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A Facebook Ad, a $2.50 Kite, and a Lesson in Humility

I'd been scrolling Facebook sometime around the beginning of February when an ad stopped me mid-scroll. A Siem Reap Kite Festival at the old airport. No flashy influencer promo, no tourist package deal — just a straightforward community event with kites and culture. I saved it immediately. See, when I was living in Vietnam — especially right after Covid — the locals would come out to the rice fields and the beaches at sunset and fill the sky with kites. Dozens of them, sometimes hundreds, drifting against orange and pink skies. It was one of those quiet, beautiful moments that sticks with you. So when I saw this Siem Reap Kite Festival pop up, I wasn't just curious. I was chasing a memory. The days rolled on, and eventually Friday, February 20th arrived. I hit up my buddy Philippe, invited him to tag along, and we grabbed a tuk-tuk over to the old Siem Reap International Airport. First time I'd been out there, and I had zero idea what to expect.

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Walking Through a Ghost Airport to Reach the Siem Reap Kite Festival

The old airport is exactly what it sounds like — an old airport. When Siem Reap-Angkor International Airport opened further outside the city, this one got left behind. Now it sits like a shell of its former self, and walking through it to reach the festival grounds on the tarmac was an experience all on its own. You still pass through the old security checkpoints. The baggage claim areas are still there. The bones of the building remain intact, but the life has drained out of it. It has that eerie, ghost-like quality — the kind of place where your footsteps echo a little too loudly and everything feels frozen in time. Honestly, it added a layer to the whole Siem Reap Kite Festival experience that I didn't anticipate. Walking through an abandoned airport to go fly kites on a former runway — that's a sentence I never thought I'd write. ![IMG_20260220_165245_033.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/jacuzzi/23vYjoTkGUjUKk9AAikNBDztbnW1yjNb4xJz7D4UhA2Xgb38inA4krfGiMWcUbhZ9vo9d.jpg) But here's the thing: this location wasn't random. The old airport's wide-open tarmac and runway provide the perfect flat, unobstructed space for kite flying. And there's a deeper symbolism at play. According to Cambodia's official reporting on the festival, this was the 2nd annual Khmer Ek and Freestyle Kite Festival, organized by the Siem Reap Provincial Administration. A space once defined by modern aviation now serves as the launching ground for ancient aircraft made of bamboo and paper. That contrast hit different once I understood it.

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Sunset, Vendors, and the Mysterious Musical Kites

Philippe and I arrived right around the beginning of sunset — still bright, but that golden hour glow was starting to creep in. A solid crowd had already gathered, and kites dotted the sky in various shapes and sizes. The whole scene felt relaxed, casual, and genuinely communal. This wasn't some overproduced tourist attraction. This was locals and visitors mixing together, doing something simple and timeless. We took a stroll down the main alleyway where vendors had set up shop selling food, drinks, and all sorts of goods. Standard festival stuff. But what caught my eye were the large traditional Cambodian kites — the Khlaeng Ek. ![IMG_20260220_164117_021.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/jacuzzi/EpLf71WFZAmEzr7nE258bCnVctzFURRoyoWFqgSTZUn6U1ZF8trkT7TjWDFoiXkukZM.jpg) These aren't your average paper kites from the corner store. The Khlaeng Ek is a traditional Cambodian musical kite, and it's unlike anything I've encountered anywhere else in Southeast Asia. Each one has a bow-shaped bamboo attachment on top — called the "ek" — and when the wind passes through it, the thing produces this low, haunting humming sound. Skilled kite makers can apparently produce up to seven different tones depending on how the resonator is crafted. Imagine an entire rice field full of these things singing at night. That's how Cambodian farmers traditionally used them after harvest season — launching them into the sky above the paddies and letting their sounds fill the air through the darkness. I saw several Khlaeng Ek kites at the Siem Reap Kite Festival, but unfortunately we didn't get to experience them in flight with the musical bows attached during our visit. That's going on the list for next year. The tradition of the Khlaeng Ek dates back over 2,000 years and is depicted in 9th-century inscriptions. Kite flying was even banned during the Khmer Rouge period, and land mines in rice fields made it dangerous for years after. The fact that this tradition survived all of that and is being actively revived is something worth paying attention to.

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My $2.50 Humbling at the Siem Reap Kite Festival

After admiring the larger kites and soaking in the atmosphere, I decided to jump in. Found a vendor selling small paper kites for $2.50 and figured — how hard can it be? Boy, was I wrong. I grabbed that little paper kite, unspooled some string, and started running across the tarmac like a kid at a county fair. Nothing. The kite would catch some air, wobble pathetically, and nosedive straight back to the ground. I tried different angles, different speeds, different levels of desperation. No luck. Kite flying looks easy. It is not. Then a little local kid took pity on me. He walked over, grabbed the kite, held it up in the air while I backed up and pulled the string taut, trying to get some lift. Minimal success — but we were getting somewhere. Then another kid showed up, said something I didn't understand, and basically gestured for me to hand over the string. I obliged. ![Kite Masters](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/jacuzzi/23vPMDvP4uNMjCXtp8Fwn9MW3fiUbEPTEiX5JM8DZm7UG1TYTt8TpmxXWE47D9hvb27ks.png) Within about thirty seconds, that kid had my $2.50 paper kite climbing into the golden sky like it was nothing. The first kid was laughing. The second kid was grinning. And I was standing there, a grown man who just got schooled in kite aerodynamics by two children who probably couldn't have been older than eight. Here's the honest truth though — that ended up being the highlight of my entire evening at the Siem Reap Kite Festival. Did I technically fly a kite? Absolutely not. But I helped two kids fly one, and they seemed genuinely thrilled about it. That spontaneous connection — no shared language, no planning, just kites and laughter — that's the kind of moment you can't manufacture and the kind of thing that makes living in Cambodia worth every challenging day.

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Kite Battles in Brazil and Glass-Covered Strings

With the kite now in capable hands, Philippe and I found a spot to sit and watch the sky fill up with more colors as sunset deepened. It was one of those scenes — locals and expats spread across the old runway, kids running around, strings crisscrossing overhead, the whole thing backlit by a Cambodian sunset. Simple and beautiful. That's when Philippe dropped a story I was not expecting. Growing up in Brazil, he told me, kite flying wasn't just a casual hobby. It was combat. Kids would take broken glass, crush it up, mix it into a paste, and coat the strings of their kites with the stuff. Then they'd launch their kites into the air and try to maneuver them into other kids' kite strings — the goal being to saw through the opponent's line and send their kite spiraling away. Kite battles. With glass-coated strings. The problem, Philippe explained, was that when a kite lost its battle and went flying off with a glass-covered string trailing behind it, those strings would end up draped across roads and highways. Motorcyclists started getting seriously hurt. Eventually, riders in the area began mounting scissors or wire cutters on the front of their motorbikes as a defensive measure — just to avoid getting clotheslined by an errant kite string covered in crushed glass. I sat there thinking about how wildly different kite culture can be depending on where you are in the world. Here at the Siem Reap Kite Festival, kids were gently helping a clueless foreigner get a paper kite off the ground. In Philippe's childhood neighborhood in Brazil, they were waging aerial warfare. Same activity, completely different universes.

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More Than Kites: What Else Was Happening at the Festival

The Siem Reap Kite Festival wasn't just about kites, either. Crews were setting up a stage for a big concert the following night. There were displays of local products and exhibitions. The festival ran for three full days — February 20th through the 22nd — and included traditional Lakhon Bassac theatrical performances and educational displays about the evolution of Khmer kites. I also noticed preparations for what looked like Kun Khmer demonstrations — Cambodia's traditional martial art, similar in some ways to Muay Thai but with its own distinct techniques and history. As someone with a martial arts background, I was genuinely interested in sticking around for that. But the following day had another event on the calendar that I'd been anticipating — the Giant Puppet Parade through Siem Reap — so I made the tough call to save my energy. The whole festival drew 138 competitive kite flyers from provinces across Cambodia, which gives you a sense of how seriously this tradition is taken. This isn't a tourist gimmick. This is a legitimate cultural preservation effort, organized by the Siem Reap Provincial Administration alongside the Department of Culture and Fine Arts. The Ministry is even working to get the Khlaeng Ek kite listed on the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage List.

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Getting to the Old Airport and Practical Tips

If you're planning to attend the Siem Reap Kite Festival next year — and I'd recommend putting it on your radar — here's what you need to know. The old Siem Reap International Airport is located close to the city center, easily accessible by tuk-tuk for a couple of dollars. It's a quick ride from most areas in central Siem Reap. If you need help navigating getting around Cambodia, tuk-tuks are your go-to for short trips like this. The festival runs in February during Cambodia's dry and windy season — traditionally the time when kites are flown after the rice harvest. Arrive around late afternoon to catch the golden hour lighting and the best kite-flying conditions. The wind picks up as the day cools, and the sunset makes everything look incredible. Bring cash for vendors and kite purchases. My little paper kite ran $2.50, and there were options at various price points. Food and drinks were available along the vendor alley. The festival is free to attend — no entrance fee, no ticket required. Just show up. Pro tip: If you're serious about the experience, try to find a Khlaeng Ek demonstration. Hearing these traditional musical kites sing is supposed to be something else entirely, and I'm kicking myself for not seeking one out more actively during my visit.

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The Cultural Weight Behind a Simple Kite

Here's what I didn't fully appreciate before this experience: kite flying in Cambodia isn't just recreation. It carries genuine cultural and spiritual weight. Traditionally, kites symbolized prayers for favorable weather during rice harvests. In Khmer folklore, the hero Thun Chey is said to have used a musical kite to secure his freedom while held captive. The sound of a Khlaeng Ek overhead was believed to bring harmony and peace to communities — though some Cambodians still hold a superstition that the sound brings bad luck, something cultural officials are actively working to change. The Khmer Rouge regime nearly destroyed this tradition entirely. Kite flying was banned. Rice fields — where kites traditionally soared — were riddled with landmines for years afterward. The fact that 138 kite flyers traveled from across Cambodia to compete at this Siem Reap Kite Festival speaks volumes about the resilience of Khmer culture. Living in Siem Reap gives you access to these kinds of experiences — the ones that go beyond Angkor Wat and Pub Street and show you the living, breathing culture of Cambodia. The kite festival is exactly the kind of event that reminds you why you chose to be here in the first place.

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Heading Home With a New Appreciation for Kites

Philippe and I eventually called it a night. We were both running on empty from the day, so we flagged down a tuk-tuk and headed back into town. The ride home was quiet — the good kind of quiet — as we talked about kites, life, and how something so simple can carry so much meaning in different cultures. Kite flying is one of those things that seems easy until you actually try it. There's a technique, a feel for the wind, a patience I clearly haven't developed yet. I'd like to get a proper kite — not a $2.50 paper job — and actually learn to fly the thing. Put it on the bucket list, right next to tracking down a Khlaeng Ek in flight. The Siem Reap Kite Festival caught me off guard in the best way. I showed up expecting a casual evening out and walked away with a deeper understanding of Cambodian heritage, a humbling lesson from some local kids, and a wild story about glass-covered kite strings in Brazil. That's the beauty of saying yes to the random Facebook ads and community events — you never know what you're going to walk into. When was the last time you flew a kite? And did you actually get it airborne, or did you need a kid to bail you out like I did? Drop a comment — I'm genuinely curious. If you're planning a trip to Siem Reap or considering life as an expat in Cambodia, check out our complete Cambodia travel guide for everything you need to know. And don't miss our article on the Siem Reap Botanical Gardens — another free, unexpected gem in this city. ![IMG_20260220_175329_044.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/jacuzzi/EqooqzcsFm3vVNaYEPwUESnrHSyUhTfQdrDhSB8qm1QQR6uJr2gvtT9YbC68keNg22L.jpg) [//]:# (!worldmappin 13.408714 lat 103.814428 long d3scr)

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