Cuter than Cambodian centipedes: Mama Andria, Claire-bauble, Rocky, Timberrr, Lemming, Justin Timberlake. (Foreground: Kevin and Sally.)

Attempted coneheads.

Moderate scandal of a photo-- look the other way, M/D. Standard practice at Angkor What? is to decorate the tables and walls with graffiti, which we extended to Sharpie tattooing as well. The kids selling flowers outside laughed at us and some of the... pictures... drawn on our arms, and were kind enough to gang up and try and rub the messages off my skin. I lost a few layers of epidermis, but then we played some hand-clapping games and their pimp glared at me for not buying flowers. We finished the night lazing in Claire's bed and listening to romance (or lack thereof) war stories until 3am, and all of us said sayonara in the morning. Very very painfully early in the morning.

Our bus to Phnom Penh was rocking, though, and we got to listen to America hip-hip circa 2002, instead of awful Khmer karaoke. Hey funky deejay, cue "Jenny From the Block"! Back at the bus station, the moto drivers were swarming and and yelling and pulling at our bags and sleeves. Annoyed, we walked away and found a non-aggressive tuktuk driver to take Claire to the airport, and Tim and I kept walking. One of the drivers had quietly followed us for 3 blocks, and suddenly emerged to block our path with his vehicle. He demanded to know why we hadn't given him the driving job, and we said we were walking to our apartment. He called us liars, and circled us a few times in the street, yelling, "Stingy, stingy, stingy! Stingy, stingy, stingy!" before roaring away. We hid on a sidestreet before sneaking into a getaway tuktuk. It's hard when everyone needs your business, but with 10 men pulling on your clothes in the blazing sun, after you've been listening to J-Lo for the past 6 hours with a dangerous hangover, you're not inclined to give the aggressive ones your money. Or, more likely, we are just stingy. Stingy. Stingy!