The servers would dance elegantly between the tables in their colourful peasant smocks, smiling as they side-stepped the occasional groping hand of a client.

It led me to ponder one circulating theory - that this was all a complex form of espionage... the talented and attractive waitresses had been placed here to seduce high-value visitors, like me perhaps, to extract valuable state secrets?

To test that idea, I ventured a conversation with Yong, the waitress serving me, who did speak some English.

"How are you? Where are you from?"

"Pyongyang", she replied (OK, so that was a pretty stupid question).

"How long are you here in Cambodia?"

"Three years. I go home in one year."

"You like it here? You want to stay here?"

"No, I miss Pyongyang," she replied.

I wasn't sure but did I detect a slight clenching of her jaw there?

She was polite but a little stiff. If this was seduction, I was Kim Il Sung. I tried a more direct approach.

"Where do you live?"

"Upstairs."

"Gosh, how many of you live up there?"

"A secret. It's a secret," she smiled icily. And then, more firmly, as I moved to pull out my camera, "No, no photos allowed."

So instead I turned to an elderly South Korean doctor sitting nearby. He told me he'd recently been asked to treat a couple of the young ladies when they'd got sick.

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