…My left knee jams under the accelerator grip, and the next thing I know, I’ve lost power, lost my balance and I’m toppling, slowly and gracelessly toward the ground. A group of monks are laughing at me uproariously. I pick myself up with Buddhist humility, and ride slowly and carefully out the temple gate… Flashback:…
“…Do you know where the bus to California is?” he asks me. His accent is American. His English is perfect. He sounds like he just stepped out of a movie. The question is absurd. This is Cambodia. Even with my lousy knowledge of geography, I know there ain’t no busses to California here. He’s got…
The madness begins with the “Festa Major” day parade, a.k.a. the “almost blowing small children’s heads off parade…”