Yama, the Supreme Judge, directing the dead to their rightful place in either Heaven or Hell
December 21, 2004
Angkor Wat
People who know me are painfully aware of how I like things to be ‘just so’. That’s only the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid. I’m actually a full-blown anal retentive…I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m obsessive…there’s just a certain way I like things to be. My bookshelves must have books in descending order of size (although I’m thinking of switching to a computerised Dewey-Decimal system when I get back…;-)…I’m kidding!); there’s a certain place for the cutlery; each size plate belongs in a certain part of the cupboard; if I doodle, it’s in geometric shapes…and as everyone knows, I’ve got to have a plan…for everything. Now, I’ve alluded to this in this blog before and, as I said then, one of the great joys of travelling has been the opportunity to give up some of my order-loving ways and just go with the flow. However, one thing that my structured little mind will never tire of is symmetry. (Don’t worry, I’m coming to the point now…)
At a distance, as I walked down the great central causeway to Angkor Wat, the one thing that truly struck me was the beautiful, perfect, unreal symmetry of her great towers. This overwhelming geometrical perfection had the curious effect of making the main structures appear to hover above the grassed parklands and lakes. It could have been a trick of the light or a touch of weariness after my long walk in the sun, but the laterite walls seemed to shimmer like a desert mirage and the whole impression was of seeing something that wasn’t really there. Of course, I’d seen photos of Angkor before and I’d read many books about the monuments and their religious and cultural significance. However, as you come through the doorway of the outer gatehouse, nothing can prepare you for the ethereal sight that greets your eyes. The great stone causeway draws your eye several hundred metres to the temple steps, where this unearthly monument rises up to meet the deep blue sky. Seeing it in all its glory in the afternoon sun, literally stunned me. It must have caused me to gasp out as well because, when I noticed people eyeing me quizzically, I also realised I’d forgotten to breathe in again. Never has a man-made artefact had such an effect on me. I doubt the photos here will induce the same effect for you but, having witnessed this incredible illusion, I only need to see these pictures to see the temple floating again.
One of the unusual features of Angkor Wat is that it faces West (the direction of death). There is still some debate as to the Wat’s primary function, but this unusual orientation has led some scholars to claim that it was built primarily as a mausoleum. Yet the functional aspects, the powerful spirituality of the architecture and the fact that it seems to have been in use since its construction (a major factor in the startlingly good level of preservation) have led many to believe that it served a dual purpose, as both mausoleum and working temple. It is another (highly elaborate) symbolic representation of the mythical Mount Mehru and, as such, travelling through its outer precincts and climbing up into its central sanctuary is like journeying to heaven. In no hurry to make this spiritual transcension, I savoured each level and layer for its beauty and appreciated the role each part played in this enormous symmetrical puzzle’s whole.
From the bas-reliefs in the outer galleries, to the beautifully constructed libraries, the stonework and carving have an exquisite precision. I tried to imagine the pools filled with dark water, reflecting the soaring towers in brilliant sunshine. Climbing almost vertical steps gave the impression of how difficult the spiritual journey should be and looking out, down the towers and across the walls to the surrounding grassland, I felt remote and majestic on my lofty throne. Scurrying beneath me, like ants on the march, the tourist hordes were my loyal subjects, come to pay their dues. It is an unusual and overpowering place and, as I retired to the terrace to watch the sun’s evening colours play, I felt light-headed as I tried to shake of Angkor Wat’s bewitching spell. If there’s one place I’d recommend anyone to visit in Asia…this is it!
At a distance, as I walked down the great central causeway to Angkor Wat, the one thing that truly struck me was the beautiful, perfect, unreal symmetry of her great towers. This overwhelming geometrical perfection had the curious effect of making the main structures appear to hover above the grassed parklands and lakes. It could have been a trick of the light or a touch of weariness after my long walk in the sun, but the laterite walls seemed to shimmer like a desert mirage and the whole impression was of seeing something that wasn’t really there. Of course, I’d seen photos of Angkor before and I’d read many books about the monuments and their religious and cultural significance. However, as you come through the doorway of the outer gatehouse, nothing can prepare you for the ethereal sight that greets your eyes. The great stone causeway draws your eye several hundred metres to the temple steps, where this unearthly monument rises up to meet the deep blue sky. Seeing it in all its glory in the afternoon sun, literally stunned me. It must have caused me to gasp out as well because, when I noticed people eyeing me quizzically, I also realised I’d forgotten to breathe in again. Never has a man-made artefact had such an effect on me. I doubt the photos here will induce the same effect for you but, having witnessed this incredible illusion, I only need to see these pictures to see the temple floating again.
One of the unusual features of Angkor Wat is that it faces West (the direction of death). There is still some debate as to the Wat’s primary function, but this unusual orientation has led some scholars to claim that it was built primarily as a mausoleum. Yet the functional aspects, the powerful spirituality of the architecture and the fact that it seems to have been in use since its construction (a major factor in the startlingly good level of preservation) have led many to believe that it served a dual purpose, as both mausoleum and working temple. It is another (highly elaborate) symbolic representation of the mythical Mount Mehru and, as such, travelling through its outer precincts and climbing up into its central sanctuary is like journeying to heaven. In no hurry to make this spiritual transcension, I savoured each level and layer for its beauty and appreciated the role each part played in this enormous symmetrical puzzle’s whole.
From the bas-reliefs in the outer galleries, to the beautifully constructed libraries, the stonework and carving have an exquisite precision. I tried to imagine the pools filled with dark water, reflecting the soaring towers in brilliant sunshine. Climbing almost vertical steps gave the impression of how difficult the spiritual journey should be and looking out, down the towers and across the walls to the surrounding grassland, I felt remote and majestic on my lofty throne. Scurrying beneath me, like ants on the march, the tourist hordes were my loyal subjects, come to pay their dues. It is an unusual and overpowering place and, as I retired to the terrace to watch the sun’s evening colours play, I felt light-headed as I tried to shake of Angkor Wat’s bewitching spell. If there’s one place I’d recommend anyone to visit in Asia…this is it!
Angkor Thom
After enjoying the physical exercise on my excursion to the temple mountain a few days previously, I had decided to continue the good work and walk as much as possible around the sights of Angkor. Not only would it be healthier (a consideration with the waistline expansion brought on by Vietnam and beach-life), but I hoped to be able to soak up more of the atmosphere of my surroundings and take my time exploring some of the minor ruins on the way round. Another benefit of toiling down the hot dusty roads between the temples was that I was guaranteed to have that much more time in my own company. This certainly paid off, for in all my wanderings, the only tourists I saw were at the temples themselves. It’s probably just as well - what with the fierce sun and the denseness of the jungle that grew right up to the road’s edge, I spent the entire day doing what I do best (apart from eating!): perspiring.
On the 2mile walk to the gates of Angkor Thom, I visited several smaller sites - nothing of major architectural or historical significance in relation to those sites that I describe, but each contributed to the sense of scale of the former grandeur of the Khmer empire. The sheer number of monuments and their innate symbolism is enough to convince you that those responsible for their construction were both sophisticated and powerful.
Approaching the Victory Gate of the walled city of Angkor Thom, you are greeted with the sight of two of the most enduring and recurrent themes in Khmer culture. The causeway leading up to the bridge is lined by two Naga-head balustrades. To the left, 21 demons haul back on the serpent’s body; to the right, 21 gods perform the same mythical tug-of-war. This architectural contrivance symbolises the Churning of the Ocean of Milk - a famous scene from the Hindu Ramayana, which is depicted time and again throughout ruins from the Angkorian and pre-Angkorian eras. The second ‘star’ of Angkorian architecture is the benign face of Avalokitsheva, facing out East from the top of the gate (and in each of the other cardinal directions). His smiling, tranquil visage appears time and again throughout the major ruins - there is some contention that Jayavarman VII (one of the most productive Angkorian God-Kings in terms of monuments built) bore a certain facial resemblance to Avalokitsheva - so simple vanity may explain his prevalence.
At over 6 metres high, the 8km perimeter wall surrounding Angkor Thom must have seemed imposing and utterly impregnable to the great city’s inhabitants. Unfortunately, this obviously wasn’t the case as, like all far-reaching empires the Khmer civilisation collapsed in on itself and was eventually overrun by its neighbours. For several centuries though, at the height of the Khmer’s power, the symbolic power of this mighty city and nearby Angkor Wat were the jewels in the empire’s crown.
Walking down the road into the city, you are greeted by the sight of the symbolic temple mountain of The Baphuon. The outer perimeter is surrounded by the extended bas-relief mural of the Terrace of Elephants. On the second level is the equally impressive Terrace of Lepers - depicting historical Angkorian figures with missing limbs. The inner buildings of the Baphuon are now in an advanced state of ruin (although re-construction projects are as prevalent here as in the rest of the Angkorian sites) but had once been the royal residences during the Angkor Thom’s period of ascendancy. The sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky and I decided to find shelter and take an early lunch before pressing on to the treasures awaiting at The Bayon and Angkor Wat.
Unlike the other major Angkorian monuments, The Bayon is not one that impresses from a distance. It looks less like an imposing temple mountain and more like the guttering remains of a cheap tallow candle. Of course, time, ransack and nature have taken their toll on the former centrepiece of the walled city and it’s not until you are up close that you can appreciate some of its former splendour and the scale of its masons’ achievements.
A walk around the base of this three-tiered temple reveals bas-relief carving on an epic scale. At some three metres in height and stretching right around the base for over 240metres, the tales of Khmer military triumphs, heavenly dramas and aspects of daily life are intricately carved in stunning detail - most of which has survived in excellent condition. I spent over an hour studying this stone canvas - the delicate strokes of Angkor’s artisans tell a thousand stories: great armies marching to war; fishermen fishing; torturers torturing; nymphs dancing and the great histories of a civilisation playing forever on this frozen silver screen. Much as Ta Prohm is a reminder of Nature’s ability to erase man’s achievements, so The Bayon’s galleries are testament to Man’s success at leaving his mark on the world.
The second tier of this ruin is a confusing maze of tumbled blocks and fallen archways but it is still possible to get a sense of the architectural symmetry, befitting of the walled city’s central monument. Walking clockwise around this second tier, weaving between towers and through the cool shade of inner chambers, you feel the pressing urge to move inwards and upwards. The construction wants to lead you to some central, focal point from whence the purpose of this intriguing edifice will become clear.
As you clear the steep steps leading to the third (and final) tier, you feel the scrutiny of many searching eyes from all directions. Everywhere you turn, the benevolent features of Avalokitsheva / Jayavarman can be seen, smiling on his modern-day pilgrims. A series of 54 towers (purportedly representing the 54 former provinces of the empire) are topped by his beatific countenance in each of the cardinal directions. It seems the Bayon’s ultimate purpose was to keep a watchful eye over the far reaches of the empire at its greatest extent. While much of the stonework is in poor repair, it is still possible to imagine the effect that these many smiling faces must have produced. Spend a few minutes under their gaze and the tranquillity they project begins to engender a sense of well-being and calm. With these watchful eyes protecting the far boundaries of the empire, the God-Kings must have felt safe and secure inside their great walled city. Was this sense of security and well-being responsible for the eventual, final downfall of the Khmers? Did they lapse into unwatchfulness and idleness, lulled into a false sense of security by their benevolent guardian? Certainly the military might of the empire must have been weakened by the great expenditure of resources and manpower on such substantial construction projects. The tradition of honouring one’s dead predecessor by the God-Kings had led to the construction of more and more extravagant edifices - probably contributing to the end of the empire…but also culminating in the ultimate, exquisite expression of Khmer culture: Angkor Wat. As I walked the final 2km from The Bayon, I finally felt ready to explore her secrets.
On the 2mile walk to the gates of Angkor Thom, I visited several smaller sites - nothing of major architectural or historical significance in relation to those sites that I describe, but each contributed to the sense of scale of the former grandeur of the Khmer empire. The sheer number of monuments and their innate symbolism is enough to convince you that those responsible for their construction were both sophisticated and powerful.
Approaching the Victory Gate of the walled city of Angkor Thom, you are greeted with the sight of two of the most enduring and recurrent themes in Khmer culture. The causeway leading up to the bridge is lined by two Naga-head balustrades. To the left, 21 demons haul back on the serpent’s body; to the right, 21 gods perform the same mythical tug-of-war. This architectural contrivance symbolises the Churning of the Ocean of Milk - a famous scene from the Hindu Ramayana, which is depicted time and again throughout ruins from the Angkorian and pre-Angkorian eras. The second ‘star’ of Angkorian architecture is the benign face of Avalokitsheva, facing out East from the top of the gate (and in each of the other cardinal directions). His smiling, tranquil visage appears time and again throughout the major ruins - there is some contention that Jayavarman VII (one of the most productive Angkorian God-Kings in terms of monuments built) bore a certain facial resemblance to Avalokitsheva - so simple vanity may explain his prevalence.
At over 6 metres high, the 8km perimeter wall surrounding Angkor Thom must have seemed imposing and utterly impregnable to the great city’s inhabitants. Unfortunately, this obviously wasn’t the case as, like all far-reaching empires the Khmer civilisation collapsed in on itself and was eventually overrun by its neighbours. For several centuries though, at the height of the Khmer’s power, the symbolic power of this mighty city and nearby Angkor Wat were the jewels in the empire’s crown.
Walking down the road into the city, you are greeted by the sight of the symbolic temple mountain of The Baphuon. The outer perimeter is surrounded by the extended bas-relief mural of the Terrace of Elephants. On the second level is the equally impressive Terrace of Lepers - depicting historical Angkorian figures with missing limbs. The inner buildings of the Baphuon are now in an advanced state of ruin (although re-construction projects are as prevalent here as in the rest of the Angkorian sites) but had once been the royal residences during the Angkor Thom’s period of ascendancy. The sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky and I decided to find shelter and take an early lunch before pressing on to the treasures awaiting at The Bayon and Angkor Wat.
Unlike the other major Angkorian monuments, The Bayon is not one that impresses from a distance. It looks less like an imposing temple mountain and more like the guttering remains of a cheap tallow candle. Of course, time, ransack and nature have taken their toll on the former centrepiece of the walled city and it’s not until you are up close that you can appreciate some of its former splendour and the scale of its masons’ achievements.
A walk around the base of this three-tiered temple reveals bas-relief carving on an epic scale. At some three metres in height and stretching right around the base for over 240metres, the tales of Khmer military triumphs, heavenly dramas and aspects of daily life are intricately carved in stunning detail - most of which has survived in excellent condition. I spent over an hour studying this stone canvas - the delicate strokes of Angkor’s artisans tell a thousand stories: great armies marching to war; fishermen fishing; torturers torturing; nymphs dancing and the great histories of a civilisation playing forever on this frozen silver screen. Much as Ta Prohm is a reminder of Nature’s ability to erase man’s achievements, so The Bayon’s galleries are testament to Man’s success at leaving his mark on the world.
The second tier of this ruin is a confusing maze of tumbled blocks and fallen archways but it is still possible to get a sense of the architectural symmetry, befitting of the walled city’s central monument. Walking clockwise around this second tier, weaving between towers and through the cool shade of inner chambers, you feel the pressing urge to move inwards and upwards. The construction wants to lead you to some central, focal point from whence the purpose of this intriguing edifice will become clear.
As you clear the steep steps leading to the third (and final) tier, you feel the scrutiny of many searching eyes from all directions. Everywhere you turn, the benevolent features of Avalokitsheva / Jayavarman can be seen, smiling on his modern-day pilgrims. A series of 54 towers (purportedly representing the 54 former provinces of the empire) are topped by his beatific countenance in each of the cardinal directions. It seems the Bayon’s ultimate purpose was to keep a watchful eye over the far reaches of the empire at its greatest extent. While much of the stonework is in poor repair, it is still possible to imagine the effect that these many smiling faces must have produced. Spend a few minutes under their gaze and the tranquillity they project begins to engender a sense of well-being and calm. With these watchful eyes protecting the far boundaries of the empire, the God-Kings must have felt safe and secure inside their great walled city. Was this sense of security and well-being responsible for the eventual, final downfall of the Khmers? Did they lapse into unwatchfulness and idleness, lulled into a false sense of security by their benevolent guardian? Certainly the military might of the empire must have been weakened by the great expenditure of resources and manpower on such substantial construction projects. The tradition of honouring one’s dead predecessor by the God-Kings had led to the construction of more and more extravagant edifices - probably contributing to the end of the empire…but also culminating in the ultimate, exquisite expression of Khmer culture: Angkor Wat. As I walked the final 2km from The Bayon, I finally felt ready to explore her secrets.
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
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