Living dangerously

I almost lost my camera. I had left it at the internet place last night and only realised its absence from my pocket this morning. Most fortunately, a short delay and detour in our travel itinerary paid dividends; I managed to retrieve my camera from the place I had left it at. The proprietor of the place was kind enough to keep it safe for me. A close shave.

Riding pillion on a motorcycle is surprisingly fun. Doing so without a helmet is harrowingly so. It’s fun in the way playing russian roulette is fun.

Ok, perhaps the comparison is not a very good one. But I’m serious about the fun. We rode pillion on motorcycles from the Sihanoukville bus station to the guesthouse. It cost us 2000 riel (US $0.50) each. The coolness of the breeze feels liberating. Without a piece of glass or railings to separate one from the tarmac under one’s feet or the speeding vehicles to one’s left and right, one keenly feels one’s mortality. One wonders if the poisson distribution of pillion deaths on motorcycle will work against one’s favour. One feels most alive. And one wants to try it again.

Sihanoukville is an idyllic place. Things happen slowly. The beaches are lovely and relatively pristine. The surf thumps against the shore with a steady, solid beat. It was almost tranquil to sit on our deckchairs and enjoy a great seafood lunch while watching both locals and tourists frolic in the waves.

We spent the rest of the day shopping for groceries and strolling down the old Victory Beach  in hope of glimpsing the sunset. We will spend tomorrow at play on the beaches. It promises to be great.

And guess what I found!

Watchmen comics are not what one expects to see in a second-hand-bookstore in a rural town in a third-world country. Quite the find.