‘Tomorrow will be a better day’

As Cambodia slowly reopens to visitors, Michelle Jana Chan reveals why now is the perfect time to explore a country high on tranquillity – and low on crowds

Istill remember the first time I arrived at Angkor Wat one steamy afternoon, after a burst of rain had rinsed the skies blue. I had little expectation of what this place would look like; I had seen only grainy photographs of its lotus bud-shaped silhouette and nobody I knew had actually visited.

That was nearly 30 years ago. There was only a trickle of tourists back then and I felt almost alone as I walked around the largest religious monument in the world. I stepped through the halfgalleries, studying the bas-reliefs with their plump figures and triumphal battle scenes, a reflection of the prosperity of the Khmer Empire in the 12th century, when the temple was built.

I clambered up the tiers of stonework (something you are no longer able to do) to achieve some height, to look down upon the composition of towers, cruciform terraces, moats and concentric walls. Thought to be a miniature replica of the universe, Angkor Wat was originally dedicated to the Hindu god Vishnu and has since remained a place of worship. Beyond its boundaries, I gazed out at the expansive flat landscape of rice fields studded with slender sugar palms, and the watery patches of blue and pink lotus flowers blossoming from the mud.

Back on ground level, I strolled along the elevated causeway, heeding signs instructing visitors to stick to the path.

It was a serious warning: they hadn’t yet cleared the area of landmines – planted over the decades by various sides.

Over the following days, I visited Ta Prohm, an astonishing temple in the forest, deliberately left largely unrestored, tangled and strangled by undergrowth, the branches and roots clambering over and through the stonework. There, I was truly alone, sharing the ruins only with geckoes.

Another day, just before dusk, I climbed to the top of Phnom Bakheng hill, where there was one other couple also waiting to watch the sunset. It turned out they weren’t tourists but a pair of NGO workers; they offered to take a photograph of me and we talked about their work in microfinance development.

Given the volatile political backdrop of the 1990s, perhaps it was a surprise to find any visitors at all. There had been decades of fighting – internally with the Khmer Rouge, then with Vietnam, as well as political plots and coups. Millions of people had been killed. Pol Pot was still hiding out in the jungle and some members of the Khmer Rouge continued to be active. The UN was in the country to observe elections and to try to keep the peace.

Throughout the 1990s the country stabilised and experienced record tour

ism growth; tens of millions of tourists flew in and out of the town of Siem Reap, which became the gateway to Angkor, newly anointed as a Unesco world heritage site.

I’ve returned to Cambodia often since that first muted visit, journeying the length of the Mekong river, exploring on foot the capital Phnom Penh, seeing the country’s forests and mangroves, cycling along the coast and hitching rides on boats between the islands. Of all the country, it was always hardest to return to Angkor, where rapid tourism growth had resulted in the unchecked development of Siem Reap and extreme overcrowding at the temples.

There were days, I confess, when I found the flag-touting groups too much, forced to listen to their crackly guided tours on speaker systems as I jostled among tourists gripping selfie sticks, or holding up iPads to film the sunrise while blocking their neighbours’ view of the real-life version. Still, we all kept visiting and putting up with the crowds, while conjuring up clever ways to avoid peak times, travelling out of season and diverting to lesser-known temples.

So, it is extraordinary to be suddenly presented with this opportunity to see Angkor as it once was, like being catapulted back to an era we thought was long gone. Angkor can be visited now, if not alone or in complete silence, at least more serenely.

Let’s not forget that for Cambodians it has been a tough 18 months with the global freefall in tourism, usually one of the biggest drivers of the economy here; foreign arrivals fell from 6.6million in 2019 to 1.3million last year. But now with nearly 90 per cent of its population vaccinated, one of Asia’s highest inoculation rates, the country has begun reopening

The most powerful memories of any trip to Cambodia will be found in Phnom Penh

its borders to vaccinated travellers. Perhaps this decision will offer a second chance at choosing a more considered approach to tourism, and a more sustainable way of doing business.

Across Cambodia, travel experiences have become richer for their tranquillity and lower numbers of tourists. And now is an ideal time of year to explore, towards the end of the rainy season when the country looks its glorious best: rice is flourishing, lakes are brimful and chalk-white egrets rise in unison from waterlogged fields trawled by shiny buffalo.

On the coast, there are laid-back seaside towns such as Kampot, with its goslow cafés and art galleries, and Kep, known as Kep-sur-Mer when Indochina was a French colony, with a string of seafront villas built in the tropical style of New Khmer Architecture. They are still beautiful, but now abandoned, overgrown, pockmarked by Khmer Rouge bullets and tagged in graffiti.

Along the shore, fishermen bring in baskets of Kep’s famous blue swimmer crabs, which can be ordered in local eateries with fresh peppercorns – a revered seasoning the French called Poivre de

Kampot, which used to grace the table of every self-respecting restaurant in Paris; it was awarded Geographical Indication status, the same recognition that makes champagne only from Champagne.

One of these same fishermen can take you around the Koh Rong archipelago in his boat, finding beaches for day trips or overnights. It’s a throwback to the sleepy south-east Asian vibe mythicised in battered 1970s guidebooks, and still found on some of the islands with their rattan bungalow accommodation, seafood shacks and hammocks strung between coconut trees.

all, the most searingly powerful memories of any trip to Cambodia will be found in the capital Phnom Penh, the focal point of Cambodia’s recent painful history, witnessed in the museums and mausoleums marking the 1970s genocide at the hands of the Khmer Rouge.

Within the city limits, Tuol Sleng is a concrete structure that was once a school, before it became a prison and torture centre, and which now stands as a museum documenting the harrowing events that passed when the country was under the control of Pol Pot. Millions died in just a few years, by execution and starvation. There are display stands with photographs of the thousands of victims, each with an identity badge hanging around their neck. It is almost unbearable to look at.

On the edge of town is Choeung Ek, also known as the Killing Fields. Here are the mass graves and commemorative monuments honouring Khmer Rouge victims, a deeply stirring site. Almost anyone you meet in Cambodia over 50 years of age will have devastating stories of how their family and friends were affected by the regime.

At times like this, it feels as though Cambodia must be one of the most persistently optimistic places in the world, given the horrors its people have suffered within living memory. They are indefatigable; their resilience repeatAbove

edly tested, most recently by Covid and its decimation of the tourism sector, which so many rely on for their livelihoods. As Cambodia reopens, people here are looking forward anxiously to see how quickly visitors will return. The future can seem fragile, and at other times full of hope, which has been Cambodia’s script for as long as I can remember. The resolute belief here that tomorrow will be a better day can only rub off on anyone who visits. Perhaps there is an even greater reason to believe now, as the country writes the next chapter of its history.