Preah Sihanouk

In the sticky, fragrant chaos of downtown Phnom Penh, a Pradal Serey boxing match is less a sporting event than a visceral baptism into Cambodia's raw pulse. Picture Muay Thai's scrappier older sibling, steeped in Khmer pride, decked out in ritual dance, ancient chants, and enough gritty elbows and flying knees to make MMA seem prudish. Matches erupt into life around sundown, when the heat softens from "unbearable" to merely "character-building," and the street vendors start hawking skewered meats and cold cans of Angkor beer. Show up an hour early to snag prime plastic-chair real estate ringside-your wallet won't mind; five to ten bucks covers entry, beer, and some grilled mystery meats best enjoyed without too many questions. Pack small bills, insect repellent, and an open mind. Sure, it's gritty, a touch rough around the edges, and you might wonder briefly if your travel insurance covers airborne bodily fluids-but trust me, the sheer adrenaline, the electric hum of the crowd, and the primal spectacle of fighters channeling Angkor-era warrior spirit is worth every drop of sweat. Plus, you'll leave with a story that beats any temple selfie, even if your grandma might not exactly approve.

If you've ever dreamed of channeling your inner Indiana Jones without the snakes-and swapping the whip for mosquito repellent-the Ream National Park Mangrove Walk is your ticket. Nestled lazily within Cambodia's serene coastline near Sihanoukville, Ream's boardwalk trails twist whimsically through a labyrinth of mangrove forests-part botanical curiosity, part ecological celebrity, entirely swampy charm. Head in early, around sunrise, when the mist still lingers and wildlife hasn't yet retreated from the day's heat. Trust me, the early rise is worth the sight of monkeys plotting mischief overhead, crabs skittering nervously at your feet, and the occasional heron eyeing you with mild contempt. Book ahead at least a day or two if you prefer guidance, but the solo wanderer can pay the modest $5 park fee, toss snacks, bug spray, and your camera into a backpack, and stride boldly onto the squeaky wooden pathway at your leisure. Sure, you'll sweat-this is Cambodia-but isn't the chance to casually slip "when I trekked through the Cambodian mangroves" into your cocktail party banter worth every damp, mud-splattered moment?

Cambodian eco-island hopping is like stepping through a tropical looking-glass into Southeast Asia's lost paradise-minus the selfie-stick hordes fighting for the same boring sunset shot. Setting sail from Sihanoukville or Kep on a rickety but charming wooden boat piloted by someone who resembles your cooler cousin who quit accounting to live barefoot, you'll navigate a scattering of islands whose white sands remain unspoiled, and whose turquoise waters still teem with neon-bright fish blissfully ignorant of mass tourism. Culture buffs will recognize these islands as one-time refuge points for pirates, fishermen, and Khmer Rouge escapees-though thankfully only the pirate vibe remains, now in friendly form with local captains spinning questionable sea tales over lukewarm Angkor beer. Head out early (sunrise hangovers be damned) to avoid choppy waters and enjoy maximum snorkeling visibility, and plan at least a few days ahead with a trusty local eco-friendly operator. Factor around $40-60 per person per day, pack sunscreen, bottled water, and a sense of humor for when the boat engine inevitably hiccups. Why do it? Because in a world of air-conditioned buses and sanitized tourist bubbles, the bittersweet authenticity of island hopping in Cambodia-complete with idiosyncratic boats, impossible sunsets, and stir-crazy expats-makes for a story worth telling and retelling, preferably over strong drinks and weak Wi-Fi.

Forget cruising through temples or hunting down cheap pad thai for a minute-because the Cambodian bioluminescent plankton tour off Otres Beach is a psychedelic midnight joyride straight out of an alien dreamscape. As the sun dissolves into the Gulf of Thailand, grab yourself a local Angkor beer, hop aboard a slightly rickety fishing boat, and glide quietly into waters that, by day, seem almost tediously ordinary. But as darkness descends, give the water a swirl and watch as the ocean bursts into neon pinpricks of sapphire-millions of tiny plankton, activated like underwater rave-goers, respond flamboyantly to your every move. Historically, locals have whispered legends about spirits illuminating these shores, but science insists it's dinoflagellates showing off their biochemistry skills. Book at least a day ahead, fork over roughly $15-$25 per person for the experience, and remember: less moonlight equals brighter plankton, so aim for a new moon or cloudy night. Pack a swimsuit, bug spray, and ideally, a waterproof camera with decent night settings-though capturing this natural wizardry on film never quite does it justice. Sure, you might return home itchy from sandflies and slightly skeptical about your Instagram shots, but this luminous underwater psychedelic disco is worth the hassle, even if just to casually drop, "Did I tell you about that time I swam through alien stardust off the Cambodian coast?"