Almost There: The Road to Siem Reap
September 11th. At last, the distance to Siem Reap felt within reach. Before departure, I checked every detail of my bicycle. On these long roads, one careless mistake can end in a breakdown. It's a routine that once felt tedious but now feels natural, part of the rhythm of the journey.
At the food stall near my guesthouse, I greeted the owner again. He raises two-year-old twin boys with a quiet strength. Yesterday, he joked about feeling embarrassed by his dark nipples, yet today he stood proudly bare-chested. I admired his openness—it showed a different kind of confidence.
A Chance Encounter With Another Traveler
Just minutes after leaving, something unexpected happened: I met another cyclist, a Japanese woman. To cross paths with someone from my own country, also on such a journey, felt almost impossible. She had been living like this for nearly ten years. The endurance and determination to continue such a lifestyle deserve deep respect.
Her energy was contagious—bright, powerful, and full of life. With that encouragement, I pushed forward again, feeling lighter on the road to Siem Reap.
The Mysterious Dish
At a roadside stall, a man invited me to join his meal. I accepted with gratitude. On the table: fish with fermented soybeans, one of my favorites. Another dish was papaya and vegetables, familiar and comforting in Cambodia.
And then, there was something strange. A small dish with more bones than meat. At first, I thought it was frog, but the body seemed far too thin.
"What is this?" I asked. "Rat," came the reply.
I took a bite. The taste confirmed it. Not terrible, not pleasant. An experience, yes, but not one I would seek again. Still, I felt thankful—to share a table with strangers, to try what they offered, to laugh together at my reaction.
A Driver’s Smile and a Secret Camp
Among those at the stall was a long-distance driver with a smile that never faded. No matter the question, no matter the conversation, he answered first with kindness. Smiles are indeed a universal language.
Before leaving, he showed me a spot where drivers often rest. Wide, open, perfect for a tent. It felt safe, almost like an unseen campsite reserved for travelers.
The Joy of a Simple Shower
As the sun began to sink, the driver asked, "Want to take a shower?" He held a bucket, so I knew it wouldn't be the kind of shower most imagine.
From a well, water was drawn and poured, splashing fresh and cool over sunburnt skin. After hours of sweat and dust, the relief was indescribable. I stood under the fading light, grateful for the gift of water, of cleansing, of being alive on the road.
That night, as insects sang in the dark and I lay in my tent, I whispered to myself: tomorrow, Siem Reap at last.
