Day 295 Phnom Penh, Cambodia (Feb. 11th, 2026). Last week we biked directly from our apartment on the northern outskirts of Siem Reap to the stunning Angkor Archaeological Complex. We spent two full days exploring the temples, Angkor Wat, Bayon, Ta Prohm, Ta Som, Pre Rup, stopping at whatever wonders we passed. Riding our single-speed bicycles loaned to us by our host in town, handlebar baskets filled with water and backpacks we drifted through the many gates surrounding the temples of Angkor Thom, the serene, inescapable gaze of the Bodhisattva of Compassion following your passage. We walked in the shadows of giant strangler figs, the trees so intertwined with the hand-hewn stone blocks of the ancient temple walls that the two have become inseparable. The roots weaving their own mandala, mother nature’s own meditations. The apsaras, Hindu nymphs, dance everywhere here, their fluid grace and beauty frozen in stone, seemingly unaffected by the passage of the centuries. Multi-headed shape-shifting serpents, the nagas, guard every temple and epic battles between the gods play on the walls. Maybe the final battle of the Mahabharata took place here, only something of heavenly magnitude could have toppled these ancient temples.

Enormous busts of the Bodhisattva of Compassion adorned the many gates surrounding Angkor Thom.

Angkor Thom and Phnom Penh, Cambodia: Home of the forgotten Khmer Empire.

I’m not sure if our visit was representative of most, we heard the border closure between Cambodia and Thailand was slowing visitor traffic, and perhaps more than we realized. We never found anywhere in Angkor Thom to be overcrowded or even busy. Between temple visits we’d buy some fresh pineapple or a cold coconut, filled with sweet, refreshing, electrolyte rich water, the perfect tropical thirst quencher. Our first day we rode for nearly twelve hours and visited all the temples we knew we couldn’t miss, Angkor Wat, Ta Prohm, Bayon, and a few more along the way. We pedaled back to our remote apartment in the dark, but by good fortune alone, our bikes were outfitted with headlights, powered by small generators in the front axles. The second day we returned for some lesser visited but no less remarkable temples, like Preah Khan, the crumbling beauty of Ta Som, and the leaning towers of mysterious Pre Rup, appearing to my untrained eyes like a Mayan ruin from Central America. Two wondrous full days, not an hour wasted, nor an hour rushed.

Dancing apsaras, Hindu nymphs, immortalized in stone.

A scene from the Mahabharata, a Hindu epic.

Now we find ourselves transported to an entirely different world; from our apartment on the outskirts of Siem Reap to the heart of Phnom Penh, Cambodia's capital. After dark we step out of our hotel and into the still sticky air, the street illuminated by the glow of neon and filled with the sounds of bar chatter and distant karaoke. Here someone can buy a fresh dragon fruit or stir fried noodles from a street vendor or just as easily, find company for the evening. All the various hungers and desires of man laid bare, tantalizing, carnal, exciting, disgusting. It reminds me of Las Vegas, Nevada, but without the glittering casinos, only the alleys and old seedy streets.

The street right outside our hotel.

Our personal nightly business this evening consisted of buying spicy stir-fried frog from a street vendor and a charcoal grilled whole chicken, rotisserie style, complete with a salad sized portion of fresh herbs. Hunger sated, we walked some more and marveled at the characters in the bars. Westerners who seem to have escaped from a Hollywood movie leaned over sweating bottles of Angkor Beer or hovered over pool tables, a fervent intensity in their eyes as they told their stories to anyone willing to listen. Phnom Penh had an interesting way of condensing some of life’s more curious personalities into one block of rowdy bars.

A street vendor frying some frog legs for us.

Our favorite rotisserie chickens, cooked on charcoal.

On our final day I took a local river ferry to the narrow spit of land dividing the Tonle Sap and Mekong River so I could go for a run beyond the busy city streets. I ran north along a mostly empty sidewalk paralleling the Tonle Sap. My feet finding a familiar rhythm, breath steady, my mind quieted, as some part of my animal brain is distracted by this repetitive motion. The confluence of these rivers is immense: the blue-green of the Mekong blending with the muddy flow of the Tonle Sap, the life blood of the Khmer people. There’s a small fishing village, further upriver a woman swims in the murky water next to her dugout canoe. The brick paved sidewalk here is littered with trash; bags, a styrofoam container, an errant lost flipflop, and beautiful flowers. Yellow, purple or red, exotic cannonball tree blooms and other flowers I couldn't identify fell from the trees that lined the street. I realized I’ve run too far, I quickly decide not to turn around to catch the return ferry but instead to continue to the Chroy Changvar Bridge. A winding concrete staircase takes me from the riverside to the bridge deck. The traffic thickens and the exhaust fumes return, I momentarily regreted my decision not to double back. But I enjoyed passing near Wat Phnom Duan Penh, where a day before we saw hundreds of giant roosting Lyle’s flying foxes. I hide in the shade as much as possible, starting to feel the full force of the 94 degree heat. And suddenly I’m back, sweating profusely and onto the mundane duties of laundry and packing. Tomorrow we leave for Saigon.

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