Angkor Wow!

One of the things that I have learned on this trip is to let things go, to accept what the reality is, and live with it. Another thing I know is that the most incredible sight I have seen in Southeast Asia is Angkor Wat in Cambodia, a place that is magical, mystical, impressive, and inspiring. Consider, then, what a test of my learning to let go it was when I discovered that due to a digital camera malfunction, I have lost most of my Angkor Wat pictures, and – wouldn’t you know it – especially those of my two favorite temples there.

Fortunately for me, the visions are permanently residing in my brain and I can enjoy them at will. This does nothing for my readers however, so I will try to convey the magnificence of the place through words and to share what pictures were not lost.

Picture a place of vast expanses, where there is not a single temple of magnificence, but many, spread out over miles and miles of flat green land, interspersed with rice fields and villages. Picture some ruins proudly surrounded by a moat, some behind walls, some smack in the middle of the road, some hidden in the trees.

Picture enormity -- large stones placed upon larger stones, heavy stones. Picture towering gates with huge heads to greet you, approaches to these gates lined with seated statues of protective deities, now headless due to looting. Picture level upon level of steps, of terraces, of rooms, of towers.

Picture antiquity, where once splendid buildings have crumbled, where steps have worn away, where trees have taken over.

Picture a place that reflects a time when art was as important as religion, as government. Picture carvings of delightful detail, intricate, careful work, obviously done with special care. Picture a divine symetry that leads your eye through doorway after doorway. Picture carved murals on long walls. Picture a train of elegant elephants.

Picture me getting up at a time when I am used to going to bed to join the hardier tourists for an Angkor Wat sunrise. Although not daunted by the poor weather, I eventually had to imagine the colors of a sunrise instead. Yet I loved the hush, the regality of the temple, and the feeling of ancient reverence. And I especially loved this little white dog sentry that circled the inside of the temple over and over. My sister Nina says that dogs like to have jobs and this dog took its job very seriously. It never strayed from its path, reversed direction, or allowed itself to be distracted from its work. I very much wanted a picture of it through a specific window, but I knew I had to be ready to snap the shot quickly, as this dog moved very fast. I took note of his pace and mentally timed his march. I determined the moment when I thought he would round the corner and readied the camera. “He should be here riiiight NOW!” and snapped the shutter just as he came into view.

Picture the children of the vendors at every temple hounding you to buy from them, whether it was a cold drink, a handicraft, or postcards. “I remember you!” they would shout to me as I entered a temple, meaning that they would remember me as I exited. They were relentless and savvy entrpreneurs with an amazing command of English. But they were children nonetheless and could be disarmed by playing. Thus, I played many games of hopscotch, introduced clapping contests, blew up several balloons, and taught young girls ballet. To older vendors I showed pictures of Washington, DC and of my family. Here is a group that I hung out with for awhile while sipping my coconut.

Although in a country as poor as Cambodia it is easy to understand why people would press you to buy their goods and services, I confess it tired me quickly. On the morning of the third day, I decided that I really wanted to be free of the push and determined that the thing to do was to pretend that I didn't speak English. I thought about what nationality I would be and decided that Spanish was my language since I could speak just a little of it and too many Cambodians know French, my only other alternative. So, when a man started in with what I came to recognize as the unsolicited tour guide conversation, I replied repeatedly over my right shoulder, "No entiendo, no entiendo," followed by the question asking if he spoke Spanish. Finally he dropped off and I congratulated myself on a successful strategy. Then, over my left shoulder, I heard the chilling words, "Hola! Como estas?!" I froze, "I am sooo busted," I thought. Hoping that that might be the extent of his knowledge, I quickly tried to assemble every Spanish phrase I could think of, which unfortunately, due to my fluster, only amounted to ordering a beer, saying bad things about his mother, and the ever useful "Mi casa es su casa." Finally I was able to say, in very poorly constructed Spanish, "I want to be alone." I felt so guilty about this impersonation that I later allowed a young man to be my guide when I didn't even want -- or need -- one.

Two emotional moments stand out from my visit to Angkor Wat. The first was when I first saw the Bayon Temple. It was just so beautiful, so grand, so noble, so heart-filling that I started to cry. I was so happy to be witness to such majesty.

The other moment occurred at sunset on top of an isolated "lesser" ruin. It had been rainy all the day and there were many clouds in the sky. Ever hopeful, I wished for a lovely sunset. Years ago, when my friend Sheila lost her artist husband, she said that she believed that what artists do in heaven is paint sunsets. With this in mind, I appealed to my deceased artist father and friend Debi to paint me a colorful sky. But I knew that I had placed my order too late -- they hadn't time to confer with the weather department -- so I settled resignedly on a simple fading of light. Then, as if I had received a cosmic tap on the shoulder, something made me turn around -- and there appeared the most magnificent rainbow, a colorful sky after all.