Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I tried to regain my composure. No, I wasn't afraid of fireworks, but as you might re-
member, I knew bad things could happen even in paradise. Okay, yes, I was scared of fire-
works!
Maybe because he was worried that, with my nerves, I might not make it through
the night alone, Kamol offered me a place to stay. That night, I sat outside, alone in the
darkened village. I could hear the clacking of pans as people cleaned up after dinner, chil-
dren's voices echoing throughout the village. They were the sounds of everyday life. The
kind that frankly terrified me, but suddenly, in this strange and beautiful place, it brought
me comfort.
As I drove the next morning through the countryside to the Cambodian border, I couldn't
help but remember my first days on Kindness One. As you might recall, I had lost my side
mirror on one of those first days, which by the way, was still securely sleeping in my back-
pack. At the time, I wondered whether I would even make it out of New York. And here I
was, driving through the rice fields of Thailand on my way to Cambodia. As much as the
trip had been filled with these amazing experiences, I was still awed by them. I still am. As
I made my way through Thailand, I was pulled over by a policeman—not for speeding, but
simply because my bike was yellow.
“Yellow motorcycle is cool!” were his only words. I sometimes wondered how much
love I would have received along my journey had my bike not been yellow. But then again,
I did decide to buy a yellow bike in order to get as much attention as possible. Clearly, my
plan had worked.
As I approached the border town, more and more people began driving alongside me. It
was mayhem. But I like mayhem.
I pushed my bike up to the main gates, gave my papers to the guards, and quickly real-
ized that this was about to become a lot harder than I had expected.
You see, I wasn't the only one with a passport. Kindness One also had a passport, oth-
erwise known as a
carnet
. And in order to cross a border with the bike, Kindness One's
passport also needed to be stamped. And signed. And redelivered in one piece. So far I had
had limited trouble with border crossings. Yes, I had had to pretend I supported my team's
archenemies, Manchester United, to get past a drunken Albanian guard, but other than that,
things had gone well. Until now, because my luck was about to change.
The first guard looked at Kindness One's carnet and then back at the bike. Something
about one of the two did not make him happy. Also to top it off, the guard didn't speak
much English. Or
any
English, for that matter. I tried to explain to him that in every country
