Day 0 was much like a trail-mix bag. The icky raisins included Korean Airlines alerting me one week prior to departure that they’d changed flight schedules by 25 minutes: just enough to ruin my Seoul connection to Phnom Penh. (Get it? Soul Connection?) Other raisin-y moments included sitting on the runway in San Francisco for an hour before beginning the 12 hour flight. (Can you say California traffic? Get it?)
The sweet M&M moments, on the other hand, came when karma caught up on Korean Air and I was bumped into business class after they overbooked economy. At the airport I was met by a friend from childhood, Christina, who is living in Seoul and whom I’d contacted re/ a place to stay. We bussed to her host family’s beautiful downtown flat, and I slept in the room of the child who was visiting family with this mom. The next day we made a small voyage through Seoul before I jumped on a bus back to the airport to catch the flight to Phnom Penh.
It was pouring in Seoul that day. Two weeks in cloudy, drizzly Portland clearly magnetized me, since it had not rained once in the two months Christina had been there. The sheets of water did not prevent me, however, from taking in the city’s skycraper buildings and larger-than-life ads: for new movies, new fashions, new skin-whitening creams, you name it. Traffic was worse than in L.A, but the subway system is awesome—better than any I’ve traveled on, perhaps excepting Berlin. The streets were painted red by the end of the afternoon, as screaming S. Korea soccer fans celebrated the World Cup opening regardless of weather.
Tranquil spaces existed amid the city’s chaotic energy, often preserving remnants of Seoul’s past. Christina and I found an unexpected palace that was so serene and beautiful that it would have looked appropriate shrunken to fit in a Bonsai arrangement. (Christina’s response was, “oh, another one.”) I am so lucky that Christina made what could have been a frustrating situation wonderful—I only wish I’d had more time, and not merely an extended layover, to explore that HUGE city.
A half-full plane took me to the tiny airport of Phnom Penh at 10 p.m. that night. I was met by none of the corrupt customs officials that the guidebook had warned against, and the organization’s lovely driver picked me up, so I couldn’t test the claims about lying cab-drivers. On the drive into town, I stared at the slums lining the highway. Shirtless, skinny men dumped trash onto the sidewalk for sifting, while a naked little boy looked in discarded soda cans for any remaining liquid. I am embarrassed to admit that my thoughts oscillated between “this is terrible” to “I hope this is not near where I’ll be living.”
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