A Journey Two Decades in the Making

I suspect my journey to Cambodia began long before I ever stepped onto a plane. It began years ago, the first time I heard the haunting soundtrack of Beyond Rangoon. Something in that music entered me quietly, a pull toward this part of the world, toward its temples, its sorrow, its grace. I didn’t understand the calling then. I do now.

A Soft Welcome Into a Land of Memory and Spirit

After the long arc from LAX to Singapore and finally into Siem Reap, the heat rose to greet me like an old friend. My guide, Chann, welcomed me with a warm, knowing smile, the kind that dissolves the last remnants of travel fatigue.

At Navutu Dreams, surrounded by frangipani and bougainvillea, I felt my body unclench. Peace doesn’t always arrive subtly, but here it did—seeping into me through the jasmine-scented air, the shimmer of the pool, the gentle rhythm of the gardens. This was my first welcome into a country shaped by both suffering and astonishing resilience.

Angkor Thom… Walking Through Another Lifetime

Siem Reap is soulful, alive with color, warmth, and the quiet hum of daily life. Today felt like stepping through a doorway into a world suspended between ruin and rebirth.

Our women-led tuk tuk caravan carried us beneath avenues of ancient trees toward Angkor Thom, the Great City. Bayon’s many faces rose before me, smiling gently as though recognizing a traveler who had been trying to reach them for years.

Massive roots curled over stone, reclaiming the temples with tender ferocity. A Khmer couple greeted me with a smile that needed no translation. Lunch was fragrant and rich, a reminder that Cambodian cuisine is not merely food, but history carried in spice, memory carried in heat.

Angkor Thom felt like history and humanity entwined, stone and spirit holding each other through centuries.

I am grateful to have walked even a small part of it.

Mountains, Waterfalls & Elephants Finding Themselves Again

We set out early for Phnom Kulen, crossing landscapes so green they looked painted by hand. At the River of a Thousand Lingas, ancient carvings lay beneath rushing water, honoring Shiva. The waterfall that followed was a spiritual cleansing, cold, invigorating, alive.

The afternoon brought one of the most emotional experiences of my trip: the Kulen Elephant Forest, home to fourteen elephants retired from decades of carrying tourists through Angkor Park. Here, they walk freely. They choose their pace. They choose themselves.
Watching them relearn wildness was like watching a soul heal in real time. Their quiet dignity, their gentle movements, the stories shared by their keepers, it was deeply humanizing.

Theam’s Gallery… Where Art Becomes Remembrance

Wandering through Theam’s Gallery felt less like entering a museum and more like stepping into the memory of a nation. Lim Muy Theam has created a sanctuary where Cambodia’s stories are held in color, lacquer, gold leaf, and stillness.

Hand-carved Buddhas. Sacred masks. Lotus ponds cradling light.

There is a softness here, a reverence, for what was lost and what endured. Art becomes an act of healing… a gesture of resilience. I found myself whispering without realizing it.

Some places ask not to be photographed, only to be felt.
This was one of them.

Jaya House… A Sanctuary for the Weary Spirit

Arriving at Jaya House River Park felt like crossing into calm itself. Within an hour, something inside me exhaled—a release I didn’t know I was waiting for. A drink in hand, the warm evening air, and an aroma massage that gathered the scattered pieces of me back into my body.

Here, wellness is not performative; it is an invitation.
A soft landing for the spirit.
A reminder that rest is its own form of reverence.

Creative Kitchens… Food as Story, Memory as Nourishment

Today’s cooking lesson brought genuine joy. We made fish amok, silky, fragrant, deeply Khmer, along with a mango salad bright enough to feel like sunlight on the tongue.

Learning a dish in its birthplace is a kind of intimacy.
Understanding the spice, hearing the stories behind each ingredient, feeling the rhythm of the kitchen, that is how culture settles into you.

Food connects worlds.
Today, it connected mine to Cambodia.

The Floating Village & The Women of Saray

On Tonle Sap Lake, entire villages float, homes, schools, temples, all drifting with the shifting waters. We visited Saray, a women’s cooperative transforming invasive water hyacinth into beautiful handwoven pieces.

We sat with the women, awkward at first, our fingers fumbling with the reeds while theirs danced with practiced ease. Their patience, laughter, and quiet encouragement carried us forward until we found a humble rhythm. We left with imperfect creations, and a profound respect for their skill and determination.

In their hands, craft becomes both livelihood and legacy.

Angkor Wat… The Homecoming After Twenty Years

The Sunrise I Waited a Lifetime For

And then, the morning I had carried inside me for more than two decades arrived.

We stood in the darkness, the outline of Angkor Wat a quiet guardian against the sky. As the first golden light broke behind its towers, something in me broke open too. The temple glowed. The lotus ponds mirrored heaven. And I understood why I had been called here for so many years.

It wasn’t just architecture.
It wasn’t just history.
It was a homecoming of the spirit.

A reminder that some places are written into your soul long before you ever arrive.

Afterward, breakfast by an ancient baray felt like a gentle landing. “Chum Reab Sou,” the villagers greeted us, with warmth that felt like family.

We visited the wildlife conservation center, then the intricately carved temple of Banteay Srei, the “Citadel of Women.” Its delicate pink sandstone felt like a hymn to the feminine.

Our final night in Siem Reap was spent tasting its street food, wandering its alleys, letting the city feed our senses one last time.

After more than two decades of longing, I finally stood before Angkor Wat at dawn.

This temple, imagined thousands of times, was somehow more than anything I had pictured. As the first pink light touched the sky, the lotus ponds mirrored the towers, and the sun rose directly behind them in a slow, sacred unveiling. Time felt elastic, ancient and immediate all at once.

But Angkor Wat is not only beauty; it is endurance.

It has survived empires, invasions, colonialism, genocide, looting, and restoration. Its stones hold both triumph and unimaginable sorrow.

And still… it stands.

Yet even here, the modern world intrudes—backpackers clambering where they shouldn’t, influencers staging elaborate (and exhausting) performances for social media, tripods blocking doorways, attention fixed more on capturing the moment than inhabiting it.

But none of this diminished the temple’s majesty.

If you allow yourself to be still, you can hear its heartbeat.
A whisper of centuries.
A prayer carved into stone.

This sunrise was worth the wait, worth every year, every longing, every imagined version of the moment.

Departure… What Remains

លាហើយ (Goodbye)

On my final morning, we hugged, exchanged promises to meet again somewhere in the world, and shared the quiet gratitude that only travelers truly understand.

I left for Singapore that afternoon for a soft landing before the long journey back to LAX. But part of me stayed behind, somewhere between the roots of Ta Prohm, the wings over Tonle Sap, the smiles of strangers, and the golden light rising over Angkor Wat.

Cambodia opened me.
It humbled me.
It reminded me that the world still holds awe and tenderness when we approach it with reverence.

I carry this journey with deep gratitude,
for the culture,
the resilience,
the beauty,
the stories,
and the privilege of witnessing a place that called to me for over twenty years…
and finally welcomed me home.

Some journeys change your direction.
Others change your understanding of who you are.

Cambodia did both.

It reminded me that the world is not merely a place to be seen, it is a place to be felt.
To be humbled by.
To be shaped by.

Travel, at its best, is not escape; it is a return,
to curiosity,
to gratitude,
to the quiet knowing that we belong to something larger than ourselves.

For twenty years, Cambodia called to me.
And when I finally arrived, I realized the call was not about the destination,
but about becoming the kind of person who could receive its lessons.

Some places stay with you long after you leave.
Cambodia is one of them.

It enters softly, transforms you quietly,
and asks only that you carry its light forward.

Cambodia Through My Eyes....