It began in Cambodia

The seven hours from Sydney to Singapore was nowhere near as bad as I expected. Singapore Airlines get my tick of approval, if only because they had not one but TWO new releases starring Zach Galifianakis available as movies on demand. I spent the rest of the flight trying to do my Global Politics assignment. The one due tomorrow. The one I should be doing now instead of starting a travel blog (thanks Sarah).

Singapore Airlines also get points for keeping my face stuffed for the entire trip. I'm fairly certain they just load everyone up with calories to keep them from going bat-shit crazy.

It's a good thing I was well fed on the plane, because the car trip from Phnom Penh to my first destination, the lovely riverside town of Kampot, took two hours more than it should have.

We were making great time and my driver, Paul, was particularly adept at driving directly into oncoming traffic without actually hitting anyone. But not everyone out there is up to his standard, and on one of the busiest roads on the busiest night of the year two locals managed to take each other out on narrow bridge.

We made the most of it - pumping Cambodian pop music, smoking cigarettes, and trying in earnest to provide each other with stimulating conversation while we waited for the commotion to clear.

Once it did, we were off like a rocket again, and after an hour or so Paul suggested we get some dinner and pulled of the main road. Then off that road and into a back alley. Then off the alley and onto a dirt track. I should probably point out that as soon as I got off the plane I was nervous and suss about everything and everyone. I was now certain that Paul was going to kill me.

He didn't, and instead we dined like kings. A delicious beef hot pot, full of fresh veggies, with a side of chilli sauce, local pepper and limes. The meal was huge, I stuffed myself and so did he, and we still couldn't finish it all. All that plus six Angkor beers (three each) cost eight bucks. I'm going to get fat.

Paul also came up with my favourite broken english phrase so far. As we sat there beneath the wooden canopy with our bellies full and our minds at ease, he turned to me and asked, "Would you like to make a toilet?" ... Well no mate but I really need to pee. The toilet was great too, a squat-job with a hose. Doesn't get more authentic than that!

Paul gunned it the rest of the way to Kampot while I zonked out. I gave him a little more than the price quoted, figuring it was probably just as tiring for him as it was for me. A quick shower and I hit the bar, briefly befriending some NGO peeps and the lovely bar girls. We kept the girls at the bar past their usual closing time but the guesthouse owner tells me they had a great night too.

That's all for now, I've spent today roaming Kampot and elsewhere but I have to get some dinner before crapping on about that.