In fact, within fifteen minutes, I realise the tank is empty. But didn’t I just fill it up? Here, instead of proper gas stations, there are simple makeshift stalls: umbrellas shading welded metal racks lined with Coca-Cola and Fanta bottles… filled with gasoline. For one dollar, a two-litre bottle fills up my tank.

The road cuts through ugly, dirty little villages, but with their own kind of charm, alternating between empty stretches and neglected rice fields. At some point, I stop to visit a park, whose name I’ve already forgotten. It’s a small complex of Cambodian-style temples, well-maintained, overlooking a pond. I barely park before a whole herd of kids runs toward me. They don’t speak English, but it’s clear they want money. Maybe they don’t realise I’m not some cash-loaded tourist, but someone barely scraping by. I give them what I can, but it’s not enough. They get more and more insistent. At one point, I can’t even walk without risking tripping over someone. I jump back on the scooter and take off, trying not to run any of them over.

The scooter keeps making a weird noise, and the fuel gauge doesn’t work. I reach the entrance of Phnom Chisor at 5:10 p.m. Gate closed. Next to it, there’s a guy sleeping inside a small shed. I wake him up and ask if this is the entrance to the park. Still half asleep, he says yes, but it closed at 5.

I really feel like swearing, but getting angry won’t help, so I get back on the scooter and decide to head back to the city. I barely make it a couple of kilometres before… puff. The scooter dies. I try to restart it. Nothing. I try again. Still nothing. I’m stuck on the side of this deserted road. I look around. No one. I don’t have many options, except to take a deep breath and start pushing it.

After half an hour under a sun that feels like it’s frying my skull, I see a guy walking toward me at a fast pace. My heart drops. “Alright, I’m screwed. He’s seen I’m in trouble, now he’s coming over to smash me with a stick and take the scooter and whatever money I have.”