"Farris took a shovel from Resler and quickly pushed the blade through the snake and firmly into the dirt. Its mouth yawned wide in its death throes. 'Just remember,' said Farris, 'of the thirty-three kinds of snakes over here, thirty-one are poisonous.' 'How do we tell them apart?" asked Resler. 'I think with those ratios, you could afford to come to a prejudicial, sweeping generalization - like, kill them all.'" -Robert Mason "Chickenhawk"

I had gone out for a morning coffee, waking my room mate in the process of stumbling around in the dimness of dawn. After I left, he decided to take a shower and was seeking a place to hang his towel when he noticed some very thick green tubing spiraled around the post that held up the ventilated tin roof of our bathroom, then it breathed.

It was a ten foot viper about four inches thick, bright green with the triangular head that often bespeaks venomousness. The staff of our hostel had already disentangled it, beat it to death and cut off its head when I returned. I didn't even get to see it, much less take a photograph. In honor of the missed opportunity for an awesome snakebite death/a good photograph, I'm not including any photos this time. It's an isolated community and I have no doubt that when you get bit your options are limited to one. Die uncomfortably. Maybe there's anti-venom around, but I don't think so - certainly a child wouldn't have enough time. It makes killing the snake a justifiable brutality, I think.

Simplicity?

After a few crocodilian days in Don Det, we left for Cambodia. The islands were a quick drive from the border with a long wait for the bus. After several hours of waiting and several more of driving, one of the wheels exploded and rattled us all awake while the driver slowed to a crawl and limped ten miles to a service station (read: someone's house with a garage attached). We waited three hours while someone drove us a new wheel from who-knows-where. We arrived in Phnom Penh almost seven hours late, at 2am, unhinged and crusty.

There seems to be a policy throughout the region to drop you off the bus in a wildly inconvenient place with a batch of tuk-tuk mafiosos waiting to convey you to your final destination at a steep cost. Since it's often late at night and you're out of your element, they dictate the terms. It gets frustrating but I recommend rejecting first offers. Be firm and amiable and informed. And sober. They call it the tuk-tuk mafia for two reasons - one because they act like they're mafia and two because sometimes they actually are.

Phnom Penh is quite pleasant. Ten years ago, I'm told, you had to switch into a pickup truck at the border and barrel through rural Cambodia, picking up speed through populated areas to avoid getting highjacked or robbed, just to reach the very relative safety of Phnom. This doesn't happen much anymore. Cambodia is a monarchy, but the governing of the place has been influenced dramatically by an array of international NGO's and other interest groups. For example, Childsafe, which offers a phone line you can call if you see a sex predator with a child. Oh humanity. Overall it's something of a success story. It makes for a modernity that feels rough in its newness - brimming with energy, both potential and actualized.

Tomorrow we'll go learn about why international intervention was required. Spoiler: it was Pol Pot, that festering piece of shit.

Ah, I can't resist. Just the one though.

Location:Don Det, PDR Laos > Phnom Penh, Cambodia