Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
that is woven by those less fortunate becomes a much richer tapestry than the materialism
we worship in more prosperous societies.
The group invited me to walk with them and later offered me a place to stay for the
night. That night as we shared a meal (or rather they shared their meal with me), one of
the young women said: “You know, the thing is, we're supposed to be here to help, but the
people we've met, they've ended up giving more to us than we could ever have given to
them.”
How right she was.
I left my missionary friends the next day and continued on through Cambodia. Some
days it felt as though I could ride Kindness One forever. And other days, I felt like I never
wanted to look at that bloody bike again. That day in Cambodia was filled with more of the
latter, as I begrudgingly bore toward the flat, unending horizon, hoping against hope that I
might just find a place to sleep.
Finally, I pulled over at a gas station, where I met a local woman who bought me some
much needed gas. Sophia offered to bring me to a village not far from where we were, but
certainly off the beaten track. She said there was no doubt I could find a place to stay there,
so I offered her a ride in my sidecar, and off we headed into the unknown.
As I had learned so many times on this journey, it was the spontaneous leaps of faith
that often led to my deepest lessons. Though the village could hardly be found on a map,
as people came out to greet me and offer me lunch, it seemed as though everyone in the
village had roofs over their heads and food on their plates. All except one house.
Sophia pointed it out to me and explained who lived inside.
“Seng,” she explained, “is a woman with only one child. Her husband die from AIDS,
and now she has it.”
Sophia took me to meet Seng. “How does she support herself?” I asked.
“She cannot do anything because of her illness,” Sophia said
“What about her son?” I asked, wondering if he was also sick.
Sophia replied with the one dose of good news: “Her son not have HIV.”
We entered Seng's small shack. The sides were made of tin, and the roof was made of
loose boards. As we sat down to talk, with Sophia working as translator, I asked Auk how
she was able to get food.
Sophia spoke briefly with Seng before reporting back: “Her relations give her food.”
“And she lives in this house?” I asked, looking around at the open cracks in the roof and
the fragile fabric of its walls. I couldn't help but add, “What happens when it rains?”
