It was a special visit to the beautiful, yet terrifying, city of Phnom Penh, as well as to the memorial site of the horrific events during the Khmer Rouge regime. We flew by turboprop to Siem Reap, the connecting city to the temples of Angkor. The service on board was okay, but the food was even worse than on the last flight.

A middle-aged man sits next to me. I joke a bit about the food, and we start chatting. To my surprise, it turns out that he’s the hotel manager of our hotel in Siem Reap and is very familiar with Ian; they had already greeted each other at the airport. His name is Ha.

The baggage reclaim hall is the smallest I’ve ever seen. While at normal airports, items travel down a section of the hall on a conveyor belt, here they arrive almost directly inside the hall, and the security guards simply place the suitcases and bags on a bench and take them away from the passengers. A minibus takes us to the Freedom Hotel, the last hotel on my trip.

This is the final leg of my first, teenage journey through Indochina! I’m a little wistful, but full of anticipation, because there’s still something very special to see here!

After checking in at the hotel and registering for the Angkor temple complex, I visit the first temple in the middle of the jungle: Ta Promh. At lunchtime, I explore more of the modern city of Siem Reap.

I take a tuk-tuk into town to buy a new disposable camera, go to an internet café, and stroll through the market. These days, I can hardly walk through the market without buying something. The items are so beautiful and so dirt cheap compared to Europe that I’m increasingly persuaded to buy silk shirts, scarves, or fabrics.

Jane, in particular, always confirms how well the clothes look on me when a salesperson holds shirts up to my chest. They’re probably working together.

At lunchtime, we visit a school with the group that, similar to the Koto restaurant in Hanoi, offers street children the opportunity to receive an education. Here, they are taught traditional dance so that they can gain employment.

The school also works closely with the Intrepid organization, with which I’m traveling, so the groups come here every time, giving the school a “regular clientele.” The school, however, is just a simple building on the outskirts of town. On the way there, we pass many stilt houses and small farms. It feels more like a ClubMed village, although no one here seems to have any idea what that is. One small house in particular catches my eye because the front door is painted with a Hello Kitty motif.

We are allowed to visit a school and learn how the children there are able to learn thanks to donations!

We bought a soccer ball especially so we could play with the children. The teachers and children greet us and lead us into a classroom, where we sit on benches and tables. We spare some of them, however, as they seem close to collapsing under our weight.

The children dance beautifully. A few adults accompany the children with drums and mandolins. The dances have the same movements as those depicted on the ruins. Every movement has meaning, and every dance has a story.

The stories usually tell of fishermen or farmers who experience something in the course of their work, with animals or robbers, or who fall in love and court a girl. The boys and girls act brilliantly, and finally, they invite us to the final dance. They approach some of us and ask us to dance individually. I have the honor, and the children show me the moves.

In front of the house, we start playing soccer with the children. Kevin, in particular, is an experienced kicker and passes to each boy to get them to head the ball to him. While the boys are having a blast playing soccer, the girls are looking for contact with the women in our group.

Meanwhile, the sky has clouded over, and I see a rain front approaching. Based on the wind and the proximity of the rain, I estimate it will arrive in 20 minutes, which is exactly how it will happen.

We leave the football to the children and they accompany us through the rain to our minibus, which is parked a kilometer away.

Ian knows another place where you can see a wonderful sunset, but only Glen, Brian, and I are interested, as it’s doubtful we’ll see much of a sunset in this weather. Jane hesitates, but then declines. The bus takes us out to a lake and unloads us to take the others back to Siem Reap.

It’s an interesting landscape, a vast plain of shallow water, rice fields, and here a village, almost entirely on the water and accessible only by a dike at the foot of a hill, the only one in the entire area. In the village square, the mud is up to our ankles. The crowds are heavy, everything is dirty. A few ragged children wander around us. We managed to grab a few umbrellas from the bus, which will pick us up again after sunset.

From the village square, a long flight of stairs leads up the hill. A few girls follow us. It’s raining a little, but they’re wearing only rags and going barefoot. I offer them shelter under my umbrella. They’re just nine years old, poor, dirty, but cheerful. We climb the stairs, and the view of the house becomes more and more beautiful.

The girl seems visibly proud to be allowed to share an umbrella with me. Only the rich have umbrellas. Glen now also has a child under his umbrella, and there’s a little race up the last few steps. The girl knows a little English and starts to count a little in English. I continue her number sequence and teach her a few more English words. Her name is Na. When I ask her about her parents, she doesn’t answer.

On our way to the top, we meet a few Laotians coming down from the mountain and a monk with whom I strike up a conversation. He asks me about me and tells me that he comes from a monastery in southern Cambodia. We chat for a while, and he recommends that I explore the lake by boat.

At the top of the mountain are some ruins of a complex that must have once been very impressive, and a still intact monastery, and a few monks greet us.

The view from the mountain is breathtaking. We’re lucky, and the clouds clear enough for the sun to shine through, its blood-red color reflecting off the water as it slowly sinks into the lake. It’s roughly the size of Lake Constance.

Surrounding the mountain is a large flooded area where grasses and trees still protrude from the water. From a distance, we see fishermen sailing on their small boats.

The girls have disappeared by now, which surprises me. We wander through the ruins in the twilight; it gets dark as we descend the mountain, and the small lights of the houses reflect in the water.

Once again, idyll and terrible reality collide right before my eyes!

Our driver is already waiting for us in the village, as are the girls, who greet us enthusiastically. She asks me for a dollar, and with the bill I give her a kiss on her little hand. She’s absolutely touched and doesn’t stop waving goodbye as we drive off.

My heart breaks again when I think of those poor children.

That evening, I go out to dinner with the others at a restaurant called “Cambodian Kitchen,” where Ian and Kevin have potato gratin with a special combination of chicken and ham. Ian and Kevin are so impressed that they try it again later.

Together with Glen, Ian, Mia, Becks, and Lady Jane, I go to another restaurant to try dessert, but the tiramisu is still nowhere near as good as the one in Hanoi.

I go to bed early because I want to be at Angor Wat for sunrise tomorrow.