With some embarrassment, we admit to not having gone out of town to the fabled Ankor complex of temples. Our excuses are paltry: (1) We did it before and we still recall the exhaustion, and (2) Janet has discovered an exercise called ""lying around the side of the pool reading a book." And I have discovered shopping at the new market, the non-tourist one, where designer shirts are $5 and tailor-made trousers are $9.

Janet slipped while walking around the pool yesterday and hit her head. She strained her right-sided intercostal muscles and right pectorals. Some Panadol and a good sleep have seemingly fixed her up. My stomach trouble, totally incapacitating me for two days, came from contaminated chicken in a Khmer soup at the hotel. I mastered simultaneous diarrhoea and projectile vomiting with an ease that was entirely unexpected. If I hadn't just wanted to lie down and die, I think I could have been very proud of this accomplishment.

The Prime Minister of Cambodia was in this dusty town over the weekend so things have been cleaned up. Two days ago, police were everywhere. Black uniforms, khaki uniforms, blue uniforms. At every street corner there was a cluster. Roaring through the market town with sirens and whistles was the Police Commander in his large Camry sedan, the words "I love you" written in the dust on its back window. Now things have settled down but everywhere you look, there is activity: people working, talking, laughing, sleeping, vacantly staring, selling, eating, driving, riding, walking, shopping. It's like an ants' nest and I love it. Bits of theatre in every direction, exotic smells, bargains, cheap food and lodgings, friendly people, huge smiles, adorable kids who light up when we say hello. Everyone wants to practice talking, for tourism means money and the average wage is about $30 a month.

Para brought his friend to meet me - Sovann. Mr Sovann, as Para calls his best mate, was orphaned in early infancy. At three, he fell from a cow and fractured his left elbow. This was never set and today, at 21, his left arm is rotated so that the hand faces the front and is useless. He has no home, little education, one shirt and one pair of old blue trousers. What he has got is spirit, an enormous smile and an ability to see that life is wonderful, in his words. Mr Sovann was taken to the new market and we bought him some shirts and a pair of trousers, thongs, underwear, a blanket and food. I'll see about the $US100 he needs for a year's schooling in English. Para lets him stay over but Para's circumstances are not so great. He was sleeping and studying at the pagoda but the monks require those lodging there to learn an ancient script, Pali, which is useless outside the religion. Para rebelled and now lives underneath a one-bedroom traditional raised house with no bathroom or electricity.

We bought him a hammock and supports, a mosquito net, clothes, food, books. Para's English has improved dramatically as he spends time with us each day learning our language. He and Sovann came to the hotel yesterday and although I was cautious that these two young men were not going to attract criticism from other guests, hotel staff actually welcomed them and told them in their own language how lucky they were. As we sat beside the pool with our grammar book, trying to work out whether "A lot of employees is good" or "A lot of employees are good" the scene looked so incongruous among those Europeans and Japanese who lay in the sun getting browner while these skinny dark happy young men talked about how they feel bad because their skin is not beautiful, like white man.

And I guess that's a part of what I like here. The usual ways of judging people just don't work - at least, a lot of the behaviour and attitudes we have in Australia look so different here. Everyone lolls against each other, people touch all the time, smiles are almost a permanent feature of their faces. You can spit and nobody notices. You can wear any combination of clothing and, again, nobody notices. The standards for acceptance are a soft voice, smiles, kind words, handshakes, a bowing with hands clasped together and the head slightly bowed. The hotel staff have got to know me and always make a point of singling me out to ask about the day. I use the few Khmer words I know and their faces light up. The appreciate gentle men and women who meet their eyes and smile.

Now, it's time for my tuk-tuk driver to return. He's been waiting for an hour (at about 50 cents an hour) ready to take me back to the hotel where Janet is giving an English lesson to some unsuspecting barman. As I walked in, I was offered the usual massage price list - $8 for an hour seems reasonable and not a bad way to spend this Christmas Eve afternoon before we dress for dinner tonight at the hotel for their $18 Christmas Eve Special Dinner. Dressing for dinner means replacing lighter-coloured thongs with darker flip-flops and trying to encourage the Japanese teenagers not to wear T-shirts in the dining room that read "I think I will flick" you. Actually, the front message made Madame blush under her rather beautiful tan and quite blonde hair. "Would you like to look like that?" I asked. She was torn, I could tell.