With the visual overload the six hour drive from Phonm Phen to Siem Reap dilivers I find the things that resonate the deepest or the sounds and smells. We stopped at this bridge at about the 4.5 hour mark, built over a thousand years ago it no longer serves as part of the main route between the capital and second city but is still a big part of daily life for those that live near by. It doesn't seem as much has changed since the bridge was built to allow elephants and easier path to tow volcanic rocks from the south to build the temples around Ankor.  A lady squats to wash her clothes in the greeny, grey-brown water that's running slowly now the rains have stopped. A family burns hard wood on the opposing bank, I suppose more to keep the mosquitos away than for cooking, the acrid smoke mixing with the incense lit in prayer underneath the seven headed Nagga. Just across the bridge there is a Hindu ceremony celebrating 100 days since the death of an 80 year old woman from the village. The cymbals, bells and chanting of ancient blessings are turned up passed 11, as her friends and family sit in colorful opulence against the lush green backdrop of the trees and the eternally grey sky.
  Somewhere along the way, before the bridge and after eating a tarantula for the amusement of the local children as well as my companions, we came across a solitary rice farmer tending her fields. Gap toothed and leathery from years in the sun, she beam with pride over the vast green field, slightly turning gold as the rice nears harvest. She's recently sold a large part of the field, which she still gets paid to work, to buy a house for her and her son, as well as I'm sure numerous unmentioned family members.