Leaving Cambodia wasn’t hard.  We were excited to get to the beach, and we realized that we felt a kind of unease in Cambodia.  It probably started when I had to bribe the guy at the airport, but our distrust of our environment clung to us throughout our week in the country.  I know that I am unfairly judging a beautiful and diverse country from an insular set of experiences.  Still, we were ready to be back in Thailand, a place that had already captivated our spirits.

Everything in Southeast Asia is cheap, but even cheap purchases add up.  Sara and I decided to become couch surfers during our trip, which allows us to meet people online who are willing to offer their couches or extra beds to weary travelers from around the world…for free.  It sounds shady, but it is a well-reputed website that allows open-minded and optimistic people to befriend each other and share culture.

We arrived in Phuket, an island off of the west coast of Thailand, at nine at night, after a day of switching airports in Bangkok from our connecting flight from Phnom Penh.  After haggling with a taxi driver who laughed at our cheery voices babbling in the backseat of his cab, we arrived at Vanessa’s apartment.  Vanessa, a thirty-seven year old Thai couch surfer, opened her one room home to us with grace and humility.  Tom and Martijn, the Dutch men we befriended in Bangkok, had stayed with her two weeks prior.  On her street, old Thai fishermen were removing fish from nets, men without shirts were sitting on their motorbikes, smoking cigarettes, women were in their kitchens – visible to all on the street – cooking pad thai and frying chicken.  Vanessa immediately hugged us, asked if we’d eaten, and set up two cots next to hers on the floor.  We knew we were home.

The next morning, we woke up and were thrilled that Vanessa had the day off from her job at a local hotel.  She walked us down the street to her favorite breakfast spot, where we ate spicy fried chicken and drank iced coffee.  Definitely low-fat.  We hopped on a local bus, crouching on long benches fastened to the bed of a pick-up truck, getting off ten minutes later on the coast.  We spent all day on Vanessa’s local beach, lounging in chairs under blue and red umbrellas, diving off of the pier, buying beers from the local drink stand, talking about life, love, and happiness.  Vanessa told me about her mother’s death, about her Buddhist beliefs, and about her government’s perpetual problems with corruption.  The three of us swam in the warm, clear water, agreeing that we would be skinny-dipping if it weren’t for the occasional sting of plankton taking hold of our skin.

That night, as the sun was setting, Sara looked at me and said, “I can’t remember a sunset as beautiful as this one.”  She was right.

Vanessa took us to her favorite seafood spot for dinner, where we ripped open clams and crabs with no concern for manners

or refinement.  We sat on plastic chairs underneath a tarp, watching the cooks select live crabs and lobsters from giant tubs, eating to our hearts’ content.  Vanessa’s  friends joined us, taking us to the best local banana pancake stand for dessert.  Soon, Sara and I will no longer fit into the plastic chairs everyone uses in Southeast Asia.

The next day, Vanessa woke up early to go to work.  Sara and I slept a few more hours, wrote an effusive thank you note, and hopped on a mini-van to Ao Nang, a little town on the west coast of the Thai mainland, known for its rock-climbing…