After a two month hiatus from blogging, I am returning with
recollections--recollections of the two month hiatus from blogging. I do
not feel like my vacation was a "whirlwind" or that it "flew by."
Actually, eight weeks of vacation feels exactly like eight weeks of
vacation when entire weeks are defined by a specific activity, reunions,
and locations. This is the fourth and final entry of journal "highlights"--here is the first entry, the second entry, and the third entry (which was the first half of my time in Thailand). These are excerpts from what I wrote while I was in or around Chiang Mai and Cambodia. Hereafter, I promise my blog's contents will shift from personal journal regurgitation.
***
01/28
I slept terribly last night; I woke repeatedly to mosquitoes biting my face. At least they weren't bed bugs.
Our cubby in our train car sleeps four passengers. Coincidentally, I bump into a fellow alum from my childhood summer camp--he sleeps two-cubbies-down.
01/29
"Good morneen," the car manager calls as she walks the aisle. "Brekfest fifteen minoots."
I slide open my lower berth's curtains. The air-con reasserts its unforgettable presence without the poor shield that was the curtain; I've been freezing for the nearly nine hours of Benadryl-clouded sleep. At some point in the night, I wake to put on my flannel; the cotton blanket does not match the pillow in comfort-level.
While eating my rice soup with chicken, I join our cubby's roommates (a body-odor-plagued French couple) in watching the hills covered in tropical forest--not quite rainforest. We rumble past a pineapple orchard, and I wonder if I'm not stationary while everything crashes past.
*
"There are so many Jews, though," He responds to my explanation of "Jewish geography." "I know tons of Jews."
I think: "Next time, maybe say the whole word." Instead, I offer, "You may, but we are only .01% of the world's population. We just make a big impression." Like the other times I've made this comment, I can sense he's thinking about "Jews" and "big." The hairs on my neck stand, but I hope he doesn't go where I know others do.
"People used to think I was Jewish," this would be relieving if I hadn't heard this story from him before, "because my nose is big." I cringe; he's on the upper berth, so he can't see the impact his comment has on me.
"Well, as you can see, not all Jewish people have big noses," I seethe and reference myself.
"I know--" he continues with genuinely good intentions. I realize the fault is not his for how his mind made that association; I cannot fault someone for how their mind involuntarily functions. But I am quietly angry that the association is so natural for so many people--I even made the association as a defensive strategy before he spoke.
As we bump and shake into Chiang Mai, I wonder if there is any amount of awareness or education that could mend the mind from preconsciously making these sorts of associations. I have sensed my Jewish pride reestablishing itself after a few years of distanced questioning.
"Chiang Mai ten meenit," a porter slaps the car walls. I suddenly remember my Malaria prophylaxis.
Time to stop writing and reawaken Ryan.
*
The cloud of a late afternoon nap peels away as the words of this sentence fall out of my mind and onto the page. I am easily distracted by the conversations of other backpackers on the communal wood bed in the hostel's front yard.
"--so many people--"
"--spending all my money on transport--"
"--you bungee jump--"
"--night market for scarves--"
"--lovely pastries--"
"--others can take your picture, but the DVD follows you all the way up--"
A guy next to me Skypes on his iPhone. Two blond girls dressed-to-the-nines pop-off helmets and power-down scooters.
Ryan and I enjoy the local curry (kao soy) and several hands of Rummy.
***
01/30
After much delay, my van heads out to Elephant Nature Park. My bag isn't in our van, but I am assured it will follow within the hour--I hope within the fortnight. Coincidentally, I strike-up a conversation with a University of Michigan Law School graduate just as the Animal Planet documentary that inspired Ryan and I to volunteer at ENP begins playing on the van's television.
"Thailand is just 3/4 the size of Texas." I laugh at this voice-over: Is there anything more American than measuring the rest of the world in Texases?
I am distracted from our guide's introduction. Large groups of black-and-white starling-like birds flutter around the street. I tune back into the guide's speech as he explains that they are working on fundraising to buy more elephants out of poor conditions as well as to buy the rest of the land in the valley where the park hides: "If you support our mission, please visit the gift shop."
*
I observe the benefit of a trunk while I feed cassavas, melons, and bananas to the eles.
Familiarizing with the rest of the herd of volunteers.
Washing elephants in the laziest river I have ever seen. Getting washed by other volunteers' errant water-bucket tosses. Elephant shit floating all around us.
Meeting Lek, the founder. Feeling as if it is a privilege to meet someone with so much influence. She invites Ryan and me to help feed the black bear at ENP. She encourages us to find the slow loris at night.
Bare-foot footie with mahouts (elephant guides), avoiding elephant pats and divots, game ends with the ball popping on a barbed wire.
***
01/31
Just beyond the ant-covered teak riser, two elephants graze until a white truck with a sheet metal protected bed backs into a shelter. The eles about-face, seemingly in the hope of beginning the day's continuous snacking. Further out--past a four-foot barbed wire restraining-fence that would, realistically, pose little challenge to an elephant--two more graze. One of the latter has a broken hip from harsh training years ago (perhaps dislodged and as yet unreset); each lumbering step involves much dragging, apparent pain, and the hip bone testing the skin's ability to retain.
Elephant blasts at 4 am followed by bouts of 140-dog-powered howls.
A shoelace breaks. I cauterize the end of it.
*
When I return to the chair from whence I last wrote, two of the +140 dogs at ENP are napping under the aluminum awning. With just enough room on my wooden chair for my tea, I watch tourists and kids on a field trip walk the grounds. A shaved dog nibbles at its dermatitis-plagued skin.
My nails are stained yellow, and I question how long the Band aid over the unroofed blister on my palm will last--both are souvenirs from this morning's chores involving macheteing pumpkins for the elephants. Sneezing excessively. Mahout's Burmese grunts.
Food prep: washing 2.5 tons of pumpkins and watermelons, machete-chopping while discussing my general lack of direction, tossing pumpkins out of a truck until my lower back insists I stop.
An elephant uses its front foot as an escalator for his mahout. He gets a bunch of bananas as a "thank you."
A blind elephant feels her way to the platform with her trunk acting like a walking stick. The simple pleasure of watching a liberated and happy elephant saunter to the feeding area.
Ryan jumps at the opportunity to feed gourds to the elephants. His sketches are much better than mine.
***
02/01
We wait in a conference room; soon, Lek will speak over the sounds of chopping.
Cold, dribbly shower.
Used, dirty shirt and hat; two left hand gloves. Finding a rhythm with the machete as I chop corn, make piles of crop, and enjoy a conversation with a set-designer.
My shoulders fatigue while loading bundles of corn and razor-sharp grass into the back of a truck. One of the volunteer coordinators jokes with us: He unintentionally pegs another volunteer in the side of the head with a softly thrown corn cob. We ride thirty minutes back to ENP on top of a pile of corn and grass.
I have a conversation about my understanding of food justice with a loud, slightly drunk ex-Marine.
Lek shares horrifying stories about elephant abuse (involving traditional training methods and breeding techniques).
***
02/02
I shake my head at two dogs patiently and quietly waiting for me to sympathetically offer a piece of my breakfast.
Moving firewood. First good shower of the week. Dinner buffet of diverse veggies.
Sleep interrupted by howls, trumpets, and snores.
Cows graze, dogs fight.
I can't help but watch our volunteer herd like I saw the Namibian volunteer pack; there are small families within our herd of volunteers, but we all play our roles within the daily dramas.
Every morning, I don my "morning dirt" shirt and filthy zip-off pants; after lunch, I switch to the "afternoon dirt"shirt. The former has more food and crop remains; the latter, more elephant feces. Both were once white t's.
*
Staring into those familiar eyes, all I see are vapid patterns. Hollow exteriors of a foreigner.
There was nothing I could do after 5, 7, 10 minutes.
The lines of washed hair remind me of the running water, my need to dry and allow another to use the communal shower. Still, soap suds remain in the furthest wisps of my beard that I no longer know why I grow.
Anger. Self-inflicted and self-directed.
Dog barks and flustered faces.
Knowing the consequence of oxygen deprivation.
Knowing my weakness of character.
2 mahouts walking back at sunset: long day and one fewer.
A beer and smiles, but sad heart at the revealed truth.
Another beer and a dodged cigarette.
Ryan doesn't understand my anger at myself. He doesn't hear my thoughts about a young man working abroad, being away from his loved ones when he unexpectedly became a tragedy.
That illusion of peace as I pet a dozing elephant's forehead while a man doesn't know how to swim.
Was I sprinting or just running?
Elephants graze, dogs play, and I'm stuck criticizing myself for cliched writing.
The elephant faces a mountain
motionless.
But his trunk flinches.
I yearn for his deep thoughtfulness in this vacuous, spiritless moment.
I don't want attention, but I wish I could get that feeling back that I (not as a person, but as specifically me in identity) am okay--but, I can't give myself that reassurance.
I fear this beer.
I hope for the future of this park with such negative attention.
Enough about me.
I am filled with sadness for him, anger for me, and exhaustion.
An elephant tests bamboo's durability. It isn't pliant.
But the sun still sets with beauty in this valley. There is still that.
I don't know who understands it since I can only appreciate it from this estranged context.
Is this a defining moment?
The light fades and conversation turns to beer prices, dinner, and cards.
But tears at my failures, at life's pain, are never far.
What is left?
(I apologize to my readers for the helter-skelter nature of this section. I wanted to depict some honesty of this moment in my life because it was rather humbling and perspective-shifting; I have edited out some of the more intense parts of this excerpt. I am open to sharing with those that are curious.)
***
02/03
Somehow, I find the way to spring out of bed despite yesterday and despite my self-loathing. As if I were thinking today begins a process of self-embetterment, I am eager to put the balls of my feet on the floor.
And now I truly accept that this day, like any other, is the first day of the rest of my life.
I encourage others to eat the deep-fried banana donuts on the buffet line.
***
02/04
I'm in no way surprised to hear I annoy some people with my levity and constant jukebox-style singing, but I am surprised to hear they have asked Ryan to ask me to "lock it up" as opposed to confronting me themselves. It does explain how cold and excluding they've been.
Now, the sun rises on my bok choy and fruit salad.
Last night, I find myself going shot-for-shot with a volunteer coordinator who treats me to "Chinese whiskey with herb."
-shoveling fertilizer
-a good shower
***
02/05
Back in a Chiang Mai alley, the world of free-roaming dogs and the events of the week seem distant. My last task at ENP involves me throwing melons from the back of a truck; I throw with both hands and feel like a wind-up toy.
Enjoying the colloquial expressions from England and Australia. Hesitance over two more weeks of travel.
Awareness of how the differences between Ryan and myself expose how much he has invested in China and how little I have left to keep me in China. Heat, mango lassis. Broken glass on the top of guard walls.
***
02/07
A relaxing massage. Waking up to the masseuse walking on my back. Finding out that a nurse at ENP I presumed to be older is actually younger; realizing I need to adjust my assumptions of age now that I am older.
I wake to the sound of construction and Ryan's mosquito net flapping in the oscillating fan's wind.
*
I freeze from AC during an extended intro to Buddhism and meditation. While in the jeepney-esque taxi to the retreat center, I doze in and out of sleep to the sound of overheard conversations: economic disparities in the US, "Jewddhas," and the stories of a girl who "fundraised" for this trip to Thailand.
Everyone changes into all white garb; Ryan observes how much this feels cultish--which I later experience when we participate in chanting meditation and a silent dinner.
1st meditation: discomfort in the seated position, following questions to answers and a calm mind, acknowledging emotion and investigating rather than blocking or eliminating, allowing thoughts, rhythm of walking. "Intending to turn." Do all paths equally and/or legitimately lead to peace?
Silent pad thai, sneaking an orange back to my room, not regretting my enjoyment of food that Theravada Buddhists would surely label as gluttonous, my belief we should spiritually connect with and revel in our food as a celebration of nature while being responsible and respectful consumers, realizing I am not a Buddhist but do identify with select teachings, enjoying unsweetened cocoa and washing troughs.
2nd meditation: begins with a resounding gong, courtyard walking, illuminated Buddhas (1 statue for each day of the week), difficulty focusing with mosquitoes and revving diesel engines, open eyes by accident and glance the stunning Norwegian with annoyingly good posture emphasizing how much of a distraction she is, thinking about lesson plans and next steps after China, considering mocchi, analyzing whether I enjoy teaching or am disillusioned with my current situation, wondering if I could teach elsewhere. Someone farts. Then someone snores. Then someone coughs. Meditative mind is lost.
Pineapple cookies, extra blanket as a robe, writing quietly in our room, wondering if anyone else is silent completely, sketching the floor tiles.
***
02/08
A resonating gong sounds until room lights are turned on at 5 am. I have my sneaked orange, some pineapple cookies, and a Nescafe.
Morning walking meditation (trance rhythm blocks environment and the awareness to the sun having risen), stretch, sitting meditation.
Breakfast rice porridge, a discussion with an Iranian tourist, offering alms to the monks.
A Q&A session lasts far too long. Some interesting questions about reincarnation and karmic carry-over between lives, free will versus predetermination, interplay with other religions since Buddhism is godless teachings about understanding and connection.
Conversation about reincarnation with Ryan makes us late to veggie-filled lunch.
Another trance during walking meditation as I rotate through repeating these:
1. right goes thus, left goes thus
2. stepping, treading
3. lifting, moving, treading
4. pattern
Eyelids not entirely shut, but nearly. Either briefly fell asleep or briefly had an out-of-body experience during sitting meditation.
Leisurely afternoon in Chiang Mai heat, a conversation with a friendly Aussie hosteler, kao soy.
*
Later, we get foot massages. My masseuse flirts shamelessly: "My name Tuk Tuk...you want ride?" Her hands massage my thighs, and she gives me insinuating eyebrows. Four Dutch women walk-in and wait on a couch. They know that Tuk Tuk is the best masseuse there. Tuk Tuk talks about her two children and wanting to share some of the Dutch girl's ass-size.
Loud hostelers blare music from a portable speaker; a Leo beer and maligning that Tsingtao doesn't come close to comparing.
Questioning negative feelings of self (shame over mistakes, fear of failure, anger at mistakes) and coming to just a fraction of resolution (everyone makes mistakes and are defined more by how they respond and learn, failure leads to refining expectations and identity in terms of ability, all that ever was possible or not is less relevant, as it has led to here and now and me as I am--what is here and on is of defining relevance).
Truly realizing that this will be my last year in China for this go-around; accepting how necessary forward movement is; seeing how the current manifestation of teaching is creative and engaging but does not allow me to be myself.
Missing the Jewish community.
A cat is naturally drawn to Ryan.
***
02/11
We get charged a BS fee for "early check-in."
I recline on all white linen and a pillow borrowed from an unused dorm bed; staring at the patterns of the wood above, I piece together a day's recollections.
-gooey noodle lunch, excess pepper (as usual, a mistake of my own making) for less than $1
-heat and humidity of Bangkok, relief of Siam Paragon Mall and a movie, popcorn covered in bullion
-cold Air Train, night markets, salmon fritters with tamarind sauce, a Valentine's Day themed restaurant, conversation about relationships, Ryan steps on trash that squirts unidentified sauce all over my leg, we reminisce about good quotes from the past month
-rough dreams barely remembered but for a few fleeting sensory based inklings
I'm glad to have spent this month with Ryan. Still, I am eager to begin my week of solo travel to Cambodia--just as I am eager to start taking the next steps in my life.
*
I let Jamiroquai and the AC wash over me, staring at the backs of Thais. The bus makes an almost comical sigh each time the driver releases the brake pedal. A baby hands what looks to be a peach-flavored lollipop to another crying baby, who instantly shows gratitude by corking her own mouth. The man next to me has a very defined facial structure: the skin hugs his temples so tightly, I'm reminded of the elephants' facial bone structure. The dark skin over his rigid cheekbones looks oily and sweaty from a lifetime of overexposure to the sun. He locks his hands on his lap and stares ahead; I wonder if he's even slightly annoyed at my askance glances.
There are officially so many people on the bus to the Cambodian border that the aisles are full--with at least an hour-and-fifteen minutes left.
The cowbells of "Love Foolosophy" mock me.
*
The bus makes enough stops to delay my arrival by a full hour-and-a-half:
-shady border crossing: dropped by bus, walk through a market, follow falling signs, someone says "this way border," a smiley Cambodian visa guard asking for "100 Baht fee" because I did not pre-arrange my visa, reluctantly paying what I know is going straight to his pocket, "800 Baht friendly fee," I laugh this off and swat him away; he moves to a back room of men laughing while pasting and stamping what I'm sure is a flimsy visa
-it is a flimsy visa; taxi flags me down, "Lee Swiegel?" I smell my unfortunate odor; long, dark, quiet two-hour ride to Siem Reap.
-Dutch Anna welcomes me with blue eyes and stories of working indefinitely as part of her travels; gorgeous budget guesthouse, first perfect shower in a long time, beer and amok in lobby; I consider making a move on Anna, but I consider my curry first.
-delicious curry, enjoying the feel of a new (scent untainted) shirt, allowing the Angkor Beers soothe after a long and obnoxious day of travel--the kind to which I've grown numb with so many of them and so much experience with particularly bad travel
***
02/12
I finish ordering both breakfast and lunch for a combined total of $10.
-Settling in to a comfy bed, watching movies, growing accustomed to an unfamiliar quiet, disrupted sleep with scattered and unremembered dreams
-Casual wake-up from snoozed samba phone alarm, sunblock, guidebooks
*
In the shade of the forest surrounding Preah Palilay, I pause for a cheese sandwich.
-Pleasure of cycling solo, massive complex attracts massive hordes of tourists, Angkor Thom, shots of action and faces in the reliefs, snaking way into and up temples, hours of fascination
-Planning water breaks to relieve exhaustion, marveling at how incredible an undertaking the construction was if I am this tired from just touring, reapplying sunscreen and crushing liters of water
-Forgoing style to wear zip-off pant shorts and a Papa-style shammy, circadian rhythms and intriguing bird calls (low croaks blend with long whistles)
-Pineapple vendors, solemn but smiling opportunists ask for incense donations around every temple corner, a boy follows me to practice his English and offer additional insight into the decaying sculptures of Buddha and kings and Hindu gods
*
Exhaustion begins to cloud the memory, rearranging the order of events and obscuring important details.
-Recollections of Karnak, Luxor, and the Valley of the Kings; wondering how many more stops I have on the Indiana Jones tour
-Cycling through the heat, boiling seat burns my bum
-Preah Kahm, timing a picture with the massive tree growing through and supporting the temple's balustrades, annoyance with other travelers who don't know how to take a good photo, constant cross-reference with Angkor by Dawn Rooney
-Neak Pream, tip-tap band, girl in hammock, long dock to cordoned-off temple (surrounded by a stone snake and a large pond), smelling own foulness
-Ta Som, vocalizing thoughts on China and teaching, realizing more and more how I would enjoy a different project with similar aims, needing to ask others about law school and other studies, exchanging "maybe yes" and "maybe no" with a cute bracelet seller, maligning that it's difficult to take childrens' photos without feeling like I'm taking advantage of them.
*
I patiently wait for a mixed fruit lassi and decipher a local's advice about visiting a conservation center.
-A stupidly long bike ride back, still reeking after a shower
***
02/13
Two monks bedecked in orange tunics stroll by, and I try to muster the focus, this morning, to write.
-Cleaning my e-mail reminds me of how technological aides become burdens, $1 tuk-tuk to Pub Street, thumping basses and deep lights notify this is the foreigner hang-out, part of me wants this interaction but mostly just glad to visit
-Delaying sleep for some reason, disrupted and unremembered dreams leave me on-edge and tired when I wake, debating today's routes through the remaining sections of the Angkor complex
*
I do feel silly turning the page on my life in China. I am passing on a phenomenal opportunity to travel, to learn, and to develop. At the same time, I value reestablishing the relationships I've let strain.
I sense my guilt over frittering this chance to see and do the things I may not be able to again for some time (if ever) stems from a sense of social obligation to go, to see, to do. But what I want and need now are:
-a change from the constant strains of being foreign
-a different creative outlet that inspires me
-my friends and family
-Jewish community
*
I take refuge in the stone-cooled shade of an alcove behind a broken Buddha at the top of Ta Keo.
-Temple hopping on "the small circuit", giant wasps, only brief salutations with other travelers offer the opportunity to talk, appreciating the truth that experiences are better when they're shared with friends and loved ones
-Roasted veggie salad with pesto, overlooking ziggurats, hearing the buzz of a large insect without seeing it
-Ever-increasing awareness of how not cool I am
*
-Finishing "the small circuit," the power of nature, the jungle overtaking ruins and reclaiming territory, 100's-of-years-old banyan growing out of temple stones, bracelet from a bald woman who gives me incense to light for Buddha, palm-together nod-bow, "Go Blue" to a fellow Michigan alum, fatigue shortens the day
***
02/14
Norah Jones plays in the bar and reminds me that it is another Valentine's Day without a significant other.
-Feeling uncomfortable about drunken Anna's awkward advances.
-Stroll around Pub Street and see non-sweaty versions of all the fellow Angkor visitors, curry and two beers (Black Leopard Stout and BeerLao) at Angkor Famous for $4.50 (plus free popcorn); narrow alley with stone street, red tablecloths, seating self as soon as a table opens, oscillating fans that 100% work half the time, laminated menus, waiters practicing English by repeating your order every time they walk by
-BeerLao and a foot massage, excess icy hot on my calves, funny and even flirtatious male masseuse
As I fall asleep, I take note of how ready I am to be near loved ones again. I once thought or supposed part of making myself and developing involved forging-out alone and distancing my family; now I truly realize that there would be nothing wrong with valuing and prioritizing my family and old friendships. I'm ready to move forward, to be done doing whatever I'm currently doing.
*
Siem Reap isn't a particularly beautiful place, but it is a decidedly lazy place. My original three nights have become five. I jot out my remaining itinerary.
***
02/15
-Joint pain during exercise and biking makes me anxious about aging, Mexican dinner (a drunk guy dancing, glad food illness doesn't ensue from Mexican food in Cambodia)
-Waiting for tuk-tuk driver to get directions, plastic chairs at street-side BBQ, $1 for a beer and 15 minutes with my feet in a fish tank where the fish eat my dead skin
-Waking exhausted after being terrorized by a mosquito
*
-Bumpy tuk-tuk to overhyped but still noteworthy Banteay Srei, on to 1 mile hike at Kbal Spean, quiet reflections by a creek waterfall, lesson plans
*
-Long tuk-tuk ride back, stop for fuel (stored in glass bottles in oversized mailboxes at rickety shacks along the roadside), driver asleep in restaurant's hammock, wondering why tuk-tuks aren't popular in America
-Hauling ass to see sun set at Angkor Wat, fading light explores each crack of the outer gallery, Mandarin in the distance, red dragonflies and water-striders, rippling water always reminds me of Monet
***
02/16
I'm generally unimpressed with Phnom Phen, but I'm not disappointed, let-down, or upset: it is what I heard and expected it to be. It is a brief mention as a lay-over.
-VIP bus feels very unimportant, smelly seat partner, AC breaks, roadside stops for unspecified times, lunch with two US park workers and a Swede while keeping one eye always on the bus to make sure it doesn't leave without us
-Traffic noise, hot streets, solicitations (tuk-tuks, motos, "smoke," bar, sex), fried snail cart, orange-ginger-pineapple-yogurt smoothie at "riverside" restaurant that has constant traffic between its door and the river
I know I'm ready to be done traveling because of my lack of motivation to see anymore sites.
Rain in the tropics does not cool the temperature; rain in the tropics bolsters the humidity bubble.
Movies, Books, Music, T.V.: The Adventures of Tin Tin, Stark Trek, Chico and Rita, 50/50, Quantum of Solace, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, Miles Davis, Jamiroquai, Undun by The Roots.
 |
| Eyes of the ele |
01/28
I slept terribly last night; I woke repeatedly to mosquitoes biting my face. At least they weren't bed bugs.
Our cubby in our train car sleeps four passengers. Coincidentally, I bump into a fellow alum from my childhood summer camp--he sleeps two-cubbies-down.
01/29
"Good morneen," the car manager calls as she walks the aisle. "Brekfest fifteen minoots."
I slide open my lower berth's curtains. The air-con reasserts its unforgettable presence without the poor shield that was the curtain; I've been freezing for the nearly nine hours of Benadryl-clouded sleep. At some point in the night, I wake to put on my flannel; the cotton blanket does not match the pillow in comfort-level.
While eating my rice soup with chicken, I join our cubby's roommates (a body-odor-plagued French couple) in watching the hills covered in tropical forest--not quite rainforest. We rumble past a pineapple orchard, and I wonder if I'm not stationary while everything crashes past.
*
"There are so many Jews, though," He responds to my explanation of "Jewish geography." "I know tons of Jews."
I think: "Next time, maybe say the whole word." Instead, I offer, "You may, but we are only .01% of the world's population. We just make a big impression." Like the other times I've made this comment, I can sense he's thinking about "Jews" and "big." The hairs on my neck stand, but I hope he doesn't go where I know others do.
"People used to think I was Jewish," this would be relieving if I hadn't heard this story from him before, "because my nose is big." I cringe; he's on the upper berth, so he can't see the impact his comment has on me.
"Well, as you can see, not all Jewish people have big noses," I seethe and reference myself.
"I know--" he continues with genuinely good intentions. I realize the fault is not his for how his mind made that association; I cannot fault someone for how their mind involuntarily functions. But I am quietly angry that the association is so natural for so many people--I even made the association as a defensive strategy before he spoke.
As we bump and shake into Chiang Mai, I wonder if there is any amount of awareness or education that could mend the mind from preconsciously making these sorts of associations. I have sensed my Jewish pride reestablishing itself after a few years of distanced questioning.
"Chiang Mai ten meenit," a porter slaps the car walls. I suddenly remember my Malaria prophylaxis.
Time to stop writing and reawaken Ryan.
*
The cloud of a late afternoon nap peels away as the words of this sentence fall out of my mind and onto the page. I am easily distracted by the conversations of other backpackers on the communal wood bed in the hostel's front yard.
"--so many people--"
"--spending all my money on transport--"
"--you bungee jump--"
"--night market for scarves--"
"--lovely pastries--"
"--others can take your picture, but the DVD follows you all the way up--"
A guy next to me Skypes on his iPhone. Two blond girls dressed-to-the-nines pop-off helmets and power-down scooters.
Ryan and I enjoy the local curry (kao soy) and several hands of Rummy.
***
01/30
After much delay, my van heads out to Elephant Nature Park. My bag isn't in our van, but I am assured it will follow within the hour--I hope within the fortnight. Coincidentally, I strike-up a conversation with a University of Michigan Law School graduate just as the Animal Planet documentary that inspired Ryan and I to volunteer at ENP begins playing on the van's television.
"Thailand is just 3/4 the size of Texas." I laugh at this voice-over: Is there anything more American than measuring the rest of the world in Texases?
I am distracted from our guide's introduction. Large groups of black-and-white starling-like birds flutter around the street. I tune back into the guide's speech as he explains that they are working on fundraising to buy more elephants out of poor conditions as well as to buy the rest of the land in the valley where the park hides: "If you support our mission, please visit the gift shop."
*
I observe the benefit of a trunk while I feed cassavas, melons, and bananas to the eles.Familiarizing with the rest of the herd of volunteers.
Washing elephants in the laziest river I have ever seen. Getting washed by other volunteers' errant water-bucket tosses. Elephant shit floating all around us.
Meeting Lek, the founder. Feeling as if it is a privilege to meet someone with so much influence. She invites Ryan and me to help feed the black bear at ENP. She encourages us to find the slow loris at night.
Bare-foot footie with mahouts (elephant guides), avoiding elephant pats and divots, game ends with the ball popping on a barbed wire.
***
01/31
Just beyond the ant-covered teak riser, two elephants graze until a white truck with a sheet metal protected bed backs into a shelter. The eles about-face, seemingly in the hope of beginning the day's continuous snacking. Further out--past a four-foot barbed wire restraining-fence that would, realistically, pose little challenge to an elephant--two more graze. One of the latter has a broken hip from harsh training years ago (perhaps dislodged and as yet unreset); each lumbering step involves much dragging, apparent pain, and the hip bone testing the skin's ability to retain.
Elephant blasts at 4 am followed by bouts of 140-dog-powered howls.
A shoelace breaks. I cauterize the end of it.
*
When I return to the chair from whence I last wrote, two of the +140 dogs at ENP are napping under the aluminum awning. With just enough room on my wooden chair for my tea, I watch tourists and kids on a field trip walk the grounds. A shaved dog nibbles at its dermatitis-plagued skin.
My nails are stained yellow, and I question how long the Band aid over the unroofed blister on my palm will last--both are souvenirs from this morning's chores involving macheteing pumpkins for the elephants. Sneezing excessively. Mahout's Burmese grunts.Food prep: washing 2.5 tons of pumpkins and watermelons, machete-chopping while discussing my general lack of direction, tossing pumpkins out of a truck until my lower back insists I stop.
An elephant uses its front foot as an escalator for his mahout. He gets a bunch of bananas as a "thank you."
A blind elephant feels her way to the platform with her trunk acting like a walking stick. The simple pleasure of watching a liberated and happy elephant saunter to the feeding area.
Ryan jumps at the opportunity to feed gourds to the elephants. His sketches are much better than mine.
***
02/01
We wait in a conference room; soon, Lek will speak over the sounds of chopping.
Cold, dribbly shower.
Used, dirty shirt and hat; two left hand gloves. Finding a rhythm with the machete as I chop corn, make piles of crop, and enjoy a conversation with a set-designer.
My shoulders fatigue while loading bundles of corn and razor-sharp grass into the back of a truck. One of the volunteer coordinators jokes with us: He unintentionally pegs another volunteer in the side of the head with a softly thrown corn cob. We ride thirty minutes back to ENP on top of a pile of corn and grass.
I have a conversation about my understanding of food justice with a loud, slightly drunk ex-Marine.
Lek shares horrifying stories about elephant abuse (involving traditional training methods and breeding techniques).
02/02
I shake my head at two dogs patiently and quietly waiting for me to sympathetically offer a piece of my breakfast.
Moving firewood. First good shower of the week. Dinner buffet of diverse veggies.
Sleep interrupted by howls, trumpets, and snores.
Cows graze, dogs fight.
I can't help but watch our volunteer herd like I saw the Namibian volunteer pack; there are small families within our herd of volunteers, but we all play our roles within the daily dramas.
Every morning, I don my "morning dirt" shirt and filthy zip-off pants; after lunch, I switch to the "afternoon dirt"shirt. The former has more food and crop remains; the latter, more elephant feces. Both were once white t's.
*
Staring into those familiar eyes, all I see are vapid patterns. Hollow exteriors of a foreigner.
There was nothing I could do after 5, 7, 10 minutes.
The lines of washed hair remind me of the running water, my need to dry and allow another to use the communal shower. Still, soap suds remain in the furthest wisps of my beard that I no longer know why I grow.
Anger. Self-inflicted and self-directed.
Dog barks and flustered faces.
Knowing the consequence of oxygen deprivation.
Knowing my weakness of character.
2 mahouts walking back at sunset: long day and one fewer.
A beer and smiles, but sad heart at the revealed truth.
Another beer and a dodged cigarette.
Ryan doesn't understand my anger at myself. He doesn't hear my thoughts about a young man working abroad, being away from his loved ones when he unexpectedly became a tragedy.
That illusion of peace as I pet a dozing elephant's forehead while a man doesn't know how to swim.
Was I sprinting or just running?
Elephants graze, dogs play, and I'm stuck criticizing myself for cliched writing.
The elephant faces a mountain
motionless.
But his trunk flinches.
I yearn for his deep thoughtfulness in this vacuous, spiritless moment.
I don't want attention, but I wish I could get that feeling back that I (not as a person, but as specifically me in identity) am okay--but, I can't give myself that reassurance.
I fear this beer.
I hope for the future of this park with such negative attention.
Enough about me.
I am filled with sadness for him, anger for me, and exhaustion.
An elephant tests bamboo's durability. It isn't pliant.
But the sun still sets with beauty in this valley. There is still that.
I don't know who understands it since I can only appreciate it from this estranged context.
Is this a defining moment?
The light fades and conversation turns to beer prices, dinner, and cards.
But tears at my failures, at life's pain, are never far.
What is left?
(I apologize to my readers for the helter-skelter nature of this section. I wanted to depict some honesty of this moment in my life because it was rather humbling and perspective-shifting; I have edited out some of the more intense parts of this excerpt. I am open to sharing with those that are curious.)
***
02/03
Somehow, I find the way to spring out of bed despite yesterday and despite my self-loathing. As if I were thinking today begins a process of self-embetterment, I am eager to put the balls of my feet on the floor.
And now I truly accept that this day, like any other, is the first day of the rest of my life.
I encourage others to eat the deep-fried banana donuts on the buffet line.
***
02/04
I'm in no way surprised to hear I annoy some people with my levity and constant jukebox-style singing, but I am surprised to hear they have asked Ryan to ask me to "lock it up" as opposed to confronting me themselves. It does explain how cold and excluding they've been.
Now, the sun rises on my bok choy and fruit salad.
Last night, I find myself going shot-for-shot with a volunteer coordinator who treats me to "Chinese whiskey with herb."
-shoveling fertilizer
-a good shower
***
02/05
Back in a Chiang Mai alley, the world of free-roaming dogs and the events of the week seem distant. My last task at ENP involves me throwing melons from the back of a truck; I throw with both hands and feel like a wind-up toy.
Enjoying the colloquial expressions from England and Australia. Hesitance over two more weeks of travel.
Awareness of how the differences between Ryan and myself expose how much he has invested in China and how little I have left to keep me in China. Heat, mango lassis. Broken glass on the top of guard walls.
***
02/07
A relaxing massage. Waking up to the masseuse walking on my back. Finding out that a nurse at ENP I presumed to be older is actually younger; realizing I need to adjust my assumptions of age now that I am older.
I wake to the sound of construction and Ryan's mosquito net flapping in the oscillating fan's wind.
*
I freeze from AC during an extended intro to Buddhism and meditation. While in the jeepney-esque taxi to the retreat center, I doze in and out of sleep to the sound of overheard conversations: economic disparities in the US, "Jewddhas," and the stories of a girl who "fundraised" for this trip to Thailand.
Everyone changes into all white garb; Ryan observes how much this feels cultish--which I later experience when we participate in chanting meditation and a silent dinner.
1st meditation: discomfort in the seated position, following questions to answers and a calm mind, acknowledging emotion and investigating rather than blocking or eliminating, allowing thoughts, rhythm of walking. "Intending to turn." Do all paths equally and/or legitimately lead to peace?
Silent pad thai, sneaking an orange back to my room, not regretting my enjoyment of food that Theravada Buddhists would surely label as gluttonous, my belief we should spiritually connect with and revel in our food as a celebration of nature while being responsible and respectful consumers, realizing I am not a Buddhist but do identify with select teachings, enjoying unsweetened cocoa and washing troughs.2nd meditation: begins with a resounding gong, courtyard walking, illuminated Buddhas (1 statue for each day of the week), difficulty focusing with mosquitoes and revving diesel engines, open eyes by accident and glance the stunning Norwegian with annoyingly good posture emphasizing how much of a distraction she is, thinking about lesson plans and next steps after China, considering mocchi, analyzing whether I enjoy teaching or am disillusioned with my current situation, wondering if I could teach elsewhere. Someone farts. Then someone snores. Then someone coughs. Meditative mind is lost.
Pineapple cookies, extra blanket as a robe, writing quietly in our room, wondering if anyone else is silent completely, sketching the floor tiles.
***
02/08
A resonating gong sounds until room lights are turned on at 5 am. I have my sneaked orange, some pineapple cookies, and a Nescafe.
Morning walking meditation (trance rhythm blocks environment and the awareness to the sun having risen), stretch, sitting meditation.
Breakfast rice porridge, a discussion with an Iranian tourist, offering alms to the monks.
A Q&A session lasts far too long. Some interesting questions about reincarnation and karmic carry-over between lives, free will versus predetermination, interplay with other religions since Buddhism is godless teachings about understanding and connection.
Conversation about reincarnation with Ryan makes us late to veggie-filled lunch.
Another trance during walking meditation as I rotate through repeating these:
1. right goes thus, left goes thus
2. stepping, treading
3. lifting, moving, treading
4. pattern
Eyelids not entirely shut, but nearly. Either briefly fell asleep or briefly had an out-of-body experience during sitting meditation.
Leisurely afternoon in Chiang Mai heat, a conversation with a friendly Aussie hosteler, kao soy.
*
Later, we get foot massages. My masseuse flirts shamelessly: "My name Tuk Tuk...you want ride?" Her hands massage my thighs, and she gives me insinuating eyebrows. Four Dutch women walk-in and wait on a couch. They know that Tuk Tuk is the best masseuse there. Tuk Tuk talks about her two children and wanting to share some of the Dutch girl's ass-size.
Loud hostelers blare music from a portable speaker; a Leo beer and maligning that Tsingtao doesn't come close to comparing.
Questioning negative feelings of self (shame over mistakes, fear of failure, anger at mistakes) and coming to just a fraction of resolution (everyone makes mistakes and are defined more by how they respond and learn, failure leads to refining expectations and identity in terms of ability, all that ever was possible or not is less relevant, as it has led to here and now and me as I am--what is here and on is of defining relevance).
Truly realizing that this will be my last year in China for this go-around; accepting how necessary forward movement is; seeing how the current manifestation of teaching is creative and engaging but does not allow me to be myself.
Missing the Jewish community.
A cat is naturally drawn to Ryan.
***
02/11
We get charged a BS fee for "early check-in."
I recline on all white linen and a pillow borrowed from an unused dorm bed; staring at the patterns of the wood above, I piece together a day's recollections.
-gooey noodle lunch, excess pepper (as usual, a mistake of my own making) for less than $1
-heat and humidity of Bangkok, relief of Siam Paragon Mall and a movie, popcorn covered in bullion
-cold Air Train, night markets, salmon fritters with tamarind sauce, a Valentine's Day themed restaurant, conversation about relationships, Ryan steps on trash that squirts unidentified sauce all over my leg, we reminisce about good quotes from the past month
-rough dreams barely remembered but for a few fleeting sensory based inklings
I'm glad to have spent this month with Ryan. Still, I am eager to begin my week of solo travel to Cambodia--just as I am eager to start taking the next steps in my life.
 |
| Smile. You're in Cambodia. |
I let Jamiroquai and the AC wash over me, staring at the backs of Thais. The bus makes an almost comical sigh each time the driver releases the brake pedal. A baby hands what looks to be a peach-flavored lollipop to another crying baby, who instantly shows gratitude by corking her own mouth. The man next to me has a very defined facial structure: the skin hugs his temples so tightly, I'm reminded of the elephants' facial bone structure. The dark skin over his rigid cheekbones looks oily and sweaty from a lifetime of overexposure to the sun. He locks his hands on his lap and stares ahead; I wonder if he's even slightly annoyed at my askance glances.
There are officially so many people on the bus to the Cambodian border that the aisles are full--with at least an hour-and-fifteen minutes left.
The cowbells of "Love Foolosophy" mock me.
*
The bus makes enough stops to delay my arrival by a full hour-and-a-half:
-shady border crossing: dropped by bus, walk through a market, follow falling signs, someone says "this way border," a smiley Cambodian visa guard asking for "100 Baht fee" because I did not pre-arrange my visa, reluctantly paying what I know is going straight to his pocket, "800 Baht friendly fee," I laugh this off and swat him away; he moves to a back room of men laughing while pasting and stamping what I'm sure is a flimsy visa
-it is a flimsy visa; taxi flags me down, "Lee Swiegel?" I smell my unfortunate odor; long, dark, quiet two-hour ride to Siem Reap.
-Dutch Anna welcomes me with blue eyes and stories of working indefinitely as part of her travels; gorgeous budget guesthouse, first perfect shower in a long time, beer and amok in lobby; I consider making a move on Anna, but I consider my curry first.
-delicious curry, enjoying the feel of a new (scent untainted) shirt, allowing the Angkor Beers soothe after a long and obnoxious day of travel--the kind to which I've grown numb with so many of them and so much experience with particularly bad travel
***
02/12
I finish ordering both breakfast and lunch for a combined total of $10.
-Settling in to a comfy bed, watching movies, growing accustomed to an unfamiliar quiet, disrupted sleep with scattered and unremembered dreams
-Casual wake-up from snoozed samba phone alarm, sunblock, guidebooks
*
In the shade of the forest surrounding Preah Palilay, I pause for a cheese sandwich.
-Pleasure of cycling solo, massive complex attracts massive hordes of tourists, Angkor Thom, shots of action and faces in the reliefs, snaking way into and up temples, hours of fascination
-Planning water breaks to relieve exhaustion, marveling at how incredible an undertaking the construction was if I am this tired from just touring, reapplying sunscreen and crushing liters of water
-Forgoing style to wear zip-off pant shorts and a Papa-style shammy, circadian rhythms and intriguing bird calls (low croaks blend with long whistles)
-Pineapple vendors, solemn but smiling opportunists ask for incense donations around every temple corner, a boy follows me to practice his English and offer additional insight into the decaying sculptures of Buddha and kings and Hindu gods
*
Exhaustion begins to cloud the memory, rearranging the order of events and obscuring important details.
-Recollections of Karnak, Luxor, and the Valley of the Kings; wondering how many more stops I have on the Indiana Jones tour-Cycling through the heat, boiling seat burns my bum
-Preah Kahm, timing a picture with the massive tree growing through and supporting the temple's balustrades, annoyance with other travelers who don't know how to take a good photo, constant cross-reference with Angkor by Dawn Rooney
-Neak Pream, tip-tap band, girl in hammock, long dock to cordoned-off temple (surrounded by a stone snake and a large pond), smelling own foulness
-Ta Som, vocalizing thoughts on China and teaching, realizing more and more how I would enjoy a different project with similar aims, needing to ask others about law school and other studies, exchanging "maybe yes" and "maybe no" with a cute bracelet seller, maligning that it's difficult to take childrens' photos without feeling like I'm taking advantage of them.
*
I patiently wait for a mixed fruit lassi and decipher a local's advice about visiting a conservation center.
-A stupidly long bike ride back, still reeking after a shower
***
02/13
Two monks bedecked in orange tunics stroll by, and I try to muster the focus, this morning, to write.
-Cleaning my e-mail reminds me of how technological aides become burdens, $1 tuk-tuk to Pub Street, thumping basses and deep lights notify this is the foreigner hang-out, part of me wants this interaction but mostly just glad to visit
-Delaying sleep for some reason, disrupted and unremembered dreams leave me on-edge and tired when I wake, debating today's routes through the remaining sections of the Angkor complex
*
I do feel silly turning the page on my life in China. I am passing on a phenomenal opportunity to travel, to learn, and to develop. At the same time, I value reestablishing the relationships I've let strain.
I sense my guilt over frittering this chance to see and do the things I may not be able to again for some time (if ever) stems from a sense of social obligation to go, to see, to do. But what I want and need now are:
-a change from the constant strains of being foreign
-a different creative outlet that inspires me
-my friends and family
-Jewish community
*
I take refuge in the stone-cooled shade of an alcove behind a broken Buddha at the top of Ta Keo.
-Temple hopping on "the small circuit", giant wasps, only brief salutations with other travelers offer the opportunity to talk, appreciating the truth that experiences are better when they're shared with friends and loved ones
-Roasted veggie salad with pesto, overlooking ziggurats, hearing the buzz of a large insect without seeing it
-Ever-increasing awareness of how not cool I am
*
-Finishing "the small circuit," the power of nature, the jungle overtaking ruins and reclaiming territory, 100's-of-years-old banyan growing out of temple stones, bracelet from a bald woman who gives me incense to light for Buddha, palm-together nod-bow, "Go Blue" to a fellow Michigan alum, fatigue shortens the day
***
02/14
Norah Jones plays in the bar and reminds me that it is another Valentine's Day without a significant other.
-Feeling uncomfortable about drunken Anna's awkward advances.
-Stroll around Pub Street and see non-sweaty versions of all the fellow Angkor visitors, curry and two beers (Black Leopard Stout and BeerLao) at Angkor Famous for $4.50 (plus free popcorn); narrow alley with stone street, red tablecloths, seating self as soon as a table opens, oscillating fans that 100% work half the time, laminated menus, waiters practicing English by repeating your order every time they walk by
-BeerLao and a foot massage, excess icy hot on my calves, funny and even flirtatious male masseuse
As I fall asleep, I take note of how ready I am to be near loved ones again. I once thought or supposed part of making myself and developing involved forging-out alone and distancing my family; now I truly realize that there would be nothing wrong with valuing and prioritizing my family and old friendships. I'm ready to move forward, to be done doing whatever I'm currently doing.
*
Siem Reap isn't a particularly beautiful place, but it is a decidedly lazy place. My original three nights have become five. I jot out my remaining itinerary.
 |
| Just because the cab is full doesn't mean you can't power nap. |
02/15
-Joint pain during exercise and biking makes me anxious about aging, Mexican dinner (a drunk guy dancing, glad food illness doesn't ensue from Mexican food in Cambodia)
-Waiting for tuk-tuk driver to get directions, plastic chairs at street-side BBQ, $1 for a beer and 15 minutes with my feet in a fish tank where the fish eat my dead skin
-Waking exhausted after being terrorized by a mosquito
*
-Bumpy tuk-tuk to overhyped but still noteworthy Banteay Srei, on to 1 mile hike at Kbal Spean, quiet reflections by a creek waterfall, lesson plans
*
-Long tuk-tuk ride back, stop for fuel (stored in glass bottles in oversized mailboxes at rickety shacks along the roadside), driver asleep in restaurant's hammock, wondering why tuk-tuks aren't popular in America
-Hauling ass to see sun set at Angkor Wat, fading light explores each crack of the outer gallery, Mandarin in the distance, red dragonflies and water-striders, rippling water always reminds me of Monet
***
02/16
I'm generally unimpressed with Phnom Phen, but I'm not disappointed, let-down, or upset: it is what I heard and expected it to be. It is a brief mention as a lay-over.
-VIP bus feels very unimportant, smelly seat partner, AC breaks, roadside stops for unspecified times, lunch with two US park workers and a Swede while keeping one eye always on the bus to make sure it doesn't leave without us
-Traffic noise, hot streets, solicitations (tuk-tuks, motos, "smoke," bar, sex), fried snail cart, orange-ginger-pineapple-yogurt smoothie at "riverside" restaurant that has constant traffic between its door and the river
I know I'm ready to be done traveling because of my lack of motivation to see anymore sites.
Rain in the tropics does not cool the temperature; rain in the tropics bolsters the humidity bubble.
Movies, Books, Music, T.V.: The Adventures of Tin Tin, Stark Trek, Chico and Rita, 50/50, Quantum of Solace, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, Miles Davis, Jamiroquai, Undun by The Roots.
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