Go greyhound

Different country, same story. If you want to add some excitement and possible danger to your travels, a sketchy place the world over is always the bus station. As the bus pulls in, a throng of dudes with motorbikes and tuk-tuks and poorly designed accommodation pamphlets harass you until you duck into the crowd. Need hotel sleep? go killing fields? At night time, its the same aggressive salesmen, tho the offerings differ: you boom boom girl? Shooting gun you? want get high? While a ride on a motorbike is plenty cheap, the last thing you want is any “help” choosing a hotel, which means he takes you to some crappy spot that pays him a commission. A sprawling market provides an easy getaway.

so happens, im pretty expert at finding flea-bag accommodations on my own. Even though ive left my entire pack in Phnom penh, traveling as light as you possibly can with a 17” laptop. shoulder bag contains just 2 pair underwear, 2 t-shirts, toothbrush/paste, travel guide and a jumble of power cords required to charge all electronic gizmos, but is still weighty, so I knock on the first place, the moon guest house. On the third floor single rooms are the size of prison cells, and ambiance is just a notch above, but it overlooks the 50s era market building, the clock is permanently set at 2:05 pm. Cost of my room, $4. view from my window: priceless.

I guess this is why tourists to nyc cluster around times square, or even pen station, musts to avoid for any city dweller. They must think the traffic jams and mayhem is just the atmosphere they were expecting from all the Crocodile Dundee or You’ve Got Mail lame portrayals of NYC, a place where cab drivers who sound like the Sopranos converse by shouting one to another over a chorus of honking, while the traffic is at a permanent standstill.