2024: The Year of … What, Exactly?

Another year, gone. Just like that. So turbulent. Kind of chaotic. And … strange.

I usually start each new year by taking a few days and quietly reflecting on the one that just ended.

But this year, that period of reflection is being pre-empted.

I ended the year working, I’m returning to work tomorrow, then flying east for a very short work trip two days later. It’s very different. (Is it possible to start a new year tired?)

I figured, while I’m on my couch, I’d briefly review how I did in 2023.

So, I didn’t get to spend as much time with friends and family as I’d hoped. But I did enjoy what little time I got to spend in the company of others.

I did a tiny bit of writing. But the pauses between those small spurts were much longer. (I did start regularly reading in the fall – and it didn’t take me months to finish a book!)

I occasionally did something nice for myself – a movie and a play, if I can recall. But I could have done a little bit more. (This will always be a project in progress.)

As for finding that “scene-stealer energy”? I’m not sure I did. (Maybe to someone else, I did, and I didn’t even realize it. Or did I ask for it a year early? Who knows?)

And, just under the wire, I’ve been given a fun, professional opportunity. At least, I hope it will be fun. The list of things to do feels a bit overwhelming at the moment. (Hence the reason I’m returning to work so soon.)

But, I did take a vacation overseas for the first time in several years, to Malta. The sun, the impossibly blue water and change in scenery was just the thing I needed (even if the post-travel glow didn’t last as long as I’d hoped).

One thing that was definitely unexpected was getting nominated for an award for a work project I’d worked on the year before. That was a very pleasant surprise.

And that brings me to the present.

The last couple of months — at work and just in the world at large — has been tumultuous, dark and a bit hopeless at times. It’s left me sort of drained and sometimes in a bit of a fog.

It also feels like it’s been the type of year where people around me have experienced some kind of massive life change – losing parents, losing (or walking away from) jobs, retirement, changing relationships. Even though I’m out here on the periphery watching these things happening to other people, it’s a continuous reminder that – like much on this planet – things aren’t the same as they once were (and were never meant to stay that way).

As another birthday approaches, it’s made me think about what I want the next several years to look like. Am I okay with my life as it is now, and to continue what I’m doing, to sustain it? Am I getting what I want out of how I’m living? And if my life changed – either because I changed it, or because circumstances changed it for me – would I be okay with that, and what would that even look like?

I read a couple of horoscope(s) for the upcoming year (yes, I know they’re not serious, relax), and even they are saying I’m supposed to enter some period of change, or transformation, or re-invention.

So, what now?

Honestly, I’ve no idea. For the next 6 weeks, work is playing a lead role. I simply aim to take it one day at a time. I do have thoughts floating around at the back of my mind, but change is the last thing I’m thinking about.

But I do want to take the time to write down what I’d like to see in 2024 — at least, for now:

Have another crack at taking better care of my health. As mentioned above, I did make some progress in 2023. When I carved out a routine and stuck with it as best I could, it started working. Then, I fell off. I’m not making any vows to re-start my health journey tomorrow. It’s simply not realistic for me. I’m the type of person who thrives when I have a stable, consistent schedule. When that stability returns, then I’ll give things another try.

Do more nice things for myself. It did happen, but it happened so infrequently. Let’s see if I can improve on this, to remind myself that it’s okay to do something other than work or basic life errands.

Keep on travellin’. As I found out planning my trip to Malta last year, travel has gotten much more costly. And I think I read something over the holidays, suggesting that travel is going to get more chaotic in 2024. So I feel like like I need to make the effort to see as much as I can, while I still can afford it. (No, I don’t know where I’m going yet. The year’s fresh.)

Do a better job of looking out for myself. I feel like the back half of 2024 pushed me around a bit too much and left a couple dings. Life does that, and I was fortunate to be able to talk to co-workers who helped me weather those tiny storms. But I have to try to do a better job of advocating for myself. Because no one else is looking out for my best interests.

Do not give up on writing. The struggle continues. And in the age of multiple screens, I’m more likely to pick up my phone to play games when I have some downtime, than to jot down possible fictional story ideas or chunks of potential paragraphs in a notes app. And when I’m stressed from work, I don’t immediately channel that frustration into a potential short story. It’s the furthest thing from my mind. But it really shouldn’t be.

Spend time with friends I don’t get to see. I think about all the people I’m fortunate to call my friends. And then I ask myself: when was the last time I saw them? The fact I sometimes can’t remember is a bit dismaying. Some folks, I maybe see once a year, twice if I’m lucky. Again, that’s the way life is sometimes. But when my life schedule returns to “normal”, I want to work on this.

Try to be open to surprises and plot twists. This is my yearly “note to self” to keep my expectations low, in the hope I’m pleasantly surprised (and not overwhelmed and wanting to cry) when things happen.

I’m fully resigning myself to the fact 2024 is gonna be a mystery. But will the universe gift me with a page-turner and a satisfying surprise ending, or a poorly-written flop?

I guess that will all be revealed in time. But for now, I’m off to start this year the way I usually do — with a neat, short stack of pancakes.

Getting Back on the Travel Horse

I’ve slowly – and gradually – been getting back out in the world again. And for the first time in about four years, I’m taking the plunge and taking a trip out of the country.

I didn’t think I’d be doing that, but a few months ago, I figured, why not?

But rather than immediately resume my love of places extremely far away, I thought I’d start somewhere in Europe.

So, where am I going?

Malta.

Why, you might be asking. Well … why not?

It’s in the Mediterranean. It’s also small, so it’s easy to manage in a week to 10 days.

Plus, I’m going at the end of September — early in the fall, but still at a time of year when the weather is still nice (and, I’m told, the Mediterranean is still warm) — which I hope translates to slightly fewer tourists by the time I arrive.

I’m joining up with a small tour group for roughly 6 days. But I’ll have a day to myself on either end.

At the time I’m writing this, I’m a little under 3 weeks away from boarding a plane. Am I excited yet?

No … not quite.

My brain is filled with all sorts of lists I’m hoping to get done before I get on the plane. I am doing some searches of places to eat, as well as possible things to do on my “alone” days.

On top of which, travelling right now is more chaotic and haphazard, so I’m trying to decide whether to attempt travelling with a carry-on suitcase, OR take a chance, take a bigger suitcase I’ll have to check in, and hope it actually arrives at the other end when I do.

There’s also remembering the little things of prepping myself for actually being in enclosed plane cabins for 10 and a half hours and the jet lag that’ll follow.

Plus, just the normal, fleeting anxiety of being by myself in a different country, wondering if my travel “persona” will wake up and shake off the cobwebs – or if she’s permanently hibernating – and if I’ll meet nice people. Now that I’m older, the element of fearlessness I used to have in getting out there is harder to summon.

But for better or for worse, it’s only 8 days. I have to trust in the travel deities that it’ll be just fine – even much better than I’m imagining right now.

EDIT TO ADD: As it happens – or because the algorithm is spying on my smartphone – I got a notification about this post (by Travel Off Path, an independent travel Web site site I hadn’t heard of before) on why Malta is apparently a hot travel destination this fall. (Who knew?) I’ll let you know if the hype based on this post is warranted.

(Almost) Half-Year Check In …

Well, hi there. It’s been a while.

I didn’t intend to be silent for this long. But, life happens.

What’s happened since my first post of the year? And am manifesting any of those things I wrote in January? Hmmm ….

Well, I’ve tried to take an occasional day off work to meet up with friends, but I can’t say I’m spending more time with friends and family. Wait – let me rephrase that. I’m probably spending more time with friends and family than I did last year. But to be honest, my socializing is still a work in progress.

I’ve been out to tea, and a friend’s birthday. The weather has gotten warmer, which I hope helps boost that over the next few months. And I’ve already had an outing a week with friends – either as a group or one-on-one. But we’ll see what summer holds.

In terms of my health, it turns out I now have legitimate reasons to try a little harder to take better care of myself. Three, to be exact.

In March, I had my first physical in about 4 years. The physical itself went as well as could be expected.

The bloodwork and ultrasound I had weeks apart, weeks later, told a slighly different story.

Turns out I have elevated cholesterol, elevated blood sugar in the low pre-diabetic range …

And three small, new fibroids.

Sigh.

I’ve really cut back on the fast or prepared food – reserving it for Starbucks breakfasts on weekend mornings, and for dinners with friends (trying to make “healthy” choices). Most of my meals, I make at home.

Sugary drinks (the odd glass of ginger ale, the rare glass of juice and, again, Starbucks on weekends) have definitely been cut back, replaced with more drinking more water.

I’m trying to move more (either through walking or online workouts), and I’m working on getting more sleep.

The major outstanding thing I’m struggling with: snacking. I’ve been trying to incorporate more vegetables in my meals (cooked at home) and as a snack option. But the cookies, granola bars and Bulk Barn snacks are still a challenge. Baby steps.

One unexpected surprise?

A special project I worked on in the winter of 2022 was nominated for an award earlier this spring!

I attended the awards ceremony in April. Inevitably, my colleagues and I didn’t win. But to me, the nomination (after 20 years of working in my field) was still a win.

(Sidebar: the same project was recently nominated for another award by a professional association in the U.S. We find out in August whether we win something.)

So that’s it at the moment. I’m still waiting to stumble onto/be presented with a “fun professional opportunity” – there’s still six months left in the year, so you never know what’ll happen …

Oh, there is one other thing. But I’ll save it for the next entry.

2023: Scene-Stealer Energy

For the first New Year’s Eve in a few years, I spent time at a friend’s place, with a handful of mutuals. It was very low-key, but very much needed.

Admittedly, while some other people chose (or threw up their hands and decided) to return to living their life, I still lived more cautiously — particularly as more people I knew started catching COVID-19 in late 2021 and throughout 2022 (in a few cases, more than once). I was thinking of myself, but also of my mom, who’s in her 80s.

I was still working from home – and working more overtime or other people’s shifts – which made it easy not to wander very far, if I left my apartment at all.

Then summer arrived, and I tried to my best to get outside more when I could, and start wearing my masks less, so I could feel the sun on my face.

That lasted for maybe a few weeks … then I caught COVID in mid-July.

While it thankfully wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been without the shots I’d received so far, it wasn’t great, either. An on-and-off fever for a few days. Body aches. A cough that persisted for a week and a half to two weeks after I’d felt better.

Some people I know who’ve gotten it in the past year, have called it liberating — probably because they finally faced what they were trying to avoid. After my experience, I chose to remain as cautious as possible, until I got my next booster in the fall. No, not “scared”. Cautious. And that’s as much as I’ll say on that.

I did get out and do things I enjoyed, with people I whose company I enjoy. But those outings were spread out and very far between.

Between living cautiously and just the amount of time I spent working, I’ve felt a bit disconnected from family and friends. I haven’t fully felt like “me” for a while.

I’ve recently begun the transition to (mostly) return to work, which has been a struggle in some ways, after two years of a work-from-home routine.

Even though the pandemic isn’t over (whether you choose to believe it or not), I think it’s finally time for me to slowly start re-adjusting into being around other people more regularly, and just getting out to do things. To feel more like “me” again. And I’m taking my time and doing what’s sensible for me.

Apologies to those who know me or have read any of my previous New Year’s Day posts, but if you’re new to this blog (or stumbled on this randomly), I don’t make resolutions – I’d just be lying to myself about making pledges I’m just going to break days later.

What I do like is this whole idea of manifesting things. You can poo-poo it, call it “woo-woo”, or call it positive thinking –whatever you want — but it’s actually worked for some people. And looking back on some of my previous entries, some things have come to fruition.

So here I am, reflecting on certain aspects of my life, which is currently like the state of my apartment – very cluttered and needing sprucing up.

I’m not going to start making hard timelines and goals for myself – at least, not yet. If make any goals, they’re going to be small enough that I can achieve them. But I’m also going to attempt to give myself some grace if I start something and stop or fail.

So, here’s what I’d like to see for me this year (which I’m going to ease into):

Spend a bit more time with friends and family. I spent a lot of 2022 alone, working, or sick, and not cultivating friendships, or seeing my mother. I did take my first vacation in 3 years (locally here in Ontario, not super-far) with a group of friends. It was nice being around people in the flesh, and not just via a group chat, and out of the city. And in the last quarter of the year, I went on a few outings with small groups of friends. But I need to do that more regularly. Plus, my mom’s in her 80s and her older sister just died, 10 days before Christmas. It’s a reminder that time is valuable, it’s fleeting, and I need to place a bit more importance on how (and with whom) I spend it.

Occasionally do something nice for myself. I work weekends and am off weekdays, but I seldom spend it doing something like going to see a movie or visiting a museum. I’m usually at home cooking meals for workdays, trying to clean (if I’m motivated enough), or running errands. I’d really like to dedicate a day – maybe two – every month and just do something fun.

Take better care of myself. So many people make this a New Year’s resolution — and some actually stick to it. But I turn 46 in a few weeks and — let’s be frank — perimenopause probably isn’t that far away. (I am not in perimenopause yet – at least, I don’t think I am.) I need to start getting my physical affairs in order, while my body can still cooperate. I don’t need to be super-slim, with defined abs and a backside you could bounce a quarter off of (although I wouldn’t refuse those results). But I’ve got tingling in my dominant hand, and my knees that aren’t great. Strength, better mobility, and looser muscles (resulting in fewer headaches and backaches) would be top of mind for me.

Find time to start writing again. Funnily enough, I had a brief urge to write in mid-July, and started getting words on the page … and then got COVID less than 48 hours later. (Maybe it was pre-COVID delirium.) In any case, I’ve found it very hard finding the motivation to write, and write consistently, for a number of years now. The only “writing” I do is for work – even then, it’s usually notes I write for background research, or introductions to scripts that probably aren’t very good. But it’d be nice to start up again – even if it’s not frequently. Time to exercise that muscle again.

Take a trip somewhere abroad. This a major stretch. Friends have already been asking me, “So, where are you going next?” Honestly? I’m trying to be comfortable around strangers in restaurants and other public places — never mind sitting in a plane for at least several hours. Plus, all the travel chaos I’ve seen lately isn’t an incentive. Are there places I’d like to visit? Sure. But the year’s just started. I’m really in no rush. If I were to go somewhere, it would be in the late summer/fall. I’d maybe go somewhere domestic first, before hopping continents. But, you never know.

Keep an eye out for a fun professional opportunity. With folks like myself returning to work – and the routine that goes with it – I’m currently hoping to re-establish what little work-life balance and boundaries existed (if they ever did) a few years ago. I might continue to keep a low work profile for the next little while to focus on that. But I’d like to come across something that gives me a jolt of excitement – rather than anxiety – that I’d be willing to try, once I sort myself out a bit. Let me try something fun at work! Please!

And finally …

Find some “Scene-Stealer Energy”. You’ve heard the term “Main Character Energy”? At best, you’re trying to take control of your wants and needs, and putting yourself first; at worst, you’re making yourself the centre of attention where no one asked you to be. At an essential level, everyone should be the main character in their lives (and, hopefully, no one else’s).

But here’s what I’ve thinking about lately, and I’ll use movies as an example to explain: There are films where you’ve got a lead actor who’s delivering a solidly hilarious/ heartbreaking/ riveting performance as the protagonist. But don’t you also love those movies where there’s a supporting actor who doesn’t have as many scenes or lines, but just comes out of nowhere and steals scenes — and viewers’ attention — for the time they’re on screen?

I don’t know. Maybe that sounds like I’m trying to court chaos, but once in a while, it’s nice to see The One They Don’t See Coming in action. I’d love to have some Scene-Stealer Energy (in the best way possible) this year – maybe at work, or in my personal life. After almost three years, it would be a nice reminder of why I’m here in the first place.

So for 2023, I hope I can get back to basics, do a little re-set, but then start regaining a little of what I’ve “lost”. Here’s hoping for some happy surprises, meeting new people (whether for a reason or for a season), perhaps even an unexpected meet-cute, but just rediscovering my zest for living in this new normal.

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope you find some time to recharge and — when the time is right — go forth and pursue what you want for yourselves this year. All the very best … and good luck!

On The River

**NOTE to READERS: The following post describes a trip that took place in February, 2017.

Thursday, February 16th.

We drop our back-packs off in the hotel lobby around 6:30 a.m. and head down the street for pre-departure coffee and snacks for the boat.

By 6:50 a.m., we’re standing in the parking lot near Battambang’s main bridge, waiting for our ride to the river – which, in our case, will be in the back of a pickup truck.

We don’t leave for a good 45 minutes to an hour. After one attempt by the middlemen to cram the seven of us onto a pickup truck already carrying seven other strangers, we eventually get our own truck.

The ride lasts about 90 minutes, bumping along dusty red dirt roads and whizzing past villages. A tree branch scrapes the back of my arm.

Every once in a while, I’ll see something – a lone house, or the floppy leaves of a palm tree – that reminds me of the handful of trips to see family in Jamaica as a kid, and the scenery I’d take in on the occasional drive by car or mini-bus.

The drive ends near the middle of a farmer’s field, which we cross. At the end, where it dips a little, our first boat awaits us. It’s a long, narrow craft with long benches and a bathroom just behind the driver.

It’s a slow start – as the water is muddy and shallow – but eventually, the river gets deeper and wider.

Fishing nets give way to small houses by the water.

It’s not until about 90 minutes later (and a transfer to another boat) that we finally see the payoff:

Floating villages, all sizes and colours.

Locals whiz by in motorboats, picking up or dropping off items from the boat.

Our boat also picks up a couple of extra passengers – a villager and, I’m guessing, her grandson.

We finally reach the dock at Siem Reap at around 4 p.m.

Kids are positioned on the dock, ready to sell us whatever knick-knacks they’re hawking.

Sareth and the bus are parked in the lot at the top of the dock steps. Apparently they’d gotten there 2 or 3 hours beforehand.

We check into our hotel. For the types of no-frill hotels we’ve been told to expect on our trip, this is (in my opinion) “fancier” than I expect. Our room is a nice size with crisp decor.

The only quibble: the sink is too high for Nicole, who’s maybe 5′ 2″ on a good day. She’ll have to look into getting a step-stool.

In the evening, our group hits Pub Street for dinner. We enter this one place, but when we go upstairs, there’s not a single soul in sight.

Not a good sign.

Our trip-mate Jutta doesn’t stick around — she’s outta there. (This is actually her second trip to Cambodia, and if there’s anyone’s judgment I’d trust, it would be hers.)

The rest of us hem and haw about what to do, but we eventually head to the restaurant directly across the street.

After, we wander through Central Market. And as we take in the sights and sounds, my mind wanders and I’m thinking of my dad.

It was around this time 3 years ago when he died, and although it’s gotten a bit easier, I still have those moments. My eyes start to water and I get a lump in my throat. At that moment, I’m thankful for the darkness.

I try to push my sadness to the back of my mind, because tomorrow’s going to be a big day – we finally get to see Angkor Wat.

**Photos taken by me. Please don’t use without my permission.

A Countryside Bike Ride (And A Little Mutiny)

**NOTE to READERS: The following post describes a trip that took place in February, 2017.

Wednesday, February 15th.

Sometime after 8 a.m. (ugh!), our group sets out from Battambang on a bike ride (totalling around 20 kilometres, round-trip) to the villages surrounding the town.

We’re accompanied by two young guys (one in university, and one just finishing high school) whose job it is to make sure our group stays together.

First stop on our bike-tinerary is a place that makes rice paper (used to make spring rolls).

It’s a sibling-run operation. The sister makes the paper from rice paste, stretching it into round, crepe-thin sheets, while her brother lays the wrappers on a bamboo tray (pictured above) to dry in the sun.

We’re told that production all depends on how hot the sun is. I can’t recall the exact figure, but at this time of year, they can (conceivably) churn out hundreds, maybe a couple thousand, sheets.

Next (tasty) stop: a place where banana chips and dried banana sheets are made.

Full disclosure: I don’t like bananas in their natural form. But man, I can eat those chips all day long! They’re addictive. I think everyone buys at least one bag.

After this, we visit a rice wine operation, where we get to sample a few flavours: the original, fruit (not bad) and snake (umm … VERY strong).

We also see the different steps of rice wine making, from yeast to condensation. Nothing’s wasted – even the husks are used to fuel the process.

We also briefly stop at a local market – dubbed the “smelly market” due to fish bagged up or drying in the sun, and the giant vats of fermented fish paste.

The more stops we make, the harder I’m finding it to muster the energy to pump my pedals; at one point, I’m bringing up the rear. I make some friendly small talk with the younger chaperone, who’s a very quiet guy, just as we arrive at our first rest stop of our trip (thank God).

We’re treated to lots of fruit, delicious coconut water, and some much-welcomed shade from the sun.

Then, it’s back on our bikes for the long (and now uncomfortable) ride back into town. By the time we return our bikes, I’m almost happy if I don’t see another bike for the rest of our trip.

We cool off with drinks at a local cafe … and then we address the issue of The Missing Boat Ride.

Almost everyone is on board with taking that boat ride to Siem Reap. And since the tour company say they can’t accommodate the request, then they’d like to see if a local travel agency can.

And then, the others look at me.

(Yes, Dear Reader. I was the holdout. Disappointed? Looking back now, I’m kind of surprised at my hesitation, but knowing my headspace at the time, I probably was having an anti-social moment that was fueling that reticence.)

I say, “Looks like majority rule,” not yet completely convinced.

The others tell me I shouldn’t feel pressure to take the boat ride if I’m not up for it. But I say there’s no point being the only person travelling all by themselves on the bus (then spending several hours waiting around for the others).

Once it’s unanimous, we speak to Sareth. He says if we successfully book our own trip on the river, that we’d have to sign a special release form, stating that we’re temporarily exiting the tour and are essentially absolving the tour company of any responsibility, should things go pear-shaped.

There’s an agency a few doors down from where we rented our bikes, where we buy tickets for $20 USD apiece, then return to Sareth to sign our release forms. We also create a WhatsApp group chat to keep him posted on our whereabouts.

Tomorrow’s definitely going to be interesting.

**Photos are taken by me. Please don’t use without permission.

All Aboard The Bamboo Train

**NOTE to READERS: The following post describes a trip that took place in February, 2017.

Tuesday, February 14th.

We leave Phnom Penh relatively early for the town of Battambang.

The bus ride’s several hours long, with a stop for lunch.

Along the way, a bit of a situation starts brewing with our trip itinerary.

You see, in two days we’re supposed to take a (6-7 hour) river boat ride, past a series of floating villages – one of the most picturesque parts of the trip – from Battambang to Siem Reap.

In our trip notes (on the tour company’s Web site), it mentions that if river water levels are low, the boat ride is cancelled and replaced with a (3-4 hour) bus ride. Turns out that on the paper itinerary we received on our first night in Phnom Penh, this is precisely the scenario. (It’s been replaced with a shorter boat ride we’re supposed to take later in the trip.)

Probably due to our jet-lag, most of us didn’t catch this detail. But Isabel (a Spaniard on our trip) did. And she’s not pleased about it.

In fact, she’s consulted a couple of her friends, who tell her that it’s still possible to take the slow boat to Siem Reap – just at another point farther down the river.

The more it’s discussed, the more the group agrees that it’s supposed to be a major trip highlight and it would be nice to try and make that happen. (There is one reluctant holdout in the group, who eventually relents. Stay tuned for the next post.)

By the time we reach our hotel in Battambang, Isabel makes it clear to Sareth that she wants to see if we can get on that long boat ride. Sareth says the change in itinerary has come from the tour company, not him.

Isabel’s not biting. She wants to call the tour company herself, to see if they can at least try to pull some strings.

(If I recall, Isabel gets Sareth to call the tour company’s local office to look into her request, but the response remains the same: no boat ride.)

While this potential dissent in the ranks continues to simmer, our group takes a short trip to Battambang’s outskirts, to see how rice noodles are made, and to ride the area’s main attraction, the bamboo train.

First, the noodles.

We arrive at a family-run operation, where we’re met by a shirtless, sinewy man in his 70s, his gray hair in a low buzz-cut. His skin is a bit seasoned by the elements, and perhaps life. (He’s a former soldier, if I recall correctly.)

But he’s kind and smiley – when one of my trip-mates Matt takes his photo, the man takes a liking to him right away.

Once inside, they show us how it works:

They take these enormous blocks of rice paste, place them into the massive noodle press, then physically sit on the lever and squeeze out the noodles (like my trip-mate Matt’s doing in the above photo), after which they’re skimmed from the vat and taken to a nearby group of ladies who prep them to be sold.

We all have a go sitting on the lever to make the noodles. (Guess who doesn’t need to exert much effort?)

From the noodle-makers’ place, we’re taken to this “ancient” house (not so ancient, but built in 1920) – one of only a handful remaining that’s built in this particular style.

It was used by the Khmer Rouge as a kitchen during their three years, eight months and 28 days of terror.

The woman who shows us around is the niece of the homeowner (who took over ownership from her parents).

The chilling historical fact notwithstanding, the house itself – perched on high supports and built with solid, sturdy wood and detailed carving – is beautiful.

In fact, two of the rooms are currently used as a homestay for guests.

Next stop: Battambang’s bamboo train. (The sign at our hotel boasts that it “breaks all transport rules in North America!” Um, okay.)

To be fully honest, I don’t know what I’m expecting. Perhaps hollow box-cars?

But they turn out to be these flat, skid-like things with bamboo slats on wheels, with the guy operating the “engine” in the back.

We each get cushions to sit on for added comfort.

What I also don’t expect is the speed. When those things get going, they really fly!

We barrel down those tracks, wind whooshing past our ears, until we reach a bridge, which is the “end of the line” for us – and a break for the drivers.

Looking over the side of the bridge, all we can see is mud where water should be.

If you blink, you’d miss the tiny fish flopping in and out of the shallow mud pools. In the distance, a man fishes in a small watering hole.

Moments later, two young men arrive at the bridge to go fishing in the mud below (with some assistance from our bamboo train driver).

Our quiet view of the countryside’s eventually interrupted with the arrival of train “cars” carrying other tourists.

We hang around to watch the sunset, then get back on our “cars” and return to the “station” before twilight.

After dark, we head out to a local spot for dinner, accompanied by Sareth. Absent from our dinner party are Isabel and our other trip-mate, Jutta (who are vegetarians and opt to go elsewhere).

Our table’s filled with a number of noodle or fried rice dishes. I opt for some local fish. It’s not bad (not as many bones as I thought, which is good), but a bit tricky to navigate with a fork and spoon. (It’s messy, but I get the job done.)

Several of us (minus Sareth) go elsewhere for dessert. We find this tiny, quiet, very chill place decorated with local art. We remove our shoes; the tile feels nice against my feet. Our trip-mate Julia (from Germany) has a White Russian, while the rest of us choose from the display-fridge behind us.

It’s a good time – we’re all laughing, eating and chatting … but I think I brought things to an end when I start nodding off (and the others notice. Oops).

It’s just as well — we’ve got a big bike ride ahead of us.

*Photos taken by me. Please don’t use without permission.

A Sombre Start

**NOTE to READERS: The following post describes a trip that took place in February, 2017.

**Warning: contains reference to genocide.

Monday, February 13th.

We’re getting a leisurely start to the day, as the afternoon is going to be a solemn one.

Our first stop after breakfast is the Central Market (Phsar Thmei). Sure, we’ll be leisurely strolling through the market. But I’m on a quest to find a travel adapter (brought the wrong one), some towels (forgot to bring one altogether), and some pens (ran out of ink before my plane even landed).

It’s also going to be my first attempt at bargaining here, which (1) is encouraged here and (2) I’m not good at. (Read about it in my posts about my previous trip to Morocco.)

In addition to the stalls outside, there’s a big pavilion with at least two wings selling jewellery, electronics, clothes – you name it. And if any place is selling what I’m looking for, it will be here.

Nicole and I wander around for a few minutes, then head to an electronics kiosk for a travel adapter. The man selling them wants $2 USD. I turn to Nicole and say, “I guess this when I start bartering?” I offer $1; he counters with $1.50. I reply, “But not $1?” He eventually relents. (You’ll hear about this adapter later.)

Next: a towel. We approach this one lady’s stand. She holds up a pink towel. I should just buy it and go. But it’s pink. She pulls out another pile, and bingo, I find a royal blue one. I ask how much. She says $8, to which I counter with $4. She shakes her head, so we negotiate a bit longer, and meet in the middle at $6.

After finding some pens, we head over to Wat Ounalom (the temple said to contain the Buddha’s eyebrow). It’s located near the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda which, we figure, we could also fit in, since we’re in the area. However, we’re told by a tuk-tuk driver that the temple and palace is closed.

We walk along the length of the temple gate, and notice it’s open. We slip in and walk around a section of the grounds. The temple is open (sort of) but the other buildings are closed. Sort of.

I don’t take photos, though. There’s a monk there and I figure I probably shouldn’t.

The tour group reconvenes in the afternoon for our first excursion: the Killing Fields and the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum.

Our guide for the afternoon is a young woman named Reya, who lists off numbers and facts on the bus ride to the first location just outside Phnom Penh. It’s a bit of a blur.

Our group arrives at Cheoung Ek, the site of a former orchard and a mass grave of victims of the Khmer Rouge.

It’s marked with a huge stupa (pictured above), the inside of which is lined with shelves of skulls of those who were murdered.

Around the site are signs explaining the very gruesome methods used. The place where these poor souls were deposited. The shed where the Khmer Rouge kept their instruments of execution. The tree against which they flung innocent babies and children.

What utter horror.

There’s a pavilion showing photos and accompanying text describing the genocide, some of the tools of torture on display, the main perpetrators put on trial (most of whom have died), and the long, arduous process just to get to the trial process.

Before we leave, we visit the stupa to pay our respects. On the glass shielding the shelves, there’s a legend explaining the fatal injuries those skulls sustained. It’s horrific.

Reya then accompanies us over to Tuol Sleng.

Any words I’d attempt to use to describe what I see – the photos, the tiny cells, the torture room, even the artists’ depictions of the pain and suffering inflicted – would be trite.

I can only say the visit is extremely sombre, but absolutely necessary in understanding a huge part of Cambodia’s modern history.

Before we leave, we stop by a table being manned by two survivors of Tuol Sleng.

(There are only seven known adult survivors who were imprisoned there.)

One of them is Bou Meng, who’s an artist. He’s written a book about his experience, which I buy. It’s the very least I can do.

We return to the city for dinner, and this evening, our group picks the venue, literally called Noodle House.

That’s followed by a post-dinner wander, and stop for ice cream along the way (I get durian-flavoured ice cream, which is kind of good, don’t judge me!).

Then it’s back to the hotel. Time to say goodbye to Phnom Penh — for now.

*Photos taken by me. Please don’t use without permission.

Finding My Feet In Phnom Penh

**NOTE to READERS: The following post describes a trip that took place in February, 2017.

Sunday, February 12th.

It’s officially Day 1 of my trip. But the tour I’m travelling with isn’t meeting until the evening, so why fit in some early sightseeing?

I decide to check out Wat Phnom, a Buddhist temple on the hill (commissioned by a wealthy widow that the city of Phnom Penh is said to be named for).

I opt to walk there but of course, I get lost. It takes some time for me to figure out I’m walking away from the temple. Frustrated, and with the sun already beating down, I give in to a tuk-tuk ride.

Wat Phnom is busy. (From what I understand, it’s a special day on the Buddhist calendar, so there’s more activity than usual.)

People file into the small sanctuary for worship, taking their places on mats in from of the Buddha, bowing, burning incense and leaving garlands as offerings.

It’s a great slice of life I’m observing, but I’m a bit hesitant to to enter, given what’s going on, and the fact it’s a place of worship (which a lot of tourists probably wouldn’t think twice about).

I remove my sandals and inch my way indoors and around the \temple, half-eavesdropping on a young couple getting a personal tour from a local guide, and gazing at the murals on the walls and ceilings.

Stepping back outside, I walk around the temple exterior. The steps and grounds are teeming with people. On one side of the temple, a group of young boys are playing percussion; one’s clanging cymbals, another’s banging a large drum. Not too far away from them, a man sits next to a bird cage. (I think people pay to set the birds free “for karma”.)

I walk towards a quieter section of the temple grounds, lingering for a few minutes of relative calm before departing.

After checking out of the hotel and storing my backpack, I set out again for the National Museum of Cambodia. I fare much better on foot this time, with some (discreet) assistance from Google Maps.

At the ticket kiosk, I’m approached by a man hawking some books. I manage to get away from him by asking to see him after visiting the museum.

Perhaps going to a museum while dealing with jet-lag – and not using an English-language audio guide – is ambitious at best, and foolish at worst. Either way, it’s perhaps too much information to ingest so early on a trip.

It takes me 90 minutes to clear just two wings of the museum. And after a while, the various statues of Garuda, Shiva, and Vishnu (and others) become a bit repetitive. Some of the more “modern” artefacts (save for a handful of larger items and objects from the Cambodian royal family) don’t have a lot of information connected to them.

I finally leave around 3:30 or 4 p.m., briskly striding past the aggressive bookseller (“Excuse me, hi, hello!”), and through the front gate. I’d feel guilty, but I have two weeks to stuff my backpack with souvenirs and my stomach’s about ready to eat itself.

Luckily, I’m just down the street from a restaurant called Friends*, recommended by my friend Lori before leaving Toronto. (The establishment runs a program that helps young people get off the streets and learn employable skills.) I sit on the enclosed front patio, which dampens some of the noise from the sleep and whose lush, green plants provide some much-welcomed shade.

I order a chicken curry with crispy noodles on top. The curry itself is much different than what I’ve had back home – it seems almost like more of a broth – but it’s equal parts colourful and flavourful.

I trudge back to the hotel, collect my backpack from storage and head over to my starting hotel for the tour. It’s only about 5 or 6 minutes away by foot, but I’m drenched with sweat on arrival. Thankfully I’m greeted at reception with a friendly hello and some (much-needed) fruit juice.

The desk clerk tells me my roommate (for the trip) has already arrived, but she’s not there, so I’m given a key. My room is (thankfully) only a couple of floors up. Once upstairs, I do a quick inventory of our room, briefly unpack a few things, then stop to take a breather.

As I’m cooling my heels (and thinking about a nice, cool shower), the door emits an electronic chirp, and in walks my trip-mate.

Nicole is from Boston, and just got into town yesterday. We hit it off fairly quickly – it’s such a lively conversation, I almost forget I have to freshen up!

I manage to cram in a shower and a short nap before our group’s first meeting, in the hotel dining room.

There are seven of us in total (the smallest tour group I’ve been a part of), plus our trip leader, a Cambodian man named Sareth.

He’s originally from a farming family, but wanted a life beyond his rural community, so he worked a series of menial jobs, eventually doing translation for the UN, and finding his way with the tour company running our trip. (He even shares an anecdote about travelling on trains during the time of the Khmer Rouge which, to keep it brief on this already-lengthy post, is kind of wild. You’ll have to take my word for it.)

After a round of introductions, and an overview of our trip itinerary, we go out for dinner.

I order my first fish amok, which is pretty filling and delicious. The curry this time is more of a semi-firm paste, wrapped in a banana leaf. Because we’re all Westerners, we also adjust to eating with spoons and forks.

After dinner, most people decide to return to the hotel. I’m not yet ready, and neither is one of my other trip-mates, Marianna. So we go for a stroll and a chat along the river, and head over to a local market. Unfortunately, they’re closing up by the time we arrive, but I don’t mind – it gives me a chance to get a sense of my surroundings without the crowds.

Nicole’s asleep by the time I return to the hotel. I try to be quiet as I slowly wind down for the night. Fortunately we’re getting a “late” start to our morning, so I’m savouring it while I can.

*As of the writing of this post (in 2021), Friends is currently closed because of – you guessed it – the pandemic.

** Photos shown in this post were taken by me. Please don’t use without permission.

The Kindness of a Stranger

**NOTE to READERS: The following post describes a trip that took place in February, 2017. I won’t be travelling until I’m fully vaccinated and it’s safe to do so. 

Saturday, February 11th.

It’s about 7 p.m. and I’m in my hotel room, tired, disoriented, and a bit anxious.

I’ve spent almost 24 hours travelling from Toronto to Taiwan, then finally to Phnom Penh, and just had an ill-timed 90-minute nap, thwarting my plans to stay awake to adjust to the 12-hour time difference.

I’m also trying to figure out where to go for dinner, at night, in a town I’ve only been in for a handful of hours (but haven’t yet gotten to explore in daylight).

While I’ve heard it’s generally safe here, I’ve also read it’s not a great idea to go out by myself after dark.

That might be the disorientation talking. But my stomach is growling, and that’s something I have to solve.

I leave my room, and en route to the lobby, I notice people eating at the bar by the pool.

Aha! I think. Maybe I don’t have to leave.

To fully explore my options, I ask the young, very soft-spoken desk clerk where to find the nearest restaurant. He suggests when I leave the hotel, that I make a left, then hang a right, then another left, and then walk aaaall the way down to the riverfront to the night market, or any number of restaurants along the road.

Gulp.

Being tired, disoriented, nervous and directionally challenged in the dark isn’t a combination I’m keen to test out. But an empty stomach isn’t fun either.

As I’m trying to decide what to do (and the urge to wimp out is strong), a woman who’d been nearby and apparently listening to my conversation with the desk clerk approaches, and asks if I want to go to dinner with her. She’d made prior plans, but her dinner date appears to have bailed.

And that, people, is what I like about travel. Sometimes when you need it, the universe throws you a bone, and someone appears when you least expect it.

So we head out, joining all the other Western tourists milling about, and eventually find a restaurant, grabbing an outdoor table.

The woman’s name is Virena, she’s from Munich, and over dinner, I learn she’s been travelling around Asia for weeks. I ask her a bit about her travels so far, and she shares some observations. Virena’s quite nice, and good company.

After we’re done, just sitting at our outdoor table in the warm night air, I can feel the heaviness return to my eyelids.

Eventually Virena and I return to the hotel. I’m thankful for a lovely first meal and the gesture of kindness by a complete stranger, which helps to ease my discomfort adjusting to a new place – at least, until morning.