THE END!! GOODBYE!!

Well, this is it. After almost 11 months of cut-throat madness in South Asia, I'm back in Washington, DC.

It's time for some serious self-evaluation. You can't spend almost a year in Asia, doing the ridiculous things I did, without some profound changes...

That's something I need to do on my own for the time being, but for all of you who had any interest in reading this sillyness, it's been a good ride. What comes next? Probably New York.

I'll post a final link when I start a new blog. "Hugh In Asia" is now finished, and "Hugh: Rockin' In America" is just about to begin. It's an exciting, brave new world, eh?

Guys, it's been real. To all the amazing people I met along the way: Shakespeare himself couldn't have dreamed up a more dynamic, diverse, fascinating cast of characters. Many of you have become lifelong friends, and I'll never forget it.

To everyone else, especially my friends back in Chicago: I'm back. Brace yourself.

Much love.
- HSM

The Story of Utopia

A MEMORY FROM SIHAOUKVILLE, CAMBODIA:

It's been a long night. I've been at "work" since eight pm yesterday. It's now seven in the morning. The sun is rising to the east. My friends and I take a few minutes to admire it. Sean goes to the kitchen to make some Eggs Benedict for the staff and the dozen-or-so remaining customers. I pour a few more drinks and break out the skim-board. Cooper pulls his motorcycle onto the beach and sets up the rope. A new day has begun...

This is "Utopia."

In the end, "Utopia" was just a bar. A bar on the far eastern end of Oacchateal Beach, in the tiny town of Sihaounkville, Cambodia.

Cambodia. Crushingly poor, emerald-green, wonderful/terrible Cambodia.

Sihanoukville is Cambodia's only "beach" destination. That doesn't mean much. Adjacent Thailand has beaches whose natural beauty will always, always eclipse those of Cambodia. But Sihanoukville had something special.

The guidebooks and seasoned travellers always talk about "undiscovered" places. Sihanoukville was one of them. And Utopia was at the heart of it.

I first went to Utopia when I came to Sihanoukville in February. I returned the second time in May. I never expected to stay as long as I did.

Here's the crux of it: I always loved Sihanoukville, and Utopia was the only late-night bar in that small, beautiful, devil-may-care, lawless town.

It was the single best bar I've ever been to in my life. The people were always friendly, the music was always good, the drinks were always strong, the women were always beautiful, the beach was (almost) always perfect, etc.

Kate, the wonderful, committed manager, asked me one night if I would like to work there. I agreed...

So for the past few months, I committed myself to something grandiose. On the surface, it was a bar called Utopia. But more than that, it was a way of life...until it was destroyed.

I worked at Utopia for roughly two months. A short time to be sure, but I don't think ever in my life have I enjoyed myself so much as I did those eight weeks. We were only open three nights a week, but those three nights we raged...Serve drinks until dawn, dance on the bar, spin fire on the beach, pour shots down the ice block, skim-board at dawn (skim-boarding is a form of surfing done laterally in shallow water - we did it with a water-ski rope attached to a motorcycle ripping along the beach), play with the monkey (we had a Gibbon who lived in the bar), etc.

And then, one day, it all ended...

The most powerful company in Cambodia is a petrolium interest called Sokimex. The Cambodian Minister of Finance is a member of the Sokimex Board of Directors.

Sokimex had bought the land Utopia occupied. They had plans to build in its place a golf course and luxury resort. We all knew it, and we all tried to deny the reality...

Soon we realized the obvious - The Cambodian Police were coming to kick us (and a dozen other businesses) off our land. We had about two days notice. We emptied out everything we could and waited for the inevitable...

Two days later a batallion of military police showed up and evicted all of us. We stood by and watched as the government bulldozers tore down our bar and a half-dozen other places adjacent to ours. That night, we came back to salvage everything we could. And once we had, we drank as much of the bar stock as we could, then we torched the whole fucking place...

And that's one of the things I will always remember. Sitting there with the people who had become my close friends, drinking our last vodka and Jaegermeister, and saying goodbye to a place that had been - in its own way - a perfect little "Utopia."

Oh! How arrogant! Look at this American fucker who thinks his fate is so unjust!

No. It's not about me. I lost something special, but 36 Cambodian families lost their homes. I knew all of them. I cried with them as we watched the bulldozers crumble their hand-built houses.

I have money, I have a home in the US to which I can return. Those hard-working, selfless Khmher families have nothing. I don't even know where most of them are now. I have my friends from that time, but that's about it...

I never deserved it, but I will always have Utopia...

I'll be home within a week. See you all soon...

- HSM

The Temples of Angkor: Word's Can't Quite Say It

There are a few events in a man's life when he says to himself, "This changes everything; from now on there will only be the time before this and the time after this."

Sometimes those moments are horrible: mine include my mother's death, my mentor's death, the morning of September 11 (2001 was a bad year for me).

But others are instances of such beauty, intensity or happiness that in their unfolding you're introduced to a new part of yourself. You realize a new chapter of your life has begun. I think about the first time I fell in love, the first time I earned the respect of a professor, the crystal-clear afternoon I parachuted out of an airplane over the Swiss Alps, the night I lost my virginity.

One of those moments was the first time I walked through the temples of Angkor in Cambodia. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe or understand that a place like this existed.

I've actually left my history book back in the hotel room, but here's a basic rundown of what I remember: The temples of Angkor were built by several kings of the Angkor empire between the 9th and 14th centuries. At its height, the empire extended from the southern tip of Vietnam, north to China and West to the Bay of Bengal. According to the Lonely Planet folks, at a time when the city of London had a population of 50,000, Angkor Thom supported 1 million residents.

Though the thoroughly-reconstruted, stunningly-beautiful Angkor Wat is by far the most famous temple (it's the largest religious structure in the world), the complex actually extends out over several square miles. In the farther temples like Preah Khan you can easily find an isolated corner surrounded by beautiful artwork where you can sit, meditate or simply soak in the majesty around you.

And although "majesty" seems to be the best word I can come up with at the moment, it is not really sufficient to describe the white-hot flame of awe that melts the cortex as you walk though the overgrown doorways, climb the deserted pyramids and pause to marvel at the intricate carvings that adorn this remarkable place.

I don't know how else to put it: no work of art, no poem, no museum, no mighty symphony, no sunset, no vicious storm, no majestic mountain has ever left me so dazzled.

In some places around Angkor mighty pyramids dominate the landscape, in others lichen-covered temples silently guard their secrets under the jungle canopy. The sheer volume is breathtaking. You could spend weeks wandering the grounds and not begin to see it all.

Wandering around Preah Khan or Ta Prohm is like starring in a children's adventure book. They're simply so big that you're almost always by yourself. And down every hallway, on every wall, on every collapsed block, on every bit of rubble you step over is priceless art of the highest order.

Antiquities thieves have had a run at many parts, but the temples of Angkor remain very well preserved. The carvings are rich in iconography, and many books have been written about their historical and symbolic contexts. I will leave that research up to you, Dear Reader.

All I can say is that museum-quality, ancient stone work covers nearly every rock, casually strewn about like garbage. It is simply unbelievable.

I have many photos of Angkor, but the computers here are rather basic and it's going to be hard to find one that will let me upload. I'll be in Phnom Penh, Cambodia's Capitol, tomorrow, and I'll try to put some photos up in the next few days.

Also, I still have that cell phone but I need to get a Cambodian SIM card in Phnom Penh to make it work (no international networks). It'll be soon, though, and I still can't wait to talk to all of you. It'll be very soon.

My unending, unconditional love to all my family and friends back home. Keep on rockin' in the Free World.

- HSM

Happy New Year! And Here's the News You've All Been Waiting For:

Hello hello, gang!

I'm sitting at an internet cafe in Bangkok. Bangkok, you say? Yes, indeed. That's right, I've changed my ticket. I'm going to be staying in Asia for a little while longer than I originally anticipated. There are some people I want to see again and a few more things I want to accomplish before I leave this mad, fascinating corner of the world. For the time being, it looks like I'm going to be returning stateside at the end of March. The future is a fluid and nebulous beast...

I'm with Ben (you might remember him from a filthy, now-deleted previous posting). We're headed to Cambodia in a few days. Then, who knows?

But the important thing I wanted to point out here is that I'm doing well, and I also want everyone to know that I now have a Thai cell phone and I will be in touch with all of you back home within the next few days. I have to run at the moment, but I can't wait to talk to everyone soon!

My love to everyone, happy new year, and you'll be hearing from me soon.

Happy New Year! And Here's the News You've All Been Waiting For:

Hello hello, gang!

I'm sitting at an internet cafe in Bangkok. Bangkok, you say? Yes, indeed. That's right, I've changed my ticket. I'm going to be staying in Asia for a little while longer than I originally anticipated. There are some people I want to see again and a few more things I want to accomplish before I leave this mad, fascinating corner of the world. For the time being, it looks like I'm going to be returning stateside at the end of March. The future is a fluid and nebulous beast...

I'm with Ben (you might remember him from a filthy, now-deleted previous posting). We're headed to Cambodia in a few days. Then, who knows?

But the important thing I wanted to point out here is that I'm doing well, and I also want everyone to know that I now have a Thai cell phone and I will be in touch with all of you back home within the next few days. I have to run at the moment, but I can't wait to talk to everyone soon!

My love to everyone, happy new year, and you'll be hearing from me soon.

The Seventh Circle of Hell

McLEOD GANJ, HIMACHAL PRADESH, INDIA -- You think you know pain, my friend? You think you know agony? You think you know terror?

No. You don't know any of those things until you've felt the first symptoms of dysentery two hours into a 16-hour bus ride - on an a rickity bus with no bathroom - into the Himalayan foothills.

It was bound to happen. I so snidely thought of myself as the man with the iron stomach - out to sample all this strange, new, questionable food.

It started four days ago, a few hours after my last post. It was raining when I got on an autorickshaw to take me to the Delhi bus station. The "deluxe" bus to Dharamsala seemed nice enough, with clean seats and a fair amount of space. The other passengers were primarily other young-ish travelers. I sat at a window near the back, behind two nice young women, one from America and one from Israel.

Two hours outside of Delhi the bus stopped at a roadside restaurant/convenience store in a vacant field. It was to be our last scheduled stop of the night - dinner and bathroom break.

I used the somewhat rancid bathroom and sat down with the girls I had met earlier, Erin and Shelly. They ordered dinner and, when I did not, offered me some of theirs.

"No thanks," I told them. "It's a long bus ride and I'm worried my stomach might be getting a little upset."

Little did I know...

As the bus got into more undeveloped areas our speed picked up to a good 60 or 70 mph. That's when the pounding, and the agony, began.

The distress in my stomach increased with the momentum. The quality of the road dropped dramatically, but our driver kept the speed up, pounding the everloving shit out of the suspension, the bus and everyone inside.

By midnight I was in my own private Hell. My stomach was a burining knot of pain and nausea. The bus flew over endless cracks, divets and potholes. Occasionally it would launch over a bump with such force it would fling everyone entirely off our seats, sending us crashing back down with a hard thump. It seemed like the bus was seconds away from snapping in the middle like a torpedoed battleship.

The pain and the nausea were indescribeable. Sleep was impossible. I opened the window to let a breeze blow on my sweat-drenched face. It felt like someone had shoved a fistfull of live coals up my ass. I was fully convinced that, before the night was over, I was going to have to run to the front of the bus, have the driver make an emergency stop, and bolt into a field where my stomach and/or bowels would explode in front of everybody.

I wanted to hurt people. Why wouldn't the driver slow down, at least for the biggest obstacles? I hated him. I had fantasies about pulling his teeth out with a pair of pliers. I wanted to hunt down and torture every member of the Indian Parliament who ever voted against increased highway funding. Nuclear weapons!? You spent money on nuclear fucking weapons? What about the roads!?

We arrived at our destination - McLeod Ganj, just north of Dharamsala - at about five in the morning. I got off the bus feeling like I had just been sodomized by a herd of waterbuffalo. I hurried to the nearest hotel.

"Please," I told the woman behind the desk. "Please, I need a room with a private bathroom. Please, right now."

I was shown to my room in what happened to be the cheapest hotel in town. It was filthy, and the bathroom was a stinking hole in the floor. It didn't matter. As soon as the woman closed the door, I locked it, squatted over the hole and had the most ungodly, soul-destroying, bowel-ripping case of Mud Butt I've ever experienced. When the cramps and spasms finally subsided I nearly wept with gratitude.

That wasn't the end of it. I've been entirely out of commission for the past three days - too weak to move and unable to venture beyond 15 yards of a bathroom. I only stepped outside long enough to move to the nicest hotel in town - at $19 a night, still less than half of what my DC apartment cost. It has room service, hot water, a balcony with a breathtaking view, and - most importantly, a sit-down toilet.

I've barely been able to eat, but since last night my condition has improved considerably, which is why I'm now sitting here describing my bowel functions for the whole world to read.

I haven't yet been able to walk around this small, beautiful town. That's what I'm going to do right now...

Delhi: Reconsidered

I came down a bit hard on Delhi in my first desciption of the city. It was my first day, and the immediacy of the garbage, noise and chaos seared the most immediate impression on my mind.

Yes, Delhi is all of those things. It is dirty, chaoitic, intense and exhausting. Sitting in a cafe on a rooftop somewhere it's almost easy to forget where you are. But down on the street, the reality of it kicks you in the balls.

But Delhi, in the four days I've been here, has shown itself to be more than just a snapshot of urban squalor.

Delhi, in its way, is beautiful. I remember two days ago I was walking down a market street, drinking bottled water and exploring the bazaar. I stopped to light a cigarette.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a flash of brilliant color. It was a family of orthodox Sikhs in their traditional garb being pulled along by a fellow on a cycle rickshaw.

The husband had a long beard and a beatiful, jewel-inlayed schimitar in a scabbard on his belt. All three members of the family wore flowing silk robes of the most otherworldly electric blue color I've ever seen. It looked like a cross between moutaintop noontime sky and the spark of an arc-welder. I envisioned the family standing in a room lit by nothing more than the luminescence of their own clothing. It was breathtaking.

I watched them merge with the frantic, dusty river of traffic. "This," I thought, "is the sort of thing I came here to see."

I met a very nice young couple from London, and we spent yesterday exploring the tomb of 15th-century Mughal ruler Humayan. It's an incredible, sprawling complex built around an ornate central palace, designed by the same architect who later designed the Taj Mahal.

It was beautiful, sublime, with bats squeaking in the domed roofs of the tombs and dozens of hawks flying in long, lazy circles outside.

I'm glad I've had the opportunity to digest a bit more of Delhi, and I can't say I haven't enjoyed it. But after two weeks I it's time to get out of capital cities.

That's why today I embark upon a 16-hour, unairconditioned bus ride to the foothills of the Himalaya and the town of Dharamsala, near the Kashmiri border - home of the Tibetan government-in-exile and His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.