A Smile That Says “Delicious”
September 18, greetings from Siem Reap.
Since arriving here, I’ve begun to feel more and more at ease. The rhythm of Khmer words drifting in the air, the bustle of tuk-tuks rattling past, the scent of grilled food rising from street corners—it all seeps into me as I try to absorb as much as I can each day.
My mornings start early. Before the city awakens, I finish as much work from Japan as possible. It is draining, to be honest. Yet even within the exhaustion, I feel the raw pulse of being alive. That sense carries me forward.
By midday, the streets call.
Lunch at a New Stall
The stall I chose today was new to me, its smoky air thick with the aroma of oil and spice. On the counter lay skewered fish glistening in the sun, an omelet heavy with chopped vegetables, and stir-fried greens tangled with slices of meat. The flavors were rich, hearty—almost Japanese in their warmth.
Some say street stalls are unsafe, but to me, the truth is simpler. Their reputation suffers more from appearances than from reality. Still, I’ve heard the warnings: recycled oil, used again and again until it turns harsh. Travelers speak of it with a mix of caution and respect, for no one truly knows when luck will fail them.
I trusted my instinct and ate. Bite after bite, until the plate was bare. When I looked up and said “Chigyan” (delicious), the vendor’s whole face lit up. That single word seemed to soften the distance between us. It reminded me how powerful simple gratitude can be—more than gestures, more than smiles, words carry weight.
Faces and Conversations
Later, I stopped at a small shop to buy a hat and a few clothes for the road. The owner leaned forward with a grin and asked, “Where do you think I’m from?”
I studied his features, puzzled. Georgia? He shook his head. “Turkey,” he said proudly. I laughed at my mistake, realizing how much more I need to learn. These encounters—quick, light, yet human—become small lessons of the journey.
The shop brimmed with items, most under ten dollars. Many things I didn’t need, but the hat would travel with me.
Evening Surprises
Dinner at the guesthouse brought more surprises. In Cambodia, beer bottles sometimes hide prizes beneath their caps. Tonight, someone nearby had won twenty dollars. Locals called it rare—“as rare as meeting a man pulling a cart across the country.” Some even said you could win a motorbike or a car.
The true spectacle came when a crocodile head arrived at our table. Just five dollars for the dish, but the sight alone was unforgettable. Its meat was dense, stubborn to chew, with only a mild flavor. Salt helped, but this was no feast for taste. It was an experience, raw and real, the kind that shapes travel memories.
As I ate, I thought: how fortunate I am. To sit here, to share this table, to taste something I never imagined. Travel is not always easy, but moments like these remind me—it is joy.
