Angkor Wat: “Erected by some ancient Michelangelo”
On our first full day in Cambodia, we purchased 3-day passes for $67 for Angkor Wat, a place so revered by Cambodians that it is on their flag. It is the largest religious monument in the world—covering almost 500 acres.
Built in the 1100s AD as a Hindu temple and a capital city for King Suryavarman II’s Khmer Empire, it was converted to a Buddhist temple later that century. Later, it would nearly be abandoned. In the mid-1800s, a French explorer named Henri Mouhot wrote about Angkor Wat, and reestablished interest in the complex:
“One of these temples—a rival to that of Solomon, and erected by some ancient Michelangelo—might take an honorable place beside our most beautiful buildings. It is grander than anything left to us by Greece or Rome…”
A moat had stopped the jungle from overtaking the temple, but the complex needed much help to clear vegetation and restore some buildings. Today Angkor Wat, with its surrounding temples, is a UNESCO world heritage site.
We took a remork (Cambodian tuk tuk) to the temple, enjoying the cool morning air breezing on us in the carriage. Through the residential side streets, and main road motorbike chaos, into the red dirt land of Cambodia on the road to Angkor Wat, those rides were a favorite part of our day—talking to Sothea (the driver), and seeing life along the streets of Siem Reap.
Just outside the main entrance to Angkor Wat, we decided last minute to hire a guide to walk with us through the complex. Our expectation was that he’d take us to the most meaningful spots (he did), allow me time to photograph (he did not), and tell us about the complex with both facts and local stories. We got the facts—spewed at us without context or passion as we ran to keep up with him. Any questions set him to rewind-repeat-data mode. One hour of this fast-moving, fact frenzy for $15. Whew. I was glad to hear him say, “Time is up. You want ‘nother hour?” “No sir, thank you.” And that was the first and last day we used a guide. From then on, we decided to wander, see what we saw, and look it up in our book—a pace better suited to us.
Red Yarn Blessings
It was after our guide left us that we heard a soft young voice chanting, and saw the teenage boy making the song. He was a monk. Shaved head, wrapped in an orange robe, seated in front of a woman and her young daughter. We watched and waited, and when they stepped down, we stepped up. He indicated our shoes. We took them off. He pointed to our places to sit. We sat, Bryan to my right. And then he began chanting while looking down at his accoutrements and monk tools. Next, a raised a scooper out of a bucket of water and shook it in our direction. I covered my camera in my lap and welcomed the cool drops of water in this 90+ degree humid day. He looked at me and indicated my left wrist. I offered my arm and he began tying a red-braided piece of wool yarn around my wrist while chanting—knotting it once, twice, how many times? He then took scissors and carefully cut off the excess. Then he did the same to Bryan’s right wrist. Bryan put money in the young monk’s basket, and we reached to get our shoes. I turned back to the young monk and asked him, “How old are you?” He hesitated for so long that I thought he did not understand my language, and / or was not going to answer. But as I picked up my shoes, he ever-so-quietly said, “Fifteen,” waited a heartbeat or two, and then smiled at me. My heart melted a little as I smiled back and said my best “saum arkoun nay” (Thank you in Khmer…I hope) and I stood to go.
The red string is to remind the wearer to be compassionate, to mind the tongue so as not to harm with words, and to be fearless, courageous, and brave. Some say it protects too—absorbing negative energy until it can hold no more, and falls off. As I write this, it is nearly seven months later, and the red yarn blessing is still secure on my wrist, and the young monk’s shy smile is tucked tight in my memories. I like this red yarn and its reminders.
Spirit Houses
As we walked around Siem Reap, we noticed colorful little houses on pedestals, often placed near door ways. The birdhouse-sized structures sometimes had offerings on their little patios—burning incense, a little bowl of rice, fruit slices, a piece of bread or cake, a cup of coffee, a shot glass of liquor or soft drink. These are spirit houses. Some are ornate, some simple and plain, and each one intriguing. I learned that they are common in Southeast Asia, and are considered a place to shelter and appease restless spirits, and to invite the good spirits of those recently departed. Friendly spirits are said to congregate in the spirit houses to enjoy food and drink, and it is their presence that keeps bad spirits away.
The Night Market
After a daytime of touring, we’d return to the hotel for a little rest and to clean up. At sundown, we walked into the old town for dinner. In the cool of the evening, more people were out, laughing and talking, eating and visiting. We went to the touristy Pub Street to find meals, and ventured into the circus of the Night Market.
The Night Markets were always interesting. There were narrow lanes containing hundreds of small stalls selling brand-name knock-off clothing and accessories. One could also find souvenirs and t-shirt vendors, dimly-lit and calm massage shops–where several tourists always sat in recliners getting foot massages, and bright carnival-like stalls where tourists climbed up to sit and dangle their feet in a fish tank—the fish eating dead skin from their feet. In the streets, amputees begged with a poetic cadence, and the music of bands of land mine victims drifted into the night like smoke. Little girls demonstrated high spinning toys and glow necklaces, and served as translator when tourists bought the novelties from their nearby mom. Women sold fried tarantulas, scorpions, and snakes for snacks from large display tables hanging from their necks. There was so much going on there–and always the smells of moped exhaust, woodsmoke, and lemongrass.
Such strange and different things to see, but also so many things the same as home. And the hoards of tourists—all together, in places where we can buy bottled water, eat from a menu printed in English, find a cheap, fake version of an expensive brand, and be all together to marvel and be shocked by seeing fried scorpions served on a stick.This was everything I’ve come to love–and hate–about travel. As fascinating as it was, I longed to be away from this—away from the mobs of other tourists and the universal salad of globalization. Of course, being here in Cambodia makes me part of the problem.
I’m curious how other people feel about the increase in tourism and what it does to the places we all go. There are the crowds, the traffic, the overbooked hotels. And on the other hand, there’s an economic bump to the area. But who gets the bulk of the profits? My guess is the international company coming in, not the people who live there (who may only earn a small wage working for the tourism industry). Does anyone else worry about this, and plan trips differently as a result?
Cambodia prints available on Etsy.