And we’re home. After a whirlwind fifteen months on the world’s largest, most populated continent, we find ourselves at last stationary, comfortable, and unemployed back in the good ‘ol USA. Arriving in Detroit after twenty hours in flight, it seemed unreal that we were finally back. We would not have to find and haggle with a taxi driver. We would not have to worry about where to sleep and if there would be a toilet available. We could, at long last, understand every word we heard. I just about kissed the ground at Newark under the giant, American-sized American flag outside Customs and Border Patrol, right next to the fresh portrait of some guy we heard got elected while we were gone.
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For the end of our adventure, we have saved perhaps the biggest, craziest, tastiest, poorest, prettiest, smelliest, and best for last: India. Though we have three weeks to spend here, that’s hardly enough time to even scratch the surface of this country, so we’ve resigned to planning our return trip even before this one is even finished. If the beginning is any indication, we’re in for wild ride.
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As we travel around Asia, we’ve been comparing notes with Marco Polo—and one place on which we certainly disagree is Tibet. Amidst his account of the locals’ scandalous marriage practices, he barely mentions a lama or makes even a passing remark on the significant lack of oxygen in the air. But for us, from the sacred monasteries in Lhasa to the foot of Mt. Everest, the altitude wasn’t the only thing that exceeded expectations.
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With Southeast Asia in the rear view mirror, we headed back to the Middle Kingdom for the third time this year. Given China’s strict policy on swine flu, our biggest concern (other than missing the flight, natch) was making it past the quarantine officers at Guilin International Airport. Unfortunately, some bad dim sum in Katie’s stomach was conspiring to make that as difficult as possible, striking at the absolute worst moment: after clearing health inspection, but before passport control. It’s a no-man’s-land with nothing but immigration forms and security officers, and no bathrooms to speak of. Katie endured bravely, though, and we make it to baggage claim without incident.
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Perhaps the Universe decided we needed a little humility. Perhaps Shiva felt that we just didn’t have enough destruction in our lives. Whatever the motivations of fate or the gods, we found ourselves on a speedboat racing up the Tonle Bassac toward Phnom Penh and a very rough two weeks in Cambodia. The plan was to cut a swath through the country, from the abandoned French resort towns on the Gulf of Thailand to the broad, swampy expanse around Battambang and the temples of Angkor. For the most part we were able to stick to the plan, but we encountered more than our fair share of bumps in the road along the way.
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