Dr. Beat

That night, on Bechet's recommendation, we went to see one Dr.Beat perform on the cello at a local children's hospital. He opened with an intensely moving and flawlessly executed piece before taking up the mic and informing the entire audience of the dire state of Cambodia. The figures he rattled out were alarming: 40 000 children under the age of 5 dying each year from curable infections, over 80% of the population rural and poor, and an average household income of around 50 cents per day, to list a few. Even more alarming was the Cambodian government's utter lack of funding and support for its own hospitals, paying a paltry 2% of the facilities operating costs, while Switzerland picks up 10%, the remainder being supplied entirely through donations.

For the past 30+ years, Dr. Beat has been building hospitals, saving sick children and their mothers lives, and constantly drumming up donations by playing his cello, meeting world leaders, and speaking at every possible opportunity. We were shown a short video about the history of the hospitals, but it also included footage of a much younger Dr. Beat answering a reporters questions while tending to patients, all the while gunfire and explosions could be heard going off in the background. It is no exaggeration to say that he rebuilt a vital portion of a shattered country's medical system from scratch (during its reign, the Khmer Rouge exterminated almost every doctor and medical professional in Cambodia) and is responsible--through his hospitals, inoculations, and educational programs--for saving hundreds of thousands of lives. After an hour, it was clear that this was a man that fought an endless uphill battle, and one who was intimately aware of the damage a heartless government could inflict on its people, by simply failing to act.

He finished by imploring the audience to give blood if they were young, money if they were old, and if they were somewhere in between, give both. This time, we settled for giving money, but with Dr. Beat's words ringing in our ears, we'd be back.

Snakes. Why'd It Have To Be Snakes?

On our second day in Siem Reap, we saw several of the outlying temples. Unattended for hundreds of years, these structures are literally being consumed by the jungle that surrounds them. Shrubs sprout from stairways, vines weave over walls, huge banyan trees strangle stone like mutant squid. Here, time has blurred the line between jungle and temple.

We walked under weird shadows cast by branches swaying far overhead, through doorways darkened by the collapse of adjoining corridors, and around great trees that had inconsiderately taken up residence directly in the center of the sidewalk. It was as if the forest was reclaiming its space, slowly taking back what had once belonged to it. The result was awe-inspiring. Unfortunately, (at least for today) the best temples were also the busiest. It was difficult to take a picture without ten tourists lingering all over the shot.

Later that day, I climbed a large pyramid that offered excellent views of the jungle on all sides, the tips of temples peeking up through the canopy. Mia, unwilling to climb the incredibly steep steps in the raging heat, opted to explore the base, granting me a moments solitude. I took this time to try and gather my thoughts, try to make real all the unreality that was unfolding around me on a daily basis—that had been unfolding for 42 days now, and would continue for 20 more—I was two-thirds through my travels, slightly over 67%. As if that meant anything. How could you measure the things I'd done, the things I'd seen, experienced, and felt? In all honesty, I rarely felt the way I thought I would, traveling, more often than not finding myself preoccupied with the discomfort, annoyance, or disappointment of the whole venture. Of course, there were moments of bliss, flashes of brilliance that almost certainly made up for these feelings. Perhaps, though, a good portion of the pleasure of travel comes from finishing it, and looking back, thinking, 'I really did that?' and then remembering, you did.

One thing about traveling in Asia is that you never have to wait long for your next WTF experience.

That very evening, we set out on a cruise of Tonlé Sap lake, aboard a boat which bore a striking resemblance to a jumble of old planks, (painted a lovely Robin's egg blue) and skippered by a 10-year-old boy. With his older brother as navigator, our captain donned an over-sized cowboy hat and kicked the worthy vessel to life. We motored over the water towards a nearby floating village, and in thirty minutes we were there. This wasn't a mere 'village-on-stilts', but an entire community—houses, stores, school, church, and gas station—bobbing on the waves. There was even a floating basketball court.

After evading an attempted scam, (which involved buying school supplies for children at hugely inflated prices) we were told we'd visit a fish farm. Balls, I'd been expecting crocodiles. Puttering up to what appeared to be a restaurant, we noticed a couple of kids paddling around in big metal tubs. How cute. It wasn't until they paddled up beside our boat that we noticed they had big, fat snakes draped around their necks, and coiled at their feet. Mia screamed murderously. Another boy, sitting at a table in front of us in the restaurant, adjusted his even bigger, fatter snake so he could more easily eat his lunch. We were surrounded by motherfucking snakes! Frozen with pure fear, Mia shut down, and curled up into a ball, while I tried to convince the boat boys that we had to forget about the fish farm and leave, now. “There's no snakes here,” he tried. I pointed out three. “Okay, we go.”

Brought back to shore early, we watched the sun set from the slums, the place where lake people came to live during the dry season. It didn't seem too bad, the dwellings were shabby, to be sure, but, hung with brightly colored garments and prettied by potted plants, they had a certain charm. Moreover, the people looked happy. This was something we'd see over and over again in Cambodia; people who had nothing, who probably lived in a hut with no electricity, plumbing, or running water, but who always had the biggest, most natural-looking smiles on their faces. It was as if, never having anything, they'd learned to love life for what it was, and expected nothing more.

In a few hours, the true plight of the Cambodian people would be made all too clear.

Bechet: Best Tuk-Tuk Driver In Cambodia

We met Bechet, a tuk-tuk driver, outside a restaurant following breakfast our first day in Siem Reap. Bechet struck us immediately as a man of integrity; he was well-dressed, honest, and knew his trade.
The driver's finger moved over the surface of a map, tracing the day's route from Angkor Wat to Banyon Temple to Elephant Terrace and beyond, afterward, he told us, we could climb a nearby hill and watch the sun set over Tonle Sap Lake. For all this, he told us, he would charge only $12, since it was already late morning. Deal!

Angkor Wat definitely lived up to my expectations, (of course it was awesome, how couldn't it be?) but it wasn't my favorite temple in the complex, not by a long shot. For one, the aesthetic beauty of Angkor was marred by the fact that large portions of it were undergoing repairs, that is, surrounded by bamboo scaffolding and draped in ugly tarps. This could hardly be avoided—ancient temples need upkeep—but was annoying just the same. Bayon Temple, with its many stone faces (peaceful giants staring out into the jungle from atop a sort of pyramid) was more interesting, and the cascading trunks of Elephant Terrace took top prize for conceptual coolness. The sunset was well attended, but underwhelming. Throngs of tourists don't add much to the ambiance of hilltop temples.

Our hotel was $6 a night, the trade-off was a detached staff and a room crawling with bugs. Amazingly, and much to Mia's delight, we found an $8 all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ restaurant and ate our fill. Though we'd already spent seven hours seeing half a dozen temples, our exploration of Angkor had just begun.

Crossing Into Cambodia

Actually, we didn't leave until nearly 9. We woke up at 7, got to the travel agency for 8, and then sat in the bus for the better part of an hour while the staff kept assuring us it would be “5 more minutes, 5 more minutes.” When we asked what the hold up was, they told us we were waiting for a late passenger.
This would never happen in Canada, if you're late, you get the next bus. Simple. And it sure as shit wouldn't happen in Korea either. Once, when I was on a bus (bound for the Jeju Fire Festival) that was running 10 minutes late the locals started shouting, “What's going on HERE!? Let's get a MOVE ON! The HONOR of JEJU is at stake! We've got FOREIGNERS on board! You're bringing SHAME to our island by not leaving right NOW!!!”
This dawdler rather pissed Mia off, to the point that she unloaded on him when he finally boarded, demanding “You have to apologize! Everyone was here on time! We all had to wait for you!” This was soon cleared up. The passenger wasn't late at all, the company had made a mistake, put him on the wrong bus on the other side of the city, and made everyone wait while they sorted it out. When we confronted the staff with the truth of this cover up, they mumbled a reflexive sorry and considered the matter solved.

The “late” passenger introduced himself as Renné, a Filipino-American physiotherapist who owned a clinic in Florida. He was on vacation for 9 days; 3 in Saigon, 3 in Siem Reap, and 3 in Kuala Lumpur. If this seems like a rather unusual itinerary, that's because it is. From experience, I knew the jet lag alone would last 5 days, that there wasn't enough in Saigon to warrant staying 2 days, let alone 3, and that this bus would likely take all day, (despite whatever we'd been told) thus consuming a huge chunk of his limited travel time. I kept these thoughts to myself, and, perhaps sensing it was strange that he should take a long, cheap bus ride sandwiched in between three expensive flights, explained that he was, 'just getting a taste of each place.' If he liked what he saw, he would return at some point in the future for a longer visit. I guess if you own a clinic you can do stuff like that.

In a few hours we reached the Vietnam-Cambodia boarder, and began the long, painful process of crossing to the other side. This involved getting off the bus carrying all our gear, regrouping outside and getting stickers, waiting in a huge line, having our picture taken, hoofing it a good kilometer to another building, waiting in another line in the scorching heat, having our visas processed inside, walking another 200 meters to a store, getting re-stickered, taking a mini-van to another location, and boarding a different bus. All told, it took about 2 hours; every minute of it bullshit.
While we were waiting in the second line (the one for foreigners), I read a huge sign that informed me that people who were caught with drugs at the boarder could be executed. This seemed both vague and excessive. It didn't specify which drugs. Just drugs, in general. There weren't any signs prohibiting the smuggling of guns, animals, or humans into the country either--apparently those weren't a big deal--but you try and bring the wrong plant in and they'll fucking shoot you on the spot. Makes sense.

From the comfort of our second bus, we watched the drivers of motorcycles strapped fat with plastic containers climb up and over their front tires with their boarder passes—that narrow slit being the only opening in an otherwise solid cube of Tupperware—and hover away, kicking up a huge cloud of dust in their wake. Lucky for us, the majority of the trip would be on paved roads, a relatively new addition to Cambodia's transportation network.

Apart from my usual music, reading, daydreaming and DS playing, I also watched a Sylvester Stallone action movie that came on (kung-fu and action are the only kind of movie ever played on buses in Asia). I had every intention of outlining the story, characters, and sequences here in great detail, but I can't remember a single thing. I think one guy was really good at throwing knives into other guys' necks.

Sometime after lunch Renné offered me some tea-—Emperor's Green Tea, to be precise—which he had picked up in China last month on vacation. You added the leaves to water, let it sit for ten minutes, and drank. The tea, Renné told me, was reserved for only the most special of occasions, but could be re-used up to eight times without losing its potency. He told me it cost $200. However, it is not Emperor's Green Tea that I find most interesting, but Lotus Tea. This tea is made by women who paddle out into ponds at night to sprinkle tea leaves into the nocturnally blossoming lotus, where they remain for a day, absorbing the nectar of the flower, and are carefully recollected the following night, having been naturally imbued with the essence of the lotus blossom. I can't imagine such a thing taking place anywhere but Asia.

The deeper we traveled into Cambodia, the darker it got; this was not merely a result of the latening hour, but also the fact that there were no lights, and not another vehicle in sight.

Contrails

Our train clacked south along the ocean towards Da Nang, curving in and out of cliff sides that hugged beaches littered with boats that looked like washed up coconut shells. We caught a flight to Saigon, which, at $27, was easily the cheapest of our trip. Of course, officially speaking, Saigon is now named Ho Chi Minh City, but, much like nobody with any sense refers to the Skydome as “Rogers Centre” nobody calls Saigon “Ho Chi Minh City.” There's a much longer history in the original name, plus, it just plain sounds better.

We only had one night in Saigon, but it was probably for the best, because Saigon is a city for single men. It is a place absolutely jam-packed with beautiful women. Not since I visited Osaka had I seen such an alarmingly high number of stunning babes. It was as if all the rockets in the region had converged on a single spot, a hyperconcentrated honey pot, a quantum mamularity, a point of infinite ass. Even the desk clerk of our second-rate back alley hostel looked as though she should be modeling professionally. It was really too much to take.

We booked a bus to Siem Reap and were gone by 8 the next morning.