One Step at a Time: What the Cambodia Trek Gave Me That I Didn’t Expect
I signed up for the Cambodia Challenge for Shelter knowing it would be physically hard.
What I didn’t fully understand — until I was there — was how emotionally demanding, deeply connecting, and quietly life-altering it would be.
This wasn’t just a hike. It wasn’t a vacation. And it certainly wasn’t a test of fitness alone. It was five days of walking through heat, jungle, villages, temples, and stories that stay with you long after the blisters fade.
Our group arrived in Cambodia after months of fundraising, training, and anticipation, having collectively raised over $1.6 million for women’s shelters and domestic violence prevention across Canada, in support of the Royal LePage Shelter Foundation. The purpose was clear — and it shaped every single step we took.
Day 1 – Beginning With Intention (Approx. 18 km)
Our trek officially began just outside of Siem Reap, starting at an ancient temple where we received a blessing from Buddhist monks. Standing there, boots on the ground for the first time, I felt equal parts excitement and reverence. None of us truly knew what was ahead — only why we were there.
We walked through wide stretches of rice paddies and small villages, the heat already pressing in. The humidity was immediate and unrelenting. Sweat soaked through everything. By mid-day, my skin was already reacting — a painful heat rash that would follow me for the remainder of the trek.
Each day included a midday pause, and with it, the reading of a letter — a deeply personal story written by one of our fellow trekkers, sharing their lived experience with domestic violence. Sitting together in the heat, listening, I felt those words land heavy in my chest. These weren’t abstract stories. They were real. They were raw. And they were the reason we were walking.
That night, we camped beside a temple. Sleep came in fragments. Dogs barked. Roosters announced themselves whenever they pleased. Monks began chanting before sunrise. It was loud, humid, uncomfortable — and strangely grounding.
Day 2 – Carrying Stories Forward (Approx. 17 km)
By day two, we had found a rhythm. We walked. We talked. We shared snacks, laughter, and long stretches of silence. Conversations deepened quickly — the kind that usually take years, not kilometres.
The heat intensified, and my body was struggling. The rash burned. Sleep deprivation was catching up with me. But something stronger than discomfort kept pulling me forward.
At lunch, we gathered again to hear another letter. Listening to these stories day after day was incredibly difficult. You never knew what you were about to hear, only that it would demand something of you — presence, empathy, restraint, compassion. I didn’t read the letters, but I felt every word of them. They stayed with me long after we stood up and continued walking.
That afternoon reminded me why this trek mattered. This wasn’t about endurance for the sake of endurance. It was about awareness. About listening. About walking so others wouldn’t have to walk alone.
Day 3 – The Hardest Climb, The Deepest Bonds (Approx. 20 km)
Day three was, without question, the hardest physically.
We left our campsite and began climbing into the Kulen Mountains, navigating steep inclines, rocky paths, and dense jungle. The humidity was suffocating. Every step felt heavier than the last. We encouraged each other constantly — small gestures, quiet check-ins, shared determination.
Lunch that day was simple and humbling — eaten beneath a stilted home while children watched curiously and chickens wandered nearby. Then we sat together again to hear another letter. This one carried immense loss. The kind that silences a group. We cried. We hugged. And we held space for grief that no one should ever have to carry alone.
By the time we reached camp, exhausted after nearly 20 kilometres, there was a river running through the site — considered sacred by the local community. Without hesitation, we climbed in. Fully clothed. Washing off sweat, dust, tears, and fatigue. We washed each other’s hair. We laughed. We rested. It was one of the most human moments of the entire journey.
Day 4 – Sacred Ground and Quiet Resilience (Approx. 20 km)
We began day four early, visiting a temple where we removed our boots, held lotus flowers, and climbed stone stairs to a giant Buddha carved directly into the mountainside. It was a moment of reflection and gratitude — for strength, for safety, for the ability to keep going.
The day unfolded through rivers, waterfalls, and thick jungle. Our guide cleared paths ahead of us with a machete, cutting through vines and roots. At one point, we shared the road with a farmer and his water buffalo. Our guide joked that we all smelled the same — and he wasn’t wrong.
The heat was relentless. My body was tired. Sleep had been scarce all week. But by this point, the connections we had formed carried us forward. We weren’t just individuals anymore — we were a group moving with shared purpose.
That night, we arrived at our final temple campsite. Quietly aware that the end was near.
Day 5 – A Finish Line Full of Meaning (Approx. 7.5 km)
Despite sore feet and aching muscles, none of us wanted the trek to end.
We thanked the incredible local staff who supported us every step of the way — cooking, setting up camp, and caring for us in ways we’ll never forget. Then we walked one last time, enjoying the sunshine, the rice fields, and the stillness.
Suddenly, there was music.
What I first thought was a village celebration quickly revealed itself to be for us. Locals sang and danced, guiding us toward the finish line. One by one, we received our medals. There were tears, smiles, hugs, and an overwhelming sense of pride — not just in what we completed, but in why we did it.
Later that day, we explored Angkor Wat, followed by Ta Prohm (the Tomb Raider temple) and the Buddha Face Temple. Standing inside Angkor Wat — a place that once anchored one of the largest cities in the world — was awe-inspiring. History, humanity, and resilience all layered together.
That night ended with real beds, long showers, a massage, and a final dinner together — a celebration of everything we had walked through.
What This Trek Gave Me
This was my very first trek — and while it was incredibly challenging, I know without question it won’t be my last.
I stepped far outside my comfort zone. I’m naturally introverted and shy, and being surrounded by nearly thirty people, twenty-four hours a day, in some of the most intimate and vulnerable conditions imaginable felt overwhelming at times. There was no space to retreat, no familiar comforts to hide behind — only the trail, the heat, the exhaustion, and the people walking beside me.
What surprised me most was what I discovered in that discomfort.
I realized how strong I truly am. I learned that even when something feels intimidating or unfamiliar, I can do hard things — especially when supported by others. Over those five days, I built bonds that formed quickly but deeply, connections rooted in shared purpose, honesty, and compassion.
The trek also gave me something I didn’t know I needed: space to reflect and heal. Hearing the stories shared each day — stories of survival, resilience, and pain — allowed me to process parts of my own experience with domestic violence in ways I hadn’t before. Walking, listening, and simply being present created room for growth that felt both challenging and restorative.
I came home changed — more grounded, more open, and more aware of my own capacity for courage and connection.
Most of all, this journey reinforced my belief that when we show up for one another, speak openly, and keep moving forward together — one step at a time — meaningful change is possible. And that hope is something I will carry with me always.
About the Cambodia Challenge for Shelter
The Cambodia Challenge for Shelter is a five-day trek through rural Cambodia and the Kulen Mountains, culminating at Angkor Wat. Funds raised support women’s shelters and domestic violence prevention programs across Canada through the Royal LePage Shelter Foundation.
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