Intrepid Chuck

"How does an elephant end up in the middle of the road?" I ask the young boy as he surveys the crowd while handing me a handful of bracelets.

He smiles and replies in Khmer. I smile back.

Briefly, I pause to watch a monstrous mammal elegantly thread through the traffic. The warm afternoon breeze whiffs my messy hair. For a moment I’m burying my sun-kissed feet in the white sands of an islet.

The little boy turns and steps on my rugged shoe before bowing curtly in apology and gratitude. I smile and wave at him as he darts to the next soujourner.

My pals call me into the chic cafe decked with outland relics.

I admire the graceful giant maneuver the worn asphalt once more before I return to my rambunctious party. Sluggishly, I climb the steep ascent and my tired knees slow me down. My thoughts race back to the sandy haven enclosed by pristine waters.

I recall my eventful morning wnen the flimsy straw hut shook as I pushed to keep the makeshift door in place. I should not have looked up. Was the chicken warming her eggs in a basket above my head pondering how I ended up there too? Our panic-stricken eyes locked for a second to mirror each other’s horror. Avoiding not to toss the precious tissue roll at the anxious fowl, I glared to throw the frustrated bird the same question instead. The tiny latrine on the unspoiled turtle sanctum provided us temporary comfort from the scorching heat. Obviously the hen shared my sentiments and was outraged she suddenly was not alone. I prayed I could finish my business before she landed on my head.

The restaurant staff ushers us into a room half full of transients curious and hungry.

"Would you like to try the specialty of the house?”

I agree to jump on the epicurean band wagon.

Wild stories of gastronomy and lost baggage fill the air in the quaint café.

“Have I told you the time I had to use the rest room in the islands?”

Leaning over, I and pitch in my share of recent misadventures. I wonder if all things are bound to feel out of place once in a while.

Our host returns to serve us sautéed red ant tree salad with holy basil.

I'm doubtful the social insects saw this one coming and I am intrigued how holy the basil could be. Certainly, the crunchy ants inquired how they ended up here too.

I know it's not just my tastebuds that confirm why I am here. My intrepid instincts make me eager to start the day and a thirst for a adventure wins over pique.

My fork digs in. For now, curiosity has not killed this cat.