At home in Siem Reap (part 2)

I wake up to the sound of our local handyman sawing ice. It’s a slow sounding push, the rhythm, soft, the ice surrendering to Jahb’s saw. His saw appears rusty, prehistoric, with fine-long-sharp teeth. Sometimes he runs the ice through a “shaved ice” machine that was once red, it sounds old and temperamental, but he…

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