With the usual apologizes to Dodie Smith: I write this sitting next to a saltwater pool in Cambodia. A waterfall patters into it from a balcony above. Surrounding the pool are a mixture of trees: palms, bougainvillea, bamboo. Some trees I can't identify, but they are by turns gnarled and youthful in appearance, with dusty dark and spiderweb-like fresh green leaves. Two large earthenware pots are full of water and lotus flowers. Enclosing the pool (beyond the trees) are the white-and-wooden walls of the boutique hotel we are staying in; with their orange roof tiles and dark wooden balconies, these buildings manage to exude an aura both cozy and sleek. Black and orangey-cream tiles line the floor of the bar to my left in a checkerboard pattern. A red Chinese lantern hangs from one of the taller trees, and in the pool, a medium-sized rubber yellow deer floats exhaustedly, happily, incongruously, on its side.
Today, I turned down what will probably be my only chance to see Angkor Wat. On what will probably be my last day ever in Siem Reap (my aunt and I take the boat to Phnom Penh tomorrow), I spent most of the day inside, asleep.
Let me explain.
