Christmas in Brussels

43 days 'till Dehli.

I should be dancing through these times. But, of course, I'm not. Too much time and too little going on. Checking Facebook and Twitter over and over again, playing Angry Birds or looking for new apps in the iTunes store. That's how I spend my holidays. Whenever I'm getting near the edge of insanity I walk the streets alone, window shopping well before dawn.

Christmas Eve consisted of one baguette, too many cheap beers and a bunch of online poker tournaments. Christmas in Brussels. It's not a happy place, it's not a happy time.

Notwithstanding, this Christmas sadness is disgusting. I'm a white dude in a spacious apartment in a nice part of town. Billions of people would kill for this lifestyle. But here I am; bitching and complaining (just like a little girl) about my luxurious, lonely life in Brussels...

It's time to get out before I start to believe in my own misery.

The Logistics Of Leaving

Got a brand new passport, brand new credit cards and one-way ticket to Dehli…
A solid plan. Now it all comes down to the simple logistics of leaving.

Planning and preparation. Making arrangements, canceling subscriptions, visits to the doctor and the bank, reading guidebooks, intensive Googling and lots of staring at the map of the world. The logistics of leaving keep me away from my worries and fears. Too many India-stories seem to involve getting sick, getting scammed, getting robbed. Well, that's not keeping me here. I already got plenty of experience in all of those fields.

I need to go.
Those four little words cover it all.

Weeks have passed since my last phone call with Cambodia. There's even less going on in this town. It's a very quiet, very comfortable and very lonely life in Brussels. There simply has to be more than this. Make no mistake, this is not a tale about some kind of Great Adventurer or Crazy Traveler.
Just a brain dead dodo in a golden cage. I need to get out before I'm too numb to even care.

When I'm not blinded by fear,
I feel pretty awesome about leaving...

Green Light

The darkest hour is right before the dawn...

After way too many sleepless nights, the papers came through, at last. Human Resources approved my sabbatical. (Boom!)

The hard part is over; the decision has been made. All I need is one final confirmation from the Government Office for Employment. At the day job, all documents are signed and approved. In 3 months time I'm free to go. Nothing holds me back. Preparation can finally start. The dream came true. I'm a happy man.

The long road ahead is all mine. (Yeah!) It's about time. No more compromises. I'll do as I please. I'll go where I want. Back to the East, of course. Same same but *seriously* different. Done with dope, done with troublesome love affairs. Intrepid traveling on my own terms, like a vagabond in the distance...

Far away from here,
far enough from Cambodia

Destination: India.

November's Never Easy

Striving to be awesome might never hurt; it does get old rather quickly.
Waiting is hard. Stuck in an endless loop of work and TV. Too much beer and too much weed. Disgusted with my own foolish tendencies. But hey, I don't owe anything to anyone. I'm my own dog now. I can do whatever I want. Sadly, what I want doesn't go beyond drinks, smokes and 46 episodes of Breaking Bad... Sit and smoke. Sit and drink. Sit and watch TV. Until it's time to go to bed. Wake up. Go to work. Repeat.

Autumn's a bitch.
November's never easy.
Simple facts of life.

Last week I almost went to a Halloween party. Almost. I didn't make it in the end. Driving there, meeting new people, getting drunk, driving home... Fuck it. This world's too complicated and confusing. I rather stay home and roll another joint instead.

Weeks crawl by, leaves are falling down. It's the darkest month of the year in grey, old Brussels. I'm not doing anything. Just waiting and staring at the Buddha on the wall. That bastard always looks like he knows it all. Mocking my confusion and weakness with his goddamn blissful smile.

Sometimes I don't even know anymore what is that I want. At least, here it's safe and cosy and warm. Leaving seems crazy. I'm scared, ill-prepared and seriously under-funded. Maybe I'll just hide under a warm blanket and let this whole damn season pass me by.

Wake me up in Spring.

The Easy Life

Life's smooth once you know what you're looking for.
I've been back on the day job for about a week. The days go by at a leisurely pace. This time no one's going to get me of my cloud.

It's all about the outlook.
My hopes and dreams make me dance through my days.
This time I'm only passing through.
Everyday I go to work my travel bankroll grows.
Everyday I go to work I get closer to departure day.
Everyday I got to work I strive to be awesome at my job... It's better that way. There's no point in doing things I don't like. No reason to complain. Done with being stressed and unhappy. This town can use more friendliness. Life's a lot better with a smile on your face.

Well, technically I'm still sort of on hold. It might take another few weeks before my sabbatical gets approved (or denied, but let's store those dark thoughts far away). For now, it feels like there's not much I can do. Show up for work everyday, be awesome, come home and save money (by staying home).
That's perfectly alright.
The easy life.

Never Home

Over 22 hours in planes and airports, four in-flight meals, too little leg-space, two in-flight movies and almost no sleep. That's the long way home. I had sort of thought Daria would bring me a last surprise visit at Phnom Penh Airport. That didn't happen. Well, it's probably better that way...

When I finally get through customs in Brussels, I'm dog-tired. All I want is a cup of pitch-black coffee. Got a voucher in my wallet. Just need to get to Starbucks in the departure hall. A simple line of action. I enter the arrival hall and see an elevator door opening. I hurry to get in. No luck, the door closes right in front of me. Almost made it. I just catch a glimpse of two beautiful, dark-skinned flight attendants in pretty, yellow uniforms. I wonder where they're from and where they go to. East of here, most likely. I'm still daydreaming when the elevator door reopens...
"Come on in", says the most beautiful, brown skinned, yellowed dressed air-attendant I've ever seen.
For a moment I can't move. Enchanted by her beautiful smile, her perfect white teeth, her lovely big eyes and her friendly, exotic face. Maybe I'll just stay here and wonder. Then I get my feet moving and stumble in. I read the name of the airline on her uniform. Jet Airways. Where do they fly to and how can I get there too? Are there coconuts and beaches? Tropical forests and quiet places? The lift descends. I need to go up but never mind. When the door opens I swiftly slide out so the flight-attendant can leave. She just smiles.
"Thank you. No, we go up."
"Me too", and I jump back in.
The elevator moves up and makes another stop. This time I just stay in front of the door.
"We get out", she says.
"Oh, excuse me", I reply and move back.
She gets out, turns around and asks; "You have to get out here too?"
"No, I need to go up. I need coffee" (black coffee)
"Good luck to you", she smiles.
"Good luck" and I smile too.

The elevator goes up to the right floor. A cup of hot coffee and I'm on my way. It's a cold, grey morning in Belgium. That's alright, I'm home but my mind's already elsewhere.

The Last Banana

Life's been good since I climbed Bokor Mountain. I can hear the music playing. I'm dancing. I'm sliding along.

The night Lisa left me hanging at the Blissful bar I went out for a nightly walk. No more fear of roaming dogs. Just dance along, you know. It worked out well. Got drunk (somehow all my Kampot stories seem to end that way...) and chatted for hours with a few friendly expats in a quiet riverside bar. Meeting people is easy if you have a white face walking around dark Kampot.

Days drift by. It's been a week since I got here. Time to go. I could easily linger on. But there's one last stop that I have to make. On Monday morning I board the bus to Phnom Penh. No worries. I've phoned ahead. They are expecting me. Back to the place where it all started….

The legendary
The one and only
"Phnom Penhs answer to Heaven on Earth"
Top Banana Guesthouse

It's hard to exaggerate the impact of the Banana on the way things went down. Eight years ago I came straight out of the Laos jungle into Phnom Penh and on to the Top Banana rooftop. Someone offered me a joint even before I had the time to take my backpack off. That was just the beginning. It was like coming home to a place I had never been before. Not mentioned in any guide book. The only way to get there was if you happened to meet someone who had experienced the Banana before. Finding the place and climbing the stairs was not easy. But once you made it, it was all good. We were all friends there. The Magic Box never ran out of weed. The music never stopped. We were all dancing. Sliding along. A friendly, wonderful rooftop in the middle of a wild, crazy city. It was a wonderful time. High and happy days on the roof, wild times in the city. But I was just a foolish kid. Very young and very naive. I thought I was tough and could hang out with the big boys. I was wrong. I fell in love with the first girl I met. Ten months later we were married in Sihanoukville. The crazy Banana days forever gone.

Today I'm back. The rooftop is still here. The owner's still the same. Everything else has changed. Phnom Penh has moved forward rapidly in the last few years. This town is rather decent, friendly and safe for a capital city in the developing world. Top Banana went the same way. The guest rooms have improved and are moved to the first floor. The second floor rooftop has been converted into a full-scale hipster bar. The days of the Magic Box are long gone. They have a whole staff working here now. People come and go. If you've never been here before it's hard to imagine what it was like. For me it's different. I look around and all I can see are images from the past flashing through my mind. I even found the outlines of my old room on the rooftop floor. Back at the beginning. It looks like I made it. It's here I gave up the dreams of my youth for a silly thing called love. It's here I'll start over again. The last ghost is the Banana.

Of course, it's never that easy. Life never goes as planned. I cannot just sit here and declare my new found independence. Ghosts aren't beaten that easily. So I did what I'm used to by now: I danced. When a few backpackers asked me to join them for a drink in a nearby bar I said yes. We had a few boring beers. I left early and went back to my room. Checked my phone and found a text message from Daria. She's in town. In fact, she's in a bar down the street. She wants to see me one last time. 'Why Not?' we used to say in the old days.

I get over there and we have a few drinks. No tears, no anger, no trouble. Just a friendly conversation. Once you know what you want, life gets easy. This time I speak freely about my dreams. My burning desire doesn't involve her but the wide world out there. She can hear there's no more doubt in my voice. She accepts it. Well, I've been on the run for over a week so my Mr. Righteous image is pretty much crushed anyway. It's all cool. I even invite her over to the Banana rooftop. We have more beers and talk 'till late into the night. She speaks about her own plans for the future and wishes me all the best with realizing my dreams. The drinks and the rooftop have a strange effect on me. Eight years ago I sat here and fell in love with a no-good girl, tonight I'm back here with a Cambodian lady but only to say goodbye. From the corner of my eye, I see the last ghost crawling over the rooftop railing and jumping down.
The end.

Tomorrow I'll leave alone. I'll stuff my backpack with cheap t-shirt and crappy Buddha statues. The ghosts stay here. Now all I long for is a final exit stamp. There's a whole world beyond the Cambodian border. I think I should go and have a look.
The Fishy Trail starts here.