Crossing the border by bus… I realize I’ve never done this before and I’m somewhat unprepared. Like everyone else, I have to get off the bus, hand over my passport, and they ask for a visa for Cambodia. I don’t have one arranged in advance, and it can only be paid for in US dollars. I had made a plan for myself to travel from the Cu Chi Tunnels to Cambodia by bus, and I hadn’t really thought about those dollars. I had been told, of course, but I’m more like, “it’ll be fine.” When the bus driver comes over, I notice I’m not stressed at all. I just think: I definitely won’t be the first.
I ask for help, well, it’s immediately offered when the bus guy says he can arrange it. A little later I withdraw 100 dollars, and I’m in my next country. It does instantly switch on my awareness though. Why dollars, right in the middle of Asia, in Cambodia? I’ve mentioned before that I’m no geopolitician, but with the world powers of today clearly playing a full-on game of Risk, it does make you wonder: why the dollar here as currency?
I consult ChatGPT, and it mainly has to do with inflation and UN intervention in the 1990s to stabilize their economy, and the trust in the dollar was/is stronger than in the Cambodian Riel. My thoughts wonder further, still strange, if you think about it right? A piece of paper that represents value purely based on trust.
Anyway, a long introduction… I’m in Cambodia and I’ve got money in my pocket. By the way, a travel lesson: always carry cash. Not too much, but enough. Upon arrival, Cambodia feels completely different from Vietnam in terms of architecture and spheres. A mix of large buildings, neon lighting, and more Chinese-looking signs—it takes a moment to adjust. Once I arrive at my accommodation… you can probably guess… the exploration urge is on. Around 9:00 p.m. I head out into the streets, walking past beautiful palaces and temples and strolling across the river through some markets. In Vietnam, the number of babies really stood out to me—not without reason, since over 20% of the population there is between 0–14 years old. In Cambodia, it seems a bit older, with more young people between 15–25 catching my eye on the streets, hanging out on their bikes around tea and street-bbq shacks. I explore the palaces, eat some BBQ street food, and around 1:00 a.m. I shut myself down for the night.
The next day I’ve booked a tour: the S-21 prison and the Killing Fields. In the 1970s, a horrific civil war took place here. I’d heard about it before, but not enough to really picture it. At 9:00 we arrive at the prison, and the tour guide says, “Back at 11:00.” I think to myself… that’s way too long. The opposite turns out to be true once I start the first fragments of my audio tour. The brutality still hangs in this building, and truly horrific things happened here, torture and genocide. Thousands of people were murdered in this prison. I really thought I was somewhat accustomed to war and death, but being here makes an enormous impression. Definitely not for people with a fainted heart. Horrifying photos of starving prisoners and torture beds. The blood is literally still visible on the floor, and the clothes of people, photos, and everything that’s still intact feels very close. It’s truly gruesome to feel how little a human life was worth. In the end, four children survived and were freed. There’s an iconic photo of the four of them. Two moved to Germany and were never identified. The other two are there and sell their book. My jaw drops at how recent all of this is—and this is only part one. Part two is the actual mass graves we visit a bit outside the city: the so called Killing Fields. Here, masses of people were brought by bus and murdered and executed. Skulls, bones, and teeth of thousands of people can be seen, and the audio tour explains what happened here.
The extreme documentation of all the prisoners makes it feel very real, and the regime led by Pol Pot was responsible for three million deaths. At the time, that was 25% of the population. The most bizarre scene in the Killing Fields is the killing tree. Babies were murdered here by smashing their heads against this tree to save bullets. Unreal—yet this is reality. Painful, and all of it for a sense of power driven by communism at the time. Truly one of the most horrific things I’ve ever seen… I absolutely did not expect this.
I spend the afternoon processing it quietly, reading a book and recovering from the morning tour. In the evening, I head out again for some street food—yes folks, that remains one of the best ways to taste a country. Once again, the same recipe as in Vietnam: no English menu, no Westerners, plastic chairs, and the best-selling dishes. This time, two dishes. He keeps shouting “and” “and,” and I just say, “Yes, my friend, yes!” Bring it on. “And” turns into “ant,” the English word for ants. And there I am with two plates: one with bamboo, meat, and ants, and one with vegetables, meat, and ants. Actually quite tasty, a bit spicy, and definitely a tropical surprise. Just do it—outside the comfort zone. You experience things when you stay open. I wash it down with a coconut, and my stomach works as it always does.
The next day I leave for an island: Koh Rong, about four hours from Phnom Penh. Aside from the Killing Fields and the S-21 prison, there isn’t much to do in Phnom Penh in my opinion. A bus and a ferry later, and before I know it I’m standing barefoot in the snow-white sand of Koh Rong. “Nothing can Koh Rong (go wrong) anymore.” I notice I’m tired, more emotionally, given the tour of yesterday and that affects me physically too. I process it with a long night’s sleep. No craziness or parties for me; I’m just going to enjoy this island.
The day after, I get moving and decide to walk to Long Beach. A solid 8 km, quite a stretch in the warm sun. When I arrive, it’s one of the most peaceful beaches of my trip. I lie down, read a book, take a nap, and really enjoy how little there is on this beach and how much I feel the peace in that. Of course, I also think about my future from time to time, and strangely enough, I have no worries, because I feel the strength of being alone in the presence of the now. I have a beautiful sunset with myself, where the scenes are getting more and more beautiful after the sun has gone down. Very grateful for this sunset on my own, no other words for it. Then it’s time to head back… 8 km walk back. I tell myself that if I get tired of it, I’ll just flag down a taxi. That isn’t necessary, because soon a Cambodian gay-couple stops and asks if I want a ride. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Hop on, I ride on the back with my big lanky body, and we chat along the way about the few days of vacation they’re having here. The people are incredibly kind, and what goes around comes around. A pleasantly bumpy ride with nothing expected in return; I thank them with a hug and a smile, so nice.
Once dropped off in the small harbor street, I hear live music coming from a hostel… I go inside and take a seat in the back. I enjoy his guitar and singing and he encourages the audience for this open-mic night. If someone goes first, the ice is broken. I head to the bathroom for a nervous pee, and from the toilet I hear him start Otis Redding – Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay. A special song for me. As I cut my nervous pee short, mid-drip, I decide halfway through the song to jump in. Wow—what a special open-mic experience. This time no beer needed, purely on intuition. The audience, the guitarist, and I myself are surprised. Was it perfect? Probably not. Still, I do it spontaneously. A little later I also sing Wonderwall (Oasis), Sunny, and Riptide. My repertoire suddenly grows to five songs, and I sing when I feel like it—not on request. A great way to connect with the people from the hostel, and it turns out the guitarist is the hostel owner. A beautiful memory.
With a fulfilled heart, I can close this evening—and on the right note, I also close the first part of Cambodia. An intense beginning with a joyful ending.
See you soon for Cambodia, part 2.
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