flagrant

devata, bas relief--
ta prohm temple (rajaviharasiem)-- angkor wat, cambodia

the week has finally taken to its bed, and not once did a speedy fedex delivery guy present the annual holiday box of groceries to my front door. i am completely in shock.

with this current southern california grocery store strike, my nervous parents are quick to insist that it is currently impossible for me to obtain food. it did seem i was doomed to find omnipresent packages cranberry newtons, old fashioned fudge, homemade chokecherry jam, and envelopes of genisoy protein powder positioned to augment ordinary items this year. understand how candles, attached to a duncan hines 'moist deluxe' cake mix (by a thick rubber band) symbolizes love. no matter what, no matter where (and some assembly required) my mother will always supply a lemon supreme birthday cake.

anorexia nervosa has left a permanent impression on my family. its dark confidence in diet will forever direct their habits. i have casually mentioned the 'specialty grocery stores' in our area (...and have been rude, stating, "my friends want to know whether or not you know i deal with a severe eating disorder" ) but nothing stops them from sending an annual box of food. seven layer bar baking mixes, boxes of chocolate flavored teddy grahams, hershey's chocolate with almonds, jars of extra crunchy skippy peanut butter, packages of gingersnaps, pounds of vanilla walnut fudge, one coffee can filled with homemade bars from a cookie exchange, another filled with christmas spritz... (feeding a memory? the youngster who used to live with them? back then, we could never afford name brand junk foods.) a few weeks later, ten or so pounds of specialty cheeses would arrive, along with printouts of trendy recipes. friends used to look oddly amused when the yearly boxes of calories showed up, but now understand the complex cycle it sparks and only get angry.

my mother also has a flabbergasting habit of air popping popcorn, salting it, and then using it as box filler (instead of crushing old newspapers or buying polystyrene packaging peanuts). perhaps this is the best part because it makes us laugh.

since blatantly telling family not to send food fails by design, i recently gave my parents a clearer perspective in an attempt to redirect their efforts: "...and then last year you sent me fruit newtons and i almost died trying to throw those up. the composition of moist clogging mass could certainly kill a person, so by trying to keep me alive every year, you are basically providing potential death. if you think that my lack in 'obtaining enough food' is the issue and ask me to eat it to make you happy, i will obey, but don't think i will not ceremoniously expel it to please myself. if you insist on continuing this junk food chaos, by all means, send wrapped foods which can be donated to a food bank, or $100K for a three month stay at the ucla eating disorders inpatient treatment program."

consider: no birthday box of spew.
note: yet.

consider: belated?

untitled watercolor #16, october 2003.

who does that disheveled sondre lerche think he is, acting all cheeky-- happy to be singing his songs while skipping down the back streets of hollywood last night? the pile for my exceptional november just tipped over.

no anxiety experienced regarding "going out" last night: none. zilch.

realistic insecurities of being extremely underweight and stared at did not arise. no distorted body issues were cycled in the opposite direction. no dangerous thoughts restricted me from drinking water. agoraphobia lacked its typical restraint. no anorexic 'body avoidance' issues kept me from showering beforehand. [the bathroom mirror, the excitement of how thin i am- this is obviously going to reignite a problem.] no obsessive compulsive disorders withheld size 0 clothes thus rendering me housebound for the night. [anorexia and ocd both consider 0 to be a fat number, but the confliction is in how these problems refuse to tolerate larger sizes and i am much too tall to shop for smaller sizes in the children's department.]

i drove fine in the fast lane down the 101 freeway mostly muttering come on, come on, grandma move it instead of driving dangerously in the middle lane. the dehydration-related vertigo problem which occurs while driving only happened a few times. [translation: the inability to turn and check the blind spot without experiencing a head rush.] it was that if i glanced left, when looking back, everything would fade to black and i could not immediately focus on the traffic ahead. it was always acceptable to blame this problem on my sports car's inferior design, or that i grew up in a small town and was having a difficult time in dealing with the los angeles traffic, rather than admitting starving and purging were taking away my life.

in west hollywood, i sought out and found free parallel street parking and it did not matter that in order to take the space, i essentially disrupted the flow of traffic behind me (as one usually does for the four seconds it takes) instead of just fleeing to a pay parking garage in an effort to not be noticed or be quasi-invisible. in the venue, i managed to stand where wanting to even though obnoxious people were situated nearby. anyone walking or standing behind me is something that has driven me absolutely nuts for as long as i can remember but the spastic punks last night didn't even get a second glance. now then, i did worry that i appear old.

i have attended shows and other situations without too many problems over the last year, but ordinarily, there are incredible issues beforehand (the indecision stemming from the social phobias and fears surrounding going inside the building). i neither eat on the day, nor the day before i need to go someplace outside of the house, and that inaction functioned as a comfort to erase most spectrum disorders. there was bottled water today, which is not a big deal, but not a little thing, either.

while waiting during the second act, which will get absolutely no publicity here, i considered the fact that my anxiety disorder was non-existent that evening and also remembered that eleven months ago i was standing along the back wall of that very same venue at a joseph arthur show. looking around and seeing the room's occupancy had a five million dollar potential for future rhinoplasty, i thought maybe the anxiety is getting exchanged for perpetual annoyance? what a shock for i was not the most hideous person in the room. nope, she was standing in front of me. [i only won for having the potential for the ugliest disposition.] feeling material bunched up from my loose pants sagging and resting just below the backs of my knees, i smoothed the wrinkles out and realized that i wore the same pants as my last time there. even though i was mostly purging everything i had ingested back then and am now keeping in food a few times throughout the week, last year those pants were required to be strangely unbuttoned as to not touch any skin just for the obsessive compulsive disorder's comfort.

there were three billion reasons to remain purging my food last year. what were they? i was underweight and worried about gaining weight. the processing of food instead uses an incredible amount of calories and is in fact physically tiring. allowing a few hundred calories a few times a week is not bad, but if i had gained even an ounce, this 'trial' would have stopped immediately. i still also think that by having forced myself stay rooted in weird mental illnesses for all of those years (which looked like an exceptional waste of time) is beneficial to the life i have left. i now have a doubled perspective and have acquired a very useful hyper-competitive endurance. tomorrow, i could pack it all up, if needed, and my improved metabolism would benefit the quick flight back to the underground-- but i do not know if i could manipulate myself enough to have the ability to tell you that my quality of life was equivalent over there as it is out here.

one year ago this morning, i was shivering in the small town of strijen, holland at a corbijn photography exhibit. strijen is a very small rural area which is located about an hour outside of rotterdam. the local residents who were in attendance were thrilled to talk with me, and were quite pleased i took the time and effort to visit their little village. it particularly floored them that a long stretch of public transportation had been endured to attend the event.

as captured in one of the exhibited photographs, the local people explained how in the fifties it was common for the dutch to decorate their living room walls with small salamanders. as if in retaliation, i explained in another language the religious usage and symbolism of what i refer to as anton's 'humphrey fish' phenomenon. it was comfortable and our connections seemed much more intimate than of a default network of fans. we sensed we were all unknown relatives. the eagerness to know each other came naturally.

a young man and his dog assumed the position and insisted on leading a personalized walking tour around the town. he pointed out the locations where virtually every photograph hung in the exhibit had been taken. later, as we returned to the town center, an older man came out of his house and waved us over with his cane. upon entering the home for tea, he began a busy-body investigation to find out why we had been pointing at bridges and walking through muddy fields when famous people were in town-- there was an event at the town hall! under deep blue and the threat of rain, we returned to the exhibit, the mayor invited me out for lunch, and then i daydreamed away an afternoon on a long train ride to berlin.

today i drove chuck to the northridge fashion center shopping mall and sat in the shiny51 roadster while filling out his 'applications for interviews.' after he applied for a low paying sales job, i continued writing and he sat in the passenger's seat-- totally spent but able to slurp disgusting burger king chili from a cardboard fast food container.

my november was better than the entire year for most people.
yes.
yes, this i know.
but oh, you don't know...
it was so much better than that.

while parked in shiny51, i lost another one of my nine lives tonight. very close, and perhaps, merely inches can confirm an invisible superstition. eyes closed, all i hear are the other tires screeching.

it's one of those days:

- where whatever social problems i have left are getting in the way of listing 286.4 pieces of interesting junk on ebay because there are too many variables in the language of the listing.

- where i am convinced that a specific invalid friend named chuck cannot get employed to even ring a salvation army donation bell in front of shops for the holiday season. if invalid friend is in fact not as hopeless as i imagine and could get that annoying minimum wage position, he would probably get bullied and beat up while shivering on the sidewalk. essentially that job would cost himself more aggravation and medical bills than he already has, or he would be apt to visit my house and blather on about how much his bell ringing arm hurts.

- when i sit at the computer with three different employment web pages open in the browser and send several of his resumes out while that unemployed invalid (who is soon to have a 2X4 whacked up against his head) reads the comics that are printed in the third-rate local paper. whenever i give him the look he just gives an honest, "what?!" why is it so hard for chuck to read the want ads with a pen in his hand?

daylight has been spent driving chuck to job interviews and sitting in the car for hours waiting for him. doodling ideas on graph paper, putting the finishing touches on my simple scam for stupid people (designed specifically for my early retirement) or rereading the newspaper is getting old. tonight i returned home after another promising afternoon to find that the cat's litter box was three feet from its usual location and had been flipped over- spilled all over the floor. paws the loudmouthed cat is ten years-old now, not three, and these strange things should not be happening.

just four and a half weeks left of my living on the wrong side of excess.
january is not coming fast enough.
predictions:
this week the u.s. postal service will deliver a box of groceries to me from my parents. i will get hugged by sondre the norwegian hipster pop star outside the troubadour in west hollywood. chuck will get hired and fired and then i will kill him and flee the country.
please god let the subsiding generalized anxiety disorder last longer than ten seconds at a time because being nutso gets things done faster and i am stalling.
please god let the shop fix megastir's truck right and on time.
please god let chuck get a job soon i can go back to sitting around at home to obsess about invisible things instead of driving his ass around and worrying about many other legitimate reasons to stay indoors such as car accidents and fashion disasters.
please god, since the airline ticket to costa rica next month will cost more than all of my recent flights in november combined, let my first class upgrades process and also have continental airlines route my trip through not only houston but cleveland too and give me an overnight in newark so that my frequent flier mileage obsession continues.
please god, ignore this frivolous drivel because i might need you someday and everything listed here will turn out just fine.

chinatown fake oyster perpetual rolex watch

people drive too slow.
what time is it?
the cat is too loud.
do you think i have malaria?

i have completely had it with people [one 35 year old person in particular].
his short term aspirations include:
- eating pizza without a plate over the sink.
- eeking out one more day without changing his cat's litter.
- getting hired for a $7 and hour cashier position at the home depot.

note: massive amounts of post trip depression.

boat transportation to the turtle island park sanctuary and hatchery-
sulu sea, sandakan, malaysian borneo

just because i go places
doesn't mean i am receptive to your trip to omaha.

hip raincoats
have squared buttons
when huey has put me in the mood.

citadel of women, red and pink sandstone of banteay srei temple-
khmer architecture at the angkor wat complex, cambodia

[back home in los angeles]
thirteen hours after arriving home from my trip, i should still be in a state of victory, but the day feels sour. chuck has been fired from his job. i haven't yet had the chance to change out of my "i survived the cambodian capability challenge 2003" t-shirt. damn this, because i would really like to mope around the house in soft socks for a few days. instead of resetting schedule and routine, i am immediately required to cart chuck and his resume over the entire expanse that defines los angeles.

my lower legs, in particular, my ankles, have swollen and are tingling from the extremely long flight legs home. the swelling began on the flight between tokyo and detroit-- it presented itself to the point a flight attendant took notice. a cardiologist was in the cabin and came over to examine and talk with me. he suggested walking up and down the stairs for awhile or up and down the aisle. well, obviously the circulation catalyzed through walking and movement helps thwart off blood clots tremendously, but shyness seems to keep me ripe for deep vein thrombosis. i would have really been uncomfortable methodically walking up and down the stairs in the first class cabin for a few minutes every hour. from now on i am just going to start wearing a pair of compression socks on flights over five hours long.

the tingling is starting to subside, but the swelling remains and is provoking mental discomfort. none of this has been physically painful. i will have to endure these airplane feet for a few days and should make a point to avoid sitting in the car (for hours on end) if chuck schedules a job interview.

[new tokyo international at narita to detroit]
after a seven hour flight from singapore, i deplaned at what the airline employees since spring have been calling New Tokyo International at Narita and entered the first restroom i found. as i waited for a non-squat stall, the overhead speaker sang in jump-rope japanese that it was the final call for my twelve hour flight to detroit. already? i had not even been standing up for five minutes but it could be worse- in the other direction the flying time was fourteen hours.


kuala lumpur international airport monitors, malaysia

the final call to board meant my narita to detroit seatmate had already arrived and was thoroughly hogging the storage areas, plus his trip necessities and gum wrappers were strewn about on both of our seats. surprised that other people actually exist, he rearranged and seemed only slightly nervous from my acted exasperation. when he accidentally dropped his hard-sided hefty briefcase on my swollen foot, i did not move or speak. he turned rose red, flustered a bit, stuttered without words, and then removed his case from the floor. i kept looking at him for one. two. three. four eye-contacted seconds. he blinked, then tried to act busy. when his items were roughly brushed off of my seat to the floor our twelve hour relationship began.

i already had all of the symptoms of two or more hot and wet tropical diseases to keep me smarmy, but a loudmouthed man wearing a black printed t-shirt accelerated my attitude by leaning over the seat in front of me to continually shout in a supposedly romantic foreign language to somebody seated behind me. true comedy. perfect. tick. tock.

a male flight attendant with a list approached. oh no.
"miss flagrant, you ordered a special meal?"
nope, i'm not falling for it this time.

the youngest flight attendant reached for and dropped a metal case of white wine on the floor. as bottles clinked and rolled, she unsuccessfully secured another tray and then a third metal container crashed to the floor. upstairs on a 747, this is the place to be as it is like looking down on repetitious underpaid swollen ankle dinner theatre... a chopping ice metronome from the flight attendant's galley... the slam of a metal cabinet in its crescendo corner.

"it's so cramped up here with all of this stuff," i said to jackball seatmate when he finally sat down, motioning at the pillows, blankets, japanese menu cards, newspapers, slippers, headsets, and his over-stuffed day pack which seemed to be spilling scraps of paper and magnetic lint.

"yes. yes. no room--" and he started to mumble something else but i interrupted him with my statement of the year.

"so when we reach cruising altitude YOU are going to go find another seat because i will NOT BE uncomfortable on this flight."

"yes... yes--" but i had already turned to the window and my ego was screaming with laughter but my right hand's fingers were pinching the skin on my left arm in an attempt to either take away or refocus the weird pain. that internal clench of discomfort that comes from not needing but wanting, demanding, and getting what was not freely available.

[singapore to tokyo narita]
...nothing left to do except wrinkle my nose and watch airline passengers as they squirm, contemplating their after meal intimate relationship between aperture control and audio transmission.

[chinatown, singapore]
tomorrow on this, which was originally planned out as my relaxing trip to bali, i will skip bali and travel home to los angeles. my first and world business class elite upgrades have been secured, which is not a good thing, since the extra space makes it practically impossible to give the shoulder to the world by leaning up against the wall. no one can really stretch out that far to the window... pillows drop to the floor... it's cold... 37+ hours of transit in one direction as everything falls into space... lack of quality sleep for fear of the impending drool that will never happen... etc...

i have to help find chuck another job or try to make one for him. the other day while operating on hunches and telephoning him, as i felt that something had just gone terribly wrong, he said he had just arrived home from work, suspended without pay for four days.

this is perfect timing because i haven't experienced more than modest amounts of anxiety on this trip- and more importantly, none of it actively plagued the last few weeks. in fact, yesterday as my air asia flight from kuala lumpur to johor bahru started its approach, i considered the fact that it was 10:00pm on a sunday and i had no idea how to cross the causeway from malaysia into singapore from that airport. i also did not know the location of the reserved chinatown hotel and had no map. everything went smoothly. no concern. whatever happens, happens. strangely enough, i only had $2.70 in singapore change from my visit last spring with me and the MRT transit ticket was that exact price so no stress equals no story. then again i might have been in some kind of fugue from earlier yesterday, but i'll get to that later.

sri mariamman indian temple, chinatown, singapore

[the inn crowd hostel, little india, singapore]
the male flight attendants for malaysia airlines wear mint green blazers and a few chose mauve-toned flower or batik patterned ties. with dark hair, smoked out eyes, and outfitted in their ridiculous uniforms, the cabin crew either look like sinister cereal imps come to life or disco era leprechauns.

the klia express train delivered me into kuala lumpur from the international airport, and today's long layover was spent looking for the perfect christmas gift for each family member. i tried, but mostly wound up empty-handed. how does one feel comfortable choosing gifts for people who hold alternate tastes? a gorgeous prada leather handbag was found, along with a vitually logo-free gucci camera bag, and i added a leather tote to the afternoon haul.

after bargain hunting in the city for fixed price authentic goods, a taxi took me to jalan petaling in chinatown [where there are replica louis vuitton wallets, handbags, pirated cds, and knockoff von dutch t-shirts for everyone] and i had a blast testing my bargaining skills on a fake "oyster perpetual" rolex watch.

[kota kinabalu, malaysian borneo]
i had been contemplating all morning as to whether or not to ditch this resort without checking out. upon check-in in yesterday, the front desk clerk kept echoing "walk-in rate" whenever i would say "internet confirmation number." i am bracing for the flagellation of what could be three times the intensity of my confirmed hotels.com discounted price- which, for a luxury resort, clocked in at a reasonable $109 a night.


shangri-la tanjung aru resort, kota kinabalu.

- walked down five flights of stairs.
no, don't do it!
- walked back up five flights of stairs.
perhaps, hail a cab to the airport?
the resort has already secured my visa card.
just leave the room key and go!
usually, at least up until this year, i was a good person.

- sit at the breakfast buffet alone.
how am i going to make it appear that i am only leaving with my backpack for the morning without it looking as though i am leaving the resort for good?
- mull this over with a cup of strong coffee.

this is so stupid.
you slept here, so go pay the bill.
or don't, but get to the airport!

i am too shy to go down there and approach those people at the front desk. there are six hundred attendants employed at this resort and all have one specific job. one guy opens the shuttle door. another moves luggage from cars to the steps. one opens the door... one man stands at the door and asks if you need a taxi. a man loads step-side luggage onto a cart and another wheels it to the lobby. seven uninformed people are strategically placed in the not so grand entryway- all paid to wear outdated outfits and say hello. if you ask them a question they reply with, "hmm, i'll be right back."

coffee. coffee. two bites of rice. two bits of the best part of a dried out muffin didn't pass the test and so i licked the something similar-to-honey spoon and upon check-out found the walk-in rate to be only half of my confirmed internet rate.

sulphur pool, poring hot springs- kinabalu national park

[kota kinabalu, borneo]
a double dose of hell and probably double-billed, while making my depressing way back to singapore, i have once again elected to be beaten by shangri-la's tanjung aru (the world's worst luxury resort).

tonight amounts to a qualifying stay which allows frequent flyer miles to accrue into a worldperks account, so the shangri-la can beat away.

this time the television does not function, and even though i only look to summon background noise, i would probably appreciate hearing international news aside from english rugby results. this resort defines flagrant lousy service-- this room's television is sitting in a location where it cannot be plugged into any available wall outlet. ordinarily this would matter, but the electrical cord/plug combination running out of the appliance differs from any of the outlets in the room. also, the bathroom sink has a very slow drain, but that might be my doing.

this tropical humidity and heat is making me feel like a lethargic whale. combine that with the fact that i am the tallest giant many malaysians have seen in a week (and female to boot) and you've got the complete picture how it is acceptable to speak of feeling massive.


flying over kota kinabalu- malaysian borneo

think about something else:
- it is truly beautiful here
- even as seen though discounted and dirty air asia windows

come back here with me next time, we will go out and explore the drab stilted huts and fishing villages over the water. we could wander aimlessly or hike the fragrant trails around the gorgeous scenic areas at mount kinabalu.

sipadan island, sabah, malaysian borneo

[sipadan island dive resort, malaysian borneo]
none of the employees on this oppressively hot and humid island of sipadan understand anything i do. no other divers are here except me-- that's right, i am the only guest at this resort this afternoon (and am sharing the experience with 35 friendly workers who run to man their posts whenever i make an appearance). scuba diving was spectacular, never as good as an aquarium or as imagined, but since one cannot be underwater and surrounded by a million giant sea turtles the entire time, this day certainly tops the list for the most uncomfortable (and expensive) situation of the year. apparently other guests are supposed to show up this evening, but all six are involved in their own group tour, arriving on their own boat.


driftwood, boredom on a late afternoon- sipadan, malaysian borneo

walk along the beach.
[sigh]
a virtually hidden employee resting in a hammock has been watching me.
walk a little more.
sit on the beach.
now what?
turn around.
another employee appears out of nowhere, waves.

do the sandal-blister hot-path-hobble back to the chalet hut.
a two meter long monitor lizard crosses the trail ahead.


monitor lizard slinks away- sipadan, malaysian borneo

return to air conditioning and sleep under a mosquito net until dark.
mm-hmm.
read lonely planet cambodia under a dim lamp for the fifth time.

no meals were requested with my dive package. this is usually arranged with arrival procedures and the employees didn't seem to know what to do about this. they were confused that at night i bought bottled water from the canteen, sat in front of an open notebook for an hour in their dining hall, and then returned to privacy.

them: "why aren't you eating here?"
me: "that's right, i didn't order a meal."

how to keep private? how to contain what could appear as a form of arrogance?
- complications of foreign language / foreign habits
- understand the employees are here to serve, not provoke
- they fear 'not doing their job'
as long as i do not appear to be unsuccessfully seeking something out, this should just amount to my own quirkiness and not an issue.

the resort menu only listed self-hatred (which i had ingested the previous day) and a few months remain of this second year before re-evaluating anorexia, so even without food, there were no issues. [i did feel slighted, as though there should have been food or deprivation obsessions, but instead emotions fell flat.] this is where it was good to be alone, for a companion would have wrapped themselves up in my eating disorder behavior and sworn that any physical action i took (such as a sigh) meant they were to offer food no matter how hard it was declined.

plan for tomorrow: flights, return to kota kinabalu.

malaysian airlines flight over borneo--
kinabatangan river, celebes sea

destination: five degrees north of the equator

next: from sandakan to sipadan island by air and speedboat.

tropical rain forest road
near the sepilok jungle resort, malaysian borneo.

[sandakan, borneo]
my god... after a four hour air asia delay at kuala lumpur international airport, i arrived into the city of kota kinabalu around midnight. except for having the address of the tanjung aru resort written on a piece of paper, this part is all spontaneous. in the arrival hall, only waiting family members seemed to be around and i was lucky to grab one of the remaining taxis to take off through the humidity to the fancy-schmancy shangri-la resort. a guidebook by my side would have been a useful tool to calm some nerves -- especially on the flight over to borneo -- but no. i have none.

did i want a room with a view of mount kinabalu or of the south china sea? at one in the morning, i had to wonder if this was a front desk stall tactic. this luxury resort turned out to be the crappiest place on earth where everything was broken or about to break. none of the hotel employees knew anything about the surrounding area and for the love of god, was there a towel available in the entire beach resort? of course i would never say anything, but with an odd lack of hostels and having spent an agonizing $100+ for the last minute room, i had expected much more information and courtesy than is available at a self catering backpacker establishment. the tanjung aru did have nice landscaping but other than that, the facilities were relatively useless to me. reception did not know, nor had access to any information about transportation to the town of sandakan aside for telling me to go to the airport in the morning. airport? fly there?! are they kidding? how expensive is that?! i was considering enduring a neverending bus ride for merely pocket change. aside from a scuba diving distraction, this is a budget trip- coins, not credit cards!

the next morning i swallowed everything i knew about being the most cost effective person alive and took a taxi to the airport, bought non-discounted flight coupons from the malaysian airlines ticketing counter and immediately boarded a flight to sandakan... who knew one could fly across borneo for less than $25?


rental car, sandakan, malaysian borneo.

...where i rented a beater car (circa 1975) from a sleepy man who had not seen a customer in two weeks, by lying about my driver's license. california is a country, i swear, and i always drive on the left side of the road.


driving to the kinabatangan river, malaysian borneo.

i received a knockaround right-hand drive car with an ohmygod left-hand shift manual transmission and silly me, i held the door closed with my right hand to avoid it opening up during every bump in the road. i drove with my knee down gravel highways while trying to hold a diet coke between my legs, spent way too much time dragging on behind logging trucks, got waved through three police roadblocks without incident and occasionally took photos out the window without slowing down. when i stopped at a shop for some liquids at a small stretch of civilization south of kinabatangan, what seemed like the entire town came out to meet me, and those who were too timid were watching and gossiping under colorful market stall umbrellas from across the street. it felt like everyone knew, or was about to know, that a quizzical tall stranger came to town that day, bought some flavored water, contemplated orange soda, and left.


kinabatangan river, sabah, malaysian borneo.

electrical power is inconsistent in the evenings in sandakan and made for a frightening experience at the sepilok jungle resort. after returning from the long drive, i parked the car and followed the lighted pier back to my room, except the power failed mid way. what was i supposed to do? try to follow the zigzag pier while crawling on my hands and knees? (yes, i tried but the walkway was about a quarter of a mile long, without a hand rail for guidance, and mostly over water or long grass bogs.) laying on the dock over the river while the insects pierced the night- it has never been that dark or loud! the resort generator kicked in over an hour later and i immediately bought an overpriced yet inferior yellow flashlight in sun faded packaging.


sepilok orangutan sanctuary, malaysian borneo.

strange days... strange places... particularly the sepilok sanctuary where all of the orangutans look in the opposite direction when you raise a camera to their faces.

the temple of the reclining buddha
wat pho, bangkok, thailand.

[kt guest house, bangkok, thailand]
doom. i neither have reservations for a hotel, nor guest house recommendations for tomorrow night in borneo and nothing has gone wrong yet but that doesn't stop the anxiety. i made myself mechanically purge my food for the first time since the imbalanced electrolyte-related seizure last month- the world really does spin.

calm down!
no room was secured in advance in phnom penh and that went alright, but the flight arrives into kota kinabalu at 8:00pm, not noon. in this case, borneo's BKI airport is inevitably going to be a deserted tropical landing strip, isn't it? damn this.


king cobra at the pasteur institute
queen saovabha memorial institute, bangkok, thailand.

the panic will not ever stop starting up, even though nothing ever happens. i had hired a guide in borneo and he just cancelled my "jungle survival course" plans via e-mail- the night before the flight arrives. now i am supposed to just fly to borneo and bum around by myself??

next:
flight from bangkok to kuala lumpur, malaysia
connecting on to land in kota kinabalu on borneo.

[sihanoukville, cambodia]
walking down the stairs of the capitol guest house with plans to check out of the room and board their 7:30am coach service to sihanoukville came to a screeching no when the front desk clerk said there was only one seat remaining. looking at the line of backpackers currently boarding the bus, i of course didn't hear anything else after that except for the film in my head. it starred me and my unmanageable belongings playing a klutzy role of "the last person to board the noisy bus."

the film role required me to carry an inconveniently shaped, overloaded backpack, and strappy black daypack, along with a plastic bottle of drinking water. picture it dripping with condensation, raining down to spot my olive-colored thai pants. i would have some type of bus ticket paperwork to maintain while managing down the congested aisle.

the seventy five supporting roles were all the same character-- giggling, under 25 year old, laid back backpacker-types, who, given the grungy circumstances, all had phenomenally good hair. while avoiding those furled brows and feet in the way to get to my specific seat, the bus, already running, was apt to pull away (possibly making a sharp turn while lunging over potholes) out to the street before i even made it a third of the way. if i ever reached my assignment, i might have tripped at least once, or one of the supporting roles (improvising as a seat hijacker) would have to be inconvenienced-- forced to unbuckle the overhead storage bin to retrieve stowed baggage, and then move back to an original reservation.

"no, i'd like a ticket for your noon service to sihanoukville instead."
desk receptionist: "we no longer run that bus. it's once per day at 7:30am."

well, crap.

desk receptionist: "one seat? sihanoukville? it's leaving right now."
me: "umm... um.. um.. um... um... no!"

there was no chance i would race to board that bus, but i had no choice. no. no way was i without options-- i could choose to remain behind. the easiest route was suddenly the hardest. i refuse to be late unless planned and this lateness served no secret agenda. actually, it only confirmed that social phobias and anxiety costs me time, money, confidence...

since these travels are specific to thwart all levels and varieties of anxiety, i didn't know what to do. i needed to go, but i hadn't felt that sensation of panic in quite some time. tomorrow would be the same hell, the same feeling-- the only difference is that i would board with the initial surge of passengers.

back in the room, i was almost defeated i paced, took three minutes out for trichotillomania, and when the belching bus finally took all of those scarypeople away to the same destination i had planned on visiting, i walked downstairs and checked out of the guest house.

a few blocks away at the phnom penh bus station, the back up plan came together without any sense of aggravation. i bought a one-way ticket to sihanoukville, a copy of the phnom penh post, and arrived three hours later, but within minutes of the private bus i refused to board.


phnom penh post, cambodian newspaper

outside of the bus stop in sihanoukville, a handful of backpackers were trying to wipe the "what now" look off from their faces, but aside from the requisite mototaxi touts looking for potential commissions, there seemed to be no one around. under a deteriorating grey hut, locals hid in the shade and chopped or broke open tropical fruits to sell. large green coconuts were arranged in piles on drab blankets which covered the adjacent ground. wandering stray dogs stopped to sniff at the metallic chip wrappers that skipped along the street before they came to rest along worn wooden fences.

no one else.
where is everyone?

walking in the direction of my hotel, a man was stooped down and filling his drinking water bottle from a muddy rain puddle. continuing on to the center of a roundabout, two golden lions posed with open mouths, like cartoon character amusement park mascots representing the beach ghost town.

approximately a half of a mile later, come to find out, the weekend tourist population spends the days in lounge chairs next to a beach side restaurant. thousands of people sat around in one little suffocated spot of bamboo-shaded pathetic straw-littered beach. no one swam. no one sunbathed. no one did anything but summon for more alcohol. it was immediately determined that this was not the place for me, and then the sun shone bright enough to turn everywhere i looked grey on grey.

the rinky-dink boat i hired left the happy land of mixed drinks and dropped forks to motor around driftwood, float slow and nervously over shallow rock bars, and then speed on to visit untouched islands of emerald, cream, and turquoise. there were uneasy feelings of what might lurk below when the old boat began to strangely creak and groan. without acknowledging this, we began our return to occheuteal beach. the worst part was how i think three thousand people each stopped what they were doing for two seconds to give me a perplexed look as i tumbled out of the boat. i maintained an audience as i maneuvered my way through the crowd to simply go back to the hotel.


sihanoukville jetty, cambodia

alone, not drinking beer, wearing rolled up pants and shoes on the sand, i did slink back to the sihanoukville hotel, but detoured along the way to a dilapidated hut. i had hoped it was a restaurant which sold sealed waters. the family either cooked or sat mesmerized by a subtitled muriel hemmingway film, as their child fiddled with my camera-- squealing when it was revealed how to pop open and use the display as a waist-level finder.

"yes, ultraviolet ozone drinking water, and also we give you chicken vegetable rice to go... here are some free bananas too, and if you eat tomorrow, we see you then!" a cambodian assortment of foods-- enough for the three family members sitting in front of the film.


chicken rice and bananas, sihanoukville, cambodia

i spent the damp night flipping between shiny, chunky, anna kournikova playing a tennis match in thailand and rowdy english sports channels. unfamiliar foods sat on bleach-sanitized plates next to plastic utensils, and for the first time, food bordered on tolerable. bites of delicate chicken rice seemed to be a better option than agonizing over foreign wrappers, wincing at the heft of sporty girl's thighs, or trying to argue trip exhaustion against anorexia's evening passion. every night, no matter if managing food or not, the conflict arrives.

next: the sunny day will be spent on top of a fast boat from the sihanoukville jetty to the krong koh kong docks. i need to find and then pack into the back of a pickup truck with other travelers to get to cambodian customs and immigration, supposedly take a short walk to the thai border crossing facilities at hat lek, and then find a minibus departing for trat. later tonight, a much appreciated air conditioned coach will deliver me to bangkok's hualamphong station.


crossing the cambodia border to hat lek, thailand

photographs of tuol sleng prison inmates-
"hill of the poison tree" phnom penh, cambodia

[phnom penh, cambodia]
i had stated if a return to phnom penh ever happened, it would be to volunteer at a war museum or tuol sleng genocide museum (s21) and not include another stay at the capitol guest house. i confess. i nabbed one of their rooms out of safety. it seems that each young guest, with white knuckles revealing how tightly they are holding their brand new rucksack, tries to mask their fear of stepping from the backpacker trail.

"there is nothing in phnom penh to see," has been overheard several times.

in fact, it appears the travelers in residence at the capitol cannot leave the property without taking the guest house's own private minibus- they also are all eating american fare [hamburgers, pizza] in the restaurant downstairs.


a tidy stack of human bones-
killing fields of choeung ek, cambodia

this is annoying because i am... once was... might not be... the biggest chicken in the world. this afternoon i hired a local mototaxi driver (guide) to deliver me to all of what this city has to offer the traveler. it was dusty on the back of his motorcycle, bumpy as hell, and cost less than $3 for the afternoon. certainly it was neither dangerous nor scary enough in phnom penh on this particular day to remain on private guest house property. when i returned to my room at the capitol, the same little group of english speakers were still huddled around two tables trying to pass the time at the restaurant.


street market food stall-
phnom penh, cambodia

annoyed with them all, i left immediately to seek out traditional cambodian fare. it didn't matter what it might be-- just anything other than familiar american food. nearby, collectives of night vendors had set up their appallingly filthy grills. i thought to change my mind and seek out "wrapped" or a processed internationally branded snack, but persisted. since i was clearly a foreigner, but also clearly interested in what was being made, i was invited over to watch the process. the cooks from the street market stalls sent me off with satay and a little bag of "salad." the salad served was hot and spicy, yet sweet and sour. it consisted of cellophane noodles and thai chilies served in a twist-tied plastic bag and came with toasted bread. the satay? tastes like chicken? i don't know for sure but could not manage to find anything that tasted bad or made me sick to my stomach.

next: beach holiday!
- the deserted islands of koh rong off sihanoukville, cambodia.

Security Regulations posted at Tuol Sleng Security Prison s-21:

1. You must answer accordingly to my question. Don’t turn them away.
2. Don’t try to hide the facts by making pretexts this and that, you are strictly prohibited to contest me.
3. Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dare to thwart the revolution.
4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.
5. Don’t tell me either about your immoralities or the essence of the revolution.
6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.
7. Do nothing, sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something, you must do it right away without protesting.
8. Don’t make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your secret or traitor.
9. If you don’t follow all the above rules, you shall get many many lashes of electric wire.
10. If you disobey any point of my regulations you shall get either ten lashes or five shocks of electric discharge.

children intending to model for money-
killing fields of choeung ek, cambodia

[phnom penh, cambodia]
at the killing fields of choeung ek, i was surprised to find that most of the hell lurked outside of the barbed wire which surrounded the location. seven or eight begging children, all between the ages of two and ten, were singing the ever familiar take-my-photograph-for-money song. without foreign candy to give them (for the sake of novelty or a forced lesson in culture) and only larger us dollars left (from giving land mine casualties most of my smaller bills) i should have known to have been better prepared. it was clear that previous travelers paid off these kids, taught them ridiculous poses, and perpetuated the theory of entitlement.

my waist-level viewfinder is so fun. unbeknownst to them, i had already snapped their collective and individual portraits numerous times. there is never any indication that the entire scenario has been captured on film, and i never would have allowed these children in on the fact that their annoyance was slightly amusing.


legend- killing fields of choeung ek, cambodia

the children followed me around the goopy mass graves and managed to harass at every turn (asking for money, food, pens, clothes, my hair, or my daypack) and it was all under the guise that anything distributed was to be donated to the local school.

"for school... for school," they kept screaming and singing as i tip-toed around the site, trying to avoid the human bones which protruded from the ground. after awhile they decided they would assemble in the rice paddy, i would take a picture, and then i would give each participant five dollars! when that suggestion didn't work out, they proceeded to excavate teeth from the ground with the help of a human femur. apparently some tourists have the audacity to take a souvenir and a tooth is the top choice.


unearthing bones, choeung ek, cambodia

how irritating it must have been to intend to disturb me, but not succeed. after some time without visible aggravation, they planned to block every photograph i took of the killing fields until exiting the grounds. their efforts were thwarted by the distraction of conversation. it worked for a minute or two, but then they would realize what was happening and continue singing "money moneee moneeee for schooooool." they became angry. i quickened my visit and began to worry as to whether or not they would throw rocks.

the killing fields memorial site draws less than twenty tourists a day. i was a rare case seeing as i am a young female, visiting without a guard, and was not with a minibus group. perhaps they didn't know i had arrived by minibike? perhaps they thought i was extremely affluent and came by private car? later in the day, while zipping back to phnom penh, i saw an extremely rich foreigner (with a hired car, guard, guide, and driver) navigating the same dusty road to the memorial for his independent tour.

another image of the strange madness has been captured in a photograph where the children are stacking bones in a pile under a tree.

[internet cafe, phnom penh, cambodia]


smoky morning- phnom penh, cambodia

unless a volunteer opportunity avails itself that is too good to pass up, i don't think i will ever return here to phnom penh for any reason. god, knowing in advance is one thing, but when the combined smells wafting in the air of third world cities hit you... bah. just kidding.

what to do today? what to see besides the killing fields of choeung ek, tuol sleng s-21 prison museum, and then wander around the psar tuol tom pong market? go to the foreign correspondents' club, they say, and detour to happy herb's (for no longer very happy) "herb" pizza, but why? i am not interested in touring the national museum, and as for the famous silver pagoda, well, i'm too pagoda-ed out to see another shrine decked out in trashy mini christmas tree lights. nothing else today? good, i can do all of that this afternoon and catch a bus for the beach in the morning.

next:
- overland from siem reap to phnom penh.
- catching an early fast boat to cross the tonle sap.
- accommodations in phnom penh: unreserved

from the back of a minibike- siem reap, cambodia

bayon: temple of the smiling faces, angkor thom.


[angkor wat temples, cambodia]
while i drank bottled water under a metal roof and moved the sandy dirt floor of the restaurant around with my feet, four young girls tried to convince me to buy a package of poorly printed postcards. "...for your mom... for your friends..." but my mother has neither spoken to nor sent e-mail to me since the day i mentioned this adventure included a return trip to singapore... and i don't have any friends.

the girls tried to sell me beaded bracelets, flutes, t-shirts, fake gold statues, books, etc, just like everywhere else in the world, except they wanted to make deals with me to warrant a purchase. i would quiz them and then buy based on their knowledge of history and geography of the united states. they tried to impress me with the president's name, the capitol, names of states, and cited the populations of major cities which may not sound interesting, but the adults i met in cambodia were completely unaware of los angeles. [they were also unfamiliar with the location of california but a few had heard of the usa. not many people outside of the angkor wat/siem reap area have the money to travel around their own country or tour the temples.]

such obnoxious pests the girls were, and one even told me while she coiled my braid around her hand, that she did not want me to buy anything from her, she only wanted half of my long hair. if invisible braces hadn't given them away as affluent actors, the well-schooled girl's sarcasm would have blown their cover. after i apologized for not buying anything aside from a wooden flute for my nephew one complained, "but i'm sorry isn't making this sale happen!"

mototaxi guide- siem reap, cambodia

[siem reap, cambodia]
on a road so dusty we had to occasionally stop to wipe off our eyeglasses, my guide and i ran out of gasoline in the middle of nowhere. whoknowswhere was somewhere deep in the jungle and close to the angkorian era site of kbal spean- the valley of 1000 lingas. right where our dirt bike sputtered and died stood a stick-wielding kid who was out poking cows on the side of the road. he waved us down to the next hut for a fill-up. while we were walking, two different pickup trucks with fruit, wood, and locals piled in the back, found it amusing to throw their eaten melon rinds at us as they passed by and continued on down the unfortunate road.

cambodian prerequisite: terrace of honor
12th century temple of angkor wat at dawn

[red piano guest house, siem reap, cambodia]
after the anxiety attack yesterday concerning how to get to siem reap, it must be said that traveling overland from bangkok to cambodia (via a train, tuk tuk, and toyota camry) is not really worth mentioning. who the are these people who go about perpetuating myths that independent travelers will get robbed or cheated in the town of poipet? armed with a little information, the process bargaining my way from bangkok to the door of the hotel in siem reap was not considered a stressful experience. upon reaching the border, it was a dusty and boring drive, but the threat of the unknown did keep me quite entertained.


bumpy dirt roads-- siem reap, cambodia
mototaxi driver, wearing an orange longyi-- siem reap, cambodia

it should be noted that by going overland without a minibus, pickup truck, and the visa support (which was the 'scam bus' option), i arrived in siem reap at 4:00pm-- seven hours earlier than any scam bus passenger. traveling independently gave me an extra evening and opportunity to see the sunset at the angkor wat temples.

and... the unconditioned road from the thai/cambodian border out to siem reap is horribly speckled with pot holes-- occasionally we slowed and drove around pits the size of hot tubs. this trip between the two towns, in concert with my maniacal driver, actually functioned to rip up some of my belongings.

[kt guest house, bangkok, thailand]
it's a good thing i am flexible now because i arrived too late into bangkok and didn't get down to a khao san road travel agency to buy a 'scam bus' ticket to cambodia. you know what this means? this means i'm screwed and my whole itinerary which took three weeks to plan has been shot to hell... so i get to stay in bangkok another day, only for the reason to book a bus ticket. another consideration is to manage the overland portion out to cambodia myself without the pre-arranged bus ride from hell. i have to wonder if i am making the 'scam bus' option sound much easier than it is.

the usual thoughts appeared upon waking: no! no! i am not in bangkok alone, am i? this is not happening. how did i get here? oh no-- but since i am all alone, the anxiety disorder must stop immediately.

now, my name might not be included on the passenger manifest for the arranged 'scam bus' which leaves khao san soon, but what can i do? is it possible for me to travel overland independently. sure, it's possible, but i mean "is this a viable option for me?"

what if i hop a train from hualaphong station here in bangkok to arrive in aranyaprathet (the nearest thai town to the border of cambodia) and then hire a tuk tuk driver to drive me to customs and immigration in poipet? all i need to do is buy the cambodian visa and then bargain with a driver in that armpit town for a camry ride to [the town at the main fork in the road to siem reap which starts with an "s" which i cannot remember but sounded strangely lyrical]-- or perhaps i could hire a driver in poipet for the entire overland drive to siem reap?

no! no! no!
traveling overland to cambodia ALONE and in an air conditioned car?!
i don't need 'all that.'

sisophon, i think is the name of that town... or i could linger in bangkok for another day to buy a ticket and then take the 'scam bus' tomorrow?

me: taking the 'scam bus' tomorrow is only wasting one day.
brain: not happening.
me: it's safer, so why not?
brain: grab your stuff. find out how, then go and do.
me: the 'scam bus' is a definite yes!
brain: no.

hmm... traveling overland independently cannot be too hard. if i arrive to the train station in time for the first departure to aranyaprathet there doesn't appear to be any issue. there are apt to be a thousand touts at the end of the train line. me and my backpack in aranyaprathet, it's going to be fairly obvious to anyone that i am a traveler either headed to angkor wat, battambang, or bangkok. okay. i will try this and not waste a day here-- though it is one of my favorite cities and i don't really mind.

this $12.50 a night kt guest house is surprisingly nice considering i expected to be knee deep in humid and moldy grottiness. it's a bit removed, though. had i intended to stay in the city for a few days it would not be at this location.

you know, i don't have to do this overland route alone.
yes, i do...
oh, i hate this.

[changi international, singapore]
who had the bright idea for this extended mileage run?
i'm not even there yet.
...and i do not have anything to write.
...i have been on so many planes that i don't even know where there is.

[northwest airlines flight #11: detroit to tokyo narita]
a female flight attendant with a list approaches:
"miss flagrant, did you order a special meal?"
"no."
"it shows here a low sodium meal."
"no. i made certain there are no special requests listed in my elite profile."
"you must have ordered one. this list shows you did."
"there are specific reasons i did not order anything special."
"it says you did."
"then why are you asking me if you already have the only acceptable answer?"
then the waitress in the sky finally left.

"cambodia! you're taking a tour?"

GOD! GOD! GOD! GOD NO!!

the primetime airport shuttle driver was more than surprised at where i eventually would deliver myself. can you imagine how a part of me thought to take the question of touring with an organized group as an insult? i can go and do better than a lot of other people so why do a few episodes of shyness here and there keep me thinking that i cannot?

"oh no, it's just me on this trip. well, me and a map," i smiled, hoping not to choke on his words. here next to me sat the first person i met on this trip, and let me point out that this driver seemed to be an effective human being, but even he could not comprehend my level of functioning.

is this a vacation with a mileage run thrown in?
or a mileage run with an added vacation?

trip itinerary:
lax (los angeles, california) - mem (memphis, tennessee)
mem (memphis, tennessee) - dtw (detroit, michigan)
dtw (detroit, michigan) - nrt (narita tokyo, japan)
nrt (narita tokyo, japan) - sin (changi intl, singapore)
sin (changi intl, singapore) - kul (kuala lumpur, malaysia)
kul (kuala lumpur, malaysia) - bkk (bangkok, thailand)

overland:
siem reap
phnom penh
sihanoukville
bangkok

bkk (bangkok, thailand) - kul (kuala lumpur, malaysia)
kul (kuala lumpur, malaysia) - bki (kota kinabalu, borneo)

[added: bki (kota kinabalu, borneo) - sdk (sandakan, borneo)]

sdk (sandakan, borneo) - twu (tawau, borneo)[sipadan island]

twu (tawau, borneo) - bki (kota kinabalu, borneo)
bki (kota kinabalu, borneo) - kul (kuala lumpur, malaysia)
kul (kuala lumpur, malaysia) - jhb (johor bahru, malaysia)

sin (changi intl, singapore) - nrt (narita tokyo, japan)
nrt (narita tokyo, japan) - dtw (detroit, michigan)
dtw (detroit, michigan) - mem (memphis, tennessee)
mem (memphis, tennessee) - lax (los angeles, california)

is it much farther, papa smurf?
not long now.