On a recent trip to Cambodia, my travelling partner and I were constantly harassed by street kids trying to sell tacky trinkets or squeeze us for a few dollars. Sure, we felt like grazing gazelles on the African savannah being constantly stalked by hungry hyenas, but it was hard not to succumb to the street kids' wily charm. After chatting with a few of these little guys, we discovered that they were full of untapped potential, and we're sure if given half a chance they'd have bright futures. Shame is those opportunities rarely arise. Here's a little snapshot of our experience:

As our motorboat skips along the river surface past the floating village of Chong Keas, a group of skinny kids joke around on the steep muddy banks, dive-bombing into the thick, brown water below. As they swim through the water, it's as if they're splashing about in one of Willy Wonka's chocolate streams while their Oompa Loompa-sized mothers hop up and down on wooden houseboat patios, calling them to do their chores.

Located a short tuk-tuk drive from the northern Cambodian city of Siem Reap, which is famous as the launching pad for trips to the ancient temple city of Angkor Wat, Chong Keas is one of the less known tourist destinations in the area.

Fresh-faced and bored-looking, Nhean, aged 16, is at our boat's wheel, while our tour guide, 15 year old Lee, looks down on us from the boat's raised brightly painted bow, squatting Asian-style on his haunches. He wears a thoughtful expression on his weather beaten, wizened face which looks oddly out of place atop his tiny child-like frame.

As the speedboat chugs along the cocoa-coloured waterway (which I'm sure would be slightly less palatable if you were unlucky enough to get a mouthful), Lee points to the houses, schools, shops and a basketball court that all bob up and down on the water, explaining in flawless English that all activities happen right here on the river.

"There floating school..." he explains, "...and there, floating house with floating babies, floating dogs, floating chickens and floating pigs." He waves at my girlfriend who sits opposite him, perched awkwardly on a spine-twistingly uncomfortable wooden seat, and continues his commentary smilingly, "...and there are some floating sunglasses on a floating nose." My girlfriend suddenly becoming self-conscious, adjusts her new shiny shades, and responds with a little chuckle.  

Lee tells us that despite being a mix of Cambodians, Vietnamese and Indonesian Muslims, everyone living on the river gets along fine, and mixed marriages are common. He explains that the combined river and lake system that our speedboat is currently navigating, known as Tonle Sap in the Khmer language, is unusual as it changes direction twice a year. "During the dry season the river disappears" he tells us "and the entire village is towed into the Tonle Sap Lake. But during the wet season, this place fills up again, and the floating village is tugged back here to the river."

It's strange hearing this pint-sized local kid, who has spent most of his life on the tributaries running off the mighty Mekong River, telling us the story of this blighted country with all the gravitas of a Professor in Southeast Asian Politics and Culture 101. He tells us about the national elections that are taking place, how the nation's long-ruling Prime Minister Hun Sen will almost certainly retain his position at the top, and how corruption is probably Cambodia's biggest obstacle to socioeconomic progress.

Deeply impressed by his effortless English and his insight into the world around him, I ask him about his schooling. He flashes another smile, revealing big snow white teeth, and sweeps his long bleached blonde fringe off his dark forehead with a flick of the hand. "Not much school" he explains. "Most of my English I picked up off tourists on the boat. I can also speak French and Italian and some other languages."

"School here is expensive..." he continues, "...about twenty-five American dollars a month. That's a lot of money. We work all day on the river, and then if we have enough money, we go to English school at night for a few hours."

Then the pitch: "Maybe you can help me and my friends pay for English school. If you give us some money, we can go to school, improve our English, and this is very good for us. My parents are both sick. They don't work, so I have to take care of them and my two younger brothers."

This rather ticklish episode repeats itself over and over again during our trip to Cambodia. You only have to sneak one hesitant toe out of the relatively safe sanctuary of your hotel lobby and a gang of ruddy faced Cambodian street kids pounce, like a pack of famished African Hunting Dogs bringing down a poor defenceless Impala fawn. And these street urchins are just as desperate as any starving African Hunting Dog. 

Like the street kids from so many other poor countries, if you let down your defences for but one nanosecond, these Cambodian scamps will latch on, and win you over with razor sharp wit and abundant charm. Then they go for the hard sell, hawking a wide selection of tacky trinkets, or less often, just asking for a bottle of coke, some pizza or a couple of bucks.

As we scaled the steep, stone walls of the centuries old temple systems around the ancient city of Angkor, overwhelmed by the sheer scale and majesty of this fallen Khmer civilisation, street kids, some as young as four, constantly nipped at our heels, pleading for us to buy something. These kids followed us as we stepped into the Ta Prohm temple complex, the otherworldly film location for Angelina Jolie's Tomb Raider, skipping nimbly, as we stumbled, over the muscular tree trunks that twisted and twined their way around seemingly indestructible slabs of rock, crushing them effortlessly.

On reaching the pinnacle of a rather high temple tower after a particularly tough climb, I was feeling like a bit of a superhero myself. While doubled over in a wheezing fit and trying to soak up the sweat pouring off my brow, a cute little local girl, no older than ten, skipped down a tumble of large stones, as graceful as a mountain goat, and introduced herself in perfect Spanish. Between gasps, I snorted back in broken Spanish that I was Australian, even though I sound Canadian.

On cue she shot back in exquisite English, "Ah, Australia. G'day mate. Capital city: Canberra. Prime Minister: Mistah Rudd. Population: approximately 20 million. Many kangaroos, and koalas, which are very cute. I love koalas. Do you have some Australian coins? Your money is very colourful."

She concluded with a playful bow, and explained that to fully appreciate the grand splendour of the Angkor temple complex we'd definitely need a guide book, one that was both entertaining and fact-filled.  Out of no where, what appeared to be her younger sister popped out from behind a giant stone with a cardboard tray tied around her neck filled with assorted books. "Only five US dollars", she declared.

A real Spanish tourist was gingerly making his way down the steep, slippery staircase, and she bounded up to him with a winning smile.

"Where you from?" She shouted.

"I am from Barthelona. Spain", he replied out of breath, "and you?"

"Me? I am from my mother!"

And without losing a beat she switched languages, and started speaking Spanish. "Spain. Population: approximately 40 million. Prime Minister: Senor Zapatero. Capital: Madrid. The Spanish are very good at tennis. I like Nadal." And so it went. 

On my many escapades around the world, through Latin America, Africa and Southeast Asia, all very poor geopolitical regions, I'm always stunned at how cluey these street kids are. It's a crazy comparison, I know, but I think of myself at ten years old, and the protected little haven my parents built around me, doing their very best to offer me every opportunity possible.

While the street kids can engage in some sort of exchange in three or four languages, my own grasp of English was questionable. While they wheel and deal, like little Hollywood producers plugging the latest DC Comic blockbuster, I spent one fruitless summer outside our house selling homemade lemonade. If I made one sale mum would treat me like the next Warren Buffet.

I wasn't the brightest spark...

In the developed world, today's kids have their eyeballs glued to their TV screens blasting away sociopaths in the latest version of Grand Theft Auto, while shooting text messages off to each other on their 3G, Bluetooth enabled handsets, arranging to meet at the local shopping mall so they can buy their skinny jeans and oversized florescent t-shirt tops.

But for Cambodia's kids fending for themselves on the street, just getting through the day is an ordeal. They are denied many basic necessities such as education, nutrition, good role models, supportive families, shelter and clean drinking water. Using their street smarts to get a meal or a warm place to sleep, they reminded me of that lovable little tramp from Oliver Twist, the Artful Dodger.

Just like Dickens's cocky cockney kid, they're full of bluff and bluster, giving off an air of invincibility. Like super-absorbent sponges utilising polymer membrane technology, they soak up every bit of information around them, filing the data away in their frontal lobes for later use.

Sure, they possess an uncanny ability to regurgitate memorised lines in multiple languages in an effort to squeeze out a few laughs and perhaps a few dollars from besieged tourists. But without the basic fundamentals of a quality education, it's questionable how far these street smarts will take them. With little or no formal schooling, they can't develop the skills that help lay down the foundation for growth, transformation, innovation, opportunity, a sense of responsibility and equality - all cornerstones of a good education.

Given half a chance, I've no doubt that these kids would excel at school and have the brightest futures. Back on the boat, when I ask Lee what he wants to do in the future, he replies he just wants to improve his already impeccable English.

"Why", I ask?

"So I can continue working on the boat", he responds.

Without any education or any opportunities to get skilled jobs that might help lift them out of poverty, they've little ambition and low expectations for their future.

At the end of the boat trip, my girlfriend and I hand over about ten American dollars - after already being overcharged - and explain that Lee and his friends can use it to help pay for English school.

He takes the money, disappointment painted across his face. "Ten dollars", he shakes his head sadly. "I have to split this with my other friends", he explains, waving his hand in the direction of Nhean and another quiet little guy sitting at the back of the boat. "It is not much. Please can you give me more for our school?"

We reluctantly fork over a few more bucks, leaving us with just enough to get a tuk-tuk ride back to town.

"Thanks" he murmurs, not meaning it, hooks the bow line onto the mooring, and hops onto the ramshackle old wooden pier, which looks as if it might collapse into the water at any moment. Standing there in his skinny jeans and over-sized fluorescent pink and yellow t-shirt, he pulls a mobile phone out of his pocket and starts yapping to a buddy. Are they planning to meet up for a game of soccer or Grand Theft Auto?

Seems like these kids have something in common with their Aussie counterparts after all.