It’s now been two weeks since I came back from my trip to Cambodia with my group of friends. In the previous installment, I slightly veered off course, diving into social reflections sparked by a healthy dose of well-timed (or poorly timed) humor. All of it stemmed from one simple context: a trip that left almost no room for privacy. We did everything together. Today, it’s time to take a step back and look at this strange, chaotic, unforgettable vacation.
The first two weeks were exhausting. I didn’t share the same vision of travel as my companions — especially my best friend’s girlfriend (whom I’ll diplomatically refer to as the “princess” in this piece). I was there for the journey, for the local way of life. She was there for luxury hotels with swimming pools. And they were there for the highest-rated restaurants (not necessarily the best, from what I observed), often places that had nothing to do with Khmer cuisine at all.
So, I eventually decided to book a separate hotel in Siem Reap (the coastal city near the temples of Angkor). And when night fell, it became very clear that the atmosphere wouldn’t have suited them anyway. The hotel was built for partying and heavy drinking — a magnet for travelers heading downtown to hop from one bar to the next.
I didn’t know it yet, but I was fully manic at the time. The amount of alcohol I had been drinking daily for nearly two weeks should have tipped me off. My friends seemed baffled watching me drink without hesitation and still wake up the next morning ready to wander, as if I had been sober the night before.
My first date
At 29, I had never been on a date in my life. Not because I hadn’t tried — but because I had never chased the idea with much persistence. I explained it in a previous post (not translated in English at the moment): sometimes I want to be in a relationship, but only when I fall in love. And every time, it ended in failure. Tinder and similar apps never worked any better: a few matches here and there after months of use. So I gave up. Continuing would have only damaged my already fragile self-esteem.
But during the trip, a friend logged into Tinder and watched his number of likes and matches skyrocket. Curious to see what would happen with my profile, I created one using my Cambodian phone number. I let the princess choose four photos, filled out a few criteria, and… forgot to write a bio. A feral profile, lazy at best.
The result: within minutes, likes started flowing in — then matches. Some women even sent the first message (something that has never happened to me in France). At first, I just replied with the exact same message to see how easy it was to start conversations, then I let myself play with it and improvise.
A few hours later, I was talking with a Cambodian woman who quickly gave me her number and suggested we meet. I didn’t know yet whether it was meant to be a friendly meeting or something more… until she admitted she felt shy about having a first date with a man slightly younger than her.
In fact, she behaved like any Cambodian would: open-minded, welcoming, and tender. And for the first time in my life, I caught myself flirting with someone. I’ll never know whether it was the alcohol or the situation — but I found it enjoyable.
And then it continued the next day
Because the very next day, it happened again: I got approached by a friend of people I had met at the hotel, and somehow that turned into a second one-on-one evening. This time, even better than the first. We had the chance to talk about my struggles, and for the first time in my life, I saw a complete stranger cry because of what I shared. A depth of empathy I rarely encounter.
That unexpected encounter changed how I viewed the trip. I became attached to her quickly, and it helped me put into perspective the tensions and frustrations I had experienced with my friends during those first weeks.
So in the end: two dates — the first ones of my life — and both went remarkably well. I won’t pretend that being a Western man in Southeast Asia didn’t make things easier, and I even joked about it, referencing Barney Stinson from How I Met Your Mother and his infamous “7-day streak challenge.” (One girl per day.)
It was, of course, a joke (multiplying dates is far from something I’m actively pursuing — and honestly, it’s socially exhausting) but it wasn’t well received by one of my closest friends. She reproached me for using dark humor (even though I never once considered actually objectifying women), and that conversation ended up breaking our connection. A connection that, in hindsight, should have ended months earlier, considering how frequently she criticized my identity — especially anything related to my autism.
Beautiful things happened to me in Cambodia, and ending that relationship — one that hit me so hard it brought my manic episode to an abrupt stop — ultimately came as a relief.
Siem Reap and surroundings
Between these unexpected romantic adventures, I still had to show my friends around Siem Reap.
The temples of Angkor
I’ll keep this part brief since I already talked about Angkor in the first interlude — this time, I visited while some structures were undergoing restoration. And it was also the surreal moment where we encountered monkeys sitting around the temples, waiting for tourists to hand them something. Clever little creatures: I watched one unzip a backpack and try to run off with money.
It was funny at first, until you realize some tourists treat the animals like toys, provoking or handling them for entertainment. And it became clear very quickly that not all of them are playing along. One nearly tried to bite me after someone took a lighter away from him so he wouldn’t hurt himself.
Later, a bit farther from Angkor Wat — the most famous temple — we met a dog who came up to us, let us pet him, and became the perfect model for a spontaneous photoshoot.
In the end, my encounters with animals became some of my favorite memories of the trip, whether it was kittens, dogs, or monkeys.
The floating villages
What I was most looking forward to, however, were the floating villages. You know — those stilt villages built more than seven meters above ground so they don’t flood during monsoon season, when Tonlé Sap — the largest freshwater lake in the world — rises. During the dry season, it measures around 2,500 km², and by the end of the monsoon, it expands to nearly 12,000 km². Impressive, isn’t it?
During the dry season, people walk from place to place. But once the rains come, villagers travel by canoe. They offer tours to visitors aboard rustic wooden boats.
Before leaving Siem Reap, we had the chance to visit two of these villages. In the morning, we explored Kampong Khleang aboard a private boat booked for the group. Two hours of breathtaking scenery and photos. It was the first time I navigated through these villages by boat rather than exploring them on foot.
That evening, we went to Kampong Phluk, a more iconic floating village, to watch the sunset over the horizon of Tonlé Sap. Our Cambodian driver joined us for the tour, happy to share the experience and pose for a picture for the blog. He even brought drinks for everyone. He was one of the kindest people we met — and he drove us everywhere around Siem Reap and Angkor.
With the floating villages behind us, Siem Reap explored, and a few somewhat fancy restaurants tested, it was time to leave the city and finally rest for a few days. We chose to spend five days on the island of Koh Rong, often referred to as the pearl of Southeast Asia for its landscapes and postcard-worthy beaches.
The Koh Rong adventure
Arriving on the island by boat is breathtaking. Exactly as I remembered it. The beach is full of charm, lined with palm trees and bordered by colorful little shops and guesthouses. Our destination, however, was all the way on the northern side of the island, at Lonely Beach, one of the least touristy and most authentic beaches. And getting there… was not easy.
High-performance tuk-tuks
The tuk-tuks struggled to get as far as possible. We even had to push one after it got stuck in the mud. Ours was what I’d call a competition tuk-tuk: the driver laughed every time the vehicle skidded or fought its way through mud. The vibe was great — chaotic but joyful. But eventually, the road became too rough, and they had to stop.
My joy was indescribable: trekking down a muddy, uneven road with my friends and the princess, all while the soundtrack from The Lord of the Rings played in the background. An hour-long epic adventure that somehow got even better when monsoon rain poured on us halfway through, leaving us soaked, luggage included (because yes, I may or may not have dragged my suitcase through water for science — and spoiler: it was absolutely not waterproof).
A quiet, isolated beach
In the end, we made it there with laughter and good spirits — especially the princess, from whom I never expected such determination, but who was genuinely proud of having completed the trek. And the beach truly lived up to its name: completely free of tourists. Not the most beautiful beach on the island, but the only one where we could see bioluminescence once night fell.
The bungalows, however, were another story. No real shower (just a basin of water and a bucket to pour it over yourself). I’ll admit: I didn’t shower for two days — the ocean was close enough. And since the bungalows weren’t completely closed (all wood, barely sealed), I ended up with a scorpion in my bag, a giant gecko, and a handful of massive spiders.
Without a doubt: one of the best experiences of my entire trip.
The legendary departure from Lonely Beach
It ended with what felt like a smooth departure. A scooter took our suitcases to the car waiting to bring us back to a livelier, more tourist-friendly beach. And then… disaster. We’ll never know whether the driver knew what he was getting himself into, but we found ourselves on a road barely drivable for a car.
Mission: Impossible — Return to civilization.
And somehow: mission accomplished. Not without challenges: at several points, we could feel the ground lifting the floor of the car from underneath, as if the earth itself was pushing against us. By the time we arrived, two pieces of the car had fallen off.
Twenty euros for hundreds of euros in repairs. The driver, who laughed the whole way, apparently looked stunned when we left — or at least, that’s what my friends claimed.
The end of the trip
After a foot infection that I took seriously far too late, after partying almost every night, and after exploring parts of Koh Rong, we ended the trip in Kampot, home of what is known as the best pepper in the world.
A special mention goes to the tuk-tuk driver who took us to Kep (famous for its blue crabs, absolutely delicious). His vehicle had a JBL speaker in the back, and he let us connect to it and introduce him to music genres… let’s say not usually associated with Cambodia: Disney animated film scores, rock, rap, and — even more unexpected — hardcore/frenchcore. And apparently, he enjoyed it: I could see him tapping the beat on the handlebars with his finger.
Everyone was exhausted from the trip, so we took it slow in the city — resting, wandering quietly, and sleeping a lot before returning to Phnom Penh on the final day.
Back in France, I’m still in contact with the Cambodian woman who approached me at the hotel (she moves fast — she’s already talking about marriage… (and if you’d told me one day I’d meet someone faster than me in relationships, I wouldn’t have believed you)). The first time I returned from Cambodia, I experienced a kind of emotional crash — a post-travel blues.
This time, it’s different. Because now I know I’m going back.
And not for a trip. But to live there.
I don’t yet know how I’ll get there.
But it’s no longer a possibility — it’s a direction.
📸 Personal photographs taken over the past few days (except mentioned otherwise).
🧩 I travel the way I think: with intensity, structure, and overflow. A lot of people here don’t know my other universe — I also write about autism, bipolar disorder, and how they reshape the way the world is perceived. If this perspective resonates with you, you might enjoy that side of my work too.
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