For many backpackers, budget travel means hostels with pools and bars. But what do you get when you push the price to its absolute limit? In March 2024, writer Amy Aed found out, checking into a hostel in Siem Reap, Cambodia, for just £1 per night. What she discovered was a raw, deeply human experience that challenged her preconceptions about ultra-budget accommodation and solo female travel.
An Unconventional Welcome
The first impression was visceral. Before the smell of musty body odour and yeast, or the sight of 15 metal beds crammed into a yellow-walled room, was the sight of a half-naked man snoring in tiny boxers. A small boy hummed and ate biscuits beside him, ants swarming the crumbs. A tiny dog ran in, barked once, and vanished.
Yet, rather than fear, Amy felt curiosity. She had come to Cambodia for the first time, part of her maiden trip to Asia, with a specific mission: to explore the nation's tea culture, particularly its pandan tea. Eschewing the typical £3-£5 hostels with pools, she sought the very bottom of the market.
To find it, she navigated past territorial street dogs and entered a family living space, greeted by an 11-year-old child in shorts and sandals. He led her to the dormitory door, and her stay began.
Life in the £1 Dorm
Amy quickly realised she was the only woman among residents who weren't passing travellers but local men living there long-term. Plastic bags of belongings sat by each bed, occupied by men mostly in their forties and fifties. After a glance at the newcomer, they returned to meals, naps, and quiet conversation.
"Something about the indifference was oddly reassuring," she noted. The shared bathroom lacked a seat, paper, or soap, but was cleaner than expected. Her bed was clean, positioned under a clinking fan in the hot, sticky room. Despite the noise and simplicity, she slept easily.
A routine emerged: men slipped out at night or woke before dawn for work. They were married, with families in nearby villages, but staying in the city during the week saved crucial money. The £1 hostel was a necessity, enabling them to send more earnings home for food and water.
From Strangers to Companions Over Tea
Within days, nods became warmth. One evening, a group of men, bruised and dirty from manual labour, invited her to share fish amok – fish steamed in banana leaves. It was, she discovered, "absolutely bloody delicious."
Challenging the caution solo female travellers are taught, especially around men from different cultures, she felt no menace. In return for their generosity, she offered to brew rooibos tea, only to find her bag overrun by ants. A resident promptly fetched a spoon, and they de-bugged the mixture together before brewing it in a saucepan for all to share.
Using Google Translate, she explained her quest for pandan tea. The next morning, the group took her to a nearby stall. A local child translated, bridging the communication gap. They shared the fragrant pandan tea, and the sensation of acceptance was lovelier than the drink itself.
Would she stay again? Probably not; once was enough. But it wasn't frightening or lonely. It was an unpolished glimpse into an 'ultra-budget' world few tourists see, where accommodation isn't about aesthetics but fundamental need: a roof, a fan, a bed, and unexpected kindness from locals. It was, in her words, "raw, unpolished, and deeply human."
