Second thoughts?

Good news – in a sudden and unsignalled turnaround of which even Phnom Penn tuktuks would be proud, I’m now the most popular member of the party. Bad news is it came at a cost.

I am sharing a bedroom above the head office, which I now discover is the infamous ‘room A4’, usually reserved for volunteers who get sick. Conformist as ever, I now have a nasty chesty coughy cold thing.

Luckily the volunteers are a great bunch, drawn from a diverse range of countries – and all were touchingly attentive in their support for their new invalid.

The UK view was to drink water and take paracetamol, the Dutch to apply lashings of Vic-type paste. The Indians advised avoidance of phlegm-inducing bananas and any citrus fruits – plus a sneaky cigarette - as the recommended route to recovery.

Our Kenyan contingent suggested hot drinks and unspecified herbs may help. Unfortunately I didn’t get to consult the Philippinos. Aussies prescribe beer.

But I’m here to learn from my Cambodian hosts, so on today’s cycle-taxi tour of Phnom Penn I visited the big temple at Phnom Wat, and took care to splash myself liberally with monk-approved holy water.

This make me damper than usual, but I figured it exempted me from the alternative local approach, which seems to involve degrees of self-harm – either scratching my chest repeatedly with a coin, or 'cupping' the rim of a heated glass onto my back, burning the skin and producing a strong vacuum. This would probably work of course - the pain and discomfort would no doubt distract me from whinging about a mere runny nose.

So much choice – so much attention! But losing face is a big deal here so I couldn't favour one approach over another.

By 9pm I was tucked up in bed with a Lemsip.