By Joel Brinkley
Joel Brinkley - Cambodia's Curse
The glossy background of a stricken Land
A Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist returns to Cambodia thirty years after the autumn of the Khmer Rouge to document at the country's fight to get over its past
About the Author
Joel Brinkley, a professor of journalism at Stanford collage, is a twenty-three-year veteran of the New York Times. He has labored in additional than fifty international locations and writes a nationally syndicated op-ed column on international coverage. He gained the Pulitzer Prize for overseas Reporting in 1980 and was once two times a finalist for an investigative reporting Pulitzer within the following years. this is often his 5th book.
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Extra info for Cambodia's Curse: The Modern History of a Troubled Land
We were gone the better part of a year. Rather than satisfying our curiosity, we realized we’d only scratched the surface. Contrary to the popular saying, the world wasn’t getting any smaller. It was as big as ever. Our list of places to visit was twice as long as when we’d left. We found a place to live, and new jobs. Our world map went back up on our bedroom wall and we began planning again. I was too excited to sleep that first night in Bremen, and when I finally did sleep, I dreamed of getting on the bike and riding badly.
There’s got to be an end to it,” I said. ” Most cars were packed with people and luggage for a vacation or weekend away. I saw bicycles, small boats, toys for the water, and took these as confirmation of better weather ahead. They’re locals, I reasoned. They know what’s going on. The wind and rain lost a degree of their gloomy influence. I focused beyond the inconvenience of the elements and thought of how it would be when we hit our stride, when the weather had passed and the trip acquired a life of its own.
As we rounded the edge of Hamburg the wind changed. It had been gusting from the left but came now in violent swirls that shook the bike as if a tire was loose or the forks were coming uncoupled. I gripped the handlebars tighter and pinched the gas tank with my knees. Suzanne’s hands reached around my stomach and her helmet pressed against mine. The first drops of rain ticked against my helmet and the windscreen of the bike, where they quickly accumulated to obscure my view of the road. It was the way the rain fell, combined with the wind and the speed and movement of the traffic, that made the rest of our ride such a difficult one.