Cambodia Stories

On the other side of the bridge, the sign says in Khmer script: "Be careful, that bridge is quite old already." The sign bears a skull.

The army post has a few shacks including a basic food stall and an ebullient officer in camouflage. He barks at us, then into assorted communication devices, then downs Heineken beer from a can. What are we up to, he needs to know?

The family approaches us: They will leave the picnic place now, because wild elephants like to visit in the evenings. Recently an uncle had been killed by a raging male elephant.

We sit down at a fruit stall where we are joined by an elderly monkey with a moaning voice.

Finally out of the jungle, the muddy red-dirt road takes us through a line of wooden all-purpose sales-shacks. Then there is a road barrier. An army guy in camouflage throws a dark look into our jeep.

In the huddle of well-wishers and drivers holding signs, Luong stands out. She sees me and flashes me that pure smile, and she makes a little hop, and claps her hands, begins to trot toward me.

Norah and I cruise lesser known parts of Cambodia with a jeep. Rarely is accommodation above 10 USD available. For weeks I have to endure contemporary Khmer music and food. Kompong Chhnang area stuns with its little-known floating villages.

I had visions of him handing me a shooter in a grubby white rag as is common practice in movies. Instead, my Hollywood conditioning assured me, he was holding the thing in a manner which suggested he was about to use it.

Sonny didn’t seem all that nervous as we rattled around the semi-familiar streets of Phnom Penh in the direction of wherever it was we were heading, but the seriousness of the whole thing was starting to set me on edge.

Paul shoved his hands skyward and clamped his eyes shut when the driver produced a rifle and nervously cocked it against his temple.

I’ve just returned from a three day sojourn to The Land of Smiles. No, not Thailand, I spend 99.9% of my time there. I’m referring to our neighbor to the east, Cambodia, which as far as I’m concerned is the real Land of Smiles.

Water buffalo were nervous – there was the ever-present danger that they could be innocently minding their own business, eating grass in a patty field or what have you, only to have some lunatic tourist creep up and blast them to pieces with an RPG.

After the perilous three-wheel journey across Phnom Penh’s battered roads we pulled down a side alley and up to a totally innocuous, if somewhat worn, three-storey building.

His cyclo altered its course with the speed of a u-turning ocean liner but eventually parked in front of me and I jumped on board.

A foot of tan-brown water was spilling through the door from the road outside and lapping up against the reception desk.