transtrion

Part 1.

Phnom Penh. Shit... There will unlikely be anything that sticks from Phnom Penh. Maybe the ridiculously planned streets and the massive amount of monuments littering the boulevards, that are so frustratingly covered in such a lack of people I even find them hard to see myself. That was until the president of China passed on the way back from the convenient store. I'll definitely remember that caravan of black cars and polices.

I will miss the warmth thou. The kind of warmth that greets you with a slap in the face each time you leave the hotel room, on the first step outside that door from that cool, refreshing air. It's the kind of warmth that wakes you up in an ocean of your own sweat when the air-condition mysteriously stopped working in the middle of the night. It's the kind of warmth that never would dream of letting your skin feel dry and boring. All skin is glistening in this Phnom Penh.

It was raining today, twice to be precise. It was as sudden as a power cut and as short as the shorts all female westerners wear in this country. I was never any good with the units of measurements in physics class. It rained,all though, an intensive and vivid rain and I missed it unfortunately. I would love some rain right now. A rain that could clean our wounds and give us a fresh start.

Part 2.

On the forth floor of our hotel, through the maze of hallways and stairs that makes the Cretan Labyrinth feel like a walk in the park (both because of the amount of green I imagine that maze have, and the naturally provided sense of direction), lies our perfectly cool and refreshing room. At the end of my heavenly bed, with the red silken cover I'm seriously considering stealing, lies my backpack. In my backpack dwells the Guardian.

The Guardian was captured in the Chinese park of Tiantan, by the foot of the Temple of Heaven. He is a powerful creature, cunning and vicious. What treasures he protects are known to few, a true statement of his dedicated protection. He is the Magical Dragon of the Immortal Emperor, feared by all and defeated by none, tamed by one.

His wild, ruby-red body of scales starts with his magnificent jaws, covered in brilliant sharp teets like diamonds. Then his deep black eyes that never sleeps, like two portals in to the void. You could loose yourself with just a glance. A golden mane frames the beautiful face, starting off the long and sleek body that is beaming of so much power and magical force, that your fear will mix with an envy and headache your mind will find hard to explain. His claws can tare you apart.

He is defending my Bag of Mysteries and my Bag of Magical Powers, plus my dirty underwear and he, My Guardian, the Magical Dragon of the Immortal Emperor, will continue to do so until the end of times. His name is Herbert.

//Nisse

I've been having dreams the past days, mostly during the nights to be fair, dreams about one of the men we met on the train through Siberia. We met a lot of men on that train, some of them who I'll think will be with me for a long time, but this man in particular is by my side. I see his face in a crowd sometimes, I can feel his eyes when I close my eyes, I can sens him when I think about him. He haunts me. Even now, almost two months later.

I had asked him about his hands on the train, they were covered in scars, and he'd told me it was from the goldmine he'd worked on. Then he told me that he was divorcing his wife and that he missed his little daughter. He was a broken man, a man in pain. Maybe he was looking for answers, maybe he was trying to forget them. He told me his mother had passed away. He was a man on his second bottle of Vodka. Whatever the reason was for his drinking were we somehow in his way. First he became angry and indicative, then he became violent.

We had problem sleeping that night, we had managed to kick this broken man out eventually but we didn't quite feel safe. He'd hinted a few times that he wanted wanted us dead, sometimes as obvious as asking if he could kill us, but sometimes vaguer like repeatedly knocking a glass bottle against a metal edge. The door had been locked, but in the middle of the night had it been fiercely opened with a man standing outside. I remember it with a thunder illuminating his outline, and eyes filled with fury gazing down upon me. Eyes wanting to hit, to hurt. I see them sometimes when I close my eyes.

A few weeks later were we lost in the south of China. While trying to find a way to the train station did a girl in her early teens ask us if we were lost. Well, yes of course we were lost, but we hadn't expected such a young girl to help us. She was determined to help, we were skeptical. We couldn't for the life of us see why she took such an interest. First she tried to put us on a bus, but we were uncertain. Then she stopped a taxi for us, but I guess it was our pride that stopped us from taking that. We almost didn't notice that she tried to pay the driver for us, and that did definitely our pride stop. It puzzled us greatly that she was spending money on us, and we grew more skeptical.

She managed to convince us to take a bus, she joined and even managed to pay before any of us could find our wallets. Our attempts to pay her back was futile, she was laughing and talking to people on the bus, writing notes in her notebook and smiling to us. We almost awaited a massive robbery at this time, but somehow we ended up at the train station in a sudden anticlimax. She gave me a note when we stepped of and somehow made me understand that if we ever got lost should we try to call her. On the note was a lot of Chinese words and a few numbers, ending with a blue teddy bear. I think I'll keep that note forever.

I want to be like that girl. She looked like fourteen and was probably seventeen, however does her age not matter. She seemed much happier then anyone on this trip, possibly happier then anyone I've ever met. A public hero, a savior and a lighthouse for lost souls like my own. Then we have the man from the train. The broken man, the violent man. I see a lot of that man in myself. I would like to say that he was crushed by society, by life and circumstances, not like this lovely girl from the south of China. We met her in SanYa to be precise, and I call her Amelie. I call her Amelie de SanYa.

//Nisse

I was thinking about the movie Amelie, about a girl in montmarte that I found a striking resemblens to this girl. This is what IMDB writes about the movie:

Amelie, an innocent and naive girl in Paris, with her own sense of justice, decides to help those around her and along the way, discovers love.

The young boy woke from his slumber; he had learned to wake up by himself as early as it was. Every bone inside his body ached with one request: go back to sleep. He could not though; he had to make sure that everything was prepared for the Morning Prayer. His tasks demanded of him to get up even before some of the less pious of the city’s citizens went to bed. He did not mind however, being accepted into the service of the temple was a great honor. He quickly put on his robes and darted for the temple. He hoped he was not late, the last time he had been it had not ended great; he was determined not to let it happen again.

It was still dark but the moonlight enabled him to at least see the outline of old Angkor Wat and steer him in the right direction. As he ran up the stairs he reminded himself to make a little less noise in his hurry, some of the monks lived inside the temple he remembered and they would not be happy if they were woken before the 4 o’clock prayer. Passing through the entrance he looked up into the utter darkness of the dome above him. He could still hear the chirping of the bats that had taken residence there, their sound reminding him of his routine. Passing the dome and hearing the bats was only the starting point of many tasks he had to complete before the end of the hour. He started to light some torches, he could not possibly work without any light.

In the center there was a great statue of the mighty Buddha, the statue was dressed with fabrics of orange and gold and in front of it were the offerings of the days passed and an urn for the incense to stand in. To the sides there were deep pools of water, each pool having a staircase down to the water’s edge. He cleared the old incense sticks and created a smooth surface to put in the new ones. As he lit a lamp, necessary for lighting the incense during the prayer, he could do nothing but feel the fatigue of his limbs and the heaviness of his eyelids. He was only a boy after all and what he craved most was to play with his friend down in the city, maybe he could visit him later. The altar was ready for service now he needed to get some water from the pools so that the chief monk could wash before prayer.

He picked up a bucket from a room close by and walked slowly towards the pool to the right of the Buddha statue. He started walking down the steep stairs, it was slippery he felt with his bare feet. One more step until the water’s edge. Suddenly the sounds of the night went quiet and everything around him was dark and cold. He felt the bottom of the pool and pushed upwards with his legs. As he reached the surface he took a deep breath half filled with water. He could not swim. What was he supposed to do? Could he shout? No, he was not allowed to be in the water in the first place, he would get into too much trouble. Time passed as he, in vain, struggled to stay above the surface. His lungs screamed for air and he felt his robes weigh him down under water.

A hand grabbed his and with a powerful tug pulled him onto the stairs of the pool. He coughed and struggled to regain his lungs normal calm. He looked up at his rescuer that was incased in a blur and blinked his eyes to try to see him clearer. It was the grand master of the temple and despite of the little temple boy’s fears he did not seem angry, in fact he was even smiling. ‘I made the same mistake when I was a temple boy’, he said calmly, ‘the others will be angry, but I say we keep this between the two of us, huh?’ he winked with one of his eye’s. ‘Go on now and finish your tasks, prayer will start very soon.’ The grand master picked up the bucket from the water’s edge, filled it and before walking back to his quarters flashed our little temple boy a smile. The boy looked down at his drenched robes and then upwards. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon but its first light was now hitting the five towers of Angkor Wat and with that light the inscriptions on the walls came to life as they always did in the light of day.

In the very same spot, 800 years later, stood a young man. He was thinking. You could practically hear the gears turning inside his head. He had found a new passion, writing was more fun than he could ever have imagined, letting him express his creativeness in a whole new way. ‘It has to be good’, he thought, ‘real good’. Even as he stood in the now ruined and lifeless city at the heart of the old Angkor Empire he started to create the first line of his story: “The young boy woke from his slumber….”

//Victor

We’ve decided to stay here, so for those of you feeling like they miss us might have to wait for some time. We even booked a couple of nights at another hotel, but decided to stay at our current location after just a peek back home in the evening. It’s just too good here. There might be cheaper places, there might be places with less mosquitos and security worth the name, but none of them would be better. No place would be better. The question would rather be, why would we want to leave?

The sun warms my face as I walk back from the restaurant across the street were we had breakfast. I slow my pace for a while and raise my head to praise the warmth. It’s like light-therapy; it fills me with energy and positivity. I feel packed with so much more of the good stuff, whatever it could be. The essence of life and hope maybe? Could it be the lust of paradise, perhaps the holy being incarnated? It’s the good stuff at least, whatever you call it.

I head for our bungalow, were the three of us share two double beds. Built on poles and made of largely bamboo they are just what the typical bungalow should be. I love staying here. I find myself not bothered by all the small imperfections about this place, like how the stairs up are a bit shaky, how uncomfortable the hammock on the terrace is and the fact that the windows can’t be locked. I realize that I forgot the key so I step in through the window instead.

I head back to the restaurant, stopping briefly to play with the big dog always lying outside. We’ve gotten to know each other quite well the past days, his tail flapping every time he sees me. The restaurant looks like an almost sturdy shed, painted and then covered with as much junk as possible. The boys are sitting at the same table as I left them, just by the edge to the beach. We’ve claimed this place, much to the waitress delight.

A few shells on a string clink on a string above us, The Best of Sting goes on the sound system and the waves gently crush in on the beach. A few drops of sweat are created on my forehead and a passing lady offers a massage. That’s about the only downsides of this of this place, those and the bugs being drawn to our sweaty tanned bodies. I wouldn’t want to complain about something as trivial as that.

We’ll most likely sit here the entire day; maybe move down to the beach a couple of hours but unlikely move beyond the sight of our table. The restaurant owner knows this and lets us keep the tab open from breakfast to the pitchers late at night. The young waitress is the only one of them speaking English but it’s mostly smiles that we share as far as conversation goes. It doesn’t bother me the least, now I can fully focus on doing as little as possible.

//Nisse

Även om vi slåss om täcket ibland så är det mysigt att dela säng med dessa killar. Thomas som jag just nu delar säng med har varit tyst ett tag nu, men som nyligen bekantad med Thomas har jag fått lära mig om hans one-hit-wonders från hans diskussioner i sömnen. Det underbara är att han låter oss vara med och prata.

Jag har lagt mig med ansiktet mot fläkten och därmed på sidan med ryggen mot Thomas. Han vänder sig om och trycker upp ryggen mot min. Uppenbarligen drömmer han något för han börjar harkla sig. Jag väntar med spänning på vad han ska säga.

"Säg att jag är bäst!" Hans röst är klar och bestämd, det är en order och han väntar på ett svar. Jag skrattar till och vrider huvudet mot honom.

"Du är bäst." Jag ler stort mot honom, där han ligger orörlig med ansiktet bortåt.

"Jag vet!" Han vrider sig till rätta en sista gång och förblir sedan orörlig. Det var uppenbarligen något han behövde få bekräftat, utifrån något han drömde. Vad kan det ha varit? Hur ska jag kunna somna nu?

//Nisse

- I need to go to the toilet now or there'll be chaos in my pants! - Thomas after a night of beer.

kommer förhoppningsvis upp i morgon. Vi har väldigt många! Ska sova nu för strömmen bryts hela tiden. Av nån anledning tystnar syrsorna varje gång det händer. Tufft! Imorrn blir det vindsurfning om vädret tillåter. Har mått lite sådär både i magen och i huvudet, men efter en dag i skuggan är det klart bättre. Goder natt! /thompa

The sun was reaching zenith. In front of its glorious rays lay a thick cover of darkness. Bearing down on the surface of the water were the tropical rains of southern Cambodia. However none of this mattered to the citizens of Atlantis. Business went on as usual in the city of a thousand colors and none seemed too bothered by the large aquadynamic object moving past above. The structures of yellow, red, blue, green and purple rose above the floor of golden sand and the guardians of this ancient place (heavily armored though quite immobile) directed their spikes toward the surface, forever vigilant, though not today.

In the distance three large biological objects had exited their vehicle and descended into the water, all three making the sound of Darth Vader as they breathed through their plastic tubes – gliding above. They moved towards the center of the city, not attacking but merely observing. The mayor watched in silence as he thought. Attacking could provoke a counter-attack but could he wait for these creatures to make a first move? Finally he decided; he would send a probe to see what reactions it would spark.

The soldier was a fish of superior skills to most creatures of the oceans. He had proved himself in many battles against the hooks and boats of the Fisherman-people. He had been instructed with attacking the thinnest of the creatures, the one 20 centimeters taller than the small one and 20 kg thinner than the other tall one. He was now bolting towards the left fin of the creature. It had just reacted to something on the surface, a stick in the water. ‘Damn, he thought to himself, this makes him more ready for my attack.’ He continued his charge nonetheless and as he got close he grabbed a bite out if its fin and then disappeared as instructed. The creature reacted but made no harm to the city’s structures. Maybe these monsters from above the surface were not here to do harm.

The three musketeers got out of the water with smiles on their lips. ‘Holy shit this was some nice snorkeling’, one shouted to the other. ‘This might be the best snorkeling I’ve done’, he said back, ‘maybe not in terms of the fish but definitely in terms of the coral’. Lunch beckoned and they reluctantly returned to the kayak and paddled back to the beach.

//Victor

Beach! Vi har inte bloggat så mycket, för det finns ingen motivation att gå upp ur vattnet. Dagarna är jättelånga men flyger ändå förbi. Kroppen återgår till sina mest basala behov: Sol, bad och Piña Colada. Snorkligen idag var fantastisk, mer om det i Victors inlägg.

I Phnom Penh lyckades vi klämma in de två mest svårsmälta turistattraktionerna jag har upplevt: Tortyrmuséet och The Killing Fields. Det senare är ett av 300 fält dit kambodjaner som ansågs vara hotfulla mot den dåvarande regeringen togs för att avrättas. Det sista året (1978 tror jag) var de röda khmererna så urskillningslösa och paranoida i sitt val av motståndare att lena händer eller glasögon sågs som anledning nog att skjutas.

Det blir jävligt verkligt när man går runt på platsen där allt inträffade, och så nyligen. Platsen där massgravarna fanns var fortfarande gropig, och i botten var det bördig sumpmark. Här och var kunde man hitta kindtänder och små benbitar som "the caretakers" inte hade plockat upp än. Det fanns en speciell massgrav där bebisar och småbarn hade slängts, och precis bredvid var ett träd mot vilket vakterna hade slagit deras huvuden tills skallbenet sprack och de dog.

Känns konstigt att rekommendera en sån plats men det var verkligen en upplevelse! Rejält avbrott från allt chillande, sightseeing och bärsande som annars dominerar agendan. Nu ska vi käka middag på stranden och följa upp det med lite hookah!

/Thompa

"Dom här bladen har ALDRIG sett ut såhär förut!"

(These leaves have NEVER looked like this before!)

//Nisse

It's close to one, I'm slowly moving left and right in my bunk bed so as to make sure I'm sweating evenly across the mattress. Two chinese guys are showing their respective gadgets to each other, apparently amazed by the functionality of websites like dropbox and such. They're well annoying. I try to glance at them as hard as I can, even letting out my breath really hard to convey my annoyance. They don't seem to care. In Sweden people would have cared.

Victor wakes up, quickly turning his head left and right to find the thing that disturbed his rest. If you've known Victor for a while, which I have, you will eventually get to know his "the fuck" face. It's when he raises one eyebrow, often without opening the eyes, tilts his head to the side, and bends up his top lip in disgust. He does this, lets out a loathsome groan, turns around and goes back to sleep.

I think it's really funny, so much so that I forget there was something I had to ask him. Fuck! I need the toilet paper that's inside his safe.

I decide to go out on a limb and hope there's paper in the bathroom. It's a long shot, but it turns out today is my day. Nisse, who apparently is awake too, knocks on the door asking if I have the paper. I do. And i intend to keep it.

As I sit there, redecorating the ceramics, I think to myself that we had indian food today. For the first time in one month, except for a few franchised restaurant visits, we decided to stray away from the local cuisine and try something different. Isn't it ironic that after all the non-waterwashed salad, dried squid, fried chicken family, mashed snake, unidentified vegetables and semi-uncooked meat in general, the one time we actually have steaming hot chicken korma in a nice restaurant my guts turn themselves inside out?

At least the food was real good! Or "shit good" as we say in swedish.

Post in english as per popular request. :) /Thompa

The two dirty white fans in the ceiling does barely create a breeze in the bar. I watch their slow circular pace for a while without any major interest. There's a restlessness i here, barely visible to a newcomer. We notice it, because we've all been here for a long time. A way too long time. Outside the big wooden blinds is the noise of the city, just calming down during the pressing heat of midday. I would assume they've closed the windows, but the heat makes me unsure. I whip the sweat of my forehead with a napkin. Richards at the opposite table does the same.

I'm sitting in the corner just next to the main entrance, occupying one of the three metal-chairs around that round table. The tables are white, almost, and so is the floor, the ceiling and the walls not covered in a dark wooden panel, probably oak. Not that I know, I just always assumed it was. Behind the bar desk, possibly also in oak, stands the barman slowly cleaning a glass with a towel. Beside the slowly ticking from the fans and the occasional click from a cup is that the only sound being made. At least being noticed, there's always a background noise in this city.

The other two chairs around my table are empty, as they always are. Nobody ever sits down with another one to talk, not here. It's the same at Richards table by the wall, closest to mine, and the same with the other three tables. Johnson in the middle sometimes have a visitor by his table, but they rarely talk. Not in here. There's not that much to talk about, when it comes down to it. Everyone is always reading some important-looking paper or writing in tiny notebooks. Not that there is much to write about. I take another sip of my bourbon. It stings on the way down. Thompson across the room takes a sip of his coffee.

This is our western refuge, our oasis of peace in the Vietnamese jungle. Even the barman is a westerner, not that I've ever heard him speak a word. No one speaks here, not in this bar. I finish my glass of water and nods to the barman. Words are unnecessary here, just a look tells you all there is to know. I can read a lot from the other guests at the bar. There is an restlessness growing in here, in Saigon.

Well, that's how I imagined Rex bar to be like. It wasn't even close.

//Nisse

“Victor?”

“Yes?”

“Ouch, that hurt…”

“Nisse?”

“Yes?”

“It’s turning here.”

“Wait, were?”

“Few meters.”

“Oooooh, it’s turning!”

“Now it’s stairs.”

“Victor?”

“It’s stairs now!”

“Man, that hurt! Stairs are going up?”

“Yes…”

“Where are you?”

“Here.”

“No shit!”

vI know, it’s so dark!”

“I hit my head again.”

“Nisse?”

“Yes?”

“It’s a hole here!”

“What did you say!”

“Nisse, what did you say?”

“Victor, there was a hole there!”

“I told you! I can still hear the others.”

“Nope.”

“Guess not.”

“I’m hurt…”

“Me too, maybe we’re almost there?”

“Hope so.”

This was a paraphrase, of course, an outtake from the lively and sort of hysterical discussion between Victor and Nisse during their crouching through the Cu Chi Tunnels. The language might have been slightly different, for one it could have been in Swedish, but for printing purposes did I believe this to be more fitting. For a more correct and dynamic dialog you could imagine cursing and screaming to a ratio of 2:1 versus normal words.

//Nisse

Hej alla läsare! Nu är det Victors syster Hanna som sitter bakom skärmen och skriver en rad. Victor bad mig lägga upp lite bilder från en utflykt, internet verkade krångla lite väl mycket där borta i Asien.. ;)

Tillbaka till värmen. Vi har sett geckos, stuckits av myggor, trampat på kackerlackor och på andra sätt interagerat med den faunan som tycks vara förhärskande i det här klimatet oberoende av var på jorden man är. Jag har varit så jäkla bitter över att vi inte lyckades ladda över bilderna från filmkameran, det vill säga den lilla billiga saken som vi hade med oss när vi kajakade på Cat Ba, till min dator. Efterfrågan på bilder från vår resa sköt i höjden i samband med nisses fina miljöbeskrivning. Har gått runt i alla elektronikbutiker jag hittat men ingen vill riktigt kommunicera med mig. Visar sig efter tre dagar att minneskortet är av exakt samma typ som det i systemkameran, till vilken vi har en usb-sladd! Med andra ord kan vi langa över precis alla bilder till min dator nu! Totalparty!!! Vi ska boka resten av Vietnam i kväll men sen blir det fullt fokus på uppladdning av bilder, det kommer utan tvekan bli fantastiskt nice! I morgon ska vi hyra cyklar (eller moppar!) till en billig peng och kolla in resten av ön. Riktigt fint här, vissa delar påminner mig om mitt landställe i Skåne, om man tänker bort palmerna och bergskedjorna i bakgrunden. Älskar miljön och älskar värmen ännu mer! saltstänkta hälsningar Thompa

Just got back from Cat ba which was brilliant! Cold, but very beautiful. We've seen so many cool caves and inland lakes that landscape wise, there is not much that could possibly contend. Unforntunetly we had a bit bit of a tide problem, namely it was too low which meant no monkeys. I must admit I was sadfaceing a little but the Aussie tour guide we had made such an effort with us (broken boats, low tides etc. and then still trying to make sure we felt we got our moneys worth) that I couldn't bring myself to do anything other than put on a huge smile and thank him for the effort. It was, regardless of the problems, a great tour!

Tomorrow we're picking up the visas and passports from the Cambodian embassy and then we plan to head for the city of Hoi an which is famous for its cheap prices on tailored suits and shirts. I think I might get me some things while we're there! Another great part about this is that we're heading south into warm country again. I think we're all pretty fed up with this persistent cold we have been followed by since leaving Hainan.

I've learnt a new word today: smitten. And I think I might be.

Also, I'm in the mood for a party... maybe in Hoi an?

/Victor

I might be a slightly religious man, but I bet most people get a spiritual feeling when entering a cathedral, or any other religious building for that matter. I guess people react to different feelings that a religious place provides, but I'm assuming it got something to do with the grandness and overall purity off the place. At least that was my first thought as we found our own cathedral while kayaking on the coast of Cat Ba.

We'd gotten our planed day trip cancelled, due to broken boat, and therefor had to rally for a new plan. Our amazing hotel manager and tour-guide, a Aussie by the name of Mr. Jim, had probably felt bad about our situation and loaned us a kayak each, so we headed out in the archipelago immediately.

We'd all experienced better weather, and better clothing, but no one could complain with the scenery around us. Massive rock-formations rose from a sea of jade, almost floating on the teal water as we paddled by. A slight mist covered the tops of some cliffs, as well as the distance ahead of us. A few fishing boats of braided leaves and tar were drifting around in the bays as we passed, with their fishermen working in a slow and steady pace.

We paddled on, entering a few caves and bays, with the curious and happy smile across our faces that only a beautiful view can provide. We passed a few floating cities that probably also worked with fishing, or possibly had a fish farm somewhere close. Every little floating shackle had at least one dog, and when the houses formed a smaller village was it more like a big, spread out wolf-pack.

We had lunch in a small harbor at noon and then headed out again. Energized by the rice and noodles, and the entertainment of a very playful four year old, did we head out from the coastline to the smaller islands around. Passing one of the bigger floating villages couldn't we help ourselves from greeting the first dog we saw and therefor starting a massive chain reaction as every dog in the bay answered his barking. With the echoes bouncing back and forth around us did we exit the bay, to find another small cave leading in through the cliff. It seemed to have an opening on the other side.

"It's like a cathedral..." Thomas had stopped paddling and entirely blacked out, by the looks of him impossible to contact. Victor had drifted off in his own direction, with his mouth slightly open. These reactions were understandable. The small cave had been a tunnel, a tunnel to a small lake surrounded by steep cliffs and mist. We couldn't see the top of the cliffs in most parts, they were so far up in the fog that created a kind of a roof. The rounded cliffs created a wall around us which bounced the occasional screech of a bird, and the floor was made of the magical jade water and had the size of about two football fields.

To be fair wouldn't I say that the jade water made the floor, we were more sort of floating a just on top of it. Just a meter below us could we see corals, even in the middle of the cathedral floor. They were all dying, apart from those who already had died. You could see them as you flew by, in the middle of the massive cathedral.

Looking up a bit as you came through the tunnel,on the tiniest of alcoves, could you see a pillar the size of a couple of people, or an elephant. It had, with some imagination, a remotely similar shape to something alive, possibly a human, but with that placement and size wouldn't it be anything less then a demigod. We named it Mochba, after agreeing that neither Victor, nor Nils, really had the potential or deep sound to it that a god at this place would need.

Thomas had been right, this really was like a cathedral, but not as like the ones at home. The grandness and purity was there, in some form, but this religion was dying. I can easily imagine people streaming in to this cave on canoes, floating on the sea of jade, just above the fields of coral in green and white and red. I can almost hear their chanting in deep voices as they pray to their god, who answers with an enormous echo that bounces against the wall with bone shaking force. I can see lights from torches lightening the green and grey walls, with shadows dancing around the sound of pray and drums. The mist, covering the cathedral from above, would absorb the outside world as this was all that was real at the moment.

I can imagine the spirituality, even if it was long ago since it was felt the last time. Luckily we brought it back for a little time.

//Nisse