After a few days in Bangkok, we were ready to hit the road. Beaches were in our plans, but I wanted to explore before I settled in the sand. Cambodia wasn't far, and it was safe enough to feel comfortable--but not too comfortable. I convinced Beth that we'd have fun there, and we booked a flight directly into Siem Reap.

Literally translated, Siem Reap means "Conquered Thailand," a tribute to the once-mighty conquering Cambodian kingdom. However, after less than a decade removed from the brutal and tyrannous reign of the Khmer Rouge, the cultural capital of Cambodia no longer seemed able to conquer much of anything anymore.

Landing in a propeller plane after a 90-minute flight, I saw none of the buildings, paved roads, or other forms of modern civilization that I was accustomed to seeing around airports.

There was little to see--flat, beige-colored specks of land with clusters of palm trees and an occasional waterway. Where the hell were we?, Beth and I thought to ourselves.

At this point, I was naïve to the severity of this country's dark history. Beth and I had almost no background to go on.

In 1975, the Khmer Rouge, a communist guerilla group led by Pol Pot, took power in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. The group's murderous policies led to the death of more than a third of the country's people over several years. In an attempt to create a pure agrarian society, Khmer Rouge leaders assassinated citizens with any intelligence; the ability to read or write was cause for death, as was ownership of a pair of glasses.

When the Vietnamese liberated the Cambodian people, Cambo's population was devastated. Not only were the nation's brightest men and women massacred but 10,000,000 landmines were left in the ground to punish those who survived. That was one mine for every person in the country.

Travel guides provided emergency tips: Don't stray from well-marked paths and never move if you find yourself in a minefield. (Better to spend a night in a minefield than a lifetime as an amputee.)

Off the plane, I was overwhelmed by the brightness and heat of the day, not to mention the differences from the world I knew. Scores of cabbies screamed for my business, and I chose the one with a car. Most vehicles on the road were bicycles, mopeds, and touk touks: two-wheeled carriages pulled by a motorcycle.

Along the way to our pre-booked hotel, the driver enthusiastically pointed to an overgrown field of dried-up grass: "This is Cambodian football field," he pronounced proudly. "But Cambodia has no team. Cambodia has no money for team." Our hearts sank. This was the Cambodian national soccer field? The driver added, "I love football. But I am no good."

After a quick charge at the hotel, we hit the main Temple of Angkor Wat at sunset. I froze, awestruck at the gargantuan, imposing westward-facing entrance. The most magnificent structure I'd ever seen stood timeless amidst a fiery magenta sky. Suddenly, my gaze was interrupted. A naked toddler carrying a 2-week old puppy begged me for a dollar.

I was having contradictory experiences. On the one hand I was elated by the sight of a seemingly eternal city of beauty; on the other I was shocked and saddened by the sight of the anguish and poverty that exists in this broken nation.

Welcome to Cambodia, I thought. As beautiful as this land is, I had to prepare myself for some serious unpleasantness.

With the sun down and our spirits spent, we were content to retire back at the (overly luxurious) hotel. Despite being very, very, very far from home--a 12-hour time difference from NYC--the currency of choice was the U.S. dollar. With the dollar worth so much to him, our touk-touk driver refused his $10 fare, basically appointing himself our travel guide for our entire trip. Mr. Khieng seemed friendly and knowledgeable, so we took him at his word. We learned quickly that Khieng was--like nearly all the Cambodians we met--gentle, friendly, and happy.

Khieng vowed to be outside our hotel at 9:00 a.m. to take us to Angkor Thom, the largest of the many sprawling temple complexes near Siem Reap--and the center to the largest civilization in the world a millennium ago.

True to his word, Khieng was outside our hotel when we awoke. Khieng dropped us off 100 meters from the Angkor Thom entrance. He knew that the imposing 60-foot-tall entrance, built over a moat and framed by 54 intimidating faces (Gods on the left and Demons on the right) was worth walking through.

Shown above in all its splendor, one of the gateway demons greets us menacingly.

We stepped through the restored south gate--the west gate was used in the Angelina Jolie film Tomb Raider II--and Khieng's touk-touk picked us up on the other side.

The most recognizable and awe-inspiring feature of Angkor Thom is its central section, Bayon, featuring hundreds upon hundreds of mystically smiling faces. The large faces, built in sections for efficiency, smiled knowingly at the modern-day visitors.

In every facet of every tower lay a smirking facade staring down at us. Regardless of how deep in the temple we went, it seemed that one of the magnificent and timeless creations still managed to peek at us, smiling at our presence.

The smirks and grins kept hidden a deep, dark secret: No one quite knows the purpose or meaning behind the smiling faces, Hundreds adorned the ancient land, and yet their reason for existing eluded even the world's top archeologists.

A fellow touk-touk driver, a friend of the sociable Mr. Khieng, had the day off. He usually works every day, he said, but today his child was ill. So he had used the hours in the day not to shuffle tourists from one temple to another but to forage for medicine. He was walking out from a cluster of trees at the northwest corner of Angkor Thom, and he raised his arm to show off what seemed like a random mix of roots and twigs to my untrained eye.

Far from a factory-sealed bottle of Tylenol, this caring father had instead found a natural Cambodian remedy, likely used by the inhabitants of Angkor Thom 50 generations prior. The smile on the man's face alluded to the success of his quest, and he was now on his way to deliver the jungle's healing powers to its intended recipient. We wished him luck, and I awkwardly offered to pray for his child. I'm not much of a praying man, but I do hope greatly his child heals.

Feeling adjusted to Cambodia--as much as anyone can be--after a full day in the land, Beth and I were ready to explore Siem Reap's night life. At a population of nearly 100,000--and growing rapidly--Siem Reap was a big city for Cambodia. Never did this become more apparent than during a lengthy conversation with a well-spoken local named Bountiful.

"I came to siem Reap," explained Bountiful in his gentle, broken English, "for tall buildings and excitement." The excitement he speaks of is the small stretch of bars and restaurants in the Old Village of Siem Reap, built up largely for the onslaught of international travelers. The large buildings, I suppose, refer to the 2- and 3-story constructions. The bar where Bountiful works at as a waiter is particularly large with three distinct levels. This is his idea of tall buildings.

In a way, I came to Cambodia for the exact opposite reason. Traveling from Bangkok, I needed to get away from the tall buildings and excitement. The big attractions, naturally, were the enormous temples, built 1,000 years ago at the height of the Khmer dominance. But in truth I wanted to meet people like Bountiful as much as to climb the steps at Angkor Wat.

The last thing I want is to be just another rich tourist staying at a fancy hotel, going to the temples with a camera around his neck. Of course, I am precisely that (though I generally keep my camera in my pocket), but I gained as much from my conversations with the locals than with millenium-old ruins.

Bountiful smiles, at left with Beth, beneath the sign-post for his bar (the Dead Fish Cafe).

Like most locals, he smiles, laughs, and jokes incessantly. His English is astoundingly good, especially considering he only began to learn the language last year. We discussed life in Siem Reap and cultural differences--such as how eye contact is disrespectful in Cambo.

We had a few drinks and met the bar's pet crocodiles, then said our good-byes to the staff. (Outside of a few Japanese tourists singing karaoke, we were alone.)

After a quick snapshot above (okay, so I even take my camera when talking to the locals), Bountiful made a flattering gesture: The 22-year-old Cambodian said he would dream about us that night and pray for our peace and happiness.

Bangkok, Thailand

Siem Reap (Angkor Wat), Cambodia

Rai Lei (Krabi), Southern Thailand Beach

Ko Phi Phi, Andaman Sea Island