No more places to see, no more stops along the way. This was the last one, Angkor Wat. My father walked these paths, saw these temples, more ruined, less air conditioning, fewer people.
Now I have. And I have seen Saigon, and Laos, sat at the Foreign Correspondent’s Club in Phnom Penh, walked Bangkok and Jim Thompson’s house. I have felt the heat and humidity, seen what my father saw, ate what he ate, noticed the massive changes since he was here and seen some spots, a few, that were blissfully the same.
I have to go to Singapore now to see where he died, and then to Burma, to see where he lived.
Other than that, I am finding it hard to write, hard to really think much about anything but flying to Singapore and going to that hospital. It’s taking all of me just to do that.