One is the Loneliest Number

Vitriol still burning in my belly, eating away at the parts of me I had yet to abandon, I had no choice but to keep moving. When 8 o'clock came I hopped in the back of a paddy wagon that brought me to the bus station, my first step toward Siem Reap.

The bus station more closely resembled a corner market but I was told in no uncertain terms this was the bus to board. After unlacing my sneaks and navigating the narrow aisle I was also told in no uncertain terms that hotel bus really meant I had rented a twin bed for the evening and, seeing as I was traveling alone, I would be sharing this bed with a middle-aged woman without the personal space boundaries, boundaries in which I firmly believe.

I lay and silently and allowed tears to run down my face as to not frighten my new exotic girlfriend when the heavens caught wind and joined in. As I was pressed up against a Briana-sized window, smushed on display with views of the darkened countryside, rain drops began dripping down the windowpane allowing me to star personal Sarah McGlachlan video, only this time I was the abandoned puppy at the SPCA.

Some comfort was found in the endless hours of spooning with the chummy Cambodian woman, kind enough to be the big spoon. 

Arriving in Siem Reap in the middle of the night I had a throng of Tuk Tuk drivers in my ear and jumping crickets on my face to keep me company until my scheduled pick up arrived and brought me back to Bun Kao Guesthouse, where I had booked a private room for 3 nights.

After a bit of time to settle in I turned off the lights and on the fan and was fast asleep. 

My first day in this second city awaited.

After langouring in bed for the better part of the morning, vascilating between blankly staring at the water damaged turquoise walls or crying helplessly into my single knitted red blanket, I rose. I took a cold shower directly over my sink. Put on the exact same clothing I was wearing yesterday, save for the red lace underwear that either has left permanent stains on my body or I should really see a doctor, and descended the stairs from room 13 and out the door to a treasure trove of patrons come to see Angkor Wat, replete with baggy elephant print pants and T-shirts with Tiger or Tsingtao beer emblazoned brightly on them. 

It wasn't until I forced myself to get out of bed and my head became swirlier than usual that it dawned on me that I had not eaten in 24 hours and sustenance was of the utmost importance. Passing plenty of sufficient eateries along the way I instead traversed the major thoroughfare and stumbled upon a covered deck with dark wooden carved tables and wicker chairs just waiting to be sat in. Though the menu was proudly on display in the front there were no patrons and only two young women, beaded with sweat from their morning cleaning ritual inhabited the establishment.

Kind, as most everyone I have encountered here is, they gladly took my order of lemon juice, papaya salad and spicy pork noodles and left me to my own devices in the cool shade.

I pride myself on many things. My ability to talk to strangers. My commitment to those I love. My inherent sense of style and my ability to eat and enjoy spicy food.

Imagine my surprise when the papaya salad left me in a fit grasping at my throat, unable to catch my breath. I've eaten many things in many places (insert dirty joke here) but never have I experienced the peppery goodness of Cambodia. Shortly thereafter the noodles were served and it was all wonderful and delicious.

The mind is a funny thing. As I'm sitting here at 10 am, perfect weather, no pressing appointments, consuming a delicious meal in a far off land I know I should be focusing on that. Living in the proverbial moment.

But heartbreak is relentless. All consuming. Devastating. Loneliness is real. Not just a concept created by women over 30 who have read too many Harlequin novels. Being told you're not good enough as you are by the person with whom your in love is crushing and I can't begin to think of the remedy. 9000 miles of distance certainly isn't it.

Belly full of an entire multi-course meal before noon and another lemon juice for the road just to ensure I'll get diabetes with the intense rise and crash of my blood sugar and it's time to make moves.

Angkor Wat is several miles away and I've already promised my tuk tuk driver from last night/early this morning that my fare is his so  I utilized the map handed to be my the front desk attendant, scratched the bug bites that I've developed from unknown sources, hopefully not ones carrying west Nile, and made a right.

I get extra philosophical while traveling and life seems to simple. It's essentially a series of lefts and rights, joys and sorrows. But what if you continue to follow the map. Make every turn the correct way, and still end up lost. Still end up with far more sorrow than joy. Still end up alone. 

Knowing that action seemed to be on the other side of the river way bisecting the town I made my way in that direction and, imagine my delight when just over a delicate white bridge was an outdoor photo exhibit put on my Canon. The remnants of the exhibition launch lay discarded but the photographs, covering various topics and people from around the world were beautiful and I made sure to take a gander at all 130 of them. Free, outdoor art a what could be better?

Traversing Royal Garden park I stopped and listened to the bellowing music escaping a yellow pagoda as Chinese tourists deboarded a bus to take selfies and eat street meat. Enjoying the people watching I barely noticed when a legless man scooted on up to me. He then began friendly conversation and though I knew an inquiry into a donation to his needs was coming, I obliged. He explained that a 'boom' had taken his legs in war and we discussed the weather. Shortly before the inevitable request for cash he said. Are you one? I replied, yes. He said not two, not three, just one? Nope. Just one. That's nice he said, pity in his voice.

Good lord. Thanks to this man Three Dog Night will serenade my days and nights for the rest of this journey - if not for my life!

I took this as my queue to leave and when not 10 minutes down the road I seized the moment and sent my obligatory handful of travel postcards, in hopes these vintage, well worn babies would make it back to the motherland before I do.

The Old Market sits just Southwest of my hovel and as I got closer I could smell the tourists. The small grid of streets houses fancy local crafts as well as pub street lined with offerings of 50 cent draft beer and the most mediocre Indian Food I've ever consumed. Mexican just seemed wrong, so I stuck within the continent and picked at aloo gobi and chicken tikka masala as I caught up on emails and chatted with my rock star friend who not only travels more than I - but on someone else's dime. He is sort of a big deal!

The old market was lovely and before leaving I made sure to get some trinkets for loved ones back home. Earrings, as I always do for Mom. A pretty silver bracelet for a friend with whom I've seen much of the globe. A crop top for me because I'm 35 and out of shape and I can.

It was getting late. I was still dizzy and the stickiness that coasts a body in weather like this at some point literally starts to weigh on you so I kept my map in my bag and just began to walk. And walk. And walk. 

After some time I stopped and asked for directions. And then I did again. And then I did again. 

Making what I can only imagine was a 20 minute straight shot into a 2 hour circle I wasn't 300 yards from my hostel when I stopped to ask for help at an electronics store and a young man couldn't locate us on the map.

Sigh.

A couple more loops and glory hallelujah I see the alley on which Bun Kao is located, nestled amongst the palm fronds.

I'd made the wise choice to stop at a supermarket before reaching my destination so I had stocked up on water and bootleg MnM's to ride me over through the rest of the night, as I was fairly certain once I washed the day off of me, I'd be in for the day.

And in for the day I was.

But the day was not out of surprises...

The night before I'd gotten a knock on my door. Not late, but certainly unexpected. Turns out a fellow traveler was interested in going to Angkor Wat for sunrise and, having been told by the front desk that I'd already made arrangements asked if it would be cool of we split the ride and cost and explored together.

Enter Frank. 

In order to watch the sunrise over Angkor Wat, Cambodia's most notable feature aside from the genocide, you must wake early. My alarm was set for 4, but as I had fallen asleep at a time appropriate for someone in third grade, my body was up and at 'em at 3. Plenty of time to dress, get my things together and catch up on a 12 or 15 hour difference in communication back home.

At 4:30 sharp Frank, my new Canadian friend, and I were on the dark streets of Siem Reap heading first for the ticket station, a sight to be seen in itself. Lines for a 3 day pass, offered at $40. Lines for 1 day passes, for $20. And lines to pick up said passes after they print them out with your photo colorfully displayed on the front.

Queued up weary travelers. Mostly of the white folks with dred locks variety. Me in my mom jeans makes me feel so old and lame as I look at these heads of hair void of any greys, faces not yet weathered by life.

At first I feel lame and old and then I realize actually I'm extra awesome - because the greys and deepening crows feet, the weathering life offers hasn't stopped me from early morning jaunts to foreign temples. So there!

After procuring our tickets it was back in the tuk tuk, led by star light and the brightly colored print of my pants alone. 

A pack of tourists are dropped off in pitch the pitch black early morning, the Khmer Empire didn't think to install flood lights so stumbling over an ancient bridge to the 'heavens'is the only way we know we might be walking in the right direction. As throngs of tourists park themselves in front of the twin lakes in front of famous Angkor Wat, my new buddy Frank and I decide to enter the impending Temple of Doom, looming in the shadows and though I fear it would be bad juju to actually enter the temple seeing as we so conveniently ignored the sign telling us not to enter the entire area, we sit down quietly on the wooden platform surrounding the structure and wait for the sun to come.

Everything you've heard about Angkor Wat is true. It is truly spectacular and although my sunrise was more impressive in Burma seated beside the lovely Miss Laura Hahn, the structures here are massive and intricate and, once you do some Wiki research is it not at all surprising that this stretch of land once housed over a million people. If you close your eyes you can almost hear the hustle and bustle of an ancient city. I imagine it to be something like the first 15 minutes of Disney's Aladdin.

Luckily since we got there so early we were able to do a little exploring before the temples became too congested with fellow travelers and I was allowed my solitude long enough to share my father, and an oldie but goodie by Neil Young, with this ancient religious structure and feat of mankind as the sun rose over the trees and warmed my face. I think he would have been particularly proud of this resting place.

I sit for a moment in the cool shade. Birds chirping and my nylon covered ass resting upon stones centuries old. I try to take in the magnitude of where I am standing. The magnitude of life. And try to have at least a moment alone to catch my breath, swallow my tears and silently wish things were different.

Moments after shaking him onto the Eastern corner ants begin to pick up the pieces, presumably for some ant like purpose and I think again - just how proud pops would be to literally be involved in the circle of life. And now I am singing Elton John to myself - I am clearly in a very Disney-place. 

A couple hours at the main plaza, getting to know my travel mate for the day, watching the monkeys frolic and thinking to myself anyone who doesn't believe in evolution after looking at one of these suckers and circling back around front we are ready to find out tuk tuk driver and see what else Angkor has to offer. After nearly an hour of searching for this man for whom we have no number or name, going so far as to eating a breakfast of ramen with chunks of chicken bone and my first Cambodian Angkor beer before 9 am and we accept the fact that he is gone and take plaid shirt guy who's name I can't recall up on his offer to give us the ''big tour.'

All temples smell faintly of fire - a sense memory that evokes happy childhood memories of crackling logs in the fire place as well as more recent painful ones, sifting through the remnants of my father's home hoping to find some relic that would numb the pain of losing the love of my life.

As we are taken from temple to temple I see that there is literally one for everyone: tall and skinny, short and fat, broken up by tree trunks and symmetrically beautiful. One is even surrounded by ancient healing waters, tempting me to sift through the algae to wash away my sins. As opposed to catching Cambodian still water disease I decide to use my French friend as an ear, shoulder, whatever body part you prefer and unload the huge amounts of shit that have fallen into my lap in recent months and that contaminate my mind daily. Perhaps it is his Canadian gentility, or the fact that he too is a grown up and understands grown up things, but he is kind and patient and seemingly very willing to listen to my sanitized diatribe.

Several hours later we are tired, sweaty, sun kissed and satiated by the beauty that Angkor is and we are back in the tuk tuk for the long hall into town and $15 lighter. As we deboard we figure we may as well eat and with a local Khmer spot not 5 feet away offering a deal for a meal and a beer for $3.50 we figure that the hell. Angkor beer for breakfast and Cambodia beer for lunch is very unlike me, but I finished neither - so don't call Sam Malone to be my sponsor just yet. The food was good, but the inspiration was even better and not 5 minutes after sitting down Frank pulls out an unlined notebook, asks me two questions about life, one in contrast to the other and asks me to write my answers on the blank pages provided. He has done this with several people so far and will continue to do so with travelers he meets along the way during his 4 month stint in Southeast Asia. I love the idea. I am inspired by the idea. And I immediately think about that creative collaboration upon which I can embark. Thanks, Frank!

The oppressive heat of equatorial countries mixed with the dirt of the dust is brutal so after lunch we retire to our own rooms to bathe and relax and then, separately of course, we both request the house masseuse who gives an hour long Khmer Massage.

It was then that I experienced something truly magical. It was un-lubricated, really rough and required no effort from me - so basically it was ideal. For $6 ( I ended up paying $10, but she was worth it!) this tiny Cambodian woman literally rubbed me from head to toe and despite the parts that made me wince as I actively tried to relax, when the hour was over I was looking for a Marlboro to light.

I don't know if it was her magic touch or the fact that it's been a very long time since I had sex, but when she massaged my undercarriage I felt a stirring like a Jane Austen novel. And I liked it!

Retiring to my room to recoup from my marginally sexual experience I relaxed, wrote and discovered that Cambodia is superior to the handful of other South East Asian countries I've visited for one main reson - my Netflix works here. I'm not sure if Netflix upgraded or if Cambodia just knows what's up, but if in my downtime I can watch Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life, again, I mean, come on...

Not quite ready to make my next move I inquired as to whether or not I could book another night at Bun Kao and, in the process, somehow talked myself out of a larger room in order to stay in my cozy room 13. Once agian it was time to eat and my companion for the day and I made our way down to the night market which was an assault on the senses in all the wrong ways. It was like Bourbon Street meets Cancun on Spring Break, with a dash of cultural flare. After a few laps to get our bearings we settled on a dsitinctrly orange restaurant where I was stoked to eat pumpkin and consume the third beer of the day. Needless to say, both were a disappointment. But with cost and risk factor low we simply hopped back in a tuk tuk, actually giving directions for the 1 mile jaunt to the driver who I am quite certain lives here full time, headed back home and, not before long, drifted into deep sleep.