miscom

Just out for a stroll.

We take the long way around today, which allows us to jump through the short cut. It sneaks us under the scaffolded awnings and into the 3-metre wide corridor, past the usually abandoned restaurant. Once again today, it is dark, fish tanks arrayed in front, pumps busy, ready for the catch of the day that never comes.

I’ve yet to see any fish.

We pass through and approach the wood slats that define the end of the restaurant property and beginning of the alley. I never really know whether it’s okay for us to travel this way, but we’ve never really been hassled.

Hello!

Until now.

Where are you live?

Sorry?

I worry that we’ve pressed our luck and it has run out. We both tend to be rule followers, but this path is well-worn, and we regularly see random motorbikes pass this way, so what’s the harm in a couple of kindly foreigners?

Where are you live?

We live in Xom Chua!

I point.

He shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. His green helmet slightly askew as he settles on the motorbike.

Crap. Did we do something wrong?

Ah, no, sorry! Where do you from?

Country?

Ah! Canada!

I say, with relief.

Ok!

How old are you?

Sorry?

How old are you?

Ah, I’m an old, old man.

No?

I’m an old man!

I offer, only half in jest, with a smile.

Okay. Have a nice day!

He says with a kind wave and a broad smile, and his body relaxes.

English practice for today is done

And I am genuinely, duly impressed at this risk-taker.