My favourite little park in Kurikoma.
Snow on Mount Kurikoma, but not in town.
The park at night.
I got up at five in the morning last wednesday. Yeah, five in the morning. I drove forty minutes in the snow. It was five in the morning. I drove to a lake. At this lake, every morning thousands of swans, geese and other birds from Siberia supposedly wake up and take off together. It's meant to be an impressive site. I didn't see any birds take off and it was not impressive. And I got up at five in the morning. What a gyp! 
After sunrise. Lazy birds didn't move.
I think Japan is the most wasteful country I've been to. Wrapping, packaging, aluminium cans, PET bottles, disposable chopsticks and plastic bags are endlessly and generously distributed to the (seemingly) uncaring customers. 
The roads aren't paved. Not even on this busy route from Siem Riep, Cambodia to the border for Thailand (see picture). But our mad-as-a-hatter driver (and I know he's mad) still races along at break-neck speed. Our speed seems hugely multiplied by the bumps being directly transferred to the passengers via the uncushioned seats. I have my ear plugs in. But still the windows rattle so loudly and so aggressively that I'm genuinely worried about losing my boyish (girlish?) good looks if the glass explodes in my face. We're passing all kinds of traffic in this strange desert-like land. Looking out the machine-gun sounding window it seems we were in Africa, not Asia. Motorcyles cruise by with live pigs, chickens, bags of rice, crates of Coke and other assorted sundries securely harnessed on.Pick-up trucks with human cargo returning from a days work stare at us reminding me how far from home I am.
Sitting on the passenger side I have a good view of the madness ahead. But I choose not too look for the most part, saving my heart attack for another day. However I do see the black Toyota up ahead, stopped at the small bridge. It catches my eye because it's quite a nice car, rare in these parts. I'm still looking at it as our driver hits the breaks. Still looking as the driver realises the brakes don't work. Still looking as the other passengers start to see and the women begin screaming. Still looking as our idiot driver swings the wheel sharply to the left, seemingly away from the car and into the river. As people catch sight of the river the screams grow louder, now men are also shouting. Lucky for all of us our driver is too slow.
We smash into the back of the Toyota (with a family of seven inside), knock it out of the way and roll towards the river (see pictures). We lose just enough momentum and come to a hault about 2 meters before the river bank. Almost tipping, we slowly exit the bus, passenger side first, to make sure we don't tip. My seat, next to the (unopening) window, with 3 people on my right would have ensured I got squashed and trampeled on before drowning, so I'm very relieved to be getting off this bus. 
Amazingly no one was hurt.
And two hours later, we were back on the same bus heading for the border.
Cambodia, every day is an adventure.
Photos (from top): the Toyota we hit, main road, traffic passing our stopped bus, where the bus lost momentum.
The wait is over.
'It's Mark Teacher', screamed one of the four year-old kindergarten students. The first one to site their p
rey never wastes any time in launching the attack.
A thunderous stampede of tiny, but powerful feet rush to the school entrance, where I'm racing to get my jacket off and indoor shoes on. I've got a bad feeling today. I know they're going to get the better of me.
And sure enough, by the time a dozen of them have gathered around my ankles screaming, smiling, laughing, groping, climbing, I'm already losing balance. With one shoe only half on, my usual ninja-like agility is compromised. 'Oh no', I hear myself half laugh, half cry as I tumble towards the bikes. Staggering and pushing to ensure none of the rug-rats get squashed between me and the unicycles I've just fallen into.
On the bright side though, none of the other teachers saw, so my dignity is still intact. Only me and the kids know, and no-one would believe them anyway.
Housing along the quiet part of the Mekong
A typical bridge.
This pregnant woman laughs at the crazy foreigners.
Dumb tourist.
All the kids waved and shouted hello.
There's no retirement age out here.
...or ruining the moment?
Following my initial disappointment at missed opportunities I learned to enjoy my new independence. Soon I was properly immersed in the Angkor experience. Forgetting my trigger-happy ways I was able to enjoy the experience without thinking about trying to capture it. 
No wondering if I should come back at sunset to shoot in better light. No staring at my compact chunk of metal and glass instead of the ancient ruins all around me. Just plain immersion in this unique experience. Wandering around and letting my thoughts flow without the constant interuption of my digital companion.
An elderly lady works amonst the reeds.
Friendly kids always ready to smile.
A fisherman shows off his impeccable balance.
Shacks beyond the rice paddies.
Making silk scarves by hand. Doesn't look like fun.
Boats of all descriptions everywhere.
Curious local.
Here is an x-ray of a piranha from South America.
