It was supposed to be just a way to get from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. A practical overnight journey on a sleeper bus so I could wake up near the temples of Angkor Wat and save the cost of a hotel. But somewhere between the sticky dusk of the capital and the misty dawn along the Tonlé Sap, I found myself riding not just through the heart of Cambodia, but into an unexpected window on its changing soul.

I booked with one of the newer “luxury” bus companies—leather recliners, Wi-Fi that almost worked, and tiny silk pillows that made it all feel more boutique than backpacker. It was a far cry from the diesel-choked minivans I remembered from my teenage years visiting cousins in Kampong Cham.

These buses aren’t just a traveler’s hack anymore. According to Cambodia’s Ministry of Public Works and Transport, interprovincial bus traffic has surged nearly 40% since 2019, fueled by domestic tourism, returning diaspora, and more budget-conscious international travelers post-COVID. The road from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap—once potholed and painfully slow—has been widened and re-paved, part of a massive infrastructure push supported by both Chinese and Korean investment.

Most people on the bus were Cambodian. A couple in their 50s returning from visiting grandchildren in the capital. A university student going home for the holiday. Two teenage girls with matching TikTok hoodies taking selfies in the boarding lounge. But there was one seatmate who stayed with me—a 34-year-old small business owner named Visoth, who said he takes the night bus twice a month to manage his new smoothie franchises in both cities.

“Flights are too expensive now,” he told me as we sipped plastic cups of iced sugarcane juice during the 2 a.m. rest stop. “And I actually like the bus. You can think. You’re not in a rush.” He had quit a job in finance during the pandemic, started selling fruit smoothies from a cart, and now employed 17 people. “It’s slow success,” he said, “but it feels honest.”

It’s this kind of slow movement—both literal and metaphorical—that I hadn’t expected. Cambodia, like much of Southeast Asia, is still young (the median age is just 25.6), but it’s entering a new phase. Domestic migration is rising. Youth unemployment is high. But digital entrepreneurship is booming. Everyone I met on that bus had some side hustle, a second job, or a dream of starting one.

When I finally arrived in Siem Reap, the morning light was just starting to creep through the Angkorian haze. The city has changed—cleaner, quieter, post-pandemic tourism has yet to fully roar back. But I checked into a family-run guesthouse tucked behind the night market, run by a woman who had lived in France for 12 years before moving home.

“People used to leave Cambodia to find opportunity,” she said as she handed me a bowl of kuy teav. “Now more of us are trying to build something here.”

That’s what the bus was. A moving cross-section of a country trying to build something—across cities, across generations, across dreams. I came looking for a shortcut. I found a slow road that felt like the future.

Written By Dara Lin | The Asian Diaries