From the moment we arrived in town, a forty-year old Cambodian man had been hounding us to hire him for a motorbike tour through the countryside. He’d be waiting in the lobby of our hotel every morning when we came down, and would ask if we’d like to go for a ride today. His eagerness suggests the profitability of work with tourists over other traditional jobs available to him. We finally said yes and he called a friend with another motorbike. The fee was $15 for the afternoon, total. We set off down the red, dirt roads, dust quickly coating our ears, eyes and mouths. When another vehicle passed us, we had to cover our mouths, or be left choking. Our drivers had mouth masks but we unfortunately did not. They took us to places we
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