Cambodia

We've been back three days. Taiwan has only been my home for about three weeks, but I had that rush of relief when we arrived back in "familiar territory." Okay, not that familiar - every street name still sounds like "zongsan" to me, but I'm learning.

I love Cambodia. But being on a tour with a bunch of people who speak a foreign language in a country that speaks a different foreign language gave me the spins. Trying to figure prices between NT dollars, U.S. dollars and riels almost made my head explode. And I never knew where we were going until we got there. James could've told me, but he was usually too busy listening to Cannibal Ox to pay attention to the guide.

It was a little weird to be on a tour period. On my family's last visits our priority stops were the orphanage, the embassy, and the French clinic to get my brother AIDS tested. For sightseeing we visited The Killing Fields and Toul Sleng. This time I went to a tourist amusement park in Siem Reap with electric carts so tourists don't have to walk in the heat. There was this goofy haunted house in the park themed on Buddhist ideas of hell.

Cheese-factor aside, it was great to see so many people visiting - Japanese, Australian, British, German, French, Spanish, American and Chinese were the languages/accents I counted. The year Billy was adopted, 1997, it was dangerous to travel outside Phnom Penh. Traveling to Angkor Wat was a real feat. Guides carried guns. Things are better now, and hopefully will continue to improve.

Our first night we went to a massage parlor where I received my first massage ever for the agreeable price of $10 an hour. But before the massage began I had to get down to my panties in the same room as James, his mother and his grandma. We all took off our clothes together and put on the parlor clothes. Undressing with two generations of San women made me stutter, which in turn reminded me how prudish we Americans are about nudity.

We got full body massages, and I came perilously close to cackling when I peeked to my right and spotted a Cambodian dude kneading James' upper thigh. The parlor was called Angkor Spicy Hands, the worst name for a legitimate massage parlor I can think of. Or at least it seemed above board. No one offered Nini a happy ending.

The next four days were a whirlwind of tourist stops.

By whirlwind I mean the typical take-a-picture-and-leave tour shenanigans. Our guide shuffled us out of a Cambodian ballet dinner show early to make sure we didn't miss Angelina Jolie's favorite bar in Siem Reap.

Groan, I know.

When our group walked into The Red Piano (Angie's "favorite") all the white people stared. And white people were pretty much the only people in the bar, except for the servers. Nothing kills the I'm-in-a-cool-expat-bar vibe like a gaggle of Chinese tourists laden with camera bags. Boo hoo. Then I realized they were staring at me because I was amidst the gaggle of Chinese tourists. Eh, let them wonder.

As we walked back to the bus I heard the chorus to "Take me Home Country Roads" coming from another tourist bar. It made me want to cry a little bit. I mean, I've never been to West Virginia and I don't want to go there. Pretty much, I'm a crier. And a John Denver fan. No shame in that.

The highlight, of course, was Angkor Wat. I can't think of any inspiring words to capture how amazing it was, so instead you can look at my pictures.

Can't climb these stairs anymore, someone died doing so

It was nice having time to get to know James' grandma better. She doesn't speak English but we managed "Good morning," "Isn't that pretty?" and "How's the food?"

All considered a fun trip, but I plan on taking James back so we can experience Cambodia on our own terms. And if my wanderlust holds up maybe I'll make it an extended visit.