*By Alicia Raeburn. This post originally appeared on Miles Less Traveled.
Joe and I have a habit of driving distances for food that would make many other people uncomfortable.
At the start of our relationship, Joe lived in Hoboken, NJ — a quick hop through the tunnel from NYC.
Except it’s New York City, and nothing is ever truly quick when driving through a tunnel.
As two people moderately obsessed with eating, we began our love story over meals.
Living just outside one of the best food cities in the world, it wasn’t uncommon for us to follow a late-night craving—whether for meatballs at 11 p.m. on a Sunday or a two-hour drive deep into Brooklyn for pizza.
Turns out we’re no different when traveling.
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We tend to do minimal research before arriving in a destination. A few must-sees are enough to get us there, and we let the rest unfold.
Combined with our food obsessions, we often let our route follow our stomachs.
Exploring Kep Through the Palate
After running a half marathon in Cambodia, we found ourselves in Kep, a small seaside town in the Kampot province.
This area is fast becoming world-renowned for two things: crabs and peppercorns. It’s a mouthwatering pairing best experienced at the original market.
Tourists know about it, so it’s not totally off the beaten path. Still, it felt pretty undeveloped to us.
We stayed in Kampot, and while this story focuses on a beautiful day eating crab in Kep (about two hours south), there’s plenty to do without ever leaving Kampot.
There’s a paved road leading to Kep and a few resorts and guesthouses, but that’s about it.
Yes, there are tourist stalls selling seashell trinkets and t-shirts—but just behind them, you’ll still find local fishing families pulling crab straight from the sea in large woven traps.
We approached one of the traps just as a woman pulled it out of the water. Unsure of how to engage, we stood nearby while others haggled.
A man standing next to us struck up a conversation.
“I hate seeing tourists ripped off,” he said. “Let me talk to them.”
Before we could object, he was already speaking fluent Khmer with the woman behind the basket.
Exploring Kep With a Local
The man’s name was Lee, and we ended up spending the entire day with him and his family.
Lee was born in Cambodia but moved to Australia nearly 40 years ago after surviving the Khmer Rouge. He never left.
A retired chef, he had owned a Thai restaurant in Melbourne for 30 years.
After haggling the crab down to what was probably still more than he paid, we followed him to the next stop: the cook.
Inside the market stalls, a man stood over two wood-fired burners, each with a large steel wok.
He added kindling, let the pan heat, then tossed in our live crabs with a generous splash of oil.
Minutes later, he added the region’s famous fresh green peppercorns and a chili sauce. Our meal, handed to us in a giant container, was ready.
An Unexpected Friend
Lee offered to drive us back to Kampot. We waved goodbye to our tuk-tuk and spent the rest of the hot day in a blissfully air-conditioned car.
He turned the radio to English love songs, and we cruised along to Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” while Lee joked with his family, occasionally translating for us.
That night, we stayed at a community-run bungalow site—wooden huts on stilts over the water. Lee preferred supporting places where money went straight back into the local economy.
He explained he used to stay in hotels, but after seeing how tourism mostly benefited the wealthy, he made a change.
Now, he only stays where his dollars support everyday Cambodians.
Cake in Kampot
Back in Kampot, Lee stopped at a small roadside house to pre-order 130 cakes—the last place in town making them the traditional way, using a recipe passed down from the owner’s grandmother.
The cakes are only available by pre-order. This modest setup has no storefront, yet locals consider it the best sweet shop around.
Wrapped in a palm frond and grilled with coconut, sesame seeds, and sugar, the cakes were sticky, sweet, and unforgettable—like coconut macaroons, only better.
We stood in her driveway, licking every last bite off our fingers.
Cambodia Memories
On our drive back, Lee had his cousin take a detour so he could show us something—his former property, now sold.
It was a lush stretch of farmland overlooking the river and mountains, full of fruit trees. He had once hoped to build a home there, but sold it when he realized his family wouldn’t return to Cambodia.
He shared how his family had said, “What are you, crazy? After surviving the Pol Pot era, you want to go back?”
Lee smiled softly and said nothing more. Instead, he took us to see a new adventure park built nearby—zip lines, kayaking, and bungee jumping had popped up right after he sold the land.
We stopped at his neighbor’s roadside snack stand. Lee bought us fresh coconuts and durians ($20 each!).
We played with a puppy and practiced our only Khmer phrase: “saum arkoun” (thank you). They loved it.
That evening, Lee and his cousin dropped us off at our hotel with nothing but a wave and a smile.
We don’t know his last name. We have no way to contact him. But we’ll always remember his kindness.
Joe and I guessed Lee had been a teenager during the Khmer Rouge genocide of the 1970s. It’s impossible to imagine the horrors he endured.
And yet, Lee radiated joy. Not just happiness—deep, infectious love for life and people.
If he wasn’t buying us treats, he was making people laugh. His energy was magnetic.
We don’t know why he chose to befriend us that day—but we’re grateful he did. He became our guide and quickly, our friend.
It was the kind of kindness that sticks with you—the kind that makes you question what you’ve been missing by avoiding conversations with strangers.
And let’s be honest, long-term travel can get lonely. Moments like these make all the difference.
The crab ended up being one of the best meals we’ve ever had. But the memory? One of our favorite experiences from the entire trip—thanks to the kindness of a stranger.
Have you ever deeply connected with locals while traveling?
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