Catching up with myself

This morning I finally caught up with myself. I carefully unloaded my backpack of stank laundry into the shoddy washing machine, impressed at the small dust cloud that puffed off my clothes. The brilliant red dirt in Mondulkiri left nothing untouched. As I scrubbed and rinsed my once white tennis shoes, I realized how dirty they had become on our treks through the jungle, on the backs of elephants, and through the town. Even after the washer, my clothes came out orange-tinted and stiff with grime. I've decided that most of the clothes I brought here will have a final resting place in Cambodia. Between the sweat, sun, and questionable washing machine, most of my clothes are one adventure away from being rags.

Still processing the Mondulkiri trip, I am happy to have vivid memories and a journal full of thoughts. When I opened my camera on day one of our trip, I realized that somehow the lens had been open since I packed the camera, draining out all my battery. Though I'll never leave home without my charger again, I will admit that not taking pictures with a camera helped me enjoy the views for their own sake. Pictures don't usually do justice to beautiful views anyway. My true regret was not bringing a sketch book—something I will do on all subsequent trips. The box of Mondulkiri coffee is my only souvenir, but the pile of orange laundry and my war zone feet are proof that I emerged from Khmer New Year a little more experienced than before. Pictures or not, I'll never forget the week in Mondulkiri.

Dirty Dancing 3: Mondulkiri

After the foot trek and being rocked by Randy, we took Wednesday off as a reading day. Happy to read, write and stare at the big sky views, I savored the day to rest my weary body. That evening, Cambodia struck back. The staff at Nature lodge brought in big speakers to have a small party, but before anything could get off the ground, the electricity cut. There we were, in the restaurant, in the dark, wondering what to do next.

Smartly, we went to bed, but not without first trying out a shower in the pitch black. I had a tiny flashlight that seemed to make everything scarier, so I gave up on it.

The fourth day, ready for more adventure, we walked into town with some very adventurous volunteers who planned to rent motorbikes and ride to a nearby coffee plantation. How could I say no?

Nervous, Francine and I saddled up on Pat's moto (he's the only person in Mondulkiri bigger than I am, so I felt safer on his bike). Once we got going, it was a fun ride to the plantation. Covered in red dirt, we ordered iced coffees and sat in the shade, surrounded by coffee trees. It was wonderful to sit there and chat while a familiar breeze whipped the dust up the road.

By some miracle, we didn't die on the way back to the Nature Lodge, though when we all fell off the bike, I did see a portion of my life flash by. Unscathed minus a few engine burns, we washed up for dinner and a party.

Nature Lodge co-owner turned DJ, Mr. Sokha, put on the electronica early to make up for the previous night's power cuts. Beer was flowing (buy 2 get one free), and guests were out on the dance floor. Sokha challenged Francine and I to bar dance for a free beer, and we didn't disappoint. I must say it was a bit ironic to come all the way to rural Cambodia to dance on a bar during Khmer New Year, but the atmosphere was perfect. The celebration continued until late, with Khmer staff and western guests mingling, dancing, and bringing in the new year.

With sore feet and a need for one last adventure, Francine and I headed into town for our last day in Mondulkiri. We found the meat we had been missing in our meals at a small Khmer restaurant (two plates of pork curries, please!). Our walk continued through town for an iced coffee and up the hill to the Pagoda. That pagoda is one of the coolest I've seen. Besides the awesome views from the hill, the vibrant paintings inside the pagoda were worth the walk. After the temple, we tried a shortcut that backfired wonderfully into a massive exploration of the town in full sun. I could sum up Mondulkiri in a few visualizations: my dirty red-orange shoes, some blisters, delicious pancakes, and giant skies. I can't remember the last time I did so much walking in such a beautiful place.

My first and second jungle adventures

I spent the Khmer New Year holiday in Mondulkiri province. With night skies so clear you can practically see the answers to life's questions, Mondulkiri is a sanctuary for weary souls and a countryside oasis for Phnom Penhers.

Many other volunteers decided to journey to Mondulkiri, but my core group of like-minded and similarly-scheduled friends (David and Francine) stuck together. It was nice to have a smaller group of people to organize. We stayed at the Nature Lodge (nice pick, David!), a cluster of huts on the outskirts of Sen Monorom town. I've never been anywhere comparable to this place. Even though it's in the middle of rural Cambodia, it has all the comforts of home, plus more adventure and whimsy than any place I've lived. Francine and I split a $10/night hut that gave us just enough outdoorsy feelingwith the right balance of security. The wooden building had a cozy bed, porch with hammock and attached bathroom. My favorite part was the bathroom because I could look at the stars while I was shampooing.

Despite our plan to take the first day easy, we ended up on a foot trek to the K'bal Preah waterfall. The first hour felt good, invigorating even, but as the sun climbed higher, I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into. We followed red dirt roads, we stumbled through tall grass, we scurried over the ash of slashed and burned fields, and then we entered the forest. This wasn't get-out-your-machete rain forest, but it was certainly a hot sticky jungle-type forest with loose soil and tree roots doing their best to topple me.

With legs of jelly, we descended deeper into the forest, following our flip-flop wearing guide to the sound of water. I didn't mind that this one was small by waterfall-viewing standards—I was just happy to finally sit down after such an intense walk. We devoured our small fried rice lunches and rationed our dwindling water, unsure how long the afternoon return trip would take. It took much coaxing, but Francine and I eventually joined the others for a swim in the catch pool. As I scooted reluctantly across the hairy, slimy rocks to the deep water, something changed. I felt the high of adventure instead of the fear of the unknown. Sounds corny, but given my distaste for all standing bodies of water not filled with chlorine, I consider it a big step forward.

Speaking of steps forward, the trek back was a hot mess of steps. Some of our crew trekked on as though it weren't 100 degrees with full sun, but I lagged behind, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. My usual foot problems were negated by the ripping blisters that come from six hours of trekking on uneven ground. The strange forest party we came upon seemed more a hallucination than an experience, but after I threw back a (very dirty) cup of alcohol at the insistence of the locals, I realized that I was in the middle of nowhere with people who didn't speak my language, sharing a moment of celebration. Only after we finished the trek did I ponder the diseases I was going to get from the dirty liquor. So far, so good.

Back at the lodge, we found ourselves coated in red clay dust. My once white shoes were orange, and my khaki pants were all sorts of jungle colors. It was satisfying to see the dirt as evidence of our work.

To further punish our bodies, the second day was an elephant trek. For just twenty-five dollars, you can hoist yourself into a tiny wooden basket atop a wild elephant for the entire day. It sounds pretty adventuresome, or at least touristy, but the best word to describe it is simply painful. Butt on the wooden board seat, legs stuffed into the basket that wasn't wide enough for size eleven flippers, I held on for dear life as Francine assembled herself on the other side of the basket. The two hour trek to a waterfall even smaller than the day before was a miraculous act of contortionism for the two of us. With each step, I felt less blood flowing between my legs and my body, not to mention the growing pain in my knees. With only a few options for sitting position, Francine and I had to re-situate every few minutes to keep blood circulating properly. My newly achieved appreciation of adventure helped me climb off the elephant with as much grace as a giant lady with no experience de-elephanting can have.

We had a pre-lunch swim and a long post-lunch wait for the elephants to be re-herded for our riding pleasure. Apparently there are rules about how many hours a day these elephants can be held captive, so they get a long lunch in between trips to and fro. Francine and I named our elephant “Randy” because of his affectionate behavior, but we appreciated his discretion when the other elephants were misbehaving in the forest. It's humbling to be at the mercy of an animal that much bigger than yourself.

Randy got us home safely, but not without lots of uncomfortable basket-perching. Bow-legged and nearly broken, we slumped into booths for a well-deserved dinner.