In Cambodia during Pol Pot’s violent and inhumane regime, millions were relocated and forced into slave labor in the countryside in an attempt to create an “agrarian utopia,” which consequently sparked widespread famine. This is when insects and arachnids entered the Cambodian diet. Today, fried crickets, beetles and tarantulas are sold in markets, on the street and in restaurants.

I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to trying new foods. The only thing that tends to make me queezy is a viscous texture. (Read my earlier post Snot Yam and Hairy Chicharrones.) So when I popped the large, pilose spider into my mouth, I just hoped the bulbous body did not explode with a mucilaginous surprise. Check out our bizarre foods audition by ContemporaryNomad.com:

This brings me to tip number one for those of you who might find yourselves wondering how to successfully complete a mahout training course while saving body…and face:

1. Place your foot in the harness to pull yourself up onto the elephant’s neck. Do not attempt to leap directly to the top, unless you are over six feet tall and can do at least ten pull-ups. If you don’t believe me, take a look at the video of our adventure by ContemporaryNomad.com:

Tips continued

2. Wear long pants if you are going to be riding on the neck because your legs will chafe against the elephant’s rough skin.

3. Wear shoes that are unlikely to slip off, or just don’t wear shoes. Tevas are okay but flip-flops are not. It’s a long way to the ground, so the fewer the distractions the better.

4. Use more balance than brawn. While you will occasionally need to clench you thighs to hang onto the neck and to command the elephant to turn left or right, staying on the neck for any length of time without completely exhausting yourself requires balance.

5. If your ride in the basket on the elephant’s back, bring a pillow because sitting on the wooden seat while swaying back and forth gets very uncomfortable after a couple of hours.

“No problem,” said our host flashing his wide set of pearly whites.

In between treks, we decided to do a home stay in a Pnong village just outside of Sen Monorom town in Cambodia’s Mondulkiri province. A handful of thatched-roof huts dotting the village sat between rolling hills and a river, the latter area doubling as the toilet. Mr. Hung pointed to the hut we’d be sharing with his family of eight. With so many people sleeping under the same roof, I couldn’t help but wonder where Mr. and Mrs. Hung got “busy.”

The candles were blown out by 8:30 p.m., but I decided to stay up with my headlamp and write in my journal. As much as I love hammocks, I had never spent an entire night in one. I couldn’t see much through the diaphanous mosquito net but I felt cozy inside of my camouflage-colored hammock, which stretched from beam to beam across the hut.

Replacing the familiar sounds of car engines and horns, I heard a pig snorting and ramming its head into the door made of cane. The pigs, which wandered in and out of the hut all day, were just learning that their domestic curfew had ended. A scratchy transistor radio hummed softly. A fire had been burning for most of the day on the dirt floor separating the raised wooden planks which served as both a dining table and a bed. The air was smoky and warm. It was within this ashen-choked room that I realized that action is not reserved for city folks.

Twenty minutes passed. Music continued to emanate from the transistor radio. I didn’t have a pillow, so I used my fanny pack. Every time I shifted, I couldn’t help but feel precariously perched even though I saw that the hammock was securely tied. I heard mumbling from my nearby friends who were also dangling between beams. “I’m not telling them to turn it off!” hissed Thomas. “It’s only 9:00 p.m.”

Shortly thereafter, the volume on the transistor radio climbed. I heard more mumbling, but this time it seemed to be coming from the other side of the hut. We don’t speak Pnong, so I couldn’t figure out why they would want to drown out their voices. Blankets rustled. I heard a deep exhale and then a moan. I lifted my head turning my ear in their direction. Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing, I questioned? The radio suddenly got louder.

At that moment I thought: what anonymity and concrete walls swallow up in the city, scratchy transistor radios devour in the village.

Spa days for me are a way of delving into the local culture and discovering that moment when I’m forced to reevaluate what I once considered the “right” or “normal” way of soaking, massaging and clipping. I expanded my spa-day definition a few times last year in Costa Rica when I survived a couple of shocking spa experiences.

Recently in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, I experienced my first “reclining pedicure.” Before your mind wanders, I was asked to lean back on a massage table and place my feet, one at a time, into a stainless steel mixing bowl. The pedicurist guided my toes into the bowl filled with warm water, which was barely big enough for a size-five foot.

Even though I had to carefully balance my size-eight foot so that my toes entered the bowl without tipping it over, I actually prefer this low-tech method to the deluxe spa chairs because you don’t have to worry about the last time the filters were cleaned. Just when I was feeling pleased that the local foot soak method doesn’t potentially spread bacteria, I witnessed my friends Tony and Thomas at ContemporaryNomad.com later in the evening take a seat at one of the many small pools around Siem Reap, Cambodia and dip their tired and calloused feet into fish-infested waters.
Fish nibbled on their feet producing what they described as “electric shocks” while they nonchalantly sipped a Coca-Cola. Usually up for new experiences, I drew the line at the fish pedicure. If they had served Cosmos, I might have been swayed. The truth is I largely got cold feet because a few weeks earlier I had seen a news report about how several states throughout the United States were banning this alternative pedicure practice due to the high risk of spreading bacteria. Curious? Read more about Tony and Thomas’ take on Dr. Fish here.

I have an 8-megapixel digital camera small enough to fit into my pant pocket. I don’t take a lot of photographs and I rarely spend time trying to achieve just the right composition. I see something that catches my eye and I quickly pull out my camera and shoot. This way I can capture one of life’s moments while still remaining a participant. Just like the surprises spontaneity grants, candid photography allows you to capture something outside of the anticipated.
While I was crossing the bridge to Angkor Thom within the temple-city of Angkor Wat in Cambodia the other day, I saw three Korean girls photographing each other kissing one of the Buddha statues. Sometimes it’s just as interesting watching the other tourists as it is admiring the monuments.

I was drawn to one of the far corners of Bayon temple by the sound of a sweet and melancholic voice, which echoed throughout the stone courtyard. There was one other tourist nearby reading a book. Despite her public performance, the young girl seemed completely uninterested in her audience.

Tuk-Tuk is the best way to explore the hundreds of temples spread throughout the ancient city of Angkor Wat. Between temples our driver stopped at one of the many roadside filler stations which dot Cambodian roads. Petrol is stored in glass Pepsi bottles and stored under a large umbrella. Even though there may not be a formal gas station for kilometers, this system makes it easy to fill up your moto or tuk-tuk even in the most remote areas.

In my raincoat negligee, a term coined by my friend Thomas (who snapped this shot with my camera), I held an umbrella over Tony while he photographed the stunningly detailed stone carvings at the Bantei Shrei temple. Don’t miss Tony’s amazing pictorial of Angkor from ContemporaryNomad.com here.

Then and now

At its height, the ancient temple-city of Angkor Wat was one of the great powers of Southeast Asia with a population of more than one million. A short but interesting animated video in Cambodia’s National Museum in Phnom Penh recreates what it must have been like in the city during its heyday. Described as a “hydraulic city” because of its sophisticated aqueduct system, ancient Angkor is depicted within an agriculturally rich landscape. The stone structures were reserved for the Cambodian God-kings while wooden houses gave shelter to ordinary citizens. The video shows people working in the rice fields, walking past temples set within a lush yet tame landscape and paddling in dugout canoes along the waterways. Fast forward ahead seven centuries where one million no longer live in the city, but millions visit every year.

When I first told my family and friends that I was going to Cambodia, they were surprised and concerned. “There are millions of landmines over there,” shouted my dad. He wasn’t exaggerating. In fact, it’s estimated that there are two to three million active landmines throughout Cambodia. On top of that, it didn’t help that the day after I announced my departure a two-page feature story about a malaria outbreak in southern Cambodia appeared in one of San Diego, California’s local newspapers, picked up from the Associated Press.

Alas, there I was perusing an elegant list of spa services while sipping green tea in a cool, dark-wood welcome area. After a relaxing spa pedicure complete with a reflexology foot massage and a paraffin treatment, the tuk tuk I hired for the day drove me to the waterfront. Lined with a mix of indoor and outdoor restaurants, bars and cafes, the waterfront is where you can find a lot of the capital’s entertainment, featuring the Pussycat Club on one corner and the Foreign Correspondents Club (FCC) on the other.

I met up with my friends on the second floor of a swank open-air café called Touk. We ordered a happy hour beer for 80 cents and leaned back into the deep, cushioned armchairs. A mix of locals, tourists and expats occupied the tables and bar stools facing the water. Some sipped glasses of wine while others indulged in the typical umbrella-clad cocktails. A cool breeze flowed in from the Tonle Sap River rustling the potted palms. The Pussycat Dolls were playing.

At that moment I realized the irony of traveling to Cambodia for pleasure has faded away for many people. I guess the only irony now is that thirty years later the Dead Kennedys’ ironic song title is now used to initiate small talk around the country.

Those of you who have been following along from the beginning may remember that this journey began after The Leap ― my unapologetic step into the unknown. Two years later, I feel stronger in the craft of writing; however, I’m not sure I’ve tapped into the core of who I am. Close friends don’t see me expressing my more irreverent, opinionated and humorous side. I know it’s there (The Leap is just one manifestation of this, minus the humor), but how can I let it out? Or, a better question is: why haven’t I?

Part of me feels that because I’ve been presenting my blog as a professional writing sample and because I’m afraid of marginalizing myself too much that I’ve censored myself. Not making much money off of this blog (though I’ve gotten a good amount of freelance writing work) and on the verge of a second Leap gazing at the Tonle Sap River from the balcony of an open-air café in Phnom Penh , Cambodia, I’m starting to think SCREW IT; if you don’t like me, take a hike ― and I’m not talking about the kind around Costa Rica’s Monteverde Cloud Forest.

The fact is: I’m a forty-year-old woman who lives life passionately and spontaneously. I’ve skirted convention in pursuit of adventure, which has invited both applause and criticism. While some admire my decision to live on the edge, some simply don’t understand it, which tends to conjure up a mix of resentment and disbelief.

As I sit here in reflection, I’m wondering why I have ever cared about what people think. So what if people can’t fit me into a neat little box to prevent their world view from being challenged, or worse turned upside down. After all, there are plenty of people who support and even feel inspired by my lifestyle. If I could focus more on the inspired audience, how might this affect my voice?

It’s the smart ones who can see that there are tradeoffs with every choice we make. I’ve chosen to forgo the “safety” of steady employment, marriage and children in exchange for mobility and the opportunity to explore and write about our world. If your passion is to be a homeowner in a committed relationship with kids on the way, then follow your dreams. While dreams do not always come true, whether or not you pursue them is a choice.

Sometimes we come to find that the choice we made did not pan out in the way we had expected. In this case, we need to harness our flexibility and choose a new direction for our project, our career or our life. Now, once again, my flexibility is being put to the test. What shift in consciousness do I need to make to reveal the uncensored Beverly?

I’ve met up with good friends Tony and Thomas from ContemporaryNomad.com on their epic journey. As we explore, write and reflect, I have no doubt that inspiration and new direction will be borne.

I guess only time can tell where this will end up!

I was slightly disappointed when I first realized it was going to rain during part of my visit to Angkor. Exposed to the elements all day, I knew it could get uncomfortable. After a few moments of hesitation in the rain at 5:30 a.m. with my friends from ContemporaryNomad.com, we decided to start the day with a visit to Ta Prohm.

We entered the temple along a short, muddy road. Shrouded in jungle and mist without another soul in sight, it was easy to put ourselves in the shoes of early explorers stumbling upon the temple for the first time. The damp, lichen-covered stone was black with bright green spots. Strangler figs wrapped their snake-like roots around the Ta Prohm temple, slowly crushing and reclaiming the man-made structure.

Tony from ContemporaryNomad.com, who visited the temple on a sunny afternoon a few days earlier, pointed out a waterfall of vines which had gone unnoticed on his previous visit. With a photographer’s eye, he found the rain-saturated stone carvings revealing new details. “We should go to Banteay Srei today,” Tony said. Famous for its delicate carvings, the wet afternoon was sure to highlight the stone narratives.

Venturing out into the rain reminded me of the rewards of spontaneity. Embracing the unanticipated leads to a treasure trove of adventure.

The Khmer Rouge revolution crippled Cambodia for three years, eight months and twenty five days. Pol Pot, a name associated with unspeakable atrocities, was known as Brother No 1 in the regime. In an attempt to completely restructure Cambodian society into a peasant-dominated agrarian cooperative, the Khmer Rouge purged the country of its intellectuals and perceived opponents. Many of their remains now sit enshrined within a tall glass tower tucked inside of a small temple.

“There was a lot of corruption and inequality,” said a guide who led me on a private museum tour. The Khmer Rouge “wanted the rich and poor to be equal, so we were all sent into the countryside to work, but equal meaning we would all be slaves!”

“The people who survived took care of their mouth,” said my guide. “My brother couldn’t lie. He said he was a police, and he was killed.”

The Khmer Rouge slogan: “clearing grasses, it shall dig its entire root off,” justified the slaughter of entire families to avoid revenge in later life. My guide considered herself a lucky survivor. There are different estimates about how many people died during this period. According to the recent United States Department of State-funded Yale Cambodian Genocide Project, the total death toll stands between 1.2 million and 1.7 million. To put those figures into perspective, the population of Cambodia was eight million.

Raw and un-sanitized, the Chheung Ek Killing Field brings you into an uncomfortable intimacy with the atrocity. While time has sealed the mass graves, the memory lives on with the hope of never seeing history repeat itself.
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A hub for travel throughout Asia, Taipei’s airport has a dedicated transfer center which even offers free half-day tours of Taipei twice a day. The clerk filled out a brief form and handed me a green and white sticker with an image of a polar bear in front of two pine trees to adhere to my sweater which read: Miramar Golf Country Club.

The shuttle driver vigorously shook a larger version of the same logo as I exited baggage claim. Even though my bag had been checked through to Phnom Phen, Cambodia, everyone followed the same route through the airport. Seven tourists climbed aboard the shuttle and we wound through dark streets lit most noticeably by occasional pairs of red paper lanterns hanging from store awnings. About 15 minutes into the drive, the road narrowed. Dim streetlights highlighted gardens, rice fields and scattered houses. Ten minutes later, we passed through the hotel’s security gate and manicured grounds to the glass and cream-marble entrance.

After a quick check-in and paying a lower room price than originally quoted (How often does that happen?!), I was submerged in a tub frothy from the bubble bath I selected from the generous assortment of toiletries. Between the drive to LAX, the 14-hour flight and the hot bath, I was more tired than I had thought. I was out the minute my head touched the pillow.

I picked up the phone at 4:27 a.m., jumped right out of bed and mixed myself a hot cup of Nescafe. Spoiled by Costa Rican coffee, I started to wean myself off of the good stuff a few days before my departure, so the steamy cup of Nescafe was nothing but bliss on this chilly morning.

Like a recharged battery, it’s full speed ahead. Next stop, Phnom Phen!