From Saigon Streets to Island Suns – Entering Cambodia

Reese Highbloom
11 minutes ago
5 min read

It was still dark when our bus rolled into Ho Chi Minh City—Saigon—around 5 a.m. The driver’s shout woke me from a shallow sleep, and before long, we were shuffling off the sleeper bus into the humid air of the city. The streets were already alive: horns, scooters, and the smell of breakfast simmering in the gutters.

Check-in wasn’t until the afternoon, so we dropped our bags at the hostel and found a café nearby. I FaceTimed family, half-awake, catching up on the world back home before giving in to a short nap on the lobby couch. When 2 p.m. finally came, I collapsed into the dorm bed and slept for hours.

That evening, we stepped out into the storm-soaked streets, wandering until the smell of broth and herbs pulled us into a small soup shop. The old man running the stall spotted “America” on my shirt and asked if that’s where I was from. When I said yes, his face lit up. He smiled wide—three crooked teeth and all—and ladled an extra scoop of meat into my bowl. Every few minutes, he’d return with more broth, more noodles, more kindness. It was one of those simple, grounding moments that makes a city of ten million feel personal.

Củ Chi and the Echoes of War

Sunday morning came early. Chris, Lee, and I joined a tour north to the Củ Chi Tunnels, a network of underground passages used by Vietnamese fighters during the war. The tunnels were narrow, dark, and suffocating—it was hard to believe people lived down there for years. At the surface, we explored remnants of traps, weapons, and war machines, ending the tour at an art factory employing those affected by Agent Orange.

Back in the city, we stopped for street food and made our way to the War Remnants Museum. The photographs there were difficult to look at—raw, unfiltered reminders of what people endured. I left feeling heavy, quiet, and reflective.

That night, we visited the Café Apartments to meet our friend Luisa, grabbing poke bowls and drinks while the neon signs buzzed outside. Later, we found an Aussie bar where we shared a few massive beer towers and watched rugby with Lee explaining every play. It was a chaotic, fun, exhausting day—the perfect summary of Saigon.

The Rhythm of the City

Monday brought slower steps and smaller moments. We switched hostels, grabbed Bánh mì, and got much-needed haircuts. The new place had free beer hours and a PS5, so the evening turned into a mini FIFA tournament with travelers from the U.S. and Australia. Later, Val joined us, and we shared stories and laughter before heading back out into the city for late-night street food and music.

The next day, I wandered alone through the rain, ducking into cafés and bookstores. I met Luisa again for a day of shopping and one final dinner before she returned to Germany. By Wednesday, Lee and I were back on the move—one last bowl of Vietnamese noodles, one last sweet iced coffee, and a long bus ride across the border into Cambodia.

Phnom Penh – A Past Remembered

Crossing into Phnom Penh was smooth and quiet. We reunited with Chris and Val at Onederz Hostel, had a few beers, and joked about Chris’s new earring (a dare gone wrong, or maybe right).

The next da,y we rented classic Honda 223cc motorcycles and rode to the Killing Fields, one of the most somber places I’ve ever been. The memorial stood silent under a gray sky. Learning about the Cambodian genocide firsthand was painful but deeply important. Later, we rode through empty streets and ended the day watching the sunset over the river.

That evening, we joined trivia night at the hostel—our team somehow won—and ended up sharing fried rice and beers with new friends, including Jolisa, a Dutch traveler planning to drive a tuk-tuk home across Asia. Her story made ours feel small.

The next day, I took an early solo ride north to visit a temple overlooking the city. It was peaceful, quiet, and oddly grounding after the heaviness of the museum visits. When I returned, we toured the S-21 Prison, where survivors’ testimonies brought the tragedy even closer to heart. One of the speakers, the current museum president, had lived through the genocide himself. Hearing his story was haunting and humbling.

Kampot – Slow Rivers and Red Mud

By Friday, we were ready for something slower. A few hours south brought us to Kampot, a small riverside town known for pepper farms and sleepy charm. We stayed at Arcadia Backpackers, a riverside hostel with more dogs than guests—literally. One terrified dog slept by my bed all night, guarding me from the others.

The next day, we took the ferry across the river and rented mopeds to explore. Our first stop, Beetle Waterfall, took us deep into the national park through wrong turns, river crossings, and banana groves. A local farmer finally pointed us in the right direction. The ride was chaos, mud, laughter, and near-falls, but the swim in the brown rapids made it worth it. A local man cooked us fried rice and cracked cold beers as we rested with two stray dogs by our feet.

That evening, we cooled off with a swim in the river back at Arcadia, diving from the floating platform and playing cards late into the night. New faces joined: Caitlin from England, Luke from England, and eventually Val and her friend Maya.

Sunday brought more adventure (and more mud). We set out to find Veal Pouch Waterfall but got completely lost for four hours, buried to our ankles in red clay. By the time we turned back, our bikes looked like they’d been through a war. Plan B: return to the river, clean the bikes, and swim until sunset. The night ended with music, laughter, and a bittersweet goodbye to Val before bed.

Koh Rong Samloem – Island Drift

Monday morning came slowly. A full English breakfast, a dusty rickshaw ride, and an afternoon ferry later, we arrived on Koh Rong Samloem—a small island of white sand and turquoise water. We checked into Onederz Hostel just in time to watch the sunset melt into the horizon. Dinner was a beachside seafood barbecue and cold beers under palm trees.

The next day was pure freedom: snorkeling, fishing, and kayaking through the coves. We ended the day watching the sunset from a lookout, then swimming with bioluminescent plankton glowing around us like falling stars. That night, we reconnected with Ellie and Craig, a couple we’d met weeks before in Vietnam. The fire show lit up the beach, beers were passed around, and laughter carried into the waves.

It was one of those nights where you forget the time, running into the ocean in your clothes, feeling everything at once—free, young, and alive.

Koh Rong – A Quiet Pause

Now, as I write this on November 6th, I’m on Koh Rong, the larger of the two islands, staying at Nest Hostel. The days have slowed again. The ocean hums in the background, the air smells of salt and grilled fish, and there’s nowhere to be but here.

Every week on this trip seems to move between chaos and calm, laughter and reflection—and that balance is what makes it so memorable.