After several hours of drinking gin and tonic’s at the Zig Zag bar, Roland, the manager of the Angkor Inn, suggested a night cap at the snake farm.
“Ze girls there dance with snakes.” Roland is French, hence the ze instead of the.
“Lead the way.” Nick was a great admirer of the exotic arts.
The Snake Farm was on a dark road. The road sign was promising.
Dancing girls. Snakes.
The place looked like someone had spent a lot of money of his go-go dream, only the Snake Farm was emptier than Phnom Penh after the victory entrance of the Khmer Rouge. Not completely. A few listless bargirls lazed on the sofas. They didn’t even smile. One might have rolled her eyes.
No snakes in sight. No go-go dancing. We were the only customers.
I couldn’t have been more disappointed. Nick almost cried. Roland said sorry.
We headed to his place and went to sleep with dreams of better things to come in Phnom Penh.
