Bus from Poipet to Siem Reap
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There are words that we store like unread books in the library of our memories – in a steadily expanding and consequently less orderly library. In this reservoir lacking room – lacking perspective at any rate – in which brochures perform as mighty atlases and lengthy novels collapse into a few words, these unopened books play a rather special role. One can view them as ancient promises that suddenly come true in a peculiar way.
«Cambodia» was one such word in Hektor Maille's life, an unopened book from his past. It catapulted him back to «Jadin», the only pub in Port-Louis to play punk music. During his first year at university (art history, the perfect training for the ring fight with the world), Maille would spend almost all his evenings at this pub, drinking beer, striking a pose of nonchalance and disdain for life – in the hope that he would succeed in capturing the interest of one of the Gauloise-fairies lounging around the place, blowing smoke rings into the air, before drifting out, mostly with one of the other young men, towards their attic abodes.