Day 1:
On the morning of July 8th, I woke up to an all-too-familiar sound—our natural alarm clock, the rooster that had taken up residence just outside our hostel window. With the sun barely rising, my sister Arli and I were preparing for a journey that would take us across Cambodia, trading the charm of Siem Reap’s quiet streets for the bustling energy of Phnom Penh. A six-hour bus ride stood between us and the capital city.
After checking out of our hostel, we hopped into a taxi and made our way to the bus pick-up location. I couldn’t help but laugh as we approached our ride—when I booked the tickets, I had strategically chosen seats 1 and 2, thinking we’d score the best airflow to help with our occasional motion sickness. Well, we definitely got the front row… right next to the driver. For the next six hours, the middle seat and the window seat became our home, giving us an unobstructed view—not of the road ahead, but of everything happening around us. And let me tell you, the sights along the way were anything but ordinary.
From the moment we pulled out of the station, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a leisurely ride. Our driver had one mission: to get us to Phnom Penh as fast as humanly possible. He tore down the road at high speeds, weaving past motorbikes, cars, and tuk-tuks, honking incessantly to warn them of our presence. Most of the time, we were straddling the centerline, dodging anything—or anyone—that dared to get in the way.
The roadside was a world of its own. Endless cows grazed peacefully along the edges of the highway, completely unbothered by the madness just a few feet away. I silently thanked them for staying put. Then there were these vans—so crammed with people that some had no choice but to sit on the roof, gripping onto enormous sacks of who-knows-what as they also hurtled down the road.
But beyond the chaos, the journey was stunning. We passed through quiet villages where children played outside wooden stilt houses, through small towns bustling with morning markets, and across vast stretches of untouched land.
As we neared Phnom Penh, the landscape transformed before our eyes. Towering buildings replaced the open countryside, and the quiet villages gave way to a city buzzing with life. The streets were packed with people walking in every direction, weaving between honking cars and zipping motorbikes. A wide river stretched alongside the city, with massive boats gliding through the water, a clear contrast to the chaotic roads beside them.
Finally, we pulled into the bus drop-off location, right in the heart of the city. The second my feet hit the ground; I felt an overwhelming sense of relief—we had survived the ride. After six hours of white-knuckle driving and non-stop honking, standing on solid ground again had never felt so good.
Arli and I grabbed our packs from the back of the bus and set off toward our hostel—Mad Monkey. As soon as we arrived, we were welcomed by the friendly front desk staff, who quickly checked us in and led us to our room. At this point, exhaustion was hitting hard. It felt like we hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since Thailand, so without wasting a second, we each jumped in the shower and crashed onto our bed.
For a few blissful hours, we were completely knocked out—until we were abruptly woken by the thump of bass shaking the walls. That’s when it hit us: we had checked into a party hostel. With pop music blaring from the lobby and the hum of voices and laughter below, there was no ignoring the energy of the place. So, naturally, we got up, got dressed, and followed the sound of the music.
The lobby was packed—travelers from all over the world filled the space, drinks in hand, swapping stories of their adventures. The air buzzed with excitement, and just like that, our exhaustion faded. It was time to experience Phnom Penh the way Mad Monkey intended.
Arli and I grabbed a cocktail—just $1.50 each, a dangerously good deal—and found a seat to take in the chaos around us. Backpackers from every corner of the globe were mingling, and laughing like they’d known each other forever. It was the kind of atmosphere that made you want to say yes to whatever the night had in store.
About 30 to 45 minutes in, a petite local woman suddenly called out over the music, “Whoever wants to go to the club, we’re leaving in five minutes!” She was Mad Monkey’s nightlife promoter, tasked with rallying guests for a wild night out in Phnom Penh. Arli and I were still debating our next move when she walked over to us, flashing a big smile. From the moment we started chatting, we felt an instant connection—her energy was magnetic.
Turns out, everyone else at the hostel had already made other plans, leaving just the three of us: Arli, myself, and our new Cambodian friend, Bell.
Five minutes later, we were on our way, stepping out of the hostel and into the streets of Phnom Penh. As we walked toward our first destination, my big-sister instincts kicked in. I stayed alert, keeping an eye on our surroundings and making sure Bell was legit. But the more we talked, the more I realized—she absolutely was.
Our first stop of the night was a spot called Love Club, a dimly lit, neon-accented bar with just the right mix of energy and chill vibes. We grabbed another cocktail—this time, a refreshing lychee-flavored drink—and soaked in the atmosphere. The music was infectious, and soon enough, we found ourselves dancing and chatting with other travelers and locals alike.
Before long, Bell signaled that it was time to move on. We stepped out into the warm night air, and this time, we hopped into a tuk-tuk, zipping through the streets toward our next destination. After a short ride, we arrived at what can only be described as an entire district dedicated to nightlife. Small, winding streets were packed with tiny bars and pulsing clubs, each one spilling music and laughter into the night.
As we wandered through the district, the streets bursting with life, Bell suddenly turned down a dimly lit alleyway. My instincts kicked in again—where were we going? But trusting her, we followed, weaving through the darkness until, just ahead, a beautifully designed building came into view. A sign on the door read, “Chill and Aska.”
Stepping inside, we were immediately transported into a different world. The space was sleek and modern, filled with lush greenery and cozy lounge areas that made it feel more like a hidden oasis than a nightclub. The ambiance was effortlessly cool, the kind of place you’d only find if you knew someone who really knew the city.
The cafe was owned by a group of incredibly welcoming Japanese men, who greeted us with warm smiles. With the little Japanese we knew, we made small talk, and before we realized it, they were bringing out their best party favors, making sure we were having an unforgettable time. As we lounged with Bell, the conversation flowed effortlessly, shifting from travel stories to cultural exchanges.
A couple of hours passed in what felt like minutes, and as the cafe prepared to close, we got up to pay for our drinks. But when we reached the bar, the owners simply laughed, waving us off. “No, no, please—our treat,” they insisted. We stood there, stunned by their generosity. It wasn’t just about the free drinks—it was the warmth, the genuine hospitality, and the way they made us feel at home in a city that, just hours before, had been completely unfamiliar.
We hopped into another tuk-tuk, the cool breeze rushing past us as the city lights blurred together. This time, I found myself fixated on the unfamiliar rhythm of Khmer being spoken between Bell and the driver. The language was beautiful yet completely foreign to me, and though I trusted Bell, a small part of me couldn’t shake the unease—maybe a lingering instinct from a past tuk-tuk experience Arli and I had in Bangkok… But as the city whizzed by, I reminded myself to stay present and embrace the moment.
Finally, we pulled up to Mad Monkey, our night of unexpected adventures coming to an end—or so we thought. By this point, we were starving. Lucky for us, just down the street from our hostel, we spotted a small food stall, the scent of grilled meat filling the air. Without hesitation, we sat down on the tiniest plastic stools, joining a group of locals for a late-night snack. The vendor handed us skewers of perfectly charred BBQ chicken, smoky and flavorful, just what we needed after a long night out.
As we ate, we couldn’t help but notice the puzzled glances from the locals sitting nearby. Maybe they weren’t used to seeing foreigners casually dining at a tiny roadside stall, but we didn’t mind. This was exactly the kind of experience we lived for—immersing ourselves in a new culture, one bite at a time.
We made our way back to the room, full, exhausted, and beyond satisfied with the night’s adventure. The moment our heads hit the pillows, we were out, lulled to sleep by the distant sounds of the city that had given us one of our most unforgettable nights.
Day 2:
Day two began with an open mind and an open heart, as Arli and I prepared for a cultural excursion that would take us deep into Cambodia’s tragic past. Unlike the previous night’s adventure, this part of our journey wasn’t filled with music, cocktails, or laughter. Instead, it was a sobering experience—one that would leave a lasting impact.
Have you ever heard of the Khmer Rouge? If not, you’re not alone. Unfortunately, this dark chapter of history isn’t widely known in the Western world, but for Cambodia, its effects are still deeply felt today.
The Khmer Rouge was a brutal communist regime led by Pol Pot that ruled Cambodia from 1975 to 1979. Their goal was to create an agrarian utopia, but in reality, it led to one of the worst genocides in modern history. Over two million people—a quarter of the country’s population—were executed, starved, or worked to death in labor camps. Intellectuals, doctors, teachers, even people who wore glasses were targeted, as the regime sought to eliminate anyone they deemed a threat to their extreme ideology.
Our visit that day would take us to two of the most infamous sites of this genocide: the Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (S-21 Prison). These places weren’t just historical landmarks—they were haunting reminders of the unimaginable suffering Cambodia endured, and stepping into them felt like stepping into the past itself.
Our first stop was the Killing Fields, the site of mass executions during the Khmer Rouge regime. The weight of what had happened here was undeniable. Yet, in the distance, the laughter of children from a nearby school echoed through the air—a stark contrast to the sorrow this place carried, a reminder that life continues even in the shadow of tragedy.
Our guide, a local Cambodian man, had a deeply personal connection to this place—both of his parents had been taken to the Killing Fields. By sheer luck and resilience, they survived, but their suffering was unimaginable. He told us that his mother’s daily meal consisted of nothing more than a thin broth with just five grains of rice.
Hearing that made my stomach turn. It was one thing to read about the genocide in history books, but another to stand on the very soil where it happened, listening to someone whose family had lived through it.
As we walked through the grounds, we saw mass graves where thousands of people had been buried. Some graves had been exhumed, their skeletal remains placed in a memorial stupa—a towering glass structure filled with skulls and bones.
What shocked us most were the fragments of clothing and bones still surfacing from the ground. Our guide explained that after heavy rains, the earth sometimes reveals more remains. It was horrifying to realize that even after decades, the land was still uncovering its tragic past.
To pay our respects, Arli and I purchased lotus flowers and placed them in a large ceremonial vase at the memorial. It was a small gesture, but it felt important—to acknowledge, to remember, and to honor those who had suffered.
We left with heavy hearts, the weight of history pressing down on us. But with that weight came an undeniable sense of understanding.
From there, we headed back into the city to our next stop: Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, also known as S-21 Prison. What we had just witnessed was horrifying, but what awaited us next would be just as harrowing.
When we arrived at S-21 prison, the somber atmosphere was suffocating. Once a high school, this place had been transformed into a prison of horrors under the Khmer Rouge. It was here that thousands of innocent people—teachers, doctors, monks, and children—were tortured before being sent to the Killing Fields.
As we walked through the narrow hallways, we were led into the tiny cells where prisoners had been shackled, starved, and brutalized. The walls were thick with silence, but the weight of past suffering was deafening. In one of the rooms, I noticed stains on the walls. Our guide explained that it was blood. My stomach churned. The realization that I was standing in a space where so much pain had taken place was unbearable.
One of the most haunting parts of the museum was a room lined from floor to ceiling with black-and-white photographs of the prisoners. When people were brought to S-21, the Khmer Rouge took their photos before they were tortured and executed. Row after row, we stared into the faces of men, women, and even children—eyes filled with fear, confusion, and sorrow. It was one thing to hear about the genocide, but another to look into the eyes of the very people who had lived it.
Tears blurred my vision and I had to take a step back. The sheer scale of suffering was overwhelming.
Outside the prison, we saw an elderly man seated at a small table. His face was lined with age, but behind his eyes was a lifetime of resilience. In front of him was a book—his own story, a firsthand account of surviving the horrors of S-21 Prison.
We approached cautiously. He looked up and met our eyes with a knowing gaze, one that held the kind of pain words could never fully capture. When we shook his hand, it was a quiet act, yet it carried so much—a bridge between past and present, between those who lived through it and those who could only try to understand.
This wasn’t just history—it was a wound that Cambodia still carries. And yet, through all of this, the country has found ways to rebuild, to move forward while ensuring the past was never forgotten.
It’s extremely important for Arli and I to immerse ourselves in the true history of each place we visit and to understand its past. While this experience wasn’t fun or lighthearted, I felt it was essential to include in my story—to share what we learned and raise awareness about this horrific chapter in history that happened less than 50 years ago.
Later That Day…
We headed back to Mad Monkey with the heaviness of our excursion still lingering. The best thing for us to do, we decided, was to go for a walk in search of some lunch. Wandering through the streets, we eventually found ourselves down by the river, where we stumbled upon a small, inviting restaurant. The smell of sizzling herbs and spices filled the air, and we settled in for a meal of delicious traditional Khmer food.
Later that evening, we ran into Bell again. She mentioned that there was a bar crawl happening that night, and since we didn’t have any set plans, we decided to join. For only $10, we got a Mad Monkey t-shirt and free shots at each of the three bars we visited. The group was made up of about twenty other backpackers, all buzzing with excitement. Our first stop was Love Club—back for round two. Somehow, it was even more fun than the night before, the music louder, the energy even higher.
From there, we made our way to a rooftop bar with stunning views of the city skyline. The warm night air, the neon lights, and the bass of the music made everything feel electric. Everyone was talking, dancing, and making fast friends—no doubt helped along by the shots we’d already had. But the best stop of the night was the third: a karaoke club. Normally, I wouldn’t be the first to grab the mic, but with my sister by my side and the energy of the night pushing us forward, we felt adventurous. Before we knew it, we were up there, singing Unwritten at the top of our lungs. It became one of the highlights of our trip—another one of those unexpected moments where everything just feels right.
After the bar crawl, we walked back home, our laughter echoing through the quiet streets. Once again, we couldn’t resist stopping at the street stall for some more BBQ chicken—its savory aroma was too tempting to pass up, especially after a night of dancing and drinks. It tasted just as incredible as the night before.
With full stomachs and full hearts, we finally rested our heads, knowing that in just a few hours, we’d be off to our next destination—Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.
Returning to Cambodia as independent travelers was nothing short of incredible. The history we absorbed, the breathtaking sights we saw, and the unforgettable moments we shared will stay with us forever.
Thank you for opening your hearts to my stories, both lighthearted and deep. Writing these blogs helps me relive the past and reflect on the incredible experiences that travel brings. Here’s to more adventures ahead as we dive into the next chapter of our Southeast Asian tour—Vietnam. Stay tuned!
Xoxo, Addi
Just Awesome Addi!!