Baby (Nearly) on Board

Sisophon, Cambodia.  Border crossings are never a fun experience. You wait in long lines, act like you know what you are doing, then carefully observe the people in front of you to see what they do. When they wind up buck-naked with their body cavity's being search without lubricant, you make certain to not do whatever they did.

 The Cambodian border crossing was relatively uneventful, if a bit dull. Now the border town you end up in, that that is a whole other story--just not one for this blog. But suffice to say, it is a series of Cambodian gambling saloons.

Cambodia is a bit more rough and rugged than Thailand, so it was a more interesting experience biking down the only fully paved highway in the country. Massive stone entryways beheld long dirt roads that run deep into the countryside. Thatch houses line the corridors, many built on stilts--a holdover from days when homes were bit directly on flood planes. Chicken run wild through the dust and across the road, occasionally taking care of that whole pesky slaughtering problem in the process.

The vehicles are bit more rugged as well. My favorite are the family motos, small scooters that often have an entire family sitting on them. The positioning of children is where the action is at. If the child is still an infant, Mommy usually just slings her under an armpit off the side; if the child is, say, old enough to sit upright, then perhaps they are lucky enough be sitting on a sack where the drivers legs normally go, and using their new sitting-upright powers to lean against the front of the moto with small, stick hands; from three and up, kids usually get wedged like slices of pepperoni between their parents. It would appear that Brittany Spears is not quite the villain we have made her out to be. 

Cambodians are some of the friendliest people I have ever met, and Trekky has already afforded me some completely unique experiences. As I was biking to Siem Reap, a young man on a moto slowed down to talk to me. He implored me to come with him to his village, just a bit off the road. We chatted a bit, and he didn't seem like the murder-and-eat-you type, so I went with my gut and agreed. While still driving, he took my hand and accelerated up to 35km/hr. Fun, but not recommended for those with worrisome mothers. After a few minutes we veered through one of the gates, and I resumed pedaling on the soft dirt until we arrived at his village.

What happened next was simply remarkable. He invited me into his thatch hut, which was soon surrounded by villagers, both young and old alike. He wanted to read me passages in English from a Khmer-to-English study book he had received, and have me correct his pronunciation in front of his friends and family. The pride on his face was astonishing. Ta cat climmed up da tee. Children laughed and giggled, old women cackled and asked if I had a good women (which I do), and I pulled out my maps to show them where we were. Those who question why I go on these trips, this here is the reason. It was a once in a lifetime experience and I am lucky to have had it. Having firmly bonded, we bowed our heads in acknowledgment, then assaulted and ate a different cyclist instead. Welcome to Cambodia.