“It’s the ocean, mummy,”
whispers my almost-three-year-old son, Davy, his eyes wide with awe. Pressing his little hands against the plane window, he surveys the vast waters of the Tonle Sap, pointing out tiny specks of fishing boats that in his imagination are whales and dolphins. It’s an easy mistake: even from thousands of meters in the air, Southeast Asia’s biggest freshwater lake really does resemble the sea. You can hardly see its shores.
That bird’s-eye view of the Tonle Sap is a familiar and welcome sight for my Cambodian husband, Thea, and me. It marks the approach to Siem Reap, the small northwestern Cambodian city on the doorstep of the ancient Khmer capital of Angkor. We visited Siem Reap often in the 2010s while living between Phnom Penh and Singapore; it’s also where we got married. Our last visit was in 2019, just a few months before Covid-19 closed down the world. We had already moved back to my hometown of Melbourne by then, and I’d just found out I was pregnant: a tiny human the size of a blueberry growing inside of me. I have distinct memories from that time, mapping out in my mind all the trips our new child would take in his first (and airfare free!) years of life: regular visits to Singapore, where his two stepsisters, Socheata and Sodawin, live; journeys to see extended family in Cambodia. I envisaged his early, innate connection to his father’s Khmer heritage: the rich culture; the vibrant food; all the sounds and smells. But I couldn’t have imagined that those plans would suddenly be put on hold.
For many of us, the pandemic did something strange to our sense of time. Covid-19 confined me and Thea and newborn Davy to our house for months on end. We rode out six rolling lockdowns in Melbourne — at 265 days, the longest of any worldwide. Devastatingly, it separated us from Socheata and Sodawin, themselves adjusting to online schooling and Singapore’s own “circuit breakers.” Their first meeting with their new baby brother was over Facetime. But we were also the lucky ones: safe and supported by our respective governments, and among the first citizens in the world to be vaccinated. The days were long, but the years flew by. In 2022, when travel between Singapore and Australia became possible, we jumped at the first chance we had to see the girls: weeks of isolating and testing and form-filling and vaccine certificates and then a wonderful fortnight in the Lion City together.
Now, one year later, after making a quick stop in Singapore to pick up 13-year-old Socheata and 12-year-old Sodawin, we’re
about to touch down in Siem Reap for a long-overdue reunion with Thea’s side of the family. I glance over at the kids, all three giggling but gripping each other’s hands tightly as the plane shudders through a patch of turbulence. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is only the second time they have met in person.
We are certainly not the only people for whom travel has become more personal. Many of our friends are basing their travels around reconnecting with loved ones living abroad; or revisiting a destination that holds a special significance; or even volunteering to help rebuild a community severely impacted by the pandemic. The “human factor” is being considered more than ever before, according to tourism academic Fabio Carbone, and we can expect tourism to pivot toward prioritizing human connection, development, dialogue, and, hopefully, peace.
As soon as we clear customs at Siem Reap International Airport, we spot the wide, warm smiles of Thea’s mom and dad, whom the kids address as Cong (grandpa) and Yey (grandma). We hug in slow motion and tear up, and then laugh at the fact that Socheata now towers over both of her grandparents. The lost years are visually obvious — new heights; new wrinkles; a new little human — but at the same time, they seem to evaporate in our embrace.
WE’RE SET TO SPEND the next month here, primarily to reconnect with Cambodia and our family, but also to experience what local and expat friends were calling “the new and improved Siem Reap.” As with most destinations built around tourism, the pandemic devastated the city’s economy. By mid 2021, only 10 percent of the hotels operating in 2019 — when a whopping 6.6 million international tourists visited Cambodia — were available to book. Thousands of guides and hotel workers returned to their home villages in search of farming or construction work. A silver lining, though: in 2021, the local government embarked on its most ambitious city-planning initiative to date, the US$150 million 38 Roads Project — an urban rejuvenation scheme that saw more than 100 kilometers of roads ripped up and rebuilt.
With wide new thoroughfares, sidewalks, and cycling paths (not to mention improvements to the landscaping around the Angkor Archaeological Park), the project has been hailed as a success by residents and tourists alike, and could set the tone for a sustainable recovery of tourism. In 2022, businesses, new and established, began to blossom; Time Out magazine even declared Siem Reap’s revitalized Wat Bo area to be “Asia’s coolest neighborhood.” Friends of ours who had spent the pandemic here spoke of the influx of families who were now relocating from Phnom Penh and farther afield to take advantage of the city’s relaxed and child-friendly atmosphere: more green space, less traffic and pollution, good schools and services, and an evergrowing list of activities and attractions geared toward young people. We can’t wait to explore it all.
For the first few days of our visit, we stay on the city’s rural outskirts at Zannier Hotels Phum Baitang (zannierhotels.com; from US$385 a night). This comes at the request of our aspiring actor Socheata, who spent months prior to the trip researching a Siem Reap must-do list. Phum Baitang came in first thanks to the resort’s gorgeous infinity-edged swimming pool — and the fact that Angelina Jolie brought her family here in 2015.
With 45 stilted wooden villas spread across eight hectares of rice fields and thriving gardens, Phum Baitang was designed to
evoke a traditional Cambodian village. It proves a hit with all of us, especially Thea and his parents, who for much of their lives lived in the kind of house that inspired the look of these villas. And they’re thrilled to discover that the century-old farmhouse inhabited by the resort’s Sunset Lounge was originally from the same secluded Mekong River village in which Thea grew up, where it was painstakingly disassembled before being transported here and put back together by expert craftsmen.
Our afternoons are spent moving between the lounge and the pool, where the girls help their little brother practice his paddling and kicking. Davy is delighted by the on-site Young Talent Space, a kids club with Montessori toys, books, and activities such as shadow-puppet games. For the older children, there’s a Playstation as well as lessons in classical apsara ballet and bokator, a Cambodian martial art.
Keen to see the town, we head off one day in a pair of remork (tuk-tuks). Our first stop is Wat Damnak, Siem Reap’s largest and prettiest pagoda, where we stroll through gardens of frangipani and jasmine trees, gilded shrines and colorful murals. The girls peer into a classroom (many pagodas house the local neighborhood primary school) and practice their Khmer greetings with a couple of students. The grounds also host a public library filled with more than 20,000 books, journals, encyclopedias, maps, guidebooks, and newspapers. Some of the tomes date back to the French colonial occupation. For our teenage bookworms, it’s especially fascinating.
At dusk, as a dreamy pale blue light settles over the city, we explore Siem Reap’s newly landscaped riverside. “Everything feels so new, but also so nostalgic,” Sodawin remarks as we stroll over a bridge festooned in fairy lights and pretty bamboo decorations. The riverside promenade and streets around Wat Damnak are teeming with delicious street-food offerings: woks sizzle and spit, frying up piping-hot chive cakes or lot cha (a yummy stir-fry of rice noodles), while other vendors grill smoky beef skewers marinated in kreung (lemongrass curry paste) and served on crusty baguettes. All three children — even our fussy toddler — eagerly sample an array of snacks as they hop from one stall to the next.
Another morning, we’re set to tackle number 2 on Socheata’s must-do list: zip-lining through the jungle. While Thea’s mom and dad wisely abstain, the rest of us are picked up in a tuk-tuk by a “safety sky ranger” from Angkor Zipline (angkorzipline.com). As we zoom along Siem Reap’s Charles de Gaulle boulevard and into the cool forest of the Angkor Archaeological Park, the drone of the tuk-tuk engine lulls Davy back to sleep.
Before long we arrive at the zip-line headquarters, where Thea and the girls go through detailed safety instructions and harness up. (With Davy still napping and too young for ziplining anyway, I pass the time sipping glasses of chilled pandanand-lime juice in the facility’s restaurant.) About an hour later, the exhilarated trio returns, having conquered eight zip lines — some up to 35 meters high — along with suspended sky bridges and an abseil. “The last zip was 300 meters long, right up in the treetops, and I got stuck in the middle,” Sodawin exclaims excitedly. “They had to come and fetch me ... it was so, so cool!”
For parents with toddlers, the outdoor dining experience that many restaurants pivoted to during the pandemic was an unexpected blessing. All of a sudden, there was space for the little ones to move around; it didn’t matter so much if a drink was spilled or if they broke out mid-meal in a song or squeal. With its balmy tropical weather and ample green spaces, Siem Reap is made for this sort of dining. After our zip-lining adventure, we meet a friend at Banllé (fb.com/banlle.vegetarian.restaurant), a sustainability-focused vegetarian restaurant that’s set among vegetable plots and fruit vines in the Wat Bo area. Not only does it offer some of the best food we eat the entire trip, but there’s also ample room for Davy to play with his trucks. Better still, a gelato shop has just opened right next door. The owner catches us peeking through the window and invites us inside to provide feedback on some flavors, from creamy durian and panna cotta to a zesty orange and palm sugar. The young ones are in heaven.
Almost all of our culinary outings are as kid-friendly as this. One evening, we dine at the excellent modern Khmer restaurant Jomno (fb.com/jomnostreetfood), where Thea and I reflect on the pressure parents of young children sometimes feel when eating out in Australia or Singapore: the judgmental side glances when a child has a minor meltdown over broccoli, for instance. But in Cambodia, waitstaff genuinely enjoy, and embrace, children. At Jomno, they indulge Davy in a game of cars and diggers around the front garden while Thea and I sip our aperitifs. Chef-owner Seiha Chomnab even takes the kids for a tour of his immaculate kitchen. “Most Cambodians have several children of their own, or have grown up helping to look after plenty of children in the village. It’s not uncommon to have more than three generations under one roof; we’re all about family in this country,” he says.
AFTER OUR STAY at Phum Baitang, we spend time at the family home. Thea’s mother cooks a moreish num banh chok, and it instantly becomes the kids’ favorite
dish; each morning they huddle around the dining table, slurping up rice noodles drenched in a rich yet perfectly balanced coconut-based fish gravy. Cousins, aunts, and uncles visit from Phnom Penh — one even flies in all the way from Paris. On another outing to Angkor we stop to admire the many-faced Bayon temple, where the children erupt in a fit of laughter as a monkey climbs their grandfather’s legs, snatches his water bottle, unscrews its lid, and drinks the entire contents.
On a shopping excursion to the Kandal Village neighborhood, the girls and I peruse the beautiful woven-rattan home accessories at social enterprise Manava (manava-cambodia.com). Owner Ka-lai Chan invites us to a weaving workshop with some of Manava’s talented female artisans, where we learn more about this centuries-old craft and weave our own key rings. Davy, meanwhile, spends his mornings making friends at a fantastic new café and playground called Kameng Leng (kamengleng.com). It’s a hot tip from expat business owner and mom of two Evi-elli La Valle, whose company, Taste Siem Reap (tastesiemreap.com), organizes intriguing food tours around the city. “Siem Reap is seriously heaven to visit for families, there is just so much to do for all ages ... So many families I meet say they can’t wait to come back,” she says.
We finally make it to Angkor Wat for sunrise — no easy feat with three children, but it’s a classic experience that we don’t want to miss. At 5 a.m., we climb sleepily into a tuk-tuk — flashlights and coffees in hand; a tiffin box packed with fruit and pastries — even managing to keep Davy asleep. Thirty minutes later, after a long walk over the moat and through the temple gates, the silhouettes of Angkor Wat’s towering lotus spires materialize right in front of us. The last time I did this, there were thousands of tourists jostling for the perfect photo. Now, there couldn’t be more than 100. As the sky lightens and Davy wakes up, we bear witness to one of the most sublime sunrises I’ve ever seen — a kaleidoscopic swirl of tangerine, fiery pinks, and icy-blue hues. With the spires of the temple reflected on the surface of the nearby ponds, it’s pure magic.
IN OUR LAST WEEK in Siem Reap, we take the kids to our most treasured place in the city, Maison Polanka (maisonpolanka .com; from US$308 a night), the intimate boutique hotel where Thea and I got married. The property has just five suites spread across three exquisitely restored wooden houses, each containing vintage art deco furniture and works by contemporary Khmer artists such as Theam Lim. These are surrounded by gorgeous tropical gardens that attract an array of birdlife and colorful butterflies.
French-cambodian owner Nathalie Saphon Ridel originally built Maison Polanka as a family home to raise her two children and establish a fulfilling, creative life while helping her country of birth rebuild after decades of war. After fleeing the brutal Khmer Rouge regime with her Cambodian father and French mother in 1974, she returned to Cambodia in the early 1990s to create an inventory of the Khmer handicrafts that had survived after 20 years of war. She also helped her French husband develop a vocational training school for carving and weaving that later became Artisans d’angkor, one of the country’s best-known arts and crafts organizations.
With Saphon now splitting her time between France and Cambodia, her 25year-old daughter, Naïs, is looking after Maison Polanka for the summer. The girls are immediately drawn to her, and they have countless discussions about the diaspora experience and the challenges of maintaining a connection to their Cambodian heritage when growing up abroad.
Naïs, just like her mother, is an excellent host. When she discovers Davy’s third birthday isn’t far off, she organizes a small tea party to celebrate, gifting him a dinosaur stuffie that he carts around gleefully. She then books us in to experience Kulen Elephant Forest (kulenforest .asia), where a dozen retired tourism elephants are free to roam more than 200 hectares of protected forest in the foothills of Kulen Mountain, an hour’s drive from town. We spend a magical morning making breakfast for the pachyderms — sticky mounds of rice bran, bananas, and dates — before accompanying them and their mahouts on an easygoing hike along jungle paths.
On one of our last nights, we join Taste Siem Reap’s Phare Circus Dinner tour. It starts with dinner at Wild (wild-siemreap .com), a finger-food restaurant and bar that specializes in spring rolls. The kids take no time devouring all sorts of them: Cambodian-style, Italian- and Mexicaninspired, some filled with gooey melted cheese, others with rich chocolate. While Thea and I sip on gin cocktails infused with kaffir lime and watermelon, a hit with the younger ones are the mojitoinspired mocktails.
Our driver then deposits us at Phare, The Cambodian Circus (pharecircus.org), where each night, graduates of the Phare Ponleu Selpak nonprofit arts school put on an electrifying performance that brings together theater, acrobatics, comedy, and clever, purposeful storytelling that delves into various aspects of Cambodia’s culture and history. The productions change weekly; when we visit, it’s Ponleu Samnang, with a narrative that explores the horrors of the Khmer Rouge genocide in the 1970s, and the power of art to heal deep trauma.
As soon as we leave the big top, the girls are full of questions: How did Pol Pot rise to power? Why didn’t anyone stop him? What happened to our own relatives, dad? It’s a heavy conversation, but an important one. While we have introduced them to their country’s dark past in earlier years — mostly through more age-appropriate movies such as Rithy Panh’s claymation feature The Missing Picture or Angelina Jolie’s First They Killed My Father — this is the most serious and personal talk we’ve had on the topic. Thea tells them sadly about his mother’s cousin and her six children who disappeared, presumed murdered, the day Phnom Penh fell; and about the deep trauma and shock his mother suffered after witnessing too many atrocities. Thea, whose parents were relatively open about their experiences, feels that it is important this knowledge is passed on to future generations, to ensure lessons have been learned from the unimaginable horrors that took place.
While for now we may live oceans apart, travel has become a golden thread for our family, weaving us closer together. What this trip has taught us is that shared experiences and memories are possibly the best way to make our limited time together really matter: watching a toddler marvel at air travel; witnessing the kids try new food or new adventures or even learning about the histories — good and bad — of a country or culture; seeing a destination through their eyes and watching the bonds deepen. It’s all of these little moments that are so special.