My first impression of Cambodia was darkness.

I arrived in Phnom Penh late at night after a long journey and, like many travellers arriving somewhere new, saw very little beyond the airport, a few headlights and the inside of a taxi. I checked into my hotel, collapsed into bed and went straight to sleep. At that point Cambodia could have been the cleanest city in Asia or the set of a post-apocalyptic film. I genuinely had no idea.

The next morning began with a rookie error. I was late for breakfast.

This turned out to be a serious tactical mistake because a coach party of German tourists had apparently arrived before me and conducted a highly efficient operation against the hotel buffet. By the time I wandered downstairs, the battle was over. The victors had departed and all that remained was a lonely box of Coco Pops sitting in the corner. Unfortunately, there was no milk.

For a brief moment I considered eating them dry. Hunger can make a man contemplate unusual things. Thankfully, common sense prevailed.

Slightly hungry and now mildly resentful towards German package tourists, I headed outside in search of a tuk tuk.

Tears At The Killing Fields

My destination was the Killing Fields, one of Cambodia's most important and sobering historical sites. Outside the hotel I quickly found a driver who looked approximately twelve years old. He assured me he was old enough to drive. Looking back, I suspect he may simply have been old enough to reach the pedals.

We set off into the chaos of Phnom Penh.

The traffic was busy, the roads were dusty and every passing vehicle seemed determined to contribute another layer of dirt to the atmosphere. By the time we reached the memorial, my eyes were streaming uncontrollably. Tears were pouring down my face as I climbed out of the tuk tuk.

At that precise moment a plump American lady appeared beside me. She took one look at my face, immediately assumed I was overcome with emotion and wrapped me in a hug.

"It's okay," she said softly. "I cried too."

Before I could explain that my emotional state was largely caused by airborne Cambodian dust particles, she disappeared into the crowd. Somewhere in America today there may still be a woman telling friends about the deeply moved British traveller she comforted at the Killing Fields.

The truth was rather less poetic.

That said, once I entered the memorial, genuine emotion wasn't difficult to find. The story of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge remains one of the most shocking chapters in modern history. Walking through the site is deeply moving, deeply unsettling and at times difficult to comprehend. It's the sort of place that leaves you quiet long after you've left.

If That Wasn't Depressing Enough...

Afterwards my young Formula One driver returned me to the city before dropping me at another attraction.

The Genocide Museum.

Apparently the morning hadn't quite contained enough human suffering.

The museum, housed in a former prison, tells the story of the Khmer Rouge regime in even greater detail. The exhibits are fascinating but incredibly bleak. By the time I emerged a few hours later, I felt as though I'd consumed enough twentieth-century horror for one day.

There was only one sensible course of action. Beer.

The Mekong Mutant Theory

I found a riverside bar overlooking the Mekong and ordered a cold beer. The view was impressive enough, although I couldn't help noticing that the river looked less than pristine. As I sat watching the muddy water flow past, my imagination began wandering.

What if somebody fell into the Mekong? Would they emerge unchanged? Or would exposure to decades of accumulated mystery transform them into some sort of comic-book supervillain? I spent several minutes developing a theory involving Mekon of Mekonta, arch-enemy of Dan Dare, before deciding that perhaps the heat was getting to me.

The beer helped. At least temporarily.

Feeling relaxed, I slipped off my trainers and stretched out my tired feet while enjoying the view. Life was improving nicely.

Then I finished my drink and discovered my trainers had vanished.

The Great Cambodian Trainer Heist

Gone. Not moved. Not misplaced. Gone.

Now this immediately raises a question. Why would anybody steal my trainers? These shoes had spent weeks travelling around Southeast Asia. They had endured tropical heat, endless walking and conditions that would challenge even the most optimistic deodorant manufacturer. Frankly, they smelt dreadful.

Either the thief was desperate for footwear or entirely lacking a sense of smell. Possibly both.

I returned to the hotel in a tuk tuk before retrieving a pair of emergency flip-flops and heading back into the city in search of replacement trainers.

This proved more difficult than expected. Shop after shop offered footwear, but most seemed to stop around a UK size six. I'm a size ten. Several shopkeepers looked at my feet with the same expression normally reserved for livestock.

Eventually I admitted defeat and went for another beer.

Enter Bob

It was during this second beer that I decided to investigate one of Cambodia's more unusual attractions: its food. Not the sensible food or the sort of thing featured in travel brochures. I wanted the weird stuff. The sort of dishes that make you question both your judgement and your digestive system.

To achieve this, I recruited another tuk tuk driver. His name, I think, was Bob. To be fair, it may not have been Bob at all. It could have been Sophal, Dara or anything else entirely. The engine was running, the traffic was noisy and I only caught half of what he said. From that moment onwards, however, he was Bob.

I explained that I wanted to try the strangest food Phnom Penh had to offer.

Bob smiled. Looking back, that smile should have worried me.

The Duck Bill Incident

Our first stop was a small restaurant specialising in deep-fried duck bills.

Now, when most people think about eating a duck, they tend to focus on the parts containing actual meat. The bill is not usually considered a culinary highlight. Nevertheless, a plate soon appeared in front of me piled high with crispy duck beaks.

The experience was unusual. There wasn't much substance involved. Mostly it was crunching, nibbling and wondering whether this was really what I'd travelled halfway around the world to do. Still, with a cold beer alongside it, the dish wasn't bad at all. If somebody placed another plate in front of me today, I'd happily have a few. That said, I probably wouldn't build an entire meal around them.

The Great Tarantula Disappointment

Feeling increasingly adventurous, I asked Bob what we should try next.

"Tarantula," he announced confidently. Now we were talking.

I've always had a fascination with unusual food, and a tarantula salad sounded exactly the sort of thing that would make an excellent story back home. Unfortunately fate had other ideas.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the doors were closed. Apparently the local environmental health department had recently shut the place down. This was disappointing. Not because I was desperate to eat a giant spider, but because opportunities to order one don't arise very often. There are plenty of places in the world serving burgers and chips. Restaurants specialising in arachnid-based cuisine are somewhat rarer. It felt like a missed opportunity.

The Curious Case Of The Mud Crab

Bob refused to let our adventure end there.

Our next stop was a restaurant serving mud crabs. This sounded considerably more normal until the food arrived. Looking at the plate, I genuinely believed the chef had forgotten a crucial step somewhere between catching the crab and serving it.

The crabs looked as though they'd been dug out of a riverbank moments earlier and placed directly on the table. Appearance aside, I gave them a go.

The flavour was even stranger. Rather than tasting like crab, they somehow reminded me of liquorice. To this day I can't explain why. Every rule of seafood suggested this shouldn't be possible, yet there it was. Mud crab that tasted vaguely like something you'd buy from a sweet shop.

Cambodia was beginning to feel less like a country and more like a practical joke.

The Box By The Roadside

Then Bob took things to another level.

We pulled over beside a woman sitting on a plastic chair next to a cardboard box. She appeared completely unconcerned by the fact that her entire business operation consisted of a chair, a box and a road.

Bob exchanged a few words with her before she slowly opened the lid. Inside were eggs.

At first I thought nothing of it. Then Bob explained.

"Balut."

For anyone unfamiliar, balut is a fertilised duck egg embryo eaten directly from the shell. This is considered a delicacy in several Asian countries and an excellent reason to reconsider your dinner plans in several others.

I asked Bob if they were safe. He looked genuinely offended by the question.

Bob Demonstrates

To reassure me, Bob immediately purchased one. He cracked the shell open and tilted it towards me. Inside was what can best be described as a tiny alien-looking duck. Then, without hesitation, Bob raised the egg to his lips, sucked out the contents and crunched enthusiastically through what had once been a young duck. The whole process took perhaps ten seconds. At the end he produced a broad smile and nodded approvingly.

The message was clear. Delicious. Unfortunately, this demonstration had achieved the exact opposite effect. If Bob had hoped to encourage me, he'd failed spectacularly. I politely declined.

Time To Head Home

At that point I decided Cambodia had provided sufficient adventure for one trip.

Been hugged by a stranger who thought I was crying.
Visited some of the most moving historical sites I'd ever seen.
Eaten duck bills.
Missed out on tarantula salad.
Consumed mud crabs that tasted suspiciously like liquorice.
Watched a man named Bob devour a duck embryo beside a road.
Lost my trainers

Frankly, that felt like enough. I asked Bob to take me back to the hotel.

Back To Reality

The following day I boarded my flight back to London.The transition was dramatic.

One day I was wandering around Phnom Penh in flip-flops. The next I was standing in a freezing British airport wondering why I'd ever left Southeast Asia in the first place.

Over the following few days I spent more time in bed than I'd intended. Whether this was caused by exhaustion, strange food, tropical bugs or simple bad luck remains unknown. Medical science may never provide a definitive answer.

What I do know is that Cambodia left an impression.

It's a country capable of making you laugh, think, reflect and question your life choices all within the same afternoon. One moment you're standing at a memorial to one of history's darkest regimes. The next you're watching a man called Bob enthusiastically eat something that looks like it escaped from a science fiction film.

Travel rarely goes exactly to plan. That's probably why the best stories come from the trips that don't.

Cambodia was chaotic, dusty, fascinating and completely unforgettable. I returned home without my trainers, with a few extra stories and a renewed appreciation for food that doesn't contain partially developed poultry.

Would I do it all again? Absolutely. Though next time I might eat breakfast before the Germans get there.