Siem Reap, Cambodia had emerged though thick clouds quite suddenly. From the air, with the sun reflecting brilliantly, it looked like a never ending patchwork quilt made up mostly of mirrored lakes and sequined waterways interlaced with fresh green fauna. Mother Nature’s handiwork held together by woven threads of terracotta dirt roads. It was enchanting, and made me think of my beloved grandmother and Karikal Lane. (Previous entries refer: Mama’s Friends, I am Indian - Part 2 and Peace One Day.) I was back on the dirt road on which I would run barefoot with her chickens and geese, the one lined with the Flame of the Forest trees and ferns leading to the convent by the sea. Waving cheekily at the nuns who mostly looked strict, starched and sweaty under all that unnecessary fabric in the tropical heat; and old Merlarni and Uncle Caretaker pretending to admonish me for being sassy. Yes, definitely Singapore in the 60’s, during my early childhood. I like this place, Siem Reap, home of Angkor Wat.
Angkor International Airport, with its traditional Khmer architecture and lush tropical gardens was like a jewel that men had creatively inserted into that patchwork - it was positively stunning. Inside, it was thoroughly modern yet maintained its local flavour in its choice of artwork. We were especially taken with the contemporary iron sculpture of Buddha sitting majestically under vibrant red umbrellas, high above the baggage carousels. Alan was equally impressed with the level of efficiency (despite the customary sourness of its customs officers), while I marvelled in admiration at the abilities of their cleaning staff. The floors and the floor-to-ceiling windows were immaculate.
A smiling man in his late 50’s with a purple sign that had my name correctly spelt (and in neat handwriting too) had been waiting 2 hours for our arrival. You see, u
nfortunately our flight had been delayed.
He placed his palms together (like doing Namaste) and with a slight bow said,
“Haaarllow welcome to Siem Reap, I Mr Yuteney. Come, come.”
He took our lone suitcase from Alan and led us outside. Walking, walking … past all the vans and all the cars, still walking. Alan looked amused.
“Kyo? Kya hwa?” I asked in Hindi. (Why? What happened?)
Alan, smiling replied in patio Portuguese “Hmmm, yo lembra isti elee se roda roda! Ola!” (Hmmm, I think those are his wheels! Look!)
I realised what mode of transport was to be our pre-arranged airport transfer and immediately began my bouncing side to side, hands waving thing that I do when I get excited. We were expecting the mandatory car or van and instead the Australian couple, who ran the place we were going to stay at, had sent … a tuk-tuk.
Cambodia is Buddha country. The single-laned dusty road that led the way to the next three days in the lives of the Travelling Children, was lined with narrow waterways on either side that were filled with hundreds of pink lotus blooms. I love the lotus flower. To the Buddhist it is the symbol of enlightenment, and to a Christian it could so easily 
be a symbol of Christ’s resurrection. The lotus comes to bud out of the still muddy waters (ignorance and worldly attachment, even death) rising above the surface clean and pure (enlightened, resurrected) ready to open its petals and share its perfume with mankind. I felt so deeply happy and I allowed my imagination to believe they were forming a guard of honour for Alan and me. What a beautiful welcome.
Every tourist goes to Siem Reap to see the sacred site of Angkor Wat. It was built during the early 12th Century by King Suryavaram II and stories of the site captured our imaginations when Alan and I were just children playing badminton at school and eating nasi lemak (coconut rice) after Mass at Our Lady of Perpetual Succour Church. It always had a fairy tale adventure sort of quality … the idea of an ancient city of temples built in a jungle for the Hindu God, Vishnu – second member of the Trimuti, the Hindu Holy Trinity. But back then, there was also Pol Pot, t
he insanity behind Year Zero and his decimation of culture and traditions through genocide. It seemed like for most of my school days Kampuchea was always in the news and it terrified me to the point of having nightmares. So before I write about our tour of the temples, please allow me to share something with you about the people of Cambodia that I have come to greatly admire.
There were a couple of lines I remember my father had said in revulsion on several occasions, during the evil reign of Pol Pot, which had become the catch-cry of the Khmer Rouge. I looked it up on Google the other day. “To keep you is no benefit; to destroy you is no loss” and “Bullets are not to be wasted.” This was in reference to the thousands upon thousands of starving people who were taken out to dig their own mass graves, then beaten with shovels and metal pipes, and buried alive. Not a pleasant subject, but we never visit a country with disinterest in the people, to relax in a bar and drink beer at 50 cents a mug. Cambodia IS a difficult place to visit and we wanted to know more when we got there. I allowed myself to peer into the past … the past that was over. And even though the pain still lay in the present and old ghosts will come back to haunt, the amazingly resilient people of Cambodia were transformin
g the present. We saw how they did not chase the past and that they refused to be overwhelmed by it. They speak about the stench and the horrors, for it will remain a part of their history and should never be forgotten. But I admired their ability to plant their feet so firmly in the safety of the present - the peaceful times of now, and to move forward without allowing the uncertain ghosts of the future to overpower them either. That they have achieved this state of mind without professional counselling, is indeed a powerful lesson, one I hope to always be mindful of.
The road to Angkor Wat is called quite simply … The Road to Angkor Wat. And what a beautiful ride it was in Mr Yuteney’s tuk-tuk, getting to know Kunthea our guide. We quite suddenly were no longer in a built-up area of any description and stopping to buy our tickets. We each took turns to stand in front of this little one-eyed ball that flashed and were within mere moments awarded with tickets that included the most terrible photos of Alan and me that we have ever had the pleasure of having.
We had planned to be at Angkor Wat for the sunrise that morning but it had poured with rain overnight and then even more heavily through the sunrise we never witnessed. I looked at my watch as we got back onto the tuk-tuk with our precious photograph ID tickets; it was close to 9am. There were pools of muddy water in the pot-holes along the side of the road; a road that I soon realised was coursing through a beautiful jungle. The muddy pools continued to present themselves and I began to feel thankful that it had rained, for even though we missed the sunrise, we were being rewarded now with a very wet tropical jungle experience. The leaves in the trees all freshly bathed were dewy and in gorgeous shades of brilliant green; the textures on the barks of the trees were more prominent and a shade or two darker from the dampness, every minute detail seem
ed to just jump out at us. This is how God does Photoshop. I smiled to myself and inhaled the wet jungle smells. The ground was giving off that earthy after the rain smell, which is different in Asia than it is here at home.
Kunthea invited us to step out of the tuk-tuk when the area opened up before us and revealed a man-made moat. We walked towards the stone wall that surrounded the water and he began his stories of the area and how Angkor Wat came to be. It was fascinating. As we walked along listening, I asked him what it was I saw across the moat in the distance – I knew it had to be the famous centre piece of Angkor, but it didn’t feel majestic like the hundreds of photographs I had seen. Kunthea’s eyes lit up and confirmed it was Angkor Wat. I felt my heart skip an immediate beat and then slowly sink, I felt terribly childish for reacting that way.
I did not tell Alan how I was feeling as we began to cross the long bridge. Kunthea went on filling our minds with information and I kept telling myself to keep my mind and my heart open. My eyes kept going back to the centre-piece as it got closer. Where is that feeling of awe that I should be having? I was listening to Kunthea so I can give you statistics. The Angkor Archaeological Park is around 400 sq km in size, the size of Manhattan. Angkor Wat itself being about 12 sq km. The very long bridge that takes you across the m
oat is guarded on either side by seven headed nagas (mythological serpents). The Travelling Children know that the naga represents water, fertility and power in our ‘homeland’ sub-continent but I believe Kunthea said this seven headed expanded version represented the seven races of Angkor. He also told us that during the time of Pol Pot landmines were strewn all over the vast jungle and the moat was filled with death.
There are several carvings of closed mouthed smiling dancing apsaras (heavenly feminine creatures) on the outer walls, while the galleries along the façade to the right and the left of the main entrance contained carvings depicting stories from the Ramayana, the Mahabharata and everyday life. Although built for Lord Vishnu and a massive statue of him greets visitors when you enter through the main arches, Theravada Buddhism co-exists today in harmony with Hinduism within the same complex.
Angkor Wat (12th Century) is perhaps the most important archaeological site in South East Asia. It is commanding and beautiful in its own right, and I know if we had never been to India I would have felt it was majestic and it may even have taken my breath away. I believe that perhaps if the design was not so similar in structure to the Dravidian temples we had seen in Ellora (8th Century) or Khajuraho (9th Century) I would not have allowed my mind to make the unfair comparisons. But wasn’t I comparing apples with apples? Were these not all Hindu temples? I could not marvel at the carvings even though I kept willing myself to get excited. My mind just could not let go of the beauty and deep intricacy of the carvings of Khajuraho (9th Century) and Ajanta (1st – 2nd Century). I was completely irritated with myself. How will I share with Alan my disappointment when this has been our dream since childhood?
Next stop after a very filling lunch was the city of Angkor Thom, built by Jayavarman VII - the ruins with the mysterious faces. Like Angkor Wat, a man-made moat ran all around the city. There were five gates; North, South, East, West and the Victory Gate - we made our entry by the South Gate. It was guarded on the left by statues of the Buddha and other Enlightened Beings and on the right by statues of Mara, Lord of Death and other demons. The giant faces over the archway entrance were those of Buddhist Bodhisattva, Avalokiteshvara. It was beautiful. I whispered to Alan “His Holiness the Dalai Lama.” Tibetans you see believe that the Dalai Lama is an incarnation of Avalokiteshvara (Chenrezig in Tibetan).
As we entered the walled city, we approached what looked like piles of rubble and right in the middle of it was the state temple called Bayon. Angkor Thom is definitely different. It looked like a child who had much inspiration but never seen Lego, had been collecting bits of rubble that he patiently sanded down into square blocks. And one day, when he had an ample supply sat down and decided to fit it all together to build something special. That he completed it by topping towers and arches with faces of himself, Buddha and Avalokiteshvara was both unique and narcissistic. I liked it.
This time because I was so interested in everything around me I cannot give you much statistical information, of which our friend Kunthea had lots. The poor man could tell I was not listening and a couple of times he even repeated information like a school teacher would ... without completing a word or sentence ... eyebrows raised looking directly at me and waiting for me to fill in the blanks. I wonder if he thought I had too much coffee at lunch. Little did he realise my real reasons for giving him my undivided attention at Angkor Wat earlier in the day.
Our final stop was Ta Prohm or Tomb Raider Temple as it was the set of the movie Angelina Jolie made with Daniel Craig in 2000. I was working at the time with Daniel’s uncle, Terry Craig at Notre Dame University and Terry used to tell me stories from the filming. I remember feeling so happy that Daniel was in such a big budget movie, albeit one he only did for the Hollywood ‘big break’.
m went beyond fulfilling all my childhood fantasies from my imaginings of the fabled Angkor Wat - it was fairytale enchanting and was built as a Mahayana Buddhist monastery and university by King Jayavarman VII. Other than a few safety precautions put in place for tourists, Ta Prohm has been left thankfully in the same condition it was in when it was discovered - uncleared, full of mystery and atmosphere. It would have been wonderful if we could have gone back there the next morning – just the Travelling Children; picnic breakfast and a chance to reflect on the sheer expanse of time that it took for the power of nature to initially ravage and disfigure, but now exhibit such beauty and symbiosis as nature turned man’s work into her own. 
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