The Agony and the Ecstasy

The second part of my visit to Cambodia has been filled with ups and downs (as sticking with the general pattern of travel!). The capital of Phnom Penh, country escapes of Kampot & Kep, and beachy town of Sihanoukville have been a great deal of fortune and fun with just a few brief bouts of the negative.

First I had the good fortune of learning just the night before I was to leave for Phnom Penh that my friend Gretchen has Foreign Service friends stationed there who would maybe be willing to host me for a couple days. And being the housing mooch I am and quite shameless about this at this point in my travels, gave her friend a call that morning on the bus ride with a borrowed cell phone from the kind Cambodian next to me. Sure enough, Janet and Gary would be kind enough to host me and I got directions to their apartment, and was nearly beside myself when the tuk-tuk driver dropped me at the impressive complex, complete with pool—heaven. Janet showed me to my room when she got home from work that even—my own queen bed, cable TV, air-conditioning, and bathroom with bathtub! A backpacker’s dream come true. Also, n my bus ride, I had chatted with a lovely young Argentinean couple who had been at my Siem Reap guesthouse and hung out with for the afternoon and made plans to visit the killing fields together early the next morning.

The next morning we took a tuk-tuk to the killing fields which are 15km outside of the city. It was a very tough place to visit and learn the horrors that the Khmer Rouge inflicted on so many innocent people and the fear, horror, and torture that reigned during their regime. The killing fields were basically the old dug-up mass graves of the victims, men, women, and children who were tortured and killed and a pagoda filled with recovered skulls eerily looms over the sight. It was a chilling return to the emotions I experienced in Rwanda and a reminder of the importance of preserving the memory of the atrocious events although too horrible to fully comprehend. After the killing fields, I took the common tourist path to the Tuol Sleng Museum, quite literally meaning Poison hill, a former high school that had been turned into a prison and torture facility by the Khmer Rouge. The victims at the mass grave of the killing fields were brought from Tuol Sleng. There were still old classrooms containing rusty metal beds with torture instruments that had been left as they were some 30 years ago, and also an exhibit of room upon room of the mug shots of all of the victims held at Tuol Sleng and later executed—many of them just children. After such a heavy morning, it was time for some delicious Khmer food by the riverfront with my Argentinean friends and an afternoon by the pool, what a treat!

The following day I had been planning to apply for a Vietnam visa, but of course arrived at the office just a few minutes after it had begun its three hour lunch recess. Instead of moping around the area, I caught another tuk-tuk up to the northern end of the city to explore the backpacker enclave area surrounding the lake and grab some lunch before heading back to the embassy that afternoon. I wandered into one guesthouse and ordered some lunch and started chatting with a few other backpackers who sat down nearby. One was also interested in checking out the visa situation, so after some delicious amok curry, we headed back down to the embassy, where we ran into some people she knew from previous travels—the world of travelling in SE Asia keeps proving to be incredibly small. I decided to forgo the visa in favor of getting it at the consulate at the beach the following week. The woman at the embassy was not too encouraging about this notion, saying that if the visa there really took only 15 minutes to process there then it couldn’t be real and even Xeroxed the page in my Lonely Planet where it claimed that because she was so amused. (In fact, in Sihanoukville it took 5 minutes, so there.) We parted ways with the other travelers and made plans to meet up later that night before heading off for some bargain shopping at the Russian Market, yet another massive structure filled with everything from light fixtures to pork innards to North Face backpacks, clothing, and ceramics. That night after a lovely, highly civilized dinner at a nice riverfront restaurant, I did the backpacker thing and hung out at the shabby comfy bars in the backpacker ghetto for a trivia games and drinks.

My last day in Phnom Penh I wandered the city a bit and enjoyed my last day in luxury before packing up and catching a bus south to the coast and the smaller rural towns of Kampot and Kep. I spent just two nights in Kampot soaking up the small town ambiance perched on a wide river with some crumbling French architecture, and my one day hiring a moto driver to take me out into the countryside and then to the port of Kep. It was really nice to be out of the hustle and bustle of such touristy big cities and see the farmland and distant mountains of Bokor National Park. Much to his credit, my moto driver did manage to track down these caves that I hoped to visit that housed a 7th century brick Hindu cave. We passed by a salt farm, a small fishing village, and numerous rice paddie fields on our 24km drive to Kep, a small town on the coast which was the launching point for Toh Russey (Rabbit Island), one of the more undiscovered and unique islands I’ve ever visited. The difficulties of travelling solo reared its ugly head briefly as I had to cough up $15 to charter a return boat on my own or wait an indefinite amount of time for others to arrive to share it. Luckily the wait wasn’t too bad, and an hour later I was on the boat to island with a nice Irish couple. After a delicious lunch of fresh peppercorn crab on the beach, I layout on a straw mat and enjoyed the very low-key ambiance complete with cows and goats roaming the beach (very strange really) and small restaurants that each ran a handful of makeshift bungalows. I headed back into town and grabbed a delicious dinner on the riverfront of another traditional Khmer dish of Beef Loc Lak, which is cooked in a rich gravy and served with a fried egg on top (Asia's answer to Charlottesville's Gus Burger, if you will), and a brownie sundae (okay, not traditional Khmer, but boy was it good!).

The next day I ended up sharing a private taxi with three guys I had met briefly on Rabbit Island who were also heading to Sihanoukville. We checked into a recommended guest house called Monkey Republic (which would prove to be quite the party place), had a few beers, and I made a visit to the nearby beach. That night, over drinks and pool, our group of four (two young British guys, one Scottish guy) expanded to include two British girls, and three Canadians. And it seems that every time I walk up to the guest house, there are most likely several people from this impromptu group hanging out, eating, drinking a beer, or playing pool, and so I’ve started to feel pretty at home very quickly. Things were moving along nicely.

My mom had asked me what is there to do in Sihanoukville besides the beach and diving. Not a whole lot I replied—but I did forget about the good ol’ police report. That’s right, friends, after a hiatus from thefts (and some major luck with one aforementioned lost wallet), I have returned to the land of the police station. Not necessarily a place I was hoping to revisit. Along with it go the now routine cycles of disbelief, bewilderment, anger, frustration, self-hatred, guilt, embarrassment, and so forth—at least these days I know to expect them and their staying time is ever decreasing. Short story is that I was sitting on the Serendipity Beach section of Sihanoukville with some fellow travelers chatting and my bag on the sand next to me, and next time I looked down it was gone, surely thanks to the many children and women wandering about endlessly tormenting all sun-worshippers with offers of massage, leg hair removal, pedicures, and the like.

What followed was the panic walk up and down the beach, the kind comfort of the girls I was with, the closed police beach post (of course, it was lunch time!), and the frantic moped ride (how many of these have there been?!) to the town where after a stop at one other post, I was greeted by an officer and after some time of much discussion in Khmer, told to go back to where I’d come from and get my passport. Upon my return, I was shown into a different room, and told to, get this, WAIT. I’m much better at this now of course, but still in these instances make whimpers and surely tap my forehead against the wooden table repeatedly. The officer offered a cigarette as he took one out for himself. Now if you know me, you know I am not a fan of smoking in the least, but at that moment, I will be honest (sorry Mom) I really could use a cigarette. Plus, how often do you get to share a smoke with a Cambodian police officer? After my passport and visa were photocopied, the strangely familiar police report was brandished in front of me. I filled it out in a snap as I am now an old hand at this. The lines were drawn, the signatures secured, and the stamps pounded and I had insurance claim #4. Who knows what happened next. I believe I was told that a perfectly smiley, petite, and wrinkled officer in uniform would go with me to help look for the bag. This seemed dubious as the event was now a good 2 or so hours in the past, but never the less, off my moped driver took me, followed closely by the officer.

So am I just unlucky I’m asked? Maybe, but no, I truly don’t think that’s even a possibility. I mean, how could I say anything so blasphemous when I look at the year I’ve had. There have been ups and downs a plenty that’s for sure, but they just go hand in hand, and if I have good times, well then, as my Buddha teachings will affirm, there will be equal suffering. I am improving in some respects—my goods are now separated. Not a credit card or ID was involved, merely my glasses (I have an old pair with me still), my crappy clothes (probably a blessing, less laundry), and though this hurts a bit, my camera (it hasn’t been quite the same since the New Year’s water festivities), and $8 in cash. Not a huge haul actually—the little scoundrel was probably disappointed to be fair. And the street children that sell on the beach are equal parts annoying and heartbreaking, as they really are notorious little salesmen, and one just can’t help considering how much they’d rather be in school. For all the irritation of such incidents in the past year, in retrospect they are just a handful of tales showcasing the roller coaster ride I’ve been on. As my brilliant old NYC roommate would say would say, a bad day at the beach is still better than a good day at work. Well, I'm not sure today would justify that statement, but hopefully tomorrow will when I swap the police station for a real day at the beach!

Rising Out of the Rut

I was in a rut post-Koh Phangan. I know you’re thinking, give me a break, poor you, where to travel, so many options, blah, blah, blah. But honestly, sometimes it just gets really tiring having to constantly be making plans and decisions. Where and when to go? Where to stay? Where to eat? When to get visas? What bus/train/ or boat to take? How much are they all? What to see when you get there? The list goes on. I knew I needed a way to snap out of it. And as I had a dwindling number of days left on my Thailand visa, I decided that a visit to Angkor Wat in Cambodia would be just the thing to snap me back into motivated backpacker mode.

I ended up having quite a long trip to get there, complete with complete and total visa and bus trip scam as predicted by the Lonely Planet (I hate being predictable...). But in the end I did reach Siem Reap and then spent a great few days temple-roving. Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples are an impressive sight to see and realize they have survived so intact for hundreds of years. It's also amazing how easy it is to roam fairly freely without too many barriers relatively speaking--one can only wonder for how much longer this will hold true.

So, back to the scam...I hate being predictable. I really do. But boy, was I ever. In the Lonely Planet there is a section that addressed the “Siem Reap Scam” for travel from Bangkok to Siem Reap, the base town for exploring the temples of Angkor. They advise, “make travel the adventure it was supposed to be, book a bus to the border and go it alone from there.” However, that did not sound so comforting to me. Instead I shopped around, found the travel agent offering the cheapest price for a minivan all the way through to Siem Reap for about $12. Little did I know that I was being cast of to a sketchy company that would make sure to put ever aspect of the aforementioned scam to the test.

I went to meet the van off Khao San Road, the insanely backpacker-centered area of Bangkok. I hopped into the minivan that had a few other people in it, including a nice German girl who said she had done this trip before and it was fine. This time she was just doing a border run, not carrying on all the way into Cambodia. We then spent a good hour and a half driving around Bangkok picking up various others until my impatience of yesteryear returned and I was nearly beside myself. But then we were finally all put in another van which met us on the side of the road and whisked off towards the Thai border. However, then the real scam set in as a couple hours later we were not taken directly to the border, but to a holding restaurant/office area where the orchestrators said they would help organize visa issues so that they could speed up the process at the border—only charge an extra 100 baht ($3) for the service. Having read my Lonely Planet diligently (or so I thought!) I said, “no thank you” to which I received more than a few angry glares by a petit gentleman who claimed that I was “difficult” as I was the only one asking “all these questions” and I could do whatever I wanted while saying it might take me hours at the border and maybe the bus would leave me or I’d make everyone else on the bus angry as they would have to wait for me. I’ll take my chances I said.

An hour or so later, we arrived at the border and sure enough, there was no problem with my getting the visa myself. After a confusing group shuffle though to the Cambodian immigration post, It took me the exact same amount of time. But here lurked part two of the scam. I was please with myself for having avoided the “helping surcharge” no matter how small (it’s the principle!) but then ended up handing over double the cost of the visa to the friendly immigration officer. First I was told they did not accept US dollars (false I now know) and only 1200 baht ($40 as opposed to the official $20 which is even, irritatingly stamped on the upper corner of the visa!). Pride goeth before the fall. But everyone else around me was paying the same amount so I just thought that’s what it was. What a fool. My blood still curdles over that one. Part three of the scam involved being told to change money at the border for Cambodian riel as there are not many ATMs and banks would still be closed for the next two days due to the lingering Khmer new year. False. I only changed about $30 at an appalling rate fortunately, while others around me willingly handed over hundreds and lost a good 20% of their money. Ugh.

What followed all of this goodwill was an extremely bumpy ride. Yes, as bad as the roads in Uganda I would confess, although the vehicle was much more comfortable as in there was at least some padding in the seats to cushion the bum. Five hours later, part four ensued as the bus pulled up to a guesthouse in Siem Reap as the sky darkened and were told they had good rooms and if we wanted we could stay there. I had had enough. I was not going to just be fed right into their trap of making the journey so long that you are tempted to collapse in the first guesthouse you see—namely, the one they get commission from. I took my bags, shrugged off the pleas of the bus staff, guesthouse, and numerous tuk-tuks and motos and walked down the highway to a hostel I had booked. And from here my time in Cambodia, after a dreadful beginning, was on the ups. My guesthouse was really nice actually, and I had my own double bedroom and bathroom for $4 a night. The town was quite pleasant with lots of bars and shops, a few of which would have even been at home in New York City trendy spots.

The first day I had a moto drop me at Angkor Thom, a huge walled complex for several different temples and terraces. I intended to walk that day. Ha! I didn’t get to far, let me tell you. The areas between the temples are huge, but my attempted walking did give me a new found respect for the enormity of the space and layout of the whole area. I saw Bayon first, which remains one of my favorites with it’s numerous huge Buddha heads towering up to the sky. Next I walked along the Elephant and Leper Terraces with intricate carvings still quite visible. And fortunately, while scrambling up some very steep temple steps, I met a girl from California who was also travelling solo, we hung out a bit, grabbed some lunch and agreed to meet up at the end of the day to make plans to share a tuk-tuk tour the following day. I then began a loooong walk over to a temple that really didn’t look so far away on the deceiving map. But luck struck again when I met some other Americans (so many for once!) who were also heading to the same temple for the sunset and managed to grab a ride in their tuk-tuk. Sunset was me, the guys, the girl Leah, and everyone else at the temples that day who had flocked in droves to seethe sun cast mellow light on the towers.

We grabbed some Cambodia amok, delicious coconut and lemongrass curry, for dinner downtown and made plans to meet at 5am for a long day of sightseeing. Our driver, Teach, worked at my guesthouse and for the bargain price of $12 for the day carted us around from sunrise to sunset. It beat walking, that’s for sure. We hit up Angkor for sunrise (once again, us and everyone else!) and then in the best move of the day, hightailed it for Ta Prohm, the jungle temple, while it was still just light out around 6am. We were the only ones! It was a bit eerie actually. I kept losing track of Leah and would be wandering dumbstruck through the cavernous ruins to emerge at large tree roots asserting themselves in all directions on the grey stone walls. We saw a handful of other temples, and by 10am it felt like we had lived the whole day. We saw one more temple and then headed back to town for some lunch and rest out of the prime heat of the day. Around 3pm we motivated ourselves to go back and take in a few more temples and yet another sunset as well as the view of Angkor by night—quite spectacular.

The following day, I allowed myself a later wake up call, headed to a new ceramics studio in town to see some Angkor inspired pottery, and also visited the war museum where I got a personal and troubling account of life under the Khmer Rouge. That afternoon I visit a small outdoor gallery of miniature replicas of some of the temples which were really impressive, and then went to see Angkor Wat—I had save the best, or at least most famous, for last, and spent a good couple of hours wandering through the many corridors and lingering over the bas reliefs of Hindu gods and Buddhist statues.

All in all, it was just the ticket to remind me of the great perks of travel and pick myself out of a rut.

A Lack of Mindfulness and a Lot of Good Luck

Full disclosure: apparently the retreat didn’t work—at least not in the short term. I have displayed an impressive LACK of mindfulness rather than focusing my mind on the present moment it would seem.

Exhibit A, stubbing my toe hard (really tear-springingly hard) on a meditation bench as I raced to snap some last minute photos of the retreat center. Of course, everyone around me took the opportunity to weigh in with a “now that wasn’t very mindful” chuckle. The toe turned a shade of purple and me wincing as I walked out of the retreat center. What a way to go, ha!

Exhibit B, at the Songkran Festival (more to come on this!) I took my camera and cell phone with me wrapped in a plastic bag, not quite acknowledging what a true deluge my future was sure to hold. Both are presently functioning a various degrees of “not so much” at the moment.

Exhibit C, a ferry boat fiasco. After an awesome couple of days on Koh Phangan, unwinding from the stern rigid meditation schedule that had become my life, I made plans to finally leave the lovely beaches of Southern Thailand and head north to Bangkok to deal with various travel plans and visa issues for Vietnam and China and get the rest of my pan-Asia tour underway. I purchased a ticket for a 12:30 ferry to SuratThani with a connection to Bangkok on an overnight bus that would arrive at 5am on Tuesday morning. After some a final swim in the high tide and packing my bags, the travel agency taxi picked me up and shuttled me to the port. I was trying to convince the driver to allow me a quick stop for some mango and sticky rice (an old, but recently revitalized obsession that I’ve been feeding almost everyday—I’m sure the monks would say that was greedy, craving and not mindful in the least. Craving leads to attachment, attachment leads to dukkha. Woe is me.) What can I say, I adore the stuff. He claimed there was not enough time (honestly, there was, you know I’m better about time now). Feeling unsatisfied I boarded the ferry boat and got out my books to entertain me during the 3-hour ferry ride.

All of a sudden I had a sinking feeling: where was my blue wallet? Had I seen it the last time I had unzipped my backpack? I looked again. Nothing. Panic welled up. I stood up and could feel the boat’s engine beginning to turn over with a low grumble. I raced up to the top deck from the cabin below, and (I’m fairly sure) started frantically crying out,”I don’t have my wallet, STOP THE BOAT, I don’t have my wallet, I need to get off!” Yes my friends, I was THAT crazy girl, that’s for sure. I would love to see a video of me at that moment—or perhaps very much not—but I wonder what I looked like to all the other sunbathing backpackers patiently waiting for the boat to set off. I lay my bags on the deck, ripped them open and was searching fully panicking at this point. The boat had pulled away from the boat at this point, and so I hollered, “Okay, I’m getting off the boat! Please, I need to get off the boat!” at which point a nice and hurried ferry worker rushed me and my bags of the boat and plunked all my possessions on the wooden dock and off the boat sped.

And here came more loving kindness: a fellow farang (that’s Thai for “foreigner”—the muzungu of Asia!) asked if I needed some help, kindly pretending the answer was not obvious. Yes, I explained, and probably flooded his ears with run-on sentences about my wallet, and how it was gone, and where could it be, and my boat, it was gone. He had just dropped a friend off at the boat (the reason the boat had left late in the first place) and offered to give me a ride back to my bungalow. First we dropped my large bag off at the boat office and then he drove me back to my old place which was completely out of his way home—so very kind. I thanked profusely and ran towards my bungalow hoping my friend would still be there. She was, and was wondering why on earth I was back there. I gave her the same rambling answer. Nope, she hadn’t seen a blue wallet, nor had the lodge and restaurant staff. A new level of panic had arrived. So I took off for the travel agency to both change my ticket for the next day and give one final go for the wallet. The woman at the travel agency was also quite surprised to see me as she thought that I was finally out of her hair! I tried to explain “wallet” and “change ticket” and when she understood she gave me a very sympathetic look and asked the taxi driver to go check the truck. I had low hopes at this point, but when I saw his face light up across the street and his hand hold something up in the air, I literally started jumping up and down cheering, and shouting thank you, then shaking several hands and wishing a happy new year! What a farang I am…whatever. I was on an adrenalin high for the rest of the afternoon and went back to tell my friends and celebrate with a good day of nothing—just eating from the good restaurant at the lodge and lounging in the hammock by the beach looking out at the water. So I had to wait until the next day to take the boat, thereby missing the last day of the New Years festivities in Bangkok. But I was in no position to complain—I mean, what luck!! Phew.

And aside from these frustrations (mostly with myself!), I had a really great time in Koh Phangan for all my hesitation on what to do after I was released from the silent retreat. There was lots of beach and hammock lounging, eating mango and sticky rice (gosh is it good!), watching lovely sunsets, and going out dancing at night, the first night to the Half Moon Party which was pretty insane, so I can only imagine what the Full Moon Parties are like. The next day was definitely the highlight of my stay as it was Songkram, the Thai New Year, which was celebrated on April 13—basically with lots of water as an excuse to cool down in crux of the brutal hot season. But this was full on water warfare—a kid’s dream come true. I started out the day in the back of a pickup truck with other guests being driven by the lodge owners towards the ferry port. We were soaked in no time, both from the water sloshing out of the massive cooler which we used to refill our buckets for assaults on passing mopeds and taxis, and the numerous counter attacks. After arriving in town and grabbing a bite to eat in the safety zone of the market, I ran into some retreat (dhamma) friends and we somehow ended up in the back of a pickup truck with a random Thai family that had two cute little girls. After circling the town and even visiting a Buddhist shrine to pay respects (and chat some Pali for the impressed family!) we returned to the main street to dance to blasting music (at one point on top of a passing and participating fire-truck!), and, oh yeah, and throw more water. Anyone looking the least bit dry was attacked anew. All in all a great afternoon, which was followed by more dancing that evening which required just about all the energy I had left to muster. So it wasn’t all bad to have that extra day after all to relax and recover.

So on Tuesday midday I set off for the second time on my long journey to Bangkok, and what a pilgrimage it turned out to be. Of course this time the taxi driver forgot about me until I came hurrying up to the office with all of my bags as he was just arriving at the office on his moped. Thus followed a “catch the boat nail-biter part 2,” and we still had to go collect my bag at the boat office where it had remained stored for 24 hours (yes, I wore the same clothes, I was at the beach after all…). I made it, this time with all my belongings, and settled in for the 4 hour ferry ride, and then were shuttled in bus station of sorts. After waiting an hour and a half there we were then shuttled into town in pickup trucks quite literally hanging out the back only to have to wait again for the final bus to Bangkok.

After 7pm we finally boarded the bus, but there was a momentary scare of a lack of seats so a handful of us were placed in the bottom (clearly less used) section of the double-decker bus. Thus preceded the most awful movie-viewing of my life. The TV screen was directly in front of my seat, so like a bad accident, I just continued to watch the horror unfold. I have so sadly assume it was American though I still don’t know the name and probably never will. It was a truly dull, tasteless attempt at a scary movie with E-list actors and the icing on the cake was the subtitles which bore almost no relation to the horrible dialogue being spoken. Myself and the Danish guy sitting next to me could not stop laughing. After a 1am rest-stop, I slept until I was woken by our announced arrival—it was 5:45am and still dark. The Danish guy had a flight home that night at 1am after having been traveling for six months, so I said he was welcome to leave his bags in my room for the day so he didn’t have to pay for a room he wouldn’t use. So we walked around looking for a guest house and trying to figure out where we were. I finally found a good one and had to wait to see if a single room would open up. In the meantime we headed to sightsee at the Grand Palace and its impressive monastery with the famous Emerald Buddha and Wat Pho, with a humongous reclining Buddha, something around 44 meters long. After moving in and some street food lunch, we hit the massive commercial district of Siam Square before returning exhausted to the west corner of the city.

Today, aside from multiple panics about what I am doing with my next few months, I managed to fit in a visit to the National Museum for a guided tour that illuminated some of the endless Buddhist and Hindu beliefs and art that proliferate nearly every aspect of life in Thailand. After a midday thunderstorm, I set off on a canal boat trip across town (the no-traffic bonus) to see the old teak house of Jim Thompson, an American entrepreneur who became an incredibly successful exporter of Thai silk only to go missing mysteriously in the mid 1980s at his vacation house in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia (so I had heard this story before). I ended the day with a trip to Chanlongkon University and its impressive and beautiful campus to see where my mother had been an English teacher for a year when she was around my age. After a brief tuk-tuk trip to Lumphini Park to observe the evening aerobic classes that are a daily occurrence there (and quite a riot), I headed to a river boat pier and took a lovely night tour back to my guest house for a mere fifty cents! All the wats lit up along the river are a riveting sight. Last but not least, I committed to a plan: I bought a ticket for a minivan to Siem Reap, Cambodia—the launch point for exploring the great temple complex of Angkor Wat. Tomorrow’s going to be a looong day, complete with visa application, quite possibly some corruption at the border, and what I’m told are pretty awful roads once we cross into Cambodia—have any of these people ever been on a bus in Uganda—how does it compare on that scale is what I want to know…

Total and Utter Retreat

Well, I made it: I stuck it out for all 10 days. Pretty unbelievable considering my tendencies—that is trying to move a mile a minute, trying to do everything and anything I can find out about or fit into my schedule. Hey, at least I can recognize this now—I didn’t always own up to it. And travelling really only magnifies this problem because there really are limitless amazing places to go, things to see, people to talk with that you never have to slow down. Unless you book yourself into a 10-day meditation retreat, that is. I must say, it’s really not for the faint of heart, and in the beginning—that is the first 4 days (and still a bit lingering through day 10)—it was certainly a struggle.

Let me begin at the beginning, which is to say, Kim and my race to the ferry boat on Koh Tao the morning of orientation day, March 31. We had had our celebration with our PADI group to toast our certification, and let’s just say that Kim and I made sure that we went all out knowing it was our last night of freedom for some time. Thus the next morning we were not a pretty sight as we frantically shoved our belongings in numerous bags and scrambled to catch our ferry on not enough sleep. We succeeded fortunately and caught a minibus south towards Chaiya, once we reached the mainland, frantically trying to find something to eat—although not hard enough considering that my last meal was an unsatisfying noodle soup and dinner that night was hot chocolate. The minibus dropped us by the side of the rode near Suan Mokkh, the famous monastery with which our retreat center is affiliated. The sign from the highway pointed left, the Thai locals pointed left down a long, dusty road with not a taxi insight. Did I mention we low on sleep? Walking that road was not looking too appealing. Fortunately, a pickup truck with a couple headed for the retreat pulled over and we piled in. (Unfortunately, that couple left the retreat the afternoon of Day 1, so I don’t know who they are really.)

We were ushered through a low metal gate into the dining hall and told that we must rush off to the orientation was just beginning. Laura, meet you burlap sack, and brown mat, and pillows, you’re going to be seeing a lot of them over the next 10 days! Tan Ajahn Poh, the Abbot introduced himself in slow, gruff English, and others introduced themselves and explained procedures and then lead us on a tour of the center—the meditation halls 1-5, the woman’s dorm (certainly never saw the men’s dorm, that would have been very taboo), and the hot springs (my salvation, along with the daily hot chocolate!).

It was then time to check valuables passports, no cameras (I snuck one), no books, no music—does this sound like we were in for fun or what? We got our room keys and moved on in to our ahem, cozy cells. Actually, I’m not even sure a New York broker would be brave enough to call it that. It was Spartan, gray cement walls (some nice lattice work that the top (trust me, much time was spent contemplating it) although that of course let it my friends (loving kindness talking here), the mosquitoes. We were given nets and a blanket and I walked into to hang it over what was quite literally a perpendicular cement slab several feet off the ground. Stellar. But it gets better. Yes, my friends, there was a straw mat for a “mattress” and a wooden log for a “pillow.” No, I’m not kidding. Apparently, we were told that this wooden pillow is used by all monks so that they will wake up when they’ve had just enough sleep and won’t be tempted to sleep in or be lazy—boy, are they right about the not sleeping any extra (sometimes at all). Although, well, you know me, I could sleep on a rock, which this basically was, so it worked out fine in the end. I even used that damn wooden pillow every night (surprisingly not as bad as it sounds because there was a concave smoothing curve to it) except one when I switch to some balled up clothing halfway through a restless night. There was a sign in the dorm entrance that said “Please don’t take your straw mat and wooden pillow outside of your room.” I mean seriously, those were the kind of things I just had to laugh at to keep from going insane—like anyone would be SO tempted to take their comfy pillow out to the courtyard to lounge, oy!

We returned to the main meditation hall, Hall #5, and our personal mats which were to be our home for the next 10 days, and the bell for silence was rung. Then we tramped off, grateful for an early bedtime to combat the lingering pain of our travel from Koh Tao. Not that there was much sleep to be had really—the morning bell ran at 4:00. That’s when Buddhadasa Bhikku, the founder of Suan Mokkh and the Dhamma Retreat Center, used to arise, so that’s what our schedule called for the next 10 days. The tremendous gong rang out for a good 10 minutes, and trust me, even I could not sleep through it—although a few women at the end of the retreat claimed that they had a couple times. Maybe that’s because their room was the closest to the massive bell tower, as was mine (it’s like they knew about me or something)! That first morning I trundled out of “bed” and my room blurry eyed and quite unhappy to go sit on my pillow (it was not long before there were three pillows to cushion the bum for those long periods of sitting!) and hear the morning reading about how we were rising this early so that we could really get the most out of this precious time of day—the time when “teacups are not yet full.” I still remember this line clearly and the cringe that went with it.

It was going to get worse before it got better: it was time for yoga. In six grade I failed to achieve the Presidential certificate for physical fitness because when the PE teach said “go ahead and stretch,” I said, “I am stretching.” Things haven’t gotten much better for me since then, and I am perhaps some of the most inflexible (physically mind you) people I know, always a bit of an embarrassment really. That first day of yoga was therefore painful both physically and mentally. I struggled through the tonsai salutations and the downward dogs, cursing the fact that I was only a mere 10 hours into the retreat.

Next it was time for a morning talk and more sitting meditation until the salvation of breakfast arrived with the 8am bell. It was not as glorious as I’d hoped for—rice soup (although, I dare say I might even miss it just a bit—it did have a lovely coriander flavoring), lettuce and bananas. This was no bowl of honey bunches sadly, and did little to quench the hunger or the pain of morning one. After breakfast was chore time and I was off to sweep around the clinic (for which I am quite grateful as some were stuck with toilet cleaning duties) and then shower back at the dorm. From the well. With a bucket. It’s amazing what you can get used to. There was not much time to dwell however, as the bell began to thunder across the courtyard signifying a necessary return to Hall #5 for Part 2 of our day: Dhamma (duty) talk for an hour by one of the staff followed by 45 minutes each of walking and sitting meditation.

The bell donged for lunch and we trudged to the dining hall expecting the worst. At least in this we were happily surprised. I at least thought the lunches were quite good. Spicy curries, papaya salads, hearty rice, sometimes some glass noodle dishes, lettuces, often fresh fruit, and occasionally some weird Thai dessert that we at gratefully. All was not lost! After lunch was nap time—unofficially so—until Part 3 of the day, three and a half hours of Dhamma talk, sitting and walking meditation, and chanting and loving kindness talks. Oy vey.

Salvation by tea time (hot chocolate!) came with the 6pm bell. Certainly no dinner or snacks in sight mind you. Then it was off to the hot springs which were truly one of the more beautiful and serene places I’ve had the pleasure to lounge and soak, with palm these and greenery overhanging the clear fiery water. We had to wear thai sarongs to bathe as a nod to the modest culture and it was actually quite nice to wear the beautiful batik cloth. The water soothed our aching meditation postures. The evening bell was not far off at 7:30pm, and it was back to Hall #5 for sitting meditation and group walking meditation, for women around the round pond and for men around the larger rectangular pond. (Did I mention the men and women were separated middle-school-style down the length of the hall and for meals in the dining hall?) The group walking was really quite lovely actually, and I breathed in the sight of the black trees, bright stars, and strolling figures reflected in the dark waters surrounded by a few scattered candelabras. There was more. Bedtime—9:15, lights out—9:30 as the generator cut off. I was already asleep like a baby. No longer a “night person,” at least not in Chaiya!

This is pretty much how the next 10 days went—with LOTS of ups and downs of course. Trying to recollect (and it is quite hard—we were not permitted to keep journals either, only note-taking on talks so that we would focus our thoughts only on meditation) it is hard to remember specific days. The early ones certainly crept by painfully slowly and I can remember lying on my concrete slab staring up at the ceiling thinking, “This is only Day 2—I have 8 more to go!!!” with a mixture of horror and fear. Day 1-3 were like that, 3-4 were kind of more along the lines of “What are they talking about?” Day 5-6 I started to control my breathing enough to see some light at the end of the tunnel, Day 7&8 were a return to failure, and day 9&10 were challenging and rewarding and most importantly, near the end!

There were different critters in my room each night: the dark frog, the frog with orange stripes, the bugs, and the huge lizard perched on my ceiling. There were numerous trips to the bathrooms with toilets flushed with bucket water—I’ll take the Western style ones thank you very much! And trips to the purified rainwater tanks to hydrate and fill the belly in times of scarce meals. There was learning to bathe out of a well with buckets while wearing a sarond out in the open of the courtyard and still trying to be modest. There were interesting, challenging, and irritating lectures, comforting tales of loving-kindness in action, and endless practice of “breathe in, breathe out” trying to quell the “monkey mind” and focus the concentration (Samadhi), there were whispers of absurdity to Kim, and smiles at silent neighbors. So, what did I learn? So much I think is the answer. Did I “succeed”? Not really. I did not attain Nirvana—perhaps only made it to step 2-1/2 of 16 steps of mindfulness of breathing—but I don’t think it’s for me really. I did however, learn that I control (or should at least) control my mind—I am not its victim and it needs to listen to me and some ways (i.e. breathing) to make it do that more regularly. I learned the deep kindness and generosity of the Buddhist monks and lay staff, and the wisdom of loving-kindness, a truly excellent line of thinking. And on Day 10, at the Sharing Insights open dialogue, I learned that I was certainly not the only one who had struggled to conquer my monkey mind. Everyone else who looked so calm and peaceful sitting atop their pillows were struggling silently beside me. We were all modern, busy people trying to take a brief respite into a different lifestyle in an attempt to figure out what in their privileged, hectic, full lives left them so unsatisfied and wanting more.

Finally, on the morning of Day 11, after a final meditation sitting, we were released to the dorm to pack up our rooms and return to the dining hall for tea and TALKING! After a farewell speech from Tan Ajahn Poh and a photo session, we trooped down the long road and across the highway to the main monastery of Suan Mokkh for breakfast and a tour of the enclosure.

Afterwards, in an attempt to make a border run to Burma at the immigration post of Ranong, I had the most amazing real world example of loving kindness in action. As most other participants in the meditation retreat headed south to Surat Thani, the disembarkation point for east coast islands (including my travel buddy, Kim), I was trying to catch a bus up north and was told several times to wait by the side of the busy highway for a bus going to Ranong. After one hour and watching others across the street board numerous buses and taxis, I grew disheartened. Almost an hour later, I was in despair. Then I spotted an orange robe and ran over to the monk to ask if I was correct in thinking a bus would pass this way for Ranong. He asked a few locals nearby and said “yes” and after asking me with genuine curiosity if I could maybe read Thai and my obvious admittance to the contrary, he said he would help me spot one, encouraging me to “breathe in, breathe out” the whole time! An hour later, no luck.

I made the call that Ranong was not in my future and it was time to follow the herds to the eastern islands, Koh Phanang, in particular. The monk said he would help me get there. He flagged down a taxi to Chaiya (paying my way mind you despite argument from my side), then once in Chaiya flagged down a taxi to Surat Thani, where he claimed to be going as well. And hour later he had the taxi drop us at a travel agent so I could buy my ferry ticket out to the island. After my repeated thanks I asked where he was heading now. “Back to Chaiya,” was his reply. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe he had just spent 3 hours helping me reach my destination on a random hot season morning and would now have to make another hour journey back from where we had come. He only replied that he wanted to make sure I was okay. I had a woman in the travel agency write “Thank you so much for your help,” in Thai and handed it to him as he waited for another taxi across the street (we actually women can’t hand things to a monk but must place them on a table for the monk to pick up). All in all, this experience was an appropriate end to a very thoughtful ten days from which lessons will surely surface for me for weeks and years to come.

This has been quite a long post, but then again, it was quite a long ten days! I will leave you with just a couple of my favorite inspirational and thoughtful quotes that were posted on various days (we soaked in any written word with relish!) to give you a taste of just what I was absorbing those many days. Goodnight my good dhamma friends.

The thought manifests as the word;
The word manifests as the deed;
The deed develops into habit;
And habit hardens into character;
So watch the thought and its way with care
And let it spring from love
Born out of a concern for all beings.
~The Buddha Teaching

“In the stillness and silence of meditation, we glimpse and return to that deep inner nature that we have so long ago lost sight of amid the busyness and distraction of your minds. We are so fragmented into so many different aspects. We find ourselves scattered everywhere in all directions, leaving nobody at home. Meditation, then, is bringing the mind home.” ~ Bring the Mind Home by Sogyal Rinpoche