Following Happiness

Night.
Feet in the river,  in Kapot we lie in a bungalow on the water, following our dream of a 'Neverland.
It's raining, reminding us not to rely on our expectations, teaching us to take happiness as it arrives, giving up on beaches to rediscover rivers instead of the sea, starting loving a quiet town accidentally ended up on our path.

Sleepy morning on cosy chairs facing the river, a soft orange light, a lullaby for our tired eyes, which easily close to the rhythm of Radiohead… There's always music at the bar.
Abandoned our plans of visits to waterfalls, jungles and caves, we hardly resign ourselves to rest, defeating our curiosity to discover and wander around.
"Maybe it's time to wander a bit 'inside myself," I think, “to have a look not only at the travel notes, but also at the thoughts, emotions, people who have run into me during the last weeks.

And thoughts start to reorder, slowly, and I start to face my problems. Apparently lefts at home, they continue to knock at my door, incessantly.

Finally, the sky opens up and we're immediately ready for a bike ride on muddy roads. The countryside is full of children playing around, men riding buffalos, Cambodian monks walking to their English classes.
And then evening comes, a comfortable silence falls upon our words, so simple to share in this darkness ... "Are you happy?"



I walked a lot, during these days, discovering amazing places and doing incredible things. I swam in a dark river, I followed reckless bikers in jungle, I watched sunrises, I fell asleep to the sound of the rain, I discussed art and human resources with Buddhist monks.  But above all, I gave up my independence and my self-consciousness. And I realized that I can handle to lose control, I can be safe trusting others. So I started my adventure with two great friends, discovering that joy that is full only if shared.

Life Fragments at Angkor Wat

                                                                    Cambodia, Angkor Wat


There’s no rest for the tourists who visit Angkor Wat.
Temples as large as cities are waiting in ambush, exciting the curiosity of hasty travellers and tireless explorers, condemning them to wake up at sunrise and march till sunrise,unsuccessfully escaping the sun and the thousands of fellow tourists packed in increasingly crowded temples. Staircases, domes, statues, altars and lakes, bridges and sacred groves. Dozens of pages of history, a heavy feeling of helplessness, a sorrow for not having enough time to contemplate everything.

Today, on my third day, I realized how much I have changed during these months.
Abandoned the list of Wat, Ta, Preah [1]  to visit, today I allowed myself the luxury ten hours of sleep. I decided not to hike to the river of a thousand lingas and I had a slow breakfast, enjoying banana pancakes to the rhythm of Beatles.
My “to do list” forgotten, I rent a bike and I left.
Once in a while, with no self-imposed tour de force to respect, riding through the trees lining the road from Siem Reap to Angkor Wat, I discovered the magic of these places. With no rush, no more running and stairs-climbing, I took the time to look at chickens and butterflies, to stare at monkeys and dragonflies, to smile to Japanese tourists and Cambodian families.
"Do you want ten postcards? One, two, three, four ... ".
 Smiling, I followed the chant of children at the entrance of the temples. I turned off the sound of thoughts and I walked to temples already seen, so different if looked in a different way. Tiptoeing without making any noise, I collected fragments of other people's days, women squatting in the rice fields, men sleeping under a tree, children greet each other, shouting "Hello" as loud as they can.
And I realized that it is not running that I will find my joy.

________________________________________
[1]  Names of some of the temples of Angkor Wat

Amp

This evening I should publish a post about temples, rice paddies and children ...

I should write a nice page on Cambodia describing places that make you dream.

But I will talk about a page of my life, and I will devote it to an angel I met tonight.

It's 10 30 pm and I am in a remote village near Bangkok.

I left from Cambodia at 7 am and I was supposed to get to Bangkok at 7pm...On time for a very important skype interview at 10 pm.

But that’s what happened:

- phone lost on the first bus:

- seven minivans changed on the way to Thailand;

- accident with a truck overturned on the road,

- four-hour delay;

- Almost missed my job interview (for which I gave up three days of relax on an island...)

What happened then ...?

I met one of those angels who wait at the roadside, who doesn’t speak your language but understand your heart, who doesn’t need your ID card to trust you and  watch your sadness healing your pain…

My angel’s name is Amp, she doesn’t speak English and doesn’t even know my name.

I met her on the street: she was coming home from work, I was walking on the roadside, desperately alone, seeking for an internet cafe '.

After realizing that I would never be in Bangkok before midnight I went off the bus in a remote thai village.

Amp saw me, tried to understand what I was saying and finally took me to her house.

She gave me the keys (!) and guided me into a fantastic internet point.

...

Tonight she will to sleep at a friend’s: I will sleep in her house, a perfect stranger that she has welcomed home. The only thing I managed to say was the warmest thank you form my heart…

Phnom Pehn

Describing Phnom Penh is difficult: you end up with a bitter taste in your mouth, sucked into an inevitable memory, submerged in a future development, insatiable and unchecked. Radical chic restaurants and bio-ethical shops, wide streets and shopping malls, Lucky supermarkets and Happy Herb Pizza.

It’s easy to find yourself lost, disoriented, wondering in which part of the world you happen to be. But there are a couple of things that can help you to make up your mind: the Tuol Seng Museum and the Choeng Ek killing fields are places that you will never forget.

April 17, 1975: the Kmher Rouge entered Phnom Penh establishing a new government. In three years of power more than two million people were killed.

"I am legally responsible for the deaths of more than a thousand people and I pray for their souls." We read in the testimony of a hierarch of Democratic Kampuchea.

How to accept, how to understand this?

Let’s drink the bitter cup of the memory, swalloying it with Angkor Beer, while listening absent-mindely to a Coldplay song. We stare out in front of a city that we cannot understand, without identifying its boundaries of sense, wondering if it is kneeling to capitalism or hiding its true nature in narrow streets, drowing it in open sewers, forgetting it in fashionable clothes and mixed fruit shakes.

We are leaving tomorrow, heading to Siem Reap, to admire the enigmatic smiles of Angkor temples.

Remebering Saigon

5.25 am

The sun rises on the coast of Vietnam, while my taxi run to the airport of Danang.

What am I looking for in Ho Chi Minh City?

Maybe just memories.

Colonial memories hidden in few ancient buildings, in the Christian churches, along the wide tree-lined avenues. Remembrance of a past that burns in shreds, concealed in awkward memories of a war, covered up by the traffic and the rows of motorbikes.

And then the silence: a guilty, empathetic, resigned, still silence in the eyes of visitors of the War Museum. Torture, dioxin, napalm, malformations.

Forgotten words of declaration of principles.

They are disappearing, running far away, falling empty in the centuries, reflected in the horrors of today’s wars, so similar to pictures of forty years ago.

The wounds remain, without words.

We will learn one day.

Meanwhile, we try to be reassured by the other face of this land, by the green fields of the Mekong Delta, by its light blue sky. Floating markets, tropical gardens and water hyacinths, rice fields, boats, bananas and children, suspended wooden bridges: a motorbike darting through lotus fields, fighting cocks and ducks shepherds.

I close my eyes on top of a mountain, curled up in a hammock, facing the sunset.

And a bell rings far away…

Smell of ginger...

                                                                                          Vietnam, Hoi An

Smell of ginger ...

Of ginger and fresh fish, the stalls lichi, avocado and dragon fruit. Tourist shops, T-shirts, bookmarks and sleeping bags. Triangular straw hats, colourful vegetables, smiling old ladies: a kaleidoscope of emotions.

"Come, look for a scarf" "Do you want a foot massage?", "Italy, football."

And then a narrow little street, a door to another world.

So I enter it slowly, allowing time to admire the life that flows on the river.

I sit on a plastic chair, sipping a fruitshake, suddenly realizing that I don’t need to run in order to understand. On the contrary, there are lots of things that can be grabbed only when we stop.

Tonight I said a prayer to the river.

A little old lady looked at me and gave me three coloured lanterns, which I let go away…

How to describe Hoi An?

A caress of warm wind, soft lighting of candles on the water, live music on the roadside.

I cannot describe the magic of red lanterns, colourful lamps on the trees, the poetry of Chinese kites on a bridge.

A spell for tourists, maybe ... But it is still magic.

Goodbye Cat Ba

It's raining over the bay: It has been raining all day long.

And for various reasons It Is raining also in me.
Smell of fish, intermittent bursts of water, a warm wind, a sky spotted with black clouds. Some boats are still in the harbor, little lights moving away. Among them there is also our little junk, where we will spend two days, probably under the rain.

"There is no bad weather: it’s all a matter of suitable clothes”, The Norvegian motto came back to my mind. Surely this time I haven’t a suitable dress. Flip-flops, two shirts and a pair of trousers: that’s all I brought, keeping in mind that “The lighter you travel, the farer you will arrive”.

True, but not this time.

Luckily, my three Hawaiian friends lend me a k-way, a real treasure in these days of monsoon. A small red junk that seems to have just came out of a fairy tale book, a crew composed of two Vietnamese who don’t speak English, a young local as a cook.

Let’s the adventure start.

...

Islands, islands, islands, like falling stars in the dark water of the Gulf of Tonkin.
Unexpected visits to underground caves that we explore together with groups of Chinese and Thai. They talk all together, louder that the pop music of underground tourist shops: a picturesque affresco of different cultures mixing together. And then a good swim in secluded bays, a close encounter with transparent jellyfishes, morning showers with rain water and canoeing among colorful houses, guard dogs and bamboo bridges.
We sail zigzaging between remote islands, admiring their tropical vegetation, greeting other colorful boats, dreaming above this incredible turquoise water.

A strip of blue sky, and the sun rises, just when we are coming back to the port….

Goodbye Cat Ba: we will come back soon…