Elephants and Goats

When they first met, she had been studying a bas-relief in the southwest corner of the quincunx at Angkor Wat. At a certain point, she realized that someone was studying her just as intently. Argh, she thought to herself. Not another tourist who was going to ask her to explain the carvings.

Funny how American tourists, in particular, assumed she was Cambodian in Cambodia, as they had assumed she was Chinese in Taiwan: her appearance seemed to evoke an indeterminate Asian archetype. Never mind that she was of Vietnamese, French, and Dutch descent. Never mind that she had been born and raised in eastern Canada and was also just a tourist in this country. Never mind that the reliefs she was looking at depicted scenes from Indian epics, of which she, regrettably, knew absolutely nothing.

She held herself still, and despite the distraction of feeling watched, managed to retain her focus on the carvings. Until she heard a voice.

“What’s the difference between a two-legged lama and a four-legged llama?”

A male voice, young. She didn’t respond.

“‘ell if I know.”

With a sigh and a well-practiced, dismissive frown, she turned toward him. Skinny kid, white, maybe a bit older than herself. Shorts, t-shirt, ball cap. Obviously American. He was grinning broadly, waiting for her to get the joke.

She turned her face back to the column. He didn’t go away.

“You Vietnamese?” He said, after a while.

Surprised, she turned again to look at him. “No. Canadian.”

“Ah, me too. So that’s why you didn’t get my joke, eh?”

“I didn’t get your joke because it wasn’t funny.”

When Greg told this story after they were married, he would say, with an affectionate shake of his head, “I didn’t marry her for her sense of humor.” Ellie always added, “And I obviously didn’t marry you for yours either.”

Why did they get married? Why does anyone? The question asked only after the marriage is over.

Seventeen years, though. Ten of them great, five good, two…. Well, no need to dwell on that.

That day in Angkor Wat in 2003, Ellie was on mid-term break from her job teaching English as a foreign language in Taiwan, and Greg was taking a gap year after graduating with a Sociology degree. Ellie had been in Taipei for two years and had no immediate plans to return to Canada; Greg was mid-way through his year abroad, having just come from India, planning to work his way down to Australia before heading home.

Instead, after meeting that day, they continued to travel together through Cambodia and Laos until Ellie’s leave was up. They flew to Taipei, staying only as long as it took for Ellie to get out of her contract, and then she and Greg spent the next month exploring Vietnam, her mother’s birthplace. In Saigon, Ellie applied for an Indian visa so that Greg could show her the temples and mosques he had discovered in that country, living museums of faith as impressive as the one they had met in. Finally, they went to Bangkok, where Ellie’s mother had just taken up a consular post. Their money ran out just around that time. Greg never made it to Australia, but that was okay. Another time. They were young.

They drifted back to Canada into professions that neither of them much enjoyed. Ellie finished her Education degree and taught middle school English, but grew increasingly dismayed by the cynicism of both faculty (especially faculty!) and students. Greg worked as a Corrections Officer, first at the city’s Remand Center and then at the provincial penitentiary, where, despite sporadic eruptions of progressivism, bleakness and violence prevailed.

“Why don’t we switch jobs for a day?” Greg once off-handedly suggested. But Ellie shrugged. “Doubt we’d notice much of a difference.”

That remark came back to haunt her the week that Ellie and Greg both had knives pulled on them at work. It was the wake-up call they needed. Working had been mostly just a way of funding their travel habit. So why not turn that hobby into a full-time career?

That was the plan, anyway, when they quit their jobs, decimated their savings account, and took almost a year to re-explore the parts of the world they knew best, connecting with local tour operators, reigniting their passion for travel—and each other.

After a final stop in Bangkok to secure a small loan from Ellie’s parents, they returned to Canada, this time brimming with enthusiasm and certainty about the future. Still, they were cautious. Before investing in a storefront and marketing, they took a group of ten seniors on a three-week tour of Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. They hadn't even needed to advertise. Greg’s mom knew some retired teachers and got the word out fast.

For Ellie and Greg, the trip was like a spiritual homecoming. For their clients, it was the “trip of a lifetime.” Almost all of them were ready to sign up for the next planned tour–India’s Golden Triangle in April 2020–and even those who weren’t quite ready to travel again were eager to refer their friends.

“E.G. Travel. Ellie and Greg,” Ellie proposed.

Greg countered: “G.E. Travel. Greg and Ellie.”

“No, E.G. Don’t you get it?”

“Elephants and Goats? Easy Going? I don’t get it, Ell.”

“E.G.--for example.”

“For example, what?”

“Exactly! For example, India. For example, Vietnam.”

So it became E.G. Travel--Specializing in South and Southeast Asia, the name etched in gilt on the front of 1,000 business cards. Greg, of course, had insisted on printing a faint, stylized, composite, and, to Ellie’s eyes, mildly obscene image of a goat and an elephant on the back.

With a year’s lease paid in advance, Greg and Ellie celebrated the opening of their tiny industrial storefront on January 2, 2020. At that point, they had already arranged and mostly paid for local tour operators, hotels, and tourist venue tickets in India for the Golden Triangle Tour in April and had secured deposits from twenty travelers for the flights.

Four years later, Ellie still has the business cards. 791 of them. She keeps them wrapped in a discarded cloth face mask, in her underwear drawer, next to her wedding ring.