Photos from Laos and Cambodia

Photos from Laos and Cambodia are online here for anyone interested.

"Chiang Mai is Gone"

My last day in Luang Prabang, and I went for a walk through the center of town. I stopped at a temple and was wandering around the grounds when I saw a handwritten sign over a small building saying:

"Welcome to See Luang Prabang Ancient Palm Scroll"

Inside, a group of four monks was sitting around a table. They smiled and motioned for me to come in, so I did, and asked what was up with this "Ancient Palm Scroll."

One of the monks who was maybe 18 or 19, opened a cabinet. Inside, the shelves were neatly stacked with hundreds of slats of dried palm, each one about 1 by 12 inches. Buddhist teachings were written in Pali script on each piece in neat, tiny black ink.

"It takes one day to write just one piece. And if we make a mistake, we need to throw away and start again. Can not erase," the young monk told me.

"Why do you use palm?" I asked.

"Paper does not last, but these can last maybe 100 or 200 years."

I thought of possibly mentioning investing in a PC and scanner. But traditions run very deep in this country.


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Later that morning, I arrived at the tiny Luang Prabang airport to check in for my Lao Airlines flight to Chiang Mai. At the ticket counter, things suddenly took a wrong turn. An agent stared blankly at my ticket for several seconds, then called two other agents over. All three were now staring at the ticket, turning it over, thumbing through the pages, looking for some clue as to what this odd piece of paper might be.

I already knew the answer, but asked anyway... "Um, is there a problem?"

"Chiang Mai is gone." the agent replied.

A statement like this could mean a variety of things, ranging from mildly inconvenient to potentially catastrophic.

"Gone?"

"Yes. Gone."

Then a young manager came over, took the ticket, and again began examining it page by page.

"You flight left at 11:30 yesterday sir. "

My ticket was for a 1:40 pm flight today. That mysteriously did not exist.

"Is there any way to get to Chiang Mai today?

He paused for a second, then said, "Okay no problem, I will help you."

He pulled out a cell phone and made a quick call.

"Come with me."

I followed him outside the terminal to a small warehouse in the back.

"My friend here, he will help you. You go with him."

His friend came out, hopped on a motorbike, and motioned for me to get on.

If I had been in almost any other country in the world, a scenario like this would have completely freaked me out. But I hopped on, and we were off.

(ps: Can you imagine a ticket agent at LAX taking the time to drive you to a travel agent because you missed your flight??)

On the pothole covered road through empty rice fields that leads from the airport into town, I thought, "This could possibly get really bad." I have no idea who this guy is or where we're going. My bags are back at the airport in this guy's office. My phone, my laptop...

Then, the ominous thump-thump-thump from the back wheel started.

Flat tire.

We got off. He pointed at me, then at the tire, then laughed.

"You!"

Yes, it was my fault. Big American make flat tire on tiny Asian motorbike. At least he thought it was amusing.

We started walking. The road was deserted. Then, as if by magic, out of nowhere a small shack appeared.

A shack that also just happened to be a motorbike repair shop.

We continued into town, I got a new ticket, and my bags were still at the airport when we got back.

Two hours later, when I was walking out from the terminal to get onto the plane, the manager who had helped me earlier came out to say goodbye.

How can you not fall in love with a place like this?

The Land That Time Forgot

Every morning just before dawn in the sleepy Lao town of Luang Prabang, drum beats softly begin to echo through the streets. Then, in a silent single file procession, nearly 1,000 saffron robed monks from the town's 33 temples make their way barefoot through the streets, holding out their alms bowls for the donations of food that are given each day by the town's residents.

Around twilight, when the chilly air is heavy with the smell of wood fires burning, the monks return to their temples to perform their nightly ritual of prayer and chanting.

I had only been in Luang Prabang for a couple hours when I met a young novice monk named Nooth. (Now, I know some of you have heard another umm... unusual... story about my meeting a young monk, but rest assured, this guy was a respectable monk and totally on the up and up...)

He showed me around his temple and talked about his life here. He is twenty years old and would like to travel to Vientiane, the Lao capital, to attend college and study English. He has lived his whole life in Luang Prabang and been a novice monk for six years. At his temple, Wat Sop, there are 30 monks. They wake up at 4:00 am to do chores, pray, and then begin the daily alms procession. Then the monks return to the temple to eat whatever food they've collected, their only meal of the day. They attend school until mid-afternoon, where they study traditional subjects along with English, Sanskrit, Pali, and Buddhist teachings. They are asleep by 9:30 pm.

Nooth invited me to come to hear the monks chanting that evening. He let me come into the temple and sit on the floor in the back, where I listened for 30 minutes. The monks chant in Pali, and although they don't use more than a few notes, the musical patterns are surprisingly complicated and varied. What was most amazing was how they all were really belting it out! No one was holding back, even the little 12 year-olds (although I did notice that the young monk in front of me was also sending text messages from a cell phone hidden under his robe).

Luang Prabang, is often described as magical and laid back. It is an ancient town on the Mekong River surrounded by lush green mountains. Faded French Colonial architecture, quiet flower-lined alleys, and authentic arts and crafts make it a very charming place. I mean very charming. I mean, How much is that little wooden house that's for sale??? Sometimes I'll turn a corner and think, I could be in a French alpine village." Then, the old woman carrying baskets of bananas on a pole straddling her shoulders walks by, and I remember "oh right... Southeast Asia."

On Friday, a chainsmoking fisherman named Vith offered to take me up the river on his boat. The cost was 200,000 kip, which might sound like an awful lot of money until you realize one US dollar equals about 10,000 kip. We travelled upstream about 30 kilometers to the village of Pak Ou, where there are a series of small caves in which people have been placing buddha statues for several hundred years. The dark caves are now filled with thousands of buddhas, some thickly covered with dust and cobwebs.

Along the way we passed scenes of daily life that have probably been happening the same way for more than a hundred years: farmers tending rice in terraced fields along the river banks; fishermen in narrow wooden boats tossing handmade nets out into the muddy river; villagers repairing huts made from bamboo and palm fronds; children bathing and swimming in the river...

In Luang Prabang, when you order food to go, it's not wrapped in tin foil, but in a banana leaf. Racks of sticky rice and baskets of chilis sit on the curbsides drying. Local craftspeople sit in their yards pressing leaves and dried flowers into wet trays of handmade paper. Women at wooden looms weave stunning traditional silk skirts, as chickens and roosters scramble at their feet.

I took a bicycle ride outside of town today, riding through several tiny villages until the road eventually became just dirt and rocks. Every kid I passed waved and smiled at me.

I'm not leaving. But, you're all welcome to come visit me here anytime... look for the unusually tall fisherman floating down the river in a small blue wooden boat.

Two Schools

On the first morning, Ponheary and her driver, Hong, met me in the lobby of my hotel at 7:45. We were going to a small village school about 25 kilometers outside Siem Reap to deliver some much-needed supplies.

First we drove into town and purchased seven cases of soy milk from a local market. Then, we made a stop at her family-run guest house to pick up some school uniforms that she knew some of the kids still needed. This also gave her a chance to check her e-mail, as she is in such demand as a tour guide that she's constantly trying to shuffle her schedule around to accommodate more and more requests from tourists.

After a hot, bumpy, and dusty 45-minute drive through rice fields, we pulled into the dirt driveway of the four-room school building. Although the structure was wood, two of the four walls were made of thatched leaves.

Each room was a different "grade," but the ages of the children varied quite a bit - from six to about twelve.

The teachers welcomed us into each classroom, where we passed out the cans of soy milk, as each child stood up to "wai" to us (the 'wai' is a gesture of gratitude made by folding hands together around chin level). Some of the children drank the milk right away. Others saved it to take home and share with their families.

I took a few photos of the kids, who loved seeing their pictures in my camera. After I took one, they would all gather around to look and giggle.

Then we distributed the uniforms to a few of the children who didn't have them. As Ponheary and Hong sorted the uniforms by size, the children stood completely still, their eyes wide with anticipation knowing they were about to become "real" students.

I brought some containers of bubbles, which we later passed out to the kids. I'm not sure if they had ever seen bubbles before. As one kid would blow out a stream of bubbles, the others would chase around wildly flailing their arms and laughing, trying to catch them.

As we pulled away, everyone stood and waved amid a sea of floating bubbles.

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On the second day, Ponheary was booked as a guide, so just Hong and I were going to another school outside the city to present new bicycles to 17 of the most outstanding students. Many of the kids live 5 kilometers or more from the school, and must walk there and back home every day. With bicycles, their trip becomes much easier, and the likelihood of them continuing to go to school becomes much higher.

The bikes cost about $20 each, and were waiting for us when we arrived. The headmaster came out to greet me with an English teacher to act as interpreter as he spoke no English himself. He had the kids line up in rows - one for boys, one for girls. As he called their names, they came up and got their new bikes.

The kids were incredibly well-behaved and polite. As they came up to me for the bikes, I tried to joke a bit with them, shaking their hands or high-fiving (hey, new bikes!!), but then soon saw that for them, this was a very serious and important day.

The headmaster then asked if I'd like to say a few words to the children regarding their new bikes, which took me completely by surprise...

"Ummm...Make sure you keep them clean," which may possibly have been the stupidest thing I could have said since they will be riding to and from school on dirt roads.

"Drive safely, and make sure you keep enough air in your tires..."

I can only hope I was sounding less like an idiot in translation.

"And stay in school!"

Then one girl stepped forward to speak to me for the group. When she finished, the translator told me what she had said.

"We all thank you for the bicycles, and we promise we will all try to be good students and work hard and stay in school. We wish you good luck in all your life and we hope to see you again in Cambodia."

Then, the headmaster invited me inside the library to drink some coconut, apologizing because that's all he had to offer. I tried to explain to him that I was actually somewhat thrilled, never having drinken from a fresh coconut before!

We stopped in a few classrooms, said hello to the children, and then were on our way. It was my last night in Cambodia and I was going to watch the sunset over the jungle from the top of Angkor Wat.

I hope those kids have good luck in all their life too, and I hope to see them again in this beautiful country.

$12 Per Child

I wanted to come to Cambodia for two reasons. First, to visit the temples of Angkor - one of the great wonders of the world, and a place I've wanted to see for quite a long time. And second, to meet an amazing woman named Ponheary Ly who is on a personal mission to insure that every Cambodian child who wishes to attend elementary school is able to do so.

I first heard about Ponheary Ly from some extraordinary trip reports posted on Fodors.com. Ponheary survived the Khmer Rouge work camps as a child. She later became a school teacher in her home town of Siem Reap during the years when the country was closed to the West. Currently, she works as a very popular tour guide.

But what she cares about most is the education of young children.

During the 27 years of the Pol Pot regime, one quarter of the population of the country was executed by the Khmer Rouge. Schools were closed. Cities were evacuated. Everyone - rich, poor, educated, illiterate - was sent into the countryside to grow rice. Having survived Pol Pot, the Vietnamese occupation, and the aftereffects of the US war in Vietnam, Cambodia definitely feels like a country on the rise. I have never visited a place where people smile so often, so warmly, and so sincerely.

Now, the illiteracy rate in rural areas of Cambodia is around 60%. The average annual income in these areas is about US $350 a year. Elementary school education is free, most children want to attend school, and most parents want to send them. But there are two major stumbling blocks: uniforms and school supplies. Approximately US $12 buys the necessary items for one child for one year. For the cost of a movie ticket, a child's life can be changed.

For several years now, Ponheary seeks out these kids who are unable to go to school and attempts to raise funds from the community, from tourists, and sometimes using her own earnings, "sponsors" these kids into school.

In January of 2006, the Ponheary Ly Foundation was formed by two Americans who visited Cambodia, met Ponheary, and were so moved by her story and her work here that they wanted to find a way to help.

Of course there are many worthwhile organizations in Cambodia and worldwide that help children. But this works on a direct, grassroots level. I've spent two days here working with Ponheary. I've visited schools and met the children. I've seen firsthand what a small - or large - amount of money can do to help, and how desperately it is needed. And I've seen the look of pride on a young child's face when they receive their school uniform, their shoes, and their books.

If you'd like to know more, visit The Ponheary Ly Foundation.

The Weird Sign of the Day Returns!

and really needs no further explanation...

"Hello Mister, Where You From?"

At the entrance to nearly every temple at Angkor, you will be met by a small flock of children wanting you to buy postcards or souvenirs. Everything costs "one dollar, one dollar." Buying from these kids is generally discouraged because if their parents find they can make money hawking junk at the temples, they won't bother sending them to school.

The kids, however, are adorable, intelligent, and often cunningly good salespeople.

"Hello Mister, where you from? From America?"

"Yes"

"Capitol is Washington, D.C. President George Bush. Population 300 million. You have 50 states. What state you from?"

"California"

"Capitol Sacramento." (thankfully, he didn't seem to know about Mr. Schwartzenneger)

"You buy postcard from me? Ten for one dollar:

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...
Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix."

He continued counting to ten in Spanish, then Italian, then German.

"Okay, you buy from me?"

"I think you forgot Chinese!"

"Yi, er, san, si, wu..."

Watch your mail - in a few weeks you may be receiving one of ten lovely postcards from Angkor.

The Temples of Angkor

In the mid-nineteenth century, a French explorer named Henri Mouhot, traveling in the jungles of northern Cambodia, heard rumors of a vast complex of "temples built by gods or by giants" and a "lost city of the Khmer empire."

Many believed these rumors were folk tales, but in 1860, Mouhot's expedition stumbled upon the magnificent temples of Angkor - over one hundred monuments in all, built by a succession of kings from the 7th to the 13th centuries, and scattered over an area of more than 75 square miles. This was the ancient Khmer city of Angkor, whose population reached almost one million at a time when the cities of Europe were still in the Dark Ages.

But after centuries of being left deserted in the jungle, nature had taken over. The roots of enormous fig and banyan trees grew around and over the massive sandstone blocks of the temples, knocking them from their foundations. Mosses and vines covered every surface.

As restoration slowly began in the following years, the incredible artistic achievement of the Khmers became clearer. The temples of Angkor contain some of the finest statuary and stone carving ever created. Some temples take the form of huge mountains, symbolizing the universe of Hindu mythology. Others are sprawling complexes of corridors and causeways. Almost all are perfectly symmetrical in their design and construction. Many have been almost completely restored and rebuilt. Others have been left as they were originally found - magical, romantic ruins amid the overgrown jungle.

The 12th century temple of Angkor Wat was (and is) the centerpiece of this Khmer city. Enclosed by a moat and outer wall nearly two miles long, it is the largest religious structure ever built.

I guess I've resorted to rattling off the facts because I can't find the words to describe the feeling of seeing these awe-inspiring temples for the first time. It's an experience no book or photograph can ever prepare you for.

Eating My Way Across The (other) City of Angels

Bangkok, the sprawling capital of Thailand, is officialy called Krung Thep ("City of Angels") by Thais. This, however, is only an abbreviation of the city's full name:

Krungthep Mahanakhon Amonrattanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokphop Noppharatratchathani Burirom-udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amonphiman Awatansathit Sakkathattiya Witsanu Kamprasit

which translates as:

The city of angels, the great city, the eternal jewel city, the impregnable city of God Indra, the grand capital of the world endowed with nine precious gems, the happy city, abounding in an enormous Royal Palace that resembles the heavenly abode where reigns the reincarnated god, a city given by Indra and built by Vishnukam.

I love eating in Thailand, and I'd recently been reading on fodors.com about this amazing little Bangkok restaurant. Tucked away on a quiet soi in Old Bangkok is a tiny establishment serving what some believe is the finest Thai food to be found anywhere. CHOTECHITR is the name of the place. After traveling by longtail boat, tuktuk, and then wandering around lost for about 40 minutes, I arrived just before 1:00 to find all five wooden tables empty, except for the one in front, where Mrs. Tim, the hefty proprietor, and her two little dogs, were holding court.

"This is not an easy place to find," I said and she smiled knowingly, as that's most likely the first thing she hears from every curious westerner who eventually does manage to find her modest little establishment.

The handwritten menu - all in Thai - contains almost 400 items and covers three of the four walls. On the wall above my head was a faded copy of a 2005 New York Times review. "Brilliant...stunning...one of the wonders of the world..." raved Mr. R. W. "Johnny" Apple Jr.

"I guess I'll have what he had!" I said to Mrs. Tim.

Three dishes followed: first, warm banana flower salad with prawns, chicken, tamarind, coconut milk, dried chilis, and shredded banana flowers (yum!!). Then a huge palte of mee krob - sweet, crisp, sticky fried noodles (yum!!!) . And last, giant prawns in red curry and coconut cream (yum!!!).

Was it the best Thai food I ever had? No way. But it was a perfect example of what makes Thai cooking so incredibe: a masterful ability to combine contrasting flavors and textures - sweet, spicy, salty and sour - crunchy and smooth - all into one very amazing meal.

So I've heard about this 100 year-old sticky rice shop...

Doll Dangling

Although it's nice to see this translator so skillfully practicing the art of alliteration, the message on this sign at the entrance to Wat Arun (Temple of the Dawn) in Bangkok has been keeping me awake at night.

Is doll dangling at this temple really that serious of a problem that a warning needs to be posted right up there with the much more practical, "Do not clime on the rail?"

And, of the small percentage of people who might actually choose to travel with their dolls when visiting Buddhist temples, how many of them would also think, "I'm climbing to the top of this sucker so I can dangle Baby Alive by her feet!"

"Dangle" is an odd word, and frankly, I'm getting tired of typing it over and over.

Damn that sign.

Now, assuming someone did decide that Baby Alive was coming along to Wat Arun and she's up there dangling away... just how much of a danger would this actually be? I suppose unexpectedly getting whacked on the head from a doll dropped from 20 feet could be painful (and certainly jarring), but hardly life-threatening. On the other hand, if the doll owner dropped the doll from on high and then decided to go over after it, they would deserve the broken neck for being an idiot.

So please, people - it's just not worth the risk. Leave those dolls at home.