Amid early dawn’s pale aura and its misty foggy ribbons, a mysterious temple unveils herself. Sated, I abandon my view of the dancers frozen in eternity in the bas-reliefs etched before me, and return back to Villa Samar for a sumptuous massage with essential oils and an old-fashioned hot shave before joining the owner for a delightful breakfast. Comfortably seated next to the shimmering swimming pool, under the welcoming shade of an oversized beige coloured umbrella, I listen to him tell me about his retreat and how it came to be.

Accompanied by a Khmer staff member that smells distinctly of roses, I delight in discovering Villa Samar’s secluded alcoves, its old prints, silver objects, fine woodcarvings, teapots shaped like birds, lacquer chests, and mythical maps. This is truly a place of romance. Spacious guestrooms like mine comprise a private terrace bathed in light, gleaming parquet floors and a four-poster bed. Overhead, an antique looking wooden fan spins softly. Light filters through the slats of the wooden shutters. A blue porcelain Victorian bathtub welcomes. It is a haven for the senses.

During the height of the day’s heat, the library is a welcoming refuge. Sitting in this intimate atmosphere, nestled comfortably in a leather armchair amid soft lighting and felt tapestry, the owner eagerly helps me to map out tomorrow’s plans for discovering the ancient kingdom of Angkor’s most magical locales.

Here at Villa Samar, a romantic dreamer like me does not form part of the forgotten past, but rather places me distinctly in the present. At dinner, I delight in the flowery notes found on the artisanal dinner plates and the etched glasses sitting on the blue tablecloth. Indeed, these and many other things create a delightful romantic harmony to my environs. They are also essential for greeting the restaurant’s Royal Khmer cuisine, once deemed one of the fine arts of the royal court. The aromatic odour of fresh tamarind, coriander and especially the highly regarded pepper hailing from the Cardamom Mountains permeates the air. Beautiful women wearing silk evening dresses with elaborate hems known as phamuong further embellish this ultimately engaging and dreamy ambience.

After dinner, I spend the rest of the evening strolling alone through the city’s streets. Here in Siem Reap, exquisite woven silk sold by the metre is a delight. Later, in a small and peaceful park, I watch the day draw to an end like a flower’s petals closing gently upon itself. Sitting on a little bench and flipping through the pages of a book written by Vikram Seth, I happen upon this poignant passage: “I sometimes seem to myself to wander around the world merely accumulating material for future nostalgias.”