This is my first backpacking trip, albeit in a small group. I’m still young and have no idea about all the trips I’ll take later. But I have a longing to see as much of the world as possible. It was an adventurous time for me in Vietnam, which only recently opened up to tourists.

Now I am about to cross the border into another exciting country: Cambodia!

I set off with the group from Ho Chi Minh City in a minibus. We cross the Mekong River by ferry. While the bus stays in the vehicle area, we sit with the other passengers on a veranda above, overlooking the cars.

It’s a hell of a noise, because the narrow sides of the small ferry reflect the sound three times as much. On the back seat where I’m sitting, a dried-up gecko is still stuck to the paint.

In the afternoon, we reach Châu Đốc, the largest city in the center of the delta, through which most of the shipping traffic from the Mekong to the sea and the traders passes. This city has absolutely nothing touristy about it, and as I wander alone through the market, I’m eyed with respect, like the giant Rubezahl. But everyone is naturally quite friendly, and I chat with several of them again, who are also very pleased that I speak a few words of Vietnamese.

The Mekong Delta is gigantic!

I put myself in the shoes of one of the traders and try to imagine how I must appear to him:

like a foreign prince, wearing less clean but more expensive clothes, with a gleaming watch, one meter ninety tall and blond hair, walking through the market.

The mere fact that I am in the country makes me incredibly rich; I come from a country that is beyond people’s imagination, and not just in terms of distance.

We spend the night in Chao Doc because tomorrow will be a hectic day.

Early the next morning, we loaded a small motorboat with our luggage and ourselves and set off up the Mekong River toward Cambodia. The boat was tiny, our luggage was lashed to the roof, and we sat on the few seats in the small space.

The driver repeatedly stops mid-river to see if there are any more passengers at certain stops, but only three arrive; there wouldn’t have been room for more anyway. Halfway through the trip, the owner even wants to turn around because he hears over the radio that a passenger is late, but we protest.

At the Vietnamese border, we get our passport stamped and continue by boat a few meters to enter Cambodia.

Here, too, we have to have our luggage x-rayed to ensure we’re not smuggling rocket launchers, before we can explain to grumpy officials at a customs office why we want to travel to Cambodia. Luckily, I find a somewhat nicer one, who even has his little daughter playing on his knee in the office. After asking the official more questions about the Khmer language than he asks me about my entry, I get out of the house fairly quickly with my stamp. It takes a little longer for the others. And of course, we also have to get a little yellow slip of paper stating that we’re in good health.

Before we are allowed to board our boat again, we have to show our passports with the fresh stamps to another official who stands threateningly in front of us on the jetty.

I haven’t learned many words of the Khmer language, I’ve been here too short a time for that, and I’ve already forgotten some, but the most useful and valuable are:

Hello, how are you? – Suostei sokhasabbay cheate? (សួស្តី សុខសប្បាយជាទេ?)

Thank you – Saum arkoun (សូមអរគុណ)

Please – Saum (សូម)

Goodbye – Leahaey (លាហើយ)

We still have to drive another two and a half hours to reach the capital, Phnom Penh (ភ្នំពេញ). Farmers graze their cattle along the banks, boat traffic has decreased, and there are hardly any villages in sight.

We’re half asleep when we finally see the king’s palace from the boat and slowly enter the harbor. One by one, we stumble out of the boat. However, as soon as we reach the pier, a whole crowd rushes at us, noisily waving hotel signs at us. We’re pestered with the usual questions about our origins and the purpose of our trip, and I, exasperated, simply reply that I’m from the far north of Russia and peaceful Novosibirsk. Of course, they all know it; it’s beautiful there.

We wait in line trying to get our luggage through the crowds and are almost torn to pieces by the tuk-tuk drivers. We can’t breathe again until we finally arrive at the hotel.

Phnom Penh initially makes a terrible impression, as there are an incredible number of poor children and disabled people who surround me, beg, and chase me down entire streets in order to get something. There are also countless men, women, and children trying to distribute newspapers or books to tourists.

Arriving in Cambodia is a shock!

We sit down to eat in a small restaurant, and newspaper vendors come in to sell us a few papers. Ian explains the location of Phnom Penh and where there are things to see. He highly recommends the Palace and the Russian Market, named after the first tourists, who came mainly from Russia.

We eat, I fortify myself with skewers of meat (is it rat?) and drink a coconut.

From the hotel, we stroll through Phnom Penh, without Ian and the Canadians, to visit the Royal Palace. In front of the palace entrance lies a small park where people, including monks with parasols, stroll. Along the quayside near the palace, flagpoles bearing the flags of many countries along the Mekong River are lined up.

We take a guide who leads us through the grounds and tells us a bit about the history of the royal family. The royal family isn’t here today; the royal couple is in Beijing for a meeting, which is why a few more areas of the palace are open to view today. We see the throne room, large temples with gold, emerald, and diamond-adorned Buddhas and stupas.

In contrast to the palace in Bangkok, there’s so little going on here that you can even hear the wind whistling around the corners of the buildings. The royal houses are surrounded by manicured parks. From the outside, the buildings shine in gold and white, dragons adorn the roof gables, and harpy-like figures adorn the column capitals surrounding the inner walls.

On the way back, we split up: the girls have to change traveler’s checks at the bank, the Scots want to go to the internet café, and Brian, Glen, and I go to the hotel.

We’re stopped again by a couple of children trying to sell us books. We politely decline and are about to move on, but then I see something black on a little girl’s chest. She takes the thing off her shirt like a ball of Velcro and holds it under my nose: It’s a big, hairy tarantula! She tries to give it to me, but I pull my hand back. I ask if the spider has a name. “I call her Spider, just Spider. Do you want to keep her?” Absolutely not. But I would like to touch it because, despite being treated like a teddy bear, it seems pretty peaceful.

She fills my entire hand and is very soft—her body, legs, and hair. I take her in my hand. The tongs are enormous, and her head boasts eight small eyes. She takes her back from my hand and places it on my T-shirt. “You keep her!” No, thanks! But could I borrow her for a moment? Sure!

Brian, as usual, watches from the background; Glen is absolutely disgusted; he’s often told me before about his arachnophobia.

I wear an open shirt over my T-shirt, and for now, I pull it over the shirt and spider and head to the bank to impress my girls a little. A few kids follow me, wanting to join in the fun. I walk through the jammed glass door. Becks and Mia are standing at the counter, while Jane waits on a chair. I approach them and say, “Hey girls! Do you want to see what I got as a present?” They turn around and look at me questioningly, then I open the corner of my shirt, and out pops the black tarantula sitting on my white T-shirt.

All three of them drop their jaws, and Becky lets out a little scream. “That’s not real, is it?” – “Oh yes it is, do you want to touch it?” – “Oh Alex, no, get out with it!!!!” They’re shocked, but impressed.

I repeat the same thing to the two loudmouths Scotsmen who, for the first time on the entire trip, are speechless when they see the spider. They stare, mesmerized, at the spider half a meter in front of their noses, and at first doubt its authenticity, but I give it a little nudge, and it crawls a few centimeters across my chest.

I want to return the spider to the girl, but at first she refuses to take it back, saying she gave it to me. I tell her that unfortunately, I’ll have trouble taking care of it on the trip.

I give her the spider and a dollar: “To feed your little spider.” She smiles at me with her pretty childlike face.

As I’m about to continue to the hotel with Glen, he keeps a safe distance of three meters from me and asks me where I found the spider. I feel over my shirt and through my pockets, see Glen’s shocked look, and grin assure him that I gave it back to the girl. To which he assures me, with a frightened expression, that he won’t share a room with me again if he does find the spider somewhere. Poor Glen.

We want to go to a bar known for its ambiance and cocktails this evening. The Elephant Bar is part of a five-star hotel in the city. It’s already dark again. We want to take two taxis there, and the receptionist of the mini-hotel, whose manager we already address by his first name, orders them for us. They’re even two good jeeps. One of the drivers jokingly points at Euen and says his seat is on the roof. “My seat is on the roof? OK then…” and Euen marches up the small ladder, which he uses to climb onto the car’s roof rack. The driver laughs himself silly as Euen sits cross-legged up top. I think to myself, a ride on the roof must be something great, and I spontaneously climb in after him.

I join you, we wave to those who stayed behind and tell the driver to drive off. His laugh has become a bit uncertain, and he hesitates, wondering if we’re serious. We encourage him to drive, he laughs heartily again, and drives off.

We ride through the city for about half an hour, waving to all the motorcyclists around us, who either almost fall off their bikes in surprise or wave back enthusiastically. Everywhere on the side of the road, men nudge their friends and point at us, then call out to us and wave, laughing.

A ride on the roof of the car through the warm night!

Traffic is still as heavy as it was during daylight hours. Here, too, the streets are colorful, illuminated by the various neon signs. The riverbanks are lined with lanterns. A huge flock of large fruit bats flies screeching loudly above a tree, some even hanging upside down from the branches.

The reception in front of the hotel bar is quite amusing; the uniformed doorman, who is about to open the door for us, looks incredible when we wave to him from the roof.

At the Elephant Bar, we meet Ian, Jenna, and Nicki for a few cocktails. We arrive just in time for happy hour, and two dollars really isn’t too much for a drink. We sit down with the others on the comfortable sofas and armchairs. It’s a fine hotel bar, just well-staffed enough to keep us from feeling deserted.

We order a good number of cocktails and a few snacks, since we didn’t have dinner. Then someone suggests a drinking game that works like this: Everyone takes turns saying a sentence that begins with “I have never…” and then says something they’ve never experienced, for example.

Anyone from the group who has been to Africa, for example, or who has ever dressed like a girl, has to drink. It gets really funny, as we learn about the most embarrassing things our companions have said and become more and more exuberant. Some have even been to prison, some have even kissed someone of the same sex.

The Canadians don’t play and say goodbye after a short while. We play until the end of happy hour. I personally get a burning B52, a Pina Colada, and two Long Island cocktails, the others about the same amount. Then we hop back on our motorcycles and, three to a motorcycle, sing, take ourselves to the bar near our hotel, where we’ve always enjoyed ourselves. They serve great Mudslice, a kind of Baileys with other ingredients. It gets increasingly rough, and we throw the peanuts at each other. After four rounds of Mudslice, we decide to end the increasingly personal game. While Ian and Glen get a ride to another bar, I slowly stagger with the rest of the group back to the hotel.

I wake up the next morning, exhausted, and find that Glen hasn’t returned. I wash up, get dressed, and trudge out onto the street to find a place for breakfast. There’s one just around the corner, and I sit down on one of the straw chairs near the road. I can watch the traffic and the hustle and bustle around me while I order my banana pancake, bread, and a cup of tea.

But it gets tough when the first children, dirty, in rags, or even partially naked, gather around me, begging to shine my shoes or sell me newspapers or books. I honestly don’t know what to do; it’s tearing at my heart, and I give a few of the children money. The waitress chases away a few of the children, the others leave on their own after a while, but again and again, children or disabled people come, whispering quietly but endlessly: “Sir, sir, money, please, money!“

Children sometimes run entire streets beside you with their hands outstretched, begging: “Sir, sir, money.”

I’m almost finished with breakfast when Mia, Jane, and Becky sit down with me. We don’t mention last night; I order some water and keep the girls company for a while as they enjoy their breakfast. The road is bustling with traffic, mostly scooters and a few rickety pick-up trucks laden with banana plants or cages of chickens. The market is in full swing. Many people are weaving past the traffic on old bicycles. One of the naked children, about three years old, suddenly runs into the road, stops, and starts screaming horribly, but immediately the big sister comes and pulls the child back to the safety of the roadside.

The warm tropics, hotels, and cocktails—it seems like a paradise. But in the midst of this paradise lies a grimace of horror: reality, the present, and the past. The poverty, the scars of violence. The nearby Khmer Rouge Killing Fields still bear witness to this today!