Paging Martha Gellhorn

The charming Rem Reynolds gives me the address of his friend Porter, who has a gig writing for Cambodia Daily in Pnomh Penh. I write to ask his advice on my upcoming trip, and include a link to this site. His reply is filled with Southern tact:

‘I checked out your web site. Seems like you’re
having a time figuring out what to bring. I’d
recommend visiting an Army-Navy surplus store. The
gear is cheaper and less flashy, making you less of a
mark for harassment (not serious harassment, just
would-be guides, drivers, salesmen, etc). Just a
thought, probably too late.’

I’m cringing. Shoe-shopping is a tic, a form self-medication more benign than bourbon. The grail: a sexy summer shoe that doesn’t create blisters like puff adders and that makes me feel like a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Amelia Earhart. It’s just a distraction from the bureaucracy of trip planning, and from my current perch here on this glamorous little rock, it seems entirely forgiveable. But yes, it must seem utterly daft to the likes of Porter, writing from a town where people have nothing.

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