Written on February 27th:

When we arrived at the Phnom Penh airport, stepping off of the plane into 36 degree (Celsius) weather, swatting at mosquitos and shielding our eyes from the glaring sun, our first order of business was getting visas. We filled out some standard forms, paid twenty dollars each, and were told to wait by a long desk, behind which sat five, very seriously dressed, Cambodian men. After a few minutes, one of the men called my name and beckoned me to the back portion of their office. He looked at me and said, “Must send you back to your country.”

I laughed. The thought of me getting on a plane to Los Angeles was so far-fetched, so absolutely ludicrous, I honestly don’t think I really took him seriously. “Back to my country?” I said, astonished. “But why?” He flipped through my passport, shaking his head. “Not enough pages for visa. By law, send you back.”

We’ll ignore that I did have one full page left.

Laughing, I said to him, “Well, what should we do?” He looked up and slyly whispered, “You help me, I help you.” I reached into my wallet, pulled out a twenty, and slipped it into my passport. “You like coffee?” I asked. “Here’s one on me. Cool?” More like forty on me. He nodded, all business, stuck a visa in my passport, and I was on my way.

Phnom Penh is the dusty, bustling capital of Cambodia. The literacy rate in Cambodia is 35%. Tuk-tuk drivers haggle with tourists for an extra dollar, barefooted children shyly smile from cement door-frames, golden temples rise between crumbling, gray buildings. Cambodians yell in Khmer to each other, helping with directions for struggling backpackers, or convincing passerby to buy their water, their noodle soup, their amok.

The American dollar is accepted everywhere, and it is possible to buy “happy pizza,” or weed pizza, in some of the more tourist-focused areas of the city. In a country in which the government rules with such an iron fist, a country which such a horrific history, the leniency regarding marijuana surprised me.

Southeast Asia is sensual. While we are having a marvelous time together, I know that Sara and I are each often dreaming of doing this kind of bold, spontaneous traveling with a significant other. We have been fortunate to have met wonderful people on our journey, the universe’s way of reminding us that meaningful and conscious connections are possible all over the world. There is something incredibly sexy in the natural and peaceful aura that falls over so much of this part of the world. I feel very potent here.

However, there is a dark underbelly in many of the countries we have visited when it comes to sex. In Chiang Mai, young Thai prostitutes slink from bar to bar, awaiting older, white men who are either looking for a night of pleasure or a wife. In Bangkok, “lady boys” solicit male tourists, whining “massaaaage” to anyone who might be interested. As Sara and I walked down one of Bangkok’s main streets, we were asked multiple times if we wanted to see a ping pong show. Look it up on Google. These bracelets were being sold to drunk passerby.

We were greeted in Cambodia with this message on the back of a map.

Southeast Asia is beautiful in its simplicity. Its agrarian roots, its Buddhist principles, the tendency of others to smile at me before I smile at them (a sincere treat), should all be embraced and celebrated. Still, in countries in which governments are new and fragile, countries in which human rights abuses are not publicly decried, there is a higher likelihood that people, especially those most vulnerable, will be taken advantage of. I’d like to study the prevalence of sex trade in this area of the world and write about it.

As for the passport, I made a last minute appointment at the American embassy. This morning, I entered the metallic compound and successfully received another 30 pages of possibility.