Cambodia Tour - Siem Reap

Johnson Zhang

On 31st December 2013, I travelled to Siem Reap. Siem Reap, a vibrant city in northwestern Cambodia, is more than just a gateway to one of the world’s greatest wonders—it’s a place where ancient history wraps around lively local life, and every street corner feels like a mix of tradition and warmth. For anyone drawn to stories etched in stone, the joy of street food, or the quiet kindness of locals, this city hits all the right notes. At Siem Reap, I visited some iconic spots. let's talk about first one: Kampong Speu. Kampong Speu, a quiet province a short drive from Siem Reap's center, was my first taste of Cambodia's countryside—and it felt like stepping into a slower, softer world. Unlike the bustle of the city, here the air smells of fresh palm leaves and ripe durian (a local favorite fruit), and the roads are lined with wooden stilt houses painted in pastels. What stuck with me most was the bamboo weaving villages—small clusters of homes where families have turned bamboo into art for generations. A lovely bonus? Ta Som: a quiet, lesser-known Angkor temple: is just a short drive from Kampong Speu's villages. Unlike the crowds at Angkor Wat, Ta Som feels like a secret: its stone gates are framed by twisting fig tree roots, and the corridors are quiet enough to hear your own footsteps. I wandered its small courtyards at golden hour, watching sunlight filter through the leaves onto weathered carvings of apsaras (celestial dancers). It was the perfect mix of Kampong Speu's rural calm and Siem Reap's ancient magic: no crowds, just history and peace. Nearby, there's a durian orchard where you can pick the spiky fruit fresh from the tree (just be warned: its strong smell is love-it-or-hate-it!). Kampong Speu wasn't about grand sights; it was about the quiet moments: watching a farmer lead his water buffalo through a rice paddy at sunset, hearing children laugh as they chased chickens down a dirt road, and stumbling on Ta Som's hidden beauty. It felt like seeing Cambodia as locals live it, with a side of history thrown in. A few hours later, I followed the pull of more temple magic to Ta Prohm: and it felt like stepping into a jungle fairy tale. Unlike Ta Som's quiet intimacy, Ta Prohm is famous for its dramatic fusion of stone and nature: giant banyan and strangler fig trees have grown into the temple's walls and towers, their thick roots wrapping around sandstone like nature's own sculpture. I walked through its shadowy corridors, where sunlight peeked through gaps in the canopy, turning dust motes golden. The most iconic spot is the "Tomb Raider Tree": a massive banyan that perches on a section of the temple, made famous by the movie: but what struck me more was the quiet awe of it all: the way roots had split stones over centuries, the sound of birdsong mixing with the rustle of leaves, and the sense that nature and history were coexisting, not competing. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to Ta Som's calm: and a reminder of how diverse Siem Reap's temples are. Later still, I found myself at Preah Khan, drawn in by whispers of its quiet grandeur. Unlike Ta Prohm's dramatic tree-and-stone clashes, Preah Khan feels like a forgotten royal retreat: its long, leaf-dappled corridors wind past crumbling shrines, and its walls are lined with carvings of lions and mythical creatures, many still sharp enough to make out details. There was a small project underway: workers in soft hats were gently cleaning some of the carvings, brushing away dust with soft brushes: but I couldn't quite tell what the full reason for it was. Was it preservation? Restoration? A closer study of the temple's history? I didn't ask instead, I just watched for a while, letting the mystery add to the charm. Preah Khan has that way about it: it doesn't shout for attention, but lingers in your mind, making you curious to learn more. As evening was about to approach, I wanted a moment to slow down: so, I stopped by the lakeside in Siem Reap. It was exactly what I needed: quiet, with a soft breeze carrying the scent of frangipani flowers. Locals sat on wooden benches, chatting softly or watching kids skip stones across the water. A few vendors sold sweet coconut ice cream from small carts, their bells tinkling gently. I found a spot to sit and watched the sky turn from orange to pale purple, the sun dipping below the rooftops in the distance. There were no temples, no markets, no crowds: just peace. It felt like Siem Reap was breathing, and I got to breathe with it. I returned to the hotel to sit for a while, letting the breeze carry the scent of frangipani, then headed back to my guesthouse. It was time to sleep but tired and grateful for a day that had woven together rural charm, ancient temples, and quiet peace, all wrapped up in the calm before 2014. The next morning of 1 January 2014: I woke up to Siem Reap's soft sunlight filtering through my window, ready to keep exploring. The new year felt like a fresh page, and I wanted to fill it with more of the city's warmth. My first stop that day was Kampong Chhnang, a province famous for its floating markets and clay pottery: two things I had been eager to see since arriving. I visited the clay pottery villages of Tralach, where the soil is perfect for shaping pots. Every house had a courtyard filled with drying clay: some molded into large water jars, others into small bowls painted with bright flowers. No trip to Siem Reap: especially one stretching into 2014: would be complete without Angkor Wat. As I walked toward the temple, the sky turned from dark blue to soft pink, and when Angkor Wat's spires emerged from the mist, reflected in the moat below, I forgot to breathe. It's one thing to see photos; it's another to stand at the base of its stone walls on 1 January, feeling how small you are next to a structure built over 800 years ago by the Khmer Empire—a reminder that time keeps turning, but beauty like these lasts. As I was about to leave Angkor Wat, my steps slowed when I spotted a flock of monkeys near the outer gates: small, furry, and surprisingly bold. They were darting between the stone pillars, some picking at fallen fruit, others pausing to eye passersby with curious stares. I stopped to watch, and one smaller monkey even hopped closer, as if checking if I had snacks (I didn't, but it tilted its head like it was disappointed anyway). It was a silly, unexpected moment: nothing grand, just a little piece of the jungle slipping into the ancient temple grounds. It felt like Angkor Wat's way of saying goodbye: not with fanfare, but with a quiet, playful reminder of how nature and history dance together here. By 2nd January 2014, I knew my time in Siem Reap was coming to an end: and I wanted a gentle way to say goodbye. I would read about small cruises on the Tonlé Sap River and decided that's how I would spend my final day. The cruise boat was tiny, just a wooden vessel with a few seats, and we set off in the late morning. The river was calm, and we glided past floating villages: houses on rafts, small schools, even a floating temple: where locals waved as we passed. These moments: Kampong Speu's calm, the lakeside New Year's Eve, lively Kampong Chhnang and evening show, Angkor Wat's timeless grandeur, the monkeys' playful send-off, and that final cruise: showed me why Siem Reap stays with you. It's not just the places; it's how they wrap around you. By the time I left, I didn't just have photos: I had a new year started with wonder, and memories that felt like old friends. That's the magic of Siem Reap: it doesn't just let you visit, it lets you belong, even if just for a little while.