After eight days in sunny Phuket, we headed to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand. You’re about to see tigers, zip-lining and our first views of the mighty Mekong River. And food. Always food.

The Sunday night market in the Old Quarter

Khao soi, a traditional northern Thai dish, that we got at the night market. Tasted like heaven after a day of airport food.

Just hanging out with some tigers

Tiger Kingdom wins for best signage. Ever.

One more tiger shot

Then we rented bicycles and did a wat tour around the city.

Buying tea in the central market

And then we went ziplining!

I took a ziplining video and learned I scream like a girl. A really girly girl.

Mr. Aussie stuck his pet bug in my face. Yep, pet bug. That thing is tied to a stick and very much alive.

Banana and chocolate pancake with condensed milk and more chocolate drizzled on top. Eat your hearts out.

Gate that surrounded the Old Quarter. Not pictured: the accompanying moat

First view of the Mekong River from Chiang Kong

Because I’ve been crap at blogging since I’ve been back, here is the lazy girl’s “Things I’m Thankful For” list:

1. American food. Actually, any food that isn’t Korean. Food-wise, it’s been a marvelous few weeks, and look forward to sampling as much hummus as possible in the coming months. Do you know how hard it is to get good Italian in Seoul? Do you?? It doesn’t happen.

2. Spending the day with family. Yeah, I put food above family. (Though for what it’s worth, my aunt did make macaroni and cheese for Thanksgiving dinner. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.) It’s been a year and a half since I’ve seen a lot of my relatives, and today was a fantastic reunion. Also, my 5-year-old cousin can now form complete sentences. I’m beginning to think of her as a real person and not just the adorable kid who would imitate my monkey faces across the dinner table.

3. Not working with orphans. My year in Korea was amazing, don’t get me wrong. As far as work goes, I have no regrets about the past year. But twelve months of donning a stewardess jacket, whipping up chocolate chip cupcakes and teaching kids the correct dialogue to rob a person on the street gets old. I’m thankful for the challenges that the past year has presented me, but even more thankful that they’re over. Though I do sort of miss getting paid to play frisbee and teach aquarobics.

4. Like I’ve said in the past, the year was rough. Losing my grandfather, then several more relatives, my college mentor and boss sucked. Having a strong support system, one that spanned several continents, was crucial. I couldn’t be more thankful for my friends this year, not only for their words of encouragement when I was down, but for calling me out when I did stupid things and joining me on all of my adventures.

What are you thankful for today?

“Forever on Thanksgiving Day
The heart will find the pathway home.”
-Wilbur D. Nesbit

also

I love Thanksgiving turkey. It’s the only time in Los Angeles that you see natural breasts.”
-Arnold Schwarzenegger

(I couldn’t decide which I liked more. Enjoy both!)

Still alive, friends. I’ve been in Washington since Wednesday visiting friends and eating ravioli. Got my computer back from Erin, who has been keeping it safe for two months (thanks again, Er!), and finally uploaded all of my photos from my travels. I guess I’ll post the highlights from each city/region, and hope that makes up for the past two weeks of non-blogging. First up, Phuket!

My very first picture in Thailand: a snail crawling out of our bathroom drain. Keep it classy, Phuket.

View from our speedboat

James Bond Island. And me doing a cartwheel.

Looks cute...

...but look what he did!

The market in Phuket Town

Muslim floating village near James Bond Island. Would be cooler if it wasn't a huge tourist trap.

This boy came up to us at a bar and tried to sell us flowers. His sales method? Beat up potential customers. Paul didn't want to buy a flower, so the kid tried to kick his ass.

The young Thai guys who hung out at the beach bar put on fire shows at night. I tried doing this in Cambodia--MUCH harder than it looks. And it looks hard.

These guys come out around late in the afternoon and kick the ball around as the sun sets. What a life, eh?

So I'm a total sucker for sunsets. You are too.

There are plenty more Phuket photos up on my Facebook page, so check them out. The next post will feature Chiang Mai, skydiving and our first views of the Mekong River.

Hanoi, Vietnam

The last time I posted, I was in Ho Chi Minh City. Two flights and an amped-up wardrobe later, I’m in Hanoi. To quote my mother, circa two months ago, “You’re going to Hanoi? Isn’t that in North Vietnam? Are you even allowed there?”  Indeed I am. We may have lost the war, but not our rights as frivolous, money-spending tourists.

But before I got to Hanoi to blow my hard-earned Korea money, I detoured to Hoi An, a town on the central coast about halfway between HCMC and Hanoi. What is there to do in Hoi An, you ask? Well, to be honest, not a whole lot. Unless you are me, or any other clothes-conscious human being in which case, Hoi An is nothing short of the happiest place on earth. Passing by shop after shop of silky fabrics and bright colors, I thought I had reached nirvana. Or heaven. Something along those lines. I held off on shopping on the first day, and instead grabbed dinner with new friend James. To wind down from the day of traveling, we each ordered a bottle of wine and a couple mojitos. The rest of the night passed in a blur, though I do remember coming back to my room just before 10 p.m. (I think that just about sums up Hoi An’s nightlife, doesn’t it?), turning on Sex and the City and promptly falling asleep.

The next morning I met James at a cafe down the street and promptly ordered some coffee to sooth the bombs that were exploding in my head. While eating breakfast, I saw Korea friend Rachel walking down the street! I knew she was planning to get to Hoi An that day, but I didn’t expect to see her straight away. We spent the afternoon going from shop to shop, being sweet-talked by store owners, choosing fabrics and styles and having measurements taken. By the time we met up with James and some of Rachel friends for dinner, I had more than a dozen villagers working on my orders, ten on my winter coat alone.

The next day was a race to pick up everything, have it refitted and cram it all into a spare duffel. I ended up leaving Hoi An with a winter coat, three dresses, a skirt and a pair of suede ankle boots that I designed myself. Like I said, this place was heaven.

It was a bit of a struggle to get to Hanoi, as my 10:05 p.m. flight was delayed more than an hour due to technical issues, not getting us to the Vietnamese capital until half midnight. It didn’t help that take-off was a bit bumpy. I spent the first 20 minutes clutching the hand of a very nice Vietnamese guy, convinced I was going to die. Thankfully, he didn’t mind, and ended up being a wonderful seatmate. Once I released his hands, he showed me pictures from his recent wedding and honeymoon, then asked if I had a boyfriend. When I said no and tried to explain that it’s hard to see someone when you’re constantly on the move, he said, “Some girls…like girls. You?” Because obviously, if you haven’t got a boyfriend, you’re a lesbian. (I tried the opposite today, and told the moto driver that I was traveling with my boyfriend. Then he asked me how many times a night I slept with said boyfriend. There’s no winning this one. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.)

I shared a taxi into town with a couple of Aussies, the only other westerners on my flight. After they were dropped off at their hotel, I showed the cab driver where I needed to go, only to find that at 1:30 a.m., most decent places to stay have closed for the night. Imagine that! After driving to several Lonely Planet-recommended places and finding the same thing at each one, we returned to the hotel where the Aussies were staying, only to learn that my new friends had snagged the last room. The guy at reception motioned to his friend on a moto outside, who took me to another guesthouse, where I’m paying an outrageous $28 a night for a room. But it’s only for two nights and there’s free Internet and breakfast, so I’m sucking it up.

The only major bummer so far has been my burn, which I accidently hit against the moto last night as I was climbing off, peeling back all of the healing skin and leaving me hobbling around Hanoi. Showering this morning was excruciating, but after I cleaned up and dressed the burn and popped a couple Tylenol, walking around was bearable.

I’ve already checked out the Old Quarter and the area around the lake in the middle of the city. Was planning on seeing the prison where John McCain was held during the war, but I think I’ll save that for tomorrow. Today seems like a nap and cafe day, and I’m perfectly fine with that. Vietnamese coffee is easily the best I’ve ever had. I’m not sure if I’m finally developing that inevitable taste for coffee that all adults seem to have, but I’ll give the old Maxwell House a shot when I get home.

I think it’s time to part ways with the free Internet and take the elevator up to the third floor. I haven’t been on an elevator in nearly two months, so the idea is fairly exciting. Almost as exciting as napping, which will be plenty useful after several restless, five-hour nights.

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

It’s probably a bad sign that I struggled for a good 10 seconds to remember what country I’m currently in. Brainfart, over. Blog post can resume. After parting ways with Scotland-bound Jeantte yesterday morning, I made my way to the depot in Phnom Penh and caught a nearly empty bus headed to Ho ChiMinh City, or as most people know it, Saigon. For the sake of brevity (and because it’s what Lonely Plant does), I’ll be referring to the city as HCMC.

After six hours on the bus and a painless trip through customs, I found that once again, Lonely Planet had recommended a top-notch place to stay. After being misled in Phuket, Phonsavan and Vientiane, the past two cities have been a pleasent surprise. My room here in HCMC has aircon, a hot shower, a huge bed and satellite TV, which I may have spent the morning watching. You would too, if your baseball team was one game away from 27 World Series wins.

After I watched the Yankees lose, I hit the streets. Brunch was Vietnamese curry and spring rolls, complete with a banana shake. I decided against walking to my first destination, the War Remnants Museum, as walking in this city is easily one of the most dangerous things I’ve ever done. Stoplights aren’t exactly obeyed, which is only a slight problem when you’ve got a few cars on the road. However, it becomes a much bigger problem when you’ve got, at any moment in time, 100+ motos barreling toward you. I was warned about the throngs of motos clogging the streets here, but I never imagined it would be this bad. If a guy decides the street is too crowded, he’ll drive on the sidewalk, then beep at you as though you’re invading his space. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. And when in Vietnam, walk a straight path on the sidewalk and hope like hell you don’t get hit.

As I said, my first stop today was War Remnants Museum, which was the only thing I had much interest in seeing at all, really. Now, I should have listened to my mother (here’s anticipating the I-told-you-so comment) when she told me last week not to get on bikes with strangers, not because I’m worried about getting kidnapped and murdered, but because when I climbed off my driver’s bike, my leg hit the exhaust pipe. Now I’ve got a large purple circle on my leg and a blister the size of a half dollar to show for it. Definitely not a good move on my part.

I limped through the museum, which turned out to be absolutely fascinating. Fascinating and stomach-churning, that is. I know about America’s fuck-ups in southeast Asia, believe me I do, but nothing hit me quite like this museum. It is definitely not for anyone with a weak stomach. Aside from the well-known pictures of napalm victims and children affected by Agent Orange, there were disfigured fetuses in formaldehyde (actual fetuses, not pictures), photos of decomposing bodies and the guillotine used at a torture prison in southern Vietnam. I can’t tell you the number of gasps and “Oh my Gods” I heard this afternoon.

I hobbled out of the museum and headed toward the Reunification Palace, originally intended to be the seat of government of South Vietnam. But we all know that didn’t happen. Now the “palace,” which just looks like a government office building, stands as it did thirty years ago. Unexciting, yes. But something I might as well see while I’m here? Yeah.

I was keen to check out one of the markets here–Jeanette and I got into a habit of market-browsing in every city we went to–but my leg was throbbing so I grabbed a moto, sat side-saddle (on the side without the exhaust pipe, thank you very much) and headed back to the guesthouse.

Tomorrow I head up to Hoi An, but I’m not entirely convinced I’ll make it. The latest typhoon has made travel along the coast difficult, stranding some of my friends in random coastal towns, and affecting a few flights. Here’s hoping I make it in one piece, eh??

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Most of the trip has been about having fun. Surfing, fun. Playing with tigers, fun. Tubing down a river and getting free shots of whiskey, fun.

But it can’t all be fun and games. You can’t go to Cambodia without acknowledging its past–its recent, bloody past. Just three decades ago, Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge took over, evacuated Phnom Penh and began a mass extermination of the upper social classes. If you wore glasses or spoke another language, you didn’t have a shot in hell of surviving. Of the 600 doctors practicing in the country before 1975, only 60 lived to see 1980. Prior to being executed, thousands of people passed through a converted high school, known now as S-21. The complex has barely been touched in thirty years. The metal beds in the torture chambers remain, sometimes displaying a shovel or iron chains. In the other buildings, you can walk into the cells, hastily built with bricks or wood and scarcely large enough for a person to turn around in. Some of the floors had been converted into exhibition rooms, with hundreds of photos of the men, women and children who passed through before being sent to the killing fields. Signs posted around the area instructed visitors not to smile, but they were redundant. I couldn’t force a smile if I tried.

After S-21, we headed to the Killing Fields. I remember a photograph I saw years ago: skulls piled on top of each other, some with bullet holes, but many with entire pieces missing. The makeshift memorial has been replaced with a giant white stupa, holding thousands of skulls, bones and pieces of clothing pulled from the pits after the fall of the regime. The fields themselves are nothing more than pits dug in the ground now, some filled with dirty water, the occasional sign posted to tell you how many bodies were found in a particular spot.

This Halloween was more eerie, more haunting, than the 21 that came before it. Growing up, we’d decorate the house with kitschy cutouts. But this year, the skeletons, bats and ghosts were all real. S-21 and the Killing Fields are places that anyone traveling this part of the world needs to see. High school history classes have entire units devoted to the Holocaust, and virtually every university has classes on it. Why can’t the same be said of the genocide in Cambodia? Or Rwanda? Will our children be taught about the crisis in Sudan? Even now, thirty years later, many of the top-ranking Khmer officials have not been brought to justice. Pol Pot lived under house arrest until his death in 1998, and was ordering hits on former allies well into the 1990s.

This is my last hour in Cambodia before I grab a bus to Vietnam. It’s sad to leave here, but something tells me I’ll be back. Until then, I’ve got to remember the things I’ve seen here, both good and bad. I’ve got to remember the friendly, welcoming faces as well as the hands reaching out for money, the amazing food that I ate as kids looked up at me with hungry eyes, and the places I’ve visited, tourist attractions for foreigners, but a constant reminder to Cambodians of this country’s troubled past.

Sihanoukville, Cambodia

It’s been more than a month on the road now, and I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Living out of a backpack, booking buses from city to city, cursing Lonely Planet for leading the traveler astray–I can do it. I can’t say the long-term backpacker life appeals to me. I’m much more comfortable traveling with the knowledge that I have a home base, be it Seoul, New York, Prague, whatever. The constant on-the-road thing has worn on me, though I must admit, I’ve gotten good at it. Always carry a spare roll of toilet paper. Check the sheets before taking a room (learned in an unfortunate incident in Vientiane). Don’t buy from kids on the street. Try the local food. (Assuming the local food is, you know, not fried insects. But then again, I guess it depends on how adventurous you are.) Know that more often than not, fellow travelers are friendly and eager to talk. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been on the road, we’ve all got stories. Yesterday on a snorkeling day trip, I found myself surrounded by Brits headed to Laos. I had plenty to tell them, advice to give, answers to their questions. As a journalist, it’s your job to ask questions and listen and follow up those questions with more questions. Í  feel like I’ve always been the one to ask questions, to listen intently and to learn from other people’s experiences. For the first time in a long time, I was the one with the answers. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling to have half a dozen pair of eyes on me, asking questions that a month ago I was asking others.

Sihanoukville’s been lovely–the sea is warm, the people friendly and the desserts phenomenal. (I say that having eaten a slice of caramel pie with a biscuit crust covered in whipped cream and bananas a couple hours ago. Do I mean 4 p.m.? Maybe I do…)

After an early happy hour a few days ago, I took to the streets of Sihanoukville, searching for Sweeney, a friend and fellow teacher from Korea. After a fine pizza dinner, I attempted to get home by catching a ride on the back of a Khmer guy’s motorbike. Fun fact about the road my guesthouse is on: rainy season has completely washed it out. There are few things scarier than clutching onto a stranger as he speeds down a mostly dirt road paved with rocks. Big rocks. Because that’s how things work in Cambodia. Half the road is a ditch for rainwater en route to the sea, the rest rocks and dirt.

Our days have been filled with beach-lounging, amok-eating and turning away the dozens of Khmers who approach us every day. (“Massage, miss? Pedicure? Manicure? Threading? OK, maybe tomorrow?”)

Tomorrow we’re headed to Phnom Penh, where I’ll say farewell to Jeanette in a few days before heading off to Vietnam. We’re planning to meet up with Sweeney again to visit the Killing Fields and S-21, the infamous building where the Khmer Rouge tortured and killed nearly everyone who entered through the doors.

Before this trip, I was most nervous for Cambodia. A country that had seen civil war in my lifetime, that experienced genocide in my parents’ lifetime, that is so notoriously corrupt on every level–how could I not worry? But Cambodia may very well be my favorite country. It’s a mish-mash of cultures, of poor Khmers with wealthy expats, of old ideas and fears of government combined with the hope for a new generation, of rickety tuk-tuks whizzing past some of the most extravagant hotels I’ve ever seen. I love Cambodia, much differently than I loved Laos and Thailand, and indeed every other country I’ve been to. There’s something special about this place, and I know that I’m lucky to experience it. The Cambodia that I’m in will not be the Cambodia my children will know, nor is it the Cambodia that we watched on the news in the early 90s. It is constantly changing, turning over new leaves and building itself into something better.

Sihanoukville, Cambodia

I keep forgetting to put datelines here. Not sure if that’s important or not. Probably isn’t, right?

So after a 10-hour bus/minibus ride from Siem Reap, we made it to Sihanoukville. I’ve spent the last three days at Angkor Wat. What is even left to say about it? Words continue to fail me, and so I continue to fail as a journalist. How does one sum up a day, much less three, at the ruins? We scaled rocks that haven’t moved in several hundred, in some cases a thousand, years. Rocks that were put into place to honor Buddha and the Khmer king are now a playground for the adventure-seeking tourist and families on holiday. This once-great capital of an empire is now a money-making tourist attraction owned by a Japanese company. What will become of America’s great sites? In hundreds of years, will the Lincoln Memorial be anything more than a fenced-off pile of marble? What of the Empire State Building and Independence Hall and all of the other places that mean something to Americans? Are they built as well as the pyramids, the Acropolis and the Coliseum? Will they survive centuries of wear and tear, hurricanes and blizzards, the rise and fall of governments?

I know this blog has gotten a lot less fun and a lot more reflective in recent weeks, but when you’re on a bus for seven hours and your iPod is dead, there’s not much to do but think and plan the next blog entry. And let me tell you, there are a lot of long drives.

I knew very little about Cambodia before I decided to include it on my backpacking agenda. As a senior at Maryland, I convinced myself that I was going to move to Cambodia after graduation to work for one of the newspapers here. Then Korea happened and Cambodia became a distant memory.

Through some stroke of luck and Jewish geography, my path crossed with that of Bethany Murphy. I swear, she and I were destined to become friends. We’ve got mutual friends, mutual romantic pasts and mutual Hebrew names. She’s here in Siem Reap teaching for a year, and the first time we ever spoke, back in May, she invited me to stay at her apartment the moment I mentioned I’d eventually be in her neck of the woods.

That was five months ago.

Flash forward to now. After a flight from Vientiane and the world’s lamest layover at the Savahnakket airport (where, by the way, everything is under construction), we landed in Siem Reap and were greeted by Bethany’s tuk tuk driver, Mr. Loaung, who took us straight to the apartment to get settled.

Everything has been perfect since we got here. Mr Loaung takes us wherever we want to go, whenever we want to go there, Bethany showed us downtown Siem Reap and then cooked a delicious dinner, and we got to sleep in a bed without having to worry about bedbugs, lizards or snails.

Determined to make the most of our first day in Siem Reap, we went to bed fairly early last night. We woke up this morning, met Mr. Loaung at the front gate and set off for Angkor Wat. The temple complex is massive, absolutely massive. It took us a couple hours to get through a fraction of what there was to see, and by mid-morning it was too hot to see much else. We headed to Angkor Thom, the last capital of the Khmer empire, and one of the filming sites from Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.

Stop reading now. Navigate away from this blog and onto Expedia. Book a ticket to Cambodia. Now. I know journalists are supposed to be able to convey things through words, but it is here that words absolutely fail me. Angkor Thom was like nothing I’d ever seen. Parts of Bayon, the temple in the complex, rise up over 100 feet. The towers, rooms and statues are beyond impressive–and then you get a closer look. Everything in Bayon is made by stacking blocks of stone on top of each other. Somehow, thousands of small blocks get you the enormous temple, with its stairs, alters and sculptures. Even the gigantic faces are made from the rock, cut to make eyes and noses and lips. I walked away from Angkor Thom amazed at what was has stood the test of time. These ruins, streaked black over centuries, have seen multiple empires, French imperialism, American bombs and the bloody reign of the Khmer Rouge. It’s incredible to think about what had already existed here for hundreds of years by the time Christopher Columbus first set foot in the Americas.

We’re headed back to the temples tomorrow, and I’m hoping I can bear the hot weather. I’ve been just schvitzing my way through the past month. It almost–almost–makes me long for a nice New York winter…