Breakfast

The morning couldn't come early enough, and yet it was still too early. We both had troubling dreams stemming from our ordeal crossing the Cambodian border. While I was ecstatic to find out I wasn't really being kidnapped by an Arab policeman at the Saudi airport, the day was still full of uncertainty and challenges. We had been told back in Thailand that our room would include breakfast. We showed up at the reception desk only to be ushered into a side room. The room was dark and we were alone. Looking around, we wondered if the clerk directed us to the correct place. There was a sign on the door marked "American Breakfast" but the motorbikes in the middle of the dimly lit room weren't exactly appetizing. After a short wait a small man appeared, bowing to us as he set down some toast and then he scurried off again. We wondered if that was it, and as the little guy didn't return for some time we started in on the bread. He did return with some butter and jam, and even later with some juice, and once again with a cup of some kind of hot beverage. His final return provided a plate of fried eggs. Not so bad after all. We left what we thought was an appropriate tip and went to meet our TukTuk driver from the previous day.