Destination Unknown, November 28, 2007
“Mantras, minefields and memories…”
Landing in Phnom Penh I found the weather to be on the cool side for Cambodia. Hovering around 76 degrees and very windy, the Khmer were complaining and shivering in long sleeve shirts and down jackets. (Gosh, I wonder who else I know that thinks 76 is on the chilly side?) Compared to past experiences here it was very comfortable for me. I got through Immigrations with a minimum of fuss, just make sure you remember to bring extra passport pictures for the Visa’s and you’ll breeze thru. I packed lighter than usual this time, not having a clue to where I would be going and or doing this trip. I guess it’s no different then any other trip but on this occasion I wanted to leave everything to chance and packed accordingly. Flip flops, sandals and walking shoes, two pair of long pants, four pair of shorts, 10 t-shirts, 1 shirt with a collar, two pair of socks for motorcycling, swim trunks and miscellaneous toiletries. Along with the clothes now add one laptop, one camera body, two lenses, the camera bag, two baby hard drives and I felt ready to tackle any voyage. Coming over on the flights I had divided up most of the clothing into the checked luggage and the electronics as a carry on, I can buy more clothes if I have to, but try to replace your toys on the road and the vacation is ruined. After getting to the hotel I re-sorted the gear and made up one bag for short two and three day trips and the other for trips two weeks and longer. Taking only what was absolutely needed on the short trips and re-stocking as needed for the long ones. Just as a side bar, I am in the digital world of photography, and have been for a good while now. Long since have I come to grips with the amount of wires and cables I need to accomplish the transference and data management needed to take 500 pictures or more on a daily basis. Gone are the days of having to pack film, but now that’s been replaced with USB cables, adapters, chargers, cable locks, hard drives. I swear I am carrying more nowadays then back in the days of film. I guess that’s the price you pay for the instant gratification of being able to see your pictures when and where you want. Hell, I can download and do a slide show in less time then it would have took to process 1 roll of film. So here I am in the middle of one of the poorest countries of the world, sitting in a ten dollar room hooked up to the internet with WiFi, listening to “Tibetan Buddhist mantras” on my laptop while downloading my pictures and writing in my journal. Hell, when I’m finished and before going to the Landmine Museum this afternoon, I may take a nap or just watch the latest Hollywood Blockbuster until the Tuk-Tuk arrives @ 1500. Anyhow so begins the latest adventures of a traveling vagabond and so, so photographer.
I had already booked a room at the California 2 for a week and arrived just in time for a lunch of deep fried pork rib’s with rice, home made French fires, a cucumber salad and a liter bottle of my favorite, Beer Lao, the girls at the hotel even remembering to bring the my usual condiments of lime, crushed black pepper, salt and chopped up chilies that you mixed in a small bowl and then liberally soak everything in. Most the usual Expats were there already working on their second beer. There was Russell, an ex Australian Vietnam Vet. He looks the part of a Vet, scruffy beard, has that long stare when in deep thought and has let his hair grow uncut going on twenty years now, he developed post traumatic stress right after the war and after major rehab was able to keep a job as Longshoreman long enough to retire. Now Russell pops down for lunch and drinks by noon, he only drinks beer and he boasts that he hasn’t cooked a day in his life, but has learned how to open tins of soups, beans, the occasional spam. Bill is another Aussie who also survived the War and is also living here full time. Bill is more energetic though, he will fast walk from his apartment here have lunch and then fast walk back. He does this every day and it takes just over three hours there and back again. Bill is also the part time day manager of a girlie bar here called the “Walkabout”. Bill says working there helps keep the mind sharp working out all the games people play with him and the staff. There’s also Mark, pipeline mechanic from Prudue Bay, Alaska. He lives here full time now, is sixty nine and his girlfriend is Vietnamese, gorgeous and about twenty two years old. I gotta wonder how he does it. The cast of characters would not be complete without Dangerous Dave. Dave is a retired Seaman and got his name from his driving abilities. Always getting around on his motorbikes, he drives everywhere. Once up in the Cardoman Mountains, as the story goes, the motorcycle pack was moving along slowly and too slowly for Dave, he charged past and when the pack arrived at a huge minefield that was in the process of being cleared, they could see his tracks going right through the minefield. No one being brave enough to follow, they all diverted around and it took them the rest of the day to catch up. When they finally asked him about the minefield, he said he had arrived just as a local was letting down the flagging and just followed him through. Now that took some balls, anyhow, it was good be back, sitting in a sidewalk café and bar, getting drunk with this truly eclectic crowd, and listening to their latest exploits.
Mostly I had worked out the sleep schedule before leaving Salt Lake (Going to bed in the AM and trying to stay awake all night.), but I was still tired and what the hell I’m on vacation so I retired early and slept almost through the night and only awoke after hearing two cats fighting in the alley around 4 am. Granted 4 am is early no matter what country you are in, but here life starts before the crack of dawn. Already I can hear the distant beeps and honks that tell me the Khmer are already out and about. I wandered down the stairs hoping someone from the hotel staff was awake and to my dismay they were all still sleeping and not scheduled to open before 0700. I tip toed passed the sleeping night attendants and let myself out for a quick walk along the riverside to find some coffee. Stepping outside I found the streets deserted with the exception of a few going to work. I headed north and stopped at one of the small restaurants catering to the early morning backpackers headed out by bus or boat along the Mekong or Tone Le Sap Rivers. The bus station had not yet opened and the boats were still dark as well. Sitting there in the first coffee shop, cloaked in shadows and tending to warm a cup of coffee, I watched as the backpackers slowly appeared out of the darkness, some still half asleep. Backpackers have to be quite mad sometimes. Imagine for a moment the need to get up at 0400 in the morning, and then walk for miles, sometime through streets clogged with people sleeping along the sidewalks, stepping over and around them, trying your best not to wake them in passing, or wondering if you’ll be robbed around the next corner by a man wielding his AK 47… Anyway, the morning was spent doling out information to the many backpackers who also stopped in for coffee and breakfast. “How long?”, “Which boat?”, “What time?”, the questions are always the same, quickly passed along to the newer arrivals and then would come the sorting, the queuing, and always the last minute packing of food and drinks for the trips, strapping the shoes to the outside to get that last bottle of water inside, spending a last minute attempting to repair the bigger rips and tears in the packs or just binding it off till later. I found myself dearly missing those days.
I can remember walking alone to the bus station in the Lacandon Jungle along the border of Mexico and Guatemala, in a market place of some unknown village with no street lights at 0400. Having to feel your way along the wall to a patch of dirt they told you about in the light of day and hoping either the bus or the sun would come soon. At first all that was visible was the glow of a small cooking fire set back in the wall of what looked like a small alley. I made my way along the wall and saw the wrinkled face of a very, very old woman stooped over a fire and cooking something that smelled foul. I was standing there in the dark and thru the flicker of light I spied another “white” face crouched in and behind the old lady. Slowly I moved along the wall entering the alley and when close enough to whisper, I asked if this was the bus station? He moved over a bit and motioned me over and quickly whispered back “ Yeah, I think so, hold out some money and this lady will give you coffee!”… Just like that, in the dark of night, over a tin cup of sweet, black coffee, two backpackers meet and then travel for the next few hours, days or weeks until their paths diverge. Exchanging addresses in the hopes of seeing them again some day, but also in an attempt to keep the adventure alive in your mind. Saying to yourself, look this really happened, here is the piece of paper that says it’s true, it has an address on it and they were with me when it happened. It was not a figment of my imagination, it was real… This happens more often then you would think on those roads less traveled. Things used to be, that backpackers “chose” to travel the cheap and less traveled routes, trading time for dollars and the chance of real adventures. Now a day’s, it seems that those roads are disappearing fast, and with it the sense of adventure. Those roads less traveled are getting harder and harder to find, as the world grows smaller and smaller…
Well, I have just returned from a week at Angkor Wat. I am sitting in my ten dollar room typing away and coming up with a plan, sort of. The next few days will be gathering some supplies, doing laundry and then on the third day riding out to the beach. There I will take the time to say hello to some old friends made last year and unwind from Angkor. I swear that place is getting more and more like one of the Pavilions at Disney World. What used to be Pub street
is now one of those Artsy Fartsy places you find at Pearl Streetin Boulder or Underground, Atlanta complete with Starbucks like coffee shops.
I don’t think I would ever go back willingly.
Anyway, after the beaches I will begin my trip up the coast of Vietnam. I still have no clue as to how I will enter and which way I will go, but like the old days of backpacking, maybe I can find some adventure still out there on those roads less traveled…
