Disclaimer: There has been no editing on this post, nor any other posts between November 14 to November 29. If you see a typo or misplaced word, deal with it.

Cambodia. Wow. I wasn’t expecting I’d really like this place. First, the weather has been quite nice–not the sticky humidity I was preparing myself for. Granted, it’s the winter season, but the current weather is definitely increasing my affinity for the place.

For the last two days, Jeff and I have been visiting the various temples in the northwest-ish region of the country. Angkor Wat, the most famous of these temples, is considered one the world’s seven ancient wonders (Can someone actually fact check that, please? Not sure if it is, but sounds good in my post.). It’s a source of large national pride for Cambodians, and although it’s filled with tourists, you still feel like you’re experiencing the real Cambodia.

At each of the temple and ruins sites, you are immediately approached by a battallion of vendors to buy their scarves, bracelets, or meals. These vendors are often little kids who robotically repeat English phrases such as “Want a cold drink? Best price for you” until it feels like a natural sound like a bird in the trees. I express no interest in buying any trickets from them, but they all try their best to sell their products. My favorite has been a little boy who ran up and broke thru the crowd of kids around us jumping and shouting, “Buy something from me! Buy something from me!” and he didn’t even have anything to sell.

But they sure are cute kids, and with Jeff who speaks Cambodian, we can have a little more fun with them.

I would, however, love to buy something from them and send them away with a smile instead of defeat, but I don’t know if that’s the best way to do it.

While driving along a country road, passing little wooden homes with dirt floors and tin roofs, Jeff turned to me and asked, “Is it hard for you to see all this poverty?”

I said yes and no. Yes for obvious reasons–I hate seeing sickness and poor sanitary conditions. That can be hard to see. But for the most part, a lot of these kids seem very happy, and I don’t know if I want them to know a life of video games, SUVs and designer clothes. As long as they have good health, living conditions and education, they can have a meaningful life. Am I totally out of place saying this?

Anyway, I’m still trying to figure out the best way to solve the world’s problems, and the more I think thru this, the more I realize how important schools ate in these developing countries. The next day we were eating breakfast when another cute little girl of about 8 yesrs came up to us with a basket of postcards, wooden flutes, and what looked like the friendship bracelets I made as a kid. I was expecting the same mantras I had heard before, but I was delightfully surprised when she said “I’ll tell you the capital of Madagascar if you buy something from me.” It made us laugh!

The girl then asked where I was from, to which I responded America, and she told me how much she likes our new president. She then asked me what state I lived in, to which I responded Utah, and she told me the capital of Utah is Salt Lake City. Impressed, we then quizzed her on other state capitals, and she answered each one correctly (for the most part) with a big, toothy grin.

I asked her if she had made any of the items in her basket, and she shook her head. Good, I thought, the items were crap, and this girl showed a lot more potential than making cheesy souvenirs. I politely declined her last offer to buy something, and I wished her luck on her way.

But now I kind of regret not buying anything from her. For one, I don’t actually know the capital of Madagascar; and two, I like how she tried to use her education to get ahead. Maybe a purchase would have reinforced the importance of education in her mind, or maybe it would have just reinforced that tourists are just suckers for a puppy-dog face. Either way, she was pretty cute.

On the Beaten Path

When you visit a place that’s full of old people, you know you’re ON the beaten path.

Right now we’re on a little cruiser in Halong Bay, a beautiful enclove in the South China Sea known for its huge limestone cliffs that shoot straight up out of the water.

I was more excited to see this place over any other on my trip here based on the pictures I saw on the Internet.
And apparently so was everyone else.

This place is packed with tourists, which is fine. There are some touristy things you just gotta do when you travel. But when I was in a long line of 70-year-old Euro-looking people wearing bright white Reebok sneakers and navy blue windbreakers waiting my turn to walk thru one of the caves within these cliffs, I realized how commercialized Vietnam has become.

I kind of I feel that because I’m carrying a backpack on my back and staying in cheap guesthomes where I have to leave the nights on at night to deter the bedbugs from coming out to feed on me while I sleep, that I deserve more of the “real” Vietnam experience over someone with a more credit on their AmEx dragging a Samsonite suitcase on wheels. But if someone with a cane can visit the same places I want to visit, I don’t feel like I’m really being that adventurous.

But I don’t know if I’m really all that gutsy. Language, standards on acceptable sanitary conditions, and my blonde hair seems to always keep me on the beaten path. Last Spring when I ws traveling South America, my Spanish helped me connect with the locals and spend time away from the “What To Do” recommendations in the guidebook. That’s not the case here.

But I’m fine with it. The Vietnamese people are very warm and friendly; I have never seen faces smile so big. Sure, some are just trying to get me to buy a used John Grisham novel from their pile of books, but I appreciate the smile nontheless.

Below is a list of some interesting things I’m noticing about Vietnam:

-Very safe. Have never sensed any eyeballs on me. Granted, I’m with a dude who is 6′5, but I imagine the consequences of attacking a tourist are pretty severe in a communist country.

-Not a lot of smokers, compared to what I’ve seen in other countries.

-This is a spa lovers paradise. Hour massages for ten bucks. Ninety minutes for $17. And they are the best massages I’ve ever had. (But the beds are awfully hard. Like sleeping on a brick. A country needs cheap massages if they sleep on stuff like this.)

-Although the traffic is crazy, they don’t drive that fast, so it doesn’t feel that dangerous really when we pass people on the opposite side of the road through oncoming traffic.

-Hanoi, and Northern Vietnam right now, is cold and dry. I’ve been freezing the last few days. Definitely needed a parka at Halong Bay.

-And some others I can’t think of right now. I’ll throw them in later.

Next I’m off to Siem Reap in Cambodia to visit the temples of Angkor Wat. My fantasy of becoming Lara Croft Tomb Raider are finally going to come true! (Movie was filmed there, if you didn’t know.)

Well, here we go again. This has been my fifth trip to the airport this year. Just when I put away my suitcase I’m pulling it out again.

Today I’m on my way to Vietnam. For the next two weeks I’ll be touring Ho Chi Minh City, Ha Noi, Ha Long Bay, Phu Quoc island, as well as Angkor Wat and Phenom Penn in Cambodia.

My parents think I’m all-out crazy. I think it’s a slight chemical imbalance as a result of the two head injuries I sustained as a toddler because my mom was too busy supporting our family with her craft business while my dad was in med school to adequately watch me. I just point to the two huge scars on my forehead and mouth the words, “Not my fault. You should have kept a better eye on me.”

Despite my disability from child neglect, my compulsive travel may simply be an addiction to adrenaline. I get the same high jumping on an airplane that some people do jumping off one. And the more exotic the destination, the higher the jump.

So I can’t really say if this is ever going to stop. Maybe when I get really sick, or I run out of money, or when I’m finally kidnapped into the Albanian slave trade. (I hope I at least got for a high price.)

But just as the skydiver always has an inner feeling of relief and gratitude when his feet safely touch the earth, so do I when I look out the window and I see the Wasatch mountains as the plane starts it’s decent to the Salt Lake City airport. I love making it back home safely. Maybe that’s what I’m really addicted to.

I’m allowed some thoughts on greater social issues than blind dates and Utah culture, no?

I wrote some thoughts down during my trip South last spring that I never posted. I’m doing so now. I titled this new post USA! USA! Part 2 because I already wrote a post called USA! USA! about an experience I had on a gondola in Austria. Read it. You’ll see I’ve come a long way in representing my country.

When traveling abroad, you are constantly reminded where you are from every time someone asks you, when you fill out a form, and (this I newly discovered) when you talk about politics.

I had a few, well, more than a few, interesting conversations with people from all over the world about the perception of the United States abroad.

Based on my experience, the perception I perceived can be divided into three P’s. (Say that three times fast!)

First: Politics.

One evening in Buenos Aires I had a passionate conversation with two German friends about America and its last 4 years. One blames the American people for re-electing Bush, and for that, we are responsible for his actions. The other defended the American people, agreeing that politics isn’t so black and white and that you really don’t know what will happen when you vote for someone.

I stepped in to say that during the 2004 election 9-11 was still quite fresh. We’d never faced a homeland attack before, nor has the world seen anything so devastating. You can’t blame America for trying to protect itself against a new enemy in a new world. Although unsure about the war, we tried to decide as best we could. The effect of that decision is for another discussion.

(I was tempted to criticize the German people for electing Hitler, and not doing anything about him, but didn’t.)

Second: Patriotism.

I was surprised how proud I felt saying, “I’m from America” while I was down there. You don’t say it much IN America, so uttering those words every time I met someone felt a little strange to the ear—but very warm to the heart.

I love to celebrate my country, but my Frenchman thought Americans we were too patriotic. He thought we went overboard every Fourth of July. Really? This comment bothered me. How can you be too patriotic? It was a sentiment I never knew non-Americans felt about us. I told him

Third: Parties.

I’m not talking about political parties. I’m talking about the drinking, dancing, stripping parties that flood our movies and TV shows.

Unfortunately, our media is what people perceive of Americans, which is Las Vegas, reality TV white trash, and girls taking off their tops at parties. I was talking to a European and some Aussies when they said they would love to see an American party because the women all flash their boobs.

I tried to explain that THAT is not America—at least not all of it.

Nevertheless, Americans can be very loud, stupid, and unaware of their conduct in public, more so than any other culture. To my chagrin, I had to agree with them. 

In the end, I don’t know if we’ll ever get over national stereotypes—such as the French are rude, the Chinese don’t respect laws, or the Americans are war-mongers—but I don’t think we really stick to them when we meet people on an individual basis. During my travels, I never met someone and thought in the back of my mind, “Oh, they are Israeli. They must be cheap.” I didn’t get the feeling others thought I wanted America to dominate the world when they met me. 

Nevertheless, stereotypes surfaced for a reason, and when I say “I’m from America” people will be watching my behavior (which I feel has come a long way since that day I rambled off in an Austrian gondola).

On that note, I will not be flashing my boobs at any parties. God bless America.

(Funny side note: The Israelis I met told me how to avoid paying for national park fees. He told me if you wake up early and get to the park entrance before 8:00 a.m., no one is at the toll booth and you can get in for free. He then smiled and said “Israelis always know how to get the deals.” Judge as you may.)

Now that I’m approaching the end if my trip, I’d like write some love and hate letters to various things I have either brought or encountered on my trip.

Dear Keens,
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love how you didn’t need any breaking in, as I bought you just before i left. I love your Gore-tex outer shell that allows me to stomp thru mud and puddles with ease! My feet love you, and that, my dear Keens, is the greatest love of all.

From the bottom of my heart, and my body,
Jenny

Dear Brown Corduroy Pants,
Ah, how I have worn thee! I was afraid I was treating you poorly, as I didn’t wash you for over 2 weeks. But when I asked other travelers how often they washed their pants, they said 2 weeks was nothing!

Until the day you fall apart,
Jenny

Dear Processed, White-Flour Foods,
We got along okay at the beginning of our relationship. But I’ve only really been with you because you are cheap and easy, and I don’t have many other options. But you don’t make me feel good about myself as I haven’t lost any weight since traveling because of you. In fact, I’ve gained a few pounds. Do you not want me to be skinny so I can find a husband? Do you not want me to be happy?

I can’t be with you anymore except for the occasional one-night stand. We’ll then make love until the sun comes up.

Until I feel skinny and can binge on cookies,
Jenny

Dear Ibuprofen,
You have really come through for me. You’ve helped me thru the hard times when my body hurt day after day from walking/hiking/biking. You do not restrain your love to me, as I can buy you in prescrition strength (800 mg!) over the counter.

Thanks for always being there,
Jenny

Dear Canon Rebel XSI,
I hate you. I really do. It was never going to work between us, so I don’t even know why I tried. Well, I actually do know why. I was using you to impress a cute guy who was into photography. But I never carry big cameras on trips. Heck, I never even carry a small camera on my trips. I should have stayed true to myself and saved myself from back and neck aches.

Maybe in another life,
Jenny

Dear iPhone,
I’m expressing my greatest love for last, and that is you, my sweet iPhone. How you have saved me from boredom on long bus rides. How your sweet music rises above the sound of a pesty snorer and serenades me to peaceful slumber. How you’ve given me instant information on weather, exchange rates, and a yoga routine (which I never did, but you had it there for me nonetheless). Your WiFi abilities have saved me from slow, 10-year old public computers with keyboards so sticky you have to attack them to type anything. You are my everything.

Love,
Jenny

Remember how I said I wanted to ride a motorcycle thru South America? Well, today I did. Sort of.

I decided to pay an expensive boat ride to spend a day in Uruguay for a couple of reasons:

1) I wanted Uruguay stamped in my passport.
2) I had been in BA for 5 days and my head was about to explode.

So I woke up at 6 am to catch a morning boat ride to Colonia de Sacramento, a historic town about an hour away directly across the Rio de la Plata from BA.

The town was settled in 1500-something, and for centuries was handed back and forth between the Spanish and Portugese. It looked just a small town in Spain. It was nice.

But the highlight was when I decided to rent a scooter and ride thru the countryside. Its not a motorcycle, but it will have to do. The lady renting the scooters asked if I wanted a helmet. I originally said no because I wanted to be like all the other motorcycle riders riding around without helmets. But then I thought how bad it would be if I ended up in a South American hospital with a head injury. I opted for the cool topper with my scarf and aviator sunglasses.

I dragged the boardwalk, cruising by deserted bull rings and old Spanish mission homes. It was about 60 degrees and sunny. I practically felt like I was cruising the Santa Monica Boulevard, until I looked to my left and saw brown water. Yup, I’m in South America.

I’m traveling right now with my dad. We’re great travel partners and enjoy each other’s company as most of the time we prefer reading our books to talking. It’s great.

While waiting for our flight to take off, we discovered something new about each other—Germaphobia. Yes, we discussed the particular challenge germaphobes face when traveling, such as how airplane bathrooms require some pretty good technique.

I’m a closet Germaphobe. I try to avoid announcing it to the world, but I fight a secret battle against the world everyday—the world of germs. My mind is constantly plagued about what I’m touching or who has touched that.

Below are some symptoms of my case of Germaphobia.

I use my knuckle to push elevator buttons.

I’ll wait by a door for someone else to open it so I don’t have to touch the handle.And if I have to touch the door, I deftly try to touch the part of the handle that is the least likely touched.

I ride subways and trains like I’m surfing a wave. (I’ve gotten pretty good at this, btw.)

When there’s a bowl of lemons next to the drink station, I look over my shoulder so nobody sees me pick up a lemon with my hand to avoid touching the tongs. Why would I touch a piece of metal every other dirty hand has touched and then use my hand to squeeze the lemon into my drink. But don’t worry. I always make sure I touch only MY lemon.

Now I recognize that germ awareness is a slippery slope. I’m not bad. I don’t have OCD. I don’t use Purell as often as you think.

But as a doctor’s daughter, I’m inherently aware of the disease all around us. After our conversation about Germaphobia, I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s genetic.

For example, after I told my dad about how I handle lemon tongs, he told me the story about how he tried to politely explain to the Spanish-speaking lunch lady in the hospital cafeteria that the spoons in the utensil cup should be positioned with the handles up. She puts them in with scoop-end up so when someone grabs a spoon, they can’t help touching the other scoop-ends of the spoons. He wasn’t sure she understood his strange request.

But my dad’s Germaphobia runs even deeper—especially when it comes to hotels. He won’t stay at a hotel unless they have a washable duvet. And if they don’t, he asks for extra sheets so he can make his own duvet out of the bed. He also grabs the complimentary plastic bags at the TSA checkpoint and puts the hotel channel changer in it so he doesn’t have to touch the buttons. On the trip we’re on now, he bought Clorox wipes to wipe down all the handles, light switches, and sink faucets. Now I’m not THAT bad, but I can’t deny I didn’t applaud his actions either.

Above all, I don’t want to be rude to others. I put a stop to it there, even if I internally suffer. I will always shake someone’s hand even though my mind thinks, “Where has this thing been?”

At times I do voice up. I try to inform others of the proper way to sneeze, which is into your elbow and not your hand. I don’t know if people always appreciate my polite rebuke. For example, after the third time I got after my good friend Adam about sneezing into his hand, we got into a little riff.

“Dude, Adam. Listen! I’ve told you a gazillion times. Sneeze into your elbow!”

“No, Jenny, you listen. You’re the reason why society has created an army of Supergerms that are immune to our medicine and antibiotics. You and your stupid Purell. It’s actually healthy for your body to be exposed to bacteria so it can build up an immunity.”

Whether I’m creating Supergerms or protecting myself from inconsiderate individuals who don’t wash their hands after using the bathrooms, I don’t know. But my advice to my readers: Don’t think about it. Once you open your eyes to the world of germs that are all around us, there’s no going back.

**So if you want to date Jenny, for goodness’ sake sneeze into your elbow! Who knows what other bad habits would scare her away.