Author Archives: Dan Perry

About Dan Perry

Dan created this blog to document his South America trip, which covered every country on the continent and lasted over two years. He currently lives in Madison, WI.

AtW Podcast, Episode 6: Roni Rodrigues

Roni and Dan

I met Roni Rodrigues and his wife Hester on top of Zhangjiajie National Park in southern China. The park is renowned for its hundreds of karst pillars, which make for some fabulous scenery. In fact, James Cameron was supposedly inspired by Zhangjiajie when he made the movie Avatar. One of the mountains was even officially renamed to Avatar Hallelujah Mountain.

Avatar Hallelujah Mountain

Still at the beginning of an open-ended trip around the world, Roni and Hester were busy filming hour upon hour of footage with their quadcopter drone. I sat down with Roni outside of his hotel in the famous town of Yangshuo to record this podcast. Roni was an inspirational character who always kept a positive attitude about the world. What do you think?

Download this Episode (right-click and choose “save as”)

Show notes:

Roni and Hester's website is ThePlanetHero.com. They have a ton of great photos and videos, so you should definitely check it out.

And you can always browse my photos from the times I met Roni and Hester in Zhangjiajie and Yangshuo.

The Streets of Old Hanoi

Feb 28 - Mar 2, 2015
Days 226 - 228

At last we arrived in Hanoi. This was to be Katie's final destination in Vietnam, and the beginning of my solo overland trip to Beijing. We stayed in the Old Quarter, a small section in the middle of the city. The Lonely Planet calls traffic in the Old Quarter “oppressive,” and I couldn't agree more. Simply walking across the street required absolute concentration and patience to avoid the swarms of motorcycles. But, as in every other Vietnamese city we had visited, Hanoi delighted the senses.

Lunch is served.

Getting ready for duck.

The justice.

The Godfather.

Keeping the streets clean.

One of a million motorcycles in Hanoi.

The Marlboro Woman.

Delicious fruits and coffee.

A beautiful arrangement.

A happy man.

At one point, I found a sidewalk that the motorcycles had yet to commandeer. I thanked my lucky stars and skipped along the wide pedestrian boulevard. But within a few minutes, I was stopped dead in my tracks. By an intense game of badminton.

They take badminton seriously here.

After spending two days in Hanoi, Katie's vacation was over. She, and some of her coworkers, shared a cab to the airport at 4:45am. Halfway there, she realized that she had forgotten something: her passport. Our hostel had taken it when we had checked in, and the front desk had yet to open, so she had forgotten to ask for it back on her way out.

Katie made several desperate phone calls and finally got through to someone at the hostel. By that point, she was already at the airport, and her coworkers were checking in for their flight. While she calculated whether she'd have enough time to return to the hostel, pick up her passport and go back to the airport without missing her flight, the man on the phone suggested, “Don't worry, we'll bring your passport to you.”

Katie considered the odds that a stranger would drive across the city with her most important possession, find her and deliver it, no questions asked or rewards demanded: close to zero. She refused, stating instead that she would take a taxi back to the hostel and pick it up, and possibly miss her flight.

By the time Katie's taxi made it back to the Old Quarter, the oppressive traffic was in full force. The street vendors were also out, so there was no way the large car could drive down our hostel's narrow alley. While Katie considered what to do next, an employee of the hostel ran up to the taxi, passport in hand. She was saved.

Or so she thought. The man held out the passport and Katie noticed an obvious mistake: it was from Canada! This was the same man who had suggested that they deliver the passport to the airport. Katie informed him of his error, and the embarrassed man ran back to the hostel to retrieve the correct passport. Luckily, Katie made her flight, so all was well. Unfortunately, I didn't get to witness any of these events firsthand because I was sound asleep in my cozy bed.

Lesson of the day: Whenever someone returns your passport, always make sure you have the right one. Better yet, don't let your passport out of your sight. (Though sometimes you don't have a choice.)

More Hanoi photos

A Crunchy Train Ride to Hanoi

Katie photographs the scenery.

February 27, 2015
Day 225

We had tickets for an overnight train from Da Nang to Hanoi, Vietnam. But first, we had to get from our hotel to the train station. We didn't want to deal with the racist, thieving bus attendants who charge foreigners double what the locals pay, so we had our sleazy hotel owner arrange for a taxi to pick us up at 11am. At 10:50, the same sleazy hotel owner asked us what we were planning to do today.

“We're going to Da Nang, remember?” I asked.

“You should've told me,” he replied. “I could get you a taxi.”

“We did tell you! And you already set up a taxi for us, didn't you?” He had done nothing but smoke cigarettes, play games on his iPad and flirt with his female customers since we had arrived. How could he have forgotten our taxi? Now I worried that there wouldn't be a taxi and we'd miss our train. I felt like a colossal dumb-ass for trusting this guy.

But then he thought about it for a few seconds and said, “Oh, that's right. Taxi. Now I remember.”

The taxi actually showed up on time, so our sleazy hotel owner got his commission. On our way out the door, he gave me a snaggletoothed grin and said, “You'll give us a five-star review on Trip Advisor, right?”

Not quite, but thanks for trying. At least we made it to the train station early enough to grab lunch, where we filmed a short video.

The train to Hanoi.

The train was nearly empty, and it left an hour late. Most of the carriages were sleepers, though there were also a couple of hard-seat cars and a luxurious dining car. We spent most of the afternoon watching the ocean-side scenery, including rice fields at the foot of emerald mountains, cemeteries, wooden houses and tropical vegetation. We also passed through several towns and cities. Before coming here, it was hard to imagine what 90 million people, packed into a country twice the size of Wisconsin, might look like. But after seeing city after huge city, I was beginning to understand.

As darkness set in and we made our 15th unexpected stop, several small critters scurried across the walls of our cabin. We took off our sandals for a bit of “housekeeping,” then we shot another video.

And then things started to get weird...

When you're stranded in a cramped cabin for more than a day cockroaches are running across your body as you try to sleep, your mind can reach all sorts of epiphanies.

More photos from the train ride

Good Morning, Hoi An!

Vietnamese Hats.

February 24 - 26, 2015
Days 222 - 224

The Fast Talker

After surviving our bus trip into Hoi An (during which we paid twice as much as the locals), Katie and I found our lodging. The sign outside said “Home Stay,” but that was a stretch. Our room, and the building in general, were quite nice, but it was nothing like our last home stay in Can Tho, where the mom taught us how to make spring rolls, and their neighbor showed us around the city. This place was simply a hotel with a “Home Stay” sign in the yard.

The owner was a short and slim man with crooked yellow teeth who wore an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on top of a wife-beater. All day he sat on his living room couch, smoking cigarettes, playing with his iPad and awkwardly flirting with every female who entered the place. He didn't flirt with me, but he did grab my arm and try to sell me stuff whenever I walked past him. “You could use a suit. My sister has a tailor shop, she'll give you a great price.” “You want to take a tour? My friend can set it up.”

His wife was quite nice, though. She literally did all of the work around the hotel, from cooking, to cleaning, to showing guests to their rooms, to actually booking those tours and managing the finances. Because of her, we did enjoy our stay, though the hotel would be much better off if it got rid of one of its employees.

* * *

Yes, My Son

One of the most popular attractions around Hoi An is the ancient Hindu temple of My Son, dedicated to the god Shiva. While not as big or impressive as Angkor Wat, My Son's recent history still made it worth a visit. During the American War (as it's known in Vietnam), some of the Vietcong were hiding in the ruins, so the US military carpet-bombed the site. Our guide even showed us two of the bombs that didn't explode, as well as an impact crater from one that did. Some of My Son has since been restored, but most of it was damaged beyond repair in the war. Perhaps the most interesting part of My Son was the restoration itself: the 30-year-old bricks were falling apart, but the original bricks from 800 years ago were still in fine shape.

* * *

Marble Maddness

One day Katie and I rented bikes to explore some nature around Hoi An. Our goal was to check out Marble Mountain, about halfway between Hoi An and Da Nang. We rode north along the coast, past huge rice fields and tiny villages. As we approached the mountain, we understood how it had gotten its name. Piles of marble were lying next to the road, and there were giant marble statues of Buddha and Confucius standing outside of shops. As we rode, a lady on a motorcycle pulled up next to us. We had a nice conversation, until I realized that she owned one of the marble shops, and she was only talking to us in hopes that we would buy something. She did allow us to park our bikes, free of charge, and she even covered them with cardboard to protect them from the elements. Splendid!

As soon as I saw the glass elevator to the summit, I knew that Marble Mountain would not provide the solitude in nature I was seeking. In fact, several temples were on top of the mountain, and hundreds of people were walking around. We joined the crowd and made the most of it. While not an amazing nature experience, the bike ride to the mountain made it worthwhile.

On the way back to Hoi An we stumbled upon a little restaurant, with bowls of something similar to seafood gumbo for $1. The family who lived there was very friendly, and the food was delicious, perhaps our favorite meal in the country so far. In fact, we both wanted seconds. But the language barrier prevented us from communicating this to the lady selling it. When hand gestures using my empty bowl failed, I took out my cash. The lady insisted that I had already paid and wouldn't take any more money. Finally, it clicked in her mind that we wanted to buy another bowl. She laughed hysterically, and called out her family members to watch as we continued to eat. I guessed they had never seen anyone eat so much. But when the food's that good, I don't mind being laughed at. It was the perfect lunch before our long ride, through the tropical heat, back to Hoi An.

* * *

A nice town?

“Hoi An is a nice town, if you take away all of the bad stuff,” Katie said.

Motorcycles ruled the streets. The sidewalks were full of parked motorcycles, leaving nowhere to walk but on the streets. One of the main attractions in town was a bridge, but it was so packed with people taking photos, it was hard to walk across. And even despite all of the pedestrians, people still managed to force their way across the bridge on their motorcycles.

One day we rode our borrowed bicycles around the countryside. Hoi An was surrounded by bright green rice fields, filled with flocks of white storks. (The scarecrows wearing cone hats clearly weren't very effective.) Buffalo grazed on the grasses and fishermen trolled the rivers with giant nets. The idyllic villages were mostly devoid of traffic, and every other house had delicious coffee and pho for sale.

That night we met a friend of a friend of a friend and his friend for a drink. The “fresh beer” (their name for draft beer) was only twenty cents a glass, tied with Isla Margarita in Venezuela for the cheapest beer I've ever had. We sat outside and had a long conversation while flickering candles floated along the river next to us. Recalling the beautiful rice fields and the delicious food and coffee, I realized that Katie was right: if you take away all of the bad stuff, Hoi An is a nice town.

More Hoi An photos
More My Son photos

Night Train to Da Nang (and more highway robbery)

The train to Da Nang.

February 23 - 24, 2015
Days 221 - 222

After taking a bus to Saigon (with no further knife-pullings), Katie and I boarded our train to the city of Da Nang, in central Vietnam. We paid for a luxurious soft sleeper, with only four beds per berth. A quiet-but-friendly mother and daughter shared the cabin with us. The plush beds with clean sheets were a significant upgrade from the hard bench seats we had ridden on many Chinese trains.

We spent most of our day staring at the rice fields, mountains and forests that characterized southern and central Vietnam. I would've appreciated some fresh air, but the windows were all locked, probably for our safety. Then, a few hours into our journey, a burning smell filled our car. I walked around, trying to locate its source. I never found it, but the odor was strong enough to force an employee to open the windows. Katie and I grew ecstatic. We stuck our heads outside like dogs, careful to avoid being decapitated. It took at least an hour for the fire to be extinguished, and we enjoyed every minute of it.

That night I bought two beers, but I forgot that Katie couldn't drink because she was on antibiotics from having giardia, so I drank them both. It was a wonderful journey.

* * *

Our Train arrived in Da Nang at 6am. We walked to the main road and got on the bus to Hoi An. The attendant was wearing sunglasses, and a mask covered her mouth. A local woman who boarded the bus in front of us paid 20,000 dong. I tried giving the attendant the same amount, but she demanded 40,000 each. After getting ripped off – and threatened with a knife – in Can Tho, I was already leery of Vietnamese bus attendants. And now we were being charged double, simply because we were foreigners.

I said, “The price is twenty thousand. I won't give you more.”

She yelled at me in Vietnamese, then turned and said something to the driver. The bus slowed down and the attendant pointed at the door. Her message was clear. It didn't matter how much the tickets normally were; the price for Katie and me was 40,000. There would be no bargaining. If we didn't like it, we could always walk.

It's one thing to overcharge a tourist for a souvenir, or even a ticket on a private bus. If you look like you have a lot of money, a good salesperson will increase the price accordingly. You can't blame them for trying. But this was a public bus, and it was the only one that went to Hoi An. I think I'm a reasonable guy. I have a lot of tolerance for other cultures, and I realize that Vietnam is a poor country. Many bad experiences can be chalked up to cultural differences. But this woman's behavior was unacceptable, no matter the country.

As much as I despised the attendant, I realized that she had the upper-hand. A taxi would be even more expensive than her inflated price. It would take us all day to walk to Hoi An. Seeing no reasonable way out of this situation, I paid her 40,000 dong. Then I said, in clear and slow English, “You have stolen our money. Understand? You are a thief.”

Because her entire face was covered, I couldn't read her reaction. For what it was worth, she didn't say anything for the rest of the trip. And if she had a knife, she kept it hidden.

Most of our interactions in Vietnam have been positive. The family we stayed with in Can Tho was simply amazing. In Chau Doc, everyone we saw smiled and waved to us. I didn't want to dwell on the few people who were hellbent on ripping off the tourists. I tried to put the experience past me, but I kept thinking: Am I a human being, or a walking cash register?

More photos from the train ride

Getting Stabbed Is No Fun

Could Uncle Ho save us?

February 22, 2015
Day 220

Katie and I decided to take a day trip from Can Tho, Vietnam to a small town, about two hours away. At the bus station we found a chaotic jumble of attendants and salesmen running around, trying to drag potential customers into their buses. We went to one company's official ticket window, but none of their buses were going where we wanted. Instead, we walked to the parking lot, where several buses were waiting, and asked the salesmen for guidance.

A skinny guy led us across the lot, never bothering to remove the cigarette that was dangling from his mouth as he talked. Several men yanked us in all directions, pleading with us to go with them. We ignored them and ended up in a half-sized bus, sitting on a bench seat behind the driver. We breathed a sigh of relief – not only were we no longer getting hounded outside, but we also had plenty of legroom.

When we sat down, Katie reached for her phone. It wasn't in her pocket. She searched her bag, then confirmed: the phone had been stolen. Somebody must have swiped it when we were forcing our way through the large crowd. She hated that phone so it wasn't a huge loss, but still, it's always a terrible experience when something gets stolen. But there wasn't much we could do about it now.

The bus attendant was an overweight woman wearing a bucket hat with a yellow flower embroidered on the front. She sat next to the sliding door, facing us, and held up two 200,000 dong notes, indicating the price. My mind was still racing, thinking about Katie's phone, and I couldn't remember what the price was supposed to be. I had been to a few countries where one dollar was worth more than one thousand of the local currency, but Vietnam had the most extreme exchange rate I had ever encountered – 22,000:1. Needless to say, all of those zero's were confusing. I gave her one 200,000 note, thinking that should be plenty. She laughed and said, in broken English, “No, two hundred each.” It seemed like a lot of money, but then I remembered that we had just paid 320,000 for our tickets to Saigon, so it wasn't that expensive. We gave her 200,000 more and waited.

Fifteen minutes went by and we were still sitting at the bus station. The attendant spent most of her time staring at her fancy iPhone 6, and the rest of her time yelling at everyone who crossed her path. A handful of locals were sitting at the back of the bus, and there were still several empty seats. It was now clear that we wouldn't leave until the bus was full.

While listening to the attendant berate a potential new customer for not wanting to ride with us, something clicked in my mind. We had paid 320,000 total (160,000 each) for our Saigon tickets. Today we paid 200,000 each to go half the distance. On top of that, the attendant hadn't even given us tickets. Most of our money was going directly into her pocket. (I later confirmed that we were supposed to pay 40,000 each for this trip.) Now I was seething with anger.

Another foreigner came aboard and the attendant wanted 250,000 dong to go to Saigon. She refused to pay that much, so the attendant kicked her off. She was becoming more belligerent and abusive by the minute.

I mentioned to Katie that we could always walk away. We were already flustered from her stolen phone and paying five times the going rate for our bus tickets, and we hadn't even left the parking lot. We still would have to buy a ticket back to Can Tho at the end of the day, and probably get ripped off once again.

The same foreign woman came back and paid a cool quarter-million, stating that none of the other buses were going to Saigon. The attendant lambasted her yet again as she took her seat. At that point, Katie agreed that we should walk away. On top of ripping us off, this detestable woman was stressing us out, and we didn't want to put up with her any more.

Katie told the attendant that we were leaving and asked for our money back. Of course, she refused. Katie held out her hand and said, “Mo-ney! Give us our money!” The vile woman screamed at her.

I stood and said, “Give us our money. Now!” I knew she wouldn't budge, but I figured it was worth a shot.

A horrified expression came across her face when I stood. She almost fell backward and scurried over the divider, into the front passenger seat. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a knife! She opened it and the three-inch blade clicked into place. She snarled and her eyes grew wide. She pointed the blade at me, then made a throat-cutting motion, accompanied by a “hocking” sound-effect.

“Ooh, I'm so afraid of you,” I said sarcastically. “Come on, lady. Try it.” Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I wasn't afraid of this pathetic woman. Somehow, I didn't think she had it in her to attack me. I never took my eyes off of her.

As quickly as she had brandished the knife, she closed it and put it back into her purse. Then she stepped outside. She seemed calmer now. Maybe she had gotten rid of her aggression by threatening to kill me. She even went back to playing on her phone. Then she stepped inside the bus, phone in hand.

“She's taking our picture,” Katie said.

I looked at her and realized it was true – the phone's camera was pointed directly at us. Katie put her hand in front of the lens, and we left the bus.

Two can play at this game, I thought, and took out my phone. I tried to take a picture of her, but she slammed the door in my face. I walked around the bus and photographed the front and the license plate. The driver covered his face, but that was fine. He was just an innocent bystander. Or was he? Neither he, nor anyone else, said a thing when this despicable woman threatened to kill me and yelled at everyone. Why the silent treatment?

I went up to the closed door and laughed maniacally. The attendant was one of the most horrible human beings I had ever encountered. She was a cancer to society, spreading her misery to everyone she encountered. We had felt extremely welcomed in Vietnam until that point, and I didn't want to let her ruin our entire trip. Unfortunately, the other foreigner was stuck with her for the next several hours.

When I finished my crazed laughter, Katie said, “Freedom is having the time and money to walk away.” And that's exactly what we did. We were free.

* Side note: While this was happening, the rest of our group from Beijing was heading north through Vietnam on a bus. The driver only allowed five minutes for a bathroom break, and the line for the women's room was long. Haisam pleaded with the driver to wait a few more minutes so his wife could use the toilet. The driver grew belligerent and pulled out a machete. To defend himself, Haisam turned around and uprooted a small tree. Luckily Haisam's standoff ended as quickly as mine had, but that group still had to put up with this guy for the rest of the day. After hearing about this, I wondered: Are all bus employees in Vietnam crazy?

Mekong Boat to Vietnam

A woman steers her boat with her foot.

February 19 - 22, 2015
Days 217 - 220

Katie and I decided travel from Cambodia to Vietnam in style: in an enclosed speed boat down the Mekong River. We climbed aboard and left Phnom Penh early in the afternoon. Before long, we were gazing at the beautiful countryside, passing fishing boats, ferries, farmers, houses on stilts and plenty of tropical vegetation. The scenery brought back memories of my trip down the Amazon River in Peru and Brazil. Other than the Buddhist temples, of course.

A few hours into our journey, Katie cracked open a beer. As if on queue, we stopped at the border, where we had to get stamped out of Cambodia. Katie sipped her beer while waiting in line. She commented that it was her first, and probably last, time drinking alcohol at an immigration checkpoint. The officials didn't seem to mind. They simply stamped our passports and we were on our way. Next we got stamped into Vietnam and continued our trip, watching the slow-paced life along the river's shores.

As the sun was setting, we pulled into the small city of Chau Doc and found a cheap hotel near the main square. The Tet lunar new year holiday was just getting started, so lots of people were playing games with their kids and enjoying their evening. We got a bowl of delicious pho soup amidst the crowd of happy festival-goers and called it an early night.

Local kids in Chau Doc.

I felt lethargic the next morning. In fact, I found it difficult to carry my backpack more than a few blocks. Normally I had much more energy than this, so I knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the pho soup? Still, Katie seemed all right and we both had eaten the same thing...

Rather than do anything strenuous, Katie and I went for a short walk around Chau Doc. And that's when the waving began. Everyone, yes everyone we saw smiled and waved to us, and most said hello. In all of my travels, I had never gotten such a warm welcome from so many people. One reason for this was obvious: we also didn't see any other foreigners, so this town had yet to be spoiled by mass tourism. Too bad I didn't have the energy to enjoy it more.

In the afternoon we took a bus to Can Tho, one of the largest towns in the Mekong delta. I slept most of the way, and when I woke up, Katie was complaining about stomach cramps. Then she burped and I caught a whiff of rotten eggs. The smell brought back an unpleasant memory, when I had gotten giardia from drinking polluted river water while canoeing on an Amazon tributary in Bolivia. I hoped my instincts were wrong, but all signs pointed to both of us being exposed to contaminated water. Maybe it was the pho soup, after all.

When we got to Can Tho, we stopped at a “home stay,” similar to a bed and breakfast. An older couple who didn't speak English lived there. Their employees had all gone home for the Tet festival, so their friend's English-speaking son Tom came over to help us. He offered to take us on a tour the next day, and laid out an ambitious itinerary. He was such a nice guy, we didn't want to disappoint him by canceling. Despite the fact that neither of us felt well, we agreed to meet him at 5am.

Home stay family.

I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that Katie didn't get much sleep. She definitely had giardia. I slept well and woke up feeling almost back to normal. My theory was that I had been infected with parasites so many times in my life, my body was able to kill this strand quickly. Of course, I'm not sure of the long-term implications of getting sick so many times, nor would I recommend going through this process to build up an immunity.

As promised, we met with Tom at 5am. The pharmacies weren't open yet, so Katie would have to wait a bit before we could get her the drugs she needed. Tom took us to the Mekong River, where we rented a boat. Even at this early hour, many people who lived along the shores were outside of their homes, going about their daily routines. There were also some signs of industry, such as stacks of wood, factories and gas stations. Our main reason for going to the river so early was to see the floating market. Unfortunately, not many vendors were out, due to the holiday. We bought a fifty-cent watermelon and a couple rounds of coffee, then headed to a village along the shore for a bowl of rice noodle soup for breakfast (Katie passed).

Afterward, we took a tour of a rice noodle factory. Once again, business was slow due to the holiday, but the employees did explain how they husked the rice, then burned the husks to cook the rice, then used the ashes to fertilize the next crop of rice. It was an impressive closed-loop system.

Getting set for Tet.

When we motored back upstream toward the city, the market was in full swing, small as it was. The main product for sale was flowers, undoubtedly for the holiday. The shops were now open in Can Tho, so we were finally able to get Katie her medication.

The drugs took effect within a few hours. When the mom at the home stay found out that Katie was sick, she made her a bowl of rice porridge to help her stomach. Before long Katie was back to her normal self. It's amazing what antibiotics and a little rest and relaxation can do for you.

On our last day in Can Tho, we borrowed some undersized bikes and rode out of town, past wheat and rice fields, banana plantations and plenty of other farms. There was a long sidewalk, devoid of pedestrians and parked motorcycles, so we could enjoy our stress-free afternoon in the countryside. Then we helped the family make spring rolls and had a delicious bowl of fish soup for supper. Despite our illnesses, our stay in Can Tho was great. It would've been amazing, if only a crazy woman hadn't pulled a knife on me...

More Mekong River photos
More Chau Doc photos
More Can Tho photos
More floating market photos

A Solemn Visit

Barbed wire still encloses the cells.

February 18, 2015
Day 216

Today I saw two of the most somber places I have ever visited: the infamous S-21 prison and the Choeung Ek killing field, in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Our large group first went to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, at the S-21 prison. The building was once a school, which was converted into prison when the Khmer Rouge rose to power in 1975.

Most of the initial prisoners at S-21 were soldiers for, or members of, the previous ruling party. But soon, doctors, teachers and other members of the bourgeoisie class were also taken there. In the end, when Pol Pot was at the height of his paranoia, many high ranking officials within the Khmer Rouge itself were imprisoned. The inmates' “crimes” were often nothing more than owning a business or having an education. Some, however, stood accused of spying for the CIA or KGB, organizations they had often never even heard of. In the end, it didn't matter what the accusations were, because the punishment for all crimes was death.

Upon entering S-21, all prisoners were photographed and stripped of their belongings, including anything they might use to commit suicide. Most were shackled to a group of other inmates, though some were given their own cells, constructed from brick dividers in the former classrooms. Inmates were encouraged to write their autobiographies, and then confess to their “crimes,” under the promise of lenience. Those who didn't confess were tortured until they changed their minds. After confessing, they were tortured some more. Prisoners were also told to name everyone who collaborated with them, including their friends and family members. Those people were then brought in for a similar treatment. Within their first few months at S-21, many inmates died from malnourishment or torture. Those who were still alive were taken to a killing field, where they were executed.

Walking through S-21, I could see that it hadn't changed much since 1979, when the Khmer Rouge fled from Phnom Penh. Barbed wire still surrounded most of the cells. The torture rooms were still intact, complete with iron beds and shackles. In the courtyard, there was an apparatus for hanging people upside down and dunking their heads into jars of water until they nearly drowned. And throughout the museum, photographs of the condemned were hanging on the walls. It was sobering to think that all of these faces I was looking at had died at the hand of the Khmer Rouge.

Of the estimated 17,000 prisoners held at Tuol Sleng, only twelve were known to have survived. And only three of them are still alive today. As I walked through the courtyard on my way out of the museum, I saw an old gentleman selling books about the genocide. One of the books was a memoir written by Chum Mey, one of the three remaining survivors. I looked down at the book, then up at the man, and suddenly made the connection: the man selling the books was Chum Mey himself!

All of the survivors had some skill that the Khmer Rouge thought was useful enough to justify keeping them alive. In Mr. Mey's case, he was a mechanic who could repair the typewriters that would be used to transcribe prisoners' confessions. His former cell was still on display, unchanged but for a fluorescent light bulb hanging overhead. He displayed incredible bravery, sharing the story of how his wife and four children were murdered, and he was tortured in this horrific place. It's one thing to read about this history, but it's quite another to see it for yourself. And for me, meeting someone who had barely survived one of the worst atrocities in the history of the world was a life-altering experience.

Bracelets for the dead.

From S-21, we made a short trip out of the city, to Choeung Ek. Horrific as S-21 was, Choeung Ek was even worse: this was the killing field where most of S-21's prisoners were actually executed. Every night, covered trucks would show up, full of the condemned. From there, they would be marched to the edge of a mass grave, and the slaying would begin. Bullets were scarce, so the executioners used whatever they could get their hands on: machetes, car axles, sharpened bamboo sticks, palm fronds, rocks. Music was played over loudspeakers so the local villagers wouldn't hear the screams of those being bludgeoned and hacked to death.

I was provided with an audio guide, narrated by a man whose entire family was executed. In the center of the field was a Buddhist temple, full of victims' skulls, where we could pay our respects. The mass graves were on display for all to see. Strangely, if it weren't for the audio guide, this would almost be a peaceful, relaxing place. Some of the fields looked ready to grow crops, and there was a pond adjacent to the property. Though there were some reminders of what had taken place here, such as the signs kindly reminding visitors not to walk through the mass graves or to step on any bones that may have surfaced after a rainstorm. Just knowing that so many people had been executed where I was walking sent chills through my body. A deafening silence filled the place.

In all, Pol Pot's regime was responsible for around two million deaths, about one-fourth of Cambodia's population. Thirty-five years later, the aftermath of the genocide is obvious – there are almost no elderly people here, and even seeing someone of middle age is uncommon. Obviously the situation has greatly improved for the youngest generation, but Cambodia remains a very poor country. I can't say I ended the day in a good mood, but I was still glad to have seen S-21 and Choeung Ek. They gave me a better understanding for what had happened, and a greater appreciation for all of the privileges I have had in my own life.

More photos from Phnom Penh, S-21 and the killing field

Angkor Wat

Day 2: A look at distant Angkor Wat from the top of Phnom Bakheng.

February 15 - 16, 2015
Days 213 - 214

For our visit to Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples, we hired a driver named Pie Ran to take us in a tuk tuk from nearby Siem Reap. We left early, arriving at the famous Angkor Wat temple at dawn, along with several hundred others. Most of the crowd stayed near the ponds in front of the temple to get a classic sunrise photo, while we moseyed right on in, practically alone. We spent a few hours walking around before heading to the next site.

Before coming to Cambodia, I hadn't realized how many ancient sites there were near Angkor Wat. We ended up spending two days checking out the ruins, and we still didn't see nearly everything. My favorite temples were Bayon, where giant faces are carved into the stone, and Ta Prohm, where parts of the movie Tomb Raider were filmed. Almost everyone came away from their visit feeling like an explorer, myself included.

Here are a few of my photos from Angkor Wat:

Angkor Wat is one of the world's most beautiful and famous temples.

I joined a few hundred other people to watch the sun rise behind the ruins.

Here's the stairway to the top of the temple.

Katie takes a well-deserved break during our visit.

Many columns encapsulate the central courtyard.

A vandal broke in and carved up the wall.

Some of the carvings have been pieced together.

The Bayon temple is famous for its faces carved out of the stone.

Intricate carvings abound.

A certain guidebook was very popular, and the price was a steal.

The hunt is on.

Some carvings are much older than others.

At Ta Prohm, the trees grow from the stones.

Relaxing atop Ta Keo at the end of the day.

The ruins were walkable, but not fully restored, making everyone feel like an explorer.

Many temples have stupas, representing male genitalia, in the center.

High kick!

An old lady selling handicrafts at Preah Khan.

The Hall of the Dancing Ladies.

Romanesque columns.

Lions protect the entrance to many temples.

A praying monk.

Kids playing at Ta Som.

A final sunset viewing at Pre Rup.

There rest of my photos from Angkor Wat are here.

Bus to Siem Reap

February 14, 2015
Day 212

Our bus to Siem Reap was clean and modern, with plenty of legroom, air conditioning, and free cold water and snacks. Unfortunately, the “highway” was in terrible condition. The pavement along the sides had eroded, leaving a strip in the center, barely wide enough for one car. The rest of the road was a mix of dirt and mud, full of ruts and potholes. Perhaps as a coping mechanism, our driver played a collection of slow tunes from the '70s and '80s like I Just Called to Say I Love You by Stevie Wonder.

Progress was excruciatingly slow. Countless motorbikes zoomed past us in a free-for-all, like a swarm of angry wasps. On the edges of the road, people rode bicycles with trailers carrying stacks of wood for cooking. Sometimes they wore face masks, but almost never helmets. Once a guy on a primitive tractor, with huge wheels and a tiny motor, hogged the middle of the road, going a few miles per hour as his machine chuffed out smoke. Whenever we tried to pass him, we launched ourselves through a big rut, then battled the oncoming traffic until we finally gave up, tucking in behind him. Half an hour went by before he finally pulled over; the line behind him must have been hundreds of cars long.

We drove through a few small towns, but for the most part there was a single line of houses along the highway, and rice fields and cornfields behind them, stretching into the distance. On both sides of the road, between clouds of dust from passing motorcycles, we could see coconut palms, banana palms, run-down houses on stilts, nice houses with shingled roofs and painted walls, street vendors, cows, the Tonle Sap River, people lounging in their front yards, and kids playing. Every now and then we saw a Buddhist temple.

The bus itself was a huge contradiction from the outside world. I plugged my laptop into an AC outlet, logged onto the WiFi network and made updates to my website. It was blisteringly hot outside, but nice and cool inside. And even though the road was in such bad shape, the bus's shocks were of the highest quality, so I was able to take a few naps along the way. Some of my companions managed to sleep for 90% of the ride. Luckily our driver didn't sleep, nor did he remove his eyes from the road. He had his work cut out for him, keeping us safe from the chaos around us, but he remained calm. Maybe it was the music.

We arrived in Siem Reap late in the afternoon. The city was busy, but a little more laid back than Phnom Penh. The streets were packed with tourists, many of whom were making a side-trip from nearby Thailand, so this would be the only part of Cambodia they would see. Unfortunately, our group wouldn't see much more on this whirlwind trip. When we reached the bus station, we gathered our stuff and jumped into tuk tuks for the ride across town to our hotel. From there we unpacked, showered and got ready for a day of visiting the famous temples of Angkor Wat.

A few more photos from the ride