Road Trip

I was a Cold War baby (the last of the baby boomers) born in 1960. At the age of 8, my father packed up the entire family and moved us to the Philippines. He had been invited to establish a graduate program in metallurgy at the University of the Philippines, through a Ford Foundation Grant. Manila became the home base for our extensive explorations through Southeast Asia and Europe.

One particularly memorable experience was a trip to Cambodia months before the Khmer Rouge came to power. As a nine-year-old girl, I remember standing next to my sisters (all in matching dresses) as we checked into a deserted French hotel in Phnom Penh. I remember sensing my parents’ disquiet. They had not realized until that moment what a dangerous situation we were in. (At this point in the Vietnam War, the American public was unaware of the secretive US incursions into Cambodia.)

Riding in a taxi to Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom, our driver made a point of passing the wreckage of a downed US helicopter, proudly showing it off like a trophy. My parents were alarmed. Although I was too young to fully appreciate the horrific geopolitical maelstrom brewing, I had an uncanny sense that I should take note: “This is important… remember it.” I’ve been a note-taker ever since.