My Southeast Asia Solo Backpacking Adventure
In the summer of my 25th year, I took a one-way flight to Vietnam and backpacked Southeast Asia for two and a half months. Contrary to convention, this is not an inspiring travel story. I did not have a mystical experience in an Ashram, learn from a wise man named Ketut, or meet the love of my life after he ran me off the road while listening to Samba Da Bencao (Eat Pray Love). I did, however, buy myself some bigger pants because, well, street food. I'm a sucker for an adventure story complete with inscrutable yearning, spiritual awakening, and a good meet cute. Sure, it's all mawkishly sentimental, but I eat it up like Thailand's deliciously quirky array of 7-Eleven snacks. I took this trip because it seemed like the most intoxicating adventure I could imagine. I privately hoped my time in Asia would unlock some clarity about what direction my life should go while challenging me and offering inspiration for new creative material. However, adventure doesn't always provide the clarity you seek. Sometimes it serves as a signpost, a dead end prompting you to course correct when you've stubbornly forged ahead in the wrong direction. It can disappoint you greatly until you realize, often later, that too was clarity.
Ho Chi Minh City, (South) Vietnam
"I was dimly aware that I might be getting in over my head. But that only added to the scheme's appeal. That it wouldn't be easy was the whole point"
- Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild
As the incline became increasingly vertical, my lack of experience on the motorbike became apparent. The roads were narrow and windy with oversized trucks, set between vast limestone mountains with no one else in sight for miles. I had three long days in front of me, and the bike slowed to a halt as I struggled to remember which gear to switch to. I had to make a decision.
Two months before, I arrived at night in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, backpack and guitar in hand. After spending most of the plane ride reading Into the Wild, I was running on very little sleep. I was a bundle of nerves, but I was excited to ride on the back of a Grab motorbike for the first time on Ho Chi Minh's notoriously chaotic roads. With no particular destination in mind, I stopped for egg matcha (a spin on Vietnam's famous egg coffee) and walked along the Saigon River with a local named Yen, who I'd met through CouchSurfing.com. Still, I was dealing with insomnia, brought on by my nerves about the trip. These flare-ups were not new for me, and when it didn't get better after a couple of days, I knew it was time to hit the road again. I was sad to leave without seeing the War Remnants museum, crawling through the Cu Chi tunnels that the Vietcong crawled through during the Vietnam War (known as the American War in Vietnam), or volunteering with the local school I had found on CouchSurfing. Still, I was desperate to feel comfortable again – at the very least so I could sleep, and my gut told me to keep moving.
I booked a bus to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, for the next day. The night before I left, I could hear David from New Zealand – the first backpacker I met in Vietnam – tossing and turning on the bunk above mine. I went to use the bathroom early in the morning, and he was waiting outside. I asked him why he couldn't sleep. Heat exhaustion from the day before, he said. I admitted that I was too anxious to sleep. He said, "You just need to believe in yourself and make some friends." Simple as it was, it encouraged me to do just that.
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
My Cambodian Fairy Godmother
There has always been something deeply comforting to me about being en route. On the six-hour bus ride from Ho Chi Minh to Phnom Penh, I saw innumerable fields filled with garbage, contrasted by decadent archways that someone later told me led to temples. The garbage, on the other hand, was a symptom of Cambodia's plastic problem due to its rapid population and economic growth.
After browsing Hostelworld.com on the bus, I decided on Sacred Lotus Vegan Cafe & Hostel. The first person I met in Cambodia was Neth, a 28-year-old Cambodian native. She owned the hostel with her boyfriend, Krishan, from England. I met her and her South African friend Sheldon, and after bonding through music, they invited me to their song circle. I had my Martin backpacker guitar with me, and I was excited to play it with people. The next day I met Saskia, a 31-year-old German/Sri Lankan girl who had just started teaching English in Phnom Penh and was staying at Sacred while looking for an apartment. I heard her voice before I saw her. She had lived in London for seven years and spoke with the loveliest British accent.
I was sitting down in the cafe with Neth the next night when I met Saskia for the first time. We ended up talking about a whimsical experience she'd had at a German garden party, and for the next two weeks, I did everything with them. There were nightly street food runs near the Russian market, karaoke sessions, bachata dancing, a soccer game, a pool day, tuk-tuk rides, and a picnic. By my fourth night there, I got a full night of sleep. I had found my people, and I jokingly told Neth she was my fairy godmother – but I wasn't really joking. Neth invited us to everything and introduced us to many of her friends, most in their 20s or 30s working in NGOs or as English teachers – a diverse group of people united by humanitarian aspirations. For a little while, I flirted with the idea of staying and even applied for a few jobs. I loved the people I met, but the city itself didn't feel like home.
I took a two-day trip to Kampot, Cambodia, where I drove a motorbike myself for the first time and met Ana, a 24-year-old flight attendant from Spain. I went on a tuk-tuk tour with her and a French man, and we climbed through Phnom Chhngok Cave, home to a 7th-century shrine to Shiva. The next day Ana and I had a lazy rainy day at the hostel, and a comfortable silence enveloped us like a soft, warm hug. That night I took the bus back to Phnom Penh to spend one last weekend with my Sacred friends before heading to Siem Reap.
Cambodia's Dark Past
"Pa told me once that the really old monks could leave their bodies and travel the world as spirits. In my mind, my spirit leaves my body and travels around the country, looking for Pa" - Loung Ung, First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers
From 1975-1979, the Khmer Rouge systematically killed millions of people under the leadership of the Communist Party secretary general, Pol Pot. The plan was to create a communist agrarian society, starting Cambodia from year zero. In doing so, Pol Pot ordered all the intellectuals to be killed, including doctors, engineers, lawyers, teachers, and government officials. Even something as benign as wearing glasses could make you a target.
The common people were put into work camps and often separated from their families. Some children were brought up as child soldiers, and many died from starvation and maltreatment. To this day, it is estimated that there are as many as four to six million unexploded ordinances left over from the removal of the Khmer Rouge. Therefore, it's important to proceed cautiously in more rural areas of Cambodia or when venturing off the beaten path.
When I visited the Genocide Museum, a former high school that had been used as a security prison (known as S-21) by the Khmer Rouge in the 70s, the woman who was my tour guide told me that she'd lived through the Genocide. She'd been separated from her entire family. When liberated, she ran and found her mother – but she never saw her dad or brother again. There was a bit of a language barrier, and up until she said that, I hadn't realized that she herself had lived through it. With teary eyes and a lump in my throat, I put my hand on her arm and told her I was so sorry. What else could I say? Then, it occurred to me that most Cambodian residents over 50 have lived through the Genocide.
Cambodia is sometimes referred to as the Wild West of Asia. It attracts some shady characters who take advantage of its lawlessness. Access to prescription drugs, cheap prostitution, bribery, underage sex workers, and a culture of impunity makes it a hot spot for bottom feeders. It attracts a lot of foreign investments, especially from China. While Chinese investments have significantly contributed to Cambodia's economic growth, a large portion has gone into Casinos and real estate, facilitating financial fraud, such as money laundering. Only some privileged sections of Cambodian society, who own land or run businesses catering to Chinese nationals, have benefited from China's investments (Tann).
On the other hand, Cambodia is home to some of the kindest locals I've met and attracts many incredible people, including NGO workers, teachers, intrepid backpackers, and small business owners. It is widely accepting of Visas, allowing you to meet people from countries that you may not have had the chance to meet otherwise. Every country has its own unique brand of contrast, but it felt especially palpable in Phnom Penh. Despite its traumatic past – involving a regime that killed off everyone in a position to advance society forwards – Cambodia has an ambitious 2030 agenda for sustainable development goals, which includes eradicating poverty in all its forms.
Siem Reap, Cambodia
An Exercise in Buddhist Non-Attachment
"The Impartiality of saints is rooted in wisdom. They are no longer influenced by the changing faces of Maya, no longer subject to the likes and dislikes that confuse the judgment of unenlightened men" - Paramahansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi
After saying goodbye to my friends in Phnom Penh, I headed towards the Cambodian island Koh Rong, where I was going to meet Ana. Unfortunately, the ferry wasn't running due to inclement weather. Not knowing how long this would last, I took the sleeper bus to Siem Reap instead. I shared a bed with a woman named Stephanie, an engineer from Boston whom I'd just met. I woke up with a slight headache – probably due to the one person on the bus smoking a cigarette. Still, I was on a sleeper bus to Siem Reap, Cambodia, a monk sleeping across the aisle from me, while I read Autobiography of a Yogi – I felt like I had reached maximum hippie, and I loved it.
The thing to do in Siem Reap is to see Angkor Wat, so I stayed at Mad Monkey Hostel and booked my day trip from there. I almost didn't book at Mad Monkey – since it seems like more of a college frat party than a hostel – but nothing else stood out, and then I thought – isn't that the whole point? To get out of my comfort zone? So I booked it.
The first night there, I met Eric from California. I was going to bed when he asked me if I wanted to come downstairs and meet his friends. I welcomed the opportunity to see what this whole party hostel thing was about. Everyone was wearing matching red pub crawl tank tops, and it felt a little cult-like, their leader being alcohol. Most of them left shortly after for Pub Street, and I hung back with a British guy who told me about British politics.
The next day I went to Angkor Wat, the largest temple complex in the world, dating back to the 12th century when it was built to serve as King Suryavarman II's state temple and capital city. I was being given a guided tour by a local Cambodian man when upon arriving at our last destination – Angkor Thom – I realized my phone was missing. We retraced our steps, but it was gone. Ironically, the tour guide had talked a lot about Buddhism and non-attachment – since Angkor Wat was transformed into a Buddhist temple at the end of the 12th century. It felt like some sort of Cosmic test. I'm not sure I passed, but I was able to buy a refurbished iPhone X from the woman who worked at the hostel the next day. The part that upset me the most was that I lost all my Whatsapp messages up to that point, including old conversations with people who weren't in my life anymore. I was dejected, but I tried to see it as an opportunity to let go of the past.
Koh Chang, Thailand
A German Boy Teaches Me to Ride a Motorbike
After the long bus ride from Cambodia and an idyllic day in Bangkok reuniting with Ana and our new French Canadian friend Yangchen, I headed to Koh Chang. When I arrived at the island – I got a message saying that the rescue center's owner had Covid, so I would need to hang tight for a few days while they disinfected everything. I was fine with that, as it gave me time to enjoy the island.
I soon met a 20-year-old German boy named Karl. He was smart and intense. After I'd expressed interest, he offered to teach me to ride the bike, and I jumped at the opportunity. At first, I rode outside the hostel, then we looked for backroads, and before I knew it, I was riding 40kph on the main road. The hardest part was riding with another person on the back, as I found it difficult to balance before picking up speed.
On our second day of lessons, I pulled the bike over and accidentally revved the engine while pressing the break. I had to jump off quickly, and I still have what is, luckily, only a subtle mark on my leg from where my calf touched the exhaust pipe. Unfortunately, Southeast Asia is notorious for motorbike accidents, and about 20,000 people die each year on Thai roads, making them among the deadliest in the world. I watched accidents happen, heard personal accounts, and saw a lot of nasty road rash. I never could shake the feeling that I was tempting fate while on the bike.
The next day we met James, a 23-year-old lawyer from the UK, and swam in the ocean together. My favorite moment with them was on the last day when we were lounging around, sharing a Dragon Fruit while I was reading, reminding me again how much I enjoyed the intimacy of a comfortable silence. After a couple of days of hanging out with the boys, it was time to head to the animal rescue center. When I got there, I realized I was the only volunteer and would be mostly alone in the jungle with the rescue dogs for a week. I wasn't in the headspace for that kind of solitude, so I made my escape the following morning and went back to Bangkok with James.
Bangkok, Thailand
A Tuk Tuk Driver Put a Curse on Me
Before going to the meditation center, I had a week to kill in Bangkok. First I met up with my old college friend Rita and went to the floating market with Lauren, a 22-year-old environmentalist from Colorado. That night we met up with Ana again and ate our way through Bangkok's Chinatown.
The last person I met in Bangkok was Asa, a 27-year-old teacher and backpacker from Canada. He had just moved there to be an international school's drama department head. He reached out to me through Workaway, looking to meet with fellow musicians and artists. We spent an afternoon writing a poem together, which turned into dinner and walking around the city. I admired his ingenuity and was glad to be creative with someone again.
I never understood the hype about Bangkok. I was eager to move on after the whiplash-inducing experience that was Khaosan Road and the tuk-tuk driver who rebuked all Americans after I respectfully declined his offer to drive me to a nearby attraction. He said, "I curse you to see only bad things." It was a stark contrast from the amiable drivers in Cambodia, who still comment kind messages on my Facebook posts.
Bao Sao Thong District, Thailand
A Buddhist Allegory
Finally, it was time to head to the meditation center. I woke up at 5 am, chanted with the monks in Pali, ate breakfast at 8 am, worked around the center, ate again at 11 am, worked some more, had a mid-day break, sometimes a meditation class, and chanted again with everyone before bed. We fasted from noon until the next day. Fasting was no problem; I had eaten so much street food in Bangkok that it was a welcomed dose of self-discipline. Part of what attracted me to the center was that it was run by female monks called Bhikkhunis. I was excited to deepen my meditation practice and meet like-minded people.
When I arrived, I first noticed how remote it was. Then, how there were lots of street dogs — one of which whose name you had to say while keeping eye contact so he wouldn't attack. Next, I met my roommate, a 21-year-old French girl named Clemence, who went to school for engineering. She told me that her dream was to build a biomedical device for the Paralympics, and I thought she was one of the most charming people I'd ever met. Then I met Marianne, a resolute 25-year-old Brazilian girl living in Ireland, a group of early twenty-something boys from Madrid, and Gil from Mexico – who'd lived in China for years.
I got on with Marianne and Clemence very well, and Gil had a welcoming presence that made everyone feel at ease. I teased that the boys looked like they had walked off the set of Elité – a popular Spanish teen drama – and it turned out that two of them had been cast as extras in the show. I only drew the comparison because they were Spanish and stylish, and I thought they were messing with me at first.
Still, I felt shy in the big group setting and unable to get out of my head. I didn't feel like my spiritual practice was getting deeper or that I was being edified as I'd hoped. After five days, I cut my losses and left. On my last night, we played card games, had a candlelit walking ceremony, and had a clandestine song circle with all the volunteers in one of the vacant rooms. It was a good night with everyone, and that was all the closure I needed. The following day, all the volunteers were supposed to go to Bangkok together, but I knew it was time for me to move on. I left early and went to Chiang Mai, where I treated myself to a hotel for the week before my visa expired.
Even though the experience at the center wasn't what I hoped it would be, one thing stayed with me. The head monk told us of one Sutra, or Buddhist scripture, which says that being a human is as rare as throwing a cattle yoke into the ocean and a blind turtle sticking its head through it. I hadn't thought much about that before, whether or not it's rare to be a human; there are roughly eight billion people in the world – so we're hardly rare, right? Maybe in a cosmic sense, we are, but even then, how would you quantify that? I later read that the odds of you being born are at least 1 in 400 trillion, possibly 1 in 400 quadrillion – which makes your existence unlikely to the point of impossible. And yet, here you are. By definition, you're a miracle (Binazir). Sometimes, someone says the right thing at the right time, piercing your heart and opening you up a little more. That was one of those times.
Hanoi, (Northern) Vietnam
Dear God, It's Me, Amanda
Take all the chaos of Bangkok and Phnom Penh minus the sketchiness, add the quaint charm of Chiang Mai and all the motorbikes combined, and you have Hanoi – my favorite city in Asia.
The Old Quarter is home to some of the coziest cafes, friendly locals, and the famous Banh mi – a sandwich made of various ingredients inside a baguette, hinting at Vietnam's French colonialist past. You can find delicious egg coffee at Cafe Pho Co and visit Hanoi Train Street, which looks like the setting of a Ghibli film. Hanoi is a popular base for excursions to Halong Bay, Ha Giang, Sapa, and Nim Binh. It's home to the temple of literature, the Women's museum, a historic Buddhist pagoda, and a cozy yet chaotic aesthetic, making it incredibly instagrammable. I stayed at Nexy Hostel in the old quarter for a couple of weeks and met people through the meetup feature on CouchSurfing, in the mixed dorms, and once when I was seated with a stranger at the famous Banh Mi 25.
Despite the undeniable magic of this city, my trip was off to a slow start when I lost my debit card upon arrival. Vietnam runs on cash, so it put me out for a few days before receiving money through Western Union. Soon after, I met Cheng, a 28-year-old backpacker from Singapore. He picked me up on his manual motorbike, even though he had only just learned. There was a lot of jerking back and forth, which was fine when we were driving fast but more difficult when weaving through traffic. I silently prayed for our safety from the back seat – but I was excited nevertheless. Later we went to karaoke, and I admitted that I was scared to cross the street in Vietnam. I would run when no one I knew was around, and Cheng told me that I needed to walk slowly, and the motorbikes would go around me. Honestly, I credit him with teaching me how to cross the street in Vietnam; otherwise, I think I'd still be running.
Ha Giang, Vietnam
Ha Giang Loop Motorbike Road Trip
"Why think about that when all the golden land's ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?" - Jack Kerouac, On the Road
In late August, I booked a sleeper bus from Hanoi to Ha Giang to embark on the road trip I had dreamed about for years. It was three days of otherworldly landscapes, unnerving cliffside roads, huge smiles and greetings from the local kids, homestays, happy water, delicious food, karaoke, and new friends from all over. Our group was composed mainly of twenty-somethings from Switzerland and the UK, and serendipitously – my friend Cheng ended up on the same tour.
It was my first time riding a semi-automatic, and they gave me a brief lesson before we departed. It wasn't too hard at first since we were on flat land – the scariest part being the wide intersections – and I had ridden an automatic bike a few times before. Still, I needed more time to learn the gears and hoped I would figure it out along the way. The max speed I hit was about 45 kph (28 mph), but I didn't feel comfortable going above 35 kph (22 mph). I was stretching my limits, but even so, the rest of the group was out of sight. Thankfully, one of the easy riders was hanging back to make sure I didn't get lost – but even he was waving at me to pick up the pace. Still, I wasn't really stressed. Riding that motorbike required all my focus and attention, leaving no room for anything else.
After about 30 minutes of riding, the incline became steeper, and the turns windy and narrow. I saw a few trucks go by that were too big to be on those roads, and it was at this point I realized just how dangerous this was. As I was riding up the hill, I was on gear two, and I knew I needed to switch gears, but I couldn't remember if I had to press the front or back pedal. If I pressed the wrong one, I would go into gear one, pop a wheelie, and fall off the bike.
Barely reaching the top of the hill, I clumsily dumped my bike on the side of the road, spewing a colorful array of curse words as it fell. There was a guy with sunglasses, sitting coolly under a tree, who had just witnessed my dumping of the bike. We looked at each other, and he said, "Hey, do you want a cookie?" The easy rider was nowhere in sight, and no one else was around for miles. I laughed and accepted the offer.
We sat in the shade, and he told me his name was Jeroen. He was from Belgium, had lived in Vietnam for the last three years, and his passion was DJing. He was riding a regular bicycle without the motor, which would take weeks to complete the loop. The Southeast Asia sun was oppressive, and the full weight of the journey ahead was setting in. We were both in a predicament, but I was grateful to have met someone cool in the most unlikely circumstances. After a while of sitting under the tree, one of the Swiss girls who spoke Vietnamese appeared and was able to communicate to her easy rider that I needed an easy rider too. Phone calls were made, and finally, an easy rider was on his way.
That night at the homestay, I hung out with Cheng, a group of Swiss girls from Basel, and a couple I had seen fall off their bike hours earlier. I thought the Swiss girls were so cool, and I especially got on with Elif, who gave me a tarot reading the first night I met her. She reminded me so much of one of my friends from home. It reminded me that even though people are different everywhere, they're also the same; same archetypes, personalities, and energies that repel or attract, and then those inimitable people who feel like home – independent of nationality.
I spent the rest of the trip enjoying the views and listening to music between stops and homestays. It was inspiring to see so many people progress throughout the trip, especially on the third and most challenging day – complete with heavy rain, muddy potholes along cliff sides, and the longest time spent consecutively on the bike. Unfortunately, one of the Swiss guys skinned his arm pretty badly after getting cut off. He was okay, but it was a sobering moment, and it could have been much worse. I'm still in awe of how intrepid some of these people were.
After three days, we took the sleeper bus back to Hanoi, and I was glad to be back at Nexy hostel. I had lunch the next day with some road trip friends and later took a day trip to Halong Bay. I met another person from Madrid and was happy to have so many unexpected opportunities to practice my Spanish while in Asia.
On my last night at Nexy, I went clubbing with a group of 20-somethings from the hostel. Later I was standing in the corner, water bottle in hand, talking to a Dutch guy about Goodreads. They found out early in the night that I wasn't drinking and kept asking me how it felt to be so sober. I just laughed. Anthony, a California native on leave from his military base in Japan, kept calling me cute for my unabashed dorkiness. Later the dutch guy and I played guitar back at the hostel before calling it a night.
Nha Trang, Vietnam
The Beginning of the End
I was still inspired by the road trip and determined to head south to do a coastal road trip at Hai Van Pass. That was until I realized that the bus to get there was 15 hours, and there were no affordable flights left because people were going on vacation for Vietnam's independence day.
There's a certain bleakness about public transportation, a threshold crossed where the initial promise of freedom turns to numbness akin to cattle on a stock car. I was tired of being alone and in survival mode. I had initially planned to volunteer for an NGO in Bali next, that helps prevent the exploitation of young women, but I didn't have the bandwidth to do free labor for a month. On top of that, I was running out of money and didn't have work lined up, so I reluctantly decided I would head home. Relief washed over me when I landed on that decision. Still, I wanted one last adventure, and since the NGO was out, I needed to re-evaluate where to go next. I had always wanted to go to South Korea and Japan, and since Japan was still essentially closed to tourists, the choice was easy.
Before I could board my connecting flight from Nha Trang to South Korea, I was told I couldn't enter the country without a recent Covid test. It was late, and I had to spend the night in a hotel, forcing me to miss my flight. Nothing was open since it was Vietnam's independence day, so I had to get a Grab car to a hospital about 45 minutes away. After I booked a new flight to Seoul, I read that South Korea would have the worst Typhoon since the 1950s that Monday. I almost laughed because of how perfectly bad the timing was. Still, it was much cheaper to fly out of Seoul in a few days. I didn't know what to do, so I did what any Gen Z person would do – I made an Instagram story about it. Jeroen responded and gave me much-needed moral support and advice. I decided I'd go to Seoul for a day, leave before the storm hit, and fill my short time there with as much fun as possible.
Seoul, South Korea
"When you only have 24 hours in Seoul, you still gotta meet Serin" - Serin
I arrived in Seoul, South Korea, on Saturday, September 3rd, and stayed in a hostel in the Mapo district. There wasn't a social atmosphere at the hostel, but it didn't matter - I just wanted to explore the city. As fate would have it, a Korean girl named Serin, whom I had met in Cambodia, was in Seoul at that time. I had met her briefly at her goodbye party at Sacred Lotus, but she made an impression, and I was so happy that we were in the same place at the same time again. Looking back, it seems poetic to have met someone for the first time at their goodbye party. This time, I caught her right before she went to grad school in Germany for Modern East Asian Studies.
We were going to meet for dinner, but I was so hungry that I decided to grab a bite beforehand. I stopped at the restaurant near the hostel and accidentally ordered a large plate of fried chicken that could have fed three people. I ate the whole thing. I should have saved my appetite for Korean BBQ, but Serin said that eating fried chicken and beer by the Han river is actually a popular pastime in Seoul.
Instead of a second dinner, we got Barley and Corn tea and walked around Gyeongui Line Forest Park. Then we shared Bingsu and got our photo taken at one of Seoul's many photo booths. I love those photos. Then we called it a night, and I walked around for a while before heading back, taking in Seoul's vibrant nightlife.
The following day I woke up early for an "Intro to Seoul" tour that I'd booked through Airbnb. We went to the Jogyesa Buddhist temple; Gyeongbokgung Palace; Cheongwadae Sarangchae, Seoul's history center; and a Ginseng store. I had to catch my flight in a few hours and wanted to find traditional Korean food, but my SIM wasn't working, so I couldn't use Google Maps. True to form, I just got fried chicken again.
Arriving Home
After five days of being in and out of airports – I arrived home on September 5th in New Jersey. I felt relieved to be home, and frankly, if I mentioned all the things that went wrong on my trip, this essay would be unreadable. However, these experiences taught me how capable I am under pressure, a trait I probably wouldn't have attributed to myself before the trip.
In mathematics, there's an area of study called Chaos theory. Chaos theory states that within the apparent randomness of complex systems, like climate, infrastructure, or the human brain, there is an underlying pattern, interconnection, and self-organization. I have always surmised that there was some divine order to things – some benevolent esoteric forces at work beyond human understanding. This ordered chaos is palpable at wide intersections in Vietnam – with motorbikes coming from every direction, in Cambodia's ongoing recovery from its tragic past, and in the contrast between Thailand's wild nightlife and revered temples and Buddhist asceticism. It is through contrast that we're reminded that we're alive, and what a precious miracle that is – quite literally, according to Buddhism.
References
Binazir, Dr Ali. “Why You Are A Miracle.” HuffPost, HuffPost, 16 Aug. 2011, https://www.huffpost.com/entry/probability-being-born_b_877853.
Tann, Somethea. “How Chinese Money Is Changing Cambodia – DW – 08/22/2019.” Dw.com, Deutsche Welle, 22 Aug. 2019, https://www.dw.com/en/how-chinese-money-is-changing-cambodia/a-50130240.
