Nearly time to leave home

Impromptu friends in Cambodia

When we sit still for too long, we lose a sense of wonder for the world around us. The most beautiful places can become mundane, and the most precious people, we begin to take for granted.

"Elephant for Rent"

By traveling to new places, somewhere completely unfamiliar, I have periodically managed to shock myself out of this complacency, to restore that child-like idea that there could be an adventure around any corner.

Floating Market

I was reminded of this as I scrolled through some old photos from Cambodia. I'm ready for that sense of wonder and awareness again. I'm ready to see that the world is much larger than it seems, limited by my daily experience. I'm ready to leave home again.

From the Archives...

This email correspondence with my sister is a fascinating bit of history from my last trip that begged to see the light of day. Enjoy.


Dear Jess,

Happy Birthday. Sorry I'm a few hours late, but the internet is a fickle entity here on the beach in Cambodia. I'm in Sihanoukville on the south coast and it's Chinese New Year. The place is totally packed and the power supply can't keep up so there are outages about five times a day. Aside from the loss of the fan the outages are quite welcome as they put an end to the endless stream of the strange Asian version of Happy Birthday (or Happy Bird Day) that they seem to play on an endless loop at New Year. Yes, I know, I'm really roughing it. I think I'll go have another cocktail to ease the pain.

How are things back on the home front? Has your corporation achieved world domination? Did Dennis Kucinach get the democratic nomination like I knew he would?
Hope all is well, sis. Talk to you soon.

Dan

***

Hey Dano!

I was just home last weekend, and we were speculating whether or not you were still alive. I’m glad to see that (1) you are and (2) you’re even lucid enough to remember my b-day. Awww, shucks.

While you were away, Canada invaded the US, defeated us over a long weekend, and declared us the “great southern province”. (Apparently they were pissed that we could never remember their Prime Minister’s name – who knew?) But it saves us the trouble of voting in the US elections this year, so that’s nice.

Carbonite is now a Fortune 500 company with 10,000 employees, and I have been promoted to VP of Everything. We’re thinking of buying a small country to host company retreats; have you seen any worth purchasing in your travels? Happy Chinese New Year, and have another cocktail for me, would ya?

Your Loving Sister

***

Dear Jess,

Cambodia is for sale but, regrettably, covered in land mines and unexcavated mass graves. What is your company policy on unexploded ordinance and genocide anyway? I've been meaning to ask.

But while your very pc approach of purchasing a nation is quaint, I think that your best bet is to develop a small naval military force and simply acquire an archipelago in the South Pacific. It's a time tested method and chances are that their current European occupation has been rendered fairly complacent by large quantities of sunshine and coconut flavored cuisine. Besides, with our impending withdrawal from the middle east privately contracted military muscle is about to become very affordable. I've heard good things about a small company called Blackwater, you should check it out.

As for the Canadian takeover, while I'm excited about the prospect of socialized health care, I fear it will be short lived. Under Canadian law all we need is a simple majority to secede again. Hence the Cannucks' lack of success with imperialism. It's a shame too, because if anybody could use a getaway archipelago in the South Pacific it's those pasty Canadians, eh?

Love,

Dan

***

Hmmmm, Blackwater you say? I’ll have to check them out. The name’s got such a nice ring to it – and it would sound so great with “gate” on the end. How could we *not* select them to help us with our international acquisitions – I mean, “humanitarian peacekeeping operations”? (I can tell you one thing; I know what our first company team-building event will be at our lavish new Cambodian corporate hideaway! But shhhh – it’s a surprise! NB: You did say those mass graves were un-excavated, right? Know where I can get 10,000 shovels on short notice?)

Re: our extremely polite Canadian overlords, don’t worry: we’ll be living the high life with socialized medicine for many years to come. In order for the US to get a majority and secede, us former-Americans would have to register to vote and then show up on election day. And you know *that’s* never going to happen. ;-) I hope you’re enjoying your coconut-flavored life in Cambodia… but when are you coming back to the NASC? (That’s the North American Socialist Collective. We’ve done some rebranding since the Canada merger.)

***

Sounds like you've got one hell of a scavenger hunt sceduled for the next company picnic. Just make sure to send in a team of interns first to clear the mines. And a little advice: land mines are designed to be non-lethal based on the theory that a wounded soldier exhausts more resources than a dead one. This is also true with interns, so you may want to revise the dismemberment clause in your health plan before sending them into the field (or be prepared to get your hands dirty, if you know what I'm saying).

I'll be headed back to mother Canamerica on April 22nd. I'll be expecting a sixer of Molson in the fridge, a plate of french fries and gravy on the table and a good curling match on the television when I get there, eh? That's assuming I don't have any trouble repatriating with my obsolete American passport. Do you think that I'll need to memorize the prime minister's name to be granted temporary refugee status? I hope not. It took me years to remember Chretien's name and then they just went and got some new guy. Well, whatever happens I just hope they don't try to bring rollerblading back into style, because that was really lame.

Cheers eh?,

Dan

P.S. Given your new found Canadianhood maybe you can help me decipher this Canadianism that I heard the other day after a brief conversation with one of our new compatriots:

"Ok, hey, we're gonna boogie and try to spin up a number before the nights festivities . . . see ya out there, eh?"

If we're going to peacefully coexist with them we should make an effort to learn their language.

If you needed another reason not to pollute...

The crescent bay of Los Frailes beach, in the Machalilla National Park of Ecuador, is a really beautiful place. Straddled by sunbaked cliffs, lapped by turquoise breakers, dotted with small craggy islands, it contains all the qualities that one would want to exploit with say, a large all-inclusive resort done in tasteless carribean colors, but with the added benefit of being immune to such exploitation as it is on protected land.

Imagine my delight then, when I stumbled upon an adorable sea turtle swimming out through the small breaking waves and grabbed my underwater camera to get a closer look. This place was just so darn neat.

The turtle however, seemed to be moving erratically and having some difficulty swimming to deeper water. A closer look at the pictures revealed an amorphous blob trailing below it. A bag woven of plastic fiber had become entangled around it´s neck and front legs.


I informed the ranger at the park entrance who assured me that he would then call another available ranger to attend to the turtle. Not knowing whether to expect help or indifference, I was impressed by his efficiency. The ranger, of course, did not show up so fifteen minutes later I found my self walking into the surf with a borrowed pocket knife, wondering whether a three foot sea turtle can bite off finger as a small crowd began to gather on shore.

The bag was a tangled mess and there was nothing to be done in chest deep water, so I grabbed the sides of it´s shell and led the turtle towards the shore until I could carry it over the cresting shorebreak and onto the beach. Luckily the turtle seemed to oblige, and showed little interest in nipping off my extremities.


As the bag was freed by an onlooking taxi driver, the owner of the knife, I noticed two more bags somehow entangled in the turtles back legs. Lifting the back of his shell I realized that they were not entangled, but had been eaten and now were being passed. The sight was heart wrenching, this majestic and gentle animal was being ravaged inside and out by simple, stupid carelessness.
I removed as much of the plastic as possible and carried the turtle back into the water.

Already it seemed to have more energy as it flapped it´s front flippers in anticipation of diving back into the ocean. Once past the breakers I placed it back in the water. The turtle now swam easily down to the ocean floor and further out to sea.

Give a hoot, people.

Feliz Año Viejo

Or, "Happy Old Year" as you´ll hear in the streets of Cuenca on New Year´s Eve. Here in Ecuador the celebrations of December 31st are not so much about ringing in the new as burning out the old. Thousands of paper mache masks representing everything from hated political figures to cartoon characters are constructed and placed on dummies in front of homes and business only to be ritually torched in the street later in the evening.

This handsome couple said that they searched desperately for a George W. Bush mask but, go figure, they were sold out at every place in the city. They ended up settling for Cheney and the next best likeness they could find.

Different organizations around the city create these elaborate larger-than-life diaramas in the blocked off streets of the city center representing various evils, like Ecuador´s most hated politicians burning in a firy hell, or a meeting of the mistrusted Ecudorian Congress. The real show happens at midnight when the effigies are dragged into the closest intersection where they are set alight and burn in towering streetwide infernos.

Just add the requisite New Year´s binge alcohol consumption and pepper the streets with young children shooting fireworks at eachother and the ensuing atmosphere is a bit like something out of Vietnam War flick. As bad an idea as this all may seem, it certainly beats champagne and conical paper hats.

No Hay

Spanish for "there isn´t any," this is a popular phrase in Montañita, Ecuador around the holidays. Whether it be at a hotel- ¨no hay habitacion¨ (no rooms), at any of the restaurants- ¨no hay comida¨ (no food) or at the money changer- ¨no hay dinero¨ (no money), you begin to repeat the phrase in chorus along with whomever you´ve just asked about anything.

There was simply nothing left in Montañita. The culprit? Thursday. A generally pleasant and much anticipated day of the week, Thursday can take the blame for this one. This year both Christmas and New Year´s Day fell on a Thursday allowing the entire population of Ecuador to take Friday off for the most glorious four day grouping known to man, the long weekend, and descend upon the unexpecting bohemian fishing and surfing town of Monañita.

The result, of course, is that unfortunate travelers like myself end up spending exorbitant amounts of money to stay on a broken bed in somebody´s grandparent´s bedroom. At least they were nice enough to move the grandparents first.

The Suicide Simulator

Nothing particularly interesting about this 300 ft. bridge over Bascun Cayon... that is, until you strap yourself to the railing and leap from it. For a nominal fee of $20 you can don a harness and find out what it´s like to hurdle yourself into the gaping crevase below without the messy clean-up.

This is not a bungy jump, but a ¨swing jump,¨ the primary difference being that with a bungy jump whiplash is a strong potential whereas with a swing jump it´s included free of charge. The line clipped to your back doesn´t stretch like bungee, the idea being that with a hearty forward thrust the line will reach it´s apex while still at an angle and refrain from snapping your spine like dried spaghetti.

This works well in theory and moderately ok in practice. While the experience went by in the blink of an eye, it was well worth it to feel what it's like to take that suicidal step and rocket head first into the ravine below.

Above: A rare photo of the brave author

Destination, Shmestination.

After four days in Quito, in an unprecedented bout of foresight, I actually made reservations for a hostel at my next destination. Following an awkward phone call to the Spanish speaking hostelier I even got to bed at a reasonable hour and set an alarm to catch the early bus.

I was on my way to the reportedly beautiful town of Baños. I bought the ticket and was informed that my bus was leaving from gate 21 at 9:15. I found gate 21 and the bus parked there with the name Baños in two foot letters on the side.

At 9:10 the conductor began to shout "Baños, Baños, Baños" and I boarded the bus, which, I was impressed to note, actually left at 9:15. Just not, of course, to Baños.

Three hours into the three and a half hour ride to Baños the conductor came to collect my ticket and informed me that I was, in fact, on the "Baños" Bus Lines five and a half hour bus ride to Tena. A town about four hours away from Baños.

Never one to contend with the will of the fates while traveling I paid for my ticket to Tena, got off the bus and took advantage of the towns close proximity to the rainforest to embark the following morning on a jungle trek through the Amazon. Why not?