The motodop and me: a Cambodian adventure

Visal is my motodop, providing daily transportation on the back of his motorbike to and from my job because I am too terror-stricken to drive myself in Phnom Penh’s traffic. I pay Visal $60 at the beginning of every month to shuttle me in the morning and back in the afternoon, a rate which works out to $1.50 one way. Visal persuasively explained that it would be better for him to get paid monthly so that he could get work done on his bike.

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Restaurant Review: Discovering Khmer food at Malis

It’s a constant refrain on both Khmer440 and pretty much any guidebook you care to mention: Khmer food really isn’t up to much, especially when compared to that of its neighbours in Thailand and Vietnam. It’s a terrible admission but in the two years or more I’ve been living in Phnom Penh, I’ve never bothered trying local cuisine.

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Off the rails in Cambodia; two Brits and the role played by the British Embassy

There are few in the expat community here who haven’t heard a thing two about Nick Mclernan, 40, and Martin Gates, 24: Singlet Senior and Singlet Junior, Beavis and Butthead, Dumb and Dumber — half the city seems to have an opinion. For those that don’t know of this seedy morality tale of things gone awry in the Kingdom of Wonder, it focuses on the plight of two British men, McLernan and Gates, and strikes at the very heart of just what duties and responsibilities an Embassy has towards its citizens abroad.

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Young Briton Marc Davey, 27, found dead at Walkabout Hotel

27 year old British national Marc Davey from Leeds was found in a guestroom at the famous Walkabout Hotel on the corner of Street 51 and Street 174 in Phnom Penh when cleaners entered the room after failing to rouse the inhabitant when they came to clean his room. He was found at 1.45pm local time on Sunday April 5th 2015. When the cleaners entered the room he was slumped forward on the bed in a kneeling position.

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The Phnom Penh Pyramid of Judgment

People love to look down on each other. Even those at the lowest of the low finds someone else to judge. Hell, when I was addicted to heroin I looked down on the alcoholic who lived downstairs. “The poor bastard is destroying himself,” I’d think after waking up to find myself face down on my keyboard having typed 232 pages of “mmmmmmm.”

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