Saigon

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Angkor Wat

It seemed to me that where ever I heard about Angkor Wat it mentions the wonder that was Angkor Wat during sunrise. Even a good friend of mine (an expat living in Vietnam) made a point to describe how the world’s largest religious structure appeared to him as he witnessed the first morning rays reflect on Angkor Wat.

My little velcro wristwatch began to beep at five in the morning. I tumble my way into some clothes and then tumble out of my hostel room. I manage to make my way to the lobby. Outside, I find Ratanan already waiting for with his motorbike puttering.

Ratanan, a clean-cut Cambodian in his mid twenties, is my driver and guide. I met Ratanan by chance. When traveling, everyone you meet is “by chance”. As a moto-taxi driver, it was Ratanan’s turn for a customer when I stepped out of the airport. It did not take the exchange of too many words to settle on a price for him to drive me to and within the temples Angkor Wat.

The ride to Angkor Wat takes us through the quiet ghost-town of what will be the city of Siem Reap once the sun rises. The darkness is creepy. My eyes try hard to make sense of all of the turns through town. We arrive at the temple complex where the chatter of tourists began to replace the quietness of the early morning.

Ratanan pulls up to the steps leading up the main temple at Angkor Wat. I pull out my little key-chain flashlight and begin to walk down the stone path towards the darkness of the temple. I find myself an almost perfect spot by one of the pools. I can sit down to watch the great spectacle and snap some good-enough-to-frame photos. I begin to see the darkness of the sky fade away and I wait. I wait.

The rainy season of Southeast Asia brings, well, rain. The rain is accompanied by large dark clouds and overcast skies. Unfortunately, this morning was no different. The beautiful scenery I have heard about like a legend will remain that way for me, or at least until next time I visit the temples of Angkor Wat. Nevertheless, watching the early morning mist fade over Angkor Wat has been an experience I will never forget.

This entry is part of a series of posts on my trip to Southeast Asia in August of 2008. You can see all of the posts in this series the post: A look back to my trip to Southeast Asia.

The Thai Islands

I slip my feet into the swim-fins and pull the tabs to tighten them on my feet. First the left, then the right. I waddle my way to the edge of the boat with my new aquatic appendages. I place the mask over my eyes and bite the mouthpiece of the snorkel. I hear a voice behind me telling me it’s clear to jump. I jump.

Millions of little air bubbles surround me as I splash into the water. As the bubbles fade I lift my head out of the water and sharply exhale to get the water out of the snorkel tube. I put my face back into the water as I swim away from the boat making way for the next person.

Underwater there is a silence unlike any other. It’s as if someone turns the volume down and the only sound to hear are the air bubbles. The silence brings a tranquility that is difficult to describe. I have seen footage of fish and coral underwater before and it is nothing compared to the experience of swimming with the fish. Countless specifies of fish in crystal clear waters surround me. It is almost as if they notice me moving about and they swim and dance just to show off their beautiful vibrant colors. A well choreographed show just for me.

Off of the coast of Ko Tao, the coral that the fish swim in and out of, the “Japanese Garden” as the guides referred to them, is really a lot like a giant underwater sculpture. The forms, shapes and colors seem to be molded together by nature’s precise hand. Varying brush strokes give the coral an amazing texture, unique to each little piece. It’s as if mother nature wants us to see a great work of art – one that represents the beauty of nature itself.

This entry is part of a series of posts on my trip to Southeast Asia in August of 2008. You can see all of the posts in this series the post: A look back to my trip to Southeast Asia.

Trekking in Chiang Rai

I feel the spray of the monsoon-swollen waterfalls on my face. The Houy Keaw waterfalls roars all around the large boulder where we take a moment to appreciate magnificence nature, well, not Mr. Bean, he is napping.  I close my eyes and just listen. I think to myself how just this morning we were guests in a Lahu village atop one of the many mountains in northern Thailand. Extending from the bamboo house where we slept a large bamboo deck presented me one of the most beautiful views i have ever seen: the morning fog drifted over the mountains barely touching the trees that dress the mountains in a gorgeous jungle green while the pinks and oranges dance through the clouds.

Mr. Bean calls me over. We are on day two of a three-day trek in the jungles of Chiang Rai province and our charming guide, nick-named Mr. Bean, reminds us its time to continue to an Akha village nearby. My mind begins to wander again as I pick up my backpack. I think about all that has happened so far in the last couple of days. I think about the sad faces of the elephants. I think of the leech that made it’s way into Davide’s sock. I think of how strong the waterfall current was and how I was afraid of swimming too close to the edge. I make my way across the bamboo bridge leaving behind the waterfall and looking forward to what the rest of the day may bring.

This entry is part of a series of posts on my trip to Southeast Asia in August of 2008. You can see all of the posts in this series the post: A look back to my trip to Southeast Asia.

Orphanage

It’s barely six o’clock in the morning and I begin to hear the hustle and bustle of thirty children getting ready to go to school. I stumble my way out of the mosquito net that surrounds the bed. The bed is made up of two or three long cushions that are usually placed on a wooden frame. In this case, a handful of cushions have been stacked on each other on the concrete floor. The rainy season and the leaky metal roof has made it so they are damp and sometimes smell of mold.

The noise outside continues as I reach for my glasses and peek out the door across the courtyard where the kids are running around taking care of last-minute details or eating their rice porridge breakfast. Some of the boys have not managed to get into their school uniforms yet while the girls were helping each other with their hair. As the breakfast bowls are put down, the kids make their way to the back of an old pickup truck. Some of the older kids drive off on mopeds, while others drive off on their bicycles. As the pickup truck drives away there is a silence left behind that reflects the mist of the early morning that has settled on the orphanage.

Since I arrived in Chiang Rai the weather has shown to manifest in any one of the variations of rain. From light drizzles to pouring monsoons, the season is wet. Your senses adjust to the diffused daylight and the moist air. This afternoon, for just a couple of minutes, the heavy clouds part to make way for the sun. The sun brings a bright, lovely color – painting the landscape in vibrancy. This experience is best described by the sensation of taking off very dark sunglasses after wearing them all day. The contrast was such that it felt feels like a different place all-together. Moments like this increases my appreciation of the simple things I often overlook.

I fall asleep with the sounds of heavy raindrops hitting the metal roof of the men’s dorm. The evening sky just finished an encore performance. A fantastic show of lightning and thunder that keeps replaying in my mind as I close my eyes. As I feel sleep take over my consciousness, a large dense fruit falls from a nearby tree. The fruit bounces off of the  metal roof causing a very loud noise that echos within the small shack. I smile as I am reminded I am not home anymore.

This entry is part of a series of posts on my trip to Southeast Asia in August of 2008. You can see all of the posts in this series the post: A look back to my trip to Southeast Asia.