The World & The Seven Seas: Khmer Dream

(Or, Everyone Should Visit Cambodia. Really. Trust Me. Part 2)

Apsara Orgies with Shiva and Vishnu

(Or, Temple Hopping in Ancient Angkor)

The roto-blade of the small airplane whizzed precariously close to my head. Though protected by the body of the plane, I was certain that if the propeller decided to spin off, it could definitely slice through the thin metal chassis and turn me into a ground meat smoothie. I sat back into my seat and tried to fall asleep. Luckily the flight from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap was only 40 minutes.

On the ground at Siem Reap International Airport, the busiest airport in the country, we met Hol Ny (as in, "Oh, me so"), our tour guide and babysitter for the journey, and Pov ("pohv"), our trusty driver. Ny ("nee," as in "The Knights Who Say"), a tall and lanky 29 year old from Siem Reap with a 2-year old son and aspirations for a career in IT, would prove to be an invaluable cultural broker and friend, his kindness and honesty a refreshing glimpse into a land and culture that we could only view as over-privileged outsiders.

In the early morning haze, before the misery of the high-noon sun could beat us into submission, we rushed into the wilds to begin our first day of temple hopping in ancient Angkor.

Thanks LP. Follow our route with the little red dots.

Angkor Field Guide, Day 1:

Driving north along the bumpy road leading into the heart of the Angkor Archaeological Park, we passed a children's hospital surrounded by a horde of dirty babies and tots waiting for free vaccinations. Across the street, tourist shops sold overpriced goods for over quadruple the monthly salary of the poor parents waiting in the vaccine queue. Tourist buses carted loads of Koreans and Japanese from upscale hotels to the temples, along new roads paved by funding from their overseas countrymen. The crowds increased as we drew near to the entrance. Visiting during high season was a great idea.

Once tickets are purchased (one day, $20; three days, $40; one week, $60 USD), you must hold on to them. Checkpoints at temple entrances and along the roads within the archaeological park make spot checks to ensure people have paid (heftily) to visit these treasures. You'll want to keep the ticket handy (most tour groups provide lanyards to hang around your neck), lest you waste time searching for it in your pocket or pack and end up swamped by the little urchins that flood the tourist areas to peddle their goods.

These kids, ranging from Neil's-hip-height to Neil's-shoulder-height, are an aggressive little lot with admirable sales skills. For one thing, their English is good. Scarily so.

Sample entrepreneurial exchange:

Cute little tout: "Hello lay-deee, you buy scarf from meeee?"
Lady: "No thanks..."
CLT: "Lady, you so pretty. Wheah you frum?"
Lady: "I am from Malaysia..."
CLT: "Ooooooh, Ma-lay-see-ah. What's yo name?"
Lady: "Angela..."
CLT: "Oooooh, like an-johl ("angel"), An-johl-a, so plittee ("pretty") An-johl-a, you buy scarf from meeeee."
Lady: "Maybe later...."
CLT: "OK, pretty An-johl-a, lay-deeee from Ma-lay-see-ah, when you come out, you buy from me. I remembah youuuu. You buy scarf from me."

This smooth exchange was one of many, where the cute little touts mustered all of their English skills to make the sale. Ny told us that most of the kids went to school for half the day, then practiced their sales skills and English for the other half. 5 years old and already with a part-time job. These roving bands of children are everywhere.

Not surprisingly, I was the only one to succumb to their charms, buying a few things with USD that I thought would serve them better than those overpriced tourist shops. It was nearly impossible to haggle over a few bucks when I knew the same product was seven times more expensive in the shop. I later learned that it was not advisable to buy from them, as it promoted child begging and the money would go to the pimps anyway. Like China. Like Slumdog. I knew better, but those cute little faces...

And that's the second clincher. They are really cute. Overwhelmingly so. The little ones especially. Seeing a miniature princess with puppy dog eyes begging you to buy 1 USD's worth of junk is hard to ignore. When the fun and games end and they start to get desperate, it is tough. Walking away with a child begging behind you as you shut the door of an air-conditioned van in their face is not something I am proud of doing multiple times over the duration of the trip, but the cost of paying every kid that asked for 1 USD would have amounted to more than our entire trip combined. In the end, we purchased packs of biscuits and sweets, opting to hand those out to the kids instead of giving them our money. At least they were guaranteed to benefit directly from the caloric boost.

The little angel on the left was four-fingers years old, cutie on the right was nine-fingers.
(I was ten-ten-nine fingers to them. Or just crazy...)
We didn't have enough treats for all the kids (about 10 others not shown), so the big sis gave hers to one of the little boys.

Adorable

At our first stop, there weren't many kids, but a flood of Koreans. I tried to drown them out, but there were just too many anyang-haseos. We were overwhelmed and outnumbered.

Before us loomed the gates of Angkor Thom ("big city"), a massive compound established in the late 1100s, sprawled out over 9 square kilometers. While the Angkor Wat complex receives the bulk of the attention around here (rightfully so), Angkor Thom is an entire walled city (over ten times the size of Beijing's Forbidden City) containing vast amounts of archaeological riches.

Jayavarman welcomes you to Angkor Thom

Through the towering southern gate, topped with giant stone faces, the exploration of Angkor Thom should commence at its crowning masterpiece, Bayon Temple. Famous for over 200 massive stone faces of the same dude atop the gates (King Jayavarman VII, the most badass of Khmer kings) that smile mysteriously upon you from every angle of the creepy, layered maze, Bayon should be a priority.

"And that's where the Khmer Rouge ruined that, and that's where the Hindus defaced that..."

Weaving through the dark hallways of the first level, completely hidden from the melting sun and prying eyes of European tourists, past carvings of sexy apsaras (celestial dancers) and grotesque beaked Garudas, I almost lost my bearings in the shadows. Barely thin enough to squeeze through the pillars, taking great care to avoid lobotomizing myself on the low ceilings, I scurried around like a chipmunk on meth, so excited to live out yet another Indiana Jones fantasy that I almost bust a nut.

I'm actually stuck. Help?

One of the few with face/head unscathed

JUMP! Bayon Temple

I found a quiet staircase unencumbered by the weight of hundreds of tourist feet and ventured into the sunlight. Emerging onto the upper level via the steep staircases on each of the four sides, I could almost reach out and touch the giant faces (not advised, oil on your fingers damages the stone). Like all temples in the area, if you manage to visit Bayon when the crowds are thin, you will be overwhelmed by the scale of this project. We are all but tiny, meaningless, minuscule dots in this universe; King JV7 reigns supreme.

Steep Climb

Chillin' Like Jayavarman

Monks and Korean Tourists

The Official Bayon Head Nose-Picker

Hello Jayavarman!

Sick of these head shots yet? Not me!

And now it's time for a monk interlude. Check out those robes! Me likey.

And now we return to boring you to death with facts and learnings...

Walking north, we neared Baphuon, a foreboding temple dedicated to Shiva that looks like a stack of moldy Legos. An elevated causeway leads visitors to the gate of the temple, but it's cooler to jump off the path to check out what's below. Underneath, rows of endless pillars support the walkway. Once I hopped down to squeeze between them, I could see the temple from a totally different perspective. Like peeking under a young damsel's dress.

Below the walkway

Long, ain't it?

Baphuon was closed on the day of our visit (even archaeological restorers need a break), so we walked through the shady forest around the perimeter. On the western flank (the side opposite the entrance) is a monstrous carving of a reclining Buddha. Though unfinished, you can just barely make out the outline of Buddha's head. If completed, it would have been breathtaking.

Don't know if you can see it, but that hunk of rock on the right is the Buddha

Further north past a pair of bathing pools (large one for ladies, tiny puddle for gents), we were humbled by Phimeanakas, a steep pyramid that requires superhuman calves to climb. There's only one shaky, wooden staircase to go up and down, which is a pain in the ass when people start pushing. The other three wooden-stairless sides of the temple have big signs warning visitors not to climb the original, crumbling rock steps. I certainly wouldn't advise it unless you were a rock climber: at a roughly 60-degree angle, the ascent can cause vertigo or fainting for a lily-livered wuss as me. A pair of idiot Australians made a valiant attempt, forging ahead even after numerous tour guides tried to get them down. Embarrassed for my white-skinned brethren, I shook my head disapprovingly and from a safe distance, waiting patiently for my turn up the stairway of death.

Those idiots tried to climb this.

Logistic genius: only one staircase.

View from the top

State of disarray

The descent, though aided by those rickety wooden planks, is no less daunting, as the pressure of a row of tourists pushing behind you as you face a steep plummet to a messy death can create a ton of anxiety. The view from the top is nice, but unless you just have some inner voices ordering you to conquer another temple summit, just move on to the next stop and spare yourself the heat exhaustion.

Through the thicket of towering gum trees, we emerged from the forest onto the Terrace of the Elephants, an elevated patio set before the entrance to the leafy glen, which used to be a greeting ground for visitors. Super boring and not at all what I expected from something with such a superbly badass name. Lined with detailed statues of elephants fighting various jungle carnivores and a whole party of winged Garudas, it is essentially a stone stage. Yawn. The Terrace of the Leper King, so named for the mysteriously androgynous statue found at the center, is just an extension of the elephant stage. After a morning of Buddhist and Hindu sculpture and carvings at other more impressive temples, this was easily forgettable.

Dear Ganesh, please bestow us with LUNCH.

Garuuuudaaaa!

The high noon sun was brutal. Smearing the sweat from my brow with an already sweat-soaked bandanna, I gazed into the distance with a dramatic grimace. Across from the twin terraces, I noticed a series of curious towers looming near the tree line. Twelve in all, Prasat Suor Prat were allegedly used for tight rope walking. From tower to tower, acrobats would tip-toe across woven ropes, entertaining the royal families of ancient Angkor. In such a holy and revered space, I thought it was refreshing to see something so whimsical.

Cirque du Angkor

Near exhaustion, we stopped for a late lunch. The Cambodian national dish -- amok, a steamed curry-like mix of meat and veggies steamed in coconut milk -- was on the menu. Fried noodles, morning glory with chili, and baked fish capped us off. The typical food we had during the trip was much the same: similar to Thai but not as painfully spicy, similar to Chinese but with more pep and dynamic flavoring. We also enjoyed an Asian remedy classic: Coca Cola with salt, to replenish the loss from sweating.

Still craving this stuff. SO GOOD.

Once we had injected a much-needed dose of caffeine into our systems, we hit a personal highpoint on our journey, Preah Khan. For one thing, nobody was around. I don't care which temple you're visiting, but if you are lucky enough to have one all to yourself, soak that shit up because you won't be blessed with the same fortune again. Our luck was bestowed at the right spot. Preah Khan is a sprawling compound, with a seemingly endless procession of dank, spooky rooms that repeat like a mad M.C. Escher nightmare. In almost every room, a shiva linga (those magic cock rocks from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom) sits peacefully in the center, the stone phallus representing the god of creation/destruction jutting into the air like a hefty rounded choad.

Modern Ablution: with bottled water

Those Angkorians must have been tiny.

Shiva wasn't the only guy destroying things around here. Buddhas were beheaded during the Khmer Rouge sightseeing tours. Nature has reclaimed part of the land by toppling hallways and collapsing roofs, portions of the temple torn apart by giant trees growing straight through the stone. In the center of the temple, a tall cavernous room has walls with countless empty sockets, looking like a crater-faced teenager with debilitating acne. These hollow holes were once filled with sparkling gems, which were allegedly swiped by the Frenchmen that "re-discovered" the Angkor temples. Peering up at the walls soaring high to the ceiling above, those crafty frogs made a killing.

Splitting headache

Tree reclamation: seeds/pollen dropped on stone, bird shit fertilizes, voila.

I'm sure a few Korean tourists are buried under there...

Look at all those gem-holes!

In a musty recess of the temple, Ny pointed to a tiny entrance that leads to a quiet side room that houses a shrine to one of the Devi sisters (my notes fail me here). If you don't smash your face open on the low lintel (really, it stings), climb through a second smaller door (more like a window) into an even tinier area with a hidden shrine to her sister, the other Devi lass whose-name-I-didn't-bother-to-record-in-my-notebook.

Cramped inside the suffocating womb, the smoke of incense and the smell of age enveloping us in a tight grip, her expressionless face peered out at us from the black rock. We were at the center of her universe, in one of the deepest crevices, all but missing from the outside world. Had her demon ghost decided to possess one of us and embark on a ravenous soul-devouring horror ride, no one would ever know. A superstitious member of our party got the heebie jeebies and ordered me not to take any pictures of this spot, lest any dark spirits accompany me back to Shanghai. I knew better. I was too spooked to turn my camera on.

Back in the fresh outdoor sun, we traipsed our way through the Hall of Apsaras, the former labyrinth where the kings personal sexy dancers would perform a private show for his majesty, flocks of these slinking girls undulating through the hallways. My overactive imagination could only concoct a fraction of the debauchery that went on here. Oh, to be a king.

On the way out, we passed a massive tree growing through the outer wall of the compound. One of the roots looks like an elephant trunk, thus giving it a catchy name for tourists to remember. This thing was huge.

Behold the trunk! (does it count as a pun?)

As my cohorts continued onward, I lagged behind to see it close up. Hopping down from the elevated walkway to the grass below, I ran past a towering pile of crumbled stone to the base of the tree to say hi to Mr. Elephant. Lying in a bed of crunchy fallen leaves, I peered up into the heart of the tree. Yellow and orange butterflies fluttered beside me and not a soul was around. All I could hear were the dry leaves rustling in the breeze and some insect chirps. My back on the ancient stone, sunbeams breaking through the trees and warming my chilled sweat, I could have drifted off into the happy land of afternoon naps. For a brief moment, Preah Khan was mine.

Top to toe

That night, we planned to join the throngs of tourists atop Phnom Bakheng, the highest hill in Siem Reap, for the famous sunset. Photographers flock here for shots of the sun setting over the misty western plains of Siem Reap. I didn't know what the fuss was about.

Pretty, but not worth fighting the crowd pretty...

Behold the gawking masses!

Bullet holes left behind by the lovely Khmer Rouge

We came early to beat the crowds, which was a smart move. Once we wound our way up the hill (more like a mountain), folks with tripods had already covered the western edge of the temple like grubby lichen. In an hour, the temple would disappear underneath the crush of triple the amount of revelers.

Waiting for the photo-op

We climbed the dangerous steps to the top, snapped a few photos, and then made our way right back down. The descent was bad enough without the pressure of the masses, so I couldn't imagine how big of a disaster it would be after sunset, when hundreds of idiots would vie for a chance to climb back down. I could only picture a disastrous scene involving crushed skulls and little tourist brats raining from the sky. These steps are no joke: Ny told us an old Japanese tourist fell down the steps at Angkor Wat in recent months, snapping a few vertebrae in the process. Fun.

JUMP! Phnom Bakheng

Safely off the temple, which was now flooded with gawkers, we fought our way through the mess of people marching the opposite way up the mountain. They would never make it in time, as the sun was already setting, but the constant stream was impressive. There must have been hundreds that passed us as we walked back down the mountain. I shook my head and giggled. The post-sunset surge down Bakheng would be a riot. Literally. And that view wasn't even that spectacular.

That night, we made our way to Bar Street (also called Pub Street, so very misleading), a hip and happening strip of shops and restaurants in the heart of Siem Reap town, catering almost entirely to the tourist trade, bars and eateries surrounding the old market at the center. This was a lot more lively than Phnom Penh, more akin to the busier sections of Singapore's Little India or Arab Street at night. We enjoyed a filling (and cheap!) meal at Khmer Kitchen, made famous after a fabled visit by Rolling Stones head geezer, Mick Jagger. The food was worth the fuss and we returned to our hotel filled with beef lok lak (stir fry topped with a fried egg), shrimp lab (super spicy stir fry) and Angkor beer.