Honeycomb

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I’ve settled in and begun sending out emails.  Jet lag hasn’t worn off yet, so my routine is less dedicated researcher and more bear in early springtime.  I sleep from three to three.

I’ve been trying to get into the habit of photography while I wait for responses, although I’m at a disadvantage to anyone who has ever owned an iphone.  My camera feels too valuable to take with me everywhere, even though I bought it to be portable and unobtrusive and was told to take it everywhere, use it on everything I saw.  I might buy a used iphone to have a more disposable camera.

June is part of the hot season, and the sky is gauzy blue in the early morning.  I walk around in midday dripping with sweat, eyes shocked by the sunlight off the yellow tiles on the riverside promenade.  The tiles are six-sided like honeycombs, and all of my memories from these past few days are that same gold color: triads of allamanda wilting together on their branches, pollen-yellow centers of jasmine flowers, the fuzzy ochre backs of giant bees, high marigold-bright pagoda rooftops, nicotine cellophane over fruit offerings, dusty mango pyramids, pale glasses of beer already sweating on the bar at seven in the morning.

Cambodia feels bright and lively even when my cheeks are lathery with sunscreen and sweat, when I can feel the skin on my wrists tightening with sunburn.

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