TRAVERSE 181
Cambodia can feel like an endless playground of trails and river crossings. Sitting cross-legged on that concrete floor, it felt very different; fragile, earnest, dependent on forces far beyond the reach of knobby tyres.
A day later, we rode deeper into the countryside, engines echoing off scrub and scattered trees. Our destination was a remote plot where four siblings had been living in a makeshift shelter of what remained of their family home and salvaged wood. Word had spread that a small ceremony was taking place.
Representatives from Global Village Housing had arrived with volunteers and materials. Over days, a modest steel house had taken shape; raised floor, tin roof, solid walls that met cleanly at the corners. Compared to the villas and gated communities we’ d left behind in Phnom Penh, it was humble. Here, it was transformative.
We parked the bikes beneath a tree, their engines ticking as they cooled, and joined the gathered neighbours. The eldest sibling stood slightly apart, trying to look older than her years. When the time came to step inside the new house, the four of them hesitated, then crossed the threshold together.
I thought about the condos rising along Phnom Penh’ s skyline, about rooftop pools and imported marble. Status in the capital is measured in square metres and badge names. Here, it was measured in whether rain would fall through the roof.
That evening, as we rode back toward town, the light turned the dust golden. The CRFs hummed steadily beneath us, reliable and uncomplaining. I felt the dissonance keenly, the privilege of adventure layered over the reality of survival.
Our final leg took us south-west toward Tonle Sap. We left the bikes in a ramshackle lot and boarded a narrow wooden boat, trading
TRAVERSE 181