Kites over the City of Light

We are in one of the oldest cities in the world, Varanasi. Varanasi is known as The City of Light because it is said that if you die in Varanasi that you will go directly to heaven instead of being reincarnated. It sits right on the most sacred resource to the Hindus, The Ganges river, also one of the most polluted bodies of water in the world, where raw sewage, factory waste, and dead bodies are thrown all day long. This city is so ancient that the power goes out multiple times each night due to an explosion in the local power lines that we often see in the distance from the roof terrace of our guesthouse.

We arrive by cab from the train station. We're sharing our old white cab from the 1950's with two Germans that Olivier doesn't like. They're apparently very rude but I don't understand

German so I'm just watching the craziness going on outside of our rickety cab (pictured). We know of a guesthouse right on the river so we ask our cab driver to take us there. He takes us as close on the streets as he can get us and then orders us out of the car to follow him to it by foot. What a walk this is. I don't even know if this qualifies as a walk so much as it does an excursion. We wind through the ancient alley ways, dodging piles of cow feces swarmed by flies. Smells to melt our faces waft around us. We pass stray dogs, cows, trash mounds, people coughing, spitting, cooking, and trying to sell us various items. Men sit tucked away in their little huts in the wall cooking and crafting in their tattered clothes. After the five minute walk through the serpentine walkways we arrive at the guesthouse only to find that they will have a room available in four hours. We're too tired to kill time so we make our way back to the cab and go find a new one that we settle on. We relax and nap in our hotel the entire day. Traveling this country really takes it out of you. That evening we head to the roof for our dinner. We are five stories high on this terrace as we look out among the other rooftop terraces. We notice children all over Varanasi on their rooftops flying kites. Nothing fancy, no trick kites made to look like birds, sharks, or fish. Just standard single-color kites that have been cast into the sky to fly proudly among the hundreds of other kids' kites. It's a simple thing that brings these children so much joy. They're not tethered to an XBox by a controller cord trying to beat their brother to the top level. They are, instead, on the top level of a local building with a kite tethered to their hand by its string, standing next to their brothers taking turns to keep the shared kite aloft. It makes us realize how minimal their lives are and how something so simple can bring them so much joy and pride. We sit down and order some food from the man in the sweat-stained tank top. The sun is finally setting on our lazy day as we eat our dinner on the rooftop. Suddenly we hear cheering and chanting in the distance. As it grows closer we look over the railing down at the crumbling street below. A group of men march into view yelling and hollering. A wide plank is resting on their shoulders and on that plank is a man lying down wrapped in yellow cloth that seems to glow against the poorly lit street. His mouth is concave and his head is shaved and bobbling violently from side to side as these men jog him through the streets. "Is he dead!?" I ask some other hotel guests in horror. "Oh yeah, that's definitely a body" they reply in a morbidly fascinated tone. I'm suddenly filled with a mix of amusement and horror. The body is only in view for about ten seconds and then they whisk him away toward the Ganges River where he will be cremated and dumped in the river. We later learn that if a person lives over eighty years, then his life is celebrated by his body being paraded through the streets. "You obviously haven't been down to the river yet," the hotel guests assume. We tell them we will be going tomorrow or the next day, and they proceed to tell us that this is just the beginning. The rest of the night I feel a bit uneasy about seeing this dead body, yet very intrigued. If there is one moment on this trip that has truly left a mark on me, it's this one. We don't speak very much for the rest of our meal.

We spend the following day not doing very much. Just hunting down food is exhausting. We want to go to a specific restaurant so we head out to battle the dusty streets. India is really exhausting. Everybody wants something from us it seems. They always approach Olivier

instead of me since he's the male. They talk and talk and never let us go on our way. Often I just

want to shout, "For God's sake leave us alone we don't want to go to your scarf shop!" Even the children badger us. We spend way too much time waiting for each person to stop talking.

The

following morning we awake to watch the sun rise over Varanassi.

We climb into a rowboat and our rower fights his way upstream. We watch women beautifully adorned in all colors of the spectrum as they take their morning dip in the Ganges. Husbands ritually dunk their wives, people brush their teeth. The sun casts a morning glow over the crumbling buildings and the people praying to Shiva. We are rowed to a funeral on some stairs that lead into the water. An old man cries as he grips the shoulders of his deceased loved one.

His wife crouches a few stairs above, crying. We think it may be their son or daughter but the body is already wrapped in white plastic. The man boards a small boat and the body is slung over the tip of the boat. A cinderblock is twined around the legs of the dead body. A monkey is also prepared and placed in the boat. The man is rowed only about twenty yards into the river where he offloads the body into the water where it instantly disappears into the murky abyss. The mood is heavy and we are rowed away and dropped back off.

That evening we get in another rowboat and are taken to the burning ghats where bodies are burned twenty-four-hours-a-day. We are greeted by a priest who is draped in white cloth and

has a blessing mark on his forehead. Even though we know he'll eventually ask us for money, we're so relieved he is going to show us around the cremations instead of us braving this alone.

We step off our wooden boat on to the steps and begin our grim tour around the dark ominous building. He tells us that people are in this stone building waiting to die. They pray every day in the river while they await their fate. Once they die, they are taken to the burning platform

which is right next to the building. We wind

along the back of the building where men lean against huge heaps of special burning wood. The oldest sons have shaven heads and are draped in white cloth. Women are not allowed at the burnings since they are too emotional and this is said to inhibit the spirit from crossing seamlessly into the new world. We squint and cough through the asphyxiating smoke that billows off the platform. He takes us to the ground level floor of the building that sits in open air right over the river. We pass people lying on the ground and look at each other in horror wondering if these people are dead or alive. This is so grim. We can see about seven bonfires on the adjacent platform. These fires are burning bodies under heaps of wood. As we stand listening to him talk about the facility, we squint through the smoke. Dead bodies are prepared and dipped in the ganges. We're trying to act reverent and interested but every twenty seconds or so, a firework goes off scaring the bejesus out of us. Already feeling a bit sensitive because of this whole thing, the fireworks are frightening me even more than they normally would. We watch the burnings and are then asked, of course, for a small donation for his services. We oblige, and walk back past bodies, mourners, and diseased people near death.

The next days are spent exploring Varanassi by rickshaw bike (pictured at left). I've grown to really like these things.

I feel like I'm on the back of a chariot and viewing the world from a platform of esteem, like the queen in a parade. People look at us because we're white and some even shout "hello" just like they have all throughout Asia. We eat lunch at various places suggested to us by the Lonely Planet travel guide. Olivier is an expert traveler and is never afraid to ask any questions to get exactly what he wants. At one point Olivier decides to get his face shaven at a roadside barber next to a pile of bricks in an old rickety chair. He gets the ultimate treatment and decides to give them the most generous tip they will ever receive. I stand by and take pictures with his beautiful camera as a 12-year-old joins in on Olivier's impromptu massage. Apparently he's receiving the deluxe pamper package. The 12-year-old tries to get me to go to his scarf shop.

We head back to New Delhi on the night train and arrive early in the morning. We go to the famous Lotus Temple. Indian guys approach me because they want me to take pictures of them

in front of the temple-- with my camera. Every country seems to have a different request with westerners wielding cameras. This one is the most odd to me. If you'll recall, I've been

hassled for group photos in my swimsuit in Indonesia, held babies in pictures as if I were the Pope in China, and later in Egypt I will be practically torn to shreds by hoards of teenagers by the pyramids for their westerner photo op.

Today is my and Olivier's last day together in India, so we take it easy. We walk around old Delhi. I have huge ambitions for us to go see a Bollywood movie, but I have a massive headache so we keep it low key. In the morning we will say goodbye not knowing when or where we will see each other next, but we always manage.

I arise early in the morning to figure out how to get to the airport by eight o'clock. I see a young guy arguing with the guy behind the counter of my hotel. He is trying to check out and it's not a pretty argument. I ask him if he wants to share a rickshaw to the airport, so we go do some early morning haggling and off to the airport we go. I nearly miss my plain due to India International's TSA Changing of The Guard. MY GOD THIS COUNTRY! They couldn't resist one last dig at me.

Through God's Country

In Thailand I was told India is God's country by a young Indian guy. So far I haven't even seen the first traces of God. I'm pretty tired already and it's still early in the day. Indian train stations are absolutely insane. Huge rats run along the perimeter of the stations and along the tracks. People sleep on the tile floors awaiting their trains. The locals avoid the walkways that lead from platform to platform and just jump down onto the tracks with their entire families and make their way to where they need to be. We take the walkway instead. Our train is really wide,a room almost, and just has padded benches for us to sit on. We try to sleep but our bench is a bit too small to get comfortable and I have a lady on my right leaned against the train wall. There's no air conditioning just fans and open windows. Every few minutes men pace down the isles yelling out what they are selling. The most common is "Chai, chai!" repeated at nauseum. Suddenly a bongo drum rings out from behind us in the doorway to our cart. A little boy in the isle comes into view. He suddenly starts dancing and girateing to the beat in the isles. He shakes his shoulders up and down and then leans foreword to orbit the ball attached to a rope pinned in the center of his baseball cap. As he turns toward us I realize his tiny face has a mustache painted across it and little circles for rosy cheeks have been added to complete the circus look.He continues his little act and suddenly I'm so tickled that I start to silently chuckle. I can no longer keep silent as the laughter grows into a painful belly laugh. My eyes begin to tear and my face starts to hurt. Olivier looks at me unable to figure out what is so funny. As I continue to laugh, the tears turn to tears of sadness. I realize that this boy has to do this for a living while his mother plays the drums for him to dance, and then I'm filled with sorrow for this child and the many just like him. I've been told that India can make you laugh and cry all in one minute but I couldn't picture the scenario that could possibly reduce me to such a mess. Now I'm pretty sure I hold the record for quickest elation to sorrow time in the Indian tourism category.This sudden burst of emotion could also be due to a serious lack of sleep. He finishes this two minute act by passing his little body through a hoop and then comes around with a pan for a bit of money (as pictured). He is one of very few children I have given money to on this trip. He deserves a few rupees for his show and for making me go through such an extreme roller coaster of emotions.

After our three hour journey, we have arrived in Agra, the city where the Taj Mahal stands. We find a lovely rickshaw driver who will be ours for the day for a mere eight dollars. We go to the post office to send some of Olivier's unneeded items back to Luxembourg. It takes forever but is a real experience. Before we sit down on some lawn chairs at a desk, a man is ordered to dust them off. He spanks the dust off with a rag and then we are gestured to the chairs. The place

looks like a huge warehouse and I wouldn't be surprised if his stuff never makes it home. They seem to be very confused by international mail because it takes them forever to figure out how to properly prepare the package. The rickshaw driver takes us to Red Fort to lock our huge backpacks in their cloakroom. Then we're off to the Taj Majal. There are two long lines to get into the gates of the Taj grounds, the men's line and the women's line. I stand with him in the men's line until the end where they split us off to search our bags behind some wardrobe screens. A security guard goes through my bag and sends me away to lock up my gnome and a couple of other random items. What the hell!? I storm away without Olivier knowing where I've gone since he is in the men's line on the other side of the screens. I walk past the long line of women and go looking for the lockers. I'm approached by tons of people directing me to "the lockers" that they all seem to be suspiciously enthusiastic to direct me toward. I'm really nervous because I don't want to lock my things in a locker where they'll get stolen. People keep approaching me and trying to get me to buy things which I'm used to by now, but right now I've got a shorter fuse. I just feel a scam coming on for some reason. This doesn't seem right but I have no other choice. I lock my stuff away, and then make my way back to the Taj grounds about five minutes away. I later open my locker to find everything untouched. They let me in and Olivier looks a bit puzzled as to where I've been. I explain that I hate India right now, and these ten minutes without him will go down in history as the worst ten minutes I've spent in this country. Not having a male with you in India is definitely overwhelming. We take our time at the Taj Majal which looks absolutely unreal against the clouds.

It's really magnificent. We are taken to a rug factory afterword where they show us how rugs are handmade.

We're exhausted and can't wait to board our night train that will take us through the night on to Varanasi, the city of light. We wait a long time until our train finally pulls in.

We board our train and order dinner, a full curry meal that we consume on my top bunk. We are so exhausted that we both get a really good night's sleep. We awake the next morning about fifty miles outside the city of Varanasi.

India- The Craziest Place on Earth

Olivier (my friend from Luxembourg) and I have decided to brave India together. And when I say brave I mean it. Olivier has been in the south of India for twelve days already. From the airport we take a rickshaw which is the India version of a tuk-tuk. Our room for the first night is just a tiny cement prison cell and has only a ceiling fan to keep us cool. It's a sleepless night. The next morning we head into the old area of Delhi to a guesthouse we've read is good. We settle in and are starving so we head out to one of the best restaurants in the area. It's an insane walk. I feel more uneasy than I have on this entire trip. The oriental Asians weren't this intimidating. How do I begin to describe this scene? I feel like I've stepped back in time 15o years. Bike carriages and rickshaws line and cram the streets. People, including us, walk with the traffic. Goats stand tied to posts. Men pound ancient looking iron keys out by hand. Very few women are visible, but those who are are either adorned in vibrant traditional dress or all in black depending if they're Hindu or Muslim. A man is slitting throats of pigeons as he stands among towers of caged chickens soaking wet and crammed into small cages. Bloody goat heads covered in flies lie sopping wet in a stack on the table, their guts sorted next to them in piles (pictured). Horns fill the air and whirl around pedestrians dodging all imposing obstacles. We are moving targets trying not to get our heels clipped by any moving vehicle be it motorized or pulled by man. Amputees reach at us for money with arms that once had hands. Child beggars carry their unclothed baby siblings on one hip while begging for money with a free hand. Handicaps that I've never witnessed come hobbling past. A lady with feet curved so far foreword that she is walking on the tops of them, staggers by. Smells of both good and bad, food and feces. We balance on what's left of the sidewalk that's under construction by men dressed in their tattered civilian clothes. When we finally reach the restaurant it's heaven to be in such silence. We eat the famous butter chicken at Moti Mahal restaurant, and then head back to brave the streets once again. The monsoon rains begin their downpour so we take shelter in the carriage of a vacant taxi bike on the sidewalk. Once the rain slows we make our way back to the guesthouse. We're done for the day. There's only so much India one can handle in a single afternoon.

The following morning we are awakened by a call to prayer of the Muslim Mosque across the street. Once it stops we fall back asleep until it resumes an hour later and awakes us for the day. After we get dressed for the day, Olivier wants to check out the roof terrace of our guesthouse so we head up the stairs and enter the atmosphere of loudspeaker Muslim chanting. As we look over the ledge, thousands of Muslims come into view kneeling on mats facing Mecca inside the open mosque while the words and prayers of the loudspeaker pour over them

dressed in their traditional white garb. Women stand in a designated area along the edge of the mosque. We later read that this is the Mosque of Friday. The surrounding streets have been blocked off for men to pray in. It is Ramadan right now so the Muslim world revolves even more around prayer than usual. Olivier has decided he wants a tailor made suit so we go to get him measured and then have a nice dinner for our last night in Delhi. Tomorrow we will head to the Taj Mahal in Agra and then on to Varanasi.

In the early hours of the morning, we are awakened by a pounding and yelling down the hall. A man is moving his way down the hallway and banging on every door. He finally makes it to our door and startles both Olivier and I. Olivier jumps up and waits for the pounding to subside. Once it does, he opens the door to look down the hall where the man is pounding on another door, and realizes it's the bell hop. Olivier gives him a "what the hell?" look and closes the door. In the morning when we are checking out, the guy behind the front desk wishes us farewell and then gestures to the guy who woke us up and insists we tip him. Ummm.... absolutely not. "He woke us up!" Olivier accuses. "Yes." says the man very matter-of-fact, "Tip him". NO. We refuse. We later find out it was for 3am prayers, but that doesn't mean we should tip him. Do we look like Muslims? I could see tipping him if he had skipped our door because he remembered we were westerners but since he didn't, I'd say he failed. And thus we failed to tip.

Full Moon Party/ Whose Shoe Am I Wearing?

I'm off to Koh Pangan, the island where the infamous Full Moon Party is held. From Phuket it's a long bus and then a 2.5 hour ferry ride. The rain chases the ferry out to the island and when the boat docks the downpour begins. I'm completely on my own for now. I fight my way through the pouring rain and hop in the back of a taxi pickup truck. It has benches running the length of the bed, and a roof for protection from the rain but the sides are open. There is a French guy in the back of the taxi with me. I tell the driver to go to Sun Beach Inn where Grant (the guy I met on the bus ride four days ago) has told me he and his friends are staying. The truck grinds and skids up steep hills as the rain pours down and the full moon looms, reminding us of the fun ahead. I figure out where the boys are staying and go find them tucked amidst the bungalows. Our bungalow is a twenty second walk down to the beach. Our group will be Grant and Rich (from the bus), Jamie (their Australian friend), and two blond girls from the UK. We go to a restaurant on the beach and have dinner and drinks while painting each other in neon paint since it is a glow party. At about eleven o'clock we walk to Sunrise Beach where the party is held. We pay three dollars and get snazzy wristbands. We walk down the entry lane and and that's when I see how massive this party really is. People cover the cove for about one third of a mile. There are thousands. Stands are set up for alcohol sales all along the beach. We choose our poison and they pour the short bottle into a bucket with a mixer and some ice, give me four (three of them unnecessary) straws, and off I go. We jump into the waves near the flaming sign and start raging. The waves are clear and penetrated by the bright light of the flames that light a huge sign that reads FULL MOON PARTY 2010. We jump up on the platform attached to the sign and dance like possessed maniacs while the heat of the flames threatens to remove our skin. We jump back into the water from the platforms and are thrashed by the waves causing us to spill our alcohol into the ocean. We go up mushroom hill to examine the sheer magnitude of this party. My God it's huge. The music is bumping all along the beach and is filtered into the bar in which we sit. We drink and take photos for an hour and then head back down to the beach where we grab some food to absorb the alcohol. We make our way to some more music an booze buckets. People are making out, passed out, or pissing into the ocean like it's a urinal. What a display. We dance on the crowded beach where everyone is soaking wet from going in the waves. Two of the boys in our group make out. At one point I stop a fight heating up between Jamie and a drunk Italian. We go on to discover the flaming rope of death. Two Thai guys are on platforms five feet in the air turning a rope doused in lighter fluid and raging with flames. Guys jump it until they trip and it burns them causing them to scurry away from it with burn marks to the legs and arms. This is most likely just an attempt to eliminate the rowdy obnoxious ones with too much testosterone from the party. Just near that is an extremely janky slide with a hump in it that is one story high and shoots you through an arch of fire. The boys go down it naked and suffer the consequences for days. Toward the end of the night on some benches among some passed out people, the sun finally begins to rise and cast its glow over the remaining party animals still raging on. We hop on a table and continue to dance. I sit down near the water and the others join me while the sunrise becomes broad daylight. I get back in the ocean and then Grant decides to put me on his back and do a 'same shorts run' where he runs up to people with the same neon shorts as him and yells, "Same sorts! We have the same shorts!" Grant bought his shorts locally where Full Moon Party merchandise is sold, and everyone goes to get their gear, so you can imagine we're making contact with a lot of guys wearing neon pink trunks. I've had enough of the Full Moon Party so Rich and Jamie agree to walk back to the bungalows with me. People are staggering and limping away from the beach back to their own bungalows for the day. Some have stepped in glass and are bandaged up and most are just still hammered. We fall asleep for the day and in the evening Rich, Grant and I decide to get dinner on our beach called Sunset Beach. What a treat it is to have seen the sunrise on Sunrise beach, and now get to watch the sunset on Sunset beach. Tomorrow we will all part ways and I will spend the next few days lounging on Bottle Beach on the northern tip of Koh Pangan.

Thailand and the 19-Hour Journey

I spend a day doing some tourist sites in Bangkok. At one point my tuk-tuk driver takes me around the king's palace. There is a mote surrounding the palace that he claims has crocodiles in it. I smile and nod assuming he's misinformed. That's when I see a crocodile making his way up the bank of the mote toward the street!!! Bangkok is okay, it's a city, but I'm ready to see the Thailand that everybody talks about. Blue beaches and warm water. I board the night bus out of Bangkok in the evening. I've been told it will take me fifteen hours to reach Phuket (pronounced Poo-ket, you foul-minded twit), where my old best friend currently lives and teaches English. It is all the way in the south so I know they're not kidding. The bus is full of young backpackers that are headed toward the Full Moon Party on one of the islands. I have two seats to myself and the bus is pitch dark, perfect for sleeping. At one of only about two rest-stops I meet two guys from the UK. Grant is from Scotland and Rich is from England. They are both in the army. What's with me and Army guys? When we board the bus again, Grant and I sit next to each other and chat for about three hours in the dark. At 3:00am Grant and Rich have to get off the bus because we have reached their stop. We exchange information and make a tentative plan to party together at the Full Moon Party in five days time.

At five o'clock in the morning I'm told that those going to Phuket need to get off the bus. I'm

put into a new Toyota with the music and air conditioning blasting. I am hardly awake, but once the driver races around town trying to get me and a couple of other girls to our busses, I am wide awake. I make the next bus and spend four hours winding through beautiful Thai scenery until I get to Phuket station. Andrea, my childhood best friend, pulls up on her moped and I hop on. I'm so tired and so glad to see her that I laugh so hard my eyes tear. I hop on the back of her scooter and we head to her apartment. That night we go to the main tourist road and have a crazy night out with her roommate and a ton of

their friends that teach English at the same school. When we are leaving the bar, who do I see but Philip, the Jamaican guy I partied with in Malaysia! I have a freak-out and run up to him. We're shocked, but kind of realize that we're both on the travel circuit and sometimes this happens. I still can't believe it though. Andrea, Andrea's roommate, and I, decide to call it a night at about three o'clock in the morning. I've had a really long day. We sleep the next day away and go out briefly the next night. On Monday morning she takes me to her school where I meet all of the children she teaches. Thailand is known for its Thai brides and you see it everywhere. On the party roads I see nothing but unacceptable dirty looking older men with young Thai girls hanging on them. At Andrea's school I see the next step, Thai/Euro children. It's quite an interesting thing watching all of the young Thai moms and old white dads drop their kids off at this expensive school. I watch Andrea teach them English through song and dance. They're so cute!!!

I have a great visit with Andrea. We go to dinner on the beaches and she shows me around the island on the back of her scooter.

Desperate times in Bangkok, Thailand

I arrive in Bangkok with no reservations. This is the first time I've done this. A true backpacker move that I haven't had the guts to make. I've heard the main tourist road is called Kaosan Road, where all the backpackers stay. The first two days are spent pretty much in my prison cell of a room with a stomach ache. Between feeling sick, I explore the area a bit and walk around on the main road checking out the tourist market that lines it. It's kind of nice to be in a tourist area again instead of rural Cambodia where I'm constantly stared at for being white. Don't get me wrong, I still think I like Cambodia more. On the second evening of being in Bangkok I realize that my ATM card has gone missing. It hasn't been stolen because there are no unauthorized transactions on it. I'm down to my last five dollars and getting hungry. Fortunately, my dad has given me an emergency credit card. Unfortunately, nobody takes credit card so I have to go on the quest to find an AmEx office to get cash. The next morning I awake to deal with the problem. I buy a yougurt from 7-11 to get me through the morning. Then I find a cab driver who says he knows where the address is that I have presented to him. We negotiate a rate of ten dollars with two stops. Stops are either at a tailor, jewelery shop, or travel agent. When a cab or tuk-tuk driver drops a customer off to look around, he gets a gas card from that company, so tourists pretty much can't get in a cab or tuk-tuk without being bothered by the driver to go to these places along the way. The good part is that it reduces the fare for the passenger. So I agree to doing two in order to keep the fare at ten dollars.
Chan, the driver, takes me to the location I have provided on a piece of paper. We can't find American Express. He makes a few calls on his cell phone and finds out where it is. I insist on going back to the hotel so I can re-group and work out exactly what to do after calling my dad. When we arrive at my hotel, the cab breaks down. When I call my dad he tells me I'm being ripped off with the cab fare. Oh, hell no, nobody rips me off anymore. I decide I need to go to the AmEx office we have located, so I go back on to the street to find Chan. He introduces me to his cab driver friend who will now take both of us to the AmEx place across Bangkok. I ask him if we can use the meter in the cab instead of negotiating a rate. He says it will be more expensive, and I say I'm willing to take my chances. By the time we reach the AmEx office, which is way further than the original failure location, the meter is at a mere three dollars. My dad was right about being ripped off. I go in and get my money, and return to the cab drivers. From the back seat I point at the red numbers on the meter, and in my most calm tone say, "Chan? What are those red numbers?" "That's the fare." He replies, very matter-of-fact. "So you seriously overcharged me this morning." I accuse. "No, I didn't." He insists. I proceed, again in my calmest tone. I've read it's very un-Asian to lose your cool. "The place we went this morning was nowhere near as far as this, yet it was way more expensive." I persist. He argues that it wasn't but we both know the truth. "How about this Chan, I'll pay you ten dollars, but we have no stops. I think that's fair." Chan becomes somewhat outraged and and says "What happened? Now all of a sudden you got your money things have changed? I helped you a lot this morning making calls to American Express trying to figure out where they were located. I can't believe you're doing this to me!" I approach in a crisp tone, "You are the one who has severely overcharged me, so if you want to talk about who has done what to whom, then you have definitely screwed me over. I am willing to pay a bit more for all you have done for me, but not that much." I ask his friend, the current cab driver, if six dollars would have covered the rate to get to where Chan and I went this morning. He says that it would, so I've trapped Chan with his own friend. We later agree on a smaller fee, but with two stops since he was really counting on them. I do my two stops for Chan, and then they drop me at my hotel with very few hard feelings. For the next few days I see Chan hanging out outside of my hotel among the cab drivers playing checkers. We always say hi, and smile at one another. Oh, Chan, you're as forgiving as a puppy. Or maybe I'm the forgiving one.

Just so you know...

I receive your comments in the comment field. The only problem is that it won't let me comment back. How annoying is that? I can't comment on my own blog. Well you can eat it BlogSpot, because I'm commenting now! I guess I have to set up something else that I just haven't taken the time to do. Keep reading!! If you would like to contact me directly my email is Madissen1251@yahoo.com. I will reach London, where my mom lives, in late September. From there I plan to go to a few countries in Europe, and then make my way home once I'm entirely out of money, and borrowed money. I don't have a return flight to California just yet, but I will eventually.
I still have India, Egypt, and Turkey left before I reach London. My mom will be meeting me in Turkey, and I couldn't be more excited to see her. It's gonna be a dramatic reunion.

The kids/Saying goodbye to the kids

The main reason I've been in Cambodia is to do some volunteer work at the orphanage. I had no idea how much these kids would really change my life. They are very loving, and non-judgmental. When given the opportunity, they will always take me up on an English lesson. I've been told that when asked why they want to learn English, they say that it is the only way to lift themselves out of poverty. We have a couple of villagers come to visit the orphanage and learn English with us some afternoons. Mary is the most common to see floating around the yard. She is a wonderful 17-year-old girl who says she wants to learn every word in the English language. A couple of days before I leave, Mary asks me to teach an impromptu lesson in one of the little classrooms at the orphanage. About ten other children gather while I go over past, present, and future tense, and then begin on items in a restaurant. I ask them to correctly structure various sentences, and help them with word pronunciation. They really seem to be catching on, some more than others of course. Mary (pictured below) asks the most questions and is the most enthusiastic about English. She has learned English over the past couple of years by hanging out at the orphanage and talking to the volunteers. I tell her one of the best ways to learn English is to listen to English music on tapes or CD's. She looks at me with her beautiful cheerful smile and says, "I don't have". "You mean you don't have anything to listen to music on?" I reply. "No, I don't have" she says again in the cheeriest tone. How could she not have something to listen to music on? I thought every teenage girl had something they could listen to their favorite songs on. This breaks my heart as I realize that she could improve her English by leaps and bounds if she could just have a stereo and some English CD's. Okay, new mission, get Mary a CD player before I leave. The next day I take the hike down to the market, and buy her a CD player and the required adapter for a mere fifteen dollars. That evening as I am walking back to my hotel, I see Mary sitting outside of her shop/home talking with her best friend. I'm listening to my iPod and she mentions our conversation the previous day about her not having music. Without a word I take her hand and lead her toward my guesthouse. She says, "Where are we going?" with a huge smile on her face. I say, "If I give you a gift, will you take it?" "You have a gift for me?!" She asks. When we reach my room and open the door the stereo is sitting on the vacant bed in my room. I tell her it is for her and that I will send her some English CD's when I get home since they are nearly impossible to find in Takeo Province. Her smile gets bigger than I've ever seen it and right then I know it was worth the money and the dehydrating walk to the market. She jumps up and down and gives me a hug. She's nearly in tears and so am I since I now realize how much it really means to her. She says "Oh, thank you Maddy! I love you!" We go back to her home/shop and she sets it up. One of the volunteers has arrived with a couple of story CD's he got in the newspaper for free before he came to Cambodia. He lets me give them to Mary. The two stories are Alice and Wonderland and The Wind in the Willows. I tell her these are two very famous stories in the English-speaking world.
On this same day it is Straymach's birthday. She is one of the orphans and will be turning fifteen on Sunday, the day after I leave Cambodia. She has taken a liking to me, and seems very lonely at the orphanage. I ask her what she would like for her birthday and she says all she wants are some shoes that don't rub blisters on her heels. So a couple of us take her to the market and buy her some shoes of her choice. She chooses a pair of flip flops for less than a dollar fifty. She's so happy to just have these foam sandals. Another couple sends money with us to the market to buy her a t-shirt of her choice also. She's loving the birthday thing!! The t-shirt costs three dollars.
A couple of days before leaving the orphanage Josh, Katie, and I decide to take the orphanage tuk-tuk to a school owned by the New Futures Organization, the same organization that owns New Futures Orphanage, where I have been volunteering. It's not the school of the children we are working with at the orphanage, but we've heard it's a classroom of 160 kids, and the teacher is amazing. When we arrive we are stunned. The teacher has them all learn by clapping in unison. Most times they respond to him it is in clapping patterns. He says "Say hello to Maddy!" They clap their laps while saying "1,2,3" clap their hands saying "1,2,3" clap their laps again saying, "1,2,3" and then all in unison, "HELLO MADDY!" He has them do this for each of us and then has them use this same format but say "Hello new teacher!" Katie and I are so overwhelmed that we later discuss how we were both misty-eyed because of the rush of emotion we both felt. It's absolutely amazing. He has them sing songs to us in English, and for us to help teach the lessons. When he calls on an individual student they have to stand up and answer, then he asks them to take their seat again. During their break they all run up to us to give us stacks of drawings they have done. They have questions on them that say things like: Why are you so beautiful? or How many brothers and sisters do you have? We play some hand-clapping games with the girls, and ask them basic questions in English. Many of them just sit and stare at us the entire fifteen minutes. After break the teacher asks us to teach the kids a song. They know most of the basic songs like Old MacDonald and Row Row Your Boat, so we settle on the Barney classic I Love You, You Love Me. At the end we get a huge goodbye and in unison they all say "We love you new teacher!" This day has been absolutely amazing, and I'm so glad I've finally mad the trip out there. As we exit the village, tons of children run out of their home and wave to us shouting "Bye-bye!" With huge smiles stretched across their faces.
I savor every last minute at the orphanage because I don't know if I'll ever be able to come back again. It's so hard to know that these kids will probably live in some kind of poverty the rest of their lives. They are fed small rice meals, and have a strange disease that crops up under their skin causing it to open up. The flies crawl in it and infect it, and often time these septic wounds go untreated if the volunteers don't impose our western standards of health. The kids love to make bracelets out of colorful cord, and put them on the volunteer's wrists. In the end I have about twenty of them smothering both wrists.
The last afternoon the kids treat me to the most dramatic goodbye I've ever witnessed. Mai, the twenty-year-old militant tuk-tuk driver is ready to take me to the bus station. About twenty people crowd around the tuk-tuk, including a few of the volunteers. I've been here the longest of all of them. I take a seat inside the tuk-tuk as people shout various things at me. I swap information with a couple of volunteers, and then Mai starts up the tuk-tuk. I can almost feel myself starting to cry. I'm used to goodbyes, but this will be different. We start to roll away, and the kids walk next to it grabbing at me dramatically, something that often happens when we pull away in the tuk-tuk at the end of the night headed to dinner. But this time I know it's for good. As we make our way out the gates and start the journey down the dirt road the kids run after me as I wave goodbye (pictured). They stop in their tracks shouting and waving. I'm so sad to be leaving. As the kids disappear out of sight, Mai yells over the engine, "Are you happy, Maddy!?" A question commonly asked by the Cambodian people. I say "Yes Mai! Of course I'm happy!" For a second I'm not sure if this is true, but then I think back on all these kids have taught me, all the fun we've had, and the connections I've made, and realize that yes, I'm extremely happy.

Siem Reap and Angkor Wat

Our third weekend away from the orphanage Will, Laura and I decide it's time to see the iconic temples of Angkor Wat, and the small city of Siem Reap. It's two bus journeys totaling seven hours. The entire time they play Khmer kereoke over the loud speaker while the video plays. Not even my iPod can drown this out. The next day is Laura's birthday and the day we have chosen to see the temples of Angkor Wat. It is common to wake up to watch the sunrise over the main temple. We awake at four-thirty and take our tuk-tuk to the huge park where all of the temples lie. We see a ton of other white people up to do the exact same thing. We stand there as the sun slowly rises, but are a little less than impressed with this particular sunrise. It's more like somebody has the sun on a dimmer switch that they are slowly raising. We had pictured oranges and purples. We walk around the main temple which is huge. It's apparently the biggest religious building in the world. It's quite spectacular. We head to the next one which is beautiful. We take disrespectful photos in the temple, putting our hands inside the noses of the giant stone faces and placing our own heads in place of the decapitated heads of the statues. Our favorite one has to be the jungle temple. It has tree roots taking it over in the most majestic way. After our five temples, we are exhausted and ready to head back to the hotel. We take a nap and then go to a pool in the area. On the way back, I decide we need to get Laura a tacky Khmer birthday cake. I hook her up with one and have them write on it in Khmer. That night we go to a butterfly garden restaurant and have a wonderful dinner. At the end I have them bring out the ice cream and cake with candles lit while we sing her Happy Birthday. The cake has a fluffy icing and a strange chocolate/fruit situation going on inside. We're all happy with it because we don't get chocolate in Takeo where the orphanage is. After, we go to Pub Street where all the tourists go to get their drink on. I've decided if I can drink enough to loosen up, I will allow the Doctor Fish to nibble my feet. This is a popular thing to do in Asia for some reason. The doctor fish are supposed to eat the dead skin off of your feet, and you're supposed to be okay with it. My hang-up is that I am not only very ticklish, but I despise fish. So the night continues, and we drink a bunch of different concoctions. We sit around in the warmth and humidity of the night and dance in our seats to Michael Jackson and Queen. We've all grown quite comfortable with each other now, and conversation flows quite fluidly. It's so nice to be comfortable with people, and be way past the "Where have you been?" and "Where are you going?" that is (naturally) so prevalent in the travel world. So now I'm buzzed enough to do the doctor fish thing, but it's two in the morning. Fortunately there's a guy around the corner who understand that drunken tourists might feel the need to have their feet exfoliated at 2am. We sit on the padded edge of the tank and dip our feet in. The fish swim to our feet and begin feeding. GROSS! It takes me awhile to get used to it, and then, after a few minutes in this tank, I decide it's time we graduate to the other tank with the bigger fish. It doesn't hurt, it just tickles, and ever once in a while you'll get a greedy fish who just won't stop feeding off of your arch. On our way home we encounter the world-renowned child beggars of Siem Reap. One of them wraps her arms around Laura and won't let go as she begs for money. Another girl carries her newborn infant sister. It's pretty grim.
The following day we charter our own boat, and go down the river to Floating Village. I know I say I love Cambodia, and the homes out in the country, but this is everything I love about Cambodia except it on water. It's amazing. We pass by boat/homes with people asleep on the wooden floors and in hammocks. Entire families of four or five live on each small boat. We pull over to let a huge boat by, and I snap a photo of a little girl looking out the corner of her eyes at me while her dog barks at us for being too close to their house/boat. It's my favorite picture yet. We pass a school, an orphanage, a flower salesman, and children rowing their own boats. This place is so authentic. We go visit the crocodile farm where we see tons of live crocs waiting to be fed. Somebody dangles a live catfish over them and then drops it while we all watch them scramble toward it. When one crocodile gets it, we hear a crunch as he crushes the fish's head.
That afternoon we go to a pool at a hotel and swim and enjoy the food until a lightening and thunder storm ends our lounging session. The following morning we start the long pothole-filled journey back to Takeo province. That night the kids hold a talent show where they have a huge sound system and stage set up. What a wonderful welcome back!

My Sydney Stud (Update)

You may remember Alex, the guy I met in Sydney. After we said goodbye I hadn't heard from him for about two months. I was a bit worried since I knew he was headed back to Afghanistan, but I just figured he had limited internet access. I recently heard from him in an email and he told me that as he was returning to his base after vacation, his chopper was shot down. He awoke in a different chopper with medics working on him. He suffered a gunshot wound to the arm, and a broken ankle. He told me that unfortunately, neither of the pilots made it out alive. He heads back to base soon to finish sometime around November.
After hearing his story I was shocked, but then realized that he is at war, and this, of course, is what war is about. It just really hit home for me when it happened him. I'm glad he's okay and think we should all be reminded to count our blessings and realize that these men and women are out there serving our country so we can go about our everyday lives. I know he would much rather be sailing his boat along foreign coasts than stuck in Afghanistan, but has chosen to serve our country instead so that we can all do things we take for granted-like go on vacation. Thank you Alex! I hope you make a full recovery and return home safe.

The Second Weekend Away. Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh is the capital of Cambodia and the city we all landed in before being taken to the orphanage in Takeo. Most of us go away for the weekend to explore it while doing our volunteer work. This weekend it's me, Ali, Laura, Will, Liza, and Johnny. Six of us. I'm a little apprehensive about having so many since I'm only used to being alone or with one other person. We board the bus and it's a long two hour ride. We bounce over the poorly paved rural roads as if we're on hydraulics, while Khmer pop music plays loudly over the speakers and the music video plays in a loop. At times the road is so bumpy you would swear the transmition is going to fall out. When we make it to Phnom Penh we are bombarded by a dozen tuk-tuk drivers yelling, "Tuk-tuk! Tuk-tuk!" Ali (on the far right in the photo) has been told that if we pay any more than two dollars to get to Mali's Guesthouse that we are being ripped off. She starts in on one driver who agrees to take us for two dollars. When we all pile in the drivers get angry because they apparently meant that we could split up into two tuk-tuks and then pay two dollars per tuk-tuk. He says if we are all gong in one, he is going to raise the price. When I hear this, I get pissed and start to aggressively reason with the guy about how it doesn't matter how many people are in one if it's all going to the same place it shouldn't cost any more. He gives me some bull excuse and we start in on a little yelling match. I tell him if he doesn't take us right this second that we'll all get out and find someone who will take us for two dollars. He continues to argue with me so I make the move to climb out of the tuk-tuk. "Okay! Okay! Two dollars!" He says. We weren't bluffing. Being a tourist can be exhausting since people look at you and decide you need to pay more because you're white. It's affectionately referred to as skin tax.
The following day we do the main tourist attractions in Phnom Penh. We go to the prison (S-21) where the Khmer Rouge held and tortured hundreds of civilians. As we arrive and pile out of the tuk-tuk I am standing face to face with an acid burned beggar. He's well known in front of S-21 because of his horrendous scars and his glazed eye. We are later told that acid attacks, where people surprise their victims and douse their faces with acid on the streets, are somewhat common in Cambodia. We are taken around the prison by a tour guide. The prison was once a school but the Khmer Rouge turned the classrooms into tiny holding cells and torture chambers where people were shackled to the floors and bed frames and starved almost to death. Our tour guide explains that only the final fourteen prisoners were killed on this very site because most were slaughtered at the killing fields. At the end she walks us over to a map of Cambodia and points out where her family members were each killed. Her daughter starved to death and her husband was shot in the killing fields. Photos of the starved deceased stretch across the rooms. A heap of clothing sits at one end of the room as an eerie reminder of many who were lost. It's an extremely grim scene, and one that none of us will forget.
We leave the prison only to see the the acid burned beggar once more. I've gotta hand it to him, the guy's got strategy.
Our tuk-tuk driver takes us to the killing fields next where we go into the small museum of children's clothing and some torture devices as well as a bit more information about the leader of the Khmer Rouge. The killing fields have holes in the grounds that were mass graves. The most bodies found in one grave was about four-hundred. Wooden signs next to a couple of trees reveal that they were used for Khmer Roughe soldiers to hold babies by the feet and smash their heads against the trunk to ensure death. The Magic Tree had speakers hanging from it to play music that masked the groans of the victims. By the end of this day we are sufficiently depressed. We head to lunch at a pizza place and later go out for dessert and drinks near our guesthouse. Will plays pool with a young child name Ravi who beats him and then insists will buy a book from him.
The following morning we pay six dollars to get into a museum that we are less than impressed with. Six dollars is a lot of money in Cambodia. We head to Central Market where we all split off from one another and make our various purchases.
On our last morning we go to a restaurant called Friends. It's a nice little restaurant where they take teenagers off the streets and teach them proper food service. We all love the food as well as the service. It's a bit more expensive than the food we usually eat here in Cambodia, but it's a small price to pay for the benefit of the kids it supports. We rush off to the bus to get back to the orphanage. Everyone is worried that we won't make it, but I assure them that everything always works out and that there is no need to worry. Plus, we all know now that Cambodians run about ten minutes behind on everything and we westerners are operating on normal clocks. We make it, just as I had promised. We take the bumpy ride back home and along the way our tire explodes with a loud bang. It takes about twenty-five minutes and three different stops at multiple rural shacks, for them to fix it. They don't have the proper equipment to fix a tire, so they attempt to fashion a huge piece of iron to loosen the bolts. Finally they replace the blown tire and we move on to Takeo. When we get back it's just as we had left it. Everyone stares at us for being white? CHECK! It's hotter than anywhere in Cambodia? CHECK! People yell "Hello!" constantly? Check! The homeless guy with shredded pants is still crouching on the sidewalk displaying his manhood? CHECK! Yep, this is Takeo.

Weekend Away in Kampot

It's only a couple of days into being at the the orphanage, but usually the volunteers take the weekend to explore the rest of the country. By the end of the week most people are ready to get away for a weekend. The orphanage decides to have a dance party one night so somebody rolls in a couple of huge speakers and the kids dance like crazy to songs like Boom Boom Pow by The Black Eyed Peas. They all dance in unison and seem to know the moves and have a bit of choreography to this song. The little ones try desperately to copy the older kids. It's so adorable watching the kids dance without inhibitions.
One of the volunteers, named Ali, asks me if I would like to go with her for the weekend to a couple of towns a few hours away. She wants to check out Kampot, Kep, and Sihnukville. I'm definitely interested in going with her because she says she plans to hang out on the beach and relax in Sihnukville even though some lady at the table advises us against it. We invite Laura, one of the new volunteers who seems really sweet. The three of us leave on Friday for our first stop, Kampot. We take a bumpy bus ride about three hours to Sihnukville. When we arive we are instantly bombarded with people trying to give us a ride to our guesthouse. We don't know where we're staying yet, so we just say No NO No as we're walking through the crowd of desperate tuk-tuk drivers. We stumble upon a hotel/guesthouse called The Magic Sponge. We unanimously decide to stay here. We absolutely adore the manager who is Irish and about sixty-years-old. He sits us down while we wait for our room to be ready, and serves us wonderful food and milkshakes. We check into our room and set out exploring. The town is very cute and has a river running through it. We meet a friendly tuk-tuk driver who we politely dismiss since we just want to walk around instead of being driven. He shows us his book of recommendations that his former customers have written in.
That evening when I'm napping, Ali and Laura meet Gary, the manager's son. He works the bar in the evenings. They come in and tell me that he's really cute and has a really sexy Irish accent. I meet him later and am equally impressed. His eyes are dark pools of brown and his accent could melt a girl made of stone. He has a confidence to him that drives us all mad. He's funny, loves music, and has dreads that he's been growing since he was thirteen. He's now 24. We have a mini romance later on in the weekend. The girls and I sit around drinking banana and chocolate milkshakes with Gary and I decide we need a shot of Bailey's in them. Gary tells us he'll put them on the menu and we get to think up a name. We settle on The Bad Monkey.
That night we decide to look for a kayak tour on the river. The guy tells us it will cost $25 for the day. We tell him it's a ripoff and suddenly the tuk-tuk driver from earlier makes an appearance. He gives us a good rate on transport to the kayak place so we decide we'll just rent kayaks and go out on our own. We tell him we'll meet him in the morning at our hotel.

The next day he's there just as we finish our breakfast. He takes us to the guesthouse on the water called The Mango Tree. We are taken by boat (like the ones pictured) down the river with our kayaks trailing behind. He drops us off and leaves us to our own devices. They recommend a little tour around an island before heading back upstream to The Mango Tree. We enter the part of the river that surrounds the island and instantly feel like we're in a Vietnam War movie. The palm trees are so thick that we can barely see the few houses buried among them. We decide to explore a pocket of the river that is completely shaded by the palms. It feels like a crocodile will jump out at any second. As we continue to paddle in silence, we hear a prayer being sung in the distance. We pass next to people bathing in the warm water, as their children shout "Hello!" to us. Once we make it back to the main river we decide to take a little rest before heading against the current. The weather is looking a bit ominous so we get a move on. About thirty minutes away from The Mango Tree the wind picks up and the sky begins to pelt us with rain. It's an upstream battle to the finish and we're mighty happy to be back. We eat a really nice meal on the water before heading back to The Magic Sponge and flirting with Gary all evening.
The following morning we have lined up our tuk-tuk driver to take us to see some sights. We set off at nine o'clock and he drives us all over the place. We see the salt and pepper fields, the caves, and go to the beach in a town called Kep. Everywhere we go people yell "Hello!" to us and wave as we pass. My favorite thing about Cambodia has to be watching what these people can pile on to a motorbike. We see dead animals swinging off the back, babies being carried by their parents, entire families, and bales of hay piled high with people sitting on top of the load. By mid-afternoon we are exhausted and just want to go back to the hotel for a good meal and a rest.
That night Laura and I stay up all night listening to loud music at the bar with Gary and a thirty-five-year-old English couple just talking, laughing, and drinking the night away. Gary makes us free drinks until 7 o'clock in the morning. A couple of hours later we catch the bus back to our village of Takeo.

Hello Cambo

I'm strapped into my huge backpack and heading off again. I love the feeling of having everything on my back. It's the ultimate freedom. I make my way to the airport in Kuala Lumpur. The flight is an hour and fifty minutes. As we descend into Phnom Penh I catch my first glimpse of the country. I see water fields and only small buildings. I film the landing. The airport is small and it costs 25 US Dollars to enter the country. Cambodia operates in two currencies; US Dollars and Reel. It's 4,000 Reel to one US Dollar. What's confusing is paying in one currency, and getting change back in the other. At least I'm familiar with the dollar.
I am picked up by a guy at the airport. It's so nice to not have to make my own way. They guy is a young good-looking Cambodian who is the brother of a girl who works at the orphanage. He is in the passenger seat, and a driver who doesn't speak any English is taking us to the orphanage. We get to the dirt road and the driver honks the horn at everything. We pass tiny dilapidated homes, stray dogs, white cows pulling half-clothed men on rickety carts, mopeds with four people crowded on them. The entire time my mouth is wide open and I have a huge smile on my face. I can't believe what I'm seeing. This is amazing. I can already tell I love Cambodia and I'm so ready to start my adventure here. I know I should be nervous to meet all of these new people, and step into a new situation in a new country, but I have no apprehension whatsoever. The good looking guy gives me a brief lesson in Khmer.
When I arrive at the main guest house I meet Nevil, the owner and his seven-year-old African daughter named Princess who I later find out is fluent in her native language, British English, as well as the Cambodian language, Khmer. Princess is a beautiful dark mahogany with an English accent and seven going on seventeen. Let's just say her name suits her perfectly. Nevil has a girl take me to the guest house I will be staying in. It's more like a basic hotel with two big beds and my own bathroom. Heaven! It's a two minute walk up the dirt road from the main guest house where we will eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Two hours later Princess brings me to the orphanage about ten minutes up another dirt road from where I'm staying. As I walk through the gate, I'm greeted by the most open group of children I've ever met. About ten of them approach me and shake my hand. They ask me my name and where I'm from. We all end up in a big game that is a lot like Duck Duck Goose, only a bit more brutal. Everyone squats in a circle in the sand. We all clap our hands and sing the same little jingle over and over. It sounds like "Laya ku sai a la kum song, OH LONG! OH LONG!"The person who is IT carries a wound up rag around the circle as he chooses who he will place it behind. When he finally drops it behind his chosen victim, the victim has to stand up and run around the circle away from the person who was crouching next to him because the kid who was next to him is chasing and mercilessly beating him with the rag until he gets back to his original spot. I'm chosen to beat the littlest boy at one point, but let him get away without a single hit. We call him T and I later find out that he's been beaten enough in his lifetime, and he's only six.
The orphanage has about 52 children ages six to eighteen. Some of them have parents who can't afford to keep them, and some have deceased parents, or parents who ran out on them. Some have been dropped at the front gate, and some have been brought by child protective services. A few kids have marks from being beaten and one even has cigarette burns on her arms. Though many of them have a grim past, they all seem to flourish and are often the envy of the children of the village. We've even had a child ask us if he can be an orphan.
The kids get movie nights, arts and crafts, constant English stimulation, and nobody ever says no to them. They have fifty other brothers and sisters who are always there for them so they are one big family. There is a section of the orphanage that is divided into multiple rooms. The wood shop, the beauty room, and the sewing and crafts room. The classroom has a room with a wall full of books for them to read. Their bedtime is at ten o'clock when they all roll out mats and sleep on the floor. At first I'm put of by this, but later realize that the Cambodians rarely sit or sleep the way we do. They often sleep on floors or in hammocks and sit on low plastic stools, or just crouch.
A couple of days of being at the orphanage, a boy asks me if he can read to me. I'm so excited to help him with his English reading and pronunciation. He does a very good job, and I'm extremely impressed. There are a lot of sounds that are in the English language that are not in the Khmer language so I have to teach them how to place their tongue and lips as they try to articulate sounds. The "x" as in next, is very difficult. Also the sounds "F" "V" and "SH"never come easy. I have them pronounce all of the words until they get them right. It's very tedious, but extremely rewarding. When they've had a good lesson I give them a couple pieces of candy. I'm stunned by their ability to delay gratification since it takes a long time to learn a language. I've been told that when asked why they want to learn English, they will tell you that it's the only way to lift themselves out of poverty.
At the end of the night all of the volunteers leave for dinner as the kids wave us off in huge groups yelling "GOODBYE! SEE YOU TOMORROW! SWEET DREAMS!!!" By dinner we are all starved because it's been hours since our 12:00 lunch. We sit at the long table and talk about our travels, about our adventures at the orphanage that day, or our weekend plans.

Malaysia

I have a necklace that I buy one charm from each country for. Today I set out to find a charm. It's hot and I'm searching through Little India for the right charm. I see a little rat charm that looks about right for my Malaysia experience, but I pass it up because it looks like it's been made out of tin foil. It's hot and I'm in a nasty mood. I turn around and head back to the hostel about an hour after setting out.
That night we all meet up to celebrate Nick's birthday. We have a pretty low key night and watch Germany beat Uruguay. One thing that that has been really fun is watching different countries face off abroad. I always know who is playing that night because I see fans dressed with their faces painted in their country colors.
It's my last day in Malaysia and I want to spend it in the park reading a book. I hope I can do that without interruption. The hostel owner takes me to the Patronas Twin Towers for some pictures of my gnome. While I'm taking photos of it in front of the building, an Indian guy tries to invite me to come along with him. I politely decline and tell him I have a guy waiting for me. Good, because I have no interest in hanging out with this man whatsoever. What is it about western girls that make these men into woman-hunters? It's getting quite annoying at this point because sometimes I just want to be alone and not make small talk.
The hostel owner drops me off at the park behind the towers and I sit down with my book. I can see an African guy hanging around enjoying the scenery and I get the feeling he's interested in some small talk himself. I try to glue my eyes to my book. Oh no I need something in my purse. I lift my eyes for a few seconds to grab my bag, and the guy seizes the opportunity. DAMN! He starts in on the small talk and says he wants to buy me a refreshment from a shop in the distance. I tell him I don't want to go and that I would rather read. He says he'll be back with something. We spend an hour or two together. He is very narrow-minded, judgmental, and set in his ways. Hugely devastating for somebody who claims he loves travel and is also very young. I break free from him at the train station and tell him I have to go have dinner with some friends.
That night we watch the final game of the world cup. I think I'm ready to leave Malaysia. I've loved the friends I've made at the hostel, but the city has not been my favorite. On to Cambodia!!

My Malaysia

Looking for my hostel in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia is not working out. The owner neglected to mention that I was supposed to take a right turn in order to get there. I've asked tons of people if they recognize the address. They all point me in different directions trying to be helpful. I stop at a motorcycle shop where a bunch of guys are fixing up their bikes. They point me in another direction. I make my way toward where they say it is. As I'm walking there one guy shows up on his motorbike and tells me to hop on. I'm so grateful and hop on with my 64 liter backpack and all. I arrive to a small hostel that is tucked in among a bunch of abandoned property and some seriously shanty-like apartments. Oh god. When I go inside it's not so bad. That night I pass out to the sounds of heavy rats thudding, squeaking and scratching in the walls next to my bunk as they bed down for the night. I awake at 2:00am to a swollen eye and a fat lower lip. I've been attacked by mosquitoes and bitten inside my mouth. I guess you get what you pay for, and at $8 per night I can't complain.

The next day I go to the iconic Kuala Lumpur Twin Towers. I shop the day away inside of them and go to the aquarium where I meet a guy from Iran. We go through the aquarium together and spend some time afterward. When we part ways I am walking through the food court when two guys ask me if I want to try a piece of their cake. My knee-jerk reaction is to decline, but it looks so good and I'm feeling social. I sit down with the two of them. They're brothers and both here from Armenia. We have a chat and then all part ways. One of the guys gives me his phone number and says I should call him if I'm bored and want him to show me around one day.

That night when I arrive back at the hostel I'm invited out by Nick. He is the young brother of the owner of the hostel. He is going out to meet his Jamaican friend and an Australian guy. I agree to go out with them and we have a fun night dancing to Reggae music, watching a Malaysian band perform crazy music, and all getting to know one another. The Ozzie guy is a cute blond dentist and the Jamaican guy was born in Jamaica and raised in Ohio. He's here doing business. At the end of the night Nick takes me to a place where they serve Malaysian food from 1am to about 4am. He shows me the ropes and tells me what is good. So far I'm really liking Southeast Asian food.

On my second day in KL (as the locals call it) Nick and I go to the Batu Caves. We climb the 272 stairs to the cave. We pass wild monkeys and bats wiz over our heads. The cave is huge and beautiful. It is owned by the Hindus and they even have a ceremony going on with music and drums echoing through the cave. Nick and I carefully descend the 272 steps and go grab a take away meal at one of his favorite places. It's an empty open restaurant with a tiny food bar that the flies seem to be owning, but we scare them away and serve ourselves some chicken, rice and bamboo. Nick wants to take me to the small waterfall in the mountain. We arrive there as it is starting to drizzle. The area is lush and thick with green trees. We sit down on a covered wooden platform as the rain starts to become a thunder and lightening storm with torrential downpour. It's amazing and the river starts to flow really hard. The Malay people often don't use any kind of chopsticks or forks, so I am forced to use my hands. I watch as nick neatly eats with his incredibly dexterous right hand. He picks his chicken apart with just one hand, and tries to teach me how to gather rice into a ball and put it straight into my mouth without tilting my head back. By the end of this meal I've made an absolute mess and he has a clean surrounding area. He tells me the Jamaican guy is just as messy as I am.

That day I head back to the twin towers for some shopping because we plan to go out with the Jamaican and Australian again. I'm on the monorail and I meet a local 30-year-old Malaysian guy who wants to know where I'm from. The second he learns I'm from California he tells me he was a student in LA and is trying to move back and become a citizen. He asks if he can walk with me to the mall and oblige. That's when he breaks out the proposals. He wants me to marry him into the country. Oh God, I've been down this road before and decided I would never try it. I once had an Australian guy offer to pay to marry me for citizenship. After giving it a good thought I decided I would never do it. Ever. The Malaysian guy follows me through the city trying to convince me I should do it and I tell him that I can promise him I would never change my mind no matter what his offer. I'm being so direct with him. He's a babbling idiot. He won't stop and I haven't said anything for fifteen minutes. I'm just looking for the mall ignoring him and pretty much acting as if I'm alone. He rambles under his breath the entire time throwing out numbers and figures he would be making in California. He asks me for my email address. I refuse to give him my address and tell him I don't want junk mail. This is comical. Finally I reach the mall and he says since he's here he might as well go in with me. I firmly inform him that he will not accompany me on my shopping adventure. I say it's fine for him to be in the mall, but we won't be in the mall together and he has to go a separate way. He has no choice but to give up.

I rush around Top Shop looking for an outfit. When I get back to the hostel I get dolled up to go out with the boys. We make it down to the party street and it's so busy. There's a big nightlife here in Kuala Lumpur. Nick and I meet up with Philip, the Jamaican that the Malay people tend to call Phillips, and James the Australian dentist. We dance the night away and sweat until we're soaked. Nick's friend drives me and Nick back to the hostel. It's been really fun partying with people from around the world. Especially the locals!