Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I returned to the pulsating city of Phnom Penh and found a place to stay for the night. I was
exhausted from what I had seen, and I was ready to begin what was going to be the last leg
of my Asian journey: a small trip across the Vietnamese border and then seventy miles to
my final ship back to North America. I was heading to Canada, and then I would be riding
down to LA.
I couldn't even fathom how quickly this was all happening. I had seen so much and I
knew it would feel like only a brief whoosh of time before I would be waking up again in
LA—Lina in the living room, checking her emails, Winston at the foot of my bed, or more
likely, licking my face. And all of this—these moments standing in front of history, walk-
ing through the stories of other people's lives, driving across borders and traveling across
oceans—all of this would be over.
And the one thing that would connect me back to the people I had met and the places
I had seen would be the gifts. Just as they had become the reason for this journey, so they
would also be the greatest witness of it. The gifts would keep me in touch with Tony and
Seng and Tchale. I would be emailing with Alex and Nasuh and Willy. All those lives and
moments would be carried into my present. Now, I just had to get there.
The good people at the shipping company had offered to take me back to North America
for free. It was the same generous company that had helped me across the Atlantic, and
now it would be getting Kindness One and me home. I would spend a few days in Ho Chi
Minh city while my bike was being prepared for the long trip across the Pacific. Togeth-
er, we would take a ship back to North America, back to LA, back to Lina and Winston,
and—deep breath—back
home
.
But God had different plans. Or what had become my new word for God—East Asian
border guards.
I left Cambodia relatively easily, getting my passport stamped in record time—well, at
least in comparison to
getting into
Cambodia. A representative from the shipping company
had even come along to smooth over the process, as I was a bit worried after my entrance
into Cambodia. The first step of the process went surprisingly well. Passport stamped. Visa
viewed. The second part of the process went horribly wrong.
This is the part where you tell me that you know someone at the Vietnamese border
crossing and I should have called you. Well, a little late, my friend. And even more than
that, I'm not sure it would have worked. I wondered whether they would have let the pres-
ident in had he dared to enter with a yellow motorbike. Because apparently, a yellow mo-
torbike was right under an AK-47 in terms of dangerous items to allow into Vietnam. As
