Cambodia., remembering.

Cambodia, despite being a 1.5 hour flight from Malaysia, is worlds apart. It's dirtier, more hectic, poorer, more vibrant, but also sadder.

The first night we were here, I became convinced that our guesthouse was haunted. Earlier, in Thailand, I read a book called "First They Killed My Father," and as is evident from the title, it was a real tear jerker. But really, I cried. A lot.

And when we got to Phnom Penh, and into our guesthouse that looks like it was probably the residence of a wealthy family here before the Khmer Rouge's takeover, I couldn't help but feel their presence. In the morning I was sheepish - I don't believe in ghosts! But I couldn't shake it. The memory of the war and brutality is palpable.

It probably didn't help that we went to the Tuol Streng prison museum later that day. I have never seen a place that so blatantly highlights the darkest side of humanity; I could feel it.

Walking around the streets, it's easy to see the remnants of a brutal past here - the amputees, the poverty, the dilapidated buildings. Anyone over 30 has memories of the war. And yet, people smile, they are friendly, they are trying to move on. Inspiring and heart-wrenching all at the same time.