Gara’s Weblog

Hola:

Aquí estoy, bajo el sol abrasador de la época más calurosa del año en Camboya. Vine desde Bangkok con un chico al que conocí en el hostal en el que me estaba alojando: mi tercer compañero de viaje estadounidense, y de nuevo todo un hallazgo. Tiene que ser que el pequeñísimo porcentaje de ellos que tienen pasaporte, y que se aventuran a viajar solos por el mundo, son de una pasta especial, como lo eran también Jennifer y Ryan. Greg tiene también el empaque intelectual, la ironía, y la rapidez mental que tenía Ryan, y ha sido un placer viajar juntos y mantener larguísimos debates en las largas veladas camboyanas. Es un tipo extraño, desconcertante a veces, con muchísimas capas inesperadas, graciosísimo.

Empezamos el viaje en Phnom Penh, la capital, donde pasamos cuatro días explorando la loca ciudad, polvorienta y pegajosa. Yo seguía, y sigo, con repetidos episodios amébicos, así que mi espíritu viajero estaba mermado, pero aún así hicimos mil cosas: pateamos la ciudad, visitamos a los niños que viven en los vertederos para llevarles fruta y jugar con ellos un rato, y recorrimos los episodios oscuros de la Historia de Camboya en los Campos de Exterminio y el Museo del Genocidio, la espantosa herencia dejada por Pol Pot. Cuando el caos y el polvo de la capital ya hacían mella, nos cogimos un autobús al mar, y empezamos a atravesar unos campos verdes maravillosos que veíamos como si fuéramos caminando, porque la velocidad media del autobús era de treintaycinco kilómetros por hora. Habíamos pensado acabar en un lugar llamado Kampot, pero como siempre sucede en estos viajes, los encuentros azarosos deciden el recorrido y la forma del periplo, y nos sentamos detrás de un belga que nos dijo que más bonito era Kep, y que él tenía unos bungalows a diez dólares la noche, así que allí nos bajamos.

Y sí, era el paraíso. Seguro, uno de los lugares más preciosos que he visto hasta la fecha: unas montañas cubiertas de jungla tropical, campos de arroz, casas de pescadores, el mar, y un montón de hotelitos apetecibles, diseñados para turistas. Pasamos cuatro días de relax que hubiera disfrutado más si hubiera estado sana, pero tuve picos de fiebre y el consabido alboroto estomacal. Me ha resultado curioso observar como el estado de mi salud determinaba a cada momento mi estado psicológico, y como mi espíritu viajero se excitaba o desaparecía dependiendo del estado corporal del día. Estas malditas amebas son resistentes y prometen estar en mi organismo durante un tiempo, así que he decidido acostumbrarme a su presencia, y Greg se dirige a mí en plural, incluyendo a los colonizadores que me habitan. ;)

De Kep volvimos a Phnom Penh para hacer una escala de una noche. Yo tenía mono de un buen plato de pasta, que hacía meses que no degustaba, y acabamos en un italiano minúsculo donde disfruté de unos linguine cocidos al dente, perfectos, que me llenaron de un curioso e inmediato placer después de mucho tiempo de arroces blancos insípidos y dieta blanda. Suelo despotricar contra los que recurren a su cocina cuando viajan, porque insisto en que la gastronomía de cada país es una parte de la cultura tan importante como sus lugares históricos o su gente, pero he descubierto que cuando se viaja durante tanto tiempo es a veces reconfortante el volver a sabores conocidos, como si el cuerpo los reconociera y asimilara mejor. El otro día acabamos tomando una mousse de chocolate en un chiringuito regentado por un francés sesentón, que tenía los dientes negros y estaba borracho perdido a las tres de la tarde, y que servía foie gras y rillettes de canard en plena Camboya, mientras ponía jazz a todo volúmen para amenizar a sus comensales, fascinados ante el espectáculo de este hombre peculiar.

Siem Reap, donde estoy ahora, era mi anhelado destino por la misma razón que empuja a todos los viajeros que venimos aquí: los templos de Angkor Wat. Pero una vez más, el tener demasiadas expectativas lleva inevitablemente a una cierta decepción. Y aclaro: no es que los templos sean decepcionantes; son impresionantes, y alucina esa extensión inmensa, abarcable sólo si se recorre en tuc-tuc (rickshaw para los indios), plagada de templos invadidos por la naturaleza. Lo que ocurre es que se habla de Angkor Wat como de la Meca en lo que a arquitectura templaria se refiere, y cuando se ha recorrido La India y se han visto lugares como Hampi, u Orchha, o el fuerte de Jodhpur, o tantas otras cosas, no impresiona. Impresiona menos también porque está más organizado, y hay autobuses llenos de turistas en las entradas de los templos, en lugar de montañas de indios tirados al sol o gritándote cosas. No es que eche de menos ese caos, en absoluto, pero hubiera querido que Angkor Wat, y sobre todo Siem reap, se parecieran menos a un parque temático. La ciudad es casi de cartón-piedra, hecha tan sólo de hoteles y restaurantes para occidentales, y da la sensación de que apenas viven ya camboyanos en ella, pero en cuanto uno se adentra en las zonas rurales (uno de los viajes a un templo remoto, a dos horas de aquí, fue un placer por poder ver el campo interminable y las casas de madera tradicionales, elevadas sobre pilares para que no se las coma la humedad), el paisaje social cambia y ya sí se está en el extranjero, muy en el extranjero, que sí, todavía existe fuera del mundo occidental aunque quizás por poco tiempo.

Y mañana a Tailandia. Creo que reduciré la ya reducida labor de crónica; me encuentro poco inspirada, pero intentaré al menos colgar fotos y dar cuenta de por dónde continúan mis pasos.

Os mando un beso muy fuerte,
Gara.

P.S: El calor es de otro mundo: cinco litros de agua diarios, y la ropa pegada al cuerpo, empapada, todo el día. Nunca he sudado más. No mejora por la noche. Tenemos aire acondicionado en la habitación, o dormir sería imposible.

Haciendo cola para comida gratis./ Queuing up for free food.

Greg con los niños del vertedero./ Greg with the kids of the slum.

El legado de los khmeres rojos./ The khmer rouge legacy.

Una celda de tortura./ Torture cell.

En el campo, con dos hermanos./ At the countryside, with some kids.

Hemos visto unas tormentas tropicales bestiales./ We saw some amazing tropical storms.

Kep tropical./ Tropical Kep.

Idílico mar. / Idyllic seaside.

Paz./ Peace.

Mercado de pescadores./ Fishermen market.

Angkor Wat.

Relieve./ Relief.

Un templo./ A temple.

Desde una colina./ From a hill.

(Algo en español, abajo).

This post was going to be in English from the start in your honor, Oliver, as you are quite possibly the person who would be more interested in hearing about this country… A country that I will have to explore more in the future. I wrote on a notebook every day, as the access to the internet was hard, if not almost impossible. I will transcribe some of it; not all because I would bore you all (it looks like a medical report). Here it goes:

20/03/2009- 1st day.
My last night in India has been another sleepless one. In the morning I take a taxi to the airport with the hope of being able to find a seat on the plane. I say to the man at the desk: “I need to fly today”, and as I expected I have a ticket with me within twenty minutes.

I thought I was feeling better, but that morning had started with another not-so-pleasant visit to the toilet, and once at the airport I go every fifteen minutes. It gets so bad that I call the emergency doctor and ask him for some Imodium. He advises me not to fly in my state, and to stay in India and heal before traveling again. I refuse, as I can’t bear the idea of being one more day in Kolkata. I go to the waiting room. I approach a young woman, a backpacker like myself, and ask her if she minds having a little chat, as I am going through a pretty low moment. Not at all, she says kindly. Once in the plane, our seats are far from each other and we part.

I spend the whole flight lying down, in a semi-hallucinating state, but I wake up twenty minutes before landing. From the top, Myanmar looks flat and empty, and I love it.

At the airport, Ryan waits for me and we go to a guesthouse together and decide to share a room. The guesthouse is cosy and spotless, like a dream, and I am convinced I will heal here or nowhere. We go for a walk, and I have some plain noodles in one of those great street places, packed with little plastic tables and chairs, and people enjoying the night.

21/03/2009- 2nd day.
When we get up, the people at the guesthouse have prepared a lovely breakfast. I’m not used to this anymore! It makes me feel happy and comfortable, but I can’t eat much because I’m feeling rather sick again. We go for a walk and explore the city for the whole day. We go to the market, and to the Shwedagon Paya before sunset. We walk for hours. Ryan doesn’t talk much, but when she does, she is accurate and sharp. She is cultured and intelligent, and American. The second American companion of my trip. We go to Chinatown for dinner and some street kids play some wonderful music. The heat has been intense all day and I have drunk over five litres of water. My stomach is getting worse; I try to ignore it. I love being here and I don’t want anything to ruin it.

22/04/2009- 3rd day.
I get up very early and go to the toilet too often. I start to worry. I decide not to eat, and we go to buy some bus tickets to go up North. I was going to take a different route, alone, but decide that in my state it’s better to have some company. The bus leaves at 12:30. It’s packed, and there are even chairs on the aisle. The heat is very intense, and it’s a fifteen hour ride with a bad stomach. We hardly talk at all, we are not even sitting one beside the other. I have to ask the driver to stop for the toilet. They play the most horrendous and violent film I have ever seen. It’s violent to an extreme I cannot believe, or bear. It shows rapes, too, as if it were something normal. I am honestly scandalised. After eight hours, the trip seems endless, the road gets bumpier and more tortuous, and I feel as if it’s never going to end. Everyone sleeps but I just can’t- I can never sleep if I’m sitting down. We finally arrive to Kalaw at 5:30am. It’s dark and chilly. We ckeck into a guesthouse and go to bed.

23/03/2009- 4th day.
I wake up at eight. The visits to the toilet continue, but I refuse to admit I won’t heal. We go to find a trekking guide and agree to a three-day trek from tomorrow. We go for a five hour walk in the mountains, we come across many military men and many monks. We go into a beautiful old monastery and they offer us some tea. We just sit on the floor for about an hour and try to communicate by signs. In the afternoon, back in Kalaw, we explore the village. The Burmese are just so lovely and discrete, it feels so good. We have dinner at a local place and have an amazingly interesting conversation. I am torn between my intellect and my health, but still happy to be in Burma.

24/04/2009- 5th day.
The trek starts. Toe-Toe, our guide, is a woman of our same age, who speaks reasonably good English and talks to us very openly about her family problems and her dislike for her husband. We walk through beautiful landscapes and lost villages, and go into a couple of very humble wood houses which are inhabited by several families. I am feeling worse, and have to stop for a quick visit to a bush several times. I’m still not too concerned, but it’s starting to be far too much. At about five, we reach a small place where we are going to spend the night. There’s a big empty wooden room with some mattresses on the floor. We have a tea by the vegetable garden, and a woman with two young kids comes along to take some water from the well. We talk to her by signs, and she touches our skin again and again and tells Toe-Toe how soft it is. She takes us over to her place for some tea- it’s a big room with a fireplace for cooking on one side, some big bags of rice on the floor, and six kids running around. Her husband arrives just after dark. They both look much older than they are.

We go back to our place, where dinner is ready. They have prepared a beautiful table with candles and lots of delicious food. I’m so amazed and grateful, but I can hardly eat. They indirectly ask us to go to bed at eight thirty. I read for a couple of hours and then fall asleep. At one o’clock, I wake up and run to the outside. At this point my stools are completely liquid, and so full of blood and mucous that I now worry seriously. I spend most of the night out there, I can’t hold anything inside anymore. At one point, I hate myself for being so stubborn and I think I should have stayed in India until I healed. I get scared, in that lonely lost place. The night passes by slowly. Finally the morning comes, and I tell Toe-Toe I have to go to the nearest town in order to get a doctor. I hate to have to leave, I was loving this trek so much. Ryan very kindly suggests we leave together. Before doing so, I tell Toe-Toe I would like her to put some traditional Burmese make-up on me. She is delighted. She takes me up to the room, and does it carefully. When she has finished, she puts her hands on my shoulders and says: You have to go to Thailand and go to a good doctor, it’s better for you. Then she looks at me and adds: I love you. I have to make efforts not to cry. We walk to a train station and take the slowest train ever. After five hours we reach our destination and still have to take a pick-up to Inle Lake. Once there, I buy a plane ticket to fly back to Yangon the next morning; the planes for today are already gone. I have made up my mind and have decided to fly to Bangkok to get treated. I manage to speak to my sister for a minute and tell her about the situation. I give her the phone number of the guesthouse in case they can call me in the evening. I so need to talk to someone I love, I feel so rough. I go for a walk through the town. It’s so beautiful and peaceful, and I talk to a couple of very friendly locals. Shit, I don’t want to leave- Myanmar was my dream, but my health has taken over. At night, my father calls me and tells me he has contacted the French Embassy in Yangon and I will be treated there, in some hospital of the city. I feel very grateful and relieved. I go to sleep.

I will leave the transcription here. I went to Yangon and got treated in a great clinic, where people treated me marvelously. I spent a few days in Yangon getting better, but something had happened to my mind and I was uneasy with loneliness and felt I had lost the spirit of the traveler. One morning, I went up to my room and met these two Spanish guys in the landing. Two men, one of fifty-seven and the other of thirty- travelers who had met in Myanmar and had spent some days visiting the country together. We sat down and chatted, and one of those extraordinary coincidences of life happened: the older man had been working and living in Eton College for five years. We talked about the people, about the places, about all the little corners, and in amazement and disbelief we found out we had lived in the exact same flat. As we talked, he made me remember so many things, and it was so weird, so surreal, to have all those memories back in the heavily hot, humid days of the summer in Yangon.

I was looking into flying to Bagan, the one place I didn’t want to miss out on. I could have taken a bus too, but it was a sixteen hour trip and I didn’t feel my body was up for the challenge yet. The flights were far too expensive: my full budget for a two week stay in Cambodia. These guys tell me they are leaving to Bangkok in a couple of days; they tell me to go with them, and I am tempted. One morning I call the airline I’m due to fly with, and ask about the possibility of moving forward the date of my departure. They say No problem, and they don’t charge me for it. Decision made.

So I spent four days less than planned in Myanmar, and I am now in Bangkok, until Friday when I will fly to Cambodia.

Lots of love to everyone,
Gara.

Hola a todos:

Mi incursión en Myanmar fue por desgracia mucho más breve de lo que había planeado en un principio: la estancia fue primero mutilada, como recordaréis, por una estancia más larga de lo deseable en Calcuta, y después por el arrastre de las amebas hasta mi rendición, que me llevó de vuelta a Yangon a curarme, y finalmente a Bangkok antes de lo previsto. Ahora estoy aquí, esperando volar a Camboya el viernes.

Lo que vi de Myanmar fue maravilloso. El contraste con La India fue brutal en todos los sentidos: la tranquilidad, la discreción de la gente, la desaparición del acoso, por fin. Así que es un país que tendré que visitar en el futuro, quizás cuando la presión internacional haya derrocado por fin a la dictadura…

Besos a todos,
Gara.

 

Woman and kids with the traditional Burmese make-up./ Mujer y niños con el maquillaje tradicional birmano.

At the Shwedagon paya./ Shwedagon pagoda.

In the bus./ En el autobús.

Monks and military men are about to eat./ Comida lista para militares y monjes.

Ryan playing football with some monk kids./ Ryan jugando al fútbol con unos niños-monje.

At the countryside./ En el campo.

The speed of the trains is unbelievably slow./ La velocidad de los trenes es prácticamente inexistente.

Typical entrance to a house./ Entrada de casa típica.

Typical village./ Aldea típica.

Toe-Toe, our trekking guide./ Toe-Toe, nuestra guía.

Train vendors./ Vendedores ambulantes.

Yangon is full of these kind of street markets./ Yangon está plagado de mercados callejeros como este.

Some guys playing checkers./ Unos tipos jugando a las damas.

The TV is essential!/ La tele es lo primero.

The port of Yangon./ El puerto de Yangon.

Typical country house./ Típica casa de aldea.

Fighting the illness, and with the Burmese make-up vanishing away./ En plena lucha contra la enfermedad, y con los restos del maquillaje típico en la cara.