Mallorca
September 2009
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Nepal
December 2005
A trek in the hills just outside Kathmandu. Little girls who live in a tiny village selling coke and soup for lunch. A path to a slightly bigger village. A freezing night, with a fierce breeze slipping through the cracks in the windows. But hospitality so warm and the sun so welcome in the morning.
December 2005
A trek in the hills just outside Kathmandu. Little girls who live in a tiny village selling coke and soup for lunch. A path to a slightly bigger village. A freezing night, with a fierce breeze slipping through the cracks in the windows. But hospitality so warm and the sun so welcome in the morning.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Phnom Penh
April 2001
I've been working on a book today where the author travels through Cambodia. It got me thinking of my own time there. It was 2001. My first trip to South East Aisa. The plane from Bangkok was so old, it had bench seats. Phnom Penh. Crazy. A hotel that I am sure doubled as a brothel. There seemed to be a lot of very friendly girls in the hotel bar. Families of five on scooters. Heat so intense the sweat looked like I'd been caught in the rain. Decaying French elegance. A slow-moving mass of river. An ancient cyclo driver who didn't know the way of where I wanted to go. Ex-pats and NGOs. And then a ride up the river on the roof of a boat. Hours of sunshine, brown water, muddy banks, rickety homes on tall pools and flatness. To arrive at Siem Reap.
April 2001
I've been working on a book today where the author travels through Cambodia. It got me thinking of my own time there. It was 2001. My first trip to South East Aisa. The plane from Bangkok was so old, it had bench seats. Phnom Penh. Crazy. A hotel that I am sure doubled as a brothel. There seemed to be a lot of very friendly girls in the hotel bar. Families of five on scooters. Heat so intense the sweat looked like I'd been caught in the rain. Decaying French elegance. A slow-moving mass of river. An ancient cyclo driver who didn't know the way of where I wanted to go. Ex-pats and NGOs. And then a ride up the river on the roof of a boat. Hours of sunshine, brown water, muddy banks, rickety homes on tall pools and flatness. To arrive at Siem Reap.
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