TRAVERSE 33
over fire.
We slipped off boots and claimed hammocks, boots placed in a dusty pile by the posts. The bikes rested nearby like tired horses.
Lying in a hammock after a dirt ride is a sensory recalibration. Your body still vibrates faintly from engine hum. Your ears ring with phantom wind. But gradually, the sound of water replaces everything.
Above us, the timber beams were rough-cut, sap still visible in places. Sunlight filtered through gaps, casting shifting patterns. And then the cooking began. Khmer food, when done
TRAVERSE 33