Bats, thousands, maybe even millions of them are streaming out of a large hole high up on the cliff face. They flow out in a long stream across the road, over the tree tops and out into the fields, flying back and forth and around each other at random, which makes it look like a pillar of black smoke, billowing in the wind. I stand watching, caught in a state of utter fascination.
Bamboo train, 9:58 am
We are rushing through the lush green landscape, the track shooting off through the undergrowth to some point in the far distance. The rails aren’t completely straight, they undulate slightly as if bent by the heat, and our little rail car keeps getting jolted from side to side. The noise of the wheels against the rails drowns out all other sound except for the loud TITAK TITAK every time we pass over the gap between two misaligned sections of rail. Me and my fellow passengers sit or recline on worn out cushions on a simple wooden frame covered with bamboo slats, and at the back stands our driver, controlling the little petrol engine with a wooden stick.
Sangker river, 12:52 pm
We are sailing through a field, there’s not even a channel anymore, just a mass of floating plants, big bulbous roots under water and green stems culminating in thick, waxy, cup like leaves. The boat goes through them, crushing them beneath the prow, and our wake sends large ripples through the field. Behind me I can hear the engine straining as the propeller chews through the vegetation.
Tonle Sap, 8:25 am
The channel we’re sailing along is barley wider than our boat, the edges lined with submerged trees and water living vegetation. The branches keep scraping along the sides, some even reaching in through the open windows, bending back then twanging forward in a shower of leaves and twigs as they hit pillars supporting the roof, and I have to keep ducking to avoid getting slapped in the face. I never thought taking a regular passenger ferry would be such an adventure.
Frozen Moments 