Cardboard Sunlight

Untitled Part 1

Cardboard Sunlight by Stefan Jenkins

It was Cambodia. For Deano, it was sun, selfies, beaches, cheap beer, zippo lighters, hostel breakfasts and souvenir clothing.

For Max, it was closure.

They spent the first few days in Phnom Pehn which felt more like a French student city where packs of cheering Western frat types march from bar to bar boasting of their Asian travelling experience.

Deano spent the mornings hiding beneath his pillow in the hostel dorm while Max would toil over maps and bus routes in the cafe; they walked a lot, ran their phone batteries down taking photos and slurped down just about every deep fried creature that could be legally sold to them.

They rented scooters and negotiated the stampede of congestion that choked the boulevards of the city.

The next stop was Sihanoukville where they sprawled out on the beach enjoying the after effects of 'Happy Pizza', an odd local delicacy that offered pizzas drenched in lashings of highly potent marujiana. They lit Asian lanterns and watched them burn over the Gulf of Thailand.

From there, they travelled by mini bus to Battambang, but suffered a blow out on route and found themselves having to prop the vehicle up as the driver's ratchet was damaged.

At their Battambang hostel, Deano played chess with the owner's ten year old son; trying to explain in a splutter of broken of english and a mad flutter of hand signals that he was the 'Chess King of West Wickham.'

It was Cambodian new year and the lads hired bikes and headed into the countryside where the local celebratory custom was to hurl pots of talcum powder followed by buckets of water at passing tourists.

They engaged in a full on water fight with a gang of children as their parents looked on bent double, toasting Vietnamese whiskey and eating cured fish.

Streaked in lashings of talcum powder and dripping wet, they were invited into the homestead of a large family who shared their food and drink with them.

As Deano sat discussing the premier league in heavily broken English with the men of the family, Max ventured into the large shed behind the home.

It was a simple shelter overlooking a small pool where the screeches of unknown tropical birds were carried in undisturbed from the surrounding woodland.

In the shed strewn across a large wooden table was various photos, ornaments, statues, soft toys and religious trinkets all paling with age and lit by a dozen candles.

The photos were all peppermint black and white and seemed to chronicle at least three generations of one family.

Deano was startled by an elderly woman scattering food for livestock behind him; her face was awash with lines like an old map, a prematurely evoking age beyond her actual years. Her pose was bowed and rigid and she struggled to walk with a conventional stride, instead seeming to waddle unnaturally from side to side.

Over an evening meal at a riverside restaurant, Max poked at the map on his tablet explaining his proposed route; he saw them doing a loop round the northern and eastern provinces of the country, taking in the jungle temples at Angkor Wat and concluding their trip on the beaches of Phu Coc Island.

Deano had little interest in ruins and museums; unlike Max, he'd already deviated from his backpacking budget by spending so much on boozing and nightclubs, sometimes staying out for hours after his friend had returned to their hostel.

The following evening Max had reluctantly agreed to meet up with some of him and Deano's mates from uni over crab meat douced in Kampot pepper sauce.