229 Dead Cyclist, Sick as a Dog

Nearing Phnom Penh traffic bunched up then crawled along. The other passengers chattered. We saw the reason. A young guy lay face down, one leg under his Motor Scooter. His head was in a pool of blood and vomit. He was definitely dead. We didn’t need this. It’s hard enough to cycle without having this vision in the back of your minds.

At the same time I had been getting sick, the kind of sick that ends with wretching and puking myself. Oh how I hate to vomit. 

The bus slowed and the conductor opened the door. I felt sure that I was going to throw up. I ran to the door, the conductor tried to stop me. There were several guys trying to get inside. I wondered how they were going to feel with puke all over themselves.

Somehow I held on. At the station Tam, the manager, understood. He booked a  room, even drove us there. What a kind man. He went way above and beyond the call of duty for us.

The Boats are part of the view from the deck of our hotel.