Back at the guesthouse, a friendly older tourist asked where we were from. He’s from Portland, and we chatted a bit about Oregon. Then he told us he had kids our age, and casually mentioned that now that his responsibilities are all over, he’s "running around Cambodia with nineteen year olds." We didn’t quite know what to say to him. We’d seen some gross old buzzards like him around Southeast Asia, taking advantage of their highly-valued currency, but had never been addressed by them. We ended up simply walking back to the room feeling stunned. Later on, he drove by the guesthouse on a motorcycle complaining there were only "three girls to choose from" at the Chicken House. What a great way for the locals to get to know Americans!
As if on cue, I started feeling nauseous. We think we caught something from the Thai truck stop. All I know is we spent the next days in bed at the guesthouse listening to the nightly crescendo of barking dogs and squawking roosters.