A visa run. It’s exactly what it sounds like, a dash to the nearest border, often the cheapest and least painful option available. The plan? Cross the line, play the paperwork game, and turn right back around with a fresh stamp in your passport. It’s a ridiculous dance that keeps the clock ticking on how long you’re legally allowed to stay in someone else’s country. For expats, especially those living off unconventional visa arrangements, it’s just another part of the deal.

This time, instead of the usual joyless shuffle across some grim border town, I decided to make the most of it. Cambodia was calling from the distance. And so, I booked the trip.

Phnom Penh is a city that never quite makes sense. It’s where the slow creep of modernity, with its glassy high-rises and luxury SUVs, collides head-on with the stubborn grit of the past. Side streets hum with the chaos of tuk-tuks and food carts. Locals grind out a living in a city that feels like it’s always two steps ahead and three steps behind itself. It’s messy, raw, and alive in ways that more polished places can never be.