As I've touched on in posts before, there's an inherent masochism to travel. Heavy food, uncertain showers, bad night's sleep — who knows what we might encounter when we leave the familiar comforts of home? And then, if you're like me, there's the willingness to do things you know you won't find comfortable in part because you want to get to the final destination and also because you're curious to see the space in between the destinations, where the land changes from flat to mountainous, who travels the same route as you, what it looks like along the way.
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Getting to Paradise
As I've mentioned before, the laidback island life is not something that I've naturally gravitated to in life. Usually when I've taken my vacations (especially since starting in advertising nine years ago), I've wanted to see and do as much as humanly possible, making the most of the precious time abroad. What's been so unusual about this trip for me is that I've spent way more time relaxing at the beach (and relaxing in general) than I ever have before. I mean, when you're in the tropics with some of the best beaches in the world, do as the Romans, right? (Or, in this case, the Germans, French, Russians, Swedes, Danish, etc., etc.)
Given that I spent about 10 days in Cambodia in beach surroundings, a long morning at the beach in Hoi An, Vietnam, and a full day hanging out on Langkawi in Malaysia, it seems almost frivolous or excessively indulgent that I have yet another week or so of idle beach lounging on the itinerary. But when I booked my flight for Myanmar over a month ago, I had no idea how much time to allow (and I probably could have squeezed in those two islands in Malaysia and cut down of some of the Thailand time!). So, I'm making the best of allowing too much time in the islands in Thailand. I know, I know. What a pity party: I'm stuck on all these gorgeous tropical beaches for longer than I needed to be! Woe is me. Guess I can nourish that sadness with a dip in the pool and instagramming more pictures of palm trees.
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Hands down the most spectacular sunset I've ever seen. Langkawi, Malaysia
Lovely Langkawi
When I was on my overland adventure last fall in Kyrgyzstan (and briefly Uzbekistan), I asked the very-well-travelled tour leader what some of his favorite places were. "Here," he said, motioning out at a large farmer's field we happened to be camping in for the night en route to Karakol. "This is one of the best places I've ever been."
"OK, well, obviously," I said (Kyrgyzstan is totally amazing). "Where else?"
He paused for a moment and said thoughtfully, "Malaysia. I really like Malaysia."
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Paradise found: Otres Beach, Cambodia
I did it all for the Sihanouk-ie
All travel, in a way, is a form of masochism. Why else would we fly halfway around the world, hoist a heavy bag on our shoulder, and submerge ourselves into unknown languages, customs, currency? Sure, after time a little cultural assimilation is natural; we find ourselves naturally dropping a "s'il vous plait" upon ordering, we know to politely queue (or throw elbows), we find ourselves no longer fumbling through foreign coins and cash, proudly prouding the right notes almost instantaneously.
Everyone's threshold for masochism is different -- that's why for some, two weeks in Paris can be long enough to send anyone longing for the familiar routines at home, and others are ready to get down and dirty checking out the hotspots of, say, Rwanda for months on end.
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