God You Are Smokin’!

September and October are hurricane months, so why in the world would we have a hurricane type storm last night, we wondered. Winds were so incredible; the furniture was blown off of the balcony of our hotel. It woke us up multiple times during the night as it set off alarms all over. Sounds like thrashing rain hitting the window was our clue that it there was water with the wind, but we were too lazy to get up to check it out. We had the alarm set for 6:45 as it was.

Today was the boat trip to the different Mayan villages and it was scheduled to leave at 8:30. Breakfast at the hotel doesn’t start until 7:30, but we were fearful of not having enough time to get to the dock if we ate here. We went closer to the dock and found a lovely restaurant where we had two full breakfasts for 6 Euros total. From there, it was a hop, skip, and jump to the dock where our boat was scheduled.

Eight-thirty came and went, but our boat didn’t. Those around the dock told us, why are you worried, it is only 8:30? Okay, we run by a different clock here, like other Hispanic countries and some European ones that are far from Hispania. When the boat arrived, it was not San Marco as we had been told to look for, but Yoselin. Close enough I guess, but it did mean additional Spanish practice to verify the situation. Who should be on our boat, but the young Canadian couple who are traveling for 8 months. Wonderful couple, we were glad to share some time with them. There was also an Australian family that we chatted with also, passing the time until we were ready to depart.

After the storm last night, the lake was choppy with crests forming as far as the eye could see. The trip to the first village would be an hour of potentially seasickness motions up and down with water splashing in the sides of this boat that was on par with a van as opposed to a boat that was equal to a humvee. Rock, roll, and get wet as the waves come overboard to slap you in the face for molesting its daily habits. Ron has suggested we sit in the far back, which meant that we had to climb over four rows of seats before reaching where we would secure our butts for the joy ride. One time was fine, but each village meant climbing over these seats to get out and back in again, while boat thought tied to the dock, still heard the silent tunes that caused it to rock and roll the day away. As the waves from other boats lapped the sides of ours, as other guests were getting out, we were all tossed like a cheap salad around the inner bowl of the boat.

I would have kissed the land at the first village, but yuk-pooh! It was not only dirt, but dirty dirt. San Marcos, the village was not much to speak of, with one long, long narrow path leading to the center. Along the path were Spanish language schools, and oh, please, Reiki healing centers, a massage center, a spiritual advisor that promised to heal your soul with tarot cards, and other obvious renegades from English speaking countries that have descended in this sacred space of Mayan antiquities and have tried to transform it into Little California, Guatemala. There was pathetically little to warm the cockles of any one’s heart in this desolate little village. The star attraction seemed to be a Catholic church, the first invaders of ancient cultures. We had forty-five minutes to explore this village, but we were all back in thirty minutes wondering what was next.

Another long ride on the boat brought us to San Juan. Once off the boat, one look at this village told us the prospects were not good. Facing the dock was one steep and lengthy hill with lots of little shops on either side. Even my desire to be consumer of the year did not persuade me to tackle that hill, so we took a tuk-tuk. If you have ever been to South Africa, Thailand, or numerous other countries, you will know a tuk-tuk is similar to an enclosed golf cart.

Our driver gave us a quick tour around the village. Shop after shop after shop with more massage opportunities, Spanish schools, and healing of various forms, all á la new age and definitely imported and not native. When you look at tienda after tienda and see these eye popping colors, one of two things start to happen. 1.) You stop looking at any realizing nothing is really going to fit your color schemes at home or 2.) You develop such sensory overload that you begin to think that your living room really would look much better if you painted it day-glo pink, turquoise, lemon yellow, lichen green, and violet. Then all of these things you have subliminally been pushed into purchasing will fit right. This has made me realize that I am of two minds. One mind says, “This isn’t so bad. The colors are bright and cheerful and the workmanship is excellent.” This is when the other mind kicks shouting “Are you crazy? Have you lost control of your senses? Where on earth would you display that for more than ten minutes without having to issue apologies?” I am certain these things have their place, just not in our home.

The next two villages were San Pedro and Santiago Atitlan, which included more boat acrobatics, sail, sail, wet, wet, climb out of the boat, and see the village. Same, same, but different. The differences were only in the size of the settlements and whether or not there were hills to climb. Well, there was one other difference. We were going to see Maximón or as the Mayans call him, Rilaj Maam. Regardless of what name he happens to go by, he is the smoking god. This hybrid god is a cross of Catholic and Mayan, but is revered throughout the Guatemalan highlands. He is generally housed in the home of the Mayan cofradia, the brotherhood of Mayan religious. After paying the tuk-tuk driver 20 Q or 2 Euros, he drove us up hills, down alleys, through the hills and dale until we reached an unpaved path of rocks and stones leading to a small building.

On the porch was a band of brothers, presumably Mayan as they were not speaking Spanish. Within hear shot we could hear talking, but we were unprepared for the spectacle. In a very small room, there was tiny Christmas type lights were flashing on and off decorating the left wall with those boas of Christmas garland. Darkness prevailed in the room regardless of the spirited lighting, but as we were escorted into the room, there was a man on his knees on one of those festively decorated rugs or tablecloths that are ubiquitous. He had this back toward us and was spewing a volume of words in a casual manner, regardless of his semi-prostrated position. He was facing two humanly men, but seated between them was the god Rilaj Maam or Maximón. Rilaj was doing what Rilaj is known for; he was smoking a cigarette. On either side of him, there were two ashtrays filled with butts with different filters. It was not clear if a cigarette is given as an offering, but each of the attending men took turns flicking the ashes into the ashtray, so that god was not disturbed nor was his attention diverted from the petitioner.

God had a rather wooden expression during this whole thing. One possible conclusion could be it was because his head was carved from wood. That explained why he never grimaced when he got smoke in his eyes. God only knows what his body consisted of, but he was covered with layers of different colorful blankets and a multitude of neck garments. As I was standing there watching this scene, I on the right also had lights flashing over my head. I noticed this rectangular glass box behind me, which my peripheral vision led me to believe it could be an aquarium. When I took a closer look, there was a mummy in there. God only knows who it is, was or if it is another petrified wooden soul.  

After this, the rest of the day was lackluster to say the least. God knows…

Related articles

• Tours Guatemala | Many have called Lake Atitlan the most beautiful lake in the world (socialmediasnews.wordpress.com)
• Mayan Highlands (mayanthreads.wordpress.com)
• The Island of Flores - Flores, Guatemala (travelpod.com)
• Guatemalan Mayans Under Siege (indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com)
• 2012: 5 Funny Reasons Why The Mayan Predictions Are Wrong (christyfarmer.wordpress.com)

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Snorkeling Off Frankland Islands - Sydney

It was an early morning again as Andrew had to drive us to where the tour bus was going to collect us, a resort with real services. Breakfast here is substantial with four varieties of bread including English muffins, which I have not had in years, fresh fruit salad, yogurts, and cereals. Everyone is up and eating by 7:30, so we are able to chat with the other guests, making it amicable. We waited only ten minutes for the shuttle to gather us up to bring us to the larger bus, but in the end, after we collect ed the others, it turned out the larger bus had already left. Our shuttle would now take us directly to the boat for our tour. About an hour later all of the others were gathered from various hotels. The boat was a hovercraft with comfortable seating. Once underway, they served us coffee and cookies, gave a safety demonstration, and fitted people for snorkel suits. I have snorkeled in the past, but never had to wear a suit to do it. Ron and I both wore wet suits when we took scuba lessons, but never for snorkeling. This determined it would be a non-snorkeling day for me off of Frankland Island. I have this thing about claustrophobia. Having a mask over my face is torture, but I most of the time can rationalize my way through it. I think it goes back to a trauma as a child when I had my tonsils out and they put the mask over my face for the gas. I remember pleading with the doctor to just let me take one more breath before we continued, but he refused to remove the mask. Ever since then, I have had nightmares about drowning or being suffocated. With a suit on and the flippers, I feel really confined, closed in, and definitely claustrophobic. That is why I never finished getting certified in SCUBA, but another reason is that the limitations of peripheral perception makes me paranoid to the point that I have anxiety attacks. It turns out the reason for the skins they wore is because jellyfish don't like them. Well I don't like the skins, I don't like being near to jellyfish, I won't snorkel. Case closed. Ron lost his snorkeling virginity and I stayed on the beach. He had a great time, I did not have a bad time, but damn it was hot. The temperature hovered around 90 degrees, while the humidity was close to the same. Even in the shade, I sweat like a pig on a roasting pit. Taking off on my own down a trail, I did find the other side of the island's weather was fantastic with a great breeze. I stayed there as long as I thought I could get away with without being missed and then headed back again in time for lunch. This island is also home to some of the worlds deadliest spiders, which did not exactly make me feel secure being alone, dying somewhere of a spider bite when no one knew I was gone. One spider is so venomous, its bite kills within three hours. There is no antidote. The island has a protected roped off area where a variety of seabirds are nesting. We were told that we could go up to the ropes, but no further without a fine. However, if we disturbed the birds, they would fly at us to scare us away and we should move back, since making the birds agitated is also worthy of a fine. While I was on the other side, I was also on the other side of then roped off area, watching the birds coming and going. On the beach was a dark brown bird, a different species than any of the others nesting. The white cormorants did not care for this bird being so close to their area, so they started dive bombing it. Instead of the brown bird flying off, each time it was dive bombed, it just ducked. This went on about ten times before it finally flew off. It was hysterical to watch this aviary circus show. After two hours of snorkeling, lunch was served. They put out quite a spread of roasted chicken, prawns, salads, and cold cuts. Beverages were for sale. Following lunch, we did the glass bottom boat adventure. It was like visiting the moon, visually disorienting with beautiful life forms we don't normally know exist. The guide pointed out all of the different varieties of coral and the fish we were being voyeurs to. I was surprised that the colors were not as vibrant as seen in pictures. She explained that they would be brighter if the day were not overcast, but still not as vibrant as we would expect. She went on to say that when they film underwater, they use powerful spotlights for filming, so the light from there highlights the color more and the rest is done with Photoshop. They had to run the glass bottom boat twice to accommodate all of us, so in the meanwhile, we just needed to hang sweating again, but those snorkelers were welcome to jump back into the water. When everyone was done, we had the option of doing an island walking tour so we joined in. Amanda our guide pointed out the different trees that are specific to this area. She fished out two sea cucumbers and had us hold them. They squirt water and then a white creamy substance that cements closed the gills of fish that are trying to eat them. With the glued gills, the fish suffocates and loses interest in the sea cucumber. We also came across a humongous golden orb spider. She said they can get as large as dinner plates and like black widows, eat their mates after mating. The island is a protected reserve, which means there is no fishing, no cutting plants, and nothing, not the smallest piece of coral, nor any sand can be removed without a stiff penalty. An hour ride on the boat and then 1 ½ hours on two buses, got us back to our 'hotel'. The other guests came back wiped out also from their tour, so all five of us decided to order in, having it delivered. Andrew arranged the whole thing. After speaking to the others, two Argentinians and one Brit, it seems we made a wise decision. They had a longer boat ride that was not scenic and they had less time snorkeling. They also had to snorkel from the boat, there was no island to rest on in between dives, so they tired out long before the people in our group would have being able to come and go. Tomorrow we want to see if there really is a city of Cairns or if there is just a grandiose number of suburbs. It will be tricky since the public transport in this area is feeble to say the least. We will have to stand on the side yard of someone's property and flag the bus as it comes around the corner. Earlier this evening, a frog made an appearance. Did a take on the situation and then decided he did not like our company and hopped off elsewhere. But as I write this, I am sitting at the large wooden table on the covered patio of the resort, watching the breeze sway the palm tree leaves. On the table there is a good sized marble block where the hosts put out the jams and jellies for breakfast. It sits on little legs, giving some room underneath. As I am typing, I am aware of a little face staring out at me. There is a tiny, tiny gecko poking his head out at me, it runs out for a quick fix of the situation, and then back it goes under the security of the marble. Arched high ceilings of the patio are covered with this little fella's relatives. They are keeping the mosquito population down, but I wish they would eat faster, there are more than enough for everyone. We have to cover ourselves with repellent creating a second skin of lotion or we are bound to be a human buffet table for the flying creatures. All of us have a half dozen bites. The mosquitoes must have silencers on them. Not one of us has heard one yet. The only evidence they are around is when we have an itch and notice the swelling red lumps. All of this is to be expected since this property butts up against a protected rain forest. There is literally a wire fence at the perimeter of the property in back to keep crocodiles out of their yard and pool. After the day's heat, it is refreshing to be able to come back and take a dip in the pool at any time day or night. Like the moss that grows on the sides of trees, I am beginning to lichen this place.

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New Year's Eve - Sydney Australia

Both of us were dog-tired, so we dragged out by 9:00 and went to Gloria Jean's to see the what for on their Internet connection. They have a sign in the window showing Everywhere Connection WiFi. What is not shown is that it is a subscriber service, so you have to log on and pay a subscriber fee. I really cannot wrap my head around the fact that there are no free WiFi hotspots at coffeehouses or restaurants. This makes me nuts that Budapest is so far ahead of such a modern society. I paid the fee for 120 minutes time, thinking over the next few days, I would use it up. It was begrudgingly, but I did it. I had just checked e-mail and downloaded it all, when the connection kicked off. I checked my log in...fine. Wireless connection turned on...working fine. Firewall blocking it? No! Reboot the computer and try again. Still now working. Call over the guy from behind the counter. He said it must be the router, so he goes to reboot it or whatever they do. Minutes later, the connection is up and running again. Great. Well, not so great, because within five minutes, it was out again. Called the guy over again, he checked my computer over. No, the problem was not my computer, it had to be their system again. He disappeared to do something or other. Back online, surfing cyberspace, jamming along for a whole ten minutes when whack, hit the cyber wall of no connectivity yet again. Three strikes, they were out and so were we. After dropping the computer off at the hotel, we decided to do a test run to the ship for tonight's event. According to the desk reception, it would only take ten to fifteen minutes to walk there. Translation: thirty to forty-five minutes. Over the hills up and down we went, Ron with map in hand, but the receptionist said it was a pretty straight shot with only one turn. We however, had to stop at the Chinese Garden on the way. But it was closed for the pending holiday activity, so we went through another park instead. Filled with fountains of great magnitude that flow forever around a green space, the Australians take their parks with serious interest and design. In the green area, young men were playing modified cricket and soccer. Further into the park, children can be amused with fun fountains that resemble step farming on the side of a mountain, or spiral shells that finally end in a black hole in the middle. We followed the map provided by the ship company; our dock was located to the side of the Maritime Museum. Going into the museum, we asked to make sure, found our dock and checked our watches. It took one hour and thirty minutes. Okay, we stopped in the park, looked around, relaxed a second or two, so we could not gauge an accurate account of time. However, going back from there to the hotel we could. Here is the scary part. Each entrance to any of the dock area is a no alcohol area unless you buy it from the restaurants within. There is security at every possible way of getting in and they check your bags for liquor. I asked one of the security guards wearing a yellow vest if the gates would be open all evening. We would need to get through this harbor area to catch our ship. He assured me they would be open all night. When we arrived at the other end, I checked with the guard there also. Sometimes there is a point to being compulsive, other than setting your nerves on edge. His response was that as soon as the crowd gets too large, all gates go on lock down. After sharing what the other guard had told us, he asked “Was he wearing a yellow shirt or a black shirt like I am?” Here is where the problem occurred, yellow shirts are only junior security and do not know shit. Only the guys in black shirts who have had ten years or more experience know anything at all. This guy looked like he was recruited as a gang member or a former Soprano, so we tended to believe him and worried about being locked out and not getting to our wharf for our dinner cruise that we have paid $1,000.00 and were told in no uncertain terms that there were no refunds. Swell! And not the kind of swell that happens in the sea. With paranoia, we headed back to the hotel for a quick rest, a shower, and then out once again. We did take the city train a few stops to save some time, but we were still far earlier than we needed to be, but cautioning on the side of error. We made it to the dock with over an hour to spare. I kept checking people's tickets if they were holding them to see if they were on our boat. No one seemed to have the same tickets, so I again became paranoid we were at the wrong dock. When the last ferry came to board, I asked the guy taking their tickets and he assured me we were in the right place as he scooted me off of the gangplank so the could leave the harbor. Our trip was on the Princess Cruise line and our ship was the Sydney. When a Princess ship came in and had Sydney Princess on it, my heart sank. There were no tables and chairs, there were a hundred people waiting, there would hardly be room to stand. When we went to board, the guard told us we were not on that ship, but the next one. Ours was just the Sydney. The second boat that came in was what I had imagined. Larger, it was filled with tables and chairs set for dinner. It had walking room outside in the front and upper deck. After finding our assigned seats, we introduced ourselves to the people on both sides of us. One older couple was from Perth, the other from England. The English couple quickly made arrangements to have a table for two and left us. The Perth couple was charming. Dinner was a buffet with salads, roasted chicken, roast beef, shrimp, and oysters. They called us up table by table to keep order. The chicken and the scalloped potatoes were to die for; Ron and I agreed, the potatoes were the best we have ever had. All of the beer, wine, and champagne was included. After everyone was served, we were invited for seconds or thirds, but the buffet table stayed up for another hour in case anyone was shy. Shortly after dinner was completed, everyone was milling around the boat. The city has a shortened fireworks display at 9:00 pm for families and so children can see some fireworks. The boat staff presented a large cheese platter with crackers. You would think that no one had eaten dinner, they demolished this in twenty minutes. An hour before midnight, they put out two enormous trays of fresh fruit cut up. We cruised all over the bay watching the other boats with their lights on, the city lit up, and the opera house dimmed, but partially lit. It was a magical experience, one that I had been waiting for for fifteen years, and it was worth the wait now that it came to fruition. The fireworks display was all that I could hope it would be. Not only fireworks in the air, there were others over the tall buildings. When all was over, the staff presented everyone with a meringue type dessert. I am not usually one for meringue, but this was incredibly delicious. All of the staff was so gracious; they all worked endlessly without an obvious break the entire time. Each time someone complimented one of them, they honestly responded with “I am so pleased you are enjoying it.” By 1:15 am, we were back disembarking and making our way back to the hotel. It was one enchanted evening for certain.We floated back to the hotel and crawled in by 2:00 am.

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So Long Cambodia, Hello Vietnam

The hotel gets one credit in its favor. The wake up call was on time and it was a real person, not a recorded message. We raced through showering, went up for breakfast and was treated to some unusual sights along the riverfront. There was a large group of people doing their exercises as a group not far from the hotel. About ten minutes later, Ron spotted an elephant walking down the street. There was a man walking along side of it, but not riding it. The elephant was meandering down the street like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every time I see Caucasians walking the streets, especially single women, I wonder if they knew what Cambodia was like, are they disappointed or overwhelmed, and then I wonder where they have been, and where they are going. The same thoughts about expectations occur to me about myself. I still have not processed it fully, but I have found it more intense than Malaysia, definitely in a positive way. There is a liveliness amongst the dirt, the chaos, the poverty that is energetic. There is no way to describe the traffic other than sheer madness. Regardless of whether it is a two or four lane road, there are no lines and seemingly no rules. Everyone drives wherever they can find room to fit between other cars, scooters, or bicycles without regard to what direction anyone else is going in. It is a combination of Italian and Egyptian driving taking the most negative of both.

Obediently, we made it to the lobby by 6:50 am only to be told, we would not leave until 7:30 am giving us time for breakfast. We had already shoveled it down, so only had to wait for our ride. We were transported in a new Toyota equipped with GPS and a steering wheel inlaid with wood. Our very young driver, a replacement for the one we were told would drive us, was competent and had the patience of Job to drive this route. It was not until the last ten minutes of the 1 ½ hour trip that the road was paved. We passed innumerable schools, so there were hundreds of children of all ages in white tops and blue pants or skirts, competing with road space with motorcycles and cars. We were praying for their safety, but they all looked like seasoned commuters trailblazing their way to their destination. There is not four turns of the wheels without hitting a pothole; in some places the entire road is dug out making it like driving through a valley before reaching street level once again.

Arriving at our destination seemed to be a mistake at first; it looked like someone’s battered car mechanic’s garage. Our driver assured us this was the correct place to be and waited for the young man there to get Vietnam forms for us. We filled out entry and exit forms and another list in triplicate. We were left sitting on benches in this dirt yard with a rundown corrugated metal building in front of us, not knowing if there was a river nearby. The driver told us before he left that the boat would arrive at 10:00 am, an hour yet to go. An hour’s sleep missed out on…

As the clock reached 10:00, other buses arrived and dropped off bedraggled travelers. In total, there were six of us and it was time to board the boat from behind this curious establishment. The luxury boat we were sold on was less than such. Carrying our luggage precariously down a gangplank of a dubious nature, we boarded a boat with two long wooden benches down each side. The crew, a family of father, wife, and son were more than pleasant and pleased to have the work. The deck we were promised to walk around was there, but the information missing was that the deck was only one foot wide, no barrier between you and the river, and a handrail at eye level. The upper deck was only accessible by maneuvering this width challenged deck as was the toilet, neither of which I had any intentions of negotiating.

With the challenges of getting to the toilet, I became obsessed with having to use it, willing myself not to have a need, but worrying about how I would get to it if I did. If I fell off of the deck, how long would it take for anyone to realize it? I used all of my mental energy trying not to concentrate on bodily functions, but when told not to think about pink elephants, they always appear.

The beautiful scenery was as valid as the deck to walk around. It was not unattractive, just repetitiously green with trees. I forgot to mention that I used to have nightly dreams about drowning while on a boat. It all started after watching the original version of the Titanic, but in my nightmares the boat is always less pretentious and similar to the one we are on. Therefore, I immediately notice there are no lifejackets and swimming to either side of the river are beyond my lung capabilities even if I had never touched tobacco in my life and only floated on my back.

Our travel companions were a mother and daughter from The Netherlands plus a Swiss couple. We are not sure of their relationship, but he had his big toe painted red on one foot and all of his toenails except the big toe painted red on the other foot. One toe had a ring on it and his left earlobe had a dime size hole in it sans an ear stretcher. My only resource for avoiding drowning and bathroom thoughts was to stretch out trying to sleep on the wood bench. Most of the others went to the ‘upper deck’. When I did snatch a snooze, I had dreams of the boat overturning, not good. The journey was 2 ½ hours before we pulled up to shore. I was hoping it was for a bathroom break and stretch, but it was Cambodian Passport Control. We filed out to show our passports; it was relatively easy. The guard looked at our Visa, pulled out our Exit card and then stamped it with so many rubber stamps; it would make the Hungarians jealous.

We were herded back on the boat, sailed for another ten minutes and docked again. This time we had to take our luggage with us for Vietnam Passport Control and Customs. The plank to reach shore was about the size of a balance beam in gym class. Being able to get over this with luggage in both hands should have qualified all of us for an Olympic gymnastics team. Once over this toothpick of a board, we had to climb rocks and eroded shoreline to get to the top. I guess if you can make it, you deserve to enter the country. This may be their endurance test for entry.

After handing over our passports to a guard who looks them over, we get waved on to a building to have them stamp, stamp, and stamp again. We all passed with flying colors, and then there was Ron. There was a problem with his Visa, but we could not understand the problem. I was told to continue on, but could see him from where I was told to go. I had to pay another $1.00 for some reason; the Visa already cost $20.00 from the Embassy.

We had all had our passports stamped, but Ron was still waiting to pass GO. Finally, he was told he could pass. The problem it turns out was that the Embassy put 2007 for his entry and exit dates, not 2008. Mine was done correctly, but we never caught it when we picked them up.

A very beautiful young Vietnamese woman shepherded us to a ‘restaurant’ where we had to wait for them to do yet something else to our passports, probably check them against wartime or CIA records. During this wait time, we were encouraged to order lunch, but I still had bowel-kidney obsession, so passed on that offer.

When it was time to re-board the boat, it was now a Vietnamese boat with a different crew. Actually, the boat was slightly nicer with eight sets of double seats with a narrow walkway down the center. Not having an upper viewing deck, they did have a back deck, but with no room for luggage, I was wedged in and holding tightly. This portion of the journey had a young woman working it. Her exact role was unclear, but she collected tickets from the passengers. Two Australians were added to our group. Their Visa did not start until January 3, but they showed up on January 2^nd and were not able to cross. The tour guide took them home, gave them dinner, a place to sleep, and breakfast before returning them to the boat today.

This section of the river was narrow enough to make getting to either side easily accessible doing the doggie paddle. At last I could let go of one fear. The views were interesting to say the least. We witnessed water buffaloes being washed in the river; people fishing with huge nets, ducks caged on the water, children swimming in the mud brown water, and families out for a boat journey to who knows where. It made the last two hours of the trip captivating.

Reaching land, we were greeted by young men who wanted to be our drivers to our hotel. Their version of a tuk-tuk here is a bicycle with a wooden seat in the back. Ron and I crammed into one with our luggage, Ron hanging over the edge. Fortunately, it was not far to the hotel. We found out hotel by chance on a site called travelfish.org. It had some good reviews, so we booked it for two nights. We are at the Trung Nguyen Hotel 86 Bach Dang in Chau Doc for $15.00 a night, we have a spacious double bed room (they call these twins, but the beds are double sized), a TV with over 50 channels and free WiFi. Tile covers the floor in the room and decorative tiles adorn the bathroom. Breakfast is included. We have a balcony with two chairs and it is air conditioned. We were really lucky with this one.

After consulting the guide, we were headed out of the hotel for dinner. Our tuk-tuk driver was waiting for us and wanted to ‘drive’ us. Since it was only two blocks away, we declined. He promised to find us again. We went to a local restaurant that was empty on our arrival, but had a waiting group of people when we left. The food was tasty and plentiful, while the cost was cheap. However, the friends who had lived here told us we should bring plenty of American singles with us to pay for things since they are regarded higher than the Vietnamese currency, the Dong. When we asked at the hotel if it was true, we were told that hotels you can pay in dollars, but restaurants and markets you have to use Dong. Gosh dang it or gosh Dong it, we purposefully took out extra dollars from the ATM in Cambodia to have US dollars. Their ATMs only spit out dollars if you don’t have a local account. If we had known, we would have waited until we arrived here.

Being full from dinner, we did a walk around. The night market was still active at 7:30pm, although not all stalls have electricity, so they sell in the dark. The city is still active in early evening with people setting up make-shift kitchens on the street or sidewalks and plunking down nursery school sized chairs at miniature fold up tables for their patrons. The cultural differences are alarming at times, yet the resourcefulness is ingenious.

In search of a larger hotel where our chances of getting a coffee would be better, we found a restaurant/guesthouse that serves coffee. We were not there longer than five minutes when our tuk-tuk driver shows up with a fare he was dropping off at this restaurant. Losing him is like trying to shake a summer cold. He sat down with us like he had been invited. His voice and accent are as jarring as a mosquito when you are just falling asleep, yet he did hook us into a trip tomorrow. We arranged for 10:00 am.

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Royal Treatment

The WiFi in the room is not working this morning. Was last night was a fluke or does it come on only later in the day; I will just have to check again later.

I am beginning to rethink the reasons for the hoses in the bathrooms. We have seen more and more toilets in restaurants and hotels with signs asking not to put any paper products into the toilet. The hoses may be to cut down on the toilet paper use.

Breakfast is included with this hotel and is served on the top floor, a vast room with no windows that overlooks the river. The wind was blowing furiously this morning, so breakfast was a hasty affair. They did have a cook making omelets along with six steam table dishes with Asian choices like mixed vegetables, fried noodles and rice porridge. The coffee tasted like it had chocolate in it, but it did nothing to make it desirable. I have to have a coffee in the morning. If need be, I can go without the entire day, but morning is a necessity.

There is a café at the end of the block of the hotel where the café latte is excellent. After my caffeine fortification, we went to the National Museum. It did not seem like something that would hold my attention, but if you don’t try, you never know. Tickets were $2.00 each and then another $1.00 for a photo ticket, but photos are restricted to the garden only. As many museums in different parts of the world, the national one revolves around the religion that has shaped the culture. This was no exception; most of the exhibits were based on Buddhism, a religion that entered my radar when we were in Thailand. I have had a healthy respect for it ever since. The museum was enthralling with intricate statues dating back to the 8^th and 9^th centuries.

As we entered various rooms, a woman would approach us with little flowers on a wood stick. There was a different Buddha statue in each of the rooms and a vase with sand waiting for us to place our offering in it. We happily complied and left little donations of money at each.

In the center garden, koi ponds reign with one decorating each corner and a statue of Buddha in the center. For some insignificant amount of money, you can buy food to feed the fish, but they looked like they have been well nourished. Some of them could have provided a meal for a family of four with a doggie bag thrown in.

We were going to go to the Royal Palace, but it closes for 2 ½ hours for lunch, so we did too. After walking beyond it we were approached by a bright ten year old girl peddling water, who captivated us with her English skills. After a promise to buy water from her when we returned to the palace, she made us read the sayings on her pink hat so that we could be sure we were dealing with the right little girl when we returned. After repeating the slogans on her cap “Kiss me”, “Love Me” and “Hot Forever” she released us from custody. We really should have bought her a new beanie that was age appropriate.

Lunch sounded like a good idea and we found a little restaurant, one amongst three, that served personal sized pizzas for $1.50. They had some English newspapers, so we burrowed in and read the news of the world in English, rather than a daily dose of BBC which has been available almost everywhere we have stayed. When we returned to the palace, our little pink Madonna was waiting for us with two bottle of water ready for purchase for $1.00. Who could resist such charm?

When one thinks of Cambodia, royalty does not come to mind, at least not for me. I guess it does for many others. The line for tickets to get into the palace grounds was a long one, but it moved fast. For $3.00 each, we were given a booklet and map of the grounds with unlimited photo privileges except in certain buildings like the Royal Reception building. The king’s residence was off limits. What we found out is that the king and queen were exiled during the Khmer Rouge times, when they went to China to live. After the overthrow of the KR, the king who is in his early 80s and the queen returned, but he abdicated to his son. His son is in his forties and unmarried.

The palace grounds are what you would expect of royalty, but here Buddha reigns king. There are Buddha statues and chapels all over the ground. The royal reception room was stunningly beautiful, but of course, no photos were allowed. The royal gardens were immense, but all roads leading to them were closed to the public, so we could only view them from the periphery. A number of other buildings were closed off too, but still plenty to see and be in awe over.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a travel agency to find out about the trip to Chau Doc, Vietnam for tomorrow. We were informed there were two types of boats making the trip, one slow for a seven hour trip and one fast one taking a measly four hours. The most expensive was $12.00 each. My vote went for the fast boat to shave off the three hours. We would have to get to the dock via tuk-tuk at an added cost. When we went back to the hotel, Ron wanted to check with their travel desk. The manager is a Cambodian-American who convinced us that American guests who have done the trip in reverse have had nothing but complaints. They said they had to sit on the top deck, could not move about, and the diesel fumes were suffocating. He convinced us to book the slow boat for the fantastic scenery, the ability to walk around deck, take photos along the way, and sales pitch, and sales pitch. We bit the bait and paid $28.00 each providing us with a driver for the two hour drive to the dock where the boat leaves from and then the boat to Chau Doc. We were told we would need to be ready to leave at 6:00 am. No breakfast for us. It starts at 6:00. P.T. Barnum said there is a sucker born every minute, but he forgot to add that some suckers are repeat customers.

For dinner, we were going to try the Foreign Correspondents Club, recommended in the guide book. After one look at the menu, we said sorry and left. The prices must be meant for correspondents on an expensive account. Our next choice was the Bali Café right next to our hotel at 379 Street Preah Sisowath Telephone 023-982-211 e-mail royalalita@camintel.com. Soothingly decorated with batiks on the walls, it is open to the river with a second higher level of seating augmenting the seating. With a table on the river side, we ordered from the a la carte menu, which was a mistake. I started with a coconut soup with chicken and vegetables, but also ordered vegetables with a garlic sauce and a pork dish. Each dish was more than substantial and could have been a meal unto itself. The blends of spices in each dish were superb and this restaurant is highly recommended. With our two large beers and six dishes, the bill came to $18.00 for both of us.

When we returned to the Royal Khmer hotel, we were told that the time for the boat has changed to 6:50 am, so we could have breakfast first, but please be ready to leave by 6:50. Another demerit added. When we returned to the room, the WiFi was again working.

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