On the first day, I rented a bicycle for a few dollars and headed off in the general direction of the temples. After about 10 km of small road biking I somehow entered the park on a back road. Unfortunately, this doesn’t help as they check your ticket before entering each temple. I backtracked to the entrance gate, and met a group of people who ran into the same problem as me. We biked back to the temples, and made Angkor Wat our first stop.

Angkor Wat is a phenomenal structure. Before you can see the Wat you stare at the impressively large moat surrounding the symmetrical complex. Although I expected the towers to be twice as high, the place is still very impressive with inner layer after inner layer of intricate carvings and vast Bas reliefs. We went back to our bikes and set off for the Royal Center of Angkor after a solid haggling by the 10-year-old business gauntlet.

The scorching heat was tolerable, but it left us guzzling water, and wanting to get back on the bikes just to get some moving air. We wanted to see as many of the different temples as possible without getting overdose, which we commonly referred to as “templed-out.” We had just visited the Bayon which is distinct from the other ones thanks to its several meter high faces staring in the cardinal directions.

We wanted to visit Ta Prohm next, but made a very impromptu stop at a newer looking temple with a large Buddha statue. The monks told us it was only 20 years old. Off to the side we noticed a family sitting on a small stone balcony getting absolutely soaked by a monk as he chanted and threw bowl after bowl of water on them. A few of the younger monks were happy to entertain our questions about wha was happening. He explained the ritual was part of the Cambodian New Year. Once a year families come to the temple to be blessed for good luck in the coming year.

Then they asked us if we wanted to do it. After several hours of sweaty biking, the decision was simple, and 15 minutes later it was our turn to be soaked. We gave our cameras to the monks, and proceeded to get soaked by the eldest monk. It was refreshing, and hard to keep a straight face as the monk paparazzi took more pictures than I had the whole day. It was a great experience, and a refreshing change from the tourism machine in which we were immersed.

The following day, I decided to get a tuk-tuk with Sheri to see the other temples, including Ta Prohm which was the backdrop of Lara Croft Tombraider. The bizarre and exotic roots climbing through and around the ruins were absolutely stunning. Besides this highlight, I was starting to get templed out. After convening with the other we decided to visit two temples much farther away on the third day. One of these was created entirely by women, and is believed to be the origin of Khmer culture. The other is carved into the banks of a small stream with a waterfall.

The first temple we visited was sadly, packed with tourist buses, and hard to find a quiet place to stare at the beautiful carvings. They said women built it because there’s no way a man could give such attention to detail to each piece. A bit jilted by the temple, we had higher hopes for the waterfall temple.

The waterfall temple had a much more promising start, as there were only a few tuk-tuks in the parking lot. We hiked for about 20 minutes up the hillside and found ourselves at a small stream with some carvings and linga carved into the surrounding stone. The trickle of water was disappointing, and there were no building to be found. Thankfully, the waterfall was perfect. We promptly jumped in the water to cool off and relax. Although it was the dry season, there was enough water to give you a good back massage, butterflies flickered around the sun spots on the rocks, and small fish swam around the trash free pools. It was a good end to the temple sight-seeing. I was happy to find a few things off the beaten path here, and it really helped make this a great experience.

To the James Bond connoisseur, Udaipur is known as the backdrop for Octopussy. For the lay person, it is a city who is surrounded by artificial lakes made by the Maharajas of past years, which have delicately placed palaces in the middle. The shores are buttressed by the buildings during the rainy season, and during bad droughts bone dry. We managed to be visiting during the wetter half of the year, and the shores were only starting to recede. The town is small, relaxed, and a timid version of the cities we have visited so far. People are happy to just converse with you, and store clerks will wait for you to show a semblance of interest before heckling you to come over.

Sam and I have been tromping around cities, and we thought it would be a good idea to do a little hiking before trekking in Nepal. Surrounding the lake and city are the Aravalli hills, and on the highest peak several kilometers away sits the Monsoon Palace. We thought it would be a good jumping off point for a day hike. Originally we had great visions of climbing to the top and watching sunrise over the city, but were struck down by the wisdom of a sleeping person at 5 am. The palace is about 8 kilometers from the city center, so we took a rickshaw to the gate of the wildlife sanctuary and hiked the rest of the way. On the ride over, the rickshaw driver tried to convince us we would be attacked by tigers, and we should just take his rickshaw the whole way. After a simple check with the park ranger, we assuredly walked into the park on our own.

The hike to the top was nice, but entirely on paved road. We wandered around the bare interior, and watched several langurs (monkeys with really long tails) sun bathe on the edge of the palace before heading off for more interesting terrain. The ridge opposite the monsoon palace was untouched, and looked like a relatively easy climb up with a good path along the ridge line. To our surprise we spent the first half hour dodging thorny trees and cacti, and moving brush aside enough to find a solid foothold. There were some rocks near the top we climbed through, and at one point Sam shouts from below me, “Hey Dave watch out for that hornet’s nest right above your head.” After a few moments of slowly looking for the nest, I was relieved to find it abandoned. On the other side, we were met by rolling grassland. We enjoyed a well-deserved lunch on the peak, and hiked the ridge line before again descending the steeper slope back to the road below. We hiked another 3 kilometers to the outer edge of the city, and caught a rickshaw back to our hotel.

Rajasthan is well-known for its miniature paintings. These paintings originate under the Islamic realm, the figures are set at certain poses which are not realistic, but rather like those found in Byzantine icons, and are literally very small paintings with extreme detail. Sultans would have an entire workshop of artists commissioned to make large intricate pieces depicting sometimes hundreds of people topped with gold inlay. After reading a book by Orhan Pamuk My Name is Red, I was interested in this style of painting. We visited the museum in the palace, and after viewing several hundred pieces I could relate my education from the book with the art itself.

Sam and I were wandering through the streets, and decided to check out a small shop solely based on the shopkeeper’s witty comments. As we entered he said in passing, I also have some miniature paintings. By this time, I had visited several places, but was unimpressed by the either poor workmanship or large scale production. I asked him if he had any he made. Ram, the owner, smiled, and quietly walked past us to the far corner of the shop. After a minute or two of fumbling with a hidden door he pulled out a large paper portfolio, faded by the years.

I asked to see his horses, as this is generally the way to compare an artist’s workmanship, and more specifically its face. Ram smiled again, and slowly started showing us his early work. He would meticulously look at a piece and sigh, or exclaim how this one was such a good piece back then. He stopped, looked up and asked us if we would have some chai. For the next half hour, we were simply people. He telling us his story, and we admiring his pieces and seeing how his style grew with age. We became acquainted with him as an artist, and he was happy to share his work knowingly we weren’t interested in any of these particular pieces.

Ram was the third generation in his family to be in charge of their school. Young boys were taught a small task, and when they became better, they would advance to a new task. After mastering each part, he would sketch the design, and each person would do their part of coloring, shading, or applying gold inlay to create the final piece. Ram explained to us how certain styles and figures came and went out with the years. Nowadays the triad of horse, elephant, and camel in caravan is popular, and customers do not care as much about detail and fine craftsmanship.

Both Sam and I picked out a couple pieces to bring home, he was as happy with our purchases as we were, and the glimmer in his eye seemed to say, “Thanks.” After making our purchases, I ask Ram for one favor. I asked him to draw a horse for me without picking up his pen. He laughed and said, “I’ve never been asked to do this before.” We watched as he contemplated his approach, and drew the outline. Afterward, he said, “I know the great masters could do this in a heartbeat, and could start from any point on the horse, each time it would be perfect. Perfect…but this is the first time I’ve ever been asked to do this.” As we were leaving, Ram told us he was losing the shop. He couldn’t afford it anymore, he said he was an artist, not a salesman. He gave us his cell number so we could contact him when we returned with wives.

The Colosseum and archaeological park is an amazing site, and I fought back the cliché scenes from Gladiator and Ben Hur while walking around this area, but it really is a place to let your imagination run wild and envision days of yonder ages. Sometimes I think why exactly it is parents drag a couple of ten year old children through sites like this, until I realize these places aren’t about learning the historical facts, they are about opening up the mind, and allowing them to develop a mental stronghold. I am also grateful of the traveling I did as a kid with my family, albeit maybe more about playing with my brother in a new setting and remembering “how things were” in a more imaginative and grandiose manner than reality dictated.

Sometimes you cannot really create a good opinion or idea of a place until you are long gone, and have had some time to recollect your thoughts. Rome is one of these places. While walking around in a whirlwind of sightseeing, and dodging scooters as a second profession, it is hard to comprehend the plethora of normal culture absorption, history, and conversation you may have in a day. I realize now that one of the reasons I like Rome so much is its similarity to Japan. Japan has done a wonderful job of respecting the past (much more so than Rome), and this is most tangibly noticed in the melding of city buildings. A two thousand year old temple could be left undisturbed, but buttressed next to three skyscrapers filled with salarymen and daily business. The best example I can think of this in Rome is a movie theater.

There is a movie theater about 75 yards from Trevi Fountain, and while they were building this theater, they found an underground street. Sometimes this would prompt a removal of the items to a museum, creation of a site and abandoning the theater, or just forgetting about the site as there are just too many as is in Rome. Instead, they built a slightly smaller theater with side windows that look out over the excavated area and small catwalks to walk around them and read plaques with historic descriptions. In a world where we commonly indulge a fad and forget about our past, or just knock down the old to bring in the new, it is a refreshing change.

I would be lying if I told you I found this theater on my own or from a guidebook, I instead heard about it from a guy at my hostel named Will. He is a Watson Fellow studying subterranean spaces around the world for a year, and had some great stories and local hints from people he had been working with through the past months. Its a refreshing change, and we will try to meet up again in Palermo, Sicily for Thanksgiving, since only Americans (and Canadians, but earlier) seem to have a craving for turkey and stuffing this time of year.

After a full day of walking around the complex, I took the time to visit a very unique area in Grenada, Sacromonte. This hillside opposite the Alahambra, has many homes in it. Yes, in it. The better known areas have been refined to look like real homes inside, and are still home to a large Gypsy community influential in the creation of Flamenco. The clay-like earth of the mount makes it ideal to carve out and maintain stability. As I walked up the side of the hill I found doors, ruined brick facades, and front yards ranging from tidy and welcoming to expulsed heaps of interior décor littered around a makeshift fenced yard. As I passed and made short conversation with people, I ran into a group of youngsters quietly practicing Flamenco on their guitars, apprehensively quiet but still recognizable. Farther up the hillside, I ran into a Senegalese man chopping wood. We talked for a while and he invited me in to his home for dinner. After refusing several times, I finally conceded. He and his neighbor had made a modest meal of pasta and a cheese sauce with bits of chorizo. It wasn’t fancy or extravagant, closer to a watered down version of kraft macaroni and cheese, but it was warm and welcoming with the mountain air starting to cool off outside. I had some chocolate in my daypack (as on most days) which was gladly accepted as dessert.

The cave was humble, but well maintained. White stucco was heavily applied to the asymmetrical walls and floor while various levels were covered with cushions and blankets provided comfortable seating. He explained to me how he added the fireplace made from of brick and mortar last year , and is working on making a porch awning currently. As happens after a relaxing meal, the conversation would die off at times, the crackling of an old handheld radio on the table outside would interrupt before quieting back down as the next weekly top 40 song started to play, sometimes prompting more conversation, sometimes providing an excuse to not make awkward conversation for the sake of it.

As I sat there in this whimsical home chatting by the light of a fire, I realized how similar people are no matter where or what their homes look like. Although this cave home was not as extravagant as others, this man has taken pride in it and is upgrading and is telling me all about it – a conversation that is not uncommon among men on the weekend in suburbia across America, about the porch they built or the problem they had while installing the new light fixture in the kitchen. Is it coincidence that I sit here in a cave overlooking one of the world’s most fought after fortresses speaking another language to a man from Senegal about something I could’ve easily talked to a neighbor about in America? I think not. The opening of doors, sharing of food, and warmth of genuine people and conversation are acts capable of single handedly stopping many problems or at least the ignorance found in today’s world.

If you get the chance, take the extra couple of days and take a river cruise down the Rhine to Mainz. Its about twice as much as a train, and well worth the money as long as the weather holds. I however, was blessed with liquid sunshine (thats rain for those of you who don’t camp), and took the train. I was hoping the weather would hold out for the second (and better half) of the Rhine Valley from Koblenz – Mainz. It is more scenic and has a lot more castles. After checking out the city and resigning to getting back on the train I stopped in Bacharach for the night. What was the appeal to stopping in this small town? Well, I stayed in a castle.

This section of the Rhine is dotted with vineyards, and nearly every peak has a castle or the ruins of one with a small quaint town by the river straight from a model train landscape. The castle in Bacharach has been transformed into a youth hostel. Besides having amazing views, it also had the best breakfast I’ve had on this trip yet! Really cool to walk around the castle, and pretend your king of the world….err at least until the nearest castle. There is one downside to the whole experience, the children. The place was swarming with school children, and I have to say right now. Thank you to all my teachers along the way. Your patience and commitment are unmatchable. Thankfully, they keep some rooms away from the 5th graders so you can sleep in peace.

I finished my ride down the Rhine into Mainz and took a train to Nurnburg to visit a friend that I met in Fort William after hiking the highlands. Camilla was a great host, and showed me around the city after a night on the town. It was the first time I really saw the sun since being in Germany, and it was a welcome change. The old city is almost entirely pedestrian traffic only with shops and cafes dotting the street. Most of the old wall and moat (now a grass park with walkway) are in tact. On the hillside inside the north wall lies the Imperial Castle. The castle was impressively large, and had a great view of the city. Well, its time for the main event, next stop, Oktoberfest!