Dead Babies and Ping Pong

Sometimes you have a change of heart, and it is hard to exactly put your finger on why…you just wake up one day and a certain thing isn’t for you anymore – and that’s fine! But sometimes (in fact, more often than not) you know EXACTLY why you have switched sides and the reasons are searing into your brain with an unrelenting and painful clarity:

MATHS IS HARD AND I HATE IT / RUNNING IS A FUCKING PAIN IN THE ASS AND I DON’T WANNA DO IT ANYMORE / I DON’T ENJOY MUSHY BLACK BANANAS THEY GIVE ME THE HEEEEBY JEEEEBEEES!!! and much, much more…

(All great points by the way.) 

Anyway I had one of those sudden change of hearts recently, a BIG one, and it was all to do with my travel plans which I believe I rambled about in another post somewhere…was gonna be quite an adventure, and still likely will! But the ISIS pricks started blowing up tourist buses simply because those innocent people inside wanted a photo with the pyramids – so I had to scratch my dream destination of Egypt off my list, for now…what absolute bastards (to put it incredibly mildly). So in reaction to this I switched that portion of the trip for Greece so I could have a look at the Acropolis and pretend I am having a chat with my old mate Zeus, that way at least I am in touch with one ancient God, albeit in a different continent and a different time zone.

But you see the major problem came with my first destination after leaving Korea…which was supposed to be Cambodia…a place that I thought it would be an ideal location to quietly sit and write for a few weeks, a place to just get away from it all and get stuff done…and a place that whenever I grew weary of writing words it would actively seek to replenish my imagination with amazing walks around fantastic temples.

But then…the dead baby thing happened. Which put the brakes firmly on this rather dreamy romantic facade I had built for myself…and threw me right back into the horrors of the real world:

You see I was chatting with a friend about Cambodia, you know, the who,what, wheres…when she announced something along the lines of: “lovely place, so beautiful…just watch out for the dead babies and you’ll be fine…” Excuse me, erm back-paddle a little will you please? No, no, not that bit…the dead…yeah, what is that and why did you say it?!

Seriously though. 

According to her, some other friends who have been, and later the internet when I checked up on this story, there is a rather commonplace scam around Siem Reap which involves a mother (presumably) giving sleeping drugs to her baby to give the appearance of death, then covering the poor thing in flour so it looks well…you know…and then handing the child to her slightly older child (perhaps 5-8 years old-ish) to show to soon to be horrified tourists in return for sympathy dollars galore…

I know right? Horrifying. 

Of course this is born from desperation one would assume, and yet it’s pretty horrific even by current Western standards which are desensitised more than ever before. And whilst I feel for the poor things caught up in this madness I rather selfishly don’t want to see a dead baby (albeit just a pretend one) every day for three weeks. I don’t know, maybe it is just me – perhaps you would love that, you horrible bastard you, but me…no, not really. There is just something about dead babies which sits uneasily…dead babies, dead babies – see…not nice. Gonna stop saying it now, I think as the thought alone is creeping me out and making me sad. You got the message though: Cambodia = dead babies. 

JOKING! (Sort of).

So although my flights were booked up already I wanted to make the switch from Cambodia to the more reliable and less dead ba…just better in that regard, Thailand. Now this hasn’t particularly ever been on my list, despite the influx of tourists these days and how everyone and their gran (sometimes literally) appears to be visiting Bangkok according to my Facebook home page. It always seemed to be a rather seedy place, well no that’s not right to say, a place where incredibly seedy fellows flock in their millions…yeah, that’s better. And I didn’t particularly want to be another one of them, even if my preconceived notion may be an outdated one.

Actually even when I mentioned it to my siblings they jokingly asked if I was looking for a mail-order bride, or a male bride…or am I just a sex tourist looking for a good time? Well none actually, as it turns out – or at least I think so anyway. Just trying to escape Cambodia your honor. I know, I know…I’ve heard all the stories too, the ping pong balls coming out of the hoo-hahs and all the rest of it. But surely it had to be more endurable than the aforementioned flour dolls, right? Sorry. 

So I got on to the flight people to switch my flights, and made a new pal along the way called Antonin Vrzal who is a lovely chap may I add. But as nice and friendly as he was he wasn’t able to conjure magic tricks, and told me that as I am planning to leave from Cambodia to New Zealand afterwards (different airlines) it would be impossible to switch them, and I definitely can’t cancel them because of…well no reasons, he just said no – which really tested our friendship I’ll tell you that for certain. He then said I would have to just book new flights if it is totally necessary, which of course it is. In essence: THANKS FOR NOTHING MATE! AFTER ALL WE’VE BEEN THROUGH ANTONIN!!!! TWO EMAILS AND A FIVE MINUTE PHONE CALL, AND NOW THIS!

 Not his fault, he’s not trying to ruin your life…breathe, breathe, breathe…that’s better…calm down…hang up the phone…go on…

So I did just that, and now I will fly to Chang Mai, Thailand (less ping-pong balls there I am told), and will spend a couple of weeks there basking in its quiet slow-paced solitude…after which I will then take a train down to the madness that is Bangkok (a lot more ping-pong balls there I am told)…I’ll then fly to Cambodia just for a few days before getting on the New Zealand flight I was supposed to in the first place. I figure I shouldn’t just blindly follow a few people’s stories and should at least see it all for myself, scams and all. After all it is about YOUR experience, not someone else’s.

BUT MAN, WHAT AN ORDEAL. Wish me luck and sorry again for the horrifying nature of this write-up…I’m as freaked out as you. 

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