Give a bit back while visiting Angkor's splendor

Central Siem Reap, Cambodia
The unassuming earth-tone stucco building could easily be missed, as one zips by on a $1 precarious but memorable moto taxi, en route to the main park entrance to the wonderous Angkor Wat UNESCO site.
In fact, the building almost no visitors notice or stop at is home to the KANTHA BOPHA Children's Hospital.
This children's hospital (and another of the same name in Phnom Penh) is the brainchild of Swiss-born Dr. Beat Richter.
He relies heavily on visitor support via blood donation so that he can perform various pediatric proceedures most cambodian families cannot afford.
All his medical supplies are purchased in Switzerland to assure donors the most modern and comfortable donation environment.
Blood donation is, speaking from limited experience, pain-free and only takes a few minutes.
Cambodian people, it would seem to make more sense, would make better sources as a blood donor pool, right?
As it turns out, many locals cannot donate themselves due to Hepatitis C being common and which, when transmitted, eventually causes liver failure.
(I was told this by a long-term American expat who himself made a big contribution to Cambodia's post-Khmer Rouge era by introducing the Internet to Cambodia back in the early 1990's, thus helping the blooming and ever-expanding tourist industry)
Stepping through the gates of the Children's Hospital was intimidating, as grieving parents desperate for medical care to heal their kids line up each day in the hope that they'll be helped.
Within the hospital compound, fans attempted to cool the throngs of people sprawled about, either too weak to move or exhausted from the long wait for clinical services.
I felt almost ill with guilt as the gaunt, desperate eyes waiting in shaded yet tropical heat followed my course, a healthy if not overtly plump caucasian tourist, into the hospital compound.
It was a true cultural gauntlet to walk, luckily my moto driver caught on and escorted me in without missing a stride. Although the $5 I paid him for a moto ride to the clinic, to Angkor and back to my hostel was equal to a full week's work for the average Cambodian...
As you help, through your tourist dollars, (Cambodian Riel is in effect a locals-only currency) to make Siem Reap a mainstay in Southeast Asian holidaymaking, pause for just a bit and try to give back.
You could just be the one to help Dr. Richtner save yet another child's life.
Learn more at: www.beat-richner.ch/

from my site at: http://www.thingsasian.com/goto_article/tell_story.3205.html

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Isle of Smiles: Taiwan's Hospitality

An eight-day trip whittles away fast, travelers know this is both the curse and the blessing of a week's venture to a new place, culture and in this case, an island.
Whilst staring dumbfoundedly at perplexing sidewalk cafe menus displayed in Chinese characters or trying to explain directions to a Cabbie, I felt a pleasant air about the people. They really want visitors to enjoy their time and act as such.
Some of my best Taiwan experiences were sipping pungent tea from a miniscule pot in Pinglin on a rainy November morning and being offered a harrowing moped ride on the descent from a day hike in Yushan National Park.
I really hope to invest more time in exploring this island and its multitude of welcoming hosts.
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Published on 1/11/05

http://www.thingsasian.com/goto_article/tell_story.3091.html

So... more unpaid markets. My fans- please pass these around. Later on I hope to add to these and make them saleable.

Copyright 2005 Thingsasian.com

Pig on the tracks!

After picking up the missus from ye olde airport limosine (actually just a bus) we were on the kakoeki densha (local train ala Japanese) and the train was halted to yield to a tired pair of wild boar. Good for the boar the driver spotted them before they became hood? ornaments...

Letters from me to me:

I checked my bodily mail and here is what I found:

Letter # 1:

Dear self,

please stop eating those maple syrup cookies.

kind regards,

your arteries

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Letter # 2:

Dear Ryan,

Perhaps more fibre in your diet would grease the wheels of this here operation. Just let me do what I'm designed to do!

hugs,
your sphinctor

It seemed like a harmless gig at first, dressing up like the NOVA bunny. The ad I had clipped out the classified stated in bold that 4 hours work was 10,000 yen, not at all a bad rate considering the lack of necessary skills. A quick man-er much easier than those voice-recording gigs I had done previously. All for a good-intentioned boost to my recently drained travel fund.

Little did I know that the world of the NOVA pink bunny was in fact an unexpected portal into the cleverly disguised unpleasantness, bone-breaking extortionism that is the seedy underbelly of this giant corporate behemouth.

In other words, it was my first day in the labrynth of the... Unsagichan Code...

Anthology of short films by Jan Svankmajer...

One of the best movies I have rented in some time. Go out and get it!

Also, my Spokane connection set me up with a copy of Napolean Dynomite, and I was also impressed.

Lots a movies lately. I am trying to sort out a backlog of about two years and this takes, as you might guess, ample time for them to become available in Japan.

Hey Hey Hey


On Sunday I saw a sea bream ritualistically sauteed, sliced and eaten by the gods of luck. A trout was sent skyward after suffering a similar fate, but expected considering the fish's position on the food chain.

Last week we watched a hungry deer on scenic Miyajima eat an empty pack of cigarettes, errantly disposed of by a not-so-neurotic smoker. Luckily, it spit out the shrink wrap liner, but still, it ATE a ciggy carton! yech.

The better half is off to Korea. She will have to enjoy the delicacies for both of us.

Bless her heart.

Writing and potential future income, beckons!

Kansai Morning Musings As switch tracks are thrown, the local train jolts into the station, allowing an express to roar through. The velvet bench seats are warm to the touch. My head brushes against advertisements for tours, musicals, adult magazines and the newest beverage. I space out to the klickety-klack of the electric railway. I hear the nervous rustlings of the sports page, behind which a company worker feasts upon his “me time,” on his way to the office. I hear nasal squeamishness of the conductor calling out scripted pleasantries. Everyone enjoys the excited yelps of elementary school kids playing tag, in amongst the patient sighs of seasoned office ladies and college girls applying an extra cake of foundation. I hear the soft slap of their patent leather penny loafers on the cement platform. Clubbers cackle about the previous night’s shenanigans, muttering about the day’s impending sleep and part-time work to be completed. White heat accosts your face as the rising sun’s light shines through the carriage’s many windows. Moments of gentle warm, mixed with a reassuring cool breeze, assurance enough that the summer heat is, for the moment, plotting elsewhere. Announcements leapfrog from the ailing PA system, reverberate off the underground labyrinth in some sort of tonal leapfrogging: “The express/sub-express/mildly local/departing on/arriving on track 1/3/5…is approaching…most honorable passengers collect your most treasured belongings…” Amongst the soul-suffocating din, a pigeon’s pursuit of a wayward cracker, crunched under a thousand Vibram soles, is rewarded with a happy cooing. Ravens ride the warm morning breeze, scanning for possible edibles hurriedly left behind by the busy citizenry on their way to work, school and points unknown. Train company jingles, reminiscent of 1980’s technology, compete for shattered attention spans: “I’ve been working on the railroad…Oh, give me a home…” And with a horrific metal on metal, teeth-gnashing scream, another train reaches its terminal, and another gaggle of Obasans queues, high-heels clicking on the stone floor; off to do another day’s business of the most undying importance. And at my destination I feel the passive-aggressive nip of another commuter’s heels as I trudge, apparently much too slowly for the public good, up the whirring escalator, which saves us all ten steps each morning. Like a biblical flood, we collectively whoosh out the gate, inserting passes and tickets while station managers observe the flow. Smokers hunch around ashtrays, enjoying Virginia’s finest. Luckily this all unfold before me, the sounds and odors of another place from which I didn’t originate. Another morning commute in Kobe, another glimpse into a morning in Japan.