Cambodia Beyond Angkor Wat

Two decades after a train trip through Cambodia, Michelle Jana Chan retraces her route

- Michelle Jana Chan

It felt like the dreamy old days, gripping a battered copy of Southeast Asia on a Shoestring as the train moved out of Phnom Penh. I passed five lovely, languorous hours in the open doorway at the end of the car, forearms in the sun, feet dangling above the tracks, studying the stubbly rice fields long past their green best, the slender sugar palms, the blue and pink lotuses blossoming out of the mud.

Although Cambodia’s Royal Railway reinstated this route only a few years ago, today there’s absolutely nothing modern about it. When the train arrived at the sleepy town of Doun Kaev, I alighted to buy sliced green mango and sticky rice packed in palm leaves; after the whistle had blown and the brakes were released, I pulled myself back onto the moving train. It traveled so slowly that we sometimes stopped and rolled backward for no apparent reason.

At my destination, the southern city of Kampot, I found myself standing in the hot sunshine, almost alone. There was a muddled sign listing station in scattershot fashion, a smiling young ticket seller at a cubbyhole of a window and a few travelers moseying around as if they had nowhere to go next. Tuk-tuk drivers asked if I needed a ride; when I declined, they pressed their palms together and bowed in the traditional Sampeah greeting.