Beautiful gardens leading to Preah Ko, Roluos
December 22, 2004
Leaving Cambodia
I enjoyed two further days exploring the outlying Angkorian and pre-Angkorian sites. I saw nothing that made as big an impression on me as the places I’d seen on my first day – but the sheer number and scale of the monuments really has to be seen to appreciate what the Khmer God-Kings bequeathed us.
The early-era monuments of the Roluos group, while lacking the fine detail of later constructions, are still resplendent in their beautiful symmetry. The capacity of ancient engineers to move and store water is widely demonstrated throughout the area…long channels, huge reservoirs and ceremonial bathing pools abound.
Banteay Srei, supposedly the site of the most exquisite carving, was a disappointment because large areas (including some of the finest stonework) were cordoned off for restoration work. I didn’t take a trip out to Beng Mealea as I didn't fancy sitting on the back of a bike for the long trip. At the very least, that’s two more reasons to re-visit Angkor.
There are a vast number of international and local restoration projects going on. The French and the Japanese, particularly, seem to be taking the lead and, while more people are inevitably going to come to Angkor, it seems there will be more to see…and perhaps one day it will be possible to see the sights as their architects intended. As for me, nothing made me happier than heading back to Angkor Wat on my final afternoon to see the sun set one last time on her magical walls.
It was also a time to reflect on my Cambodian adventures before my bus journey to Bangkok. Cambodia is an incredible place. As with many parts of the developing world, there is abject poverty juxtaposed with extravagant wealth. Unfortunately, this legacy has come from the organisations trying to help the country back on its feet. The massive influx of UN-workers and a variety of NGOs with well-paid staffers has served to create a dual economy, where the poor don’t really seem to benefit from the rich tourist dollar. More than anywhere else I’ve been, the shocking lack of infrastructure away from the main tourist routes makes rural Cambodia seem very wild and remote. I truly got a sense of the ‘road less travelled’ when I ventured into the northern hills. Serendipity Beach was like being back in the Philippines. Angkor lived up to my wildest expectations. Ultimately, though, in a country with such a disturbing recent past (and living with the legacy of its un-cleared landmines) the warm-hearts and smiling faces of the Khmer people are what made my sojourn here so pleasant. To have lived through what these people lived through and to still be capable of generosity, trust and kindness is truly amazing. Cambodia, above all the places I’ve visited on this journey, has a special place in my heart. I will definitely be back.
The early-era monuments of the Roluos group, while lacking the fine detail of later constructions, are still resplendent in their beautiful symmetry. The capacity of ancient engineers to move and store water is widely demonstrated throughout the area…long channels, huge reservoirs and ceremonial bathing pools abound.
Banteay Srei, supposedly the site of the most exquisite carving, was a disappointment because large areas (including some of the finest stonework) were cordoned off for restoration work. I didn’t take a trip out to Beng Mealea as I didn't fancy sitting on the back of a bike for the long trip. At the very least, that’s two more reasons to re-visit Angkor.
There are a vast number of international and local restoration projects going on. The French and the Japanese, particularly, seem to be taking the lead and, while more people are inevitably going to come to Angkor, it seems there will be more to see…and perhaps one day it will be possible to see the sights as their architects intended. As for me, nothing made me happier than heading back to Angkor Wat on my final afternoon to see the sun set one last time on her magical walls.
It was also a time to reflect on my Cambodian adventures before my bus journey to Bangkok. Cambodia is an incredible place. As with many parts of the developing world, there is abject poverty juxtaposed with extravagant wealth. Unfortunately, this legacy has come from the organisations trying to help the country back on its feet. The massive influx of UN-workers and a variety of NGOs with well-paid staffers has served to create a dual economy, where the poor don’t really seem to benefit from the rich tourist dollar. More than anywhere else I’ve been, the shocking lack of infrastructure away from the main tourist routes makes rural Cambodia seem very wild and remote. I truly got a sense of the ‘road less travelled’ when I ventured into the northern hills. Serendipity Beach was like being back in the Philippines. Angkor lived up to my wildest expectations. Ultimately, though, in a country with such a disturbing recent past (and living with the legacy of its un-cleared landmines) the warm-hearts and smiling faces of the Khmer people are what made my sojourn here so pleasant. To have lived through what these people lived through and to still be capable of generosity, trust and kindness is truly amazing. Cambodia, above all the places I’ve visited on this journey, has a special place in my heart. I will definitely be back.
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.
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