Phnomenal

After a pleasant night out with Ann and Ben, we snagged a few, short hours of sleep before rising early the next morning for a 7 am flight to Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital and largest city. As it turned out, the morning became a bit of a debacle, and one that the lovely-and-rigorously-toilet-trained Kaberi found less than amusing. With Vik doing his best impersonation of Stan Slowsky (the unwitting terrapin pitchman for Comcast High-Speed Internet), we ended up leaving the hotel at 5:40 am.

Due to our cabbie’s rather unhurried driving on an empty tollway, it took us 30 minutes to arrive at Bangkok’s frenzied international airport. We devoted an additional 5 minutes to finding the appropriate nondescript Air Asia check-in counter. Another 10 minutes elapsed during a scintillating give-and-take with the check-in agent from which we learned that we would be allowed to check in a grand total of zero bags. It took 20 more minutes to clear Customs and another 10 minutes to walk to the low-cost airline terminal (which we suspect was located somewhere near the Cambodian border), bags in tow.

By now, we were within 5 minutes of our flight’s departure time, but not really any closer to boarding the actual aircraft. During the prerequisite X-ray screening, a Thai security officer took issue with the expensive Swiss Army knife safely ensconced in the recesses of our not-exactly-checked-in backpack. A frantic negotiation then ensued between us, the security officer and the Air Asia employee dispatched to the scene to scold us for holding up the flight. After finally reaching an amicable resolution – we would check in our bags planeside and the airline would vouch for the knife – we became the last two persons to board (by this point, Vik’s shirt had started to singe from the glare boring into him from behind). Adding further insult to injury, the actual flight ended up being a whopping 45 minutes long.

With our early morning arrival into Phnom Penh, we immediately made our way into the city center. Phnom Penh is constructed in low-rise fashion, sprouting from vivid orange flatlands, with broad promenades reflecting the influence of decades of French rule. The city was founded by a widow, Lady Penh, after she found that a trunk full of four bronze and one stone Buddhas had washed ashore from the adjacent Mekong River.

Despite considerable tangible evidence of Cambodia’s economic development (in the form of ubiquitous billboards hawking local and western brands), we perceived a decidedly-laid back feel to the environs, with only modest automobile traffic on dusty, but well-maintained roads. Phnom Penh is also easy to navigate as it is laid out in a grid with the mostly-numbered avenues and streets (some streets are named after foreign dignitaries like Nehru or Mao Tse Tung).

Our first stop was at our guesthouse, a stunning, French colonial affair, to drop off our luggage. Two white statue elephants stood guard over the imposing streetfacing exterior wall’s lone doorway. Once inside, we were transported into a lush oasis, where tropical foliage-shaded sunbeds encircled a serene, blue pool which, in turn, fronted a large, sunshine-yellow manor. After resting briefly at the poolside bar to take in the scene (French lounge music straight out of the Buddha Bar echoed around us as largely-European vacationers frolicked in or around the pool), we headed off to explore the city.

As we strolled around the neighborhood, we encountered no shortage of streetside cafes, restaurants and boutiques (much to Kaberi’s delight). In short order, we made our way into a charming café/patisserie catering to expats where we enjoyed our first fresh-baked sandwich in months. When it came time to pay the bill, we were surprised to find the tab quoted in U.S. currency. We soon learned that Cambodia is a dollar-denominated economy, with the country’s ATM’s dispensing greenbacks exclusively. Interestingly, Cambodians have adopted the use of American dollars in their transactions, but not cents (instead, Cambodians use riels with 4,000 riel roughly equaling a dollar).

As noon approached, Kaberi's plans to launch full bore into sightseeing were waylaid by Vik’s strong desire to seek both shade and shut-eye. The strategy ended up paying off in spades as most of the city’s cultural landmarks are mercifully closed from noon to 2 pm in deference to Cambodia’s unforgiving sun. The logic of Vik's course of action was further reinforced when we settled in under the lazy whirl of our room’s ceiling fan in the comfort of a billowing white canopy bed for a fifteen minute-going on-two hour catnap.

After reentering consciousness, we set off in the direction of Phnom Penh’s Royal Palace and Silver Pavilion complex. We opted to walk, rather than ride via tuk-tuk, the half-mile from our guesthouse and soon came to regret the decision. Slathered in SPF 60 in the 100-degree heat, we were caked in an unfortunate veneer of greasy sweat when we finally arrived at our destination. We did, however, manage to arrive just as the complex re-opened for the afternoon hours. To gain brief respite from the torrid sun, we largely admired the palace grounds from the shade.

At the Silver Pavilion we marveled at the extensive and weathered mural of the Ramayana, complete with Cambodian protagonists. We were also struck by the numerous depictions of a much-thinner Buddha than found elsewhere in Asia. Near the Pavilion stood the statue of King Norodom (originally a statue of a horse-mounted Napoleon with the head replaced), presented to the Cambodian monarch by the French in a rather conspicuous example of international regifting. Our sightseeing ended with a quick stroll through the salmon-colored National Museum, an impressive structure with four open-air galleries featuring many original statues from the Angkor temples and a central courtyard.

The next morning we awoke early to venture through the cramped food and clothing stalls of Phnom Penh’s Russian Market (once a reliable source for arms and ammunition). The market was an eclectic venue, with assorted vendors selling Louis Vuitton and Puma knock-offs next to others selling skinned chickens and other sundry aquatic and terrestrial life. Given Vik’s fragile emotional state as a recovering vegetarian, we opted to focus our time wandering the silk, silver and apparel sections. Our visit concluded with Kaberi spending $5 total on two light and airy wraparound pants to replace a pair of khakis thoroughly bleached by the Indian sun.

At the suggestion of Kaberi’s Carleton classmate, Becky, we stopped at Phnom Penh’s Friends Restaurant for lunch. Friends International is a Cambodian non-governmental organization (NGO) with an approach similar to that of one of Kaberi’s favorite Chicago grantees, The Inspiration Café. Friends provides a multitude of essential services for street children, including schooling, HIV/AIDS education and job training opportunities at the restaurant. After a very good tapas meal, where we sampled a number of traditional Cambodian dishes and interacted with friendly trainees, we walked away with a commemorative t-shirt along with plans to grab dinner at Friends’ up-scale sister restaurant, Romdeng, the following day.

Living The Thai Life

An uneventful and surprisingly-quick, four-hour flight deposited us in the comfortable confines of Bangkok’s shiny new international airport. Our arrival in Bangkok marked our return to the site of our honeymoon four and and a half years earlier. The Bangkok we observed this go round struck us as much more modern and upscale than its predecessor, although that may have been dictated by the specific circumstances of our visit.

Vik’s Stanford friend Ben and his wife Ann had kindly arranged for us to crash at their spacious and impeccable flat on the grounds of the stunning Sukkothai Hotel in central Bangkok. In an especially-thoughtful gesture, Ben had even arranged for a uniformed hotel driver to greet us at the airport upon our 5:30 am arrival.

The highlight of our stay in Bangkok was, without a doubt, getting to spend an evening with the ultra-hip Ann and Ben, a smart and stylish couple whose tender interactions with one another made us remember the best aspects of the first year of marriage. We were also duly impressed by the specifics of Ben’s marriage proposal to Ann, which took place after a grueling, nonstop, 41-hour, 100-kilometer (60-mile) hike (this is in sharp contrast to Vik’s proposal to Kaberi, which took place after not quite 41 hours in a Washington D.C. hotel).

Ann and Ben also introduced us to a chic Bangkok that we would have never discovered on our own. First, we had dinner at Le Vendome, a trendy, new French restaurant in Bangkok’s Sukhumvit district. Afterward, we capped off the evening with dessert at Vertigo, an open-air, rooftop bar 57 stories high atop the Banyan Tree Hotel that affords patrons spectacular, unobstructed 360-degree views of Bangkok’s seemingly-endless night-time sprawl.

Having seen the historical highlights of Bangkok during our last trip here in 2002, we were able to enjoy the more cosmopolitan side of the city during this visit. On our first night in town, we shed our travel gear and dressed up for a fancy dinner at the Sukkothai’s renowned Thai restaurant, Celadon (where Kaberi finally was able to wear her perfect little black Theory dress bought specifically for the trip). On another night, we took an evening stroll around Bangkok's Night Market to browse the kiosks and practice our negotiating skills. The following day, Kaberi somehow managed to drag Vik along for a proper English afternoon tea at the Mandarin Oriental’s Authors Lounge. Vik grumbled a bit about losing his masculinity somewhere along the way, but was temporarily mollified by the finger sandwiches and scones with clotted cream.

Vik then secured “Husband of the Year” honors (as if he hadn’t sewn that up already) by patiently accompanying Kaberi to a number of boutiques on Sukhumvit Road. Her stops ranged from an upscale stationery store featuring unique hand-made notebooks to the city’s premiere silk boutique where she custom-ordered a handbag (in chocolate brown and champagne, a color combination resignedly selected by Vik). Even lunch at the stylish Kuppa (a Dean & Deluca meets Pottery Barn), turned out to be more of a ladies-who-lunch spot, judging by the nearly-uniform demographics at nearby tables.

As our time in Bangkok neared an end, we dabbled in some retail arbitrage by ordering custom-made suits and cashmere coats from a chatty Indian-Thai tailor calling himself Johnny. As if ordering heavy winter coats in 100-degree temperatures wasn’t ludicrous enough, Vik had us adopt a negotiating tactic of posing as Indian citizens visiting Bangkok on holiday. The last embarrassment left to endure was realizing at our second fitting that we had ordered identical blue shirts and matching black suits. When we return to the States, we're going to look like the Osmonds channelling Men In Black.

We Interrupt Your Regularly-Scheduled Programming

A message to all of our readers (all three of you, assuming an extremely generous counting of persons related to us). Sorry for the delay with the text (ahem, Vik).

After returning to Delhi from our Himalayan escapades, and imposing on the Mejos’ hospitality for a third time, we quite literally shifted into a lower gear. The long hours on dusty roads in Rajasthan and Uttaranchal caught up to Vik, resulting in a 24-hour head cold from which he recuperated horizontally (primarily in the throes of March Madness analysis). In between repeated forays for orange juice and facial tissue, Kaberi successfully procured lightweight clothing for the hot days ahead.

With some down time in Delhi, we finally managed to overcome some deep-seated procrastination by updating the blog with our complete India adventures. Please scroll back to Older Posts to read about the last month of our travels (beginning with the February 21st post, Not A Kerala In The World).

In order to maximize our endurance for another seven months of traveling, we decided to forego a trip to the northeastern Indian cities of Khajuraho (known for its shockily-erotic Hindu temples portraying the Kama Sutra) and Varanasi (one of India’s oldest – and dirtiest -- cities best known as a site for religious rituals on the banks of the Ganges). Instead, we rerouted ourselves to Hyderabad, the capital of India’s southeastern state of Andhra Pradesh and a burgeoning tech hub, to spend two days with Vik’s Ragunandan Uncle.

After our time in relatively-temperate Delhi, the unrelenting heat from an arid and sun-baked Hyderabad was somewhat shocking. As a result, we were only mildly surprised to discover that our collective energy level was significantly eclipsed by Vik’s 77-year-old uncle. In the midst of some modest sightseeing and nice dinners out, we managed to coax from Ragunandan Uncle some of his exploits as a 17-year-old Indian freedom fighter in 1947 Hyderabad, the most notable of which included an escape to Bangalore to avert an arrest ordered by Hyderabad’s then-Muslim leader, the Nizam.

After leaving Hyderabad glad to have spent some time with Ragunandan Uncle, we returned to Delhi to catch a flight to Bangkok to begin the Southeast Asia leg of our journeys.

The Long Road Back

The front gate of the Binsar Sanctuary was a mere 7 kilometers (4 miles) from our hotel and marked the beginning of a treacherous, 13-kilometer (8-mile) dirt-and-gravel climb to an isolated lookout point. Near the top, our driver made a rash turn at a speed inappropriate for the underlying conditions, and we felt the entire undercarriage of the car scrape the assortment of rocks serving as a de facto road. Our vehicle sustained some damage, and immediately began to emit loud, unnatural sounds similar to the ones made by Vik most mornings while he brushes his teeth.

Temporarily putting the car out of our minds, we took a moment to appreciate the solitude of our surroundings. Sweeping views of the imposing landscape were framed by vividly-red, flowering rhododendron trees. We then hiked 2 kilometers to a panoramic lookout point and even mustered the courage to climb half-way up a narrow, rickety and rusty sentry tower. Briefly pausing to savor the view before climbing back down, we had another 2 kilometer walk back to the car and an unnerving descent ahead of us.

Three hours later (it would have been two if not for a missed turn by our well-meaning but thoroughly-lacking-in-common-sense driver) found us in the valley resort town of Kausani. After checking into a nearby hotel, we headed to Gandhi’s ashram to pay homage to the ascendant figure in all of Indian history. The ashram was simple, but inspirational, and we caught ourselves wondering what Gandhi would think of the present-day condition of his homeland (we suspected that disenchantment was the most likely response). Before leaving, Vik made a point of highlighting Gandhi’s painstaking financial record-keeping during his days in England, and Kaberi made a modest effort to feign interest.

As seemingly the only two tourists (peak season begins in the warmer months of April and May) in the entire town, we found the only open restaurant in town for an early dinner before heading back to the hotel. Back there, we lulled ourselves to sleep by watching the single worst example of American filmed entertainment ever produced (the absolutely execrable David Duchovny/Julianne Moore vehicle Evolution).

The next morning we awoke to watch the sun begin its steady, tireless ascent over the steep Himalayas. Amazingly, we were able to view it all from the comfort of our bed. Vik opened half of one eye to sleepily take in the splendor while Kaberi labored to capture it on film from the balcony. With clear skies, we were afforded an unobstructed view of the peaks. We watched with rapt attention for more than an hour as the range slowly went from muted shades of blue and grey to brilliant hues of orange and gold.

Knowing that we wanted to get back to Delhi by nightfall (our mounting concerns over the mechanical condition of our car heightening the sense of urgency), we hit the road at 7:30 am. Our driver began our long journey home with Vik keeping an eagle eye out to ensure that we didn’t take yet another wrong turn. While Vik worried about the potential risk to life and limb as the driver screeched down the steep, winding roads, Kaberi assumed the fetal position in the backseat in a valiant effort to keep the prior night’s dinner down. She took solace in knowing that if the car went over a cliff, at least she would be in Vik’s arms. Little did she know that Vik was thinking that, in such a scenario, he’d be focused on pummeling the driver on the way down.

Vik vigilantly kept watch through the windy roads and conked out in utter exhaustion once we hit straight roads in the plains. At this point, Kaberi’s sense of motion sickness subsided and she began to take an interest in the route. Minutes later, her heart nearly gave out when our driver seemingly ignored traffic conditions to play high-speed chicken with a six-wheeler bearing down on us. Even a tightening, vise-like grip on Vik’s arm failed to wake him.

Several hours had passed since we navigated safely through the treacherous highland route, and now we were ostensibly home free on mundane paved roads. Nevetheless, in a fantastic bit of irony, we ended up getting front-ended by a backtracking horse-driven cart while being blocked in by a colorful semi-truck overflowing with sugarcane. We were no worse for wear, although our car’s front left headlight didn’t fare as well. As the driver jumped out of his seat to assess the damage and yell at the horse-cart driver, Kaberi watched in profound disbelief as Vik blissfully slept through it all. We ended up arriving in Delhi at 6:30 pm, safe and sound, and fully prepared not to set foot in a car for as long as humanly possible.