West Baray

Today’s plan: explore the West Baray with Bert. One last proper adventure together.

But first, we needed energy.

We met up at New York Bagels Siem Reap for coffee and, of course, bagels. The New York Bagel team recognised us and greeted us with friendly smiles. Cool air, the smell of fresh bread, coffee machines hissing in the background. A lovely place!

We ordered more than we needed. A couple of extra bagels wrapped up for later, stuffed into our bags for lunch by the water.

Then we hit the road.

We followed the river out of town, merging onto the wide road toward the old airport. The city slowly faded behind us, less traffic, fewer buildings, more space. At the abandoned runway, everything opened up. Cracked concrete stretching endlessly, grass pushing through the gaps, nature quietly reclaiming the space. We drove along the abandoned, left-for-ruin runways, nature reclaiming the space.

We rode alongside it, the bikes humming beneath us, passing water buffalo grazing lazily along the broken road. Dust in the air, sun already high, that dry heat settling on your skin.

And then—pssssh.

Flat tire.

Just like that, momentum gone.

We slowed to a stop near a small pagoda. Quiet, almost hidden from the road. A mechanic appeared, as they always do in Cambodia, out of nowhere, but exactly when you need them. No replacing the tire, just patching it up.

While Kiki and I waited, watching the careful hands of the mechanic at work, Bert wandered into the pagoda. Camera in hand, exploring. The faint sound of monks chanting drifted through the trees, mixing with the metallic clinks of tools.

Eventually, the tire was fixed. Good enough.

Back on the road.

When we finally reached the West Baray, it opened up like a mirror of sky and water stretching endlessly to the horizon.

We found a hammock by the water, the fabric swaying gently in the breeze. Coconuts in hand, bagels unwrapped. Simple, perfect.

We lay there for a while, watching the water ripple, feeling the heat soften under the wind. Conversations drifted from nothing to something: freedom. What it means, how to reach it, if you even can. No pressure, just thoughts floating as easily as the clouds above us.

On the way back, we stopped at Street 3 Eatery.

Coffee, good food, that relaxed afternoon energy. Easily one of the best spots in town. After that, we said a quick goodbye to Bert—for now—and slipped back into work mode. Calls with our boss, updates to donors, and discussions about graduate funds. From hammock to responsibility in a matter of hours.

That evening, we met again for dinner at Haven Siem Reap.

A lush garden, soft lights hanging between the trees, the hum of quiet conversations around us. We ordered cordon bleu—comfort food at its best. The kind of meal that makes you slow down without realizing it.

The next morning started differently. A yoga session at Ground Zero Fitness and Yoga.

Stretching sore muscles, breathing deeply, feeling everything loosen after days of movement and travel. Calm before diving back into reality—preparing for incoming exchange students, sorting visas, getting everything lined up again.

That evening, we left the city one more time.

Out into the rice fields.

The sun dropped slowly, painting the sky in deep oranges and soft pinks. Water buffalo stood half-submerged in mud, completely unbothered. Time slowed.

We didn’t say much.

We didn’t have to.

That was Bert’s last evening in Siem Reap.

Big hugs. A quiet goodbye. He drove off toward his hotel, disappearing into the fading light.

And somewhere in that moment, it clicked again—

The best friendships don’t need constant presence.

They just need moments like this.