Kulen Mountain Day

After our first dirt bike ride through the rice fields around Siem Reap, the dust, the noise, and the thrill stayed in my body for days. So, of course, I wanted to do it again, and as soon as possible. I wanted to go further. This time, the plan was simple in theory and slightly reckless in practice: ride all the way to Popel Village, the remote village our NGO supports.

Our only guide? My vague memory of a hike we once did in that area with our landlord and friend, Dave. No clear route. No signal in some areas. Just a direction and a bit too much confidence.

We started early, at 6:40 a.m. The air was still cool, or as cold as it gets in Cambodia in November. I gulped down coffee that was still too hot, pulled on dusty clothes, filled the camel bag with water, and woke Kiki. She blinked at me with a foggy brain and the expression of someone who had not mentally agreed to an adventure yet.

The city was already awake when we left. Motorbikes weaving between cars, horns echoing, the smell of exhaust mixed with street food and morning fires. I drove first, navigating the familiar Cambodian chaos during rush hour. This includes sudden turns, unpredictable traffic, and that unspoken flow that somehow always works. The only rule that really matters here is not to bump into the vehicle in front of you.

Once we reached the highway, everything opened up. The noise softened, the air felt fresher, and the road stretched ahead in long, quiet lines. Kiki took over the driving. I took the opportunity to finally look around. Rice fields glowed in the morning sun, thin layers of mist still hovering above the water. Palm trees stood scattered across the land, and water buffalo soaked lazily in muddy pools, barely lifting their heads as we passed.

We took an exit leading us into the Cambodian countryside. Small roadside markets were setting up, with baskets of fruit, plastic stools, and the smell of grilled meat drifting into the road. Just farms, fields, and the occasional wooden house on stilts. The road hummed beneath the tires, and warm wind pressed against my face.

Eventually, we reached the foot of Kulen Mountain, near Svay Leu. Before driving up the steep slope, we stopped to refuel. The sun was already stronger now, heating the concrete and making the air feel heavier. I took the bike again for the climb.

The road up the mountain was steep and unforgiving. First gear the entire way. The engine growled, the bike vibrated beneath me, and the turns were tight, sharp U-curves that forced full concentration. Jungle pressed in on both sides. Thick, green, impenetrable jungle, loud with insects.

Then suddenly, a flash of movement.

An enormous black snake slid across the road in front of us, smooth and quick, disappearing into the bushes as it had always belonged there. My grip tightened instantly. We both went quiet for a moment, hearts racing, before nervously laughing it off.

Not long after, we started noticing the signs.

Landmine warnings.

Bright, simple, white skulls on bloodred backgrounds. Impossible to ignore. They stood along the roadside. Silent warnings. We kept our eyes on the road, very aware of where we were riding.

Following Google Maps at first, we turned onto a sandy jungle track. The concrete road vanished behind us, replaced by loose sand and narrow paths carved through dense vegetation. The bike wobbled slightly as the tires struggled for grip. Branches brushed against our arms, and the air smelled damp and earthy.

And then, the track just… stopped.

No road. No path. Just jungle.

Google Maps still insisted we continue straight.

We looked at each other. The memory of the snake, the landmine signs, the silence of the forest around us, it was enough. Carefully, slowly, we turned the bike around, slipping through sand and shallow water, trying not to think too much about what might be hidden beyond the visible ground. When we finally reached the main road again, I let out a long breath. Definitely the adventure and thrill I was hoping for.

We drove further until something suddenly felt familiar: a curve, a stretch of trees, and a gate-like structure I had seen before.
“This is it,” I said. The path we had taken with Dave.

This time, we ignored Google Maps completely.

The jungle track was narrow but real. We followed it until the road dipped into a river crossing. No bridge. Just water. The current pushed gently against the tires as we rode through, cool splashes hitting our legs, soaking our feet. A welcome refreshment in the Cambodian heat. On the other side, a surprisingly smooth asphalt road led us into Klah Khmum village.

From there, directions came from smiles and pointing hands. Villagers paused their morning routines to guide us, their voices soft, curious, and welcoming. We did not speak enough Khmer at the time to have deep conversations, but "Popel?", and then pointing fingers in the right direction were enough.

The road to Popel turned sandy again, winding through trees and quiet stretches of land where the only sounds were the engine, birds, and the occasional rustle in the bushes.

Dust rose behind us as we rode deeper into the jungle. The sunlight couldn't reach the ground, shrouded in darkness, we pushed on.

And then, finally, the Learning Center.

Popel Village.

We slowed down as we entered, the atmosphere calm and familiar. Chickens wandered freely, children smiled curiously, waving and laughing, and the air carried the faint smell of wood smoke and earth. Meas, one of the teachers, walked toward us with a wide smile, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for us to arrive by dirt bike through the jungle.

We parked, stretched our stiff legs, and immediately got to work. Papers spread out on the table, voices low and practical as we discussed operations, questions, and the future of the Learning Center. Simple conversations, grounded and focused, with the quiet village life continuing all around us.

Once everything was discussed and everyone we needed to see had been visited, it was time to head back.

The return ride felt longer. The afternoon heat clung to our skin, dust stuck to our clothes, and the steady vibration of the bike settled deep into our muscles. The light slowly turned golden as we rode back through the same sandy roads, river crossings, and open fields.

By the time we reached Siem Reap at dusk, the sky was dimming and the air was finally cooling again. We returned the dirt bike, hands sore, faces dusty, and bodies completely exhausted.

And without even discussing it, we both knew exactly what we needed next: a long, quiet massage. Letting the tension of steep roads, jungle tracks, and hours of riding slowly melt out of our shoulders.