Originally posted on Gypsy. Tramp. Thief.:
I have a pretty good memory. I don’t forget many things nor do I lose [many] items. But there is one second in my life that is gone, a fluttering moment in time that my mind could not, until recently, recall. Let me try to capture it. Beej and…
by Beej and Stax The wreck happens during our third attempt in three days to reach Wat Banan, a five-towered hillside Buddhist temple thirty kilometers west of Battambang. We have heard from other travelers to expect a steep and exhausting climb in the 100 degree heat and humidity to the top of the temple once…
Continued from the last post Now, there’s nothing to do but try to retrace my route from last night. The neighborhood appear to be stirring even at this early hour, but still I feel bad about the motorbike noise. I buzz through a narrow gap between two concrete slabs – probably not more than a…
by Beej We race through the steadily brightening pre-dawn of Phnom Penh on our rented scooter, en route to a meeting with our translator and all-around guardian angel, Seiha Kong. Most of the mainly one and two story buildings of the city still huddle in darkness, though a few auto shop lights are winking on…
We are driving our motorbike at sunset along a winding road atop a high mountain pass. Far below lies a landscape of intensely green rice paddies, dark turned earth, sprawling coffee plantations, forest glades, and copses of fruit trees. A panorama of the Central Vietnam highlands spreads magnificently out over the lip of the road….
And I never saw Beej again. Just kidding. I’m sitting at Highlands Coffee (a major chain in Vietnam), taking big gulps of my Vietnamese style iced coffee (syrupy and strong coffee, sweetened, and then sweetened some more with sweetened condensed milk). The big gulps serve two purposes. One, I’m thirsty and it’s freaking hot out…
Originally posted on Gypsy. Tramp. Thief.:
Standing under a bright blue sky and an unrelenting noonday Saigon sun, Beej and I are drip drip dripping sweat like broken faucets. We’re in the middle of a bustling bus depot at the busiest roundabout in all of Ho Chi Minh City. The hot wind, whipped up by…
