We drove by three kids, leaning over the rickety rail outlining the lake beside their house. All three had long wooden fishing poles in their hands, as their feet dragged shoeless and muddy through the rain soaked marsh below them. They smiled as they fished and threw mud at nearby water buffalo, and draped their clothes over the post to dry between the frequent rainstorms. They looked more happy, content, & full of an energy for life than many a western child their age ( I realize the naivete of this thought, coming from my 'priveldeged 1st world Citizen' guilt complex, & so I humbly remind myself not to presume anything about what happiness or unhappiness looks like in their actual lives). I arrived in Phnom Penh with only $30 USD- which is enough to buy my visa, a night in a hostel, a pack of cigarettes (don't judge me, I'm traveling), a meal of the most delicious Indian food I've ever had, & 3 beers...so, I'm set.
After spending just a day or two in Phnom Penh, I was ready to be out of the city. I had just spent a month enjoying the bustle of urban life in Vietnam, but I was feeling the need to hit a beach and slow down for a bit. I planned to hit southern Cambodia, a south east Asian beach mecca in it's own right. I was hoping to avoid the main beaches of Sihanoukville, that were littered with garbage and rife with all the typical tourist molestations (IE- local restaurants put out of business by all night dance clubs pandering cheap drugs and sex tourism to those who have the power of the almighty dollar, pound, or Euro, and who have little appreciation for the once immaculate coastline they're now flicking their cigarettes onto). So I quickly hopped in a tuk tuk headed to the town over, called Otres Beach. I then looked into a boat charter to one of the outer islands, which I was assured are almost totally deserted during rainy season.
When I arrived on Koh Ta Kiev Island, I walked 1.5 miles barefoot through jungle paths to get to my camp. They were flooded and gnarled with tree roots, and I shivered for the first time in months while the afternoon downpour soaked me to the bone. We are only slightly guided along by an old man who speaks no English, only offering us waves of the hand to 'keep going' while he hangs a few yards behind us smoking cigarettes (upon arrival, we notice that his payment for said guidance is a free beer offered by the hostel). The "hostel" is one of only two accommodations on the entire island, both offering tree houses or campsites with no amenities (no electricity, running water, no windows or doors on any buildings). I am one of only 4 guests on this entire island. I immediately felt like I had tapped into something amazing and untouched. It's a place where I could sit all day smoking joints, swinging in hammocks, and letting the salt from the Gulf of Thailand harden to my skin after hours of her waves rocking me back and forth.
I had been on this trip for over two months, but I don't feel like I truly lost myself until Cambodia. It was here that I spent days bobbing in the sea, wandering deserted beaches, swaying on swings made of driftwood that slung just low enough that your toes gently grazed the surf as they glided above it. I lost my plans, lost my schemes, lost any lingering personal doubts, fears, & melodramas. I let all the weight of my world float off me and get carried out with the rough surf that pounded my ankles while I walked the beach. I lost my fear of the ocean, letting it grab me and toss me around and swallow me whole, only to spit me back out and return me peacefully to shore. I lost my panic for the future, and my anxieties of the past, as they both gave way to the present. It was a present so vast as it laid out before me, that there wasn't room to focus my attention on anything more. I emptied all of myself into this moment. I traded in all my past and current weights, for an untouched void with limitless potential to be filled in with renewed spirit, and strength, and energy, and life. I lost it all- and gained back my peace.
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