Please login to vote.
Friday, 08 June 2007

Battenbang, Cambodia - Page 3

Written by Ross Hilton
  • Print
  • Email
  • AddThis Social Bookmark Button
Rate this item
(1 Vote)

The bus was delayed because there was a man trying to squeeze a bag of live cobras into the luggage compartment. The commotion went on for about twenty minutes until my throbbing head could take no more and I decided to get off and stay another night. I sat down in the café of the Chinese guesthouse and ordered a beer. Mr Ra was at the bar. “I told you you’d never leave” he smirked from his position across the room.


I hung prone in this position for a long moment whilst I recovered from the shock of the situation. I was suspended, almost to the mouth, in a stinking, primitive toilet. Still, the coolness of the water was a pleasant contrast to the heat of the night air. I paused to reflect on this. Something gently nudged me in the cheek. I strained my eyes downwards. A solid. My arms spasmed and I catapulted out the water and back on to the gangplank. I sprinted back over and burst into the light of the bar. To my horror, I was covered from my toes to my neck, in a brown sludge of medium viscosity. The three Khmer men turned towards me and raised a smile. Ra pulled out my chair and said:


“Come on, you sing Michael Jackson now.”


Flabbergasted, and too bewildered to question, I sat down. I stared at him open mouthed and motioned towards my stinking body. He said casually:


“It happen all the time, don’t worry.”


“What happened to the last person?” I replied.


“I stopped using that toilet. I use that one now.” He motioned towards a door at the end of the bar with the sign ‘WC, please flush after use’ on it.


© Ross Hilton

(Page 3 of 3)
Last modified on Sunday, 16 December 2012

Search Content by Map

Search

All Rights Reserved ©Copyright 2006-2022 inTravel Magazine®
Published by Christina's Arena, Inc.