The Royal Palace in Phnom Penh was beautiful. Through the madness of ticket queues (one for Cambodians, one for visitors), Cindy and I somehow emerged the the very first people to enter compound, and for a precious few moments, we had the palace to ourselves.
Kampot didn’t look like much at first sight; wide, dusty roads with little traffic, old French architecture with sun-bleached paint peeling off the walls, and seemingly no pedestrians. So why did we come to Kampot?
A shadow loomed over me. I looked up from my book. As I expected, it was a Cambodian woman with a basket full of fresh lobster for sale.
They were building the train before our eyes. A bamboo tray as big as a queen size bed, four steel train wheels, and a simple motor that might have belonged on a motorbike. In less than a minute, our ride was ready. This was going to be insane…
Stone sentinels stood on guard, their watch lasting nearly a thousand years. They growled with fierce monkey heads, armed with swords, helmeted and armoured in stone scales. Apsara, Angkor dancers, added their watch over the temples.