In transit

Where do I start? I find myself grasping for words that won't come, still digesting it all and, believe me, there's a whole lot to digest out here.

How do I begin to describe a journey that began with my poor, poor panicked dad locking himself out of the car that held our baggage, then involved a mad dash to the airport with a very frantic Jack, a never-ending corridor of shuffling lines, and a series of plane trips and layovers? I suppose you could call that a long day.

Stepping off the plane in Phnom Penh, we were instantly thrown into the throng: tuk-tuk drivers on the street touted their business with rapid-fire calls of "Madame, madame, tuk-tuk!", a wall of hot humid air greeted us, as did honking horns and sounds, sights and smells indecipherable and unfamiliar (for now). This is the Cambodia I remembered, in all of its overwhelming, raw, chaotic beauty.

Although I have been here for a few days, I feel unsettled, still in transit. I am looking at an apartment today, picking up my Myanmar visa at the embassy (after having answered many, many questions about my profession and my former employer), and leaving for Yangon in a few days.

I am exploring the city slowly, easing into life here, observing and conversing. It is scorching hot, 100 degrees and humid, and, as a result, I am addicted to fresh mango shakes and afternoon naps. Rainy season has just begun.

P.S. Thank you for all the sweet comments!