by Beej. The Battambang tourist clinic is casual to say the least. The woman at the outdoor check-in counter is about to leave for the day as we pull up to the window on our scraped-up motorbike, which held up fine on our 25km journey back from the crash site. The woman kindly sticks around…
Continued from the last post Now, there’s nothing to do but try to retrace my route from last night. The neighborhood appear to be stirring even at this early hour, but still I feel bad about the motorbike noise. I buzz through a narrow gap between two concrete slabs – probably not more than a…
by Beej We race through the steadily brightening pre-dawn of Phnom Penh on our rented scooter, en route to a meeting with our translator and all-around guardian angel, Seiha Kong. Most of the mainly one and two story buildings of the city still huddle in darkness, though a few auto shop lights are winking on…
The security guard raises his foot, holds down the start button and stomps down for the umpteenth time on the choke lever of our scooter. The taillight weakly flickers. The engine emits a strangled chug. Then, silence. It’s 4 a.m. on our second day of shooting, we need to get all the way across Phnom…
