Each morning outside the Capital Hotel, a cement block building located in Phnom Penh, a sizable group of young eager Cambodians wait to ferry backpackers on their Honda Cubs. I always pick Elephant Man. Burliest of the lot, he speaks English, charges fifty cents a ride. I hop on his feisty scooter and put my arms around his waist.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Ministry of Information."
"Why you need?" he asks as we dart through traffic.
Years ago the Khmer Rouge had killed his family.
"Hey,why you need?"
I tell him a small bribe obtains a Media Pass.
"To stay longer at Angkor Wat."
"Oh...OK..." says Elephant Man, pulling up to an office once used by the French. I hopped off the Cub. "See you tomorrow." Elephant Man disappeared in a roar of blue smoke.... Read More
