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Published: January 4th 2007
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After returning from the remote jungles of northern Cambodia, a 3 day journey on horrid roads, sick with fever and diarrhea, thinking I was going to die, I arrived in Siem Reap and got some antibiotics to finally kick my recurring Ghiardia. I then spent three amazing days exploring the mind-blowing temples of Angkor Wat.
From there it was anotger horrible day's journey on shit roads for an intense return back to Thailand...
Nov 28 2002
Left it I did, my guitar, at the Cambodian border. I gave it, indeed, to one of the many begging Cambodian girls who followed me around the border area and shaded me with an umbrella as I walked. No matter how awkwardly I turned or how fast I walked those little girls kept their little friggin umbrellas directly over my head. I tried all the Thai I knew with them, who actually spoke Khmer, to make them go away. Nothing worked.
One little girl probably 10 or so had a face resembling raw ground beef, with only one gruesome eye looking out into the chaos. She played with a group of kids. Pretending to be a monster, she held her hands
up like claws, growled and chased them around. One of the 6 million landmines had evidently blown up in her face. Anxiety drove me forward in the dust to the border.
Never have I felt so uncomfortable around the touts, the beggars, the amputees and the deformed children as I did today. Never have I felt so wrong to be so lucky, never have I felt so helpless to help others. Not that giving my guitar up was a noble act, far from it. I had thought about throwing that damn cumbersome thing over many many bridges and cliffs in the last two months. I'm surprised it made it as far as it did. On buses, trains, trucks, taxis, tuk tuks, bicycle carts, and motor cycles I carried, shoved, threw and stuffed the friggin thing all around Thailand. I enjoyed playing it many times and was glad I had it when I did. At this point though the strings were rusty from the tropical moisture, the high E broken, and a thick layer of dirt engrained in the wood.
It was a good guitar, given to me in Sedona, Arizona by my late friend Beau Alexander. Well I'd
be excited, and I'm sure Beau would be too, to know where it ends up: which children fight over it, who learns their first chord with it, which one legged man hawks it in which alley, who steals it, throws it, breaks it, and which family cooks a meal over its burning splintered remains.
Well my guitar is somewhere in Cambodia, traveled far already I’m sure, but I'm in Bangkok, the decrepit capital of Thailand. It's a wonder that the rest of Thailand has any connection to this place. It's unfortunate I must keep passing through in order to get to the rest of the beautiful country.
So I’ll be silently meditating for 10 days starting on the 1st, and then attending another natural building project in northeastern Thailand. Nothing left to say,
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