Cambodia: Cities of Ghosts & Gods
Cambodia is different. It hums on a frequency all its own—quieter than Thailand, softer than Malaysia, but with a history that vibrates beneath the surface, woven into the earth itself. Phnom Penh greets its visitors not with grandeur, but with something more visceral—a rawness, an unpolished beauty, an honesty that lingers in the air thick with incense and exhaust fumes.
Tuk-tuks dart like dragonflies through the chaotic streets, weaving between cars and motorbikes with an effortless grace that defies logic. There’s a thrill to it—wind rushing against skin, the sudden lurch of acceleration, the feeling of being so utterly immersed in the city’s rhythm. This place is fast and slow all at once—mornings are sleepy and golden, but by night, the streets pulse with energy, with the clatter of street food stalls, the scent of grilled meats curling into the air, the glow of lanterns reflecting on the Mekong River.
The hotel room held its own kind of nostalgia—creaky wooden floors, a heavy wooden desk by the window, the kind of place where letters should be written, where thoughts should be recorded before they slip away. The walls held the weight of all the travelers before, the echoes of stories that had unfolded beneath its high ceilings.
But Cambodia is more than just movement, more than just atmosphere—it is memory, grief, resilience.
The Killing Fields stand as a testament to the weight of the past, a history that cannot, and should not, be forgotten. The tower of skulls rises stark against the blue sky, a haunting reminder of a time when the earth itself bore witness to horror. Walking through the fields, the silence is deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of wind shifting through the trees. The paths wind through mass graves, where fragments of clothing still surface after the rains, the bones of history refusing to stay buried. It is impossible to stand there and not feel it—the heaviness, the loss, the unimaginable suffering that shaped this country. And yet, there is something else, too. A quiet strength. A refusal to be defined by tragedy alone. Cambodia is not just its ghosts—it is also its survivors, its laughter, its hospitality, its ability to hold both past and present in the same breath.
Beyond Phnom Penh, Cambodia stretches toward the sacred. Angkor Wat rises like something out of legend—temples swallowed by jungle, stone faces watching in quiet reverence, the morning light turning the ancient ruins to gold. The air is thick with history, with the weight of devotion, with the echo of footsteps on worn stone paths. The vastness of it is staggering, an entire kingdom preserved in intricate carvings, in fallen walls, in trees that have woven themselves into the ruins, claiming them as part of the earth once more.
And there is Ta Prohm, the temple made famous by Tomb Raider, where roots wrap around stone like time itself has taken hold. It is a place that feels both untouched and deeply lived in—a space reclaimed by nature, where the past and present blur into something almost mythical.
Cambodia is a place where sorrow and beauty coexist, where history is honored but not dwelled upon, where people welcome you with hands over their hearts and warmth in their eyes. The difference in culture between Malaysia, Thailand, and Cambodia is distinct—each country unique, each with its own rhythm—but in all, there is kindness, there is generosity, there is a depth of spirit that makes you feel like a guest, not just a visitor. But Cambodia—Cambodia leaves its mark. There is something about it that lingers, something that tugs at the heart even after leaving, something that feels like it belongs to those who take the time to listen.
Where to go in Phnom Penh:
Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum & The Killing Fields – To understand Cambodia’s past is to understand its present. Heavy, necessary, unforgettable.
Wat Phnom – The temple from which the city takes its name, perched atop the only hill in town, where incense and prayers drift through the air.
The Riverside – A place to watch the city shift from day to night, to see the boats drift along the Mekong, to take in the hum of Phnom Penh’s heartbeat.
Romdeng – A restaurant housed in a beautiful colonial villa, serving traditional Khmer dishes, where every meal supports vocational training for at-risk youth.
Russian Market – A maze of fabric, jewelry, antiques, and the scent of sizzling food wafting through the air—a little chaotic, but always an adventure.
Cambodia doesn’t ask for attention the way other places do—it simply exists, waiting for those who are willing to see it, to feel it, to leave a piece of themselves behind in return. Some places you visit. Some places stay with you. Cambodia is the latter.