but always as if with brand new eyes. And should I get the blues for lack of Asian heights, should I long for yet another Zen master, then there is still the bittersweet mercy of the Kriek Lambic. It is there that I call home…

Also, my fairy web wizards are preparing the launching of the Stoerke.be website, where my smart gnome alter ego will dwell. I’ll keep you posted on the where and when.

Last but not least, this site will be updated whenever we undertake small-to-XXL travel plans. The dream to publish this site in a multimedia fashion sits quietly reading in the Library of Life. Che sarà, sarà…

I am presently working on a benefit project for a Lhasa child. You can read more about it on the site presently under construction. Chances are it will be stoerke.be [please hold].

We are dwelling again at: Prekersstraat 57 bus 5 2000 Antwerpen. Kees +32 (0) 499 271 042 Sarah +32 (0) 475 415 818

Let your SMS be to the point and the conversations direct. We are catching our breath after a long walk…

We pick the smallest one first, the pink temple of Banteay Srei. It is the temple with the best preserved and most refined stone carvings, beautiful scenes from the Reamkar, Cambodia’s version of the Hindu epic Ramayana. Here we celebrate man’s artful victory over nature, at Ta Phrom the tables are turned. The temple is surrounded and taken over by the jungle. Giant roots work their way through the stone puzzle. At Ta Keo’s temple I am taken over by an acute case of vertigo. Without a second thought I climb the steep stairs to yet another level, paying no notice to the height and steepness of the narrow steps. When we start the descend, I suddenly become very aware of these facts. My knees start trembling and I break into a sweat. I sit down, frozen solid and refuse to move an inch in either direction. I try to focus on the matter at hand, take a few deep breaths and start to climb down, step by trembling step, fingertips anchored like fish-hooks around the stones. With both feet back on solid ground, I can smile again. Two hundred peacuful Bayon faces smile back. We keep Angkor Wat itself until last, a beautiful ending to a very special collection of stone art. Definitely worth a beermat!

The pharmaceutical giant GlaxoSmithkline is striving for a patent on the anti-AIDS/HIV medicine Combid. Once the champagne uncorked, the Thai Government Pharmaceutical Organisation (GPO) will no longer be allowed to market the cheaper alternative product GPO-VIR with the same formula. It doesn’t look like the Intellectual Property Department will lose any sleep over this. And the AIDS patients won’t need to lose any sleep over it. In fact, they just won’t wake up anymore. Easy, not?

The editor of the Chinese newspaper Taizhou Wanbao died three monts after he was severely clubbed by the police. He had risked – what was he thinking? – to publish criticism on the traffic police corruption regarding licenses for electronic scooters. On the telephone, his widow mumbles something about liver problems and that she doesn’t want to answer any questions, whatsoever. China PD black & blue?

Imagine being a Dane on a world trip. Or a Turkish chicken.

The Indian monk Ngawang Tashi Bupa is nominated for a Grammy Award for his buddhist chants. Good for him. Not that is makes any difference. The Dalai Lama once received the Nobel Peace Prize, but in 2005 was refused to speech in Belgium. Something about timing. Or a trade mission to China. Or both.

Google, once Mr Right among the search engines, has lost its innocence bending for the yellow censorship dragon. Keep on surfing in the free world!

I read the news today. Not that it makes a difference. The Cambodian paper boy and paper collector have earned at least a nickle this morning. That is, I think, the best news today.

It is one image that has stayed with me. One of the many black and white photographs here at the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. Tuol Sleng, or S-21, was one of many prisons in the Cambodia of the Khmer Rouge in the late ’70s. Over 12,000 “enemies of the state” – including all (!) family members – were held prisoner, interrogated, abused and tortured in these former school grounds. At night, truckloads of prisoners were deported to the fields of Choeng Ek, 15 km from Phnom Penh in the countryside, better known as one of many mass graves of “the killing fields”.

The barbarity of this operation in unimagineable. Babies cry, need attention and care and are thus disturbing for the daily management of such a camp. Therefore, they were often the first victims among new arrivals. Their heads were smashed into the wall, or they were thrown into the air and skewed on a bajonet. Things went slightly slower for those that needed to be interrogated and of whom the Angkar regime wanted to obtain a confession in writing. Women’s nipples were torn open and filled with scorpions that were collected in bamboo cages for this purpose. There was of course the usual pulling of the nails, after which alcohol or acid was poured into the wounds. The gym racks proved to be extremely handy for the hanging of prisoners. With arms tied to the back, the prisoners were hung on the bar thus dislocating the shoulders. If this could not move the poor souls to a false confession, there were always the buckets with faeces for a round of drink-or-sink. The wardens at S-21 were often 10 to 15 year olds who lived a prison life themselves. Their experiences in the civil war and their stay at S-21 had rendered them capable of extreme violence. To secure the secrecy of the prison’s practice, the wardens and executioners were killed and replaced.

The man who orchestrated this hell, Political Potential, aka Pol Pot or Brother No.1 never set foot on these premises. He died a natural death in neighbourghing Thailand in 1998. Some of his allies-Brothers are members of the current Cambodian government. It is not surprising that Pol Pot’s picture at the exhibit is heavily damaged. The eyes are burned out of the picture, the cheeks and mouth covered with slogans of anger and hatred. In the guestbook people are still throwing stones and pointing fingers at the west, the east and anyone. One pleas for a Cambodian tribunal, another would only trust international justice, yet another fearfully doubts whether Pol Pot is actually dead. Cambodia is not through healing yet.

What maybe struck and saddened me most this day was the offer of the friendly tuktuk driver: “Want to visit shooting range? Only four kilometers!” Apparently, just around the proverbial corner, you can empty a round of AK-47 amo on a local cow. So much for justice.

Information: Documentation Center of Cambodia

Could it be the slow Lao rhythm? Maybe, but not really. Or is it a case of the notorious asiatitis? Probably. After five months on the road, for the first time now it feels like a road to nowhere. Just yesterday could I, in childlike wonder, admire the mysterious plumeria blossoming, the beauty of man’s artistic power and the virginity of a handful of landmassess in a sunset bath. Today, however, I look at yet another guesthouse menu, I read: pancake, hambuzger, flench fies – and I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. I can feel the time has come to move on and focus on a different diet altogether.

Route Tha Khaek – Nakai – Lak Sao – Ban Na Hin – Kong Lo – Vieng Kham – Tha Khaek. A.k.a. “The Loop” (circa 350 km). Terrain Asphalt – gravel road – sand road – rice paddies (with walls!) – dry and wet riverbeds – rockhard earth road with deep tractor tracks. Vehicles Chinese Yincin 100cc work horses with a rather shabby-nonchalant demeanor. Team Yincin pilots Caveman and Woodbut Pitstops Guesthouses and homestay Highlights A small, somewhat larger and one gigantic cave. Top of the bill is the boatride through the 7km-long Kong Lo cave with her spooky stalag… (what do you call these things?). All this surrounded by the beautiful Khammouan karst scenery. Sponsors Beer Lao – Toughlick leather cream