1. The air quality is so bad in the mega city of Mumbai in India that just one day outdoors is the equivalent of smoking 100 cigarettes.

2. India has far more cell phones than toilets.

3. Sex toys are still illegal in India.

4. The world's largest family unit – a man and his 39 wives and 94 children – live together in India.

5.    In one state in India, police officers are given a pay upgrade if they have moustaches. 

6.    The highest temperature ever recorded in India was 123.1 °F in Alwar, Rajasthan, while the lowest was -49 °F in Dras, Ladakh. 

12. An Indian man claims he hasn't had anything to eat or drink in 70 years. No one has seen him do either and after running many tests doctors still can’t disprove him or figure out how it’s possible.

13. The stats about roadway fatalities in India are even more grim: 37% of all road deaths are pedestrians who were hit, 28% cyclists and motorcyclists, and 55% of all deaths occur within five minutes of the accident.

14. There’s a village in India, called Shani Shingnapur, where no houses or structures have doors and nothing is locked up. Even shops are left wide open and nothing of value is kept secured. However, there has never been a reported theft in the history of the village, and they believe they’re protected by God.

15. India actually developed a rocket and launched it into outer space. So how did the Indian Space Research Organization (ISRO) transport the rocket to the launch site? With a series of bicycles. 

16. Call it K9 karma, because in an act of atonement, an Indian man recently got married to a dog.

17. At least 50% of the outsourced IT services in the world come from India. 

18. They wear white at funerals in India instead of black, most common in other countries.

19. India has a national obsession with breaking records. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, India ranks third behind the USA and the UK in the number of records claimed each year, though they have many other record books they fill up.

20. Cherrapunji in India is the wettest spot on earth, receiving 425 inches of rain every year, more than 5 times as much as the tropical rain forests in South America.

21. Some of the recent world records include the largest gathering of people (891) dressed like Mahatma Gandhi, the longest garland made of cakes of cattle dung (2 km), the longest time performing yoga on horseback (10 hours), a man who typed 103 words in 47 seconds with his nose, and the record for lighting electric bulbs by passing a wire through the nose and out of the mouth: 30 sixty-watt bulbs.
 
22. The largest current slave population in the world resides in India, with over 14 million people forced to work for no wages or against their will every day.

23. The city of Mumbai is so overpopulated and congested, that the government set out to solve the problem by building a second, parallel city right next to it. Navi Mumbai was developed in 1972 and remains the largest planned township in the history of the world.

24. One Indian family has 31 doctors in in it. Known as “the doctor family”, they have 7 physicians, 5 gynecologists, 3 ophthalmologists, 3 ENT specialists, psychiatrists, pathologists, neurologists, an orthopedist and one urologist.

31. In a part of India called West Bengal, cows are required to have their own photo ID cards.

32. It's illegal to carry Indian currency (Rupees) out of the country.

33. The Kumbh Mela Festival is the world's biggest gathering, with over 100 million people in attendance every time it commences.

34. The typical person in India would have to work at least 6 hours just to buy a McDonalds Big Mac.

35. India is home to the most languages in the world. The 1961 census of India documented 1,652 languages in use in the country at that time.

36. There are more than one million Indian millionaires, behind only the U.S., Japan, and about tied with China.

41. Legend has it that the famous Levitating Stone of Qamar Ali Darvesh in Shivapur, India can be lifted with only 11 fingertips if you shout the name “Qamar Ali Darvesh!” as you lift. By the way, the stone weighs 200 kg.

42. India was the only place on earth diamonds were officially found until 1986, when they were discovered in Africa and several other countries. 

43. Despite it’s huge landmass, all of India is in one time zone. But it does differ from a ½ hour from neighboring countries and international time standards, making things complicated. So when it’s 6:30pm in India it’s 8am in New York.

44. Complicated surgeries and operations were performed over 2,600 years ago in India.

45. A village in northern India is called Snapdeal.com Nagar. The village, previously named Shiv Nagar, officially changed its name to Snapdeal.com Nagar in exchange for the e-commerce website installing 15 hand water pumps for the villagers.

46. The Kodinhi village in the southern state of Kerala is known internationally as “Twin Town” because it produces such an alarming rate of twins.

47. We know that Indian people love animals, but taking it one step further, there’s an elephant spa, the Punnathoor Cotta Elephant Yard Rejuvenation Centre in Kerala, where the majestic animals receive the royal treatment.

48. The Indian prime minister elect, Narendra Modi, went to the U.S. to take a three-month course on public relations and image management. It must have worked, because he was one of the most popular Indian leaders in memory.

49. An elaborate wedding in Bengaluru was called off when the bride’s family served the groom’s family chicken biryani instead of mutton biryani. Although biryani is the typical wedding dish, the lack of the correct meat source was seen as an offensive slight that led to a big fight, and the cancellation of the nuptials.

50. Since so many Indians speak English as their second language, India now has the most English speakers in the world, ahead of even the U.S. or the U.K. 

This is a quick note to parents who have kids that are traveling abroad. I feel compelled to write it after seeing the news yesterday of two young British travelers brutally murdered on the island of Koh Tao in southern Thailand.

More specifically, if you have teens, young adults, or college-aged kids who are traveling in exotic and fun places like Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Cambodia, Thailand, Mexico, etc. Please pay attention for a quick moment because this tip is fundamental to keeping them safe.

First off, please understand that your kids are going to go wild. They’re going to drink and smoke and maybe do ecstasy or MDMA or Molly or whatever crappy new drugs kids are doing these days. They’re going to dance all night and hang out with sketchy people and ride motos around without helmets and jump off of cliffs into the ocean and get bad tattoos and probably have cheap sex more often than not. 

Those are the predilections and impulses of young adults so there’s no use fighting it (and don’t pretend we didn’t do the same things - or worse.) But aside from the obvious, common sense stuff – like don’t get caught with drugs and don’t walk around loaded in dark alleys at 4am, there’s one thing you should implore them, no – plead with them, to understand. Following this advice could be the difference between life and death, as this is where the vast majority of assaults, murders, and even rapes of travelers take place:   

Stay off the beaches late at night.

Why? From what I’ve seen, (and I’ve traveled a fair bit) the vast majority of serious harm towards foreigners occurs late at night on the beaches. This isn’t the kind of harm you can put a Band Aid on – this is the stuff that keeps you up at night worrying, the phone call in the middle of the night that shatters your world, your worst nightmare. Travelers – especially young travelers – are too often naïve and oblivious to their surroundings. They’re drunk and having the time of their lives with their friends, swept away in the perfect moment. They think they’re in a tropical paradise where everything is beautiful and fun, but too often completely oblivious to what’s really happening.

There are people waiting for them on the beach. Thieves and muggers and violent gangs and bad people ready to do bad things. And your kids are such easy targets, stumbling around drunk and alone in the dark. These gangs of people with bad intentions – impoverished, wild, and probably on drugs themselves – go to those area specifically because they know they’ll be drunk tourists stumbling around. They’re hunting your children. Or sometimes, robberies or attacks aren’t that orchestrated. But either way, on the beach it’s pitch black, there’s no one around, and the police or anyone who can help are so far away they might as well not exist. The romantic moonlight walk on the beach by a couple of travelers can very quickly turn into something that will ruin their lives. 

Now I’m not saying that all people are bad in these countries or something will always happen on the beach late at night. Not at all. Most people have wonderful experiences when traveling without any incident. And I’d caution people to stay aware and be safe in their home countries of United States or Canada or Australia or England as well, where these kinds of things happen nightly. I’m only compelling people to be aware of their surroundings and exercise common sense, because for some reason, travelers view the beach at night as beautiful safe havens, not dark alleys.

Of course there are times it’s perfectly safe to go onto the beach at night – when they stay within sight of the established hotels, bars, and tourist areas. And they should always go out at night or to the beach in a large group. Befriend locals. Tell people where you are going before you head out there. Leave a copy of your passport with your hotel and tell them every night where you are headed and with whom. 

Maybe I’m just being over cautious. I certainly hope so. Your kids will probably roll their eyes and dismiss your warnings as nagging parental paranoia. But show them this newspaper write up about the British kids who were just brutally slain on the beach at night in Thailand. And let them read this article I wrote about staying safe while traveling abroad. And if you think they’re still going to be reckless and foolhardy, I’ll forward you the horrific and graphic photos of those two kids. Unfortunately, someone emailed them to me. They made me sick to my stomach and kept me up all last night. 

Please hit me up if you have any other questions about traveling, as it’s definitely something I encourage that will also change their lives for the better. 

-Norm   :-)

I really loved Cambodia, its chill vibe, friendly people, and balance of some of the things you like in other parts of Asia, without too much of anything.  I spent months in Phnom Penh, the capital city, and immersed myself in the local culture.  To truly get a sense of local life, I moved out of my comfortable hotel and got an apartment in a typical neighborhood.  To get there, I had to follow a maze of winding alleys, through puddles and trash and claustrophobic corners and dark staircases.  My apartment was three stories up in an attic and insanely hot - and rat infested.  Still, I enjoyed making great friends with my neighbors - the girl shown here, an old man who's wife owned a sidewalk kiosk, and the folks at the martial arts studio across the street.  This photo typifies Cambodia for me: flawed, crumbling, treacherous at times, but its humanity always illuminated by a warm light.

This is one of my favorite photos from the whole year because of my affinity for the children and poor folks in Cambodia.  So many kids and even whole families live on the streets, begging and eating out of the trash.  These two little girls were walking barefoot on the hot, dangerous streets, trying to sell hand-woven bracelets to tourists.  They are so poor they never owned a mirror nor saw their own image often, so they were enamored with their likeness in this car mirror.  They made faces and danced and laughed. I snuck up on them and shot a few photos before they got too self conscious and laughed before skipping away.  

This is the best photo I took all year.  Ironically, I snapped it as an afterthought on one of my last days in Asia, in a small city a few hours north of Manila in the Philippines.  Everywhere in Asia the discrepancy between rich and poor is alarming, although not geographically segregated.  There is not better example than this photo, where this burnt-out and roofless building served as the shelter for a young mother and her two infant daughters.  Right beside them sat a 7-11 convenience story on one side and an affluent hotel on the other.  I was alarmed at the textures in this photo, their obvious tenderness despite the depth of their pain, maze of many doorways like Dante's 7 Gates to Hades.

Right after I took this, I saw the little girl hanging out in front of the 7-11 by herself, dirty and shoeless.  I bought her an ice cream and gave her a few dollars and she beamed up at me with her big smile.  There's also hope in this photo, like the open sky above them, the joy of their spirit that can not be burnt down. 

The island of Boracay in the Philippines is one of the coolest places I've ever been to on earth.  I actually visited way back in 1999 when it was just a small inhabitation of fisherman and ladyboys (and the kinky German tourists who chased them) among a mostly-untamed island.  14 years later, Boracay is far more developed, but somehow managed to keep its charm (though there are far less ladyboys and very few kinky Germans.)   It's packed with tourists, families on vacation, and beach lovers from all over the globe, but they've done a good job to manage that growth.  It's almost spotlessly clean, so safe you can walk anywhere at any time of night, and its natural beauty hasn't been diminished…despite having a Subway, McDonalds, and a Starbucks. 

Another photo from Boracay.  On the west side of the island runs White Sand beach, a 7 km strip of immaculate…well, white sand.  It ends into a rock outcropping, but that's where the adventure just begins.  Following a narrow stone trail through the cliffs (above) you end up at majestic Diniweed beach, shown here.  It's a private beach but anyone is welcome, with only a few beach bungalows, guest houses, and restaurants built into the hill.  It's so gorgeous that I would just stand there and take it all in when I visited.

In southeast Asia, water is life.  In every country (even landlocked Laos,) the majority of the population lives along the ocean, rivers, or lakes, where they've survived off of rice farming and fishing for many centuries.  Waterways are also the traditional method of transportation, sometimes house them on floating villages - and often were a means of escape for refugees during bloody conflicts like the Vietnam War and Cambodian genocide.  

Walking through a local market one night, I happened on a wedding celebration.  I managed to snap a quick photo of the newlyweds without disturbing them.  Weddings in Vietnam and other southeast asian cultures are a huge deal - sometimes a 3-day affair!  

This is along the river in Hoi An in north central Vietnam, a charming and colorful enclave of traditional culture - and tourist hotspot.  There were plenty of boats along the river, but this particular family opened their's up to visitors every evening and sold cold beer while the father played guitar and sang to his toddler daughter.  

Ko Pi Pi island in Thailand.  These islands and beach were made famous when they filmed, The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio years back.  It's stunningly beautiful, though infested with tourists.  I was sad to see trash floating around and the dipshit travelers treating it like their own party place, not giving the respect its beauty deserves.  

A giant golden statue of Buddha from a temple, or Wat, in Thailand.  There are only certain positions you'll ever find a likeness of Buddha, like sitting, standing, laying, or in the lotus pose.  

A photo from a botanical garden in Phuket, Thailand.  Phuket is the largest island in Thailand and some areas, like Patpong, look like crowded and touristy cities.  But there are still areas of the island that are serene and unspoiled by commercialization.  I spent the whole day wandering within this beautiful botanical garden, and saw only a few other people. 

Luang Prabang features parks and gardens along its river, sun-kissed and nearly deserted except for the occasional tourist or locals playing soccer or meditating.  

A year ago, right as I was leaving for Asia, Carol, a new friend of mine, asked me to write a blog about living a conscious life for her website.  I agreed, but then couldn’t do it.  I wanted to and even put pen to paper a couple times, but it was false and I knew it.  I even wrote something while squeezed in my undersized plane seat on the gazillion hour flight from California to Taiwan, but it just amounted to well-disguised fluff.  I tried a few more times my first months in Vietnam but the result was the same.  The good news is that it wasn’t missed – Carol invited me to write it as a guest blogger just as a favor to me, knowing I was trying to gain exposure with a wider audience. 

Still, I felt bad I couldn’t deliver, and was puzzled why.  I never suffer from writer’s block (I just get my ass to work,) but something about this topic eluded me, month after month.  From Vietnam I traveled to the Philippines and then Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia, where I settled into life on tropical islands, abandoning my blog about living consciously for the playthings of sun and sea.  Left with a title and a blank page, it stayed on my To Do list – and my mind.

A year later, these are my last few hours in Asia.  In fact, I’m writing this as I sit in the airport about to grab a flight to Japan and then Hawaii and eventually on to New York City.  So after visiting 7 countries, 20,000 miles, taking 2,562 photos, writing 51 blogs about life, crafting 2 more books, and surviving 1 super typhoon, am I any closer to writing a credible blog about living consciously?

Not really.  And I never will be.  It took me almost the whole year to realize this, but it finally hit me:

If you think you’re conscious, then you are not. 

That epiphany was both comforting and puzzling.  How can I possibly qualify to write about consciousness when I was just one infinitesimal, comically insignificant life form on a planet with 7 billion others?  What makes me so special that I could call myself, “conscious?”  Nothing at all.  So I’ve set foot on a little more of this globe than the average person (though less than others,) and seen and pondered a few more things than the average person, (though far less than others,) but by no means do I think that’s elevated me to any spiritual authority.  I will never be conscious because the more I see, the less I know.  Therefore I will never be qualified to answer Carol’s calling.  

However, this year hasn’t been without lessons – many of them disconcerting and painful but illuminating beyond belief.  First, I had to unlearn everything I’d worshipped as truth because in Asia, almost no Western paradigm has any context.  My cultural debriefing was embarrassing and ego shattering, but always entertaining.  But somehow I survived, and as I board this plane for that gazillion hour flight back I feel much lighter, like I'm carrying less of a burden than I came with.  I hate to disappoint but I have no strong opinions to impress upon you, no grand philosophies to share, nor any secret answers to life’s questions.  I've seen my mortality and understand I.m but one temporary heartbeat, a bundle of sparking neurons like a beacon in the middle of a vast ocean, so deep and distant it’s impossible I’ll ever see the shores.   

 All of our destinies end the same, so take solace that we’re all in that ocean together.  In the meantimes, there’s no such thing as a lifetime, only moments.  And those moments count – every single one of them.  After this epic year exploring exotic cultures and seeing wonders of the world, do you know what I remember the most?  The small things.  A boy opening his umbrella for an old lady during a rainsquall.  A photo of a birthday cake with my name on it.  A hug from orphans who new I wasn’t lying when I promised to keep them safe.  Sleeping on the roof one hot jungle night under a full moon, holding someone I knew I should never love but did anyway.

So don’t worry your thoughts nor waste your days on the big things.  They're either part of our destiny or only made of small things.  Instead, collect those.  Admire their colors in sunlight.  Celebrate them with vigor and give them away with laughter.  That's what you will remember.  I promise.   

Well, I could go on and on and bore you with all of the life lessons I learned this year but a lady is squawking over the airport’s intercom in some unknown language, which I think means it’s time to board. 

So I’ll leave you with this; I depart this strange and magical place filled with more wonder than I found it.  With more compassion for those humble souls suffering for no fault of their own.  And with more love for all of you, who were with me every step of this journey whether you knew it or not.  I don’t want to rush through these moments anymore and never again will I measure these things as small.  I want this plane to take off but never to land.  I may not become conscious but I’ve happily surrendered to that notion, I’m starting to believe that’s how it’s supposed to be.

-Norm  :-)

I had my fortune told for the first time tonight, on a green table in the back of a dimly-lit room of a bar in the Philippines.  The fortune teller sat me down and went through a deck of cards, asking me to first pick 21 cards and then 13 cards, 10 cards, 7 cards, and finally revealing the last card.  The 50-year old woman, moles on her face and jagged teeth, seemed unsettled even though she's been doing these readings since 13 years old in her village, after she displayed a strange gift for predicting future events.  She only spoke only Visayan, her central island dialect, so I had someone translate.  

This is what she said:

21 cards. The queen of spades came up centered, with the jack of hearts right below it.  She said I was a nice man.  But I would have big problems with a woman - she was bad news and just wanted something from me.

13 cards.  The jack of spades was in the center.  Someone I thought was a good friend would betray me over money.  

10 cards. Jack of clubs.  A guy friend of mine who is older would drag me into his problems.  He's not bad, but he'll unwittingly make me carry his burden.

7 cards.  I have to be very careful with the woman I have problems with - I would get her pregnant, but not end up marrying her.

1 card.  The ace of spades came up, the strongest card in the deck.  She told me that was a sure sign I'd achieve my dreams.

"When will I die?" I asked her.  She just laughed and collected her cards off the green table.

"100 Pesos, please," she said.  

-Norm   :-)

maybe we give him chance.  Now rainy season so tourist slow down, but Siem Reap ok now.  All Korean and Chinese tourist come here instead of Thailand because they fighting.”

I asked her how much an entry-level job at the bar might pay.

“$60 or so,” she said.  

“A week?”  That seemed like a pretty good wage for Cambodia.

“A month.”

Imagine working 12 hours a day, 6 or 7 days a week for $60, or less than $2 a day?  Yet that’s what the vast majority of people in Cambodia earn every month – if they’re lucky.  That’s about the going rate, whether they are servers at restaurants, tuk tuk drivers, give massages, do construction or sew and work in a laundry.  The bartender told me that so many young people come to the city try and get these jobs.  They have no place to stay, no family or friends or even a dollar of savings to fall back on once they arrive, so they sleep 10 to a room in a shabby guesthouse, on the floor where they work, or even on the street on a hammock.  

They send as much money as they can manage back to their families in the province – the only system of social security for older people.  The financial pressure on these young people is enormous.  Sending $30 home can make the difference between their parents, grandparents, and whole extended families having enough to eat or receiving medical care or not.  Too often, they are forced into doing jobs their parents would be ashamed of, compelled to hide their vocation but still needing to send money back for them to survive.

They always start their tenure in the city and at a new job sending money back, but some are pulled into dark temptations – partying, buying nice clothes and phones, and always drinking.  Since any real money to be made is at a bar, club, or working to pacify the tourist’s desires, alcoholism is such an unquestioned fact of life that nearly everyone drinks all night, every night.  The depression of hopelessness is staved off by taking a shot and the energy of another night’s neon song.  The girls in bars, whether bartenders, hostesses, servers, or “bar girls,” make a significant portion of their income on tips or lady drinks.  If they can convince a foreigner to buy them a drink (at an inflated price,) they get paid handsomely, usually $1.50 or $2, or as much as they would otherwise earn all day.  

The girls mostly come to work as these bar girls, or that is where they always end up, where they can earn more and try to attract the favor of a foreigner for some nice meals, a vacation, a brand new phone.  Especially the phone - it seems like having a nice new Android or (gasp!) iPhone is a badge of wealth to these girls.  But it’s also a tool to allow them to attract and keep in touch with foreign boyfriends, even when they go back overseas.  Keeping that relationship alive can be lucrative – guys often send a hundred dollars a month or so back to their “girlfriends.”  Or, if things go really well, they may pay for them to take English classes or go to university.  If they’re really lucky, they’ll find the Holy Grail – a visa to another country.  The only detail is that they need to marry the guy, but that is a small inconvenience.  Sometimes, it takes a week for the marriage to manifest, sometimes, years.  It matters little if they know the guy well, are attracted to him, or even like him – the opportunity for economic security and the chance for a better future for them and their family is like a winning lottery ticket that just needs to be cashed on a daily basis. 

For many of them, the devil arrives in their lives and his name is Yaba.  That’s what they call the Southeast Asian version of methamphetamines, or ice - a terrible concoction of poisons that eats away at their brains when smoked – but let’s them float above their problems for a few precious hours.  Once they get hooked on Yaba there’s usually no going back, eventually becoming reckless with selling their bodies.  When that happens, all their money goes to their habit and less and less back to their families.  If they get pregnant they usually go back to the province to have the help of their mother until they deliver.  When they come back to the city to work, the baby usually stays with grandma.  

Even those working outside of the bar scene make a significant portion of their income on tips and kickbacks.  So if the tuk tuk driver suggests a hotel and delivers the tourist to the front door, they’re entitled to a tip from the hotel for bringing a booking.  Sometimes the drivers have a pretty good day, but too often they’re lucky to have one fare for a buck or two.  For that reason, they’ll assault your senses with offers to take you to every tourist attraction.  You usually have to say ‘No,” three or four times to every single street vendor or tuk tuk driver just to get them off your back.  It’s hard not to get annoyed at their aggressiveness but once you understand the economics of the their situation, you tend to soften your stance.  

And then, there are the hustlers; battalions of forgotten people working the streets, outside of any rules or structure of the tourism industry.  Adults – sometimes even their own parents - send children barefoot into the street to beg all day and all night, armed with sad eyes and wearing dirty rags, just enough English to tug on a sympathetic tourist’s heart strings.  Maybe they sell bracelets or knick-knacks, but they’re really just seeing how much they can squeeze out of each farang - foreigner.  

How can you blame them?  That watch you’re wearing costs more than they make in a year, what you spend on a Saturday night enough to feed their family for a month.  The only problem is that most of the money goes to the grown person around the corner who’s spending it on booze or cigarettes, and not much to the kids working in the razor sharp streets.  

Some bar girls – who are sick or too hooked on Yaba to work in bars – work as freelancers.  Of course there are pickpockets and those who set tourists up when their pants are down (literally) but the vast majority of all these people are good, honest, and hard working – even when faced with unfathomable poverty.  They set up a chair and give haircuts in the street, or drag along a cart of coconuts to sell, a machete and straws the tools of their trade.  Many just set up a blanket in the dirty street and sell icy fruit drinks, animal innards roasted over a coal fire, or dried fish.  It’s all they know, and without skills, education, or any resources, it takes all of their life’s energy just to live hand to mouth.  But they are honorable people - they’d split their last grain of rice with you if you were in need.       

“How long have you been working here?” I asked her as she took my plate away and put another ice cube in my beer.

“Three years now,” she said.  “Good job and nice owner that like me work.”

“And how much do you make per month?”

“$80,” she said.  And this was a decent Western bar in tourist areas that catered to foreigners and she spoke good English.  Imagine what the older lady in back made, homely and without strange words, so resigned to mopping up and cooking my meal?  

I wondered what would become of this kid who was applying for the job, even if he got it?  Faceless and with nothing to claim except a blank page, what was his fortune?  Or so many countless young, cheap laborers like him who came to the cities?  I guess we could just be thankful this new generation didn’t have to experience the horrors of war and genocide that their parents endured.  But as tourists keep pouring money into the country, I just wished that more of it actually landed with the real people living and dying in the streets, who really deserved it.  I guess I always hope that things get a little better.  

“Ketloy,” I said, asking for the bill in Khmer – the Cambodian language.  She smiled and brought me the bill.  I put down enough to cover the bill and a tip big enough for her to eat for a month and handed it back to her   She went to give me change, confused why I overpaid.

“Keep it,” I said.  “That’s a tip for you and spilt it with the lady over there with the mop.”  

“What?  Really?!  Oh thank you thank you!  Ohn Kuhn, bong!” she said to me, holding her hands to her forehead and bowing slightly to the sky, an offering to Buddha thanks for her good fortune. 

I smiled back – a real smile that I hope she remembered when times were bad.  I thanked her again and walked out onto the street.

“Tuk tuk?!  Tuk tuk!  Where you go?  Angkor Wat?” five taxi drivers barraged me at once.  I checked my watch – I had to head to go collect my bags at the hotel and get to the airport soon.

I guess that’s really what it comes down to – some of us are lucky enough to have places to go while the rest of us are always left hoping things get better, praying fortune arrives if they could just get through another day, around the corner or maybe in the kindness of a stranger.  Either way, none of it still makes any sense to me.  But that’s just how it is.  

-Norm    :-)

I'm proud to announce the release of the book, Cambodia's School of Hope, a collaboration effort between myself and the children and staff at the Spitler School in Siem Reap, Cambodia.  The story of how the school came to be, and what they're doing to educate and empower children in poor Cambodia, is truly remarkable.  Read about it below and grab the eBook on Amazon.com.  We'll have a print version available soon.  100% of profits from book sales are going directly to keep funding this kids' educations!  

Thank you in advance for your support and caring about these kids!

-Norm  :-)


***
Cambodia's School of Hope.

A chance meeting in an exotic land on the other side of the globe.  A local guide trying to raise money to build a well in his poor village.  Hundreds of Cambodian school children who didn’t have a school to attend, or sometimes enough food, clean water, or medical care.  

What unfolded next is truly amazing.

The story begins in April of 2005, when Danny and Pam Spitler visited Siem Reap, Cambodia to see the famous temples of Angkor Wat.  During their four-day visit to the area their tour guide was a young Cambodian gentleman by the name of Chea Sarin. Over the course of their visit, it became clear that he cared deeply for the plight of the poor villagers in his country and especially for the children.  He told the Spitlers that the lack of clean drinking water was the cause of many health problems among the village children.

At the end of their tour the Spitlers decided to donate enough money to provide one of these wells to a poor village.  Sarin sent them photos of the well being built and then when it was finished.  A few weeks later, Sarin asked them if they would consider helping him start a school at a very poor village located about nine kilometers outside of Siem Reap.  The Spitlers agreed. 

The initial concept was to build one building, using lumber and thatch construction, with a dirt floor.  The building would be divided into two classrooms in anticipation of about 60 students.  With a construction budget of less than $1,000 Sarin was able to complete the building in just a few weeks and had money left over to build some rudimentary wooden tables, which the students could use for desks.

To the surprise of Sarin and the Spitlers, almost 100 children signed up to attend the school.  Classes began in July 2005, and additional students continued to arrive, and soon the school was serving 120 students by offering half the students classes in the morning and the other half in the afternoon.  Sarin was able to purchase supplies for the students and the classroom at an average cost of about $1 per student per month, and two well-qualified teachers were hired for salaries of $70 per month each.

Given the response from the village, the Spitlers decided to provide additional funds so that Sarin could build two more buildings and hire four additional teachers.   Sarin accomplished all of this within six weeks and when the school opened for the regular school year in September 2005 the school was able to accommodate 190 students in kindergarten through second grade.

Over the years, the Spitler School has continued to flourish and grow, and now a second school, the Kurata School, is open.  Thanks to Sarin, the Spitlers, the Spitler Foundation, and donors and volunteers from all over the world, over 800 children are now being educated and given a better chance to get out of poverty.  The school also undertakes many community projects like building roads, delivering food, trash pickup and recycling, and medical advocacy for the children.

The Spitlers and Sarin have been recognized as widely as the Cambodian government and the U.S. White House for their efforts but they do it all to give these children a brighter future, not for any accolades.  What started out as a chance meeting between strangers from different parts of the world turned into something so meaningful and special to so many people – Cambodia’s school of hope.

This book tells the story of the Spitler School and looks into the lives of the children who attend, their families, their village, and the beautiful, yet challenged, country of Cambodia. 

100% of the profits from this book are going directly to the Spitler School Foundation to help these children.