Luang Prabang, Laos - November 16 - 20

Another great hotel.  This is starting to feel decadent. Constant hymns of praise to great hotels. Is the trip about seeing new elements of the world? Exploring truly foreign lands? It is. But Southeast Asia seemed so foreign and it is our first time coming. The safety and comfort of special hotels seemed warranted. Maybe next time — now that I, the fraidy cat, am familiar; now that the air of mystery has lifted — we can go less luxuriously.

That said, the Azerai Hotel is an oasis of beauty and calm.  Right in the thick of things. Next door to a temple. (Though, here, everything is next door to a temple). Near to the confluence of the Nam Khan and the Mekong Rivers. Across the street from the night market, a road with nearly one hundred street vendors. Their offerings are a mixed bag. Baggy pants in an elephant print; same ones sold in Sri Lanka and Thailand. Spoons and medallions made from the melted metal of American bombshells. But also there are beautiful hand loomed silks and traditional clothes, finely made. Eventually, you get past the vendors as you approach the confluence of the rivers. The small streets and smaller lanes and alleys become a neighborhood of locals. There is, without question, a large tourist element here, too. Guest houses, restaurants, bars. But as you pass open doorways, there are local families tending their children, making dinner, doing their laundry, sitting with their feet up, the men shirtless, electric fans blowing, folded fans waving.

One of our best experiences was on one of these narrow lanes. There was a store front. It's doors were open. It's porch was wide. It was teeming with kids; younger and older than twenty years. A Frenchman stopped us. "Will you come in for a moment. Talk to the kids. They are learning English. They love to practice with foreigners". We stepped up to the porch. Sat down. Instantly, we were surrounded with eager, shining, bright eyed faces. Their stories were similar. Lots of siblings. They start work at six in the morning. They work six days a week. They work hard. They do not complain. They feel better English language skills will improve their employment prospects. Their passion was palpable. It became a mutual admiration society. We wanted to experience a new culture. They delivered new culture to us. They humanized, for us, every subsequent Lao we met.  The program is BigBrotherMouse.com

Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Our hotel is new. The new construction required conforming to the dimensions of the previous building. That is a good thing. Because of that, the hotel is a low profile two story rectangle with a large central open space filled with a large refreshing pool. We dipped several times a day. Like a broken record, I restate, it was hot steamy humid. Our room was on the ground floor in a corner. Behind us was a temple. Our first morning, we woke before sunrise. We heard a faint drum pulsing. Also we had a date. We requested to deliver rice to the passing monks at 6 AM. We went to the lobby. They had a basket of warm sticky rice for each of us. They had set a cushion on the sidewalk so we could comfortably kneel.

Since we began the Southeast Asia portion of the trip it has been an immersion into the world of Buddha. As our esteemed new nephew army officer in Sri Lanka put it, more or less, Buddha does not have to be a religion, it can be an idea of meditation and contemplation of the basic needs of humans and serving something other than yourself. On almost every street there is a temple compound. Each one has a population of novices (monks in training) and monks in residence. Life as a monk involves giving up worldly possessions and desires. Reducing their existence to the essentials. As few possessions as possible. Their needs are shelter: as little space each as nine by seven feet. Clothing: more when it is cold or buggy and less when it is sizzling. Their garments are a two rectangles of fabric; one wraps around the waist, the other creates a toga effect with the right shoulder exposed. The colorful fabric is natural fiber, hand made. The dye is from bark or stones or plants. The color varies from city to city. In Luang Prabang it is brilliant orange. Food: only enough to sustain the body and eaten only before noon.

Every day, they rise before the sun. They line up in order of age. They prepare their special bowl for the alms they will receive. It is forged from eight thin wedges of iron and fired five times. It stays with them for as long as they are a monk. For some it will be a lifetime. After chanting and pulses of the drum, they step out of the temple grounds and on to the city streets. They are respected. People know to ensure their heads are lower than the monks's heads. If people sit on the ground, they know to aim the soles of their feet away from the monks. The same goes for being in the presence of a Buddha statue. From our cushions in front of the Azerai, we know they are approaching because at the corner it looks like a paparazzi feeding frenzy. Like piranha. Chaos. We begin pinching the sticky rice into balls. When they walk by us, they will not stop, only slow down enough to raise the lid on their bowl. Suddenly, they were upon us. They passed faster than we'd anticipated. Take a deep breath. It will all be fine. Get in sync with their rhythm. One monk. Next monk. Another monk. So far, so good. We could not look at their faces, so preoccupied with putting the rice ball in each bowl. And that was okay because one of the 227 rules of conduct they commit to does not encourage smiling or eye contact. It would be immodest. They might be tempted to enjoy the attention. As the lined neared it's end, it was hard to keep our heads lower than the monks's because the final few were little children. It is expected every boy will, before the age of twenty, live as a novice monk. It brings honor to their family. Plus it is, for the less able families, a guaranteed education for the child.  Maybe it was the early hour. Or the surreal sight of photo hungry people who took our picture while we waited for monks. Or our fingers molding warm rice into balls. Or the face-to-bowl encounter with people and children who say no to possessions and ambition and competition and poverty; how can you be poor when you desire no possessions. Money loses it's power.



That was the morning. We were done by 6:30 AM. There were two other hotel guests who gave rice. A conversation began and we ended up joining them on their day of waterfalls and caves. An hour later, we were together on benches in the back of a bouncy pickup truck racing through rice harvests toward the falls. After 45 minutes, we arrived at the parking lot for Kuang Si Falls. It was also a food and souvenir area. We parked in front of our driver's mother's concession of flip flops and coconuts. She had tiny customers.



As for us, we had an eager beaver. Let's go!



The falls were splendid. They fell from on high. Not huge like Niagara, but still wonderful to feel the spray on our faces.



We followed a staircase up. It went this way and that. It ascended parallel to the falls. Near the top was a place for a swing and a dip.



We saw a sign for a cave and decided to go farther.  In all we walked several kilometers to the cave entry. There, the ticket man gave us each a flashlight and a tiny banana. We ate the bananas. The man said something. We didn't know what.  Once up top and in the cave, we knew he'd said, "the banana is your offering to Buddha".

On the way down, we met a pig. Say hi.



Back down the hill, and at a lower level of the falls, where they settle into pools, we swam in celadon water. The setting was paradise. Was Eden more beautiful?



We got back in the truck and bounced ninety minutes over rutted dirt roads to a village, it was smaller than a village. It had signs: "healthy village," "crime-free," "village women union - 3 aspects to be considered as good".



A woman offered me a sip of her rice whiskey. We bought tickets there for a short boat ride. Across the river, we ascended stairs and stairs to caves with assemblages of small Buddhas.







Then back to the boat, across the river, back through the village. Children played games from their imaginations, like children would do anywhere on the globe, laughing and tumbling. In straw half dome baskets, birds were kept from escaping dinner. Chickens pecked and clucked. Then back in the truck bed. Bounce bounce bounce. Dust clouds. We stopped to admire the sunset view over the river. Around the bend an elephant came walking. A teenage boy walked nearby. He was the boss. If the elephant ate foliage for too long, one word from the boy made him straighten up and walk. As they approached us, the boy climbed up on top. Good thing, too. People see elephants and think cute. This week, a dose of reality was served in the Chiang Mai Zoo. An elephant tired of his long time keeper. He rolled him up in his trunk and squeezed the life out of him.



One thing I have not mentioned, is the prevalence of cold fragrant towels. In Thailand, Cambodia and Laos, the hotels greet us constantly with cold damp towels, typically scented with lemongrass oil. They are the best.

One day at the Azerai, we met a yoga master. She teaches in San Francisco, East Hampton and elite hotels around the globe. Earlier, at one of the caves, we interacted with her boyfriend, a cheese master with great and welcome enthusiasm for Siem Reap. Later, we got acquainted.  Her brother is a major music person in New York. I have known his name for many years. Before they departed the hotel, she posed on her head at the pool for a half hour for a few souvenir shots.  The Azerai was an outstanding watering hole. Four new friends.

On our final day, we took a boat across the Mekong to visit the Botanical Gardens.



It has been open eight years. Young for a garden of it's type. It sparkles. It has fine paths. The open-sided teahouse is beside a lotus pond. The gift shop sells handmade traditional Lao objects, useful things. The plants are well marked. All it needs is time to grow. While we waited to board the boat across the river, an orchid master explained the vanilla producing orchid to us.

Later in the day, we walked on the riverside as the sun set on the Mekong.



Next stop, Siem Reap, Cambodia and Angkor Wat.

Wes and Marlow
Luang Prabang, Laos
November 2017

Chiang Mai, Thailand - November 11 - 16

The Four Seasons Resort Chiang Mai is an outstanding destination. So comfortable, you do not want to wander off site. It has ninety plus rooms placed into sixty pavilions which gradually descend to active rice fields and then a lake.  There are 32 acres of gardens. It is like a botanical garden. The ground-keeping staff mill about in "Thai farmer" couture.  The fabric is hand loomed. The dyes are natural. The cuts are flattering.

20% of the rooms are privately owned. We are renting one of those. It is elegant. Third floor. Large windows. A pagoda breakfast terrace.





A kind and gentle man takes care of us. He brings breakfast, answers questions, gives advice on activities. He has a warm smile and a sweet laugh. Mr. Nui.

We begin our day with breakfast. Then a walk around the gardens. Say hello to the two picture perfect water buffalo. Watch the yoga class on a platform at the lake's edge. Then we dip into the pool. There are several. We rotate. It is hot and humid, as it was in Sri Lanka. The pool is a welcome cooling off mechanism. Plus, never a good swimmer, I think my strokes have improved here.



We celebrated Wes's birthday here. The on-site, Khao Restaurant, is new. Not two days old. We went to make a a reservation. Ah ha. They spread the word. The next day, three guys surprised us in our room with a rousing Happy Birthday song, a fattening delicious cake and a teddy-water buffalo.



That night we went for dinner. Much of the seating is open air. The climate was perfect. We sipped a local dark rum made from sugar cane. We dubbed it comparable to Havana Club 7 Year dark rum. Earlier, we met the chef. He describe his new menu of updated Thai classics. They have a rice menu. A choice of seven. My favorite was from a mountain top farm. It was brown like a chestnut. And had a nice bite to it. Italians would say, al dente. We ate a red curry and sturgeon and vegetables. For desert, passion fruit ice cream and something extra from the kitchen: small discs of sticky rice with a bowl of threads of cooked sweetened egg yolk and a pool of coconut cream.



We thought we ought to go off site to see the real world.  We took a car into old town Chiang Mai. The most ancient part is, conveniently, a tidy walled square containing a few dozen blocks and surrounded by a moat. It was precisely this area, centuries ago, that was captured by Myanmar/Burma. Then later reclaimed by Thailand. The interior is not particularly ancient looking except for the thirty plus temples. If temples are your passion, it is a treasure chest of temples. Aside from the temples, and hostels, and massage shops the rest seemed a bit urban. Lots of auto and motorcycle mechanics. Quite littered. Not the stuff one dreams about — culture different from home — traveling across the globe to see.



Another time, we went off-site for a Thai massage. It was two hours long. They were outstandingly skilled. Wes and I were side by side on floor mats. We wore loose fitting cotton shirts and baggy pants to the calves. It was massage without oil. We were quite worked over by strong hands. Sometimes to the verge of pain. A simple groan was enough to communicate "ouch". For those two hours the world stood still and the brain went limp.

Back in paradise, everyday the hotel prepares floral arrangements in large bowls of water. Beautiful like a kaleidoscope. Always different. I imagine the person who creates them. It must bring a measure of pleasure to watch the bowl fill with color and pattern. I will remember them.

          At the end of each workday, the garden staff form a procession around the central lake.  Some carry drums and symbols and play rhythmic tunes as they march.  It is a beautiful site and a highlight at the end of the day.

 After a few excellent days, we said goodbye to dear Mr. Nui and his breakfasts of dragon fruit, papaya, mango, tiny bananas, Sri Lanka tea.

Southeast Asia intimidated me for a long time. The spoken languages seemed beyond my grasp. I can learn Spanish or Italian or French. But the Asian languages make sounds that our mouths are not accustomed to producing. One word can be said five ways. In a high voice, a low voice or a mid-range voice. It can be pronounced with rising tone or falling tone. Each of those five inflections gives the word five distinct meanings.  The written language, too. Not an alphabet to build a word. It is all symbols. With time and attention, I know it could become familiar, but between western language and eastern language there is a wide divide. I am trying. I can say good morning and thank you. That is a start. Easing into Asia. It could be a theme of the trip.



Wes and Marlow
November 2017
Chiang Mai, Thailand

Cambodia - November 20 - 24

Siem Reap, Cambodia

We deplaned on the tarmac. Again, it was hot. A recurring theme. Inside the terminal we went through several lines. First, to deliver our passports with extra photos. Then to pay a fee according to the posted schedule of countries, A to Z, with their particular amount.  In another line, our visa was permanently installed in the passport. We came here to visit  800 year old temple ruins, generally referred to as Angkor Wat. The city,  as you drive from the airport, appears ready for mega conventions. On both sides of the streets, hotels, large hotels, for more than a mile. Nothing else, just hotels.

After ten minutes we pulled into the Amansara Hotel. Like the Four Seasons Chiang Mai, it is a destination in itself. I was reminded of British novels where one goes for a weekend in the country. To a castle. An estate. Downton Abbey. The host has your pleasure in mind. They send you out in vehicles appropriate to your activities. They make sure you are provided for. Occasional away meals are taken from baskets and served by a waiter. Our vehicles were a Jeep (American army, vintage 1960's), a luxury SUV with WiFi, a rustic wooden motor boat painted blue, a shallow row boat with a woman rower, a remorque (a form of tuk tuk) with a uniformed driver, a sizable boat with an awning covered roof deck and, finally, a 1962 Mercedes limousine, again with uniformed chauffeur. Our meals were a basket lunch atop the larger boat. And a breakfast on the deck of a traditional raised wooden cottage overlooking the royal lake of the Angkor Wat complex.

During our check-in we were assigned a person to take care of us. Our room was modern in a Mies van der Rohe way. One side, the shower included, had floor to ceiling glass facing the private pool. What a wonderful way to wake up. To dive into the water. It is instant. Each time we left the room, someone entered to work some form of magic. Flowers. Bowls of fruit. A bath with lotus flowers floating in the water.  A gift; a scarf, a basket, a wooden fan. The lotus fiber scarf came with instructions to tie it around the neck like a tie, wear it like a diagonal sash (for giving alms to monks), wrap it as a turban. Many times we saw locals doing exactly that.

The dining room is round. Half of it is windowed out to a long rectangle lawn with a few tall trees. On both sides of the lawn, elegant open air corridors flow past the rooms. In front of each room are two chairs, a table and a large spray of orchids. The entire grounds smell of jasmine. It grows everywhere and where it doesn't they have sewn it into wreaths or threaded it onto long thin bamboo sticks. Outside during the day or in the dining room at night someone plays, solo, a traditional Cambodian instrument. The daily menus have traditional western food cooked by a chef from San Francisco. Also there is a Cambodian menu, which is mostly what we ate. I imagine it is tailored a bit to the western palate. But when it comes to hot and spicy chili effects, I was told the Cambodians typically add it at the moment of eating and not in the whole dish in the kitchen. The Food and Beverage director is Romain, a personable Frenchman. Everyday he inquired as to how our day was progressing or how he could be helpful. We came for visits to temple ruins, but the Amansara almost stole the show.



The optimal time for the ruins is before sunrise when it is cool and before the crowds become too dense. One of our excellent new friends, from the Azerai Hotel in Luang Prabang, suggested we request Yokohama as our guide. He is native Cambodian, specifically Khmer, an ancient, 1200 year old line. Long ago he owned a car by the name of Yokohama. It became his nickname. He showed us, at the outset, from his notebook the number of tourists to Cambodia, year by year. In 1986: 565. In 1995: 44,808. In 2005: 681,797. In 2015: 2,124,863. That explains the huge hotels. He has been a guide since the beginning, since there was one hotel. He has lived through the history we know through the movie, The Killing Fields. We asked him to tell us his stories. They were raw and emotional, as if they happened yesterday. He is well spoken in Cambodia's history and all it's current events. He speaks with pride and passion. His descriptions of what we were seeing were riveting and poetic.



Angkor was name of the capital city of the Khmer empire for six hundred years, beginning around 800. Each king built new temples. Some Hindu. Some Buddhist. It is the temple ruins that survived. Sacred buildings were made of stone. All other buildings, palaces and houses, made of wood are entirely gone, without a trace.  Angkor Thom, was the base for King Jayavarman VII, a Buddhist king. There, his Bayon temple could be our favorite of the many ruins. It has towers. Each tower has four sides.  Prominent on each side is a large smiling face with a full protruding lower lip and a stone lotus flower atop each tower. Yokohama, with glee and pleasure and pride stood in profile beside the smiling face to show his lower lip, identical to the stone faces. He repeatedly said, like a mantra prayer wish, the four faces, to him, are "love, sympathy, kindness and equanimity".



The temple grounds are enclosed within a stone wall. The entire square is oriented on a precise north, south, east, west axis. In the center of each wall is an entrance. From that doorway, looking forward, in a straight line, you look through a lined up sequence of a dozen doorways. Your eye is drawn all the way to the center where the Buddha statue would have sat or stood. With Yokohama, we crawled like ants up and down the walls and through the jungle. He was so intimate with the temples, it almost seemed possible he was present centuries ago.

A constant hazard for these dry stone constructions — where one stone is precisely fitted against another without mortar — is if a seed falls on top. When it becomes a slender root, it insinuates itself between the stones. As it thickens, it pushes the stones out of place. To further complicate the matter, the roots not only grow between, but also over the stones. The tree consumes the structure.  The Ta Prohm temple, famous from movies — Tomb Raider — is an iconic example. The magnificent trees unquestionably rule. All the ruins, for centuries, were buried under trees and foliage. In the mid-1800's, a Frenchman found them. Then, as happened in Athens at the Acropolis, the saviors of the structures made off with the priceless sculptures. Every sculpture in every temple is headless.



On another day we saw Angkor Wat. We entered from the back at sunrise while nearly everyone else entered from the front. For half an hour we had to ourselves the long expanse of bas reliefs in which the Khmer, 800 years ago, depicted their civilization. The reliefs say — This is how we live. This is what we do. This is how we look. This is how we feel. In images crisp and clear. An elephant shaking a man in his trunk. A wheel with 8 spokes. Vishnu with eight arms. Chariots. A dragon with sharp teeth. Columns of people. Schools of fish.  Archers with bows drawn.  A tug of war with hundreds on each side. A leopard. Photographic detail. (We later learned, a recent Frenchman examined the reliefs for musical instruments then recreated the obsolete instruments and formed an ensemble to revive, as best could be done, the music). We walked from back to front where there was a circus of people.  Another fine temple was the Banteay Srei, created to honor King Jayavarman VII's mother. Built of pink sandstone, with intricate carved images. We found ourselves inside a roped off area, inches from the fine and crisp detail. It's center room, in it's day, was jewel encrusted with rubies and sapphires.





We were told not to miss the Landmine Museum. We steeled ourselves for a blast of the worst of humanity. It did not disappoint. It boggles the mind to think humans could leave behind thousands of boobytraps to the peril of generations of absolutely innocent children and adults. The Museum is the creation of someone who has devoted his life to locating and disarming the mines. It is a seemingly impossible task with far too little support.  Land mine promoters should be brought before The Hague for crimes against humanity.  A mile down the road, we visited Madame Sophea Pheach, a Cambodia native, who escaped to Europe. She ached for her native land. She could have stayed away. She came back. Now, she raises silk worms and cares for her hundred or so employees and their families. She planted a forest of mulberry trees. The fresh leaves go to feed the infant moths. In one room she showed us their progression from eggs to adults to cocoons to reproduction. An entire life cycle. The cocoons are placed in boiling water. The single filament unwinds from the cocoon. It is rolled around a spool. Many stages later, she walked us through each one, she is left with golden silk yarn. The yarn is woven into fabric fit for a king. The designs are microscopically detailed. Her company is called Golden Silk. In her showroom, there is a display of those hand made musical instruments recreated from the temple bas reliefs.



It is always special to glimpse, without voyeurism, how people live. (They, too, given the chance, I think, would look to see how we live). Our time on the water was outstanding. We motored slowly, on the Tonle Sap Lake, past stilt houses.  Functioning habitations. All in a row. Entirely standing above water. Houses, churches, schools. People were home doing their chores. Putting their shrimp out to dry. Repairing fishing nets. Bathing the kids. A dog climbed a ladder. Primitive boats were parked at shaky little docks. What is remarkable about this specific area is that the level of the water is seasonal. For half the year the level drops so much, people can walk on dry ground. The other half of the year is this, water everywhere.

Just beyond this village is a forest of mangroves. Like the houses, half the year they grow from dry ground. Now, they are submerged. We are paddling through them. I cannot seem to find the right spot in the shallow boat. (I never could sit cross legged). I could easily tip us over. That would be bad. Gliding through the mangroves is serene. The water is glassy. Peaceful. Still, I wonder about crocodiles. But I will my thoughts back to balancing the boat. From there we boarded the grand Amansara boat, with lunch, to motor across the vast lake. Just before docking we, we pass a Vietnamese village. It is the equivalent of a homeless encampment. Instead of tents, entire families exist on small boats. The children, as often do, play and laugh. It is their normal. On our way, driving from the dock, as we pass lotus fields, we stop at a open air covered structure on stilts. There, women are converting the lotus stems into fiber to be made into yarn. The kind of yarn our scarves, gifted from Amansara, are made from.





Meanwhile, back at the Amansara Hotel, we attended an hour of classical Cambodian dance. We sat on the rooftop under a bright moon. The dancers moved precisely like fragile marionettes. One of them, like Yokohama, had endured the trauma of the war years, the 1970's when the Khmer Rouge exterminated 25% of the population. Pol Pot, in sync with and supported by Mao, forced the country back to an era before there was education.  To when farming was for the people and power was for him. To speak English, to exhibit evidence of trace of education meant punishment or worse.

From the roof, we walked downstairs for dinner. The grounds were candlelit.  The air, as always, smelled of jasmine. Romain, the food director, told us the dining room was all booked up. He asked us to follow him for an alternate arrangement. We walked over the lawn with the trees, down the open corridor, past the large sprays of orchids. We arrived to the other side of a long Mies van der Rohe-esque stone wall. Parallel to it was a long slender body of water. Rows of candles led to a lone table, strewn with jasmine flowers, lit with candles, shaded by palms. A cross legged man played melodies on his one-string tro. Two glasses of French champagne were poured.  It was a sweet and creative and generous and special and memorable birthday gift from the Amansara.  It was the smooth and expert work of the fine manager, Astrid Killian and her F & B Manager, Romain Gayrard. Everyone benefits from their wisdom, experience and the coordinated efforts of their outstanding teams. A final gift, from Astrid's Turkish colleague, a pouch of Turkish coffee and a basket of Turkish delight, will stir Amansara memories once we are home.



From here we go to Naka Island, off the coast of Phuket, Thailand. There, there are no ruins, no museums. We will rest and reflect on the wonders of the world.

Wes and Marlow
Siem Reap, Cambodia
November 2017

Videos from Kuang Si Falls, Luang Prabang, Laos

We enjoyed hiking around the Kuang Si Falls and swimming in the rock-formed pools on our visit to Luang Prabang, Laos.  Here are two short videos showing the beauty of the falls.

Sri Lanka Finale - Satori Villa, Unawatuna, November 7 - 11

Tuesday, November 7, 2017. Today, we traveled down the shore. We traded our Casa Colombo hotel for a mountain top house, Satori Villa in Unawatuna, Sri Lanka.

As we arrived into town it began to pour. The traffic was chaotic.  Little, three-wheeled tuk-tuks, in blue, green, yellow, red, spun and wove like circus clowns.  The public busses raced the private busses in competition for passengers. Vehicles passed on the right and the left and in the opposing lane. A constant game of chicken. Bicycles and pedestrians were honked at, an alert to beware of the coming vehicle.  There was no road rage. No tension. No obscenities. No bulged neck muscles. It was all smiles.

We turned off the main road, as we neared the villa. Many businesses were in low, half-finished concrete bunkers. Or in sheds where slender tree trunks supported corrugated metal roofs with stones on top to stop the wind from blowing them away. An greasy looking bicycle shop where eight shirtless guys out front worked on rusty, bent fendered bicycles. Coconut vendors with nature's best soft drink. You don't need a bottle opener or a pull tab, just a machete and a straw.

Nearly there, the car turned onto a slender road, barely two lanes.  It was pouring, yet pedestrians walked leisurely as if they were on a sunny day pleasure stroll. Head high. Often barefoot. Some had umbrellas. Others didn't. Uncomplaining. If the rain bothered them, it didn't show.  As we passed them, a smile from us always received a smile in return.

On final approach to Satori Villa, we turned onto a road that was a single narrow lane, through flooded rice fields. To accommodate both directions, the opposing vehicles must find a way to pass. We came nose to nose with a tractor. The drivers consulted, worked it out. More smiles. In the mucky rice paddies there were water buffalo with dozens of egret friends. Beyond the rice were rising red hills and groves of palms. The pavement ceased. The ascending red mud road made one turn then another. It became steeper. At last, at the gates. The horn tooted. The gates opened. A cobblestone motor court lined with magnificent flowers opened on to a wide stone staircase.

Up top, an emerald pool, a deep green lawn, a wooden bridge over a long fish/lotus pond, finally the long sheltered porch with a dining table.



A living room in the center. Bedrooms on both sides. Hammocks between the columns. Monkeys were busy in the trees. Beyond the pool were valleys and hills dense with greenery. From a nearby Buddhist temple, we heard the chants of monks and faint drum beats.



It is peaceful, contemplative.  Some steps above the house, there is a pavilion open on three sides with a ladder to a covered loft. It overlooks the rice fields. Bare legged workers, knee deep in water, tend the rice and water buffalo. The birds and insects make music. Everything is right. The villa's staff of seven make it so. They mill about barefoot through stealth paths. One of them, the chef, makes us happy. All the Sri Lankan specialities are in his repertoire.

The house can accommodate about a dozen people, but we are the only guests. At night, small geckos scurry on the interior walls to look for dinner. Fresh termites and moths. In another setting, I would be scared to see lizards on the interior walls and ceilings.  Here, it seems normal. Monkeys in the trees. Elephants on the road. Giant monitor lizards on the banks. Iguanas. Crocodiles. Leopards. All normal.

After several days in chaises on beaches sticking straws into coconuts and wandering Galle Fort in search of wooden horses — who will swift spirits to an afterlife — and sipping iced coffee aromatic with fresh cinnamon — sticks delicate enough to crush into powder with your fingers — and making pilgrimages to sites dear to our travel companion, we returned to Villa Satori.

At sundown, the staff performed their Cinderella magic. They transformed the outdoor dining area into a jungle paradise with candles and torches and bright red ginger blossoms, bougainvillea flowers and dishes of fragrant colorful Thai food. Lemongrass this and ginger that. It seems implausible that each day outdoes the previous, but it is our good fortune.



In the morning, we drove to Colombo, the big city, on the central west coast of Sri Lanka. We checked into the Galle Face Hotel.



It is feet from the Indian Ocean. The waves crash against it's sea wall. The national flag with the Sri Lankan lion (symbol of the country) blows in the ocean wind.



At sundown, a bag piper, in a kilt, solemnly plays as the flag is lowered. Our final night was spent in the salt water pool, then sipping cocktails, then opening a bottle of red wine, alone, in the hotel museum with signed photos of heads of state and next to Prince Philip's (Queen Elizabeth's husband) first automobile. He spent his early twenties there as a colonial British soldier and bought his first car. The hotel's owner acquired it. He passed it on to his son, the current hotel owner. An auto on an upper floor hotel lounge is odd, but it suggests the grand scale of the hotel. We ended the night with a buffet dinner seated on a covered terrace facing the sea.

There was a special something about Sri Lanka. The ready smiles. The uncomplaining nature. Barefoot walks in the rain. The whirling dervish tuk tuks. The jackfruit mango papaya dragonfruit coconut cacao guava pineapple we ate from roadside vendors. The widespread presence of animals, like elephants on the road. The 1300 step climb to Sigiriya's top. The cinnamon cardamom clove forests. Hillsides of camellias growing tea leaves. The delirious heat and humidity. The red earth. The butterflies birds and dragonflies. The extraordinary boulders carved into Buddhas. The fresh scrubbed girls and boys in uniform with little backpacks, every morning going to school. It is rich in beautiful memories.





Next stop, Chiang Mai in Thailand.

Thanksgiving 2017 - Siem Reap, Cambodia

We are at Amansara in Siem Reap for Thanksgiving - having arrived here earlier in the week from a fantastic time in Luang Prabang, Laos.  The schedule at Amansara is similar to our visit to South Africa 20 years ago - early morning excursions to see the nearby temples in the Ankor Wat area in order to beat the crowds and the heat.  Back to the hotel for a late breakfast and then an afternoon to rest, use the pool or have a massage or another excursion.  Our excursions have entailed three mornings of temple visits (including a 5AM departure to be at the Ankor Wat temple for sunrise) and an afternoon boat trip on the Tonle Sap lake.

We are thankful to be able to travel and experience these fascinating places and to share the experience with you.

Marlow and Wes

Here are a few photos of highlights over the past week.

Hindu temple carvings from 970

Similar two-level boat to Amanbala, the boat we cruised in on the Tonle Sap Lake.

Lounging atop our private boat.

Alms offering to Monks at dawn in Luang Prabang

Kuang Si Falls, Luang Prabang

Kuang Si Falls

Swimming in Kuang Si Falls

Sunset on the Mekong River, Luang Prabang

Another sunset on the Mekong in Luang Prabang

Typical site while driving in Cambodia.  Our car had a wifi hotspot - quite a contrast with the surroundings.

The Amansara hotel has far exceeded our expectations - and they were pretty high to begin with.  You can see from the photos below that we are not roughing it!