Travels: July 2012

4:09 PM Friday July 7^th, 2012 Koh Tao, Thailand

I had finally left Laos. The pain in my head had mostly subsided, and my head throbbed only slightly. I had managed to snag, smack, bump my left cheeto, remaining as a cover for my wound, on any piece of clothing and wall around. The terrible pain afterwards a reminder that the cheeto was about to go out the window. I would have burned it had I gotten the chance. The flight out of Vientiane was met with my ecstatic attitude, even at 5 in the morning. Today I got my stitches out! So it was with extreme surprise that after landing in Siem Reap, Cambodia, getting our visas, meeting our driver from the hotel, and going to the clinic that I found out things hadn’t gone exactly to plan. Curse the damn Laos healthcare. They had told me the cheetos would be fine. Or was it me. I hadn’t cleaned around the Cheetos (to be fair they hadn’t told me to care for my wounds at all), and I’d still been having small sips of alcohol each day to maintain some juvenile, but very important quest to continue the 20 plus day streak I had going. Surely a sip here and there wouldn’t make the antibiotics completely ineffective. I guess it didn’t matter, something must be cursed for what was to happen. Upon lying down at the clinic they felt around my wounds and immediately recognized the spectre lurking beneath my hair. An infection had been brewing in and around my wounds for 7 days now, and I was foolish enough to think the stitches would just be removed today. Oh how wrong I was. The doctor informed me of the bad news. They would have to clean my wounds after unstitching them, and then the kicker they’d have to stitch them back up. Damn you Laos healthcare again. I’m definitely blaming you for what was surely the greatest pain I’ve ever experienced. Starting off they brought a dull razor and scraped away at my scalp around the wounds. Tugging tufts of hair out of your head is not something you ever want to experience. Removing the stitches was relatively painless, but as Bo watched on in horror they started to squeeze on the tissue surrounding my left wound. An explosion of epic proportions shot forth from my wound covering the poor male nurse unlucky enough to have to deal with me, the wall, and all surrounding equipment. The constant pressure around my wounds became unbearable as they forced a truly disgusting amount of puss and blood from each now reopened cut. About ten minutes was spent on my left wound alone, although by the time it was nearing the end it could’ve been an eternity. It was one of those extremely painful situations that gets dragged out, time slows to a stop, and you try to block the pain out. Anyone who knows me well knows I’m slightly masochistic at times, so weirdly I relished in the immensity of the pangs. What brought me to the edge, and ultimately caused tears to stream forth from my eyes, was one of those experiences that could cause you to pass out from the intensity of the radiating pulses of pain. The wounds had to be washed out to make sure that all of the puss was clear. They only wanted blood to seep from my wounds when they pressed around them. This cleaning process quickly became the most painful thing I’ve ever known. According to Bo the doctor, “Fracked my head!” He snatched a syringe with cleaning liquid, grabbed at my wound, lifted the skin up, jammed the syringe into my left wound, and violently sprayed the liquid. It felt like they were filling my cuts with liquid, causing them to swell like a balloon which honestly didn't hurt that much, but as the doctor pressed on my wound and sprayed away into the wound I felt like the doctor was ripping the wound along my skull further increasing their size. That sheer amount of stinging and red hot waves that escaped into my nervous system caused my eyes to water intensely. After constantly having been asked, “Pain?” by the nurse and doctor, and having stoically responded, “A little,” I knew that even my perseverance in the face of pain was no match for what they were doing to my wounds. They asked if I wanted local anesthetic and part of me wanted to yell back, “HELL YES I WANT IT!” but instead a simple ‘yeah’ sufficed for them. Now at least the needle being stabbed directly to my wound would relieve the pain of the further jabs. With the help of local anesthetic the remaining ten minutes of the hour long process was much less painful, and I think I managed some more smiles. At least after the cleaning and wound dressing process was completed I only had one IV of much stronger antibiotics and two intramuscular injections in my gluteus maximus. I’d have to complete this process of wound dressing, an IV of antibiotics, and two intramuscular injections everyday over the next week. Each intramuscular left my butt slightly sore, so each day I would try to switch from one side to the next, but by the end I just had a sore ass. At least I was on my way to recovery after a serious scare. My infections according to the doctor were about three days away from going septic which could have easily put me on my death bed. The doctor scoffed when I showed him the amoxicillin I had been given in Laos to treat these wounds. Another stroke of luck seems to have come my way. And also luckily for me I was in Siem Reap and one of the most breathtakingly, overwhelmingly massive, ancient, and not to mention beautiful temple complexes was scattered around the area. Ancient structures, temples in particular, have a way of transporting me to a place not oft realized at home. They reveal to me my insignificance, but also my extreme importance. I feel as if I'm going to be cliche, but I think we all have this dichotomy within us. This is where ancient temples put me. I notice what we’re capable of, greatness in so many aspects. The Angkor temple complexes picked me up quickly and placed me into a flurry of exploration, contemplation, appreciation. Just like before in Laos my eyes were almost crying tears of joy. They were quick to pick up on the expansiveness, the detailed stone work, and the patterns of the architecture. Bo basically dragged me along from temple to temple, a horse driver with a whip flogging my unmoving figure, entranced by the enormity of what I was witnessing. I hope my pictures will do it any justice. It’s truly unbelievable, and understandable that the temples draw over 3 million people a year.

Angkor Wat the largest temple in the Angkor complex.

Trees have grown into the temples over the years.

The temples are often in ruin, which adds to their appeal.

An amazing example of a tree overgrowing a temple.

Bayon Temple.

Ridiculously steep staircase.

The faces on the Bayon Temple.

Bayon Temple

The doorways into Banteay Srei temple. My favorite of them all.

The stonework at Banteay Srei is amazing.

Another temple was adorned with stone elephants.

So many different architectural styles are seen in the temples.

Two days of exploration was definitely far too little time. A nice visit with my aunt Kathy who was doing a Teachers Across Borders program in Siem Reap at the same time allowed a good, albeit short, amount of family time. We headed down to Phnom Penh excited to see what there would be to offer there. The Hannah Montana movie playing on the bus ride down from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh was a pleasant and unwanted surprise.

Bo trying fried crickets.

I knew Phnom Penh was a dirty city, but I had no idea what that meant until I arrived. After being harassed endlessly for a tuk tuk to wherever our hotel was we found a random tuk tuk driver and went off. “Hello my friend. Where you go? Tuk tuk?” seemingly escaped every other person’s lips. I’m not certain how the amount of tuk tuks present in Phnom Penh is maintained. After arriving at the Flamingos Hotel we recognized we were practically in a hotel used exclusively for prostitutes, similar to the motel across from the least reputable of gentleman’s clubs. Elderly western men strolled in mid-day with Cambodian women, hand in hand, and ventured up to their rooms. Were we actually staying in one of these rooms and sleeping on one of these beds? The straight and simple answer to these questions was Yes. Yes we were. We explored some of the city, going to the market, around 3 PM. Within walking five blocks we saw two people urinate on the sidewalks, and the smells assaulted our nostrils. The city reeked of urine, trash of the most pungent, rotten kind, and devilish exhaust from every vehicle. Phnom Penh was more than its filth and prostitutes though. Going out that first night meant going to a beer bar (none for me, antibiotics) was an intriguing experience. As a group of three guys we were immediately hounded by the girls at the bar to buy drinks, and they saddled up next to us to chat. They were very forward, friendly to talk to, pushy with the drinks, and lucky for us not prostitutes. The prostitutes weren’t what we were here for, unlike so many people. We actually befriended one of the ladies at another bar that night, staying up late into the night playing game after game of pool. The Cambodian girls were so amazing at billiards. It was ridiculous the efficiency with which they ran a table. This woman’s history was depressing, and the workload she endured to maintain herself and her kid were unfathomable. On top of working at a bar, hoping to get guys to buy ‘lady drinks’ which were a dollar more expensive, and essentially was comparable to giving the girl a dollar, Thita, as she was named, had to work in the morning for a second job twelve hours out of the day. This meant that most nights she would get about two hours of sleep. Thita was nice though, and she met us at our hotel unexpectedly. She even called up to the room for Bo. Apparently spending five hours genuinely inquiring about someone’s hardships and being friendly was something Thita didn’t often come across so to Thita Bo was the perfect gentleman. She latched onto us, immediately recognizing our friendly and kind demeanor, something she wasn’t accustomed to. She helped show us around the city, and greatly improved our experience, translating to Khmer in restaurants. I could tell she greatly appreciated having guys like us around. Just 15 km outside of Phnom Penh rested the most notorious of killing fields in Cambodia. Used by the Khmer Rouge to dispatch multitudes of men, women, and children by blunt force trauma with shovels, rakes, hammers, and other nasty means, the mass graves at the killing field, Cheoung Ek, was a truly disturbing and depressing reminder about the disgusting nature of genocide. I don’t think anyone leaves that place unaffected, as bones, teeth, and shreds of clothes are picked up each year as they surface after heavy rains. Moving on from that was difficult, but as with most people we were resigned to use it as a reminder of what not to repeat.

The killing field. Each dip in the ground represents a mass grave.

Presidential Palace in Phnom Penh

Bo with the durian.

After the first bite I didn't look too happy with the durian.

But after the first few bites I enjoyed it by diving in face first.

Central market in Phnom Penh

Oh sweet sweet U.S. Embassy.

Wat Phnom

An interesting sleeping position for a motorbike taxi driver.

Bo giving Thita's room some perspective.

The entrance to Thita's bathroom from her room.

Her bathroom

In Phnom Penh I got to experience fried crickets, chicken legs, and durian, a custardy fruit with a pungent odor that tastes somewhere between an apple and an onion. I liked all of these new foods though. To me that’s a huge part of the appeal of traveling, the expansion of cultural understanding that arises with different experiences in particular food experiences. At the end of our time in Phnom Penh Thita showed us to a temple where she bought six red bracelets. She ceremoniously tied three each to Bo and myself as a monk looked onward. Although I don’t imagine this is anything special, for me it was fairly significant. One of those connectedness moments with something like Buddhism was important to me for some weird reason. The bracelets are for keeping safe and good luck, which is something I’ll continue to need as I venture onwards. After leaving with a rough goodbye to Thita and also Marlowe who was remaining behind to stay in Phnom Penh, we hopped on the night bus to Thailand. Within an hour I had popped in a diazepam (valium) pill, widely used by travellers on long journeys, to help me sleep. I tried to fight the exhaustion for as long as I could, but suddenly I was awake at 6 AM at the Cambodian/Thailand border. Pattaya was up next.