Enjoy pineapple on your pizza? The hotly debated Hawaiian slice has nothing on the fried-rice-on-pepperoni-pizza specialty of Siem Reap, Cambodia. Sitting at a plastic table next to Phsar Chas (“Old Market”), the shouts of tuk tuk drivers and motorbike honks nearly drowned out the generosity of a friend, Hout Heng, who was offering his fried rice to the table. Before we could respond, Hout proudly poured his rice all over our pizza. The fusion of East and West, new and old, is quickly becoming the norm in Siem Reap. Downtown Siem Reap houses the Old Market and the infamous Pub Street, doused in neon lights and dotted with glowing advertisements for Anchor Beer. It’s home to multiple “Siem Massage” parlors, several bars, a stray Taqueria, and infinite illuminated fish pedicure tanks. Waving down a tuk tuk here is no problem. Ingenious carriages strapped to the back of Honda motorbikes glisten through the grime. Drivers offer luxury services in rides boasting Superman, Batman and BMW logos. Want WiFi, a disco ball, or perhaps a tour of Angkor Wat? No problem. The Khmer drivers are stellar entrepreneurs and guides. Hout Heng is no exception. He lost his teaching job and decided to build a new, much-needed school for his neighborhood. He’s constructing it in the corner of his lush yard, tucked next to his one-room home. Monsoons and farming duties often prevent children from walking several kilometers to the nearest school. Hout guides us, barefoot, through the slimy caramel-striped mud to neighboring homes, teetering on stilts. Kilometers away from one another, the sounds of pig snorts and children’s soccer games act as a distance gauge. Soft thunder and deep lavender clouds welcome the evening. We return to Hout’s home, where the women of his family prepare dinner, roasting a pig. Flickering flames and heat lightning illuminate the pots, creating a bubble of warmth as we sit cross-legged on the ground. Their family bond is strong, founded on lives full of challenges -- seemingly offering no room for complaints. They feed on love and radiate generosity, offering five servings of pork stew and refusing help in the kitchen. All we contributed to the dinner was bottled water, and Hout’s family insisted we take the remaining drops home. In a country that’s 97% Buddhist, Hout grew up in a Christian orphanage. He ran the orphanage until he was laid off, just a month before his wife gave birth to their first child. Never one to wallow, Hout began working 50 hours per week at an ATV tour company, taking travelers on Indiana Jones-style adventures throughout the dense jungle. One missed turn and you’ll find yourself in rural Cambodia. Just a few kilometers away from Pub Street is the Psar Leu market, home to the world’s largest knock-off Croc shoe collection and an abundance of farm-to-table offerings: pig heads, snouts and eyes included. Babies nap in hammocks that sway over beef flanks, while mothers swat flies and chat over tea. The market hums with conversation, numb to the stench of warm meat. The tolerance for pain is high here; one scratch and memories of the Cambodian Genocide seep to the surface. From 1975 - 1979, the Khmer Rouge regime murdered 25% of Cambodia’s population, roughly 1.7 million people. Hout was orphaned, along with many Cambodians his age. The rebuilding of Cambodia didn’t properly commence until 1991, and there are still millions of active landmines. The wounds are fresh, but the sense of community and hope is undeniable. The Khmer do things their own way, fusing tradition with innovation. Now, Justin Bieber’s “Despacito” blares from tuk tuks. We hail one and pay the $1 fare to Hout’s favorite hot-pot spot on the side of National Route 6. The restaurant is nestled inside a mobile phone store, featuring steamy Nokia display cases and rainbow LED lights. A clever shared space, blossomed from the Khmer make-it-happen mentality: keep your eyes peeled here, as Siem Reap is home to dozens of eateries inside tech-savvy bodegas. While not quite rice-on-pizza, it was the perfect balmy evening. The cacophony of bike beeps and dog barks offered a cinematic soundtrack to the meal, celebrating another world that’s really just a call away.