We're in Sihanoukville a beautful beach paradise. It's the middle of the night and the sweat from my body has made a small pool in my mattress, the sliding on this has woken me up. The fan has stopped working.
In this heat, in the tropics, you gotta have a fan. 
I don't care if saying this makes me sound like an obnoixious westerner that can't handle the heat, but I need a fan.
I checked it again. Not working. I checked the lights. No power.
I'm sweating worse than a pig on a spit. Our room is made up of a thatch roof and terracotta tiles, during the day it heats up, and now at night its still hot from the day and without a fan its like living an indian tandori oven.
'It's fucking hot!' i say, rather brillantly to Sandy.
She groans and rolls over.
'Powers out.'I pull on my shorts. ''I'll check with someone.''
Outside, you can the waves a rolling with soft spashes onto the shore and in the moonlight you can make them out . The bar of our guesthouse which open onto the beach is empty, it must be close to four in the morning. Out here there are no fans and its still hot. Behind the bar sleeping on the floor, i guess his job is to protect it from people raiding it at night as well as being the bar tender. He wakes hearing me stumble around in the semi dark.
''No power,'' i say as he stands, rubs his eyes and nods.
''Yes, the lines often go down.' He smiles at me sympatheticly. 'Welcome to Cambodia.
I climb back into bed, still sweating but satisfied. I can handle no fan for a while.
I checked it again. Not working. I checked the lights. No power.
I'm sweating worse than a pig on a spit. Our room is made up of a thatch roof and terracotta tiles, during the day it heats up, and now at night its still hot from the day and without a fan its like living an indian tandori oven.
'It's fucking hot!' i say, rather brillantly to Sandy.She groans and rolls over.
'Powers out.'I pull on my shorts. ''I'll check with someone.''
Outside, you can the waves a rolling with soft spashes onto the shore and in the moonlight you can make them out . The bar of our guesthouse which open onto the beach is empty, it must be close to four in the morning. Out here there are no fans and its still hot. Behind the bar sleeping on the floor, i guess his job is to protect it from people raiding it at night as well as being the bar tender. He wakes hearing me stumble around in the semi dark.
''No power,'' i say as he stands, rubs his eyes and nods.
''Yes, the lines often go down.' He smiles at me sympatheticly. 'Welcome to Cambodia.
I climb back into bed, still sweating but satisfied. I can handle no fan for a while.
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