Time flies!

It's been a week since I last wrote. I don't know how that happened!

Cambodia has such a rich history, a conflicted and complicated one that represents the best and the worst of the human condition in the majesty of its temples and the tragedy of its recent history.

I wrote in my journal on January 15 from Phnom Penh, "I wish I could google my thoughts, or press record so I could go back and listen to them later." So many thoughts have gone through my head in the last few weeks, some too personal to share, and others that would take me too many paragraphs to share. I determined last night that, while traveling, my brain is like a rock tumbler from the early nineties. It takes my thoughts and churns and churns them until they're nice and shiny and ready to present. A lot of what you get in this blog, though, are the rough rocks. I went on to write, "Cambodia and its vast range of experiences has left me in a bit of a flurry of reflections and thoughts with not enough time to reflect on what I've seen before the next thing floods my senses; smells, colors, sounds, dust, naked children, horror and magnificence all converge like the confluence of the 3 rivers upon which Phnom Penh lies to create a chaos in my mind and senses and in, I would guess, the lives of the people that live here. Or maybe they just think that things are good now because they're no longer being massacred. I don't know." So that's a little bit of my immediate take on Cambodia.

As I sat at the steps of the stupa at Choeung Ek, or the Killing Fields as we commonly know it, and looked at the monument encasing 9,000 skulls distinerned at that site, I said a prayer, hoping that the famlies of those before me have found comfort over the years and that they may never again know the horrific capabilities of the human hand. And on the eve of the inauguration, I think it appropriate to include this part of the prayer: May the world know what one man is capable of doing, both in terror so to prevent it, and in hope so to promote it.

Our two days in Phnom Penh followed three days of serious temple viewing in Siem Reap, after which, we were Wat-ted out. Our amazing tuk-tuk driver and tour guide for our days there, Ritty, also introduced us to some phenomenal street food, brought us to see Kom Pon Pluk-a floating village on the Tonle Sap lake, and took us to the local market to buy some rice for the orphanage he works at.

As we waited for the bus to Phnom Penh, some Cambodian remix of our family's favorite Shakira song played over the radio. The six hour bus ride found me turning my iPod up to an unreasonable volume to drown out the very loud man on his cell phone. No one else seemed to have a problem, which made me think I had incompatible western sensibilities. The movie playing was one of the more violent displays I've ever seen, featuring a well-coiffed Chinese gangster resembling a young Jet Lee. At one point we almost hit a cow in the road. Viewing the Cambodian countryside, Laura and I began to think that the entire country was rural. That is, until we reached Phnom Penh. When my dad was there over 10 years ago, the streets weren't even paved, but now it is hustling and bustling, with plenty of paved streets and tuk tuk drivers to populate them. But to give you a sense of the comparative landscape, I wrote this in my journal while on the bus:

If I were an artist, I would draw the Balinese landscape with the bright colors of the crayola spectrum, depicting the vibrant kelly-like green of the rice fields, the oranges and pinks of the Hindu offerings, bold reds and golds for the dancers and musicans, and all shades of blue for the water. In contrast, if I were to draw Cambodia, my palette would be limited to the colors I usually avoided in the crayon box when I was a kid. You know the ones I mean. They were always longer and sharper than the rest because you always used those last and if there no other options...The cows would be the grays and beiges and light browns. More gray for the grass-roofed and walled homes. Browns for the rivers, yellows, light browns, and dull greens for the fields, with some accents to depict the afternoon sunlight.

I go on, but you get the picture. Literally. Our hotel the first night in Phnom Penh left MUCH to be desired. One of the beds had a mysteriously damp spot on the sheets, so Laura and I ended up bunking together in the other twin bed. We've become quite close and are highly compatible traveling partners. We moved out the next morning. We treated ourselves to a fabulous place along the river, that if you're ever visiting Phnom Penh, stay at the Quay, but look online for discounts. Fresh juices and a sleek aesthetic, HBO and a rooftop terrace left little to be desired.

I sadly said goodye to Laura and spent one night alone in Phnom Penh. Rather, I spent one night along at the Quay. And now I'm in Australia!

I flew into Sydney two days ago and managed to fit in Bondi Beach, the Coogee beach walk, the Opera House, Harbor Bridge, Botanical Gardens, a kebab, and a movie before flying out this morning to Cairns. Christa and I are here with not much of a plan. We quickly learned that this is the off season here in the north, as it's a bit rainy and the lethal jelly fish are at the beaches. I think we'll opt for a glass-bottomed boat tomorrow to view the Great Barrier Reef and celebrate Barack Obama. Speaking of which, we're trying to figure out what time the inauguration will be on here, and it might be at 2:30 AM tonight, which means we will be sure to make it a late-night, festive occasion, which won't be so hard at Gilligan's, the dorm-style hostel we found.

Our rough plan is to work our way south so I can fly out of Brisbane or Sydney to Auckland, New Zealand on the 31st. We'll keep you posted, and, as always, thanks for reading.

Happy Obama Day!