Everything started in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, where I decided — once again — to take the road rather than flying to reach Phnom Penh. Concretely, there are several companies for this route, but tourist buses or local operators remain the most common options. You can book online through platforms like 12Go Asia or directly at agencies in Ho Chi Minh City. Tickets usually cost between 25 and 40 USD depending on the level of comfort, which is quite reasonable for a full day of travel. The bus often leaves early in the morning, and then begins a long, very long day. We’re talking easily 6 to 10 hours of travel, depending on traffic, stops, and especially… the border. Because that’s where the real adventure is.

The land crossing between Vietnam and Cambodia is most commonly done via the Mộc Bài (Vietnam) / Bavet (Cambodia) border checkpoint. And honestly, it’s an experience in itself: noisy, a bit chaotic, sometimes confusing, but fascinating. If you’re on an organized bus, they usually guide you through the steps, but you still need to stay attentive.

To enter Cambodia, you can get an e-visa in advance (which makes things much easier), or obtain a visa directly at the border. The on-arrival visa costs around 30 USD, payable in cash. And when they say cash, they really mean US dollars. No card, no improvised conversion. Ideally, you need clean, crisp bills in good condition, otherwise the process can slow down. You then go through several steps: passport control, a form to fill out, sometimes a photo required (sometimes not — but it’s better to bring one just in case), and then waiting… in humid heat, surrounded by other travelers who also don’t really know if everything is normal or not. There can also be a few “informal fees” of a couple of dollars to speed things up — nothing official, but part of the scenery.

I arrived at my hostel, The Eighty8 PP Hostel. First impression? Wow. Really. Pool, bar, restaurant, an ultra-social vibe… and most importantly, the beds are like little “boxes” with a door, so you have your own private space. Honestly, at the time: 10/10. Well… a few days later, I discovered the hostel had bedbugs (judging by the number of bites I had, it was hard to ignore). But let’s stay on the positive side… for now.

That same night, I met James. A local Cambodian guy who often comes to chill at the hostel because it belongs to someone in his family. And then, without thinking too much (as usual), I ended up on the back of his motorbike. I genuinely think I almost died at least three times in 15 minutes. Driving in Cambodia? It’s a very abstract concept. Traffic lights, lanes, right of way… all of that feels more like suggestions than rules. And me, holding on behind him, just thinking, “okay, this is how it ends.”

First stop: a small local restaurant. No English menu, no tourists, just people eating. James ordered for me: noodles with vegetables, simple, but incredibly good. The kind of dish that reminds you that the most authentic food is often the least fancy. Then, second stop: a local dessert. And there… how do I explain this. It was Num Banh Chok Dessert with pandan jelly (or a variation), with these little green balls, probably made from pandan, in an icy sweet liquid with coconut milk. Strange texture, even stranger taste. Not bad, but disorienting. Let’s just say my taste buds were confused.

We ended the night riding around the city on a motorbike, looking at the stars — which is surprising, because there is quite a bit of light pollution. But there was something really beautiful about that moment. Simple, unexpected. James was showing me his city, his spots, his reality. And I was just there, taking it all in.

The next day, true to myself, I spent the day walking. No real plan, just exploring. I started by visiting the Royal Palace of Phnom Penh. A beautiful place, yes… but above all, one filled with a cultural and historical depth that you can’t fully grasp at first glance.

The current palace was built in 1866, when King Norodom I decided to move the capital to Phnom Penh. So it’s not just a “pretty building”: it is a symbol of political rebirth and the establishment of royal power at a key moment in Cambodian history, when the country was trying to assert its identity between Siamese (Thai) and Vietnamese influences, and later under the French protectorate.

Architecturally, the palace is a perfect example of traditional Khmer style, strongly inspired by religious aesthetics. The layered pointed roofs, the golden ornaments, the nagas (mythological serpents) carved into the structure… none of this is purely decorative. In Cambodian culture, these elements carry deep spiritual meaning, linked to protection, divine kingship, and the connection between the earthly and sacred worlds.

Right next to it is the Silver Pagoda, also called Wat Preah Keo Morokat. And there, you enter yet another dimension.

Its name comes from its floor, made of more than 5,000 solid silver tiles — although today, most of it is covered to protect it. But beyond that impressive detail, the pagoda is above all a sacred place that houses religious and national treasures of inestimable value. Among them, a solid gold Buddha statue encrusted with thousands of diamonds, and especially the famous Emerald Buddha (which is actually made of crystal). These objects are not only materially valuable: they embody spirituality, cultural continuity, and the resilience of the Cambodian people.

And that hits particularly hard when you know a bit about the country’s recent history.

Because unlike many other religious sites in Cambodia, the Silver Pagoda was relatively spared during the Khmer Rouge regime. Between 1975 and 1979, a huge part of the country’s cultural and religious heritage was destroyed, in a radical attempt to erase traditions, beliefs, and even intellectual elites. The fact that this place survived, almost intact, gives it an even stronger symbolic value today. It’s like a silent witness of what Cambodia was… and of what it managed to preserve despite everything.

But what struck me the most wasn’t just the beauty or the history. It was the contrast.

Because when you leave the palace, you immediately fall back into the reality of Phnom Penh. The busy streets, the heat, the noise… and also the visible poverty. This gap between the opulence of the palace and the living conditions of some residents is hard to ignore. And it makes you reflect. On the complexity of a country that carries both immense cultural wealth and the deep scars of its recent history.

It’s the kind of place that doesn’t leave you indifferent. Not just “beautiful,” but deeply impactful.

Because as you walk, you also see another reality. Street children, very present in Cambodia. Some sell bracelets, others beg. It’s confronting. This phenomenon is linked to several factors: poverty, the aftermath of the past, lack of access to education, and sometimes organized networks. And it brings you back to a certain humility. To how different your daily life is.

That evening, I met Harcène, a guy from the hostel… quite a character. We had a very serious conversation about his desire to get a dick tattoo with a “stamp approved.” There you go. I’ll let you process that. We still ended up going to eat together in a small local restaurant, very cheap, and really good. And that’s also when you realize something: in Cambodia, they use a lot of USD. Which, for us Canadians, ends up being expensive. But you can also pay in Cambodian riel, often for small expenses.

The third day… honestly, it’s a day I will never forget.

I visited the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, also known as S-21. A former secondary school, ordinary in appearance, transformed into one of the most terrifying detention and torture centers of the Khmer Rouge regime, between 1975 and 1979, under Pol Pot’s control.

But to understand this place… you have to understand what the Khmer Rouge actually were.

The Khmer Rouge was a radical communist movement, obsessed with the idea of starting from scratch. Their vision, called “Year Zero,” aimed to completely erase Cambodian society as it existed: no cities, no education, no modern culture, no individuality. Everyone had to become a farmer, work the land, and obey without question.

The interrogations… were a mechanism of destruction. Prisoners were forced to confess to imaginary crimes, accused of being spies or traitors. And to obtain these confessions, different forms of physical and psychological violence were used. Everything was done to push people to their limits, until they signed anything.

What makes the museum experience even more overwhelming is that you don’t just read the history… you see it. There are archival photos, taken by the Khmer Rouge themselves. Faces. Gazes. People moments before being plunged into horror. There are also documents, testimonies, and sometimes images or videos showing the reality of the treatment inflicted. And that… it hits you in a way you can’t really anticipate. You move through the rooms one by one, with a weight that gets heavier and heavier. It’s not a “quick” visit. It’s not a place where you take photos and move on. By the way, taking photos is forbidden in the rooms.

I spent the entire day there.

And honestly, I recommend it.

Not because it’s “fun” — far from it. But because it’s important to take the time to understand. There is an audio guide available in several languages that accompanies you throughout the visit. It explains each room, each building, each story. And if you really listen, if you take the time to stop, to look, to feel… it takes hours

It’s long. It’s heavy. But it’s necessary.

By the end, I was emotionally exhausted. Really. I cried.

Not just because of what I had seen, but because of what it represents. The fact that all of this actually happened. That these people lived through it. That it isn’t even that far in time.

When the regime fell in 1979, only 12 survivors were found at S-21. Twelve. Out of thousands. Today, some of them are still alive. And sometimes, they are there, outside the museum. You can meet them, buy their book, hear their story. And suddenly, everything becomes even more real. It’s no longer an exhibition. It’s no longer abstract history.

And the consequences of this period are still visible in Cambodia today. Many families still carry this trauma, often in silence. There are wounds that are invisible, but passed down. A history that remains difficult to talk about, even between generations. The education system, social structures, the economy… everything was deeply affected. And despite all of that, the country continues to move forward.

That’s what makes this visit even more impactful. Because you don’t only understand what happened… but also the strength it takes to keep going afterward.

That evening, I met up again with James and Safae, a French woman I had met at the hostel. We spent the night laughing, talking about everything and nothing… and discovering that the movie Ratatouille is absolutely not called Ratatouille in Cambodia. The title was so different that it took us a good 10 minutes to realize we were even talking about the same film.

And then the fourth day… New Year’s, with Safae.

New Year is one of the most important events in the country. And Phnom Penh transformed into something completely insane. Streets packed with people. Literally. I’ve never seen so many people in one place at the same time. At one point, the cellular network stopped working entirely. No messages, no calls… just being in the moment.

There were parades, music, traditional dances, an incredible collective energy. And at midnight: massive fireworks. So close it almost felt unreal. At one point, a projection of the King accidentally caught fire because of the fireworks. And suddenly… things got tense. Because the monarchy is deeply respected in Cambodia. It’s a central figure, almost sacred. So of course, it created some controversy, even if it was clearly an accident.

But beyond that, that night… it was something else. An intensity, a collective joy, a total immersion into a culture that isn’t yours, but that still welcomes you anyway.

And Phnom Penh, in the end, is exactly that.

A city of contrasts. Beauty and pain. Chaos and suspended moments.

A city that shakes you a little… but leaves you with much more than you thought you came looking for.