Colonial Living

I've seen many strange things during our visit here: large bowls of congealed blood in the market, women carrying burning charcoal fire and food to cook on it through the streets, huge complexes throughly carved with intricate designs.

But nothing has been more strange than having a driver.

For temple touring it makes sense -- the temples are so very far apart. But even in town, going 3 blocks for dinner requires a driver. And I say required because no one walks except children.

We had tuk-tuk (a motorcycle with a 2-person cart on the back) driver. And he's pretty much at your beck-and-call through the day. You tell him the where and when, and he has to be there. You want to stop, you tell him to stop. But the drivers do not speak English very well -- those who do can become guides.

So on more than one occasion I found myself feeling quite the colonial, as I struggled to tell him what to do. "Meet us at the other side." He smiles and nods, but I know he has no idea what I mean. You take out maps, point and gesture, talk slowly and a bit too loudly, and finally think he understands.

A mile later, you exit the last temple -- and no driver.

So you walk back in the tropical sun, finding your driver right where you left him, relaxing in the shade. Next time maybe I'll gesture more.