Untitled Part 10

That night in her hotel room, they lay spooned together on her bed, enjoying the air conditioning and watching a crappy movie as it was the only English on TV. They fell asleep, breathing in rythm, relaxed in their embrace, the TV whittering in the background.

The next two weeks they travelled together, exploring small mountain villages, jumbled, rambling cities and sleepy beach resorts. It amazed her how naturally they got along; it never felt forced or awkward. They could easily spend a day seperately, sharing their stories over dinner, or wander together through crowded market places.

Only one small cloud hung over their time together. Only ten days remained until he had to catch a flight to Japan, and once again she'd be on her own.

Her thoughts strayed that way over dinner that night. She'd spent the day lounging in cafes and reading, while he visited a famous, crowded Wat just out of town. He was telling her about the ride up the mountain in a rattely, sketchy bus, winding up switchbacks with no safety rails and the bus doors wide open. She watched his face light up, his hands animated, his voice betraying his excitement. He was beautiful in that moment and she leaned across the table to kiss him.

"What was that for?" he smiled.
"For being so incredibly you."

She went quiet. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but was afraid to overwhelm him. She'd scared guys off in the past by expressing feelings for them. And this relationship couldn't go anywhere - it had an expiry date and they both new it.

"Maggie?" she looked up. His face looked rather serious.
"Come to Japan with me."
She blanched. "What?"
"I'm serious. Come to Japan with me. Or, I'll bail on Japan and we can go somewhere else together."

She was speechless, brain racing, yet not seeming to hold on to any thoughts.

"I know we're just having fun with this, butI think I'm falling in love with you."

Her heart pounded, thrumming in her ears so loudly she could no longer hear him. Or maybe he'd fallen silent. Her emotions were swirling faster than her thoughts, rendering her unaware of anything else. Fear reared up inside her like a frightened stallion. Wasn't this what she'd wanted? Didn't she feel the same way? Doubt flashed across her mind. This was too fast. Too much.

"I... I can't..." she tried to focus her thoughts, to look at his face, but nothing seemed to work. She stood up and hurried outside, stopping on the sidewalk to lean against a tree. Why was she so terrified by what he'd said?

Inside Jason sat dazed at the table, their half-finished meals in front of him. He didn't know what to think. Was she really that upset? He looked out the window and saw her standing and staring.

Deep breaths, she told herself. Deep breaths. She could feel herself calming down, the thoughts becoming clearer, easier to grasp. She looked around, able to see where she was for the first time. She looked back inside the restaurant and saw him with his face in his hands. She felt terrible - she must be putting him through hell. But she didn't feel like she could go back in there - just walk in and start talking. What could she say when she didn't even know what she felt, what she wanted.

When he looked up a few minutes later, she was gone. The pain in his chest felt heavier than before. He felt tired, deflated, disappointed. He stood up, paid the bill and wandered out into the night.

She wasn't sure how far she'd walked, or what time it was. She found a small temple and wandered into the grounds, sitting down on a convenient bench to think. She liked him. A lot. This much was certain. She didn't want him to leave in a week, she knew that too. But liking someone and moving to a new country to be with them were two different things. How could they even consider it so soon after meeting? They only knew each others present; both been closely guarding their pasts.

It seemed like the answer to what she wanted. A home, something to ground her. Part of her desperately wanted to run off with him: the excitement of new adventures, the possibility of falling madly in love.

But it was happening too fast. The excitement would wear off and then what? She didn't know if she could risk her heart again. She felt as if she'd only just put the pieces back together after the heartbreak of the past few years. It had taken so much time to find herself amid the destruction and chaos, how could she be willing to risk it again? Surely if it happened again it couldn't be fixed. Surely that pain would break her forever.

She hadn't realized that she was sobbing until she felt the dampness of tears leaking through her fingers. She felt so torn, so confused.

Finally, exhausted and cold, she decided to head back to the hotel room. Hopefully he'd be asleep and she could... she wasn't sure what to do. Grab her bags and disappear into the night? Crawl in next to him and pretend things were as before? Take him up on his plan?
The hotel room was dark and warm. The air conditioning was turned off, and it was eerily silent. She decided that she was too tired to run, and made her way over the bed. In the orangey streetlight gloom that filtered in, she noticed the bed was untouched. He wasn't asleep. She realized now the eery silence was that of an empty room. There was no soft breathing from another person. She flicked on the lamp and looked around.

Untitled Part 9

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the sight of the enormous sitting Buddha. They were both feeling drained from the heat and excercise, despite being careful not to exert themselves and to drink plenty of water. She knew it wasn't only cicadas humming in her ears. Her face had burned, through layers of sunscreen. They parked their bikes in a shadey spot, and after buying yet another bottle of water at the souvenir stand, they entered the fabled sight.
Directly ahead of them lay a small square covered in crumbling columns, none more than a few metres high. Behind this was a towering building, with a large, keyhole shaped opening. Through the opening peered the wise, calm face of the Buddha.

Easily fifty feet tall, it peeked through the doorway, surveying the land in front of it. They approached quietly, almost cautiously. It felt like a very sacred moment, as though this particular statue, out of the hundreds of various sizes all over the park, held the key to Enlightenment.

Inside the hall they both stood, astonished by the sheer immensity of the statue. The fingernails of the right hand, draped casually over His knee, and covered in random squares of gold leaf, were the size of her head. The hand resting in His lap could easily have cradled a sleeping adult. His head occupied the space where rafters would have been, had the shrine had a roof.

They stood dumbfounded, gazing upwards until some worshippers entered the shrine. Out of respect, they put their cameras away and left in silence.

untitled part 8

They found their way to the right ticket box and bought seats on the next bus. In the convenience store they stocked up on water and snacks for the day ahead. She could hardly believe the amount of water she could consume in one day here; in colder climates she barely remembered drinking at all.

The ruins were incredible to behold. Acres of parkland dotted sparcely with towering trees, held a vast network of crumbling brick buildings and ancient Buddha's of varying size. She was overwhelmed by the impression of being on a giant's gameboard, surrounded by the chess pieces of a forgotten game.

While there were many groups of tourists wandering through, the vast size meant it was almost silent; that special silence reserved for holy places.

She felt in awe as they pedalled their rented bikes through the parkland, stopping here and there for photos of crumbling chedi's or solemn Buddha's, their hands raised in a gesture of perpetual peace. Tall columns and pillars lined the walkways, when they parked the bikes and walked among the ruins. Birds chirped and cicadas hummed their song of heat.

Eventually they sought the shade of an old tree, and sat facing the reflective surface of a pond. They sat very close together, but without touching. Silently, they sipped from their bottles of water and thought their own thoughts. After countless minutes, he broke into her wandering thoughts.

"I can't even start to describe this place. It's beyond my ability."
"I know what you mean," she replied. "Mere words can't fully caputre the feeling of seeing all this - walking through history."
"It's the same with photos. They never really capture the feeling, the energy of a place."
"I think truely skilled photographers can do it. Haven't you ever gotten a chill from seeing an amazing picture?"
"Sure, the same way a written discription can give me goosebumps. But it's beyond my talents to do it."

Talking stopped. She raked her fingers through the grass between them, marvelling at the intensity of the green, when the sun hit the translucent blade. Tiny perfections of nature always amazed her; to her it was proof of the random accident of creation. Surely a being, even if it was a god, wouldn't have been able to put in so much detail. Something would have been overlooked, not right, if it was all created by hand, no matter how omnipotent.

She spread her fingers out, and he moved his hand over hers, clasping her palm in his grasp. For a moment she experienced the electric excitement flutter through her tummy. Junior High all over again. She closed her fingers over his and he squeezed her hand.
"I'd kiss you," he whispered, "but we're in a holy place."

There was something so perfect and innocent in the gesture of holding hands at that moment. Intinacy without vulgarity.

They sat with barely a movement for almost half an hour. Eventually both began to feel an interest in exploring the remaining end of the park, so they stood up and walked back to the bikes, hand in hand. Words seemed unnecessary in these moments.

After riding along avenues lined with tamarind trees, they stopped at a tiny chedi in near perfect condition. It stood by itself in a little field, separated by paths and roads from the other chedi's. The bottom of the chedi was ringed with elephants, their front legs and heads protuding from the lowest wall, as though a herd were stepping forth from within. Again, the near perfect condition drew their interest, and they hopped off their bikes for a closer look.

An old man was sitting on the ground nearby, and he rose to greet them. He offered to take their photo together in front of the chedi, which they gratefully accepted. Then he sold them a few postcards of the sights. They thanked him, then turned to look at their map, as they still had not seen the famed massive Buddha. The man approached them once more with a handful of what appeared to be sticks or dead leaves. They turned to look and she realized it wasn't leaves but tamarind pods. The man showed them how to peel off the shell and eat the sticky, sour flesh from around the seeds. Neither had tried tamarind before, and were surprised with the tangy taste. The old man filled their pockets with pods before allowing them to ride off, thanking him and bowing their heads.

Untitled Part 7

Sitting in the coffee shop they'd agreed to meet at, she reminded herself that this was just a short term friendship. In a day or two, they'd go their seperate ways, exchange email addresses and never think of each other again. But when he walked in, the smile leapt to her face and her heart pounded. She knew she was in trouble.

He sat down next to her. "Sleep well?" he asked.
"Mmm, sort of."
"What do you mean?"
"I just had a nightmare. No big deal."

He looked at her, but she looked down at the menu that the waiter had just brought over. "I can never choose with these menus. There's so many choices." He gave her a look, but didn't pursue it.

"Have you thought about what you wanted to do today?" he asked after a moment.
"I'd love to take a bus out to the ruins and just wander through them. I've heard they're amazing."
"Is that the place where you can rent bikes and cycle around? I'd be up for that."

They both ordered breakfast; she settled on the fruit and yoghurt topped with museli and honey, he chose pancakes with fresh bananas chopped on top. They discussed the merits of living in a country in which fresh fruit of such variety was always available. On every corner loitered an old woman with a cart filled with chopped fruit in bags, every restaurant meal came garnished with fresh pineapple, and bananas or coconuts grew in every back yard. Back home the growing season was short, and the only fruit that grew wild were berries. The first time she had seen a banana tree she had marveled at how they grew upside down to how she's always assumed. And hiking through the jungle, she'd been amazed by the wild trees where fruit grew off the trunk like a strange fungus. And kinds she'd never heard of, like Jack fruit and Manao.

After breakfast they made their way through the steaming streets to the bus station. If she forgot she was in a third world country while walking the city streets, the bus stations always hit it home. Dirty, crowded and hot, there was never air conditioning in the crowded structures. Fans whisked the hot air back and forth. Booths selling trinkets and snacks were scattered about. The people waiting always had baskets and packages rather than luggage. Young mothers strapped babies to themselves with blankets. The buses, especially to more remote regions, had baggage racks on the roof where large sacks of rice were tied on. A few saffron monks wandered through, the only travellers not burdened with large packs and bundles.
Outside, the doors were crowded round by taxi and tuktuk drivers, hassling the newly arrived passengers. Skinny, mangey dogs wandered in and around the benches, searching for scraps of food, or lay panting in snippets of shade.

The smells were pungent. Food being cooked by the vendors, diesel fumes from idling buses, sewer stenches from the bathrooms; they mixed and mingled in the heat, competing for strength in weary travellers noses.

The road was cratered and pockmarked as though it had been bombed in a recent war and the puddles that formed after the rains were deep enough to drown in.

(there's still more... this is the most I've ever written as one story...)

Untitled part 6

As she turned from the Buddha, she noticed a young tourist about her age sitting off to the side, in the shade of a tree. He had a sketchpad in his lap, and seemed intent upon his task. He briefly looked up, catching her staring at him. He gave a smile and a short wave, which she hasitly returned before walking quickly past him toward the gate. She could feel the red rising in her cheeks. She hated being caught looking.

Drained from the heat, she sat down in a shady cafe, ordering a banana shake. She opened her journal and wrote a few half hearted comments on her morning. The place was rather quiet despite a fair number of tourists in the area. The server placed the glass in front of her, but she barely noticed. The guy with the sketchpad had just walked into the cafe, and was coming over to her table. She blushed again and looked at her scrawled notes in her journal.

"Hi. Do you speak English?" His accent sounded neutral enough for him to be from America or Canada.
"Yes"
"Do you mind if I join you? I haven't spoken to anyone in days, and I'm feeling a bit lonely."
"Umm" She hesitated.
"It's ok. You're busy," he glanced at her open book. "I'll leave you be"
"No. Please. I'd like the company." She surprised herself. His face brightened, and she was again surprised that it made her feel good. She'd forgotten the simple pleasure one gets from making another person smile. He sat down and ordered an iced coffee. He looked a little awkward, like he wasn't sure what to say next.
"I'm Maggie." she said. "I'm from Canada. Near Toronto."
"Cool. I'm from Michigan, so we're practically neighbours. I'm Jason, by the way."
"Nice to meet you Jason."
"So, what are you doing here?"
"I'm just travelling. Backpacking. I've been doing the Southeast Asia circuit for about 6 months. You?"
"Ah, man, I'm so jealous! I've only got 1 month here. I've been working in Tai Pei and I've got another gig lined up in Japan."
"English teacher?"
"How'd you guess."
"I did my time in Korea."
"Oh yeah? How was that? I've heard a lot of mixed reactions from teachers in Korea."
"That sounds about right," she smiled. "Korea's a little bit of a contradiction. It's very hard for Westerners to figure out the internal logic, because it's..." she paused. "It's a little like going through the Looking Glass, you know? Everthing that happens makes perfect sense to the inhabitants, but to us Alice-types it's like a serious amount of opium was smoked."
He laughed. "Tai Pei was like that. Frustrating sometimes. The ones who can just relax and go with it are the ones who survive. If you cling to the ways of the West you go home after 3 months."

The conversation flowed for hours. She was relieved that the conversation had stayed with their perceived differences between East and West, and the difficulties living abroad. He hadn't strayed into personal histories, content with what she offered. Maybe he, too, didn't want any prying.

Eventually they left the cafe, and wandered down towards the night bazzaar. The sun was setting behind the mountains, the white buildings looked salmon-tinged in the faltering light. They passed a small temple that glittered in the sunlight, as though the whole building were made of jewels.

The night bazaar was an assault to the senses. Bright lights lined the streets, illuminating the stalls which were filled with brightly coloured silks, carved wooden trinkets and just about every other item imaginable. It was crowded with people and their accompanying din - the cries of the vendors, the bartering, shouts and laughter. Music from a live band onstage filtered through the rivers of people, and the smells of cooking food made the taste buds water. It was a carnival atmosphere that one had to be in the mood for. As they made their way through the throngs, being jostled on all sides and bombarded with demands to buy goods, she enjoyed how alive it all was, how real.

At the food section, they wandered through eyeing the myriad of mouthwatering choices. Curries, noodles, fried rice, skewers of roasted meats; it was hard to decide. She finally settled on a rice and coconut concoction that was steamed in a banana leaf parcel. Jason chose several skewers of meats and veggies. They found a table toward the edge o fthe commotion and sat down.
"This is my favourite part about this place," he said.
"The food?"
"No. Well, yes. But I meant this whole scene. The amount of life here. The way every night feels like a special event. That shopping is a reason for a party."
"I was just thinking something similar before."
"Yes, but you're a girl. Girls think shopping is always a special event."
"I'm not that kind of a girl. Shoppings not really my kind of thing."
"I thought it was hard wired into you. Like the need to pee in groups."
"I just don't get the whole fascination with hair and clothes and makeup. I can't spend more than 5 minutes in a mall."
"But you like this madness?"
"This is different. No musak."

Later, they wandered through the darkened streets, leaving the brilliance of the bazaar behind them, the music and laughter growing fainter with each step. The air was still heavy with humidity, though it was cooler now. Night insects thrummed away inside the flowered hedges that scented the air around them. They drifted back towards the hotel district, staying very close to each other, but never touching. The air felt electrified, like a storm was waiting on the horizon.

After saying goodnight and arranging to meet tomorrow, she locked herself into the solitude and silence of her hotel room. She showered quickly and crawled into bed, realizing just how tired she really was. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, and to dream the old, haunting dream that had woken her for years now.

She woke up in her childhood bedroom, scared but not sure why. She walked through the house, looking for her parents in room after empty room. At last, she entered the kitchen and found her parents drinking coffee, reading the newspapers. But when she spoke to them, they didn't hear her, and when they turned her way they had hideous monster faces that made her scream.
She woke up in a cold sweat, hoping she hadn't screamed aloud. The room was still dark and the air conditioner was humming merrily to itself. She tried to close her eyes, but the distorted faces of her parents kept rearing up at her. She reached for the TV remote and flipped through the channels; surely there was an English program on somewhere. She found an old episode of McGyver and settled in. She'd forgotten how terrible a show it was, but it relaxed her and she fell asleep before he saved the day.

(wait, there's more!)

Untitled Part 5

The sky outside was silvering. She knew she must be getting close now. Her back was stuck to the seat, her hands coated with sticky sweat. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and did a quick check of her stuff. When the train finally ground to a halt, she shouldered her travel stained pack and flowed out with the crush of people.

Outside the station the air was already steaming as the morning sun climbed above the buildings. Surrounded by a swarm of cabbies, she wrestled her way to the city bus stop, ignoring the droning repetition of "where you go miss? where you go?"

The hotel room smelled cool and fresh as she dropped her bags on the floor and kicked off her sandals. She longed to flop onto the crisp white sheets, but the thought of leaving a sweaty stain forced her into the shower first. The cold water coursed over her tanned skin, cooling her to a comfortable level. She soaped herself up to remove the layers of sunscreen, bug repellant and sweat that coated her. Feeling fresh and clean at last she quickly toweled off and fulfilled the longing for flopping into bed.

She awoke a few hours later. The sun spot on the floor had moved up onto her bed, and she lay in a spotlight of warmth. Still drowzy, she pulled out her guidebook and flipped through the city she was in. Not surprisingly the main attractions were Buddhist temples, though this town was also large enough to boast a night bazzaar filled with folkcrafts and cheap designer knockoffs. She decided to visit a small wat on the far side of town, which had an impressive reclining Buddha, according to the book. She loved visiting the temples here; decorated with tiny squares of coloured glass, they sparkle like jewels, reminding her of the fairy tale castles she'd dreamed of as her father read her bedtime stories.

Also, the smaller temples tended to be quieter. Visited more by worshippers than tourists, they offered the solitude one expected in a holy place. The ones crammed with people felt a little like Buddhist amusement parks.

She wandered around the garden surrounding the stuppa. Fruit trees and flowering bushes lent their scent to the incensed air. The chirping birds helped block out the omnipresent traffic noise. Taking off her shoes, she climbed the steps to the inner sanctum. An old monk with thick black framed glasses stepped outside, his purple bag a shocking contrast to the saffron of his robes. She stood well to the side so that he could pass her without fear of coming in contact. She wasn't sure exactly why women weren't allowed to touch monks, and her inner feminist bristled at the implied slight, but she didn't want to offend anyone when she was the visitor, so she bit her lip and watched out for monks.

After the glare of the sun, stepping inside the stuppa was like walking into night. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed she was alone, and the walls were covered with paintings of battles. Intricate, detailed scenes that obviously told a story if one took the time to read them. In front of her a very large Buddha sat in the lotus position, one hand resting on his knee, the other palm up in his lap, as though holding an invisible sleeping kitten. His gold body was surrounded by countless similar statues of gold and jade. An incense burner still smoked and glowed at his feet. She quietly examined the collection.

It seemed strange to her to see so many images of one person gathered together, but she'd been to enough temples in different countries by now to know that was how it was done. Unlike the Christians she'd grown up around, Buddhists have no qualms about worshipping golden idols.
A monk entered the stuppa, interupting her contemplation. This one was much younger, a mere teenager. She felt weird standing there while he prayed, so she slipped out quietly into the heat and light. She made her way over to the huge bell shaped chedi, wondering who's relics were hidden inside. Behind the chedi was a rather plain looking shelter containing the reclining Buddha she'd read about. His half lidded eyes seemed to be focused on something by his toes, but when she followed his gaze there was only a blank wall. Perhaps one needed to reach enlightenment to see what he was looking at. Unfortunately she couldn't maintain her focus for very long while meditating, and usually fell asleep.