The perfect trip: Cambodia

From ancient temples to an elegant capital and all the rich village life in
between, Cambodia is a small country with a big soul where family and
religion reign supreme.
By Amy Karafin
18 September 2013

Marvel at the palaces, markets and bars of the capital, Phnom Penh, before heading
north to Siem Reap for excursions to a floating village on Tonl Sap Lake and the
extravagant, inspirational temples of Angkor. From there, it is south to the
untouched jungles of the Cardamom Mountains, finishing with a homestay on a rural
family farm.
Phnom Penh: Best for culture
Phnom Penh is eerily quiet. A sole remork the usually ubiquitous motorised
rickshaw rolls languorously past the Royal Palace to a deserted Tonl Sap
riverfront. Here, among the shuttered-up shops facing the palm-lined promenade,
food stalls sell noodle soup and beef skewers to infrequent customers.
The peace doesnt last. As the Khmer festival that emptied the city ends, Phnom
Penhois whod been drawn to rural family gatherings in their tens of thousands flood
back to the capital and the beguiling chaos resumes. After a troubled history, which
reached its nadir with the Khmer Rouges enforced eviction of the city in the 70s,
the Pearl of Asia is thriving, with a flourishing caf culture and a glut of world-class
fusion restaurants.
Prosperity has added an extra sheen to its cultural institutions too, many of which
were built during Cambodias French Protectorate era, beginning in 1863. Among
these is the Art Deco Psar Thmei, a pastel-yellow covered market with four wings
radiating from an enormous central dome.
A few hours after dawn and the Central Market, as it is also known, is already a blur
of browsing and bartering. Business is brisk at textile stalls selling traditional
checked krama scarves, while elsewhere chattering shoppers weave past fruit
outlets piled with lychees and crimson dragon fruit, and stalls overflowing with lotus
flowers and bunches of fragrant Rumdul, Cambodias national flower.
Just a few blocks from the market, the National Museum is close enough to the
riverfront to receive some of its welcome breeze. A group of schoolchildren in
matching white polo shirts and flip-flops plays in the shade of the terracotta
buildings neatly tended garden while, inside, visitors reflect upon 1,000 years of
Khmer sculpture.

The adjacent Royal Palace, with its glistening spires and dragon-tail details, still
dominates the citys low-rise skyline. In a corner of one of its courtyards, a team of
artists is working to restore a 1901 mural of the Reamker Cambodias version of
the epic Hindu poem the Ramayana.
When I did classical painting at university, we studied the Ramayana, says lead
artist Roeung Sreyna, gesturing to the mural behind her, where spirits and horsedrawn chariots float over a celestial palace in the sky.
The project is slow and technical. Matching the colours takes time, as does cleaning
stains and fixing damage from humidity. We take one section at a time, she says,
pointing at a three-foot-wide band. Two months for each section, and we have to
work slowly. If it were a normal painting, we could do it in a year, but this is our
history, so we have to take care.
Tonl Sap: Best for lake life
In the village of Me Chrey, the streets are made of water and the wooden houses
float. The villages 500 families are among the thousands who have settled on the
surface of the freshwater Tonl Sap, Cambodias Great Lake, where, not
surprisingly, life revolves around the water. As dawn breaks, Me Chrey is already
abuzz. Toddlers paddle small aluminium tubs down the main street, fruit and
vegetable sellers in bright floral clothing and conical hats navigate boats between
houses, and householders check for breaches in fish banks submerged reed
baskets where fish are kept until market day. Shouted greetings and lively chatter
are punctuated by the occasional snort of a pig from a floating pen. Further out on
the water, a family retrieves traps and nets laid out in wide, intricate arrangements.
Its an itinerant existence. The floating houses, which are tied to one another, are
moved by the villagers four times a year to follow migrating fish stocks. The lakes
wildly fluctuating dimensions also a play a part in the rainy season, Tonl Sap
swells to more than 6,000 square miles, raising the floating houses by around eight
metres. Dry season sees the potential spots to anchor reduced significantly.
Sok Ang has lived in the village for more than 30 years. Four years ago she opened
up a shop, connected to the familys one-room home, which she runs while her
husband and children do the fishing. Today, however, the kids sit behind with some
neighbours, watching a soap opera on a TV connected to a car battery the main
source of power in the village. The shop sells all the necessities, from shampoo to
cooking oil as well as lotus-seed snacks. I sell whisky, too, but beer is more popular
around here especially Klang beer, which means strong, says Sok, laughing. The
shop doesnt have a name at least not officially. Everyone calls it Yeay [Grandma]
Angs shop. I dont have grandkids, but the village calls me that.
Me Chrey is one of the less visited of Tonl Saps villages and seeing it by kayak is
the most atmospheric way to experience it. There is none of the noise or fuss of a

regular tour boat, allowing the visitor to glide past a clump of water hyacinth and
observe a gaggle of black-and-white mynah birds cavorting undisturbed. The
sedate, unmotorised pace is also more in tune with village life. Following guide Chin
on a meandering tour of the back streets, a wooden boat squeezes past in a narrow
channel. Its powered by a small girl, with equally diminutive oars. From the back,
her baby sister waves excitedly. Children look up from swinging hammocks to note
the kayaks silent passing.
Paddling a kayak is easy, but not effortless; the perfect refreshment comes in the
form of a strong, sweet iced coffee served by a mother and daughter in a covered
boat that is part coffee shop, part convenience store. Competition for Grandma Ang
but here, in this remote, placid, water world, its no surprise to learn that
cooperation holds sway. The whole village are friends, says Grandma Ang. I know
everyone. If a family has a celebration, we all go to help out. Same if someone is
sick if one family has a fast boat, theyll bring them to the mainland. We all have
each other.
Angkor: Best for temples
Its late afternoon in an incense-filled hall in Angkor Wat. A tough-looking teenager
in sunglasses and ripped jeans approaches an altar. On woven plastic mats, women
pray to a Buddha statue, barely visible through the thick jasmine smoke. A fortune
teller earnestly reads Jataka tales stories of the Buddhas former lives and from
the surrounding cloisters, lined with smaller, standing and seated Buddhas draped
in saffron silks and fresh garlands, the sound of distant chanting echoes. The
teenager takes off his trainers, carefully placing them next to the womens flip-flops,
and silently puts his hands together to join the group in prayer.
Angkor Wat is the worlds largest religious structure, an architectural representation
of the Hindu universe and the undoubted star of a massive temple city built, over
the course of 600 years, by dozens of rulers who considered themselves part god,
part king. Known today, rather prosaically, as Angkor Archaeological Park, the 150square-mile site was the political and cultural centre of the Khmer empire and at its
peak supported a population of one million.
The temples are still active centres of faith and everyday life today. Among the
tourists who cross Angkor Wats sandstone causeways to explore its warren of
chambers, courtyards and covered galleries are ranks of the devout. The Gallery of
1,000 Buddhas is now bereft of the vast majority of its eponymous statues a
legacy of the brutally destructive Khmer Rouge era of the early 70s. Yet its spiritual
significance remains undimmed.
As evening approaches, sunlight inches across the gallerys courtyard to probe the
dim cool of the covered walkways. Here, bas-reliefs of apsara dancers and pillars
enlivened with Sanskrit inscriptions celebrating good deeds take on a rosy hue. The
source of the chanting is revealed to be the Hall of Echoes, on the northern side of

the gallery. As newly crowned Khmer kings once did, a group of young boys is
harnessing the unusual acoustics here by pounding their chests, a process thought
to offer mental and physical purification.
The walled and moated city of Angkor Thom sits about a mile due north of Angkor
Wat. The most common approach to this sprawling complex, built by King
Jayavarman VII as a statement of power in the late 12th century, is the stonefigurelined causeway to the crumbling South Gate. Despite its graceful, mossswathed decay, the gate is undeniably imposing, its four giant bodhisattva faces
staring beatifically out. Disturbed by a passing motorcycle rickshaw, a macaque
pokes it head from beneath the arch to observe the scene, before retreating
nonchalantly into the shade.
At the exact centre of the city stands the enigmatic Bayon the state temple of
Jayavarman. Built nearly a century after Angkor Wat, its 54 stone towers are carved
with more than 200 huge faces; their resemblance to the famously hubristic king is
not thought to be coincidental. A Buddhist altar is tucked away in a dark tower of
Bayon; outside, rocks thought to create curses if removed are piled in small,
thoughtful arrangements.
At Ta Prohm, to the northeast of Angkor Wat, strangler figs spill like liquid over 39
temples in various stages of ruination, creating a tangle of tipsy roofs and dark
hallways. Inside one temple, an altar of Shiva, replete with gold-foil decorations and
offerings of mangoes and Sprite, is tended by a wat granny the term for older
women, often widows, who have taken monastic vows and help maintain religious
buildings between meditation and prayer. She whispers blessings into a string
bracelet before attaching it to the wrist of a devotee.
Monastic communities continue to live throughout Angkor, with Buddhist monks
often passing through the historic sites on their way to and from their pagodas (a
blend of temple and monastery). Tao Lav is 18 years old and joined Ta Prohm
Meanjay, a pagoda outside Ta Prohm, earlier in the year. When I became a monk, it
wasnt difficult just a little bit boring, he says, laughing. The first few days, I
missed my family and friends, but the longer I stay, the more I give up, and now Im
happy.
He lives in a simple thatched hut and is one of only five monks at the humble
pagoda, and also the youngest. This is a good pagoda. There arent many monks or
noise, so its easy to meditate. And this is a heritage area, so the government
doesnt allow it to get built up. Its very peaceful. Now that Ive learned how to
meditate, I like doing it. I feel so fresh afterwards. Im trying to meditate more and
more no more thinking about the outside world.
Cardamom Mountains: Best for jungle

The early-monsoon rains are falling hard in the Cardamom Mountains, perforating
the glassy surface of the Tatai River. Lightning cuts through the slate-blue sky,
scaring off the fireflies that usually dance over the water at dusk. The forested
foothills darken, as the leaves of thousands of palm trees twist and turn restlessly in
the downpour.
When the rain finally eases, steam starts to rise off the rivers surface, and frogs
emerge from their hiding spots to plop around, experimenting with the new water
levels. Mist slides lazily along the surrounding hills, meandering through coconut
palms, wild-plum trees and pendulous jackfruits. The Tatai Waterfall is for the first
time this year rushing over boulders, the moss that clings to them now a little
greener. Local boys backflip from the rocks, yelling as they drop into the swollen
pools.
This richly verdant pocket of southwest Cambodia is an area of protected forests
and conservation corridors. What really preserves it, though, is its impenetrability
a dense web of jungle canopies enveloping a smattering of small villages and,
latterly, eco-resorts. No surprise that the Cardamom Mountains was one of the last
strongholds of the Khmer Rouge, with militants hiding out here for nearly two
decades after the regimes barbarous heyday in the late 70s.
Hand-cleared paths linking isolated villages now serve as trekking routes for those
looking to explore a less familiar side of the country. One such link, between the
villages of Takat and Tuleki, clearly serves as a major thoroughfare. The trails
became well worn, says guide Ravy, Vy for short, because those two villages are
good friends.
Red, white and black crabs emerge to bathe in puddles, while a troop of long-tailed
macaques flits through the trees with a cacophany of screeching. On damp logs,
mushrooms flourish. One type of these is used in spring rolls, another in mice
poison. Luckily, they look very different, says Vy.
Leaves that will later be used to wrap sticky rice are glistening, and an ant house
a tiny, box-shaped nest made of leaves has been dislodged by droplets and lies on
the ground. Villagers will employ this in traditional medicine. Little goes to waste in
such a remote and bountiful environment.
Midway along the path, a woman and her two sons emerge from the jungle carrying
weathered shopping baskets full of wild mushrooms. Other days they might contain
frogs. When it rains, we go out in the early morning with a torch to get them, says
Vy. He does the same with durian in season. They fall in the night, so I come out at
5am before anyone else can take them.
Back at the Tatai River, the sky is putting on a show of pinks and violets, while
monsoon clouds churn in the distance. Birds start to shift and sing, and the forest

rustles with the sounds of animals heading out on their evening rounds and
villagers returning home with firewood.
Takeo province: Best for rural life
When Siphen Meas was growing up in the 80s, her family lived off the land. Like
most Cambodians, theyd lost their property and savings during the four-year rule of
the Khmer Rouge that ended in 1979. Unlike many, theyd escaped with their lives.
We didnt go shopping. We found our own fruit and grew our own vegetables, she
says. After school Id pick greens to eat, fish in the lake or go to the bush to get
firewood.
Today, Siphen and her family shop all the time nearby Angk Tasoam market is a
favourite but they still work the land in their village of Prey Theat, around two
hours south of Phnom Penh. And it provides generously, producing rice, taro,
coconut and mango. She now runs a homestay with her husband Mach, a fellow
English teacher. Their house is surrounded by paddy fields, in which ducks frolic
under the irate gaze of yoked oxen, as children wobble past on oversized bicycles. A
neighbour harvests snails and small fish from a paddy field using a woven-basket
scoop, stopping to pass the time of day with a family on a scooter two children
sandwiched uncomplainingly between their parents on the slender seat.
Rice season is July to December, and everyone pitches in even homestay guests.
They work hard, says Siphen with a smile, and the villagers laugh and say, Why
do they want to work like that?.
The homestay is a focal point of the village, many members of which are related to
Siphen and Mach Siphen hazards a guess that they have 100 family members in
Prey Theat. Guests become part of the family too, staying in bungalows in the fruittree-laden grounds or in wood-panelled rooms in the main house. The peaceful,
hammock-strewn courtyard is the centre of family life a place for cousins to chat,
braid one anothers hair and catch up on village gossip.
Siphens kitchen is also outdoors, lending the preparation of meals a communal
feel. With the early evening sunlight dancing off the lily pond at the back of the
homestay, Siphen lays out pork ribs, fish amok (fish curry steamed in banana
leaves) and beef lok lak (beef stir-fried with red onions), before calling over Mach
from his task of trimming the grass around the fruit trees.
Assisting her with the cooking are young pupils from the small school next door,
who sing Cambodian pop songs as they chop vegetables. Their English is excellent
and they chat excitedly with the native speakers at the homestay, some of whom
will head to their classroom in the morning to join a class and offer some impromptu
language tutoring.

The meal ends with a mango dessert the family property is home to seven
different kinds of the fruit, which Siphens niece picks using an ingenious tool made
from a plastic bottle and long stick.
The homestay really is a family effort. Even the distant cousins are close, explains
Siphen. Everyone looks after one another. Many people were lost from our family
during the Khmer Rouges rule. So we all feel cold in our hearts and want to be
closer to each other.
The article 'The perfect trip: Cambodia' was published in partnership with Lonely
Planet Traveller.