Still think trees are cool?
Get some face-time with the gods
Angkor What?
On the tuk-tuk ride from Siem Riep to Angkor, we couldn’t help but wonder: “Why are we doing this?” After all, I’ve long since conceded that I’m sick and tired of temples, wats, stupas, pagodas and the like, and it turned out this feeling was shared whole-heartedly by my travel-bud. So why spend an entire day amid yet more temples? Discussing the matter, we both agreed that apparently Angor Wat is a “must-see”-sight, although we could not define exactly what that term entails. Would some travel-deity be angered if we failed to see it while in Cambodia? Would the backpacker-community at large ostracize us if they found out we had skipped it? Whatever the hell “must-see” means, we are obviously slaves to it, and as the driver pulled up to the first temple, we set off in a rather submissive mood, wanting to get it over with. Nevertheless, as always when expectations are sufficiently lowered, we were pleasantly surprised by what was in store!
The Angkor-area has more than one thousand temples of varying condition scattered around it, and while some of them have been restored to near pristine condition, others look positively ancient, with their walls crumbling and trees pushing through their moss-covered stones. It was these decrepit ones that I found most interesting, and not just because they look like the set of an Indiana Jones-movie (one of the good ones, not the latest crap-tastic piece of junk). It was somehow humbling to see how the mere passage of time was gnawing at all the man-made structures, inevitably obliterating everything in the end and leaving only jungle. It almost felt like one of those sci-fi movies where humanity has vanished and survivors walk empty city streets lined with derelict buildings. Eerie. Of course, I did tentatively try pushing a few eyes of statues just in case there was a secret passage somewhere leading to treasure. No such luck.
Hustle in Hong Kong
Our last days in Bangkok were spent whining to anyone who would listen how much it sucks to be going home. As I headed to the airport, I couldn’t help but wonder sullenly when the next chance for another backpacking-trip would come. The fact that it would take me a whopping twenty-eight hours to get home via Hong Kong and Amsterdam didn’t make leaving any more appealing either, so I was truly morose as I boarded my first flight. Luckily, the otherwise dull trip was livened up by an unexpected dose of excitement at Hong Kong airport:
With a few hours to kill I was happily using the free WiFi in the departure lounge while keeping a watchful eye on the time. About an hour before my flight, I slowly gathered up my things and started to mosey on down to the departure gate at the other end of the building. Somewhere in the distance, an airport official hollered around for someone late for their flight to Rome, and I chuckled to myself: “Silly bastard is late”. After all, I had more than enough time on my hands, since I knew the last call for my flight wouldn’t be till 23:55, and it was only 23:00. I was in no particular hurry, so I welcomed the opportunity to just wander slowly through the various restaurants and shops on my way to the gate. I was absent-mindedly perusing through some magazines, when a digital time display somewhere in the distance caught my eye. “That can’t be right”, I thought and looked at it again harder. As my mind struggled to comprehend the figures on the screen, my heart did something like a triple somersault into my throat. The time was 00:04. When the realization hit me like a brick in the face, I couldn’t help but actually speak the words out loud: “The motherfucking time-difference!!!” I had neglected to set my watch to Hong Kong time, and had missed my last call by nine minutes, with the plane due off the ground in another eleven. At this point I was at gate 78. My flight left from gate 3. They had probably paged me, but I mean, who the hell listens to those announcements? On the verge of utter despair, I wondered for about five seconds whether it would even be worth to try and make it, since they had probably already shut the gate. In the end I sighed, took off my flip-flops and began a bare-foot sprint worthy of classic Olympian acclaim, albeit swearing with every step.
People stared in open-mouthed awe as I zig-zagged through a crowded cafeteria to get to the moving walkways. With the zeal of someone with nothing to lose, I plowed through groups of tourists unlucky enough to get in my way, and resisting the urge to scream “OUT OF MY WAY, SPACE-WASTERS!!” instead merely kept muttering things like “Sorry”, “Excuse me” and “I’m sure that will come right off in the wash”. With gates whizzing by and sweat pouring down my face, I couldn’t help but think back at how I had to make a similar sprint a year ago in Brussels, and the year before that in Liverpool, and the year before that in Beijing train station. In a fleeting moment of lucidity amid desperation, I wondered whether this was indicative of too lax an attitude on my part when it comes to adhering to strict timetables. I made a mental note to be more careful in the future, as especially with airplanes, the “Oh, I’ll just grab the next one”-attitude really doesn’t work.
After what seemed like a mile or so, I rounded the second-to-last corner and found a small Asian woman clad in red looking around rather frantically. “Amsterdam?” she asked me, and as I nodded, she shot me a look like I had just microwaved her cat or something. She was positively seething with fury when she said: “They are already offloading your bags, RUN!” With my last determined dash I finally arrived at the number three gate, my heart stopping tentatively for about two seconds till I realized it was still open. Preparing to be scolded, I was surprised to find the people at the gate were all smiles, jokingly asking whether I had been shopping or what. They were so relaxed about the whole affair, it almost seemed like it hadn’t even been close at all. Of course, this was probably because they didn’t really give a damn whether I made it or not, and would’ve closed the gate at a predetermined time in any case regardless of where I was. Their breeziness was not transferred to me however, as I was utterly and positively ecstatic!! Boadring the plane I felt like grabbing the four air-hostesses greeting me into a big group hug, but thought better of it, and settled for just high-fiving everyone in my row. Sweat and tears of joy blurred my vision, but I believe the clock read something like 00:13. Two minutes to spare.
Enter boredom
So, I now find myself back home, wondering what the hell happened to the three months I had. Everything seems very quiet and sedate here, with all the hustle and bustle of Asia left behind. I guess one could say that it’s nice and peaceful, but at the moment it merely feels intolerably boring and nearly sterile. People don’t smile or greet each other on the street, and most wear expressions as if they have a crowbar stuck up their arse every morning. Still, being able to drink tap-water is pretty awesome, I guess, and at least it’s the best time of year to be here. Also, Mr. T’s eulogy video will be posted post-haste, so that’s something to look forward to.
P. S. I wonder if you can get black-listed or something for consistently being nearly-late from flights?
P. P. S. On occasion I have been known to describe this song as “The best song in the world”.
Cake – Never there
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nbzt1HnVzIQ
