Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I started my Cambodian adventure in earnest by driving to the legendary Angkor Wat.
Built in the twelfth century, the cone-shaped temples were once the capital of the Khmer
Empire, serving first as a Hindu place of worship and ultimately becoming a Buddhist
temple. I met a kind German couple who paid my entry, and I found myself in the nine-
hundred-year-old ruins, awed by man's ability to build something as magnificent as nature.
I walked through the stone pillars and felt that sense of calm that I had found in the seas
off Pattaya. What a perilous few days I had had, adrenaline and fear pumping through my
system, and now here I was on the other side of it. The sun began to set, and once again,
I was reminded of just how small I was in the vastness of this world—its histories and
mysteries. The overwhelming sculptures around me spoke to a greater permanence. These
passing memories would die with me. Of course, that didn't mean I wouldn't try to share
them. Maybe that's why I had to film everything, record every moment. I needed a witness
for this life, for all the lives I was getting to be a part of.
I walked out onto the grounds in front of the temple and met a group of American mis-
sionaries who were on their own travels around the world. I soon found out that they were
doing something called the “World Race.”
One of the youths, a heavy-bearded chap in his early twenties explained, “You go to el-
even countries, a month in each country. Last month we were in Thailand, the month before
that we were in China, so this is our third month.”
“That's amazing,” I replied. “What have you learned on your travels?”
Each person in the group offered different answers—for the bearded fellow, it had only
deepened his love for home, where freedom and convenience were paramount. Another
offered, “I've learned a lot about love. And I guess I've learned, even in a short amount of
time, that it doesn't matter where you come from or what your background is, you can still
have joy.”
I nodded. I had seen the same thing. I remember Dilip carrying his son in his arms, proud
of the boy, the joy that his family brought, even though they still struggled to put food on
their plates. I agreed with the young man, adding, “The sad part is, at home, we have so
much materialism and yet often we have so little joy.”
Maybe if nothing else, that was what I had learned in my travels across Southeast Asia.
Gross National Happiness was at the heart of that concept. In the United States (and, trust
me, in England, too), it seems all we do is worry about what we don't have.
Buying
is how
we prove to the world that we're okay. That we're happy. And yet, we are often disconnec-
ted. Removed from our innate desire for human contact. In many ways the web of kindness
