Angkor Part 1

Sunrise at Angkor Wat

The moat of the Angkor Wat complex

Anonymous minor temple (!)

Restored faces enacting 'The Churning of the Ocean of Milk'

These little dudes are everywhere!

Old Khmer script.

I found this complex of small temples deserted. Amazing!

Carvings inside my private temple.

Carvings inside the Bayon temple, Angkor Thom complex, Angkor.

The Bayon temple.

The many faces of King Jayavarman VII depicted as the Buddhist boddhisttva of compassion - Avalokiteshvara.

Money

Strange thing, money. I’m still trying to figure out whether it’s the shackles or the key. Probably it’s both. On the one hand, it enabled me to undertake this mammoth journey, but on the other money was what led to me eventually returning home despite all my half jokes to friends about staying in Asia and joining a monastery. I actually contemplated doing that quite a bit, but decided that turning my life over to the care of an institution (even one so tangibly caring and ‘good’ as a Buddhist monastery) was not something I felt comfortable with. Plus my Laos/Vietnamese/Khmer language skills were pretty shitty. So I came home. But I did learn a few things about money, particularly charity.

The prevalence of beggars varied a lot between countries: in Laos, there were very few. At least in the western regions where I generally was, (the east suffered more from the effects of the Vietnam War as the two share a border there.) or maybe it was the ubiquity of the monastic system as a social welfare organisation. In Vietnam and Cambodia there are a lot of disabled people, as I’ve mentioned before. Being disabled in a developing country basically makes it extremely difficult to make money from any means other than begging. So what do you do? Whatever you have to I guess.

To be honest I’d never really given much money to charity back home but in these countries, where the loose change in your pocket can buy a few meals you’d have to be pretty cold hearted not to give out once in a while. The usual problem with giving money to beggars persists though: where does my money go? Does it go on food/clothing or drugs/alcohol?  My solution to the problem was to give as much as I could spare to as many people as possible, sure there would be some who didn’t spend it on food but a lot probably would. And how would I convince those who didn’t buy food/clothing to do so, when we didn’t speak the same language? How could I tell who did and who didn’t? Hence the non-discriminatory generosity. Bit of a cop-out maybe but there you have it.

That policy became more difficult when kids got involved. Saying no to a sad-eyed street kid asking for what equalled less than a pound was tough and people knew this so you saw that a lot, especially in Cambodia. But more often than not there would be an adult round the corner taking the kids earnings. Some of it probably trickled its way back down to them, but nowhere near what they got from you. This was especially saddening in Cambodia, which has a reasonable education system for one of the world’s poorest countries and one that more importantly, is free. The amount of times we came across kids on the street at night begging or selling trinkets was unreal. You ask them why they’re not at home in bed and you get blank stares in return. Truth is, some of these families are too poor to have any other choice. So you give them some money - its nothing to you but a lot for them - and hope it goes to something beneficial. That was the best solution I came up with; to go somewhere like that and give nothing is a travesty.

I mentioned I learned some things. I learned how unbelievably lucky we are to have some money. Would I like to live in a world that doesn’t revolve around money? Sure, but that’s out of the question. I moan about having to go to work and pay rent and taxes and blablabla, but at the back of my mind I always try to remember how fortunate we are to have the things that jobs/rent/taxes pay for even if it is a fucked up system. I also learnt that giving charity in developing countries is an ethical minefield. Unsatisfying conclusions to draw, but again there you have it. Discuss.

Mondulkiri Province

Bu Sra Waterfalls, Cambodia

Dragonfruit!

 

Towns vs Countryside

My journey has left me with fond memories of both cities and the wilderness, despite my natural inclination towards the countryside. Of course every city is different, but you really do get a distinct vibe from each one, especially when you visit them in relatively quick succession. I remember my journey from the airport into a brooding Bangkok amidst a huge thunderstorm, to the bustle and throng of backpacker central – Khao San Road – was full of anticipation to get the trip underway, to get out of the city and into the peaceful Laos countryside. Returning there to fly home, nearly 3 months later I felt none of the apprehension or adrenaline rush of such a busy, seedy place.

Arriving in Hanoi after spending a three weeks in sleepy, chilled Laos was a massive shock to the system. The sheer volume of motorbikes, people and pollution was overwhelming and I had to get out, leaving the next day to spend a few days in the mountain town of Sapa. When I returned a few days later, again it felt more normal. I figured out how to cross the road without nearly dying (you just walk out and keep walking) and found some good places to eat. I met some cool students in the park, found out that the apparent chaos of the traffic makes much more sense from the back of a motorbike and came to love the crumbling maze of old town; all crowded and hectic but with so much life and vibrancy.

Saigon came with similar problems, but by now I was used to them. It was more like a European capital city, all skyscrapers, steel and plate glass with huge areas of parkland rather than a mass of ramshackle apartments and ancient temples as in Hanoi. More friendly students, great food and nightlife though. Almost like London in its vast sprawl, you could tell it had been there growing for centuries, slowly mutating over the years, risen up from the earth and banks of the river…

Phnom Penh had a totally different feel. In contrast to its wealthier neighbours, this capital city felt more rundown and dilapidated, the recent years of conflict more apparent. Especially in its people: the old, few as they were looked sad and worn down, the young seemed eager but in a kind of hungry, desperate way, as though the taste of more prosperous times had sparked an appetite for more, but they were aware of how far away they were from a truly comfortable life. In the 24 hours before I arrived, three people had warned me to watch my back when walking around.

I could go on and on about how I love the outdoors (and I do) and all the various experiences I had outside of cities: cycling round rural islands on a huge river, boat trips up and down jungle rivers, trekking in the rainforest, hiking in the mountains or spending a day with elephants in Cambodian backwoods. But I won’t. Instead I’ll leave you with a quote that I read in ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ by Robert Pirsig (a great book for travelling by the way). But before that, to sum up I’ll say that you can judge a country by whatever standards you want, but you don’t get the full flavour without seeing the cities and the wilderness and everything they contain.

So –

“A finely tempered nature longs to escape from his noisy cramped surroundings into the silence of the high mountains where the eye ranges freely through the still pure air and fondly traces out the restful contours apparently built for eternity...”

      - A. Einstein

Phnom Penh

The memorial stupa at the Phnom Penh killing fields, Cambodia. It also serves as a mausoleum for the skulls and bones of many of the victims.

People tie bracelets and beads to the posts that border the mass graves.

The killing tree. There are no words.

A corner of one of the torture rooms at Tuol Sleng prison, Phnom Penh.

If you haven't heard of Tuol Sleng (S21) prison, look it up.

Prisoner at S21.

Mass shackles.

The balcony running outside the prison cells. It used to be a school.

The Khmer Rouge were meticulous keepers of records. These are some of the child victims.

Tuol Sleng is probably the most depressing place I've ever been, but I'm so glad I went.

Light vs Dark

I’d never really thought about the effects of these two on your experience of things too much. But the more I travelled the more it played on my mind. As a keen photographer I knew about the ever shifting qualities of light and how these can make or break a good photo, so there were a fair few occasions where I tried to make sure I was in the right place at the right time of day for a good shot.

Obviously the sunrise at Angkor Wat is a prime example, and a few thousand other people had the same idea as me. Getting there pre-dawn to catch prime real estate at the edge of the pond was a must and those are some of the best shots I’ve ever taken (stay tuned!). Dawn in the jungle was a pretty magical sight too: great swathes of mist rising up through the canopy, speared by the shafts of light broken down by the foliage of the trees at the very top. The jungle never sleeps but the sounds of the mammals and birds waking up I’ll never forget.

The midday sun can be a fraught time for photography: clear skies and bright sunlight cast ugly shadows on your subjects or through a haze of bright clouds the sky is flat and white, making otherwise beautiful scenes look lifeless. I spent a whole afternoon in Sapa, Vietnam watching the clouds shift the light minute by minute over a spectacular valley ribbed with rice paddys and hardly managed a single decent shot. Even the temples at Angkor were bland against the sky or badly silhouetted. That, and it was hot as balls.

Evening is a great time to shoot, especially beaches and seascapes where the water is a myriad of sparkles and reflections. Ha Long Bay looked spectacular as did the beach on Koh Russei in Cambodia. Or watching the sun drop behind mountain ranges covered in dense jungle from the top of the hill in Luang Prabang. I could go on.

Night time is different, even after a night spent wandering amongst the twinkling lanterns of Hoi An, watching kids and old women hustling floating lanterns down the river and grabbing some great shots in the process, walking home through the dark, deserted streets dodging pretty sizeable rats and roaches was disconcerting. Strange how darkness lends unfamiliar towns a vague air of menace. Especially in Phnom Penh, where I didn’t feel hugely comfortable to begin with. It has its good points too: staying up all night on the beach on Koh Russei around a fire, playing guitar and driftwood drum kits with a bunch of strangers who, in the morning were all friends. We swam in the pitch black, warm waters, as phosphorescent algae exploded in bright green sparks around our bodies. We all lay in the sea and watched the sky bristle with stars as I’ve never seen them before, utterly content in our liquid bed of green phosphorescence. Returning to sleep in my beach hut, daylight was questing through cracks in the rattan walls and the whole cycle was beginning again.