Rainy season is finally here, thank the blood-drinking New Year Devada. When I left the National Museum this afternoon—first visit ever, she typed sheepishly—I was confronted with a bit of a monsoon. Rather than stand under an awning and listen to the loud conversations of fat French tourists wearing too much perfume, I decided to venture into the weather on my bicycle.
Yes, my knuckles were white from the fear of colliding with a Land Cruiser whose windshield wipers had failed, but it was worth it. For a 20 minutes today, my clothes were soaked through, but not with sweat—how refreshingly different.
When it rains here, it’s not like Vancouver rain. There’s real volume to Phnom Penh rain. At the corner of Sisowath and Sihanouk, the puddles were so deep that my feet were completely submerged on the bottom half of my pedal revolutions.
That corner is where I saw a motorcycle with a teenage boy hanging off the back of it. He was holding onto the seat and dragging his feet, fishtail style, through the puddles as his friend drove at full speed. Moto surfing? Awesome. I think I’m going to like rainy season.
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As has been thoughtfully pointed out on several occasions, I have been somewhat lax in updating this blog. In part, I blame my Internet connection. Uploading photos takes something like a week. Hence this imageless entry, which may be the standard for this diary from here on in. My words are evocative enough on their own, right? (To which my mother replies, resoundingly: “WRONG!”)
But if you really want honesty from me, my life has suddenly acquired some new priorities that take up much of my free time. I can no longer imagine a life in which a week passes without a manicure, pedicure, and massage. Yesterday, I partook in all three. Who has time for blogging when my pressure points need stimulating?
I forgot how similar all the street names are in PP. Very confusing. I imagine rainy season is much more amusing when you’re a resident in Cambodia versus just being a tourist. My experience was somewhat different:
me: “I’d like you to take me to this beach.”
man: “Oh, you can’t go there because there is no road anymore.”
me: “That’s impossible. I refuse to believe it. Take me there. Take my money.”
Most of these conversations ended with jeep rides through mud waist deep, followed by tailbone bruises and sore pride for about a week.
Huzzah.
Please stop riding through rain puddles. The splash is coming down throughout your native land as rain.
For a moment today, I almost thought you’d updated your blog.
Rain in asia comes down in marble size drops! do you find it sometimes hurts when it hits you? (it does in singapore!)
as for the pedi/mani/massage, it does start to become a nice way to spend your time over here. how do they paint the nails so well?
heading to thailand in a week – planning a massage a day. just because