In a pleasant departure from Vietnamese overnight trains, we travel from Hoi An to Hue by bus. We stop at the Marble Mountains to walk to the top of Thuy Son for panoramic views and quiet moments in gardens and grottoes. We continue on to Hue on the Hai Van Pass, a stunning coastal section of Vietnam’s Highway 1 which rivals California’s highway of the same name.

We’ve found out that Hue is pronounced “way” and all sorts of puns have ensued, but we still aren’t quite sure what there is to do or see there when we arrive. By now we know that in this scenario, it never hurts to explore by boat or motorcycle, so a few of us arrange to take a motorcycle tour. We’ve already had a spectacular day so it’s hard to imagine that the day can get better, but it does.

Moments after we set out from our hotel, our moto drivers ditch the city streets for paths that lead us through woods and quaint neighborhoods. I realize that without knowing it, this is what I’ve been craving—normalcy and detour from the tourist trail.

We stop in a forest and we assume we are there to explore nature, but our guides tell us we are not quite there yet. They lead us through a gate and we discover that tucked away in the woods is the Tu Hieu Temple. We head in the direction of the beautiful sounds we hear and see that we have arrived in time for the monks’ afternoon chanting ceremony.

We sit for awhile and watch the ceremony, mesmerized and engulfed in serene contentment. One by one, we are eventually able to pull ourselves away to explore the rest of the gorgeous grounds of the monastery.

We learn that this this is where the notable Zen Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh once studied. If peace can be extreme, Tu Hieu could be an emblem of that and it’s not difficult to see how a strong and steadfast peace activist could have emerged from this place.

Our next stop is obviously a shopping stop. We visit an out of the way artisan market where we seem to be the only visitors. Vendors are selling cone hats, artwork, and abundance of incense. Incense is of little interest to me as it has been making me sneeze throughout Vietnam, but I like how artfully it is presented in colorful fanned out bundles or laid out on the side of the street. We poke around and a few people try rolling incense but we don’t stick around too long before we’re off to our next destination.

We speed up a hill  through a grove of small pines to a vista overlooking the Perfume River. Our guides show us around and we learn that it is not only a viewpoint, it is also the strategically located site of former American military bunkers. Being in the middle of Vietnam near the DMZ, but officially part of Southern Vietnam, Hue was hit extremely hard by the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese Army during the Vietnam-American War. It’s hard to reconcile Hue’s perilous history with tranquility around us, but without the museum-style experiences of Saigon and the Cu Chi Tunnels, the remnants of war feel very present here.

To reach our final destination, we zigzag along a narrow path that cuts through flooded rice paddies where the smallest  error could send us flying into the fields. It’s a thrill being so close to the rice fields and inches away from danger.

Our last stop is Ho Quyen, a former tiger and elephant fighting arena that was built in 1830 and used until 1904. The fights held there were staged by the emperors who had the tigers’ teeth and claws removed. Elephants were thought to represent royalty, and with the matches rigged, they won every time. We walk up to the top where the royal family and their subjects once stood and watched the matches and we circle the grass covered perimeter of the crumbling arena, reflecting on power and time.

We head back to the center of Hue as the sun sets over the Perfume River. We feel as though we have explored Hue and its surroundings in the same way we would if we were visiting friends who took us to fascinating local spots that are not listed in the guidebooks. Moreover, in getting from place to place we have experienced Vietnam as is, and the afternoon has been grand in its simplicity.

Original article: Photo Essay: Show Me the Hue

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

I don’t think there was one aha! moment where I transformed from a picky eater to a more open one, but travel certainly expedited the transition. Over time, I found that new worlds opened up to me when I tried unfamiliar foods and that food was often an entryway into the history and psyche of a place.

Southeast Asia came at the right time in my food awakening and my newfound appreciation for Southeast Asian cuisine played a role in picking it as a destination. While I looped my way around the region, I didn’t strive to be Andrew Zimmern, but I made a concerted effort to be more adventurous with my meals. Of course, I could never get enough pad thai, but the foods that lingered on my taste buds long after my trip was over were the ones with new and unfamiliar flavors:

Durian and Assorted Fruit

I tried durian on my second night in Bangkok. After all the stories I’d heard about it, I didn’t think it was bad at all. It didn’t smell foul and it had a nutty and buttery flavor. It seems that Thai people prefer to eat their durian at a less ripe stage, so perhaps the one I tried was milder and less offensive. But I think durian is like cilantro— some people think it tastes repulsive like soap and others can’t imagine life without it. Beyond durian, any time I ordered a side of unspecified fruit, it was an adventure. Some of the new fruits I tried included longan, rambutan, sapodilla, and dragon fruit.

Amok in Siem Reap, Cambodia

Amok is fish mousse and that may not sound very appetizing, but it was one of the most delicious things I ate in Southeast Asia. For this dish, fish is mixed with coconut cream and spices and then steamed inside a banana leaf. The end result is a wonderful surprise; it’s delicate, full of flavor, and the coconut adds a wonderful creaminess that pairs well with the fish.

Cambodian BBQ in Siem Reap, Cambodia

The Cambodian BBQ has undertones of gimmickiness, but nevertheless, it’s a great place to sample meats you would not otherwise try. On a menu that also included snake and kangaroo, we chose crocodile and ostrich. As a backup, we also ordered chicken. Uncooked meat was brought to us in containers with a little picture of the animal so we would know what it was. We barbecued the meat ourselves on a dome-shaped contraption that had boiling broth at its base. We added noodles and veggies to the soup along with with the meat to complete our meal. In the end we loved the crocodile which tasted like a combination of chicken and fish and the ostrich which had a flavor akin to beef cooked in red wine. The chicken ended up being everyone’s least favorite because it tasted so boring compared to the other two.

Cao Lau in Hoi An

On my first day in Hoi An, I noticed that the menus had a few dishes I hadn’t seen in Southern Vietnam. I decided to try cao lau, a local specialty. It’s a noodle soup with a five spice flavored broth, pork, and greens and it’s topped off with bits of crispy fried dough. In Vietnam, I’d felt that flavors were muted and the eater was often expected to add his or her own spice, but this was flavorful and thoroughly enjoyable without having to dump a lot of chili sauce in it. Much of Hoi An’s unique vibe comes from its history as trading port, and the amalgamation of cultural influences in this soup make it a fitting dish for the city.

Lao Coffee in Luang Prabang, Laos

By the time I arrived in Laos, I had accepted the fact that I’d most likely find a pool of sweetened condensed milk at the bottom of my coffee as long as I was in Southeast Asia. But Laos was where I finally learned to enjoy it. In Laos, the coffee itself tasted different, it was thick and rustic. It made sense in the setting and Lao coffee kind of charms people in the same way that Laos does. Some of my fondest memories in Luang Prabang are of sitting on the sidewalk, drinking Lao coffee from a little glass cup, and chatting with locals and fellow travelers.

Khao Soi in Chang Mai, Thailand

When I arrived at a street food plaza in Chiang Mai, I was hungry and didn’t know what anything was, so I just pointed at a random dish on the menu. What I got turned out to be one of the top meals of my life. It took a lot of Googling when I got home to figure out what it was, but eventually I learned that it was called khao soi, a dish that is rarely on the menu at Thai restaurants in the States. It’s a noodle soup with a coconut curry broth and my bowl that night was served with shrimp and just the right amount of spice. Years later, I can still picture myself smiling widely as I slurped down that delicious soup at the night market.

Thai Wonton Soup in Chiang Mai and Bangkok, Thailand

I’ve had wonton soup countless times at Chinese restaurants, but I was blown away by the Thai version. I tried it at street food stalls in both Chiang Mai and Bangkok and couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was different about the broth, but it was very, very tasty.

Non-profit restaurants run by local youth

Throughout Southeast Asia, there are several inviting restaurants that are operated by non-profit organizations which train and employ underserved youth or benefit the local community in some way. I enjoyed fresh salads, curries, my very first bahn mi sandwich, and many more tasty meals at these spots:

- Romdeng in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia
- Friends in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia
- Sozo in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
- Baguette & Chocolat in Hanoi, Vietnam
- Organic Farm Cafe in Vang Vieng, Laos

Original article: Eating in Southeast Asia: The Most Memorable Foods I Tried

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

If you can peel yourself away from the tailor shops for long enough, Hoi An is a wonderful town to stroll through aimlessly. As a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is decidedly touristy, but you don’t have to wander too far away from the Old Town section to understand why Hoi An translates to “peaceful meeting place”.

The streets of Hoi An are lined with simple charms, and its vehicle limitations make it a really easy place to walk everywhere without fearing for your life (which is apt to happen on the chaotic streets of major Vietnamese cities). Here are some scenes from the charming streets of Hoi An, Vietnam:

Motorcyclists and bicyclists ride under a sign celebrating Lunar New Year.

A “floating dragon” in the middle of the Thu Bon River.

The Cantonese Assembly Hall gate.

Aside from its innumerable custom clothing shops, Hoi An is also know for colorful handmade silk lanterns.

This sign made my day and inspired the title of this post.

A view of the Japanese Bridge from across the Thu Bon river.

There were many public art sculptures both in and alongside the river.

The quiet shores of the Thu Bon.

I especially enjoyed walking through the even more slow-paced part of town across the river from the main tourist sections of Hoi An.

I asked this woman if I could take a picture of her. She nodded yes, and then immediately lit a cigarette…

…before turning to look at the camera.

Fishing boats.

Original article: Photo Essay: Hoi An, The Town for Walkers and Primitive Vehicle Users

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”
– Jack Kerouac

There are some countries you leave with indifference. In others, you want to sprint to the border because you’re so ready to get out. And some—maybe most—you’ll leave reluctantly, feeling that you connected with the country, and wishing you had the time and funds to spend on that never ending dig to the core of a place.

Cambodia was solidly scenario number three. Wistful was the word of the day as we made our long and bumpy but beautiful drive to the border. Cambodia was rough around the edges for sure, but it felt like it had heaps of determination and a tremendous sense of humor to keep it moving forward. I hadn’t anticipated how magnetic it would be. Despite Cambodia’s pull, our van carried on to the border.

At the border town, Phnom Den, it was hot, hot, hot. Hot. It was a slow process getting stamped out because there was just one border agent at work who understandably moved slowly in his humid office with no air-conditioning and no computers. Once we were officially released from Cambodia, we had a long walk through no man’s land. As I trudged along, I was hunched over by the weight of my overstuffed backpack, dripping with sweat, and learning all sorts of hands-on lessons about not packing more than I could carry.

We felt relieved when we reached the Vietnam side, only to realize we were not at all done. Dubious border agents claimed the x-ray machine was broken and they wanted to search everyone’s bags by hand. They were exceedingly thorough in their search, even pawing through one of my fellow traveler’s underwear and waving in the air to observe it. They also confiscated a harmless wood carving that a honeymooning couple had purchased in another part of Asia. Noting their overzealousness, a few of us stealthily added our bags to the pile of luggage that had already been checked and continued on, sans violation by shady border officials.

As we left the border area, the excitement about being in a new country settled in. As with my first Southeast Asia border crossing, I was surprised to see how different it was immediately after entering a new country. In the heat of March in Cambodia, the country had been parched,  but Vietnam was various shades of green with its irrigated fields.

We barely had time to throw our bags down at our hotel in Chau Doc before five of us set out on a motorcycle tour of the town. I had never ridden a motorcycle and had no idea what there was to see in Chau Doc, I but I knew I wanted to experience Vietnam’s most popular form of motorized transportation. This trip had been all about saying yes and sampling things I never imagined I would try, and it had served me well so far. Yes to tasting crocodile, ostrich, and some unknown delicious dish I pointed to on the menu at the Thai border. Yes to getting on a little boat bound for some random island that turned out to be lovely. Now, yes to motorcycle tours.

We didn’t pick our drivers, they picked us. I was picked by a driver I’d eventually come to know as Mr. Speedy. As soon as I had my helmet on, we were off. We zipped through traffic and ahead of the others in the group. I gripped onto the driver, terrified at first and probably cutting off his circulation until I got past the initial shock and relaxed. I saw that when I let go a little, I felt safer as I moved in the natural way the motorcycle rocked me as the roads turned.

We zoomed up the side of a mountain and it was thrilling. It was all sharp curves and steep cliffs and I had a huge smile on my face the whole time, a combination of fear and exhilaration. It didn’t take long to understand the appeal of motorcycles. There’s a rush of adrenaline and freedom that courses through your body as you ride with no barriers to the world and you feel the speed in such a palpable way as the wind strokes your skin.

Another pair reached the top of Sam Mountain right after us, but the other three were far behind. As we waited for them, a group of moto taxi drivers tried to get my attention and kept eagerly pointing at something. Eventually I saw what they were trying to tell me: I had a 10,000 dong bill (worth less than $1 at the time) precariously hanging out of my pocket. I put it back in and they all smiled and gave me thumbs up. The simplest gestures speak volumes about a place, and this set the tone for southern Vietnam where I encountered many genuinely friendly people. Things would get harder in Vietnam, but I always look back fondly at the time I spent in the Mekong Delta area of the country.

When the rest of the group arrived, one of the drivers shared some facts about the mountain and explained that it was an important pilgrimage site. We walked around the top to the western side and we understood the drivers’ sense of urgency when we’d  arranged the tour. We had come to see the most epic sunset of our lives. We were going to watch the sun set over Cambodia, literally and metaphorically. It would be our last look at Cambodia before making our way north through Vietnam.

We looked westward at the sun and at a border that exists on maps that was just meters away. Unlike during the drive across, looking down from the mountain, there seemed to be no difference between Cambodia and Vietnam and the unfenced borderland was almost confusing in its normalcy. But our drivers assured us that the land below had a line through it. So we stood atop a Vietnamese mountain, looking over Cambodia as the clouds engulfed the sun, setting both countries and their shared skies aglow with a hazy, heavenly light.

Original article: When in Vietnam…

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

“Get ready to travel in your own country,” my friend says cheerfully as she opens the gate for me. “You can blog about this!”

Indeed, I step into a new world as I enter the yard. A collector’s world. There are several cars, some functioning, others clearly not. An old Mercedes has its hood propped up and the rusty engine inside makes me think that the hood has been open for a while. There are appliances and sheet metal and all sorts of unrecognizable stuff scattered around the large yard in a semi-organized fashion. Beyond the junk is a mini farm.

Inside the house, there’s a lot of clutter, but I am relieved to see that it’s not completely jampacked. There are quite a few chotskies, a wood-burning oven in the center of the living room, mismatched dining room furniture, and some requisite Bob Marley posters among other artwork on the walls. It’s the ultimate Central California Coast hippie homestead and there are no dull corners in here.

I am a little disoriented in this wacky house in the country, but I’m thrown right into the mix. I meet the eccentric landlord who built the house himself. He grew up in East Germany and Croatia. He is the kind of person who eschews most formalities and gets right into discussing all kinds of topics: city life versus country life, school lunches, his childhood in Croatia. He must have noticed me looking around the house with amused curiosity and he tells me that a lot of houses in Croatia are like this, full of sentimental knick-knacks and clutter.

My friend and her boyfriend make arepas, delicious little South American corn cakes which I imagine I’ll be eating a lot this summer on my travels. We go out to one of the patios in the back to have dinner as twilight dwindles. Another one of the of the roommates is barbecuing chicken by the light of a headlamp and he offers some to those of us who eat meat. Later as we are getting ready to head out, the landlord insists on giving us various kinds of chocolates. It’s a strange and overloaded house, but it’s also one of the most welcoming and generous spaces I’ve been in.

I ask my friend’s boyfriend how he found it, assuming this was not the kind of place you would see listed online. “Craigslist,” he replies, and I wonder what that listing would have looked like.

After dinner, we head back up Highway 1 to Santa Cruz for a hip hop show. I’ve never lived in Santa Cruz, but I’ve been going to shows and hanging out with friends there on and off for almost a decade, so it’s awash with a warm homey feeling every time I return. The crowd at the show is everything you would expect a Santa Cruz concert to be regardless of the music genre: skater and surfer types, university students, neo-hippies, and old school hippies who probably experienced the Summer of Love. We came to the show to dance, so that’s what we do until the music stops.

As we head back to countryside hippie homestead, my friend excitedly tells me that they have a bag of carrots and other vegetables to make a delicious breakfast with tomorrow. This amuses me as a bag of carrots is not something I usually associate with a tasty Sunday breakfast.

We get up in the late morning for coffee and a breakfast of carrots, broccoli and sweet potatoes cooked with garlic and topped with cheese and dash of hot sauce. It is surprisingly tasty. I’m not a huge meat eater, but I am not a vegetarian, so I often find that I am impressed with what people can do with vegetables after years of not eating meat.

When it’s time to go, I say my goodbyes to the household and take one last walk through the yard of clutter. I head away from the hippie house and the road that winds through hills becomes a farmland road that haphazardly curves through a flat expanse of crops and crosses over train tracks. Bright red strawberries that look ready to pick dot some of the fields. There are no other cars joining me on this stretch of road and there are just a few houses and clumps of RVs among the farms.

I stop for gas in Pajaro, a small town with a population of a little over 3,000 people who are 94% Latino. Inside the station, most customers are greeted immediately with Spanish and familiarity. Pajaro sounds like ranchera and cumbia and Spanish, and for my brief stop there, I feel like I am traveling in Mexico again.

I leave Pajaro and head north, reflecting on the past day which had unexpectedly been a charming exercise in cross-cultural exploration just a little under two hours south of home. As I merge onto Highway 1, I think to myself, “I should blog about this.”

Original article: Those Places You Find in Your Own Backyard

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

1. Arrive in Sihanoukville during a tropical rainstorm.  Ride it out in your guesthouse’s cafe. When the storm passes, take a walk to the beach and immediately see that your guidebook wasn’t fully honest when describing the scene in Sihanoukville. Beaches that were described as “sandy” and “happening” for lack of better euphemistic words should actually have been described as “seedy” and “brimming with tourists with questionable motives.”

2. Convene with your travel group in the evening. Discuss spending the following day at an island. There are two options to get to the islands, you can take a boat tour cruise or hire a simple boat to take you to an island and back. Unanimously agree to hire a boat for the day.

3. Return to your room and discover that a flying cockroach is occupying it. Join forces with your roommate to get it out. Dodge the cockroach as it flies toward your head, jump on beds and chairs, swing pillows at it. Watch the cockroach surrender and fly out the door whereupon you quickly slam it shut. Sigh and then collapse with laughter about how silly you both looked while terrified of a tiny animal.

4. The next morning, get picked up from your guesthouse by a few teenagers with a truck who will drive you to the beach. It will take just one minute to get there. For reasons unbeknownst to you, they have driven you to a beach just steps away from your guesthouse.

5. Realize that the dinky no frills boat several feet away from the shore is your ride for the day. Assume the crew will pull it closer to the shore to load it, but they don’t. Watch the young men struggle to get coolers of food onto the boat while the waves crash against them. Hope that there are life jackets on board.

6. When it’s time for you to get on the boat, the tide suddenly rolls in. Throw your bag on board to avoid submerging your camera in saltwater. Get knocked over by waves a few times before you are finally able to climb on the boat, soaking wet.

7. After a choppy ride, successfully arrive at Bamboo Island despite your initial doubts. Rent a beach chair for $1. Soak in the sun and tranquility. Read a book. Relax.

 8. When it’s time to eat, the boat crew will lay out a woven mat under the casuarina trees and hand you a simple meal of seasoned and grilled fresh fish, a baguette, and shredded salad. You don’t speak Khmer and they don’t speak English, so you communicate in smiles.

9. Return to your bamboo chair and take a dip in the ocean when it gets too hot. Relax, dip, repeat. Reluctantly leave when the boat crew signals that it’s time to go.

10. On the way back, the boat crew will take on an extra passenger, a scruffy 50- or 60-something sun-drenched farang man who seems like he’s been in the region for a long time. He lays out on the edge of the boat and gets even redder as he falls asleep in the sun while the rest of you take cover underneath the shade of the boat’s tarp. In your mind, create  various life scenarios for the new passenger. Maybe he was in the Vietnam War and never came home? Maybe he is running from the law? Whatever it is, he seems like a person who has quite a few stories to tell.

11. After a much smoother ride, arrive back on the mainland. Realize that even though Sihanoukville was not what you expected, the adventure of getting to Bamboo Island and the day of tranquility there turned out to be even better than your expectations.

12. Freshen up and return to the beach to watch the sunset. Chat with the cheeky kid vendors you met the day before who continue to playfully stick their tongues out at you. Have dinner at a charming restaurant in town with two of your favorite travel companions. Stay much longer than you planned on chatting and laughing and waiting for another huge storm to pass. Go to bed feeling that you’ve made the most of your short time on the Sihanoukville coast; you’re relaxed and ready to continue exploring Southeast Asia.

Note: I am not currently in Southeast Asia and I’m not planning on traveling in the region any time soon. I visited Southeast Asia in 2008 and recorded my stories from that trip on another site before I started blogging independently. I’m rewriting and sharing some of my stories here.

Original article: How to Make the Most of Two Days in Sihanoukville, Cambodia

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

I hadn’t really wanted to go to Phnom Penh as much as I felt compelled to go. Like many other visitors, exploring Cambodia’s recent history was the main reason why I thought it was important to stop in the capital city.

As a young child when I was unable to grasp the complexities of the world, in my mind I’d sort many of the countries I heard snippets about into two categories. Along with places like Nicaragua and Colombia, Cambodia landed in the “bad” category of countries, but I knew little about why that name sounded so chilling.

In school, I would eventually study the Vietnam War, but that was the main focus of the Southeast Asia region in the classroom. Looking back, it almost seemed like Vietnam was an island in the region, isolated and chosen to study because of America’s fairly recent, controversial, and highly publicized interference there. I didn’t find out then how much damage America’s involvement had done well beyond Vietnam’s borders and how the destruction it caused in Cambodia provided an opening for Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge to step in.

Eventually I learned a little more about the genocide led by Pol Pot that had taken place in Cambodia not too long before I was born, but I still remained largely ignorant about the country until I began to look into traveling there. I was curious about why this place I’d always negatively categorized seemed to be an increasingly popular destination. That prompted me to look into not only why people were drawn to it, but why I had felt repelled from it.

It’s not just the act of visiting places and absorbing the history that travel can be an education. In the act of simply wanting to travel, in wanderlust, in taking an interest in places beyond your surroundings, there is so much that can drive you to educate yourself beyond the reaches of government-implemented education standards and university requirements.

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When we arrived in Phnom Penh, the the rush of people and tuk tuks and motorcycles carrying families of five or six was a shock to my system after the dreamy traveler wonderland of Siem Reap and Angkor. We were back in reality. We took an evening to settle into Phnom Penh’s faster pace, and the following morning, a group of us visited the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields.

Once a high school, Tuol Sleng became a secret prison referred to as “S-21″ during Pol Pot’s regime. The torture and killing that had taken place there still hung heavy in the atmosphere and the experience I had at the site was as poignant as one would expect. We saw the torture rooms, the barbed wire surrounding a building to prevent prisoners from jumping to commit suicide, and the haunting photographs of both the victims of the Khmer Rouge and members of the Khmer Rouge.

The experience I was not prepared for happened as I exited to get back on the bus. The moment I stepped outside the gates of the museum, beggars ran up to me and surrounded me, their eyes full of desperation. One of them had a badly burned and disfigured face and the others were missing limbs. They were most likely victims of landmine explosions, a legacy of previous decades’ turmoil that continues to destroy lives throughout Southeast Asia.

All at once, the history that was still at a distance became the naked, unfiltered present. And the shock and sadness I felt were insignificant compared to reality of these men who had been relegated to making a living off the destruction of their bodies and of their country.

Later, we visited the Killing Fields, where we entered the memorial stupa piled high with the skulls and clothing of thousands of victims of the Khmer Rouge who were buried in the mass graves there. The signs describing what happened in each section were written bluntly, conveying the unthinkable cruelty with which the victims were treated. Every so often, I’d step on something sticking out of the dirt and realize that it was a piece of clothing from a victim buried in a mass grave.

Again, there was an unexpected experience as I was leaving. I followed the sound of young voices and saw that right next to Killing Fields on the other side of a fence was a school where children were playing during their recess. It had become increasingly clear that life had had to go on with history not behind Cambodia, but right beside it, and in front of me was a very visual display of that.

After visiting these sites, I realized I had not come to simply learn about the history of Cambodia, but to feel and face it. And the effects of the Khmer Rouge era were still very much alive. We could see it in the stark poverty of the countryside, in the eagerness of the beggars and vendors, in the brain drain, and sometimes even behind the pervasive keen sense of humor that had endeared us to Cambodia.

Visiting these two sites was a disheartening way to spend a day in Phnom Penh, but an essential part of going to Cambodia. History was no longer filtered through the sterility of newspapers, history books, or television. Lives lost were no longer numbers to shake my head at, but the faces and bones of real people. History was tangible, bare and ready to be taken into the heart with its lessons carried into the future.

Original article: On Feeling History in Phnom Penh

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

As the sun rose, I noticed that the pictures hadn’t really told the story. They didn’t explain how watching the sunrise at Angkor Wat meant arriving in the dark, completely unaware of the temples nearby, hidden in the darkness. They didn’t tell of someone selling sunrise viewings from an air balloon and how tempting it would sound before deciding that it made more sense to view the sunrise from the ground.

In the pictures, there was no man selling cups of coffee unexpectedly filled with sweetened condensed milk that you’d sip as you waited for the sun to come up.  The pictures did not play the unbelievably powerful sounds of the cicadas piercing through the pinkening sky or the even more powerful serenity that somehow drowned out their racket as the sun revealed itself between the peaks of Angkor Wat.

They did not tell of the vendors rushing up at the entrance of each temple and their drawl, “Excuse meee. Miiiss. You buuuy?” They did not tell you how their charm and persistence could make your heart break for Cambodia and its struggles and fall in love with the country at the same time.

You could not feel the heat of the Cambodian sun through those pictures and they didn’t foretell the breaks you’d take throughout the day to get out of the sun. You couldn’t tell from the pictures how infectious the smiling faces of the Bayon Temple would be. The pictures did not tell of the profound reverence experienced at a Ta Prohm sunset and the beauty of nature reclaiming what humans built, the scene humbling and all aglow as the sun dropped behind the temples and the trees.

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I remember the the first time I saw pictures of the stripped down, crumbled temples of Angkor. “Where is this?!” I asked the person who’d posted them. Not knowing much about the region at the time, they became the first impetus for my Southeast Asia trip.

Those pictures only told part of the story, but they piqued my interest and inspired me to visit not only a country, but a whole region. Those first pictures I saw did not sum up Cambodia or even Angkor Wat as the photographs below also do not. But was grateful for those pictures doing what pictures do, capturing neatly bordered snapshots of a place, inviting me to come experience it for myself with surround sound and a 360 degree view.

Author’s note: I am not currently in Southeast Asia and I’m not planning on traveling in the region any time soon. I visited Southeast Asia in 2008 and recorded my stories from that trip on another site before I started blogging independently. I’m rewriting and sharing my favorite stories here.

Original article: Photo Essay: Sunrise to Sunset at the Temples of Angkor

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

“To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world. You are surrounded by adventure. You have no idea of what is in store for you, but you will, if you are wise and know the art of travel, let yourself go on the stream of the unknown and accept whatever comes in the spirit in which the gods may offer it.”
– Freya Stark

Though I would eventually join a group, Bangkok is the first place I arrived completely alone. Looking back at that first day, being my myself wasn’t the focus, nor was the focus on the absence of anything or anyone I knew. Once I was there, my pre-trip jitters were entirely replaced with excitement about how much there was to see and how many people there were to meet.

Not long after I settled into my room, I headed to Khao San Road after getting directions from the hotel staff. I was disoriented almost as soon as I rounded the corner. I saw some foreigners who looked confident about where they were going and asked them for help. They were a couple from Sweden and they pointed me in the right direction, but as we began to chat, they invited me to visit a temple with them and then offered to take me to Khao San Road afterward. I took them up on this, and as they had spent some time in Southeast Asia, they had loads of great advice for me as we wandered the city together. I was amazed at how quickly a solitary afternoon had turned into a social one and how natural it felt to spend a few hours exploring with people I’d just met.

The following morning at the Grand Palace, a flamboyant young Filipino man saw me looking confused as I waited in line to rent a sarong, and he came over to explain the process to me. Once I was in the palace, I bumped into him again. He was an English teacher who’d been living in Thailand for four years. He introduced me to his female friend who was also a Filipino English in Thailand and a male friend from South Korea who they had just met while they were waiting in line to get into the palace. The Filipino guy had been to the palace a few times before, so he turned out to be an excellent guide for the day. We laughed a lot, had a great time, and as we left the palace, they invited me to continue hanging out with them. As much as I was enjoying their company, I had to decline because I had plans for the afternoon.

A few hours later, I was hanging out with a Bangkok local I’d made arrangements to meet up with through a travel networking site I was active on at the time. We took a boat to the other side of the Chao Praya River and visited a Buddhist temple that seemed so far away from the touristy areas I’d seen. We took our shoes off as we entered the temple filled praying worshipers. Outside, worshipers left offerings and rang bells for good luck. From there, we went to a shopping center that looked like a Westernized mall at first glance, but I noticed that the prices were not set. You could barter for anything. We ate an ice cream-like treat of shaved ice with sweetened condensed milk and strawberries and talked about travel and politics and everyday life in Bangkok. It felt simultaneously surreal and like no big deal to be spending a normal Bangkok day with a local about 28 hours or so after I arrived.

Later that night, I met my fantastic roommate, an Indian-Brit who was my age and a ton of fun. A solid friendship began as we shared our expertise on the process of overpacking  and compared the sizes of our backpacks. My first foray into solo travel officially ended when we joined our loosely guided tour group, but those first 30 or so hours alone were a key part of understanding that fully traveling solo was something I could do and wanted to do in the future. And central to that realization was experiencing how traveling solo doesn’t have to mean being alone, there are potential friends everywhere; for an afternoon, for a week, for a lifetime.

Original article: Getting my Solo Traveling Feet Wet in Bangkok

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

On my walk to the Grand Palace, I wander through narrow neighborhood streets, enjoying the stillness and relative coolness of the early morning while it lasts. The awakening streets are lined with shops selling an array of used goods and food vendors are setting up their stands for the day. At busy intersections, I hesitate and then quickly learn the method of crossing the street when a local crosses and walking alongside them. When I see an ornate elephant statue in a roundabout and gold spires in the distance, I know I am close to the palace.

Just before I get to the entrance, a tuk tuk driver tells me that the palace is not open today. For a split second, I am disappointed. Then I remember what I’d read about drivers telling tourists the palace is closed and then luring them into jewelry scams or leading them astray in some other way. I tell him I’ll check it out anyway and keep on walking. Sure enough, it’s just about to open and there are already throngs of tourists there, waiting to get in. I join the line.

I walk around the golden and bedazzled palace as it shimmers in the haze-filtered Bangkok sun. I am surrounded by impossible details, overwhelming extravagance, and I feel pulled in all directions at once to take a closer look at the abundant ornamentation. Mythical figures stand guard with unintentionally comical menacing looks, and later, I see the ceremonial Royal Guards marching across the grounds. I make new friends. We take lots of pictures, sometimes smiling normally, sometimes with cheesy poses.

When I am ready to leave the Grand Palace, I continue walking and come across a market. I order my first Pad Thai of the trip from a street food vendor. It doesn’t look as pretty as the Pad Thais I’ve had at home, but it’s even more delicious. Later, I float down the Chao Phraya River and get one last glimpse of the Grand Palace’s glittering grandeur, then it’s time move on and explore everyday Bangkok.

Author’s note: I am not currently in Southeast Asia and I’m not planning on traveling in the region any time soon. I visited Southeast Asia in 2008 and recorded my stories from that trip on another site before I started blogging independently. I’m rewriting and sharing my favorite stories here.

Original article: Photo Essay: Exploring the Grand Palace in Bangkok

©2013 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.