Sam (Who has spent over a year here and speaks nearly fluent Cambodian) he would provide a running commentary on what people were saying about us. The best were the girls. They would whisper about how cute we were and occasionally Sam would stop, turn around, and say "Yes, we are. And we understand you." This would leave them shrieking with laughter and covering their faces in embarrassment.

Another great thing about traveling with someone who knows a country is that they know people. Sam has LOTS of Cambodian friends and simply being associated with him made me their friend as well. It was shocking how little I was harassed by tuk-tuk drivers and touts the second time I was in Phenom Penh. Once they knew I was with a friend of theirs they were only smiles and handshakes.

And then there was the woman. Oh, what a woman! I don't know her name but she was an absolute sweetheart. She was maybe 50 to 55 and owned the guest house I stayed at in Phenom Penh. She did not know Sam (i.e. she had no reason to be so friendly), but treated me as though I was her long lost son. I am actually beginning to wonder if she thought I was someone else. Aside from sowing some pants for me, getting me anything I needed, and inviting me for food she also gave me the biggest hug and kiss you could possibly imagine when I finally said goodbye. I have no idea why...

I'm in Siem Reap (Angkor Wat) now after saying a difficult goodbye to some of the best friends I have made on this trip. Siem Reap is pretty hard to take in. Being the number one tourist destination in the country it has really developed and prospered. Along the main street and on the way to Angkor Wat there are tons of resorts charging $200-300 a night, there are fancy restaurants that I cannot afford, clubs with cover fees, and more Mercedes than I thought existed in this country. Clearly Siem Reap is doing well for itself. Or is it? I think the answer may be no. Out of all this development I wonder how much is locally owned? How much of the tens of thousands of dollars that large Japanese and Korean tour groups are spending everyday here go back into the community? My guess is not a lot.

Being the cheap bastard I am I took up residence outside of town at a small guest house. When I arrived they were full, but happily put me up in the "barn" with a Thai monk for one dollar. Walking the dusty road into town last night I felt like I was in Cambodia, or Myanmar, or Laos, or any other very poor country that I have visited in the last few months. The tell-tale signs of were all around me. The garbage, the fetid water, the begging children. Yet, 400 meters down the road life was different. Neon signs shown brightly, police blocked traffic from entering streets, and whities, like myself, strolled freely from one fancy hangout to another. 400 meters away a woman begged for some milk for her starving child, thank God the cops block those roads off, otherwise her child's screams might just disturb someone's vacation.

Despite the feelings I have towards Siem Reap my visit to Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples was fantastic. Well, actually that might be a bit generous. Two things prevented me from really loving Angkor Wat. 1.) The heat. I am so ready for cold Seattle air. 2.) The massive groups of Japanese and Korean tour groups. While I am not a fan of their methods of travel I harbor no resentment towards them. What I do resent however is constantly having to move out of the way, or sit and wait while 30-40 people all crowd around something to have their pictures taken. And they take A LOT of pictures. Nonetheless, Angkor Wat was simply amazing. I was enchanted by the detailed stone carvings, and the sheer size of the stones used to construct the temples blew my mind! I was able to find many areas where I was alone, and could walk the temples in silence, marveling at the their grandiosity.

And so that's it. I just visited the largest religious site in the world, and am ready to head home. Three days from now I will be heading to Bangkok and in five days I will be back in Seattle. I have visited 13 countries on this leg of the trip and am anxious to arrive back in Seattle. While I have been dreading this arrival at times, I am now accepting of it. The next great journey is about to begin. Oh, and it helps that I will be leaving for a week's vacations in Mexico two days after getting back!

My Wandering and Wondering is going to continue even after arriving back in Seattle as I am sure I will have lots to say about this trip once I have put some time and distance between it and me, and have (hopefully) figured out what lessons I learned on the road. Also, I will be embarking on Part 2. of this epic journey in the fall when I plan to visit South America for several months and will of course be keeping the blog going at that time as well.

The Beach

I don't have a huge list of "Things to do before I die." With that said, I do still have a few items that I would not mind ticking off, and this last week I finally got to tick off a big one. That is to say; I stayed on a gorgeous, sparsely inhabited, island in a basic bamboo shack right on the beach with a great group of friends.

Tearing myself away from Kampot was not easy. I spent a week there before I was finally able to break it's spell over me and escape. Of course, escaping is quite a lot easier when you are leaving with a diverse group of friends (some of whom spoke Spanish) with very different backgrounds, personalities, and interests. So it was, that I found myself crammed into a tuk tuk with five other people headed for Koh Tonsay near the Vietnam border.

After a few minor difficulties we arrived on Koh Tonsay, or as I refer to it, paradise. The total number of inhabitants could not have been more than 30-40 and there were only a few small bamboo shelters to sleep in. There were however HAMMOCKS. Lots, and lots of hammocks. And a beach. A nice beach.

I spent two full days swimming, lounging in my hammock/reading, hiking around the island, and enjoying the company of a great group of guys. What I enjoyed the most was definitely getting to know these guys better. For example, there is the Swiss guy who lives in Italy and seems a half a bubble off, until you learn that he is fluent in French, German, Swiss-German, Italian, Spanish, English, and Cambodian. Or there was the break dancing Swedish guy who looks like Orlando Bloom, and whose sense of humor mirrors my own so perfectly that we left each other rolling on the ground in laughter while everyone else wonders what the hell we are carrying on about. The rest of the group was as equally interesting and the island was gorgeous. What more could you ask for?

For me the answer was cheese cake. If the island had a drawback it was the food. I can't complain too much, because we were staying on a pretty basic island (i.e. no power), but Jesus! was that food ever terrible. The first night it was not so bad, but by day two none of us could even look at rice or eggs again. That was all there was. Rice, Ramen, eggs. That was it. I would have murdered for a piece of cheese cake in paradise...

Kick'n it in Kampot

I'll skip a few things for now, and just say this. I am in Kampot, Cambodia and my life on the road has slowed to a crawl. To think that over the past two and a half weeks I had never stayed more than three nights and two days in any one place is crazy. I certainly did no relaxing in Myanmar (don't get me wrong I still loved the experience), and my first two destinations in Cambodia (Phnom Penh and Sihanoukville) were infested with fat whities, making it hard to relax. I fled Sihanoukville after one very uncomfortable night that included; getting into a bed filled with rat shit; cleaning out said bed only to have rats eat a hole in my bag; getting about 50 bed bug bites; having to listen to the music being pumped full blast until 5:00 a.m; at this point in time my drunk-ass teenage neighbors came stumbling into their room and I listened to the four of them seemingly have a conversation, but since every second word was "fuck" I'm not too sure they were able to actually communicate with each other.

The next day found August chilling-out in the small river town of Kampot. The town is surrounded by gorgeous mountains on two sides and the coast is only a fifteen minute ride away on my recently rented motorbike. This is just one of those places where you have no desire to leave. I am on day three here, and can easily imagine another week spent doing exactly what I have done the past three days...not much. There are a few travelers around, but not too many. Just the right number for having a few conversations over a couple of beers.

I did do a six hour motorcycle ride and spent about two of those hours taking my bike up a hiking path (which was clearly not a good idea). The single track was overgrown with vegetation and I found myself white-knuckled at a few points (such as hitting a large downed tree, or flying up a steep hill). I even rented a bicycle for a few hours to ensure a bit of exercise, but really that is all I have done, and since I have been here for three days that means I have had two whole days filled with:

Drinking coffee and reading books in a hammock.

Meditating in a beautiful garden.

Eating Amok (a super delicious fish curry, which is fast becoming my favorite food EVER!).

Chatting with all the Cambodina kids who seem to be everywhere.

Finding myself back in the hammock.

Drinking my favorite beer in the world. Cambodia is one of the only countries which imports.
Beerlao. That's right, Faye, Lisa, eat your hearts out. I am drinking BEERLAO!!!

Some how ending up back in that damn hammock, again.

Walking along a beautiful river (sometimes with a Beerlao in hand).

Going to the bookstore only to find that they have a copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns. I have been searching for two months for that book!

In other words I am relaxing to the fullest right now. Many things have been on my mind lately and I will probably post a more "reflective blog" in the next day or two, but for now I am going to leave it at that and meander on back to my gorgeous garden with that very inviting hammock, a good book, and a Beerlao.

Blowing in the Wind

If you had dropped me off in Phnom Penh at the beginning of this trip I probably would have been like "Holy Shit! This is a crazy third world city." Now, I'm not saying that it would have been completely different (I would have been awkward and unsure of myself anywhere), but it would have been different than the way I eased myself in to this trip.

As it was, after two weeks in Myanmar, arriving in Phnom Penh seemed like walking into a civilization again. I wrote at great length about the differences between Myanmar and the rest of the places I have traveled to, so I will skip that this time. Basically, walking back into a city that is attached to the rest of the world was just as shocking as walking into Myanmar. Imagine my amazement when I rediscovered broadband internet. It was fascinating! It was just, just...on. You didn't have to dial a phone number. There were no beeping noises and static. And the speed, well, did you know these days that you could receive one email in less than half an hour? OK, I admit to using a primitive broadband connection in Mandalay, but it still can't count as "high speed". Anyway I digress.

Reentering a connected country was pretty crazy. The stark contrast between Myanmar and The-Rest-of-the-World is about as much convincing as anyone would need to see that Myanmar is neck deep in shit. That's all I'm going to say about that any more.

So for anyone who doesn't know this trip is coming to an end for me. I will be home in three weeks. A bit over eight months will have passed and I will step out of travel and back into, well, what? That's just it, I don't have a clue. I have made some plans for when I get back; things that I will do in the first few days; people I will call; places I will eat; the vague notion of some dream job. "Doing what?" you ask. Uh, well...uh...maybe this, like...um...job???

How do I go back to having a home? Seeing people that I have known for months or years, not hours or days? Do I even remember how to cook? Can I drive anything that possesses a steering wheel? Am I going to forget that I can't barter for things, and try to talk down a cashier at Trader Joe's over a couple of Clif Bars?

And what about the bigger issues? I didn't randomly get handed $20,000 dollars just to wander around aimlessly. Oh, wait a second that is what happened... Surely though it must have had a purpose. WHAT WAS IT?!?!? What will be the things that stay with me the most? There are so many. How are they going to shape my life? I know that a year ago I wrote to the Bonderman committee about how I wanted to study diet and lifestyle and their effects on health. For several years I was obsessed with science and medicine. I spent hours memorizing metabolic pathways and studying cancer at a molecular level. Eigth months later my dreams of starting medical school have disolved. Replaced with new dreams and ambitions. Is this a good thing? I don't have a clue. What does this mean about August? Am I someone who just throws away plans and years of work? Or am I someone who follows his heart? All these questions to answer.

Some questions will probably never be answered. The answers to others maybe obvious the day I get back. Basically, I don't know what to expect. The same giddy feelings I had before I left on this trip are the same ones I have now. Before starting this trip I described my feelings as progressing sinusoidally. The same pattern of emotions has followed me throughout this trip, and now, as I prepare to return home, I realize that at least in that regard nothing has changed. I am still riding that sine wave.

Confused. Horrified. Frustrated.

I felt sick looking at the pictures. I could feel the bile rising in my throat, and the tears forming in my eyes. There were so many. Most of the photos were of average people, the ones you would pass on the street everyday, but some were different. There were the ones with obvious mental retardation, ones with physical abnormalities, and then there were the children. Thousands of photos of children. Some stared blankly into the camera, but most had a look of desperation in their eyes. Odds are they had just been separated from their mothers, and, as children made too much of a fuss, it was likely they were going to be executed very soon. Everyone died in the end. Out of the 20,000 prisoners only eight survived. The children though, well, they were always the first to die. Bullets were in high demand in those days so they usually weren't used on prisoners. Besides, children's skulls are fragile, and it is easy to bludgeon a child. It only takes one or two good whacks...

I stood in S-21 (also known as Tuol Sleng), situated the heart of Phnom Penh, my eyes filled with tears. Tuol Sleng had been an elementary school at one point in time, but with education no longer a priority for Pol Pot and his brutal regime it was quickly converted into a torture center and prison. The photos were gruesome. Blood drenched carcasses lay chained to the floor. Others showed naked women and children lying on wire beds while they had their genitals removed, or their fingers sliced off one at a time. The blood that was produced was the only constant that tied the torture techniques together. Passing the rotting piles of clothes which are still present in areas of the prison I came to the skulls. There were a lot of skulls. Not all 19,992, but a lot. They stared back, much as the people in the photos stared back, and I felt as though even the skulls were begging for help. Begging to see their children or their wives. Begging to live.

To say that these last few weeks have been intense would be a gross understatement. I arrived in Cambodia yesterday after spending two weeks in Myanmar. Those two weeks consisted of enduring the five worst bus rides of my life (I rode five buses in Myanmar), ungodly temperatures (it was 38-40C in many parts of the country), and the ever present reminders of how a brutal dictatorship repressed it's people. Like the atrocities committed by Pol Pot the actions of the ruling military junta have decimated a nation.

If I have taken anything away from Myanmar it was the stories the people told. The frustration with a government who controlled everything. A government unwilling to build roads (I would have appreciated that), unwilling to provide schools, unwilling to listen to the demands of the people.

The tension was in the air everywhere I went. "Where are you from?" some one would ask. "U.S.A." I would reply for the 50th time that day. "Ah, America. Very good country. Who you vote for? Clinton? Obama? McCain?" "I like Obama." "Oh yes, me too. He is good man. If only we had a chance to elect a man like Obama." That might sound like one conversation, but it wasn't. It was the same conversation I had with the monk, the construction engineer, the student, the tri-shaw driver, and the guesthouse owner. The yearning to be free. To vote. To matter.

Of course the government recognizes what it is the people want, and, to help spread the word of the people, they post these demands in the newspaper everday of the week under the heading The People's Desire.

- Oppose those relying on external elements acting as stooges, holding negative views

- Oppose those trying to jeopardize stability of the State and progress of the nation

- Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State

- Crush all internal and eternal destructive elements as the common enemy

Confused. I have been feeling that a lot lately. Confused as to why I am traveling to these places. Confused as to what I am supposed to do to help these people.

Frustrated. I have been feeling that a lot lately as well. Frustrated by what I am seeing. Frustrated by not knowing what it is that I am supposed to do.

I have certainly never been accused of being the most articulate person in the world. I wish that I had more to say on these matters. I really don't. How can I relay the feeling of looking out a bus window, watching children, who are probably not even teenagers yet, carry buckets of boiling tar, their exposed legs covered with burns, their feet sticky with the tar they have already poured. These are the road crews who are fixing the dilapidated roads I complained so much about. Often times there are women too. They are usually old women who spend their days hunched over a pile of gravel, sifting through the rocks, or heating the tar for the boys to carry. These are the things I will remember long after the trip is over. These are the things I will never be able to explain to anyone no matter how hard I may try.

And so, with all these feelings of sorrow, confusion, and frustration racing around my head, I stood in the middle of S-21 with tears in my eyes. Not just for the victims of a brutal regime, but for the victims of all brutal regimes. For the children with tar on their legs, for the amputees whose lives had been forever changed with one false step, for the women who were too old to walk upright, but were still forced to build a road, for everyone who wanted to be free but found themselves short changed.