The Sun rises over a distant mountain range spreading it's pastel precursor over the foothills, the soaring ridge to the right (I have no sense of direction in this airport to say which way is north) and the runway of the Taipei airport in front of me. Having passed over the international date line some hours ago I'm more than discombobulated and thankful the coffee cart just down from my gate is the first thing to come to life among the designer outlets and duty free.
It could be the lack of sleep, caffeine and the bizarre dreams had on the plane, but I'm continuously amazed by the direction my life is taking, if it weren't for my travel companion sitting beside me I almost wouldn't believe I was sitting in a foreign country on my way to Cambodia for a second time this year.
  After getting to our hotel with relatively little struggle I wake up at 4 am to the smell of frying chillies and a touch of garlic. The residents and shop keepers on the road bellow or rolling up their shutters, sweeping the verandas and washing down the sidewalks. Life starts early in the Khmer capital, a group of monks congregate outside a guest house waiting to be taken to alms, feral cats and stray dogs slink around in the shadows in search of a breakfast morsel. The sour smell of a garbage truck proceeds it's arrival prompting the shop keeps into a flurry to gather what they can to throw in the back of the open truck as it trundles by.  In the heightened activity the monks have made their exodus, making way for the inn keeper in his pink dress shirt creased khaki slacks and sandals to dispatch the days work of bi-hourly sweeping, smoke breaks and conversations with his neighbor.
  Having been here in this city just eight months ago I'm more taken back by my familiarity with it than the frantic pace of traffic slamming against the languid way of life. It seems that no one is in a rush yet if you were to close your eyes the rest of your senses you tell you otherwise.  Adding to the regular confusion of the city is Water Festival, the Khmer equivalent of New Year, bringing in millions more people along with their desire to thank the rain for blessing them with a harvest again, or to get drunk and buy fake Gucci, whatever. With smoke from cooking fires lining the streets, loudspeakers competing against vendors selling god knows what, pickpockets, monks, heavily armed military police, screaming children running in every direction, I stick out like a sore 230 lbs, tattooed thumb. The only moment children stop running a muck is when I emerge from the throngs of people and into their field of view. Jaws drop, eyes widen... Smack! Their gobstruck parents bring them back as they barely manage to stop staring themselves.
  Dragon boat races down the Mekong, expat Brits soliciting the next few months of prostitution, nightly firework displays that produce enough smoke to actually hide the fireworks themselves. All things I never knew I needed to witness but feel as if I almost couldn't live without having seen it now.