Riding Battambang's Bamboo Train: A Thrilling Yet Eye-Opening Adventure in Cambodia
In Battambang, one of Cambodia's dusty provincial cities, travelers often explore unique attractions via a one-day tuk-tuk tour. We had vivid preconceptions of the bamboo train from fellow travelers, guidebooks, and blogs like Alex in Wanderland’s A Weekend in Battambang.
We imagined an old-fashioned bamboo train on a single track once used for goods transport—perhaps even bamboo rails in the countryside, showcasing sustainable building. Travelers raved about this fun, rustic must-do. (Watch the video at the end and decide if you'd ride!)
Our guide motored us out of town on a tuk-tuk, transitioning from main roads to bumpy dirt paths, stopping near rundown tourist stalls.
We were rushed to the track. Sunlight glinted off weathered steel rails. The 'train' was a simple wooden platform on two steel pulleys, topped with a bamboo mat for seating. No bolts or ties—it disassembles easily, as we'd soon see.
Accustomed to Cambodia's quirky sights, we anticipated a leisurely glide through palm forests, farmlands, and grazing white cows.
Instead, after paying $5 each to a police officer and sitting facing forward, we accelerated wildly before spotting our conductor: a young man in a straw hat, red T-shirt, skinny jeans, and a cigarette dangling from his smirk.
Countryside views blurred as we gripped the wood, pondering collision physics at breakneck speed.
Arriving early spared us oncoming trains. We hurtled over track gaps and shaky bridges for 15 minutes, arriving windblown at stalls selling handicrafts, fruit, and beer.
Thirsty at 9 a.m., we skipped purchases. The setup felt exploitative. Locals in countryside shacks rely solely on tourist sales.
Instead, a nine-year-old girl with flawless English gave us a rice factory tour, explaining milling and sorting for people and livestock. Self-taught from tourists, she inspired us; we tipped her generously.
Now, multiple bamboo trains queued. As ours waited at the rear, tourists milled about; some drank Angkor beer.
The return was even stranger.
Oncoming trains meant frequent stops: we'd dismount, conductors dismantling platforms and pulleys to let others pass. Tourists—Europeans, Americans, Asians, young and old—watched amused.
All shared wide-eyed fascination.
Cameras everywhere: iPhones, iPads, DSLRs with pro lenses captured the spectacle. We weren't alone in documenting.
Tens of thousands in tech on this warped, gapped track—for a $5 ride ending in $1 beers.
Contrast our $15 daily guide or $70/month foreigner apartments in town. No filmmakers here, yet gear worth villages paraded daily before locals.
Cambodians waved warmly everywhere. How do they not resent us? This daily tourist parade sells trinkets amid poverty.
We bought nothing on principle, but questioned it: Does skipping the $10 truly help?
Why ignore this irony of a defunct rail now ferrying wealthy tourists for profit?
