Unaccustomed Earth: Southeast Asia

"In the United States, the word 'Vietnam' signifies a war, not a country. Fifteen years of jungle and napalm are how we define a centuries-old land....Vietnam--the word and the country--are inextricably bound to the years when America lost for the first time--lost a fight, lost its claim to moral righteousness, lost its innocence in a morass of lies, death, and disillusionment."
-Where the Pavement Ends: One Woman's Bicycle Trip Through Mongolia, China, and Vietnam

"From 1975 to 1979--through execution, starvation, disease, and forced labor--the Khmer Rouge systematically killed an estimated two million Cambodians, almost a fourth of the country's population...This is a story of survival: my own and my family's... If you had been living in Cambodia during this period, this would be your story too."
-First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers

....

I was thrilled about the idea of traveling to Asia. Going to this part of the world meant immersing myself in languages and cultures almost entirely unknown to me; the unfamiliarity was exhilarating. Like most Americans, my concept of Vietnam was based solely on my knowledge of the war. I knew nothing about Cambodia except for its rough geographical location on the map. In the months prior to setting out on the trip I visited the library several times in search of information on those two countries. I was looking for more than just the traditional guidebook; I wanted the people's stories. The majority of the literature I found on Vietnam was about the war. Military histories and personal accounts of death, destruction and post-war psychological trauma dominated the shelves. Cambodia wasn't much different; a limited selection of mostly political books analyzing the Khemer Rouge regime and the gruesome war/genocide that followed their takeover was what I had to choose from.

It took some digging, but eventually I came across something close to what I was looking for. I was immediately drawn to Where the Pavement Ends in part because of my zeal for unorthodox travel adventures but also the cultural immersion and intimate interactions that inevitably occur when one travels this way. The author recounts her story as she travels only by bike through Mongolia, China, and Vietnam. For the entire length of her journey she relies only on herself and chance encounters with others to guide her in the right direction. The most interesting part was how the cyclist's and native people's attitudes changed as she made her way through each country.

In the second, First They Killed My Father, a Cambodian refugee recounts her story from the confused, angry, lost point of view of a child (she was five years old when the war began) who does not fully understand what is happening or why. It was one of those that I had trouble putting down for very long. I ended up reading her other book, Lucky Child, where she continues the previous story with the details of immigrating to the United States with her brother and leaving the rest of her family behind. All the while she struggles to deal with the haunting memories of the war and fitting in with our "melting pot."

As I finished each of these books, nervous anticipation welled in me. I began to ruminate about how different my experience was going to be and how I would relate to it with the knowledge of these countries' convoluted histories looming in the back of my mind. Though immediately following those thoughts that incurable disease called travel infiltrated my body, along with my endless curiosity about people and places. Past experiences in going abroad reassured me that my cultural education was about to be expanded once again.