Amazing root systems dominating the architecture
December 21, 2004
Ta Prohm
Ta Prohm is at the opposite end of the spectrum to Angkor Wat. Where the latter has spent much of its life in use and has been, for the most part, well maintained, Ta Prohm is one of the many ruins that has been left to the fate of the jungle…and what a fate! I started my tour of this fascinating ruin by walking along the inside of the perimeter wall from the West to the East gates. Tourists are dropped at the West gate by their guides but, like the majority of the Angkorian monuments, Ta Prohm was built facing East (towards the life-giving rays of the rising sun) and I wanted to approach the inner temple from the direction which its creators had intended. Treading on dead leaves and twigs strewing the narrow path between dense undergrowth and the wall, I became aware of just how quiet my surroundings were. Every step like the fizz and pop of fireworks, echoing off the stone and being swallowed up by the jungle. I stopped to listen to the eerie silence and to appreciate having this ancient ruin to myself. The thick walls were bowed and crumbling with great blocks of stone lying in untidy heaps like the aftermath of giant Jenga. In places it was easy to spot the culprit – massive, gnarled trunks of towering trees that had slowly, imperceptibly expanded outwards to push the walls past their ability to stand. In other places, there seemed to be no reason for the avalanche – perhaps the guilty party having long since died and been swallowed up by the remorseless jungle. Conversely, sections of the wall were being held firmly upright by flying buttresses of root and trunk, the fate of inanimate stone and living organism entwined in a precarious, yet enduring, embrace.
The lower reaches of the walls were virtually covered by a thick tapestry of funnel-shaped webs. The size of some of these was enough to quell any curiosity I had as to the nature of their inhabitants. Visions of flying arachnid assailants avenging the consumption of their deep-fried cousin in Skuon put paid to the urge to poke anything with a stick. Ducking around and under branches was covering me with strands of more conventional webs and I have to admit to being more than a little spooked when I managed to walk face first into a freaky looking spider as I stubbed my toe and tripped over a cunningly concealed root. The little black and yellow monster had a strange, horned carapace which reminded me of a Warhammer Space Marine and I may have said a few unpleasant words as I scrabbled frantically to get the little bugger off me. Once it was safely on the ground, I could see that it wasn’t all that big or threatening and I was sufficiently calmed to be able to take a photo for evidence.
Eventually, after an otherwise pleasant half-hour of walking in solitude, I came to the East gate and the first trickle of other sight-seers.
Passing back through the imposing remains of the gate, I tried to imagine the God-King and his retinue as they processed down the ceremonial road on Hindu holy days. The top of the arch and four-faced carved figurehead of the Hindu deity, Avalokitsheva, had long since crumbled away, but the sheer scale of what remained was enough to convince me of the richness and power of the civilisation that had built them. It must have been a breath-taking sight to see the finery of the king’s entourage in full pomp as they filled the roadway with burnished armour and jewelled costumes. The canopy of towering trees shading the moss-covered remains of the ancient temple gave my surroundings a surreal fantasy aspect. I half expected to hear the musical laughter of elven-folk to come echoing out of the darkness or to round a corner to find a dragon coiled around his treasure in the inner sanctuary. Everywhere you looked there was evidence of the awesome combined powers of Time and Nature. It was plain to see that much effort had gone into clearing and maintaining the grounds to give visitors a better view of the temple’s original layout…but I would have given anything to have been a member of the original group of Frenchmen that stumbled across this treasure in the jungle…I would even have signed up to be French! Trees balanced precariously on rooftops; seemed mid-stride through walls; peered curiously through drunkenly-leaning doorways and made impenetrable shutters over long-darkened windows. Lianas as thick as my thighs draped lazily over eaves and swung carelessly in the slight breeze. Allowed to run wild over so many centuries, Nature had well and truly re-asserted her dominance. Ta Prohm’s fate was a reminder of the ephemeral nature of humanity – even the resources of the mighty Khmer empire could not withstand Nature’s slow, steady onslaught…will our cultures fair any better?
The lower reaches of the walls were virtually covered by a thick tapestry of funnel-shaped webs. The size of some of these was enough to quell any curiosity I had as to the nature of their inhabitants. Visions of flying arachnid assailants avenging the consumption of their deep-fried cousin in Skuon put paid to the urge to poke anything with a stick. Ducking around and under branches was covering me with strands of more conventional webs and I have to admit to being more than a little spooked when I managed to walk face first into a freaky looking spider as I stubbed my toe and tripped over a cunningly concealed root. The little black and yellow monster had a strange, horned carapace which reminded me of a Warhammer Space Marine and I may have said a few unpleasant words as I scrabbled frantically to get the little bugger off me. Once it was safely on the ground, I could see that it wasn’t all that big or threatening and I was sufficiently calmed to be able to take a photo for evidence.
Eventually, after an otherwise pleasant half-hour of walking in solitude, I came to the East gate and the first trickle of other sight-seers.
Passing back through the imposing remains of the gate, I tried to imagine the God-King and his retinue as they processed down the ceremonial road on Hindu holy days. The top of the arch and four-faced carved figurehead of the Hindu deity, Avalokitsheva, had long since crumbled away, but the sheer scale of what remained was enough to convince me of the richness and power of the civilisation that had built them. It must have been a breath-taking sight to see the finery of the king’s entourage in full pomp as they filled the roadway with burnished armour and jewelled costumes. The canopy of towering trees shading the moss-covered remains of the ancient temple gave my surroundings a surreal fantasy aspect. I half expected to hear the musical laughter of elven-folk to come echoing out of the darkness or to round a corner to find a dragon coiled around his treasure in the inner sanctuary. Everywhere you looked there was evidence of the awesome combined powers of Time and Nature. It was plain to see that much effort had gone into clearing and maintaining the grounds to give visitors a better view of the temple’s original layout…but I would have given anything to have been a member of the original group of Frenchmen that stumbled across this treasure in the jungle…I would even have signed up to be French! Trees balanced precariously on rooftops; seemed mid-stride through walls; peered curiously through drunkenly-leaning doorways and made impenetrable shutters over long-darkened windows. Lianas as thick as my thighs draped lazily over eaves and swung carelessly in the slight breeze. Allowed to run wild over so many centuries, Nature had well and truly re-asserted her dominance. Ta Prohm’s fate was a reminder of the ephemeral nature of humanity – even the resources of the mighty Khmer empire could not withstand Nature’s slow, steady onslaught…will our cultures fair any better?
Dawn at Angkor
With a sense of great anticipation, I virtually leapt out of bed when my alarm started beeping at 5.15 the following morning. I packed light – just water, guidebook and camera – but after the chilly pre-dawn bike-ride to Prasat Preah Vihear I was wise enough to don a fleece to fend off the cold. We were soon speeding towards the temples, joining an ever-thickening throng of motos, cars and moto-remorques. The sheer number of tourists had me worried that my Angkorian experience wouldn’t be as personal or as unique as I was hoping. However, I also had faith in my planned route around the sites – Mr. Pol (the guesthouse owner) had informed me that my plans were very strange. Some of that, I’m sure, was just an attempt to persuade me to make greater use of his motorbike services but, if my route was ‘strange’, I figured there weren’t likely to be too many people doing the same thing. First port of call was Angkor Wat, where I was hoping to see the sun rise from behind the famous towers. There were hundreds of people sitting facing the temple at the near end of the causeway leading from the gatehouse. At first, I was able to find an isolated spot off to one side but, as more and more people arrived, this makeshift viewing platform became too crowded for my liking. I upped sticks and wandered down the causeway towards the temple walls and found, to my pleasure, that the nearer I got, the fewer people there were. Eventually, I found myself alone, leaning against the back of a lion at the foot of the stairs that lead into the wat. In the lightening gloom, the crisp silhouette of the five towers rose above the outer walls and seemed to be floating in the dawn sky. Again I felt this strange peace descending on me and for perhaps twenty minutes I sat mesmerised, watching details in the stonework emerge from the night as the sun edged closer to the horizon. Eventually though it became light enough to see that the sun’s birth would be covered by distant clouds. It would be another half-hour before the sun had climbed high enough to clear their cover and I knew that the red and orange hues I was hoping for would be long gone by then. Also, as the growing light was making it possible to inspect the stonework, people were beginning to drift down the causeway to enter the temple. I had no intention of squeezing through the crowds and peering over shoulders to see the famous bas-reliefs. Instead, I headed off to Ta Prohm with the intention of returning to Angkor Wat in the late afternoon, when I knew it would be quieter and there would be another chance to see the walls bathed in the sun’s red light.
December 20, 2004
Sunset over Angkor
Once again I was out of bed while the sun was still climbing lazily into the sky. It’s hard to have a lie-in when the world around you begins flexing its workaday muscles at the crack of dawn. The Khmers are a hard working race and, when there are twelve hours of daylight to be had, they like to take full advantage. Dogs don’t lead a pampered existence in a country that struggles to feed its children – they have only one purpose in life: as four-legged burglar alarms. Consequently, in a country where the Noise Abatement Society would resign en masse and admit defeat, they are rarely discouraged from barking. The dawn chorus of appalling Asian pop, crowing roosters, territorial canines, speeding motorbikes, construction and (inevitably) noisy throat clearing are all the alarm clock a man could need.
I packed up and wandered out into the street in search of a share-taxi to take me to Siem Reap. In no time I was surrounded by a three-deep crowd of eager cabbies, trying to usher me into a motley collection of Toyota Camrys and Nissan Sunnies. I wasn’t overly fussed as to which of these state-of-the-art limousines took me along the last 150km of my 18,000 mile journey to one of the great wonders of the world. As far as my sightseeing agenda on this trip was concerned, Angkor had been my most eagerly anticipated destination. Everything I had seen and heard about this place had placed my desire to experience it above anything else in Asia. In the world, only the lure of Macchu Pichu and the Pyramids of Giza could come close to matching the inexorable draw of this lasting testament to the power and mystique of the ancient Khmer Empire. Impatient to get there, I settled for the driver with the most passengers already signed-up.
We were soon underway and making excellent time along the, recently upgraded, National Highway 6. Tantalising appetisers had me salivating at the prospect as we closed in on Siem Reap: at one point the road crossed over an ancient Naga (mythical serpent) head bridge; away in the distance, abandoned stupas and towers dotted the horizon, confirming our proximity to the centre of an historic seat of power.
On arrival, I checked into a cheap guesthouse at the northern end of town – nearer to the main complex of ruins and far away from the main backpacker destinations. I had absolutely no intention of making any new friends while in town: I wanted to explore the temples in my own fashion, in my own timeframe…and I wanted to use the evenings to take advantage of the wireless broadband to catch up on this blog and to have some time to catch up with friends at home using msn.
I knew that if I went up to the temples after 5.00pm to buy my ticket I would get a free sunset, as the ticket wouldn’t start until the following morning. Armed with a photo and the requisite $40 for a 3 day pass, I rode up on the back of a moto with the owner of my guesthouse in good time for the setting sun. I wanted to savour my first close-up views of the sumptuous Angkor Wat, and for this reason I chose not to walk down its long causeway in the dying light of the day. Instead I asked my driver to take me to Phnom Bakheng (an early temple mountain, built about 200 years before Angkor Wat and about 1km to the north-west), from where I would be able to see the rose hues of sunset as the last rays bathed the Wat’s laterite towers. All of the major monuments from around the Angkor Era were earthly representations of the mythical Mt. Mehru, home of the gods. In its earlier, simple forms – like Phnom Bakheng – these took the form of tiered pyramids with a central sanctuary. Angkor Wat is an extravagant elaboration of the theme and was built at the height of the empire’s power and craftsmanship. The Bakheng is ridiculously popular as a sunset venue as it has a commanding view of Angkor Wat – the monument (The Bakheng) itself, literally crawling with tourists, guides and vendors. A popular way for the fat, lazy and infirm to reach the summit of the hill on which it is built, is to ride an elephant. However, at $10 a pop, I was happy using Shank’s Pony to mount the steep uneven stairway. At the top, rather than joining the melee on the Bakheng, I wondered around to the southern side of the hill and found a suitably peaceful spot, with a view through the trees back to the object of my desire. One lone Khmer girl and I shared a half-hour’s peaceful contemplation as we gazed at, what-must-be, one of the most ethereal and magical monuments ever made by human hands. I can’t describe the sense of well-being and calm that came over me as I watched the lengthening shadows creep up those magnificent walls...I just knew it was somewhere I had always wanted to be and it was as if, by fulfilling this dream, I was making a connection with an unknown past.
Back in Siem Reap, I found myself in the plush, leather-upholstered surroundings of the Foreign Correspondents Club, drinking (very slowly!) expensive beer, served by immaculately turned-out and extremely attractive and friendly staff. I wasn’t trying to recall the high-life of the London clubbing scene…merely taking advantage of the establishment’s wi-fi hotspot to use the laptop. I toddled off to bed at 10 o’clock in preparation for dawn back at Angkor Wat.
I packed up and wandered out into the street in search of a share-taxi to take me to Siem Reap. In no time I was surrounded by a three-deep crowd of eager cabbies, trying to usher me into a motley collection of Toyota Camrys and Nissan Sunnies. I wasn’t overly fussed as to which of these state-of-the-art limousines took me along the last 150km of my 18,000 mile journey to one of the great wonders of the world. As far as my sightseeing agenda on this trip was concerned, Angkor had been my most eagerly anticipated destination. Everything I had seen and heard about this place had placed my desire to experience it above anything else in Asia. In the world, only the lure of Macchu Pichu and the Pyramids of Giza could come close to matching the inexorable draw of this lasting testament to the power and mystique of the ancient Khmer Empire. Impatient to get there, I settled for the driver with the most passengers already signed-up.
We were soon underway and making excellent time along the, recently upgraded, National Highway 6. Tantalising appetisers had me salivating at the prospect as we closed in on Siem Reap: at one point the road crossed over an ancient Naga (mythical serpent) head bridge; away in the distance, abandoned stupas and towers dotted the horizon, confirming our proximity to the centre of an historic seat of power.
On arrival, I checked into a cheap guesthouse at the northern end of town – nearer to the main complex of ruins and far away from the main backpacker destinations. I had absolutely no intention of making any new friends while in town: I wanted to explore the temples in my own fashion, in my own timeframe…and I wanted to use the evenings to take advantage of the wireless broadband to catch up on this blog and to have some time to catch up with friends at home using msn.
I knew that if I went up to the temples after 5.00pm to buy my ticket I would get a free sunset, as the ticket wouldn’t start until the following morning. Armed with a photo and the requisite $40 for a 3 day pass, I rode up on the back of a moto with the owner of my guesthouse in good time for the setting sun. I wanted to savour my first close-up views of the sumptuous Angkor Wat, and for this reason I chose not to walk down its long causeway in the dying light of the day. Instead I asked my driver to take me to Phnom Bakheng (an early temple mountain, built about 200 years before Angkor Wat and about 1km to the north-west), from where I would be able to see the rose hues of sunset as the last rays bathed the Wat’s laterite towers. All of the major monuments from around the Angkor Era were earthly representations of the mythical Mt. Mehru, home of the gods. In its earlier, simple forms – like Phnom Bakheng – these took the form of tiered pyramids with a central sanctuary. Angkor Wat is an extravagant elaboration of the theme and was built at the height of the empire’s power and craftsmanship. The Bakheng is ridiculously popular as a sunset venue as it has a commanding view of Angkor Wat – the monument (The Bakheng) itself, literally crawling with tourists, guides and vendors. A popular way for the fat, lazy and infirm to reach the summit of the hill on which it is built, is to ride an elephant. However, at $10 a pop, I was happy using Shank’s Pony to mount the steep uneven stairway. At the top, rather than joining the melee on the Bakheng, I wondered around to the southern side of the hill and found a suitably peaceful spot, with a view through the trees back to the object of my desire. One lone Khmer girl and I shared a half-hour’s peaceful contemplation as we gazed at, what-must-be, one of the most ethereal and magical monuments ever made by human hands. I can’t describe the sense of well-being and calm that came over me as I watched the lengthening shadows creep up those magnificent walls...I just knew it was somewhere I had always wanted to be and it was as if, by fulfilling this dream, I was making a connection with an unknown past.
Back in Siem Reap, I found myself in the plush, leather-upholstered surroundings of the Foreign Correspondents Club, drinking (very slowly!) expensive beer, served by immaculately turned-out and extremely attractive and friendly staff. I wasn’t trying to recall the high-life of the London clubbing scene…merely taking advantage of the establishment’s wi-fi hotspot to use the laptop. I toddled off to bed at 10 o’clock in preparation for dawn back at Angkor Wat.
December 19, 2004
Temple Mountain
In the cold pre-dawn, I rolled out of bed and got dressed and was ready to depart at the agreed time of 6am. Mr. Wiep, on the other hand was not ready. After informing me that we would now be leaving at seven, he must have rung a friend to ask him to step in – probably after a heavy boozing session and a visit to Sok San, no doubt! Anyway, eventually, his friend came and we set off as the sun was coming up over the plains. It was actually bloody cold as we whipped along at a steady 60km/h…and then it occurred to me that we shouldn’t be doing anything close to those sorts of speeds. Where were the sand traps and big boulders? What had happened to the ox-cart track I was expecting. It seemed there had been some road improvements up here as well!
After about 40km, I came across a strange sight – an Oakleys-sporting, backpack-shouldering giant wandering through this country of small people. I asked the driver to pull over and found myself talking to an affable American who had evidently undertaken the same trip as me. It turned out he was on his way back from the temple after trying, and failing, to cross the border into Thailand there. He too had stayed at Heng Heng guest house and had also been ripped-off by the cunning Mr. Wiep. The village at the foot of the temple mountain was, apparently, only another 5km up the road…and there was no need for anyone to guide you up the mountain as there was almost a road leading up to the top. I wished him luck as he headed west looking for a border crossing and continued on my way feeling slightly miffed.
Once in the village, I left my ‘guide’ to his own devices and strode off up the mountain. Judging by the digging equipment and sections of paved road, I’d say the road to the top will be finished within 6 months…and I felt kind of glad that I would be one of the last people to do it the ‘hard way’ before busloads of fat Yanks would take away its meaningfulness. Sweating profusely, I reached the top in a little under an hour – leaving me 2 hours to explore, before having to return to my moto.
And what a stunning, breath-taking, awe-inspiring two hours they were. From the top of this rocky ridge, it was easy to see why the Khmer emperors had wanted to consecrate this place. The views over the lowland plains to the South and into Thailand to the North are commanding. The temple itself is a testament to just how advanced this civilisation was, while Europe was still stuck in the early Dark Ages. If this was pre-Angkorian architecture, I couldn’t wait to see the edifices built at the height of their civilisation…my appetite was well and truly whetted. The complex, over a kilometre in length was on a scale hard to imagine 1100 years ago and, even at this time, the stone-carving and masonry were exquisitely crafted. There were two modern counterpoints to this ancient splendour: bullet holes in some of the walls from the Khmer Rouge’s last stand here in1998 and the sight of teams of workers for HALO, clearing landmines right up to the temple walls. It was a sad reminder that nothing in this world is sacred.
Back in Choam Ksant that evening, Rin took me to a festival at the local wat, celebrating the blessing of some new building or other. I was taken aback by the sheer number of people, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere to party and have a good time. There was some traditional dancing from the local children and a carnival atmosphere prevailed with hot food stalls and the sounds of children laughing. I turned out to be one of the main attractions as person after person came to rest their head on my shoulder and point out how tall I was…some of the cheekier girls were squeezing my arms and thighs, as if sizing up a piece of livestock at the market. Not sure how to return the compliment without causing offence and limited by a lack of language skills, I did a runner and went to bed.
The next day I made the return journey to Kompong Thom in two episodes: the first, in the trusty pick-up (with inevitable tyre-changing incident), the second, in a share taxi. Please imagine the trip from Tbeng Meancheay, not in a 4-WD but in a Toyota Camry…me alone in the front passenger seat; driver and someone else sharing the driver’s seat and foot-well; and four adults and a small child in the back. Apart from actually arriving at all, the only major surprise was that we didn’t get a flat tyre. I retired wearily to bed with the promise of the splendours of Angkor Wat awaiting me the following day.
After about 40km, I came across a strange sight – an Oakleys-sporting, backpack-shouldering giant wandering through this country of small people. I asked the driver to pull over and found myself talking to an affable American who had evidently undertaken the same trip as me. It turned out he was on his way back from the temple after trying, and failing, to cross the border into Thailand there. He too had stayed at Heng Heng guest house and had also been ripped-off by the cunning Mr. Wiep. The village at the foot of the temple mountain was, apparently, only another 5km up the road…and there was no need for anyone to guide you up the mountain as there was almost a road leading up to the top. I wished him luck as he headed west looking for a border crossing and continued on my way feeling slightly miffed.
Once in the village, I left my ‘guide’ to his own devices and strode off up the mountain. Judging by the digging equipment and sections of paved road, I’d say the road to the top will be finished within 6 months…and I felt kind of glad that I would be one of the last people to do it the ‘hard way’ before busloads of fat Yanks would take away its meaningfulness. Sweating profusely, I reached the top in a little under an hour – leaving me 2 hours to explore, before having to return to my moto.
And what a stunning, breath-taking, awe-inspiring two hours they were. From the top of this rocky ridge, it was easy to see why the Khmer emperors had wanted to consecrate this place. The views over the lowland plains to the South and into Thailand to the North are commanding. The temple itself is a testament to just how advanced this civilisation was, while Europe was still stuck in the early Dark Ages. If this was pre-Angkorian architecture, I couldn’t wait to see the edifices built at the height of their civilisation…my appetite was well and truly whetted. The complex, over a kilometre in length was on a scale hard to imagine 1100 years ago and, even at this time, the stone-carving and masonry were exquisitely crafted. There were two modern counterpoints to this ancient splendour: bullet holes in some of the walls from the Khmer Rouge’s last stand here in1998 and the sight of teams of workers for HALO, clearing landmines right up to the temple walls. It was a sad reminder that nothing in this world is sacred.
Back in Choam Ksant that evening, Rin took me to a festival at the local wat, celebrating the blessing of some new building or other. I was taken aback by the sheer number of people, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere to party and have a good time. There was some traditional dancing from the local children and a carnival atmosphere prevailed with hot food stalls and the sounds of children laughing. I turned out to be one of the main attractions as person after person came to rest their head on my shoulder and point out how tall I was…some of the cheekier girls were squeezing my arms and thighs, as if sizing up a piece of livestock at the market. Not sure how to return the compliment without causing offence and limited by a lack of language skills, I did a runner and went to bed.
The next day I made the return journey to Kompong Thom in two episodes: the first, in the trusty pick-up (with inevitable tyre-changing incident), the second, in a share taxi. Please imagine the trip from Tbeng Meancheay, not in a 4-WD but in a Toyota Camry…me alone in the front passenger seat; driver and someone else sharing the driver’s seat and foot-well; and four adults and a small child in the back. Apart from actually arriving at all, the only major surprise was that we didn’t get a flat tyre. I retired wearily to bed with the promise of the splendours of Angkor Wat awaiting me the following day.
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