An old woman stepped closer to the small circle that had formed around the musicians. She listened for a moment to the haunting melody of the khan floating through the dusty street, then turned to someone nearby. She hadn’t heard a sound like this since childhood, she said.
There’s something transformative about passing through the gates here in Cambodia. Whether it’s the ancient causeway leading to Angkor Thom, flanked by rows of stone guardians, or the simple wooden entrance to a village home, these thresholds seem to invite a shift in perspective, an opening of the mind and heart to what lies ahead.
The hassle is real. The expense is significant. The environmental impact weighs on me. So why am I sitting here in Phnom Penh right now, jet-lagged and completely energized at the same time?