I'm back in Cambodia, the heat continues to be borderline unlivable, and I was (almost, basically, let's just say) attacked by a murderous centipede within two hours of returning. But it's ok. I also got my tax return, and the rains are on the way to wash away the sins of the hot season, and I'm mere minutes away from eating what's rumored to be the best cheeseburger in Phnom Penh. So I survive.
I'm also in a forgiving mood because I just returned from two weeks of soul-cleansing, high-altitude mountain gazing in Nepal and it had the intended effect of refilling my tanks for this last two month stretch in Cambodia. It's hard to believe my time here is almost over. I'll be so sad to leave the empire of the arthropod, of which my kitchen sink is surely the seat and capitol -- but then again also not.
Anyway: Nepal. It was gorgeous. And well worth the two and a half day odyssey it took me to get there, which included a 14 hour overland trip to Bangkok accompanied part way by washed up missionaries and the other part by news of what I think were the first actual deaths in the Bangkok protests, welcome to the city of angels! But somehow I avoided the bloodshed and ditched the missionaries and made it to Suvarnabhumi (silent "i", very tricky) airport for my flight no worse for the wear. And that airport is a real gem, in large part because it has a starbucks and I have a starbucks card, and you can see where that combination is going to take us. So I luxuriated in the warmth of a latte (and blessed my dear aunt debbie whose christmas gift it was that i was enjoying), and then had a nice conversation with a Thai lady who told me I was a good Buddhist for volunteering in Cambodia, and that I was going to heaven. This is always nice news to receive first thing in the morning.
Then I flew to Mumbai, but because I had elected not to get a new Indian visa (not so much because it's a rip off, which it is, as because then I would have had to revisit Mr. Indian Bureaucrat 2010 of the Phnom Penh embassy, who is easily my least favorite bureaucrat of recent times, aside from maybe the South African Airways guy who deported me from Johannesburg a few years back, but that's another story) I had to spend my entire 20 hour 30 minute layover in the airport. Good old Mumbai airport though, what a sweet place. It may be bordered on every side by the kind of astonishing slums India is famous for, but inside it is a haven of tranquility and friendly staff. We all got along great -- hour 2 i received a cup of coffee with a "Have a Safe Flight!" inscribed on the lid, which I know they don't do for everyone. Hour 3 a nice British man exchanged my dollars for rupees since the exchange counter OBVIOUSLY didn't take dollars, moron-- and he even threw in an extra 74 rupees, which was halfway to another cup of happy coffee for me. Hour 5 I watched the souvenir shop ladies push each other around in luggage carts because admittedly, things were a little slow, and hour 7 I was given a free order of vegetable dumplings so that I might compare them to the chicken (veg were infinitely superior.) Really, I haven't had this much fun in transit since the Queen Spa and Dining! Alas, no Living the Skin Almightiness Washes Noodles Milk, but let's give India a chance to develop a little more and then we'll check back.
And since it was nearly a full day that I spent there, you can imagine that a certain point I probably needed to sleep, which I did in the conveniently equipped "Slumber Zone", which, though some patrons misunderstood to be a "Shout Into Your Cell Phone Like There's No Tomorrow Section" or the "Chit Chat Boisterously With Your Neighbor Area", was still pretty pleasant. And thus did I turn 25 -- wrapped in a Jet Airways blanket and curled up in the Slumber Zone of the Mumbai International Airport with 75 Indian strangers who never shut up. I guess I've had better birthdays, but I've definitely had worse.
Oh dear, well I'm only to Mumbai hour 18, but I know how your attention spans are (worse than your "reply to sender" skills as far as can tell) But the cheeseburger calls and who am I to resist. I'll finish the part about where I actually go to Nepal soon. And I'll let you know about the cheeseburger too -- can it really taste just like America? We're about to find out.
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