His bar had closed. Three weeks — just long enough for Sophea to repaint and swap out the fan that had squeaked since 2008. A man without his stool is a man without a country. So when some vague acquaintance mentioned a place that was “quiet, cheap, far from the Kevins,” Bernard heard paradise and said yes before he looked at a map.

In the forests of Ratanakiri, an age-old gesture repeats itself, generation after generation: notching the trunk of a canopy giant to collect its fragrant sap. Caught between village subsistence, customary knowledge and mounting pressure from land concessions, the resin of Dipterocarpus — long known locally by its older spelling, Dichterocarpus — tells the story of an increasingly fragile balance between the mountain peoples and the forest that feeds them.

A chronicle of a conservation expedition in northeastern Cambodia, where science occasionally gave way to olfactory marketing. A true story — names have been changed to protect the anonymity (and dignity) of those involved.

In the kingdom's furthest northeastern corner, where red dirt tracks meet a forest that never seems to end, seven highland peoples live by a calendar that neither Angkor, nor colonization, nor even Phnom Penh has managed to rewrite. A journey into a Cambodia before Cambodia.

The construction of huts for Kreung minority teenage girls, so they can have sexual relations before marriage, has long been rooted in this minority's culture. But it seems this custom now belongs almost entirely to the past.

Ratanakiri province is home to the indigenous Kreung people, whose culinary traditions offer a rare glimpse into the rich cultural diversity of the region. Among their gastronomic treasures, one dish stands out as a profound symbol of their identity: chanang, a traditional soup that captivates with its mysterious appearance and unique flavor profile.