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Admiring Angkor

Lydia Dean in Angkorwat

It’s late on a Saturday evening and we are twiddling our thumbs in our village house in the South of France, nibbling on the only thing left in the house --hard bits of bread and ham. Impatiently we wait for the appropriate hour to set off for the airport, our most cherished place, the place that swipes the plate clean and leaves all our undone life details in the dust. We are transplants here from Orlando, Florida happily swishing in foreign waters. And while we have settled down comfortably in this land of wine, lavender and bureaucracy, the familiar nudge to look around the corner has us swimming again, this time pulling us deep into the heart of Asia.

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Grumbling stomach sounds coming from my husband drag me out of a thick muddled sleep. A quick look at the watch…4:30 am, “John…we need to get up soon,” I whisper, trying not to wake the kids. He groans and heads for the bathroom. I slip on the shirt and pants I had left in a heap by the bed the night before and stop briefly to gaze at my sweet babies, who somehow without me knowing it, have grown into spirited, loveable and inquisitive 7 and 9 year olds. John appears from the bathroom pale and disheveled. The air in Bangkok during the prior week must have somehow seeped into his stomach. We slip out the door, carefully closing it. I try to dodge a pang of fear and guilt for leaving the children alone for a couple of hours. What if they wake up? I push away the wave of anxiety and quicken my pace. Travel has you doing all sorts of things you wouldn’t dream of doing at home. Trust, faith and gut instinct take the driver seat on the road--elements that for some reason are less relied upon in our normal worlds but until now have served us well in unknown terrain.

Just yesterday at the airport we had begun to line up with all of the others at the counter to apply for a tourist entry visit. Out of nowhere a man sweeps in, dressed in what looked like official clothes and approaches us at the end of the line. He spoke no English. Singling us out he snatches our passports and cash required for the visas and disappears. We wait and wait, and begin to worry about the consequences of him not returning. My mind runs through the list of horrible eventualities. Cambodia is just recently open to tourists, finally finding peace after decades of war, poverty, genocide, and atrocities unimaginable to most of us. Until the late 90’s, it was not a safe place for travelers to venture as Khmer Rouge guerillas still occupied certain areas and land mines lurked everywhere. But our man returns, beaming a warmth we would find common among Cambodians. Grinning from ear to ear, he hands us the passports and visas all in order, stamped a million times, with exact change in hand. I am reminded once again to Trust more.

We have come to Siem Reap in Cambodia to visit the famous temples of Angkor Wat, what has now become a premier historical site in Asia. In 1992, the UNESCO World Heritage Committee declared the monument, and the whole city of Angkor, a World Heritage Site. Visitors from all over the world are said to experience something incredibly powerful, something otherworldly whilst in the temples midst. Some argue they rival the Great Pyramids and Taj Majal in artistry. The temples at Angkor, numbering over 100, date back to the 9th and 13th centuries AD during the height of the ancient Khmer Kingdom that ruled much of Indo China, the area now known as Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam and Laos. Spread across 200 square kilometers, the monuments are in vastly ranging states of preservation. Some stand splendidly proud seemingly untouched by history while others are leveled, reduced heaps of stones with mother nature’s massive roots vying for power. Years of looting during the civil war have left parts stripped and naked. Only recently have they been cleared of land mines, which for many years posed major threats to those seeking to restore, explore, or simply view the monuments. Some guidebooks still advise to stick to the marked paths.

“Are you going to be ok?” I ask John as we nestle into our tuk-tuk taxi. But I know the answer. He would have to be on death’s door to be anywhere else right now. I can tell that like me, he is captivated by the moment as we wiz by huts bearing small fires cooking pre-dawn breakfasts. The magic in the soft cool air has us somewhere beyond thought or realities of stomach pain. I tuck myself under John’s warm arm and breathe in the smoky humid air.

The streets of Siem Reap are flooded with water from the night’s rain and we create a wake that floods the sidewalks on either side. We weave through the outskirts of town, past a bizarre mix of old markets and funky deco bars. The begging children who were carrying tiny infants slung around their waists and tugged at our shirts selling postcards are nowhere to be found at this hour. The streets had been lined with countless men sitting on straw mats with missing limbs, exposing the devastating consequences of land mines. Cambodia is still considered one of the poorest countries in the world. The horrors committed in the not so distant past leave a heaviness lingering in the dense air. Fragility hovers, but the ring of hope for a bright future resonates as well amidst whirling noises of hotels being built to support a burgeoning tourist industry. Newfound peace and tourism, with the temples Angkor at their epicenter, have helped pave a new road for Cambodia.

At this hour we can’t see, but we can feel the weight of the great jungle trees around us. Entering the Southgate we can barely make out the grand stone snake heads lining the road that had the previous day been the playground for a pack of monkeys. The tuk-tuk stops and the driver motions for us to get out. There is still no light of day. The driver takes off down the road leaving us alone in the dark. Silently we turn to face the slight outlines of Banteay Kdie, a sprawling mainly unrestored monastic complex. Behind its majestic entrance a path leads to a sea of black jungle growth. “Coffeeeee Madame!!! Bracelets Madaaamme” I jump ten feet startled by a small figure of a child. Incredibly persistent and energetic, she follows us into the temple entrance. After a dozen attempts she drops her head and shuffles back to a dark hut, unsold bracelets dangling from her slight hand.

Searing forest noises fill the air as we meander down the path into a world hundreds of centuries gone by. Once inside the falling stone temple, with only the light of the moon to lead our way, serenity takes hold. We surrender to our senses, the cool walls, the darkness, the lingering incense, to the history filled roots pushing their way through the massive slabs of stone. There is tremendous silence alongside tremendous noise from the jungle. The outline of my husband slips away from me as we take different routes through the maze of dark hallways adorned with shrines, heaps of stone and growth. Identity slips away and a comfort rolls in like a warm blanket.

Khmer architecture and bas reliefs found at Angkor reveal a time immensely rich in mythology, cosmology and spirituality. Intricate carvings of Hindu Gods and epics such as the Ramayana are revealed in the walls. Shifts to Buddhism brought carvings of Buddhas and Angkor Wat remains an essential shrine for monks and Buddhist pilgrims. Certain temples are thought to represent the universe in stone, an earthly model of the cosmic world linking the mundane to the divine, terrestrial versions of the heavens. Rulers hoped such structural efforts would link them to the Gods. Our close friend and photographer encouraged us to visit certain temples at sunrise when the light was particularly special and heat of the day yet to penetrate. We had already toured some of temples on our first day at high noon, and were so wrapped in astonishment over the grandeur it was hard to imagine it could get better. It had been a hot and steamy scene with vendors selling grilled corn, cut fruit and small sacks of green curry. Hoards of tourists milled around, and flashes of orange robed monks flew by on the back of motorcycles.

As vivid shades of orange and purple to begin to stripe the sky with the awakening sun, we wander back out of the darkness into the sunrise towards Srah Srang overlooking the lake. More little ones with more dangling bracelets run up the path beckoning “coofeeee madame!!!!!” A million shades of color now splash themselves across the dawn sky. Several groups of tourists zoom up in tuk-tuks and descend with cameras in hand. They wave off the vending children like flies and make a beeline for the edge of the lake, snapping and chatting loudly. The scene has changed and I want to go, to leave and preserve what it was I had felt.

With wind and grins on our faces we head back to Siem Reap, to our sleeping beauties. Creeping back into the room I gaze at my two children still deep in sleep, no doubt with visions of Cambodia, its rice fields and stilted fishing villages floating through their little heads.

The following morning we relive the magic all over again, yet this time with the children. The thought of leaving such an astonishingly spiritual place without sharing with them the experience at sunrise would have been a crime. This was why we had brought them-- to inspire them to venture out, to connect and see the world in new ways--to feel things they have never felt before.

Before dawn, all four of us pile into the tuk-tuk and bundle up with hotel towels to keep us warm. This time we head to Ta Prohm, the “Jungle Temple” built from 1171-1181 by the great Khmer King Jayavarman VII as a Buddhist monastery and university. Within the 2.5 acres of the temple an amazing 12,000 people lived, in addition to close to 80,000 others living in nearby towns to support temple life. Still relatively untouched by archeologists, it’s a wild intermingled mess of temple and trees. Colossal fig, banyan and kapok trees have forced themselves into the temple structures breaking and upturning the stones.

How does a 7 and 9-year-old take in such a place? One might question their ability to comprehend the temples’ power, history and beauty. How could they even begin to fathom their significance? While I offered them some background or historical information on the temple, I had no expectations of them. I wanted them to sense the freedom I had, to let them wander aimlessly through the broken corridors as we had the previous day at Banteay Kdie, guided only by a faint light, jungle sound, and scented air. I sat quietly and watched as they silently weaved in and out of chambers, peered wide-eyed through windows, how they gently patted the massive roots of the trees as if offering their respects.

We leave Angkor Wat, its glorious temples and funky Siem Reap after three days. It felt supremely short. There were more sunrises to enjoy. The experience had been a union of spiritual, historical and natural worlds in perfect balance and symmetry with one another, where majestic landscape and monument become one and heaven and earth reach for one another. Angkor’s beauty and power are therefore close to indescribable. From the most rubbled to the most preserved, these wondrous remains continue to evoke unrivaled mystery and awe. There is something truly imposing there, something bigger than us. I left and vowed to return again.

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Lydia Dean divides her time between Mas De Gancel and living in a village house nearby during the off season. She still has ties to India where she volunteered at an orphanage some years ago - devoting revenues from their other rental houses to a girls orphange there. Drop her a line at Lydia Dean or visit her website at www.masdegancel.com

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