Responding to the Pull

It's been just over 3.5 years since I walked away from my perfectly stable job as Resident Education Coordinator for the Department of Orthopaedics at the University of Medicine and Dentistry/New Jersey Medical School (try saying that 5 times fast). I liked my job, I did. For one, I had a wonderful working relationship with my the department's Program Director who was also my boss, Dr. Berberian. Dr. B would stop into my office on the way to his office when he had a 'moment' to spare between seeing patients in office hours, in the clinic or slicing and dicing feet and ankles in the OR. Those 'moments' often turned into an hour bullshitting about whatever gossip was going on in the department, which residents were driving us insane and on occasion, the details of the residency and what we could do to make improvements. All in all, I enjoyed my interaction with the residents who were all within an 8 year age range with me. Residency Coordinators tend to be older as they often play a "mother hen" type of role in the lives of 'their residents' (note: It's an odd pattern, but all coordinators refer to the residents in their department as "my residents", the same way they would say, "my kids" even though they'd birthed not-a-one). For me, I leaned more towards the sisterly position which worked out well for me. A few too many shots of tequila aside, we developed a mutual respect for one another and everyone understood, "I scratch your back, you scratch mine". Coordinating a medical residency is fraught with bribery, coercion and strong arming - it's not a position for the meek. The Orthopaedics department was particularly demanding, since Orthopaedic surgery is one of the most competitive residencies to get into (why anyone would fight tooth and nail to spend their days in a bloodbath is beyond me, but I respected their love for using power tools on humans; to each their own) and orthopaedists tend to be Type A, perfectionists, and way busier than other specialties overall. That meant I had to be Type A, a perfectionist and much more patient than other coordinators, overall. If that meant getting put through to an attending while they were in surgery to discuss setting up an appointment, that's what I did. If it meant running in heels from one building to the next to catch the chairman before he left for office hours, that's what I did. If it meant walking into the morgue during dissection of arms... well.... that's what I did. (The residents promised me the arms were covered when I walked in. Yet as soon as I got in the room, off came the sheet and there were four arms lined up on a table. They loved that way more than I did). I often walked into presentations where photos of patients were being blown up onto the big screen - fingers caught in snow blowers, bullet to the femur, feet hanging off the bone. I'm sure this is why I'm able to watch Dexter while eating dinner or just before falling asleep now without any vomiting or nightmares.It was a good four years at NJMS. I learned quite a bit about how to communicate with all types of people (especially, ahem, difficult personalities). I learned how to develop relationships with coworkers that were based on respect, appreciation and willingness to be flexible. I learned that getting too comfortable can set one up for difficulty (our beloved and well respected chair developed cancer and passed away, bringing a new Master of Ceremonies to the forefront who had... different ideas of how to do things). I learned a lot about what I'm good at, what comes naturally and what I need to work on. I learned what dedication means, watching the two women in our program get pregnant, have babies and raise their children without missing a beat (with support of husbands) next to the guys. I learned tenacity and not giving up by watching residents who started out having trouble put their noses to the grindstone and turn out to be excellent physicians. I learned the value of giving and getting appreciation from those around you and how much worth the words "thank you" can hold.

In the end, I left my position there because I was burned out. I wanted to move to Portland, wanted to try something new and different. It was hard leaving my residents. Each year they told me I couldn't go yet, not until THEIR class graduated. Just one more year, just one more year, just one more year. Eventually, one class was going to have to let me go and I was humbled by how disappointed my residents were when I told them about my impending departure. I still think of them now and feel proud that they made it through training - a sometimes harsh, sometimes militant program where daily expectations often exceeded what many people give in a week. When I left, I told myself I wouldn't go back to the same position elsewhere because I'd had my experience, learned my lessons and was ready for something new. However, times are tough. Portland is tough. I've been flexible with my job search but Portland has not been so open minded with me. As I work with my business partner on getting our lip balm company solidified, pressing through many a slammed door and declarations of "it can't be done", I crave productivity. Unemployment has been kind to me during my search and my bank account isn't in dire straits at this time. Working for me right now is about making things happen. Most people will tell you they're much more likely to get things done if they have a list of things to do ("Want something done? Give it to a busy person"). One thing on a list does not motivate me to jump up and get it done. I work most efficiently when my schedule and task list are filled. I've been incredibly lucky to have so much time to travel, go snowboarding, take a hike, sleep in, do crossword puzzles, volunteer, draw a picture, drink whiskey till 2am, go for a walk, sit and think, watch a movie, climb at my leisure, bake lemon poppyseed bread, take a sewing class and make pillows, make new friends, catch up on emails and do whatever else I managed to get myself into during this work hiatus. I've also battled with feeling like I'm not using my brain nor skills and having entirely too much time to think (trust me, this can be a negative). I'm from the east coast where it's ingrained in our beings that we must work or make babies to have value. Not working for the past year has certainly affected my view of myself in a way I didn't expect. I imagine bread winner fathers (or mothers) who lose their jobs and are left to find a way to care for their family. I have only myself to look out for, and financially I'm not about to burst. Yet still, not working has taken a toll on my self image as I believe it does for many. I'm reminded regularly that I haven't been doing 'nothing'. I have been working to start a business that is ever so slowly creeping along, two steps forward, one step back. I have grande visions of my life when BCBB takes off. Not grande meaning chandeliers, servants and jets so much as comfort, flexibility and security (maybe a jet ride on occasion - I don't need to own my own).

In the meantime, it appears I've been offered the position of Education and Training Manager for the Department of Psychiatry at Oregon Health Sciences University (say that 5 times fast). This job is, essentially, the job I held for four years in NJ but now I'm considered 'management' and I have an employee. It will be different; my interviewers all reminded me that psychiatrists are a far cry from orthopaedists. The woman who held my position two before me and was essentially the reason I got the job STILL talks about her days in Orthopaedics and it's been years since she's worked there (and our (2nd) chairman used to regularly make her cry). I used to joke with my boss that if I ever came across my job elsewhere, I couldn't ever do it for a department besides ortho because I was so comfortable with the mentality that went along with it; I'd scare the residents. I believe the most mocked field was Family Practice, but when it comes down to it Psychiatry is likely more mock worthy. As one of my interviewers said, "We're an..... eccentric group. We rarely make a decision." But hey, I moved from NJ to Portland so it only seems fitting that I would go from Type A to eccentricity. I've accepted the position and am looking forward to getting back to it. Not only for the productivity but for the relationship building, being the "mother hen" (I may just be old enough to fit the bill now), and having the run of a medical school/hospital. I'm told one of the top Seasonal Affective Disorders physicians works in the program (Portland? Where else?) and he can set me up with natural light lamps in my office to make the gray winters a breeze. Psychiatry may not be my beloved orthopaedics, but at least I won't have to hold meetings in the morgue.

Making Sense of Nonsense (or Dreaming of a Backspace Button for the Brain)

The last time I kept a regular journal for an exended time period I was in junior high. The light blue and pink plastic covered book with the gold lock is stuffed in a plastic bin which is stuffed in a closet in the basement of my parents house in NJ. It's filled with details of my crush on Jeff Sayle and parties at Linda Fan's and always ended with that day's relationship news and updates (lots of hearts filled with JT + AP :). If I were to start journaling by hand now, I imagine the penmanship would look much like what I'd find in a that book - the scrawlings of a 6th grader. I'm going to blame learning cursive on my terrible handwriting - obviously I needed to focus on printing and not be distracted with the swirls and arcs of a mostly outdated style. Since the advent of the computer (and its predecessor, the word processor) I find writing much more enjoyable partially because I've found a skill in typing, where my handwriting shows nothing but awkwardness and an inability to always stay within the lines (the latter having served me well in other parts of my life). As most people who know me are aware, my thoughts don't always come out in a clear stream - focused, orderly and concise. The backspace button is found with my right pinky as stealthily as the letters of my name (if only vocal chords had a backspace button). Typing, I'm able to throw out a thought, consider it, review, backtrack, rewrite, rewrite, rewrite until I've managed to express what I planned. Sometimes my thoughts get jumbled to the point where I can't make sense of them or contemplate them in a productive way, and I'll go to my computer and write myself (or someone else) a letter or just an essay of sorts. I will edit and re-edit with no intention of using the document for any purpose other than to work through my own thoughts. Generally speaking, I prefer to read a description, story, letter, etc over hearing someone else read it to me. It seems to be the same for when I'm alone - I can think about something over and over in my mind (like it's being read to me), but the best way for me to really understand what I'm processing is to put it down on 'paper' and read it. I've worked out many a heartbreak, bump in the road, feeling of anger, sadness, frustration through this process. I will write, rewrite, edit until what I'm thinking is perfectly clear. Then delete. These aren't times I necessarily want to journal or track. They are very 'in the moment', an acute need to understand and be understood.

So, I haven't been journaling in the true sense since I was a kid. I've had a few travel journals and have chronicled my first cross country trip, my (sober portions of the) Europe trip and sections of Adventurebus. But it seems more and more my experiences and thoughts are being tracked via email, facebook updates, and blog entries. 30 years from now (if all goes well) I'll be logging into gmail (or just pressing on a pulse point which logs my brain into gmail for me) and reading my old emails to friends and family to reminisce about the past. The same way I laugh about my crush on Jeff Sayle in 7th grade, I'll likely laugh about my trials and tribulations with dating and my frustrations getting Balm Chicky Balm Balm off the ground (which by then will be laughable, since I'll be reading said email from BCBB World Headquarters). Mostly I hope to feel a sense of having LIVED.

This summer was wonderful - lightning quick but filled with fun. I'm going to chronicle a few of the highlights here, so I have them to look back on in 30 years.

Spain/Morocco with Liz (and Brian) - cosmopolitan and quaint Spanish towns, meals of gelato, mysterious medinas, dunes, Abdul, Mohammed and Sharif, our cups runneth-ing over with super sweet mint tea, handsome Moroccan men, Marrakesh Express (and other forms of transport), incredible landscapes on the way to the Sahara, partying with AmEx Execs among the Ergs, bonjour!.
2 Day Raft down the Deschutes - Sugar Bitches, faucet lessons, a boat full of awesome ladies (and one brave man), laughing, laughing, laughing, getting thrown at Boxcar, camping, stars, Liz visiting, new friends.
Climbing! Camping! - Lots of fun climbing with friends old and new at Ozone, French's Dome, Broughton's Bluff, Leavenworth, The Boneyard. Challenges, frustration, conquering, taking leaps, pushing on and sometimes giving up. Camping with Mike and his blue box, IKing with the Class V paddlers, canoeing on Cooper lake in between shuttle runs.
Olallie/Bagby Weekend - Alyssha, Carol and Coop venture off to Bagby for a midnight hot spring dip. Hiking to Upper Lake to have it all to ourselves, napping amongst the brush, afternoon swim and subsequent rock lounging, forgetting about the mosquito invasion (the wonderful thing about 30 years from now is I probably won't remember the (not so fun) things I don't write about :)
Dinner parties/BBQs/Drinks/Walks/Hanging out with Friends - good food, good conversation, good drinks. Meeting new people, experiencing the fluctuations in friendships and enjoying the ebb and flow. Urban hiking, playing with Em and Kelly, forest park runs, Tuesday Trivia, crossword puzzles, Last Thursday gatherings.
Balm Chicky Balm Balm - pressing on, not giving up in the face of obstacles, believing in an idea. This has meaning to me.
New Apartment - living with Carol in our cozy, comfortable space. Having her ear whenever I've needed it, sharing meals and movies and vision boards.
Self Realization - Some epiphanies were had this summer which have minimized unpleasant feelings I'd experienced in the past. Visualizing what I want my future to look like physically and emotionally and trying (not always with great success, but trying) to take actions to bring me closer to this.

I sometimes wish that I'd been better about journaling over the years, since I'd like to know exactly what I was thinking/feeling 10 years ago today. But as we say these days (way more often than we should) it is what it is. Summer's not over yet - I still have a business/pleasure trip to NJ/NY and a climbing/camping trip to Southern OR to look forward to. When the rains begin (and they will, sure as the sun will go down tonight), I'll log onto facebook, look at my photos and read old status updates to remind me of sunnier days. Winter brings its own brand of good times, coziness, and adventure. Another ski trip to Big Sky? Shredding Mt. Hood, winter ales and stouts, tea all day, every day, movie nights by the fireplace, dinner parties, all day baking marathons, hoodies zipped up tight. But for now I'm off - I must send an email to a friend recording the details of my weekend so it might help me picture them when 30 years from now I'm wondering what I was doing 30 years ago today.

The Difference an Island Makes

Scents, sounds, tastes, textures – the brain's capacity to hold onto intricate details of what one thought was a long forgotten space in time never ceases to amaze and delight me. Hearing an old song or brushing a palm against fabric can bring rushes of memories I hadn't even known were tucked away. Usually such moments are fleeting, occurring in the middle of a busy day when all there's time for is an internal acknowledgement of recognition. Maybe a mention to a friend, “Wow, this song reminds me of....” and then the moment passes and it may be years before that memory is brought forward again, if ever.

This week several senses have been tapped into, coincidentally like fireworks. One pops open, spilling colorful memories that quickly begin to fade. Then just as the thought is almost out of reach, another explodes, even more fantastic than the first, and so on. This week I've been jarred and humbled by flashbacks to what feels like another world, the weeks of my childhood spent at Camp Eagle Island.

Smelling burning campfires, hearing the song “Lola” and TONS of Michael Jackson, visiting SCRAP for crafts projects, seeing sailboats along the Columbia River... each of these kept bringing me back to the happiest time of my youth. Every year from the time I was 4-14 my family spent one week each summer on Upper Saranac Lake, north of Lake Placid at Camp Eagle Island. Eagle Island was a magical place, although I'm not sure I knew that at the time. The drive was long – 7-8 hours if I remember correctly. My parents, two sisters and I would pack into the station wagon, and head north always stopping in Lake Placid along the way to have burgers at Lum's. Finally, we'd arrive to the wooded parking lot where our vehicle would be left for the week. A boat zipped in every few hours to pick up newcomers, who would throw their gear in the boat and set off for the Island. I recall one year when we arrived late at night and I caught my first meteor shower while laying on the dock waiting for our shuttle. I've seen many nighttime skies since then, but nothing compares to the depth of blueblack in the Adirondacks (or so my memory allows).
Once we arrived on dock at the Island, we'd head up the hill to our home for the week above the infirmary. I'm not sure how the infirmary ended up being our spot, but it always was for the 10 years we vacationed there. One room for the parents, one for the kids. Our cousins Craig and Audra came along with their parents and Audra would usually bunk with us. When I got older I brought a friend to come along. The infirmary was essentially a large cabin where sick folk could be taken care of downstairs but we mostly had a run of the place.

Our days on the Island were filled with all things camp related – swimming, canoeing, fishing, arts and crafts, puzzles and games in the lodge, sailing, water skiing, and exploring. The best part of being on an island is the freedom – it was difficult to get lost; where could we go?! So we could gallivant around on our own with minimal supervision. Mealtimes were especially fun. I remember waking up early and bundling up layer upon layer. Summer or not, it was COLD in the mountains! We'd trudge across to the mess haul and sit family style. Each meal began with a song, which I suppose was their version of grace. The one I remember most clearly was to the tune of “Windy” but I'm pretty sure the lyrics were changed to be 'camplike'. One person from each family would go to the kitchen and bring back the main parts of the meal – french toast or eggs for breakfast. Then we would go up to the front of the room to get whatever other items we might want. Eagle Island had the stickiest, most delicious oatmeal on the planet that was made extra excellent by any number of accoutrements – brown sugar, butter, chocolate chips, maple syrup, nuts. What could be bad about that? When we got older we would sometimes go into the kitchen before meals and help cook with the counselors.

I had a 'secret' spot on the island where I would go to think. I couldn't tell you now what an 8 or 10 year old was contemplating on the edge of the water, but I know it felt serious to me at the time. Anyone walking by would just see a big boulder that looked like it might drop off into the lake with a good push. But if they were to take a peek behind it, they'd find what I found – a soft, pine needle covered ledge, the perfect size for a small person to sit. I still like to have my own spaces to go and think but this one will always be my favorite.

We'd spend hours down on the dock hanging out, fishing in the boat slips for perch and sunnies, watching the water skiers, perfecting the art of macramé, going for boat rides, learning to sail with my dad. I remember quite clearly the first time Anna and I took the sunfish out on our own. No capsizing to speak of! Then we'd head to the waterfront to swim or canoe around the island. Every afternoon there was a trip to the trading post where I'd get a Twix. Of course the chocolate and caramel had to be bitten down on and slid off the cookie, then the cookie eaten after (how else??). One of my favorite things was the Arc nighttime rides. Sign ups for everything were in the lodge and if you could get to it before it filled, the larger boat would take a big group of families out for a tour around the lake in the dark. We'd pile blankets up in the cold night and find a comfy spot on the boat (we were never all that big on rules for where you could sit – as long as it was ON the boat, it was fair game). People were mostly quiet, so we'd hear only the soft hum of the engine and gentle lapping of water as we cruised along zig zagging through tree covered smaller islands.

The woman that ran the camp's name was Cricket. She was a sassy woman who knew the best way to make things happen. Counselors came and went each year but Cricket remained until we stopped going when I was 14. This was the age where being home to be around friends or sneak out of the house to hang out with boys was more important than hanging out with family on an Island. It was time, but Heidi and I have talked about someday going back. There are those things that you worry about ruining with a return and I know we both feel deep down that would be the case here. Camp Eagle Island is still running as far as I know in both its capacity as a Girl Scout Camp earlier in the summer and a Family Camp in the later summer months. Leaving at the end of our week there was always difficult, but we made up for it with a visit to Lake George and the wax museum on the way home.

My mother recently forced my father to retire his worn CEI t-shirt which was stained and see-through. I'm convinced he held onto it not just because it was comfortable. I've woken from several dreams over the years where I'm walking through the random woods and even though I'm not dreaming about the Island, when I wake I recognize the path as the one from main camp to the waterfront. We all hold onto it in some way.

These are just the details of a place, but Eagle Island has served me in other ways over the years. It reminds me of the child I was and makes me understand how I've arrived where I am. My love of the outdoors started here – specifically the way being outside makes me reflective and at peace. I left many of those feelings in my late teens to explore my inner mall rat and figure out what I was all about. My childhood memories are very few when it comes to school, birthday parties, even friends. But for whatever reason, the simplest things bring about a flood of images, tunes, tastes, textures, smells and emotions around this one place. Sometimes I wish I could go back there not just to visit camp, toast marshmallows at a bonfire then tuck into my cot at night but to visit myself as I was. I recall such details about the place, but not necessarily of how I felt WHILE I was there. In my memories I was happy and carefree, but I wonder if I met myself then if I would see it that way. I suppose it doesn't matter; in the end our experiences are only what the memory of them say they are.

The Impending Doom of Certain Misery (or Sitting In My Backyard Waiting for Portland Winter)

I'm sitting on an unfinished adirondack chair just east of the golden raspberry bush I've been munching sweet snacks off of for the past month. My laptop rests on the top step of an old, paint splattered step stool - the only place on my property where I can get a wireless signal without holding the computer out a window or standing in the dirt surrounded by aforementioned raspberry bush on all sides. It's just after Labor Day in Portland, and by 7pm it's starting to get chilly. I have visions of the rains sweeping through in the coming season. Rains which won't be gone for many months and which I dread with all my heart and soul.

The economy is currently in a state which leads me to the reality that the berries I just picked from my backyard bush would have cost me a good 4 bucks had I bought them at the local Fred Meyer. I savor each treat as the juices explore my mouth and am thankful that my roommate has a plethora of fruit trees, bushes and vines in our backyard. A little later I'm headed around to the side of the house for an apple. Cherry season was short but plentiful and we made sure that no berry had gone to waste - the freezer is filled with zip locks full of summer's bounty that we can enjoy all winter long. I think about the days of the depression when a house like this would have been a godsend for its owners. Each morning the children would get up and fill sacks with pears, apples, cherries, raspberries, plums and persimmones. They'd bring the heavy bags into the kitchen so mother could turn them into meals providing nourishment for months. The apple tree so prolific she would pick an extra dozen, giving them to the neighbors on either side so the kids could bring them to school, the husband to the job he was lucky to still have. He'd pull the red/green fruit from his lunch pail, shine it with his handkerchief and bite down, spraying his buddy next to him with a squirt.


I've been living in Portland for 3 months now, having left New Jersey exactly 2 years ago this week. The direct route I had meant to take straight through Montana to Portland to begin my life here ended up taking several swirling turns. When looking at the job market now, for a moment I wonder if my decision to leave Portland two years ago shortly after arriving was a poor one, since I would have likely had a much easier time finding work in that economy than our current one. But at the heart of everything I do is a deep belief that if you are a good person, if you follow the golden rule, if you are kind to the earth and to yourself, things work themselves out. A good friend of mine just told me of a cousin she recently reunited with after many years who is 33, the mother of 2 children and will soon be losing her battle with melanoma. I lost a good friend to cancer when I was 22. Two friends here lost a young friend in a rock climbing accident this summer. For these folks, things did not work themselves out. I cannot provide answers as to why that is the case and am in no position to make an attempt. I can only go on the hope and plan that I will be around for a very long time, a presumption we all have to make. It's stories like this that both make me feel my efforts to live on my own terms are either a waste of energy or well worth it, depending on how much wine I've had when asked. I'm back in Portland and trying to keep focused with a hope that 'things' will come together in a way that will make me feel that this journey has come full circle.

My recent conflict has been what are these mysterious 'things' that I hope will come together? I've had this discussion an uncountable number of times with one of my best friends, Liz. We joke that we understand each other so well that we're causing one another harm. When one of us talks about the confusion we feel in making important life decisions like what direction to take next, the other feels so connected to that feeling that they really cannot offer much in the way of answers. Just the same, "I hear you, I hear you". I met Liz on a trip traveling through 9 national parks 8 years ago. We can still recall with clarity our hike along the Primitive Trail in Arches NP, talking about opening an art studio/cafe. We were full of ideas, creativity, and excitement about the lives ahead of us. That trip was certainly life changing for both of us in terms of the realization that we didn't want to take the well warn path. Perhaps it was symbolic that we were ourselves walking on the path most people chose not to take, since it was long, round about, out of the way and a little more dangerous than the well marked trails.


Liz and I were 26ish at the time. I've been battling with myself, trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up for the 8 years that have followed. As I grew older I began blaming others for my lack of assuredness in where my place was - my parents for not encouraging my artistic curiousity, my teachers for seeing I was drawn to words but not suggesting I pursue writing. But in the end I realize it was simply my own lack of confidence that prevented me from believing those worlds were open to me. I'm 33 now and I feel like I am starting over again, reviewing my options with new eyes. The question has changed, however, from "What do I want to be when I grow up?" to "How do I want to live my life and what are my priorities?" This is something most people sort out when they're much younger, because the answer is simple: I want a husband, children, a house, two cars, family vacation and maybe a career (if necessary). Those things never appealed to me the way they did most people I grew up around and this caused a lot of inner turmoil. I was a late bloomer and didn't really know what I enjoyed doing, what kind of life I wanted, or really that there were any other options besides the ones that were modeled to me as a child, until I finished college. And that was just the beginning. It's 10 years later and I'm still working it out. The process is often frustrating and sometimes makes me feel like I'm quickly traveling towards nowhere, fast. But I really do believe the answers are all coming. In the Age of Oprah (AoO), I've seen too many women entering their 50s and 60s who are looking back on their lives with regret, who are just now 'reinventing' themselves and exploring who they are. The self help books are all about living true to yourself, being free, being who and what you want, being accepting of yourself with all of your faults and mistakes. I guess I just feel I'd rather make my mistakes while living them and accept my faults while I'm (relatively) young instead of hiding from my heart's desire for most of my life then having to retrace steps to make ammends. Sometimes this causes me stress, embarrassement or frustration (not being able to find a job, taking a job that others might find 'below' me, feeling like people I care about think I make poor choices). But mostly I feel as if by going in that direction it takes me till I'm in my 50s or 60s to figure it all out, I will know that I didn't settle, that I explored options and had a damned good time doing so. The problem I encounter regularly is that I want many things that often contradict the others. I've never been a great decision maker and how to live is truly the ultimate decision. I don't take it lightly.


I'm very impressed by 'do-ers'. People like my friend Kyle who is currently running around Mexico with a video camera, shooting footage for a documentary he plans to make. I envy the determination, focus and the confidence Kyle has to run with his ideas. (Incidentally, Kyle owned the company that ran the trip on which Liz and I met. This is not his first rodeo). Surrounding myself with people like Kyle is wonderful and being in Portland, Montana and traveling overseas has brought me into contact with many amazing folks who are doing inspiring things. I'm meeting people who are living life on their own terms and if they are not happy already, that is the main goal they work towards each day. I really feel like if I'm not happy with myself than I am in no position to help others or be productive in a meaningful, ongoing way. It's like the oxygen mask on the plane - put yours on first then help the person next to you with theirs. My time in Asia, while inspiring in its own way, has caused great internal conflict that spins my wheels at an alarming speed. How can I spend days, months, years trying to decide what life to live when there are children running bearfoot through the streets of Cambodia, memorizing facts about every country tourists hail from so they can impress visitors who might give them money so they can eat that day? But at the same time, how can I so easily just do what's easy and makes me the most money when so many people will never have such opportunity? How careless to treat my choices so flippantly, when I am lucky enough to have choices to make. Maybe I think too much.

When I first began visiting this city almost 10 years ago, there was an energy about it that I couldn't put my finger on. It's something I'd always wanted to be a part of and even though the job market is rough, I'm fighting tooth and nail for a job waiting tables, and I still can't exactly put my finger on what it is I want, I'm very happy to be here and haven't regretted leaving NJ for a second of the past 2 years. I'm starting to reform ideas about what would make me happy in the long run, how I define success for myself and how I can make those things happen. Things are starting to take shape in my mind and that feels like a success in itself. But some days I'm just floating along, going where ever I'm brought next, quietly monitoring changes or internal reactions from within. I realize there's been no mention of a partner in all of this (aside from Liz, who will forever be my Non Lesbian Life Partner). Should that man appear before me in all his glory, that would certainly give me pause in terms of my decision making. I haven't given up on the idea that perhaps that person exists by any means, but I can't stop the ride and get off to wait for him - I'm hoping he'll hop on and be headed in the same direction.


So as I sit here, shivering in the early fall breeze on my now extremely uncomfortable adirondack chair, waiting for the innevitable rains to arrive, I give thanks that I'm able to live in this house, with fruit bearing trees aplenty. That I have the free will to explore life as I wish. That I was born during a time and to a familly that has afforded me the opportunity to do so. As our over abundance of apples fall from the tree, I'm thankful that I can let some drop to the ground and fertilize the soil and not have to fill my sack with heavy fruit to make it through winter. I just need a natural light lamp, a nice pino and some good old fashioned gortex.

Cobras, Cave Dwellings and I Climb. I'm a Climber.

So after our New Years with "the kids" we spent our final night in Siem Reap with two guys we met at the Blue Pumpkin, our favorite breakfast place. Both Steen (formerly of Finland, more recently of Connecticut) and David (formerly of India, more recently of Toronto) are in their mid 50s. They seemed like interesting blokes so Liz invited them to join us for dinner which we did at the Dead Fish restaurant that evening. We watched traditional Apsara dancing, drank beer and wine, were regalled with stories of their travels (they'd met traveling 6 years ago and now do so together on occasion), paid 50 cents to feed the crocodiles that live in a pit in the corner of the restaurant and otherwise hung out with the ducks that roamed freely about the place. It was a good set up though, various levels of platform tables throughout a high ceilinged building where food was sent around via a pulley system. After dinner we went out to see a thai band playing tradional thai hits like the Rightous Brothers, Eric Clapton and an amazing rendition of Louis Armstrong doing "Wonderful World" that I thought was an actual recording. Liz and I departed shortly thereafter, but not before David pulled Liz aside. There were hushed whispers then he called me over as well. He looked at me and said, "Abby. Have you ever met an Indian Jew?" I considered and said no, I had never. And didn't really know that such a thing existed. He said, "Well you just did." Liz looked at me wide eyed, nodding her head. "Nooooooooo." was all I responded. He said yes, he lived in Israel for 10 years then proceeded to rattle off all sorts of hebrew I don't know crap about. Indian Jews. Now I've seen it all.

The next morning after leaving Jay there with the two of them we learned the real reason for Steen and David's travel, which they often do together, yet their lack of homosexual-ness (they get separate rooms). Jay said they offered to bring him to "The Fish Bowl" which is a club near our guesthouse with flashing neon, where you apparently view women behind glass then point to the one you want. Ahhh, Cambodia. I don't doubt such a thing exists in the good old US of A. But knowing the two of them were partaking in that sort of activity made me rather nauseated. I've come to realize few men travel alone for the love of travel, but more to 'sample' the local goods, as it were. Apparently they've done lots of sampling through South America and Eastern Europe as well.

ANYHOOTS, we left the next day bound back to Bangkok then down to Krabi, arriving in the evening. We spent a couple of nights in Ao Nang which is sort of a resort town with a not so lovely beach and overprice hotels/restaurants. We spent one day out at Ao Luk kayaking around the mangroves and through the caves, having the water virtually to ourselves. Instead of doing an organized tour we just had a cab take us there and didn't get a guide, we figured it out ourselves which often is the way to go. We thought the caves were really impressive until we went down to Tonsai....

We decided to head for Tonsai/Railay Beach which is a peninsula not far from here on the west side of the andaman coast. From our crappy Frommers Guidebook (did I mention crappy?) we knew that Tonsai existed mostly for the climbing scene, since the area is one of the top spots in the world for rock climbing. Upon arriving via longtail boat I was stunned by the beauty of the limestone cliffs that surround the beach. Tonsai Beach itself is very small. They pull the longtail boat up as close to the beach as they can in low tide and you try to get off without falling on your ass. There's the beach and one dirt road that runs parallel. We found a reasonable bungalow/guesthouse and spent the next few days ogling the climbers who spend morning till night scaling cliffs on the beach. I'll pretend like we had an age minimum (ie no ogling anyone under the age of 25) but from behind does age really matter? At low tide you can scramble across the rocks to Railay West beach where the water is a bit nicer. Our second day there we rented kayaks and had an amazing day out exploring the caves and rock formations jutting up out of the water which out past the beaches is clear deep blue.

The next day we decided to go stay at Railay East which is the less expensive between East and West. The place we stayed at was a dump (dusty and red ant-y), we both took Ambian (Jay at this point was off on his own) so we could sleep in the dank room. But the following day we took a rock climbing class with King Climbers. We had debated about it before arriving, but seeing people climbing the limestone everywhere we looked inspired us to try it out. Liz had been before while guiding at Yosemite and I'd only done indoor climbing once. We ended up having our guide, Rong, to ourselves so we got to do quite a bit. Rong spent about 3 minutes teaching us how to belay then scampered up the wall in about 20 seconds while I tried to remember what he'd told me. Liz and I were arguing whether or not we were going to have to climb where he was or whether this was just belaying practice. I was sure we wouldn't be climbing THAT for our first climb... I was wrong. There was a little wall around 30 feet up that beginners seemed to be practicing on... apparently Rong had higher hopes for us, however.

I was a little stressed my first climb since if you know me you know I have a bit of a fear of heights/falling. But oddly when I was all clipped in it wasn't an issue. Liz went first and did well then it was my turn. I have to say I rocked it out! (No pun intended). I moved far more quickly than I thought I would and looking down didn't freak me out in the least. I really liked the problem solving aspect of finding the best hold and the satisfaction of getting up over something I didn't think I could. If I could tell you how high it was I would (they told us in meters and I don't remember) but it was high. Like, high. After the first one things were tougher. I'd watched 3 people trying to get up our next climb and failing at the same point. Liz went first and made it up, then my turn. It was more difficult since it was more muscle and I've got next to none of that right now while traveling. After 3 successful climbs we were off to lunch and a rest.

The afternoon was a little different... Rong took us on a bit of a jungle trek, over to Prang Na beach which is where the caves are. That's where most of the bouldering is done. He took us on a long walk over the beach, then eventually up to a cave entrance. He pulled out a penlight, pointed it to the dark entrance and said, "We go in there." Now, this was giving me flashbacks to my prior experience with our "hospitable Thai Captors" (see earlier blog on the subject). A Thai man was leading me into a dark hole. I told Liz I thought this was it. We were finally being sold into white slavery on our last week here in Thailand. I shrugged and walked into the pitch black cave with Liz and Rong close behind. This began a 20 minute jaunt through more pitch black caves, up several sketchy ladders constructed with bamboo and rope where I had to manually pull my knee to bend it high enough to reach the next step, while in foam flip flops, holding my bag, several feet off the ground and step off the ladder into more pitch black. The whole thing was SKETCHY. Liz had to talk me through at a few points mostly because I just didn't like that I didn't know what was coming next and wasn't too happy to be in flip flops and feeling very unsteady. I didn't so much mind the darkness itself (creepy crawlies and bats not being a major concern of mine) but more the idea of slipping, falling and breaking an ankle in cave and having to be carried out up and down assorted 20 foot bamboo ladders. But in the end, it was very Indiana Jones and I'm glad I did it. We finally arrived to 'the light' where I looked down and was told I'd be rappelling out of the cave down to the ground. Now the panic began. I tried explaining to Liz why this felt different to me than climbing up and then being belayed down. Mostly because I was going down via my own power. If I freaked out I had to be in control of myself. Rong tried to convince us that the little knot tied around the rope was going to save me should I "freak the f out" (my words) and let go with both hands. I wasn't buying it so much. I made Liz go first so I could see it being done which she bravely did, showing next to no fear so that I wouldn't lose my shit. She said she was surprised I just went quickly, without contemplating it at the top for half hour. But really, what's to contemplate? It was that or climb back down the way I'd come which surely was more dangerous. So I'll say that even though my hand was all rope burned up from lowering myself, I rappelled down that baby - slowly but surely. It was definitely overcoming a fear of mine and not something I'd be super quick to do again anytime soon. But I did done it!

One more climb, this time Liz and I were both hurting and exhausted from the first 3. But this was a fun one for me that felt great when I got to the top. The views from up there were just breathtaking, out over the beaches and water. While hiking through the jungle to get back to the beach, Liz and I were chattering away as we do and Rong stopped and said, "Oh." We stopped and said, "What?". He said, "Hurry up". I'm still not sure whether the "Hurry up" was to SEE the cobra that was slithering around or to AVOID it completely. He just said, "Cobra." That was enough for Liz who hightailed it out of there. I took a peak in and caught a glimpse of it sliding away, but was disappointed to not get a better look. Although I wasn't about to go crawling around in the greenery for one. It was a great day. I hope to buy the necessary equipment when I'm in Portland this summer and maybe start to climb. Hell, Smith Rock which is one of the top climbing spots in all of the USA is just 2 hours away...

We went back to Tonsai to our nice, cleaner bungalow that night and did what everyone else on Tonsai does after a day of climbing: chilled. One more day of beaching and relaxation then a beautiful boat trip to Khoa Phi Phi. We spent one night there which was plenty. From what we were told, prior to the tsunami it was quite a bit more mellow but since they were wiped clean and had to rebuild, it's been over run. It was filled with partying young people and little to no culture at all. One night was enough. The best part of the trip was the boat ride each way and the really nice young couple we met along the way and Yossi, an Israeli guy. It was nice to have some people to hang and chat with, even if for a short while. Back to Ao Nang for a couple of days of R&R then took a songthew to Krabi Town where we're hanging now. There's not much to do here but it has a nice vibe - there are actually Thai people here. We just had a delicious meal of salad, tofu and of course papaya salad (I may turn into a papaya) all for 100 baht or 3 bucks. There's such a big difference between the tourist towns and the thai towns. There's a night market here we'll check out, then we head back to Bangkok tomorrow. I'll do one last stint at JJ market for souvenirs, then we have to be at the airport at 3am Monday to begin the 20 hours of flying back to Portland. We'll arrive there the same day, 7am.

To everyone who's been 'with' me on this journey, steadily reading my blogs, it's been a whirlwind, thanks for joining. I can't believe it's been 2.5 months already. I'm ready to go home with a renewed respect for my own people, a renewed distaste for the majority of Europeans (except the Swedes who are lovely) and mixed feelings about Thailand and its people. I'll be posting some afterthoughts next week once things settle down about some of our specific experience, maybe others can shed some light on the negatives we experienced. Liz and I spent a LOT of time cracking up from everything from people watching (it's unbelievable what people will walk around in), watching the news, getting ourselves into and out of sketchy situations, observing 'The Thai Way' which we often couldn't understand at all and otherwise being in awe at what goes on in the world. I apologize for my lack of cleverness and humor in writing, but it's difficult when you have a time constraint and aren't feeling all that funny at the moment you happen to be in the Internet place. I promise all is not lost and I will resume my usual comical writings when I arrive back on the home soil. All in all, it's been a great trip. Photos will be uploaded ASAP.

New Years in Cambodia

After spending 2 days trucking around Angkor Wat, we were ready for some New Years celebration. We had decided to go out for Mexican, because somehow that seemed like the thing to do while in Cambodia (?). But as we sat down, a group of three "street kids" came up to the table and were making hand motions like they wanted to eat. Most of the kids we'd encountered had some scheme to make money, selling postcards or bracelets or something. These kids were just wandering the streets with big rice bags in grungy clothes with dirt all over their arms and legs. Liz being the humanitarian that she is invited them to sit with us. It caused a bit of a stir with the waitresses who don't speak wonderful english and didn't seem used to someone inviting the 'beggers' to dinner. But we pulled chairs over and the three of them sat with us. They spoke virtually no english aside from numbers, but we managed to figure out with some help from the waitresses that they weren't all brother and sisters (two girls, one boy) but cousins. The older girl was 12, the boy 11 and the younger girl 8. If you'd asked us I think we would have said they were 6, 8 and 9 they were so skinny and small. We also learned that the older boy and girl's father is Vietnamese. We had a hard time remembering the kids names, or really understanding them (Chan, Yan, Yin?) so we were calling them Abby, Liz and Jay when it was just three of them. It was easy to remember!

We had the waitress ask them what they wanted and they ordered some Khmer food and smoothies which they ate so fast we tried to get the waitress to tell them in Khmer that they could slow down. I couldn't imagine a tiny 12 year old girl was eating all she did, but she ate a full plate of food and a smoothie. We then got them a banana split to share and I think that finally did them in. During dinner we drew pictures with them and let them take a bunch of pictures which we all found very entertaining. People at other tables were looking at us with confusion as to what was going on. We almost forgot they were in the situation they were in until we got up from dinner and they picked up their rice bags (the bags were the size of them) and it was a stark reminder. We told them we were taking them shopping which they of course were excited about. It must have been quite a sight, the three of us (Liz, Jay and I) walking down the street with three grungy Cambodian children attached to our hands. There were baracades closing the road off for new years and police patrolling the area. At first they stopped Jay because I think they thought he was taking a child to do lord only knows what with him. But when they saw that Liz and I were with him the other policeman let us pass. We took them to the only store open and bought them each backpacks, hoping it would inspire them to go to school (which they are not) and so they could maybe get rid of the rice bags. We tried to get them to transfer their goods to the backpacks which they did with the garbage they'd been collecting in one bag, but the other bags were filled with plastic bottles they were going to use for recycling. We utilized the people we came into contact with like the shop owner and tuk tuk driver to translate when we could. The tuk tuk driver said it's a tough call, that lots of times westerners want to do something good but that there's a fine line. Sometimes the parents are drug addicts and send the kids out to make money (better chance of getting money if they're cute, right?). But he wasn't negative about it, just frustrated at how difficult it was to make a living and how currupt the government was. We did get some looks on the way back into town from tuk tuk drivers, I think feeling angry that we were clearly giving our money to the kids instead of to them who wanted to work for it.

We went back to the hotel to show them where it was then paid another tuk tuk driver to take them home and bring them back the next day. We went back towards the center of town and celebrated with everyone else when the clock struck midnight, there was a big street party with music and dancing and roman candles. And while it was fun, I think we were all thinking about the kids we'd spent the night with and realizing how lucky we are to be able to come out there and celebrate and have fun instead of wondering where our next meal will come from.

The next morning we went for breakfast then back to the hotel where the kids + 1 were waiting.... with one of the mothers. We were glad to see she came to see who was taking her kids out shopping for the day. She spoke no english but had a small baby with her. They also brought the little girl's younger brother, presumably saying if they're buying we may as well send him too. He was 5 but looked around 3. We gave the kids some colored pencils, paper and crayons Liz had bought them which they were very excited about, then said goodbye to mom and went off to the market. Again, now it was 3 big white people and 4 small brown children holding hands in a big line walking down the dirt road. I think Liz and I will always remember the oldest girl looking up at us and smiling, kissing our hand over and over. Once we got to the market we took them for lunch since they said they were hungry. The cambodian people eating there (it was a market place so all cambodians) seemed to find it curious but mostly we got a lot of smiles. They kids ate well then we went shopping. After about 2 hours they each had a new pair of shoes (only the youngest had them to begin with) and a new outfit. All their old clothes were in a bag to take home and they were smiling. We walked back to the hotel to meet the tuk tuk driver, got them their crayons and said our goodbyes. They looked sad and we can only imagine it's because they were sad to see us go. The thought is they were just so happy someone gave a crap about them... I don't think it was just 'stuff'. The tuk tuk driver had explained to them, "no money", that we weren't going to give them any money, just some things so they could take care of themselves and they never complained about that. They all said ahkun (thank you) when they were leaving and just had smiles all over their faces. It was really wonderful, yet frustrating and sad at the same time to think that's all we felt we could really do for anyone there. I'm going to look more into that at home, maybe make a donation to a non profit there, but there is SO much work to be done. We did meet a few people who seemed to have come from very little but were doing their best, working hard and studying english to work at a nice hotel or making money to go to graduate school and become an engineer. It's just very difficult to make a living there even with an education (which the majority of people do not have).

But with all that said, I would say these were the happiest and most friendly people we've met. Even the legless/armless people with nothing are smiling which says a lot to me about how to be happy even when things aren't perfect. We bought these kids something but they taught us the bigger lesson. It was a good new years gift.

Christmas Buddhist Style, Choose a Weapon and These Kids got Skillz

I heart Cambodia.

I didnt have nigh expectations for Christmas in an essentially Buddhist country, but Christmas Eve was spent at the Tsunami Volunteer Center with Liz, Jay and I. Some of the younger girls did Thai Dancing, the staff tried to get the Thai speaking staff to interact with the english speaking volunteers by encouraging them do thai dancing together. There were raffles giving away candies, cheese puffies and teddy bears. Spring rolls and Singha beer. A Swiss volunteer played Silent Night on the accordian. Your standard birth of christ celebration.

Christmas Day we got a ride down to Phuket, then flew to Bangkok and hopped another flight to Phnom Phen - the current capitol of Cambodia. We arrived in the evening and after a few missed attempts to find a hotel, landed one. I was (I must admit) happy as you'd imagine a Jewish girl from NJ might be upon learning that not only are there more English television channels in Cambodia than any other country she's visited on this trip, but at the moment she's getting into bed, the Seinfeld Festivus episode is just starting. Happy Christmas to Jerry. But waking up the next morning to horns honking and city life beginning after a couple of hours of sleep was less than pleasant. We got up and went for a stroll. The first impression of Phnom Phen is - we're not in Kansas anymore, there are no white people here. Which is a good thing. We had been driven through the 'touristy' part of town near the Mekong but opted to stay further in to save some money and be out of that whole environment. Well, we were out of it to be sure. We strolled through the Central Market which is partly outside and partly in and old Art Deco building. We strolled through the food items first, but there's only so long Liz can spend in those areas do to all the chickens who are either facing impending doom or have just met their makers, their chicken souls floating all around us among the assorted pickeled entrails and fish parts. While we're on the subject, I'm fascinated by the textures that dried fish create. I know, I know, it's dead dry fish. But the way they're displayed at the markets is really quite beautiful, trust me on this (photos to follow at some point). Other than that, it's mostly a locals market so unless we needed watch repair or a side of beef, not much to buy. For the record, I was eating some chicken on occasion when I arrived to Thailand and will be returning home a vegetarian for at least the time being. I've seen too many hogs strapped down upside down to the back of a motorbike and bamboo cages filled with piglets oinking their way to their deaths. I am 'wealthy' enough to have options in what I eat and for the near future at least, anything that oinks aint on the list of things fit for consumption.

We located a different guesthouse, this one on a quieter street (or so I thought until the next morning while waiting for our bus to pick us up there was a bit of a scuffle outside and I did see a guy walking around with a gun in his hand. There was no uniform of any sort.) We took a tuk tuk to The Killing Fields. I've never seen the movie but I've been trying to learn about the whole Pol Pot time period since being here. It was a very dark time in recent Cambodian history when 1/3 of the Cambodian population was driven away from the cities into the country and eventually slaughtered, genocide style. The Killing Fields is an area just outside of Phnom Phen where many were brought to do labor and eventually to be murdered, often by small children who had been trained to carry guns and carry out such atrocities. I'm going to read up more when I get home. But it was sobering.

We then hit the Russian Market where I bought a few souvenirs for the fam. That night we went to the FCC (Foreign Correspondants Club) which maybe it was at some point but now is a tourist bar/restaurant. It's got amazing photos of Vietnam taken by the photographer in The Killing Fields. The restaurant is upstairs and overlooks the Mekong, it's quite a popular stop. After, we all went for massages with the Blind Masseuses. These are folks who at some point have lost their sight and are trained as masseuses so they have a trade. I got about 10 minutes into mine and was ready to go. Liz and Jay opted for another hour each (2 total) and Liz said this massage, while 5 bucks, was the best she'd had yet. I think she may have offered to purchase this guy and bring him home with her. I mean I guess you could say "hire" but let's be honest. I'm strictly an oil massage kind of girl. Any pressing of fingers into my tender tissues brings upon unpleasantness that I don't wish to pay for, really.

We took a bus the next day up to Siem Reap. The countryside here is quite beautiful. It's amazing to see how people live. I saw this to some degree in Thailand, but here it is much more stark. Its a poor country. And it seems like the gap between the rich and the poor is very wide. People live in straw huts or small one room cabins on stilts. They have oxen who work their fields farming or they are fishermen. People have to work hard and it seems like they often sustain on what they're growing in their backyards. But with that said, I think the Cambodia/Khmer people are the happiest and friendliest overall since I've been away. Firstly, the english ability here is impressive. Lots of people speak English or are learning. The service in hotels and restaurants is very good. But aside from the service industry, when you walk down the street people say hello even if they're not trying to sell you anything. Thailand is supposedly "The Land of Smiles" but I'd venture to say I've seen a lot more Cambodian teeth (or gums at least) than Thai. I've asked to take photos of a few people who then thank me for taking them. The children for the most part seem happy and playful. But they are living in conditions I can only imagine. It's a strange feeling to come to a place like this and walk past these homes with corrogated tin roof 'houses' that you can look right into and go straight to my nice, clean guesthouse.

Our first night in Siem Reap Liz got terrible food poisoning. We have no idea from what since we all ate the same things that day, but Jay and I were totally fine and she was up in the bathroom all night. Jay and I decided to go to the floating market that day since Liz wasn't hell bent on going. We drove down through a little village with straw shacks lining the road where the people live. They brought us down to our own private longtail boat with a driver and english speaking guide. The guys brought us down the river and even though it's dry season, there were many people out in boats, kids playing basketball and soccer at the floating schools, and all sorts of great photos. Again, the lifestyle of the people is so far removed from where we are from, many of them live in boats. And I'm not talking about some luxury yaht, I mean like a covered canoe. There's an entire village of Vietnamese families who live on the water (I'm told because the Cambodian government won't let them buy land, but I don't know details).
We arrived out on the Tonle Sap lake and checked out some crocs they're holding in tanks there and a fish farm. There are women and children who sit out in boats outside this floating shop and try to sell bananas and drinks. They also pull right up to your boat and hop on. What is most amazing about these children is that they are taught - very young - how to 'beg'. I saw them go from laughing and playing then seeing me and putting on a 'whoa is me' sad face and putting their hand out. I am in no way suggesting these kids aren't in need of money. I'm just saying it's incredible how they are trained to 'make the face' and do all the 'right things' to get people to give them money. More on that in a bit.

That night will remain a mystery - since frankly most of it ended up being a mystery to me. Mike Shiley if you're reading this - YOWZERS on the happiness. Yikes. Yikers.

Liz felt better the next day so we all headed up to Angkor Wat to start exploring the temples. I could give you a history lesson on the temples, but instead I'll just say over hundreds of years they've gone from Buddhist to Hindu back to Buddhist and now they're a bunch of ruins. But the size of the complexes and intricacy of the carvings is amazing. Today we decided to get a guide since we really didn't know what we were looking at the first day. He 'spoke english' and all his words were correct, but when he put them together it wasn't very clear. The most interesting things he told us were about his experience during the Pol Pot regime, where he was separated from his parents at 5 years old and sent off to work doing manual labor from morning till night. When he was finally freed it took him years to find his parents again. Appalling.

But back to the children... their families live near the temples and may have little shops selling food or souvenirs. The kids rush up to you, often before you get off the tuk tuk (in Phnom Phen they would jump up onto the tuk tuk step and ride with you for a few feet) and immediately start in with their shpiel, which is the same for everyone. "You buy postcards from me. You need water, layyydeee? You buy from me. What's your name? Where are you from? America. America has 300 million people. Capitol is Washington DC. Bordered by Mexico and Canada." Sometimes they'll count to ten for you in several languages. Then you come out of the temples and they say, "Abby! You remember me? You buy drink from me!". They are all adorable and while you wish you could give money to all of them, the non profits around here ask that you don't but instead support an organization who is working to help them. Of course when we needed water we bought from them. But it's impossible to buy postcards from every kid that tries to sell them to you. It's fairly heartbreaking and you need to be able to dissociate yourself from it to some degree in order to handle being around it. Today Liz had a deaf lady boy give her a drawing he/she'd made. I mean there's just no end to their abilities. At dinner tonight a kid challenged Jay to a game of tic tac toe for a set of postcards. The kids aren't stupid - of course he won - this is what they do for a living. It's just good to be around people who have so little but seem to be fairly content. The boys who gave us our boat ride are both 19 and are going to school/learning english/working pretty much from morning till night so they can get a job in Siem Reap (up the road - the big city) at a nice hotel. It just makes me realize that it might be selfish to spend so much time finding my 'dream' job when I should feel blessed to be able have a job that let's me do all I do. It's a real reminder of how lucky we are when we speak to natives of the countries we're visiting who ask about the US (I showed a photo of Lone Peak to one of the boat guides who couldn't believe it was covered in snow. "I don't understand 'snow'") and say, "Maybe someday Ill see you there". And who knows, maybe they will. But for the most part it's a reminder that not everyone has the ability to pick up and travel across the world. A flight to the US from here is a family of 5's food and housing for around 10 years.

In any case, we did two days of temples and are now templed out.

Other things to do in Cambodia? Our hotel in Phnom Phen offered various 'services' from male or female visitors which were on the room service menu. Downstairs they had a weaponry menu which lists varying mechanisms of death and destruction and how much it will set you back to use one. AK47? 10 US dollars. Want to throw a hand granade? 20 bucks. And anything in between. Cambodia uses what it's got. It's useful yet strange that Camodia uses it's own currency but mostly uses the US dollar. We met a french couple in Phnom Phen who was banking on that, converting their francs to dollars and rolling in it. Liz suggested they buy our drinks, but it didn't quite go down like that. All in all, I feel much safer here (aside from the handgun incident) than I expected. I wouldn't go walking around much of Phnom Phen at night alone, but the people seem fairly innocuous and pleased to have us around. And we've bombed here.

We were considering going to Vietnam or up to Laos for our final couple of weeks, but everything is very expensive or complicated to go to, so instead we're spending New Years even here in Siem Reap then flying back to Bangkok then Krabi on Jan 3rd. Siem Reap is a surprisingly happening town. There's a couple of blocks they shut off at night and there's just bars and restaurants all up and down. That section of town is touristy but has a different feel from other places we've been. I'm going to go ahead and say it - I'm kind of glad there are more americans here than anywhere else we've been. It's not that I want to be around americans so much, it's just that traveling in places where the majority of people are european... how can I say this without sounding like a snobby, american traveler?... are kind of self absorbed and rude. Cambodia feels civilized, because the people traveling here don't stand in the middle of the sidewalk when you're trying to get by. They don't sit in the common areas at a hotel in their bra. When I ask them if they wouldn't mind shutting their hotel door - because they don't seem to care that their 2 year old is throwing a temper tantrum (while the parents read the newspaper) and destroying any feeling of calm one might want to have during their holiday - they don't say, "No. You shut your door." They don't stand over a family who's just finished eating, pressuring them to move so they can sit down. More than anything I think both Liz and I have been shocked at the behavior of our fellow travelers on this trip, it's been startling at times. And the ENTIRE WORLD smokes. Everyone. I feel the US of A may be the only country making strides in this department, seeing as how next to none of my friends are smokers. Doesn't matter to the tabacco companies. EVERYONE. ELSE. IS. May buddha have mercy on their black lung-ed souls.

With that, I bid you all a very Happy New Year. I hope 2007 has been good to all of you and that 2008 brings only happier days to one and all. Good night.