I’ve heard that when Anthony Bourdain first saw Angkor Wat, he stopped taking vacation photos. He realized that he couldn’t capture this place on film, and reasoned that there was no point. So he put his camera away and just enjoyed it. That’s lovely and rather poetic, but let’s be fair: Bourdain has a…
I worry way too much about what other people think. I see the look of skepticism on your brow, and it’s understandable. Most of my actions, eating habits, and every single outfit I’ve ever worn beg to differ. My behaviors are not those of a woman who is overly concerned with the opinions of…
Spoiler: We eat spiders. If you do not want to see photos of this, then you may want to read another post. (May I suggest this one? It’s about the best cupcakes I’ve ever had. It’s totally safe and spider-free.) On our last night in Phnom Penh, we had dinner at Romdeng. Nicci had read wonderful…
I’m sitting here in a chilly, air-conditioned San Diego hotel room, thinking about home. I haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to get back there. In two days, I’m supposed to fly to Seattle out of Los Angeles. I have made exactly zero plans to get to Los Angeles in order to catch said…
We were originally going to fly from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. We had booked our flight, but Nicci told me she wanted to see more of the countryside, and suggested that we take the bus instead. Tickets were $15, and they picked us up from directly from our hotel and took us to the…
I think it was Nicci who found out about the Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center, and suggested that we go there. I would like to take credit, though. I think that it’s on par with discovering fire, or inventing the wheel, or figuring out that Junior Mints should be stored in the fridge. These are important…
I’m afraid of many things. I blame my mother. She was utterly convinced, from the time I was born, that the entire world was out to get me (it didn’t help that I was named after a relative who had died tragically young). She concluded that the best way to keep me alive would…
On our second day in Phnom Penh, down one necklace, and sufficiently emotionally drained after the one-two punch of the Killing Fields and Choeung Ek, we went to the Royal Palace.
“Wait, what kind of car do you drive?” She is my cousin’s little girl. Blond, California-born and raised, nearly as tall as I am, and presently obsessed with cars. We are walking through downtown Seattle together. I’ve been back from Cambodia for less than a week. “A 2002 KIA Spectra,” I reply, “with power locks.”…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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