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By Root 870 0

beat of European music that pumps continuously out of odd windows and doorways. Located not far from the main market, this short, dusty avenue is a big draw to tourists, and, by extension, to dozens of beggars as well. The sidewalks swarm with them: small kids mostly, cloaked in the grime of the gutter, their hands outstretched, and also adult land-mine victims doing the same thing—when they have hands, that is, which is not always. Altogether, they're the country's restless conscience, hard-to-overlook remnants of past atrocities. There's still no welfare system in Cambodia, and no other safety net to catch the destitute when they drop off the social ladder, so panhandling is all that's left.

I'll be honest, some of the beggars' injuries are hard to deal with if you're squeamish. Sometimes even the cup they're holding is broken,4 that's how badly off they are, placing you in the worst dilemma imaginable. Sheer human decency demands that you give them something, brother to struggling brother. A few coins, a dollar bill, what the hell! How can you withstand such dire need? Yet you must. Show compassion, and you start a stampede. A dozen grasping urchins, sniffing a payout, descend upon you to claim their share. Rith the rice seller did his best to shoo them away from us,5 but to no avail. They simply regroup, coming back at you with even greater persistence than before.

“Pliss, mister, pliss!” Grubby hands claw at your shirt. “Pliss! Pliss, mister!”

It's heartbreaking. But also, if I'm being absolutely truthful, the most terrible nuisance, especially if you dare give money to one but not the others. At that point those angelic little faces turn quite nasty, shouting and cursing you out. Luckily, they don't speak enough English to cause real offense. All they seem to know are some generic brush-offs—the prime one being “Go fuck yourself!”—which, unless Frommer's has dropped the standards of its glossary drastically to snag the youth market, I assume they picked up from angry backpackers trying to outrun them.

The whole scene on Bar Street was quite difficult, anyway, and I'm glad I had Tasha close by to protect me.

I come across a delicate dark-haired girl in Cambodian national dress—that is to say, a dress—standing in some trees beside a board with prices on it.

“Hello, good morning, I'm looking for Angkor Wat,” I say to her. Adding, for clarity, “It's a temple, you know,” in case she's new. “D'you know where it is?”

“Yes. Angkor Wat is over there. One kilometer and a half. You want to take trip on elephant?”

In real life, she'd know never to ask me anything so ridiculous. Of course I don't want to ride on an elephant, what a silly question. Not only are they dangerous, they're also a lot more menacing up close than they look in movies. A guy could quite easily fall off one and break something. So no—no, I don't want to take trip on elephant, thank you very much.

But, unfortunately, I'm no longer possessed of the rebellious spirit I once had. A few weeks and five shows ago, maybe. Back then I'd have refused, same way I refused to go bungee-jumping and waltzing around the rim of erupting volcanoes, but not now. To begin with, there was Fat Kid's alarming pep talk: “Be a team player OR YOUR SHOW WILL FAIL,” which, to be honest, has kind of spooked me. I've always believed that thoughts are things. Put thoughts of failure out there and you draw them back to you ten times over. The series hasn't even premiered on TV yet, but on that basis alone it already feels doomed. More than this, though, I'm weary. A creeping fatigue, sprouting from equal measures of overwork and sleep deprivation after so much intensive traveling, has left me a beaten man. Also, Jay's very persistent when it comes to these challenges. Generally speaking, by the time I've stood my ground and argued with him about why I shouldn't do something—riding an elephant, for instance—I could have gone ahead and done it already, sparing myself a whole load of red-faced frustration and Crew Looks. So:

“How much?”

“Fifteen dollars per person from here to