MY LIFE IN SAANG IS LIKE THE BIKE RIDE to school every morning: it’s a hot and dusty road filled with potholes and strange smells, crowded with motos driven by kids holding babies. Tuk-tuks squeeze by with school girls in prim school uniforms. Old mais balance stacks of mangos on their heads as they walk to the morning market in flowery pajamas. Somewhere along this morning parade route, an old dog dozes atop a pile of rubble in the midst of all this chaos.

The main thing I am learning on this road is not to yield, but to merge. Motorists do not look behind them; they blast their horns and barrel on ahead. The law-abiding Peace Corps bicyclists ride in a single line on the right side of the road. They signal their intentions. But here, in the Kingdom of Wonder, that is culturally incorrect. The Cambodian trick is to look for an opening and take it. Savvy pedestrians understand. Don’t stop, don’t hesitate. Keep moving—the traffic will flow around you. Do not yield. Merge.