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Published: August 19th 2007
Angkor Wat - Gopura from Inner Enclosure
This is only the driveway to the mansion. Much more lies ahead...No matter what type of soup it is, I always down the broth first, then I go for the main ingredients after which it is named. At a pasta meal, I put aside the spicy sausage until the linguine is finished. I savor each bite until my plate is empty; it belnds quite well with wine. In the classroom the most engaging or entertaining lessons are left for right before the end of the unit, a day or two before the exam. I hold the game, activity, or interactive video as a reminder of what is to come when and if the class holds up its end of the bargain. When travelling through Southeast Asia, it is no different. I have finally reached the hyper-touristed city of Siem Reap. Despite its commercialism and monolithic economy, what lies just north of town proves without question that I have saved the best for last.
Cambodia’s entire monetary lifeline is linked to Siem Reap, a city where international flights arrive daily. Siem Reap’s whole booming existence is tied to the architectural epicenter of the country’s vast ancient Khmer civilization. Hidden from view on and protected on all four sides buy a two hundred yard
Angkor Wat - Second Enclosure
This is an inner cloister, of which there are many. Some have draped Buddha statues, odd for a Hindu temple... wide moat, it is the world’s greatest religious monument. No photos, accounts or research can prepare anyone for its complexity. It is the greatest building complex ever put together by human hands. Only when stepping away from the island and taking the time to reflect do I conclude that people of the world fall into two very distinct categories: those who have seen Angkor Wat, and those who haven’t.
I thought I knew what to expect. I anticipated greatness, but not to this extent. Only when I approached Angkor Wat’s moat did I know where I was. I had my senses about me. As soon as I set foot on the causeway and approached the first eye-catching entranceway, or gopura, I entered another dimension of thought, expression, and religious devotion I never knew existed. If alive today the architects of Angkor Wat would run their eyes over the most famous Loire Châteaux and comment, “That’s it? Well, Chambord seems like the right place to house a few chickens.” Never has religious symbolism taken on such a mindblowing scale.
The elaborate work on the outer walls alone makes one pause. The temple is a series of three leveled enclosures crowned by
five amazing towers at its apex. The two thousand-plus sandstone apsaras (a semi-naked female deity) carvings and bas-relief battle scenes alone put Angkor Wat in the running for one of the world’s finest art museums.
As I walk on the elevated causeway through the first open enclosure, I marvel not just at the restored libraries, but also at the precise symmetry of the temple’s design. The precision con continues into the inner courtyard. Every pond, balustrade, and gallery are flawlessly reflected when looking east to west. The interior platformed cloisters are cool and breezy. Carvings, inscriptions and detailed trim assail the eyes. The scale of Angkor Wat is far too much for anyone to digest or even begin to understand in one visit. To go only once is to dip your foot in a sparkling swimming pool on a blistering hot day, but not be allowed to take a swim. It redefines what Westerners understand to be a cultural icon.
Just when it is impossible to consider anything in the same category of Angkor Wat’s splendor, there is Angkor Thom. At the center of the nine square kilometer island city, is its most outstanding achievement, the Bayon. It is
Angkor Wat - Third Enclosure
To the towers...Yes, the climb is treacherous. The descent must be down very slowly. If you fall, don't bother calling a lawyer. This is Cambodia... hard to fully appreciate it from a distance. Its details are too fine to distinguish and it comes across as an amorphous mountain of green and grey tinted stone. Moreover, the Taiwanese tourists passing to the right atop Asian elephants for the ten dollar, one kilometer “trek” don’t do much to the set the scene. Only when having climbed to the upper level does the impact of the Bayon take over. It is Angkor Wat’s brash, prodigal Buddhist relative, determined to make its own mark among the great monuments of the ancient world. It does not disappoint.
Debate still rages on the number of carved smiling faces that adorn the Bayon’s towers. One guide put it at twenty-seven towers times four faces for each compass direction. There used to be more towers, and therefore more faces, I am told. Nevertheless, the intricacy of the Bayon’s narrow outdoor passageways and central massif boggle human understanding. The artwork alone is a treat. The fusion of the carvings, doorways, and connecting chambers lure visitors in astonishment. The Bayon’s intimidating, but compact outlay puts it on par with Angkor Wat. If at Angkor only one day, this pair is a must. The dynamic duo
Angkor Wat - East View (Rear)
Odd, I had this view to myself. No one there. The sun was perfect. It took me 30 minutes to leave this spot. Beautiful does not describe it... of the Bayon and Angkor Wat is not only why people come to Siem Reap, but Cambodia as a whole. They are their best face for the entire nation.
It will then be imperative to ask oneself what more could there possibly be in the environs that could possibly top this? How many more superlatives can any human dole out and still maintain their appropriate impact? Is it best just to leave Angkor now, knowing that I have been allowed to walk through the halls of greatness? Will the rest of the week be a letdown?
No, hardly. Angkor’s brilliance rests in its variety, provided each site is taken at face value and not compared to its extravagant comrade, Angkor can be savored much like a fine red wine. It requires work, some research, and the willingness to talk very little, listen attentively, and observe keenly.
On the particular day I visited, the Bapuon was closed to the public. Its Aztec features could easily deceive anyone into thinking that the bulky temple belongs among the pyramids at Teotihuacán. Because it is under restoration by the French government, only the causeway, raised on round pillars, is accessible. To each side are
Welcome to Bayon
The Masterpiece on Angkor Thom... hundreds of cubed blocks of stone, all with a painted identification number. When the time is right, portions of the temple will be replaced and restored as intended and performed by the Khmers centuries ago. Nowadays, the only memorable feature of the causeway and the first enclosure straight up to the temple wall is the flock of boisterous and chatty Italians. As with the Vietnamese at Angkor Wat, they find the sound of their own voices far more important than the beauty that surrounds them. Angkor is meant to be savored in silence, a point lost on thousands of daily visitors. Bapuon’s shroud of construction material does not confuse me. Better that organizations care enough to take care of it than let it fall to pieces like many of its cousins in the park already have. I stare at the scaffolding, yellow mechanical cranes, steel-reinforced concrete walls, and pale blue water pipes and am pleased. In time, the five-tiered Bapoun will assume its original status among the consequential members of the Royal Palace on Angkor Thom.
In front of Bapuon stands the Elephants Terrace, currently being trampled by thousands of camera-toting tourists. I recoil at the sight of it and
The Face of History
I think he is smiling at me... them. I am more appalled at the notion that adult tourists must, for some inexplicable reason, place themselves between a camera and something far more important than the smile of their own face. It destroys the intended target, the terrace. Moreover, back home in Leeds, their friends already know what they look like. I briskly walk away, almost in a jog, to escape the horror. As I cross the street and make my way to the Suor Prat towers, I recoil at the ants dressed in t-shirts and shorts behind me trotting back and forth on the terrace. I know I am one of them. Yet, I will reserve my time with the terrace when it can afford to share itself with me on a more exclusive basis. From the third northern Suor Prat tower, I once again look back, but this time at the road. It is an endless convoy of puttering tuk-tuks with their human cargo in tow, bound for temples to the east. There has to be a better way of doing this, I say to myself. But to make a change so drastic to how tourists get around the park would put hundreds of men instantly
More Bayon
The walk through the upper level stunns the first-timer... out of work.
My tower at Suor Prat is no more attractive than the other eleven. Many require support beams to keep them from toppling over. The crowds dismiss the towers because they pale when compared to other nearby neighbors. I take refuge inside one of the freestanding vermillion alcoves and claim it as my own. Through a window, I see darker gables at the top of each of its brothers. The tower is absent of art. Even better than that, it is absent of people. I permit Rodrigo, an Australian-educated Colombian from Medellín, to enter my realm. He is original in that he carries no camera with him. Though I prefer to take prolific notes instead of hundreds of photos, even I could not sacrifice failing to record Angkor visually. But for Rodrigo, he does not want a camera to interfere with his visit and lessen what he sees and recalls. The rest of our conversation centers around latin American women. We are in agreement that too many wish for their lives to be like that of a season finale episode in a telenovela, It must drip with intrigue, infidelity, and drama. Rodrigo and I also agree that we
Bapuon
Closed that day...Many loud Italians... could do without any of that.
“But, Richard, if you seek a beautiful woman in Colombia, drama is part of the package. As you say in English, very high maintenance.”
Decapitated guards form the balustrades on the bridge when entering Preah Khan. A central passageway from the east leads guests through the galleries of what once was thought once to be a Buddhist university. A substantial amount of reconstruction is still needed at Preah Khan, yet its significant state of decomposition enhances its appeal. The deeper into the passages one enters, the more it seems like a hall of mirrors when looking back at the entrance. Side passages are buried in immense blocks. Large wooden supports struggle to keep the exterior walls from caving inward under a massive amount of weight. Apsaras, semi-naked deities carved into the sandstone, adorn the ruins in the hundreds. The rear of Preah Khan is a treat. Tree trunks have melded with the stone. In some spots, roots have split the blocks open and squeezed through walls over a foot thick.
The Angkor Archeological Park is unquestionably the world’s greatest collection of ancient architecture in one place. Do not think it on par
Elephants Terrace
No mystery why it was named as such... with a national park in the United States or Europe. However, there are a few areas where the Cambodians have successfully administered the grounds for the betterment of the monument s and those willing to travel so far to see them. Within the park borders must be the cleanest land anywhere in Cambodia. Teams of workers plow through the roads and footpaths and pick up any loose trash, including plastic water bottles. Even without the monuments, the park’s tidiness is a relief from the eyesores that pock the rest of the country. Its lush, uncorrupted greenery is enough to merit exploration without stepping into a single temple. Park officials have placed placards in front of various species of plant life, assigning them their common name in English and their scientific classification. It helps others to know what type of vegetation reigns supreme in the park. If injuring yourself while climbing or descending, calling a lawyer in Cambodia will get you nowhere. You were stupid enough to go up the sixty-degree staircase, now live with the consequences. Sue-happy Americans and ambulance chasers take notice. Cambodians, many who depend upon the park for their survival, live in the park. Within walking distance
Suor Prat Towers
I claimed on of them as my own... of Angkor Wat’s moat are the same straw homes the Big Bad Wolf could blow down on his second puff. Cattle are tethered to trees and chickens peck on loose pieces of bark.
Cambodians can enter the park free of charge. Foreigners, easily identifiable, pay a fee well beyond the means of Cambodians. A single day at Angkor is twenty dollars. In a way, it is a steal just to go to Angkor Wat and the Bayon alone. Yet only one day at Angkor is the same as going to the Coliseum in Rome and saying you’ve been to Italy. Three days set back a person forty dollars, and a full week goes for sixty. I think it is bargain. In fact, I am so taken with the inspiration of Angkor, I would pay triple, one hundred eighty dollars for the week, and not think twice. It would still be a steal. Of course, I am not going to suggest this to park authorities. In the back of my mind, I cringe at the thought of whose pockets are being lined under the table. Of course, Europeans moan about what the cost does to their budgets. At the worse-case scenario,
Preah Khan
Left the way it was discovered... it will cost the average Dutchman or Swede less than fifteen euro to see the most magnificent archeological ruins they will ever know. Yet fifteen euro back home won’t get them a dinner and two drinks in a casual restaurant. Neither camping nor other forms of accommodation are permitted at Angkor. I have even heard some British and Australians complain.
There are no guesthouses, hotels, or resorts. In order to rest your head at night, it’s back to Siem Reap. No development for private economic purposes has taken place, at least not yet. Let’s hope it stays that way.
Naturally, Angkor does come up woefully short in other aspects. Very few temples have placards or explanations of their basic outlay and historical facts. Perhaps that is to ensure tour guides provide this, protecting their domain. Vendors sell knockoff copies of informative guidebooks. It would not be in their interest to give out any free information about the sites for public consumption. Toilets are so well hidden or placed in corners of the park, it is better to keep your legs crossed for hours or sprint behind a few trees. Of course, the condition of the facilities is far below Western
Prasat Kravan
My personal favorite. Austere, but stately... standards. Make sure you do your bodily business before going to Angkor. The park desperately needs a shuttle system. Again, this would terminate the jobs of many tuk-tuk drivers. Yet, with large buses shooting off in different direction every five or ten minutes, it would cut down on the noise, noxious emissions, and unsightliness of the idle red chariots. Helicopters circle over Angkor Wat. For seventy-five dollars, tourists can get an aerial perspective. While below, the flying noisemaker destroys the peacefulness far worse than any tour group. Hot air balloons are more popular and tasteful. They are less intrusive and a more colorful option.
The temples require stricter guidelines for tourists’ behavior. “No touch” signs should be omnipresent. Unless grabbing a wall in order not to fall, there is no reason to scrape fingers along or poke at centuries-old apsaras for the sake of saying you could. Each contact with humans damages artwork that can never be replaced. In the United States, every monument would be roped off. I feel fortunate to be this close to the walls and carvings. But thrilling unbridled access still has its downside.
Though it will never happen, something has to be done to eliminate
Ta Prohm
One of the most photgraphed images at all of Angkor... the hundreds of children whose parents send them to accost tourists to sell bracelets, postcards, and other useless trinkets. I concede it is an annoyance I cannot change. But the sight of five-year-old children performing forced labor is revolting. They have memorized all the proper questions and expressions to broker a sale. “You buy postcard one dollar.” “You want cold drink?” You like buy from me. Give me dollar. Give me dollar, good man.” I can deal with adult touts. They ask me, “Where you from?” as an opening line. I dismiss them much as I would any flying insect. But they are adults, fully capable of understanding what they do and why foreigners reject them. But children do not. It is tantamount to child abuse. I will have more to say on this later.
Perhaps the park’s most egregious misgiving is not the lack of education for its visitors, rather its lack of passion. Passion is left up to the individual. Nowhere is it easy to ascertain how and why people lived they way they did. What motivated the Khmers to construct such monuments on such an inhuman scale? What was their family structure like? How did they socialize?
Ta Keo
Japanese women are very delicate. It is not the first time I have seen Asian women obssess over the fairness of their complexion. Did they watch Monday Night Football? What type of ceremonies did they perform at these temples? Why? These questions for the most part go unanswered, even by tour guides. Angkor is missing the human element that links all these magnificent edifices.
Close enough to monuments of much greater scope and depth, Prasat Kravan is often neglected by the masses. Encircled by a moat which is perfect as a bathtub for water buffalo, it stands alone and proud; it projects a hue of beige and orange. Though stern, three of its towers have alcoves with very detailed bas-relief carvings into brick, not sandstone. I especially like the north tower. The central sanctuary is the most complete, and it is where I take shelter in an afternoon rainstorm that already has soaked me from riding a bicycle several kilometers in it. Having come from the circus of Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom, I realize it is very possible to be alone and in amazement, even of the simplest buildings that those with an agenda most assuredly would bypass. Coming to Angkor with an agenda, a list, is a recipe for missing out on the park’s grip on the human connection to
Burnout?
I was told you can get buirned out from too many temples. Perhaps. But how can you get tired of this? the past. The rain continues to pelt the thousand-year-old bricks. I watch the bricks for puddles in their worn indentations. Angkor Wat and the Bayon notwithstanding (they are in their own category), it is the only site I was driven to visit twice. Following the second visit on a sunny morning well before the motor coach onslaught, I believe Prasat Kravan to be one of Angkor’s delightful secrets. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.
How do I go on about Angkor? Do I outline every other temple for you, all eleven of them? Do I go on for paragraphs about Ta Prohm’s crumbling elegance, mossy carpeting, and intertwining roots and stone? The eastern complex of Ta Keo, Pre Rup, and East Mebon are children born of the familial lineage. The temple mountains appear more as military fortifications than edifices dedicated to Hinduism. The towers are massive, as is the scope of the foundations and each leveled terrace.
If I do explain all I can, what then? What will have I accomplished? There are some things you just have to see for yourself. Angkor is a top priority. I will have only touched the surface. I could come back to Angkor a second week and still not set foot in front of every site of historical interest and give it its fair due. It would never be enough.
The morning of my departure from Siem Reap leaves me a tiny window. But the opportunity still is viable. If I plan it right and do not hesitate, I can pull it off before my taxi to the airport. I mount one of the guesthouse’s bicycles and head north for Angkor. It is the last day my week pass is valid. I show it to one of the guard’s at the main ticket booth and pedal north with my purpose. The moat I have seen five of the past six mornings comes into sight, then the causeway to Angkor Wat. The heightened anticipation I felt almost a week ago still hasn’t wavered. I am still as excited as I was on the first day. I push the bicycle aside without locking it; I need to save time. I practically run to the upper tower of the third enclosure and sit next to where I did when the monk was there the first time. Five minutes pass. It is time to go. As I exit from whence I entered, I fight through a handful of Americans and French. At the midpoint of the gopura leading to the causeway and off Angkor Wat, I turn around and stare back at the overly-photographed and painted five towers of the upper enclosure. In front of the others I let out a firm, but reserved “Thank you”. The French and Americans turn their heads to find out to why I owe them any gratitude and scrunched their eyebrows in confusion. Little do they know I wasn’t addressing them, rather the eternal wonder over their shoulders.
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