Felines around the world.
In Nuweiba, Egypt.
Hampi, India.
Mumbai, India.
Nuweiba, Egypt.
Phonsavan, Laos.
Petra, Jordan.
Kruger National Park, South Africa.
Omo Valley, Ethiopia.
In Dahab, Egypt. I named him David Bowie. (Also note the cat under the chair photobombing this shot.)
Chiang Mai, Thailand.
What I expected in Vietnam: Chaos, scooters, noodle soup. And that’s what I got.
I didn’t anticipate lovely green spaces in the middle of the cities. And that’s what I got too.
Here are some of my favorite public art pieces from across the country.
As a writer, there’s nothing more humbling than Cambodia’s Angkor Wat and the complex of surrounding temples.
A million feet have already walked these stoney paths, and a million mouths have uttered the only thing that really needs to be said: Wow.
The complex of wats is massive. It’s magical. It’s striking. It’s stirring.
It’s … wow.
Words actually fail me.
It’s easy to get Buddha fatigue in Southeast Asia. The temples become routine, the gilt gets old, and eventually even The Awakened One puts you to sleep.
Sukhothai is the cure.
Once the capital of the Siam empire, the ancient kingdom is often overlooked by travelers in a rush to get from Bangkok to Chiang Mai.
I had some time to kill before a friend was scheduled to arrive in Bangkok, so I penciled in a couple days in the city known as the “Dawn of Happiness.” I didn’t do any research about the place. I had no expectations. I just rolled into town, checked into a cheap hostel and rented some wheels.
Check out my sweet ride.
With a poorly photocopied map in hand, I put my mettle to the pedal and rode directly into the thick, warm sock of Thai humidity. Though Sukhothai is home to more than 190 temples, my first stop was Big-Ass Buddha. (Not the official name.)
I still can’t say what attracted me to this particular Buddha. I just knew I had to see it. And I had to get there before busloads of tourists arrived.
I got lucky. When I parked my bike, nobody else was there.
It was silent.
I’m not ashamed to say I cried as I approached the statue.
Have you ever seen something so powerful in its beauty, it’s like you’ve never opened your eyes before? That was this Buddha.
I spent about a half hour there in silence. Then a truckload of Germans arrived, and I pulled my bike off the rack, turned around and moved on — fulfilled.
When I die and the undertaker cracks me open, I’m pretty sure sand will spill out. I’m a desert girl. My bones are made of cactus and my heart throws tumbleweeds with every beat.
So tooling around the floating villages of Lake Tonle Sap in Cambodia was a glimpse into an unfathomable life.
Here the landscape ebbs and flows, dictated by an ever-changing tide.
Not only is this the largest lake in Southeast Asia, it’s also a UNESCO-recognized biosphere.
Small villages are perched on stilts around the lake. There are floating stations for diesel, markets for essential sundries, even places of worship.
All floating, all perpetually drifting.
Twice a year, their entire world shifts as the Tonle Sap changes direction. During the dry season, about November to May, the lake drains into the Mekong River. When the rains flow again, starting in June, Tonle Sap swells up once again.
