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We spent a day weaving among the Angkor temples, engines echoing softly against stone walls that have stood since the height of the Khmer Empire. Ta Prohm lay entangled in the roots of giant trees, nature and architecture locked in a patient embrace. At Bayon, serene stone faces gazed down from every angle, their smiles as enigmatic as ever. An ancient landscape explored with a modern sense of freedom.
From Siem Reap, we angled south toward Kampong Cham, crossing bridges that spanned broad brown rivers and cutting through provinces where daily life unfolded at a pace dictated by sun and season. The roads here alternated between smooth tarmac and stretches pocked with potholes large enough to swallow ambition. It was on these less forgiving sections that the camaraderie of the group shone brightest: signals passed back, hazards pointed out, shared laughter at the end of a particularly bone-rattling stretch.
Looping back into Phnom Penh felt less like a return and more like a reunion. The city was louder now, or perhaps we had grown quieter. Either way, we navigated its organised chaos with newfound confidence, slipping through traffic like locals, or at least like convincing impersonators.
Yet the journey was far from over. Additional days, for those that stayed on, carried us south toward the coast, to Kep and Kampot, where the air turned saline and the cuisine shifted decisively toward crab and pepper. Kep’ s shoreline offered faded villas and the famous crab market, where crustaceans were
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