Tides, Temples, and Turning Pages — Islands to Angkor

Reese Highbloom
Nov 17, 2025
5 min read

The ferry rocked me awake on Thursday morning, salt spray on the railings and last night still humming in my head. We slid off the small island onto the bigger one — Koh Rong — and checked into Nest Hostel, where the dorms sit tucked in the jungle with no Wi-Fi, no service, and no real reason to linger indoors. After a quick bite, the day fell into an easy rhythm: swim in glass-clear water, walk the long white beach, sweat through an overly competitive game of volleyball (my forearms an angry red), then back into the sea and straight to a cold shower that was, regrettably, only cold.

Dinner at the hostel turned into new company — Finja from Germany.

Circling the Island

Beans on toast, backpacks light, and a $10 moped rental later, we set out with Chris, Lee, and Finja to loop the island. We rolled onto the pier of a small fishing village, the boats painted in impossible blues and greens. At Pagoda Beach on the east coast we dipped again — my back reminding me that last night’s mattress had a human-sized crater.

We threaded a mangrove boardwalk (charming puppies; less charming entrance fee), ate simple chicken noodles at a roadside canteen, then chased a waterfall down sandy tracks and wrong turns. We washed off in the cool pool beneath it, then wandered a tidal flat I expected to be forgettable and found teeming life instead — skittering crabs, spiraled sea snails, even a tiny horseshoe crab tracing hieroglyphs in the wet sand.

Back on the main beach by dusk, there was just enough time for another swim and a few perfect body-surfs (and a mouthful of sand) before pizza and beers in town. The tide splits the hostel from town with a waist-deep river crossing; we lucked out with low water on the return. Music bingo at the bar stretched the evening; we finally won a row, and I finally gave in to sleep. The big day was coming.

Nestival: Bright Paint, Big Laughs, Hard Lesson

Saturday is Nestival, the hostel’s weekly festival. Wristbands on, T-shirts collected, rules of play explained — then, from 1–3 p.m., the infamous free-beer window. Cards turned louder and looser. Faces and arms became canvases; teams formed up for games. We took second in the sack race, then I dragged us to the flip-cup finals before another close second. The rest of the afternoon blurred into swimming, dancing, and sand-crusted naps.

By early night I crashed hard, woke around 11 a little wobbly, and wandered back out. We ran into Melina and Karolina, friends from earlier island adventures, and ended up on the beach under the stars. We left our things, waded into the warm surf for a quick swim … and walked back to find our spot empty. Phones gone. Wallet rifled and tossed. A second pair of travelers ran up with the same story — it’s a known operation here, apparently.

We spent hours on Find My and with volunteers combing sand and shrubs, finally retrieving the wallet and nothing else. Sometime after 4 a.m., I closed my eyes and didn’t really sleep. It was a gut-punch.

Picking Up the Pieces

Morning came with logistics. My phone had already pinged on the mainland, moving toward a chop shop. Insurance calls. Account locks. The hostel admitted late-night beach thefts are common but had little to offer beyond sympathy. Lee slept off Nestival; Chris read while I borrowed his phone for more calls. By evening I’d run out of actions and watched the ocean instead.

Monday was for fixing what I could. I hiked to town in the heat, bought a beater Android, and kept chipping at insurance and carrier calls. Frustration bubbled over more than once — island paradise had teeth — but by night I had a plan: leave at first light.

A Day of Transit (and Grace)

At 7 a.m. I hopped in a tuk-tuk to the ferry, guessed my way onto the right boat, and hit the mainland still SIM-less. A sprint through town — wrong slippers for running, right amount of sweat — got me a working number just before my bus. I settled in for what I thought would be a straight ride to Siem Reap. Instead: a transfer in Phnom Penh, a second minivan, and then a flat tire three hours later.

While the driver worked, we waited inside a phone shop whose owner was thrilled to host a sudden room of foreigners. He showed family photos, practiced his English, and beamed with pride. After Koh Rong, the warmth hit me hard — a reminder that a single place can hold both cynicism and kindness, sometimes on the same day.

By 10 p.m., after one last tuk-tuk, I unlocked a quiet hotel room. Hot water. Wi-Fi. A door that closed. I slept like I hadn’t in days.

Siem Reap: Re-centering

I spent the next day drying out both clothes and nerves: free breakfast, a walk along the river, rain-dodging with Karolina, tea at a café, and a swim. We wandered the night market later where I found one of the best meals of the trip — chicken amok and a mango shake for $3 — and shared a table with a local who told stories about work, family, and the city’s rhythm.

The following morning I moved to Chilled Backpackers, reconnected with Chris, and signed us up for the Angkor Wat sunrise tour. Laundry in; alarms set.

We woke at 4 a.m. and rode in under moonlight. Thousands of silhouettes lined the reflecting pools; the five towers emerged black against indigo, then burned gold. Inside, carvings that took decades to make felt impossibly delicate. We carried on to the temple wrapped in jungle roots from Tomb Raider, had a quick lunch, and explored a quieter third site where the forest had swallowed walls whole. There, luck struck: four gibbons swinging in the canopy, their calls rippling through the trees. Last stop: a sprawling complex with rowdy macaques, a lesson on linga and equanimity, and the sweet, sharp smell of bats in the shadows.

We napped hard, then wandered to a mellow dinner and called it early. Some days ask you to be up before the world; the world repays you.

Lake, Light, and Letting Go

Saturday stayed gentle: soup, shoe pickup, writing time, then a late-day tour of the floating village. A canoe ride through the flooded forest, a noisy boat onto the lake, and a sunset that laid a clean line of copper across the water. Back in town, we ran into Ellie and Craig, travel-blogging friends from Vietnam, and turned free beer tabs into a shared meal and a small pub crawl. A bad game of pool ended the night on the right kind of laugh.

Sunday and Monday blurred into rest and buses. We rode back to Phnom Penh, and this morning, Chris and I are at Techno Airport, boarding a flight to Bali — a new country, a new chapter, another page on this strange, generous trip.