Motorbike Sir?

SEATTLE, WA – My ipod finally died. It survived two years of abuse in Southeast Asia and decided to quit in treacherous Seattle. I was on a flight back from New York and Cape Cod a few weeks ago and we began our final approach into Setac international airport. Due to the FAA’s regulations, I was forced to turn off my portable electronic device in preparation for landing. I turned off the ipod and turned on the ‘hold’ switch (locking the buttons so the ipod won’t inadvertently turn on) and placed it in my bag. About 20 minutes later when I got on the bus to downtown Seattle, sitting next to a heroin addict with some serious plumber’s crack showing, I tried to turn on my ipod to no avail, even though I flipped the hold switch to the “off” position. I didn’t think much of it at the time, as my flight with ATA airlines had been severely delayed at Chicago-Midway (interestingly, delayed on the way out to New York too – my conclusion is that ATA airlines sucks and I will never fly them again) and I was a bit wore out from the severe heat, traffic, and concrete jungle of Manhattan.

The next day after a bit of troubleshooting, I figured out that though the hold switch can still be physically moved, the buttons and scroll wheel cannot be electronically activated. This situation is quite annoying because it seems like the ipod would still be fully functional if the hold were turned off. Unfortunately my computer and music are in Minnesota, and all the sweet tunes I got off Vinh at the Boom Boom Room are on my ipod with no backup. Hopefully I can access the music on my ipod via another computer and burn a backup before taking it to the Apple folks to see about a repair or simply an upgrade to the latest model.

Which brings me to my present situation, lounging on my new couch listening to some tunes on my sister’s computer. It is a quick fix, but I can’t go too long without my tunes so a long-term solution to the problem will have to be found soon. The new couch we got last weekend after a quick search on craig’s list. Natalie and I signed a lease on a two bedroom, two-bathroom (this was an essential amenity according to Natalie) apartment in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle. I am doing Audio/Video installation work again in order to pay the bills and let me adjust to the Pacific Northwest scene. I ride my bicycle to work. Near misses with local Seattle drivers while screaming down the hills of this town almost remind me of cruising through traffic in Phnom Penh. Life is different, but good.

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My last entry written in steamy Bangkok – three months and an entirely different state of mind away – was an initial reaction to the notion (that I was just beginning to grasp) of heading back to life in America. Before I left home in June of 2004, I had spoke with many people and read a fair amount on ‘reverse culture shock’, what one experiences when they come back from being abroad for a lengthy period of time. I expected and kind of looked forward to a nice ‘shock’ upon returning to America. But the shock never came. Instead I found myself occasionally getting locked into deep cycles of mental anguish – usually lying in bed late at night unable to sleep – questioning the future and agonizing over the past. Call it a general funk.

I would think back and try to piece together what had really happened. Was it really two years? Where did the time go?

I assembled some of my better and/or personally significant pictures into a photo album. It took me a few weeks to organize and mount them. Is this what two years of living abroad produced? A neat photo album so friends, family, and strangers can politely peruse images of what “it was like”? I look over their shoulders and answer their questions about where the picture was taken, or tell a story about that moment. Now that I’m in a completely different reality, it seems like memories are being washed away like the banks of the Mekong come rainy season.

But then I think a little harder and I remember cruising down the highway staring out over the endless expanse of multi-hued-green, knee-high, rice patties… And floating down a Lao river in an inner tube during one of those fat-droplet cloudbursts, with massive jagged Limestone mountains rising up into the clouds next to me, nursing a lukewarm Beer Lao… And swimming naked under the stars…

A significant portion of the funk comes from seeing everything and everyone that was familiar, be just as familiar. After seeing some crazy shit for two years (although my definition of crazy changed quite drastically) I came home to see everything more or less the same. Kind of like the Chronicles of Narnia, when those British kids go hang out in fantasyland for years gaining unbelievable life experiences only to return back to dreary England to find that nothing had changed.

This travelblog was quite fun, and I feel that it was a great way to share my experiences with the world during my travels. Though once I became apart of the community in Phnom Penh, Motorbike Sir lost its steam. I feel like I let down you all, the faithful blog reader. I am starting to get the urge to rant and share my thoughts again, so I am starting up a new blog. I have not decided on a title or format as of yet. Check back soon for details.

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I spent last weekend down on the beach in Westport, WA, a fishing community on its way to becoming a vacation community with wide beaches, rolling dunes, and crashing surf. Some new friends and I enjoyed the stars, a roaring bonfire, and a few beers next to the pounding surf. I stood up and walked to the water’s edge and let the ice-cold waves wash over my feet. I took a long pull off my can of Miller High Life and looked up at the stars. It was familiar. It was glorious. The funk lifted.

Neil

As my sister’s visit last January was drawing to a close, my father and his two friends rolled into Phnom Penh. Norm, Don, and Bernie, the self-titled Dharma Bums were here for 10 days of fun in the sun. My job as tour guide had just gotten more intense.

Our first few days were spent exploring the city and gearing up for a bike trip. As they only had about 5 days, I decided that we could cruise north to the border temple of Preah Vihear, over to Along Veng (resting place of Pol Pot) and then down to Siem Reap to visit the temples of Angkor.

The morning that Natalie left town (back to dreary Tacoma and schoolwork) we headed out on the road. The tarmac up to Kampong Thom was initially congested but the three Cambodian traffic rookies handled it well. We arrived in time for lunch and prepared for our next stretch of road. The road from Kampong Thom to Tbeng Mean Chey has recently been graded, but it is still a gravel road. To me, this means that road conditions are sometimes suspect, and you have to watch out for anything.

The being the dry season, we were soon coated in red dust as we ticked off kilometers. As I was crossing a bridge, I saw some Cambodians in a car suddenly get all excited and start pointing their fingers back behind me. I turned around and saw that Don had gone down. As he came to the bridge, he must have hit the front brake a bit hard and had the front wheel skid out on him. He had some deep gashes to his left knee and elbow, but said he was OK. I poured some water over them and wrapped a couple of scarves around the wounds and we headed back down the road.

A short while later, Norm and I were coming up to a wooden bridge. As we started to make our way across, both of us saw a large hole right in the path of his bike. Down he went. He had managed to keep the front wheel from falling down, but the rear end of the bike was lying on top of him as he hung precariously on the edge of the hole. We rushed over and pulled the bike off of him and hoisted him up. With minimal damage to Norm and the bike, we pushed on. After cruising through some landmine country, we arrived in Tbeng Mean Chey at dusk and settled into our hotel rooms and started tending to injuries.

I walked down the main street to find some iodine and bandages. At the first pharmacy/clinic I walked in to I was met by a cross-eyed woman assuring me that there was no doctor or medical supplies. All around the room were beds full of old people hooked up to IVs, each moaning and groaning in the darkness. The woman didn’t have to tell me twice, as I made a quick about-face and headed back down the street to find a more reputable medical establishment. I found what I was looking for and went back to the hotel to clean up Don’s wounds. After a delicious meal of provincial Khmer cuisine we hit the sheets. I think everybody slept good that night.

The morning came quick. We had a quick discussion about what our plans should be. I recommended that we change our itinerary and head straight to Siem Reap in order to get Don’s gashes looked at. Everyone agreed. Our new route was still desirable as it took us past two spectacular temple complexes, Koh Ker and Boeng Mealea. Herewe are at the top of the pyramid temple of Koh Ker. Here is Don in good spirits despite his injuries. Here is a common billboard seen around the countryside.

The road down was a bit more fun (I’m not sure if Don and Bernie looked at it that way), but we made it two Siem Reap that evening with only two more crashes. Don went over the handlebars and Bernie pulled a similar maneuver to Don’s and locked up the front brake while coming to a stop. Back in civilization (compared to where we just were), we had some dinner and drinks next to hundreds of those “soft” tourists who took the easy way up to Siem Reap. If only they knew the pain and suffering it took to get us there.

The next morning I took Don to a Thai medical clinic where he got his wounds properly cleaned and his elbow stitched up. The process was fairly interesting for me and from the looks of it fairly painful for Don. With bandages and painkillers we hired out a car to go explore the temples. We managed to see Ta Prom, Ta Som, Preah Kahn, Angkor Thom and the Bayon, and Angkor Wat. It was another exhausting day, but well worth it.

We left Siem Reap the next day around noon, deciding to split the drive back to Phnom Penh in half by stopping in Kampong Thom for the night. It also allowed us to go check out some the ruins at Sambor, a temple site that predates Angkor Wat by some six centuries. It was interesting to see the continuity in the architecture and bas relief carvings between the two sites.

We made it back to Phnom Penh in the afternoon after dodging Land Cruisers and tour buses on National Road 6 coming into town. We returned the rented bikes to the shop where everyone had to pay a bit extra for damaged parts, bent handlebars, and scratched paint.

The next night we had a small going away celebration at Pancho Villa Cafe. Lots of friends showed up to partake in the festivities. Though the Dharma Bums visit was short, I think they got a good taste of Cambodia.

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