Settling In: Our First Few Days in Siem Reap

Siem Reap crept up on us quietly, which turned out to be its greatest trick.

Our first few days here have been about settling in rather than ticking boxes. Everything is new, so we’ve gone with the flow, tooting down every alley on borrowed bikes, high-fiving kids who appear from nowhere, and chatting with locals who seem genuinely pleased you’ve stopped to say hello. It’s been relaxed, unplanned, and just plain lovely.

We’ve been up with the sun, living like monks, except with less enlightenment and more laundry. Breakfast comes with the hum of scooters starting up outside and the soft clatter of plates from the kitchen next door. Hotel breakfast itself is basic but edible, which is about all you can reasonably expect from a buffet that looks faintly apologetic. Two and a half kilos of washing marched round the corner like a victory parade ($1 per kilo). Blog uploaded, box ticked, halo polished.

Somewhere along the way, Craig has discovered brunch. It is now officially part of his Khmer meal plan, approached with dedication, curiosity, and alarming enthusiasm. By the time we get home, he’ll be shaped like a noodle—long, floppy, and slightly confused. Turns out enlightenment looks a lot like laundry, and brunch looks a lot like Craig becoming a noodle.

Neon Nights and Riel Reality Checks

Pub Street wasted no time in delivering its full neon chaos, pulsing music, and relentless promises of the “best mojito in Cambodia.” In the middle of it all, Craig handed over a 1,000 riel tip, convinced he’d just performed the Cambodian equivalent of slipping someone a £2 coin.

Reality check: about 20p.

The man’s generosity is boundless, even if his mental currency converter is not. Craig tips like a king, but in riel he’s more court jester.

Our so-called local bar turned out to be someone’s actual house. There was a bed behind a curtain, a bathroom doubling as the loo, and herbs growing absolutely everywhere, as if the place had been designed by a chef who couldn’t quite commit to a single profession. Honestly, it was brilliant.

Riverside Evenings

By night, the river becomes our favourite place to drift. Lights shimmer on the water, palm trees are strung with fairy lights, and the air cools just enough to make wandering feel like the right decision. It smells faintly of grilled fish and damp earth, and somewhere a tinny speaker plays something sentimental and just slightly out of tune. Locals stroll, couples sit quietly watching the world go by, and the noise of the streets softens into something more companionable.

One side of the river is all polished calm, with grand hotels glowing discreetly behind gates and manicured gardens. The other side is simpler, scruffier, and far more interesting. That’s where the guest houses are, the small bars with plastic chairs, and the places where people actually live. It’s also where we’re staying, on the simpler side, among the locals, which suits us just fine. Fairy lights, grilled fish, and the kind of romance you can smell.

Retired Life, Siem Reap Style

As part of this settling-in phase, afternoons have taken on a pleasingly unambitious rhythm. One spent chilling by the pool, another playing pool and drinking beer. No schedules, no urgency, just the gentle satisfaction of having nowhere else to be.

This, apparently, is retired life for us now. It feels less like stopping work and more like finally giving ourselves permission to be unhurried. Just living life, enjoying each other’s company, and realising that doing very little can feel like quite a lot when you’re doing it in the right place. We keep telling ourselves this is just the settling-in phase, although neither of us seems in any hurry to move beyond it. Retirement: the art of doing nothing, brilliantly.

Eating Our Way In

Food-wise, we’ve tried quite a few Khmer dishes, mostly by pointing and smiling and hoping for the best. The flavours feel like a gentle meeting point between Chinese and Thai, but without the heat. If you’re waiting for spice, you’ll be waiting a while. If you like lemongrass, however, you’re in for a very good time.

It’s comforting, unfussy food that doesn’t shout for attention, but quietly grows on you. Perfect, really, for a place that seems to prefer conversation over performance.

Price wise – it is cheap.  It’s $0.50 for half draft lager, $1 large water, $2-3 for a dish with rice or noodles but if you opt for say chicken fried rice it’s $1.  

The Real Cambodia

Forget the neon of Pub Street for a moment. The Cambodia we love lives just behind the tourist gloss, in the spaces where everyday life carries on regardless of itineraries and Instagram hashtags.

It’s there in families cooking on their doorsteps, with laughter spilling straight into the street. It’s in shopkeepers who greet you like cousins, even when Craig tips like a Monopoly millionaire. It’s in kids darting barefoot through alleyways, inventing games out of nothing, and herbs growing in every available corner, with kitchens doubling as bars and homes casually becoming cafés.

Monkeys swing across wires like they’re late for a meeting. Chickens strut around as if they own the place. Buffalo plod patiently through fields with the calm endurance of saints, while pigs snuffle happily in the shade, clearly living their best lives.

It’s messy, generous, noisy, and endlessly inventive. This is the Cambodia that makes us feel at home—the one stitched together by everyday life rather than tourist brochures. Everyday chaos stitched with kindness—that’s the Cambodia we’ve fallen for.

Siem Reap in Full Colour

Siem Reap feels like a city constantly juggling identities. By day, it’s the gateway to Angkor Wat, where temples rise out of the jungle like ancient stone puzzles waiting to be solved. Tuk-tuks buzz past in every direction, monks in saffron robes glide through the streets, and locals balance trays of fruit with the effortless grace of acrobats.

By night, the city flips a switch. Pub Street explodes into neon, music thumps from every direction, and each bar swears it serves the best mojito in Cambodia. Markets shimmer with silk scarves, carved Buddhas, and fried snacks you’re not entirely sure you should eat—but you do anyway.

And then, tucked quietly behind it all, is the Cambodia we’ve fallen for: warm, curious, inventive, and endlessly kind.

Why Siem Reap Works

For now, Siem Reap feels like evenings by the river, plastic chairs on concrete, lemongrass on everything, and the steady sense that we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. Chaos wrapped in kindness, flavoured with noodles, monkeys, and the occasional chicken crossing the road for reasons still unknown.

As a place to settle in, slow down, and learn how to stop, it’s doing a pretty perfect job. We came for temples, but it’s the chickens, kids, and noodle-shaped husband that keep us here.