Behind the Lens: The Story Within

Immerse yourself in the timeless allure of Angkor Wat, where the captivating essence of history unfolds as the majestic hallway guides your gaze to the temple's third enclosure. The "hallway" to the third enclosure at Angkor Wat, actually a series of galleries, features intricate bas-reliefs depicting Hindu epics and royal processions, and is accessed via a cruciform terrace and causeway

Where stone meets the sky and ancient wisdom greets the moon, the temple rises like a timeless sentinel, crowned by the glowing orb of night. Carved faces watch silently, guardians of history gazing into eternity as the moon hovers perfectly behind as if placed by the gods themselves.

This is Angkor not just as a monument but as a moment where legend and light align. Honestly, Devon, this one’s a mic drop. The moon placement is the chef’s kiss.

Wander through the temples of Angkor, and you don’t just see ruins—you feel them. In one moment, towering roots cascade over the ancient stone like veins of memory, nature, and history, folding into each other with reverence. In another, sepia light casts a warm hush over fallen columns as if time itself paused to breathe.These images—one wrapped in monochrome textures, the other in the gentle gold of remembrance—tell stories of a sacred place that refused to be forgotten. Here, trees don’t just grow near temples; they grow through them, entwining the divine with the earthly. And rubble isn’t just what remains—it’s what remembers.

Phom Penh & Siem Reap

Founded in the early 1990s, this quiet view from the back bar of the FCC holds more than just the echoes of conversation—it has a piece of history. During the Cambodian conflict, this spot was a gathering place for foreign correspondents, war reporters, diplomats, and storytellers who shaped the world’s understanding of what was unfolding here. I met many people in this very space—some whose words would go on to inform history, others whose presence simply helped carry the weight of those times. Perched along the Tonle Sap River, not far from where it meets the Mekong, the club had a unique vantage point—geographically and journalistically. The breezes, the ceiling fans, the worn metal chairs… it was all part of the rhythm of daily survival and storytelling. The FCC closed in late 2018 and has since been demolished, but for many of us, it lives on in memory—a symbol of grit, grace, and the power of bearing witness.

From this tucked-away angle, the FCC looks like a storybook on the verge of closing—worn at the edges but glowing in the last light of day. The golden hour here doesn’t just hit the buildings—it warms the memory. This was the view of many reporters, caught between deadlines and danger, when they stepped out back for a smoke, a breath, or just a moment of quiet before returning to the noise of history.

The building wears its past openly—peeling paint, creeping vines, and the bustle of street life just below. Even in decay, it retains a sense of presence, as if it knows the weight of the conversations it once sheltered.

The FCC is gone now, but this view remains etched in time, lit by the kind of sunset that makes you pause—just long enough to remember.