She used to tell me, “I like when you read to me.” Or “I like the sound of your voice.” However, she hadn’t said such things in a while. I started to read out loud the article about the tiger until she cut me off: “I don’t want to hear it! It sounds terrible!” I stopped reading, took a sip of my coffee, and responded calmly, “No problem. I’ll stop.” And proceeded to read other news on my phone screen.
“What are we doing here?” she asked suddenly with tears in her voice. I knew what she meant. We had travelled across Southeast Asia for over two months now. But we were growing apart, drifting slowly in different directions under the scorching Asian sun.
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Lucille dreamt of adventures backpacking across Asia. She had missed a chance during her university years, so she wanted to do it now. I didn’t blame her. On the contrary, I was on board with it.
Back in Toronto, she aspired to a career in photography. She wanted to see the world, take photos of nature, architecture, and people, and make money selling them online as stock photography. I studied marketing and had some skills in graphic design, so Lucille wanted me to become a digital nomad with her. She and I talked about how to use social media to build my brand and how to get in touch with businesses that might pay for my freelance work. It was exciting. Before leaving for our trip, I told her I would think about it, but I wasn’t sure what else to say at the time.
I worked briefly for a medium-sized graphic design company specializing in book and magazine layouts. Calling me a designer makes it sound more interesting than it was since the job was pretty cut-and-dry. Nothing fancy or imaginative. Some of the work bored me to tears. Still, I didn’t mind the job. It paid the bills, my boss was ok, and I got along with my co-workers. I probably could have stayed with the company for a long time until Lucille mentioned this backpacking adventure and this nomadic entrepreneur way of life.
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We started our journey in Thailand and visited Bangkok, Chiang Mai, relaxed and partied on the beaches of Pattaya, but it was the rainy season, and we found ourselves soaked more often than we wanted. Then we got sick after sharing a Thai grilled whole fish for dinner at a dodgy restaurant—a poor pick from me. When we walked by, I thought the place looked authentic. I was wrong. It might have been authentic once, but the food was definitely poisonous.
We also quickly realized Thailand was busy all the time. Mass tourism multiplied the population everywhere we went. Even the middle of the jungle felt infested with tourists taking selfies and being loud while making TikTok videos.
On top of that, Lucille did not take good photos. She wasn’t inspired and couldn’t get herself “in the zone,” as she said. We blamed the weather, the crowds, the food, and she cried.
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After a few weeks in Thailand, we decided it was time for a change of scenery, and we went to Cambodia.
As far as I can remember, I always wanted to go to Cambodia. In my teenage years, I collected articles about it from travel magazines. I was fascinated by Buddhist temples, the Mekong River, graceful dancing apsaras and, above all else, Angkor. I would watch every tv documentary that would remotely treat it. I marvelled at the temples in the jungle, was intrigued by the Buddhist monks in orange robes and learned about the horrors of the Khmers Rouges from the 1970s to the end of the century. Of course, I was aware of the extreme poverty reigning in the country. Still, my imagination preferred to picture a land full of adventures and exotic beauty. I promised myself I would someday visit Cambodia, the Kingdom of Wonder.
