Forty years ago, Americans came to southeast Asia and got to play with big guns, and in that regard, little has changed.  There are subtle differences of course;  modern enthusiasts aren’t also getting fired at, themselves.  On the other hand, we pay a bit more of a premium in cash for the ammunition than the soldiers used to.  So it all balances out…

Several miles from Ho Chi Minh City are the tourist-friendly Chi Chu tunnels used by the Viet Cong to sneak about the city underground.  It’s a popular and particularly claustrophobic tour that peculiarly enough finishes at a gun range where visitors can fire AK-47s and other period weaponry of the Vietnam war, living out their childhood GI Joe fantasies without the burden of sacrificing four or more years of one’s life to military service.

I opted out of the experience, but not for any disdain of heavy weaponry; I just wanted a little more bang for my buck.  While there are smatterings of large gun ranges all around the world, Phnom Penh is infamous for being the one spot on the backpacker trail where random, non-military non-citizens can drop in and, for an extremely inflated fee, play with the big toys.  Rocket launchers.  Grenades.  Grenade launchers.  Etc, etc.  Bang, bang.

What sort of mad firing range would allow tourists to drop in and fire rockets at a variety of unseemly targets (more on that later)?  Why, none other than the Cambodian national army, of course!

Getting There is Half the Fun

The tuk-tuk picks us up at ten in the morning, sharp.  I’m the only one with the funds or interest in wreaking havoc on peaceful Cambodian hills and meadows, but the German at my hostel who’s been staying in Phnom Penh for the past two weeks has heard many rumors of this base and was itching to come along for the ride.  We cram onto the long, single seat of the tuk-tuk, next to a little boy and girl who seem to be joining us on this ridiculous mission for reasons neither of us can understand.

The kids that come along for the first part of the journey. I can only guess they were the driver's kids. Cute, but they seemed very confused the whole time.

Thankfully, they’re short term companions.  The driver takes us a few blocks from the hostel and we all switch into 4×4 Ford Bronco, which seems vastly more appropriate for the day’s events. After ten minutes of sitting in the car with the doors open, a young woman approaches and wordlessly guides the children out of the car.  Our last obstacle overcome, the driver starts out on our epic journey of explosive mayhem.

It’s a ninety minute ride spent almost entirely in silence other than the Cambodian music playing on his radio (I know this is a very narrow-minded, foreign thing to say, but I swear that every song sounded identical, save a single Cambodian hip-hop tune), punctuated by this bizarre exchange which took place about twenty minutes from our destination:

“Do you want cow?” the driver suddenly asks me, in slightly broken English.

“A cow?  Like moo moo cow cow?”

“For explode with rocket.  Need to get now.”

“You’re asking me if I want to buy a cow, and then blow it up with the rocket launcher?”

The German nods his head.  ”I’m surprised you haven’t heard about the cows, mate.  Every story about people going to shoot rockets usually involves them getting offered a cow to shoot at.”

“I don’t want to blow up a cow with a rocket!  It’s just such a… dick move.  So pointless.” I pause for a moment, considering the situation.  ”If I blow up cow, can I eat the cow meat?”

“The… meat?  It is not for eat.  Is for explode.”

“It’s just… I would have a hard time blowing up a cow just to blow it up.  Eating some meat, even just a little, would validate it somewhat — it’d be like it died for something at least, you know?  Rocket-fried steaks!  That’d be something!”

“You cannot eat!”

Guns and rockets, casually laid out in the rear of the bronco.

“Relax, man, I’m mostly joking.  I’m not going to try to eat the obliterated cow.  How much more would the cow cost?”

“For you, four hundred American dollars.”

“Yikes!  Does anyone ever actually pay to blow up the cow?”

“Many times.  Russians like very much.  Last week, Russians get two cow and old car.  Eight rockets.  I have video.”  Ahh, the Russian nouveau riche.

“Too much for me, I’m afraid.  No thanks.”

“No cow?”

“No cow.”

“So, you want chickens?”

I opt against purchasing chickens for all the same reasons I avoided the cow, in addition to the fact that hitting a chicken with a rocket launcher is almost certainly beyond my abilities.  Two men stand listlessly at the gate to the army base as we pull up to the lowered bar.  While one of them speaks to the driver, the other slowly steps over and stares sheepishly at us in the back, with a small, confused grin.  I smile back.

After a couple of minutes, a confident young Cambodian man steps over to us and hops into the front seat, guiding us over to a small building about the size of a two-car garage.  He has the sleek smile of a salesman and wears a plain white t-shirt with no military gear save a camouflaged hat bearing the Cambodian insignia on its front.

“So,” he says, turning to me, “you want to fire the rocket launcher, hah?”  His accent is strong, though his English is quite good.  ”But noooo cows?”  He stretches out the “no” in feigned surprise and bemusement, before laughing at himself.

“That’s right.”

“So what else?  Light machine gun?  Heavy machine gun?  You want to fire grenade launcher?”  His eyes light up as he speaks.  He’s so happy to serve, and suddenly I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that, with enough cash, this is probably one of those places where demented and bored old men with way too much money can go to hunt disenfranchised poor people that hopped on a bus thinking they were getting a free trip to some scenic Thai island.  The smiling, nameless man in the army hat – I’ll call him “Smiles” — lists off prices, and they’re every bit as bad as I’d been warned.

Eventually, I talk him down from the exorbitant price of four hundred dollars to the still exorbitant price of three hundred dollars.  But I would like to fire a rocket launcher, and barring any large scale global wars, this will likely be the only time in my life I have this opportunity.  Besides, three hundreds dollars pays for two nights at a seedy hotel room in Jersey City.  Who the hell wants to stay in Jersey City anyway?

My lump sum of cold, hard American cash wins me the right to one rocket, one launched grenade and fifty rounds fired from a heavy machine gun.  Smiles runs into the building with another man dressed fully in fatigues — I’ll call him “Fatigues,” though he’s grinning every bit as much as the first man.  Hell, everyone is all smiles here – and they both come out shortly with their hands full of an assortment of black steel, explosive munitions and long, sexy chains of bullets.  Space is cleared in the back of the bronco and all the gear is set down, softly of course.

There are no roads out here; only dry, dirt paths cutting through the open, arid brushland.  We drive gently over the bumpy terrain, always cognizant of the various explosive devices located mere inches behind me.  Stopping next to a small tree, there’s discussion in the front followed by Fatigues motioning for me to exit the car with him.  He and Smiles slowly remove all of the weaponry, placing it in the shade next to another tree, farther from the car; our driver never leaves his seat.

At this point, I was very glad to have brought the German.  Someone had to take the pictures, right?

A fistfull of Grants.

Preparing for the day's excitement. As Smiles instructs me in the usage of each weapon, Fatigues sets up the next round

Round 1: Rocket Launcher

Lessons from Smiles on how to hold, aim with and fire the rocket launcher. To his credit, he got much less smiley once the weapons were in play.

As he instructs me in proper holding and stance, he's very careful that my finger doesn't come near the trigger, and that my camera man doesn't stand any closer than he does right now. For a shady, hidden-in-the-wilderness kind of operation, they're pretty safe about it. Then again, who wouldn't be extra safe when playing with rockets?

This picture illustrates nothing other than that rocket launchers are not only more dangerous than cigarettes; they also make you look even cooler when holding one

Ready, Aim...

FIRE! With the hard click of the trigger, a loud "WHOOOSHHH" fills the air, lasting less than a second. Before my eyes can track the path of the rocket, it's already hit its target with a burst of smoke and flames. "Ohhhh Nice shot, nice shot!" says Smiles, clapping for some reason.

And why was it so unimpressive that I actually hit my target? Because my target was a large, amorphous hill. Missing it would've actually been more impressive (though still within my capabilities). The rocket actually explodes with such force that even from far away, it create and earthquake-like rumbling beneath me that radiates upwards through my feet.

Round 2: Heavy Machine Gun

Fifty rounds of ...I didn't get the size or name, sorry. If anyone that reads this knows the specifics of any of the weapons fired here, please let me know!

Safety first: Smiles not smiling as the German takes a position perpendicular to me. The gun is surprisingly light.

Yes, I know I should be looking forward as I shoot, but it's just so... fun. I figured the bullets would pack a lot more kick, but it's almost criminal how light and easy to shoot this gun was. While firing 50 bullets in less than that many seconds, I shouted every possible cliche I could get out in time. "Get Some, Motherfuckers!" was most definitely included.

If you've read this blog at all, you would know there are few pictures where I feel I look in any way "cool." Let me have my moment.

Round 3: The Grenade Launcher

Grenade launchers. So sexy.

I stretch my arm out, holding the grenade launcher in one hand like a handgun. Smiles suddenly seems less concerned about safety. "Can I shoot it like this?" I ask. "No problem," he says. At the last minute, rational thinking takes over and I hold the pommel against my chest for support, clutching the gun safely with two hands. It's a good thing. FOOOOOOOMPP. The grenade fires out with a pop, and the kick punches me sharply in the chest. Had I held out the gun with one hand, as casually as I'd initially planned to, fingers would likely have been broken.

I'm so proud of my pretty little explosion. Entertaining, but not as (literally) earth-shattering as the rocket was.

We passed this guy on the way out. Everyone in the Cambodian army just seems so happy, these days.

Wat Phnom, the eponymous temple in the heart of Phnom Penh

Exhaust smoke permeates the air to near choking levels while I barter with an uncooperative older woman selling bread from a basket she wears at her waist.  Overweight and wearing a headscarf and altogether too much clothing, she looks like a rotund pile of tattered hand-me-downs with a face, and clearly no one has ever taught her how to negotiate.  The bus honks its horn at me impatiently as I stand there with two loaves of bread in my left hand, insisting that they are not worth the equivalent of five American dollars.  Then again, I’m starving, tired and still very woozy from the inappropriately named “happy” pizza that I made the mistake of ingesting just before sleeping last night.

“NO!” the woman shouts at me, as I tug on the 20,000 Riel — the Cambodian currency — note she’d just taken from my hand after I’d asked how expensive the bread was.

In a tuk-tuk, catching my first glimpses of city life in Phnom Penh.

“Ohhh, now you speak English.”

In my other hand are the two small loaves of bread I’d hoped would get me through this five hour morning ride to Phnom Penh.  Five dollars for two small, bland chunks of peasant bread that shouldn’t cost more than fifty cents?  I’d rather starve!  Yanking the bill firmly from her grubby hands, I dump the loaves unceremoniously back in her bread basket and storm back toward the expectant bus.

“No!” she shouts again, following me.

“Yes!” I spin around and yell back at her.  ”You are a price gouger!  You gouge prices!”

“No,” she says more quietly this time, stopped in her tracks and staring at me unpleasantly.

“This is getting nowhere!” I hop on the bus expecting the driver to be bothered by a delay that did not even yield any bread, but he stares at me just long enough to make sure I am on board so that he can close the door.  ”20,000 Riel for two loaves of bread!” I explain to no one in particular with a huff, in the hopes that my outrage is contagious.  It is not.

I have my choice of seats on the bus and collapse into an empty pair, laying down with the intention of sleeping my way to Phnom Penh.  Cursing all six feet and three inches of my person, I hopelessly curl up on the thin seats and try to ignore the bumpy Cambodian countryside, my own self-doubt and the uncomfortable lack of two small loaves of bread in my stomach that pride had robbed me of.

Despite strong Hindu influences in its ancient past, Cambodia is now the most Buddhist nation on Earth with 97% of its populace listing themselves as Buddhists.

I wake upon entry into the city, groggy but in better spirits despite realizing that I’d missed what was likely a gorgeous and memorable countryside in exchange for this mostly gray city with a few oases of eccentric French architecture, where everything appears to have a cloudy film over it.  Maybe that’s just my tired eyes still reawakening.  A tuk-tuk picks me up directly from the bus stop and I fumble through my papers to find information of use to him.

“Hostel Nomads,” my note says.  For the first time since Hanoi, an honest-to-God hostel.  Lodging is so cheap in southeast Asia, they always tell me excitedly, you don’t NEED to sleep in hostels. But I want to.  Finding short-term compatriots with varying degrees of compatibility comes naturally in the common room of a hostel; trolling for the same company in the lobby of a cheap hotel just comes off as seedy and/or desperate.  Within minutes of checking in at Nomads, I’ve got a crew of two others interested in a tour of some of Phnom Penh’s more cheerful historical locations: The S-21 Prison Museum and The Killing Fields.  Thankfully I’m in a better mood since waking up, or today would just be one big celebration of despondence.

We agree to meet in an hour, and I use the time to check out the city’s namesake, Wat Phnom.  As with Angkor, “Wat” again is “temple” while “Phnom” means “hill.”  Legend has it that in the 1300′s, an old woman named Penh found five Buddha statues floating in the nearby Mekong River.  She ordered everyone she knew to pile dirt into a large hill, and then build a temple to house the Buddhas atop it.  It’s an impressive shrine — the tallest in the city — and I saunter around it for a while before picking up some spicy, fried noodles in a paper cup at the base of the hill.

“Where are you from?” the noodle vendor asks me.

“America!” I say, shaking her hand.

“Ah,” she says, excitedly.  ”America!  Yay!”  Her hand is limp in mine, but she smiles with genuine warmth as she tells everyone around us where I am from.  From all sides they surround me with smiles and tea, speaking to me in a mix of Cambodian and the one word “America,” recited each time more emphatically than the last.

Wat Phnom

A bridge near Hostel Nomads, with Wat Phnom in the distance

The temple at the top of Wat Phnom

No picture taking is allowed inside the temple, but they don't say anything about shooting from the doorway...

My happy (as in "cheerful" and not "laced with marijuana" -- an important distinction here in Cambodia) noodle vendor

The Asian equivalent of "jazzercise," performed freely on the streets by a predominantly female crowd. In China, groups of dancers can number into the hundreds.

Phnom Penh's happening waterfront. Lots of nice restaurants and bars here, though the insect population at night reaches the level of biblical plague

Phnom Penh has always been an important port city, strategically located where the Mekong, Bassac and Tonle Sap Rivers meet.

And You Thought it Was Bad Being a Four-eyed Nerd at Your School…

Khmer Rouge.  ”Khmer” as in the dominant racial group in Cambodia and  ”Rouge,” red, for the group’s general communist ideology.  Taking a particularly hardline stance, Pol Pot and his followers declared that the farmers were the true proletariat and nearly destroyed his country by trying to turn every citizen into one.  Urban Cambodians, particularly college educated ones, were torn from their homes and families and sent to work in the fields with the rest of the populace.  Money and books were destroyed everywhere, and almost every Cambodian whose profession was not “farmer” was either made into one or murdered.  Effectively, the entire country became one large labor camp.

"SIRENCE!!"

While I never cared much for being mocked in grade school for wearing glasses, I submit that my situation was better than what my Cambodian peers faced for the same infraction: Glasses-wearers were seen as “brainy,” which was enough under the Khmer’s regime to be executed.  If only contact lenses came into widespread use a decade or two earlier…

Much like Mao Zedong — a fan of and inspiration to the Khmer Rouge — Pol Pot led a series of massive, countrywide experiments that had never been proven successful before, to disastrous effects.  The “New People,” what they labeled those that once lived in cities, had no clue how to effectively farm and were suddenly told that they must produce three tons of rice per hectare; in pre-Khmer Rouge times, even skilled farmers could only produce one.  And Pol Pot had basically led Cambodia into its worst famine ever, as hundreds of thousands of new and inept farmers died of starvation.  At least they could’ve lived off of fresh fruits and berries on the land, you might protest.  No, the communists considered that “free enterprise,” one of the worst capitalists traits.  Punishment for such a crime: no pudding!  Just kidding.  Death, of course!

While the Khmer Rouge led Cambodia, more than a fifth of its population (over 2 million) died of starvation, torture, disease (Pol also banned all western medicine in favor of the healthier traditional remedies — apparently ginseng root and powdered tiger penis don’t do much to cure Malaria) and outright murder, and in the process, they almost completely reverted the country back to stone age.  All this in under four years.

Tuol Sleng -- Schoolhouse turned prison. Many high school students I once knew wouldn'tve said there was a difference...

In 1975, the regime took over a large high school — standard education no longer being a government priority — and turned it into a brutal and generally fatal prison center.  Tuol Sleng  (literally “Strychnine Hill”), as the morbid museum is now known marks the second depressing museum in a row I’ve been to, following Vietnam’s War Remnants Museum, but seems to be a necessary visit for anyone trying to understand the depth of the Khmer Rouge’s cruelty.

Upon entering the prison, inmates were stripped of all clothing and belonging and put into rooms often barely larger than phone booths.  Prisoners were fed four spoonfuls of rice porridge twice a day, and hosed off every four days.  Talking to other prisoners or drinking any water, even found water, without permission resulted in beatings.  While kept at S-21, inmates were tortured until they admitted to any and all accusations, generally giving up the names of countless innocent friends, co-workers, peers and family members, who were then rounded up and exterminated at the local Choeung Ek killing fields.

Though brutally tortured with electricity, starvation, hanging, knives, clubs, pliers, whips, waterboarding and any other assortment of unpleasant means, the intention was generally to keep inmates alive as long as possible to get the most thorough confessions from them.  Nearly 100% of inmates confessed, proving once again that torture is the ideal method to make anyone say anything you want them to say (truth not necessary!).  One of the few captured foreigners, a young Englishman unfortunate enough to be caught eventually admitted to being recruited by the CIA during a vacation to the States he took at age twelve.  He was killed shortly after his confession.  Of the estimated 17,000 people kept in S-21 from 1975-1978, only seven were known to have survived.  Basically, Tuol Sleng was not a very enjoyable place to live.

Classroom, converted into a torture chamber. On the bed sits a car battery. On the wall, a picture of the battery in use on an inmate, just to hammer the point in.

A list of the various Do's and Dont's at Tuol Sleng, all translated into tragically funny "Engrish"

Would grades improve if all schools had a gallows in the front lawn?

Bats!

Names and faces of all inmates to Tuol Sleng, all executed shortly after their stay here.

Cells at S21. I would not have slept comfortably.

Like a bitter chaser of misery following a burning, double shot of despondency, we waste no time upon leaving Tuol Sleng hopping on a cab and taking a route from the prison that, 30 years prior, would’ve likely meant certain death.  Choeung Ek.  The killing fields.  Once an orchard 17 kilometers from Phnom Penh, the open land was turned into a site of regular massacres by the Khmer Rouge with mass graves there containing the remains of thousands of Cambodians.  Politicians.  Teachers.  Engineers.  Writers.  Enemies of the State.  Today, a Buddhist shrine stands to honor the dead containing a pillar of skulls within, that no one may ever forget the atrocities committed here.

The shrine at the Choeung Ek killing fields.

Inside the shrine to the dead

Nomads at Night

Are we timid vacationers, hiding behind the fences of the world’s various all-inclusive resorts, too afraid to step out and sample the local flavor, be it insect, root or even man’s best friend?  Of course not!  We drink the classical poisons of third world villages so remote they don’t even know of the first two worlds, and subject ourselves to rashes, diseases, ailments and maladies, all in the name of adventure, of curiosity, of boredom.  We make love to foreign women with mocha colored skin and English skills limited to what can be learned from watching The Simpsons and take ridiculously ill-conceived chances simply because we’re lucky enough to find ourselves in places where such ill conceptions are even conceivable.  And yes, we drink an opaque beverage translating to “palm whisky” that tastes like paint thinner and is sold by the cupful from a large orange cooler attached to the back of an unscrupulous looking Cambodian’s bicycle, simply because we can.

Mobile palm wine and palm whiskey salesman

The palm (as in palm tree)-based concoction tastes like the morning breath of the recently deceased, pungent and without the promise of anything good to come.  The German who seems to live at this hostel has developed a fondness for it, but his admiration of the sour poison is not contagious.  He’s playing with the exuberant post-puppy that he calls “Dinner” tied to our table on the sidewalk outside of  the hostel.

“Why do you call it that?”

“Because some other backpackers apparently rescued it from a restaurant where it was going to be cooked up, but then they couldn’t take him home with them and had to ditch him at the hostel.”   The table stops jerking as the dog, who was just before attempting to eat his own tail, looks over at us with his mouth agape, clearly aware he was just the topic of conversation.  His slightly chewed tail begins to wag frantically as he bounds over toward me and places his front paws on my lap and stares at me with a degree of adoration that only puppies and prepubescent fans of boy bands are capable of mustering up.

Two liters of fresh palm wine! Some people really enjoyed it. I was not one of these people.

In China, I had briefly considered trying dog because that is what locals do.  Try Anything!  Do Everything!  Live a little, right?  At the back of a restaurant in Chongqing known for serving canines, they made the mistake of having a large cage with three dogs, presumably used for culinary purposes, on the floor near the restroom that I desperately had needed to use.  They barked and called after me, just like pet store dogs would, and as we made eye contact, I envisioned them dripping in kung pao sauce and wearing a crown of water chestnuts and bean sprouts and knew at once that I would never be able to dine on man’s best friend.

As I pet Dinner, the demure Davi sits next to me, decidedly not flirting.  The tall Cambodian girl looks like she could be anywhere from 14 to 22 years old; it turns out she’s 26.  Her face carries a mixture of serenity that could’ve been lifted from a statue of a Hindu goddess and the nervous suspiciousness of a wily street cat.  She tells us poutingly that she does not have a boyfriend.

“I’ll be your boyfriend,” I say.

“No!” she exclaims, though she doesn’t leave my side for much of the night.

As we play with our Dinner, more hostel guests arrive out front and we sip on palm wine and “Baroso” whisky, which seems to feature the bust of a Jersey Shore reject on its label.  I have big plans for tomorrow morning at 10 AM (see next post!) but tonight, we are exploring the nightlife.  We dodge swarms of gnat-like insects at an outside bar along the Mekong, then get lost in a maze of seemingly identical streets looking for nightclubs.  Davi guides us silently through the streets, advising that we skip some bars (including one with a “no handgrenades” sign outside) in favor of one further away that caters to foreigners.  They still search us brutally on the way in.

Tired and exhausted, I take my leave of the group not long after arriving at the last club.  Moments later, I notice Davi silently walking closely alongside me.

“Go away,” she says with a voice of total seriousness, as she moves in closer and follows me along through the dark, eerily quiet streets of late night Phnom Penh.

“You’re a very confusing person, Davi.”

“No I am not,” she assures me matter-of-factly.  It wouldn’t be the first time I did not understand a woman.

This Mr. Baroso was a subject of heavy conversation for much of the evening. Who is he? Is he really from New Jersey, as well all unanimously believe him to be? And if so, why is he the face of shitty Cambodian whiskey?

The wily Miss Davi

Picture taken very hastily (it was a really shady section of town and the doormen were glaring at me) outside a club in Phnom Penh that doesn't seem to appreciate grenades being brought in.

“Elephant!  Enter Angkor Thom like a king!  Ride the elephant!”

The short man in a red and gold period costume sits insouciantly near the head of the lumbering beasts as it trails me along a stone bridge.  Behind him is a large covered saddle, with what looks to be an overly wide red sofa perched loosely atop it.  Fit for kings, indeed, though how one gains access to the towering pillion is unclear.  The driver lounges on the front so casually, one would expect him to either slide off or lose control of the behemoth at any point, yet the elephant saunters along listlessly.  I smile up at the man.

A ride fit for a king, apparently

“Elephant?” he asks me.  I shake my head and resume my slow walk across the Angkor Thom causeway, under the watchful eye of the massive stone Gopura — a Hindu tower usually marking the entrance to a temple.  This one is  adorned with giant faces staring out in the cardinal directions, presumably for watchful protection.  Assisting them, or possibly just using the heads for a toilet, are a handful of monkeys that seem to have formed a playful bond with the thousands of weekly visitors to the site.

“Is only way to enter Angkor Thom!” he yells out after me.  My feet continue to prove him wrong.  From either side, an army of stone Devas (Hindu gods) and Asuras (demons) stare me down as I cross over toward the southern gate.  Motorcycles pass by with all the foot traffic, but Sapo explained that it is traditional to walk across; Sapo also looked pretty damned comfortable where he was, lounging on his bike as still as the stone figures alongside the bridge.  The figures sit there in perpetuity, both sides pulling a naga or “great snake,” which represents the Hindu creation myth of “Churning the Ocean of Milk.”  Angkor Thom has entrances at all four of the cardinal directions, and a fifth, the Victory Gate, which we pass through later on our way to explore more of the grounds.

Passing under the Gopura, past one of the first giant Angkor trees with roots dripping down over the rock like a psychedelic waterfall frozen in time, I catch my first glimpse of the Bayon Temple.  The temple was built by the great Jayavarman VII, an Ancient Khmer king of the 12th century and the leader who presided over much of Angkor Thom’s creation.  His pyramid-like palace sits on the grounds very close to Bayon, though it’s his temple, with its giant spires and multitude of serene stone faces that capture the most attention from tourists.

Posing with what I believe to be the gods and not the demons. It's not entirely clear...

How many millions of monkeys have these guys witnessed lazily crossing over into Bayon?

Crossing into Bayon, by foot, wheel or elephant

The multi-headed Gopura, watching over South Gate

Monkeys. I just missed the shot of this guy holding a Chinese man's baseball cap. The man had, for reasons unknown, tossed his hat up to the monkey, who proceeded to catch it, stare at it dully for a moment and the drop it to the ground and look away as though nothing had ever happened.

Intricate carvings along the side of the Gopura

Bayon Temple. From afar, it looks like a series of misshapen, rubble-y towers, though up close the rich calmness of the many stone faces is particularly impressive. Originally built as a Buddhist temple, it was used later by Hindus and then once again by Buddhists before being forgotten in the jungle. As such, several different styles of architecture and interior artwork are at play here. There is no moat around the temple as the city itself, Angkor Thom, has one enormous moat surrounding it.

The inside of Bayon is famous for being almost entirely covered in intricate bas reliefs like this one. Each tells a story, though I'm not exactly sure what the tale here is...

Because tourists like nothing more than posing with locals wearing period clothing! These girls hang out in Bayon all day and seem to do reasonably well with their business.

The long causeway between Baphuon and the Terrace of the Elephants

Baphuon. A Hindu temple honoring Shiva built in the 11th century. Originally taller, much of the three-tiered building collapsed over time and the restoration has been slow. A lot of effort was put into tracking down all of the original stones and where they were to placed, but then all of this information was forever lost when the Khmer Rouge came into power.

People selling paintings in Bayon. A little girl of about ten accosted me here trying to get me to buy postcards and calling me a "ladyboy" for not buying any. At first I put down her sales technique as ineffective, before giving in and buying some cards so she'd stop following me. What?

The official volleyball net of King Udayadityavarman II

Phimeanakas. The three-tiered pyramid-like Hindu temple inside the king's palace grounds. It's said that each night the king would spend time at the top with a different woman who represented the Naga (snake). It's so hard being king, sometimes...

More irreparable harm caused by third-rate renovation crews

The Terrace of the Leper King. Atop it sits a statue of Yama, the Hindu god of death. When re-discovered, the statue was so discolored and covered in moss, that it received the new nickname of "Leper King"

The Terrace of the Elephants. Attached by a long walkway to Phimeanakas, the terrace was the place where the king would view his returning army, hopefully after a victory.

Also from the Terrace of the Leper King

Artisans and dealers in kitschy trinkets can be found outside almost every archeological site — and there are at least forty spectacular sites alone on the overall Angkor map — though large dining areas are a bit more spread out.  Following my tour of Bayon and the king’s palace, Sapo and I stop for lunch (on my dime, of course) before plotting our next few stops.  Sapo’s a great driver, but fairly lacking on any interesting historical information; he seems happier to talk about his mistress, frankly.  There are plenty of other tour guides walking about, though, and I stop  from time to time to listen to the more interesting points.

While eating lunch, a girl of about twelve comes over to tries to sell me a t-shirt, failes, and then attempts to sell some magnets and other trinkets that I also have no interest in.  I push them away politely.  ”I rub your back,” she says excitedly, digging in her surprisingly strong hands to the area between my shoulders and neck.  ”Well, that’s.. not so bad actually…”  I let her continue for almost a minute until I look up and spot two female tourists in their 20′s staring peculiarly at a grown man getting massaged by a twelve year old.  I quickly toss her a dollar and wish her good luck elsewhere.  Talented kid, though.

My attractive, if not particularly flavorful, lunch. I asked for something uniquely Cambodian (spaghetti bolognese and hamburgers were on the menu too) and got this. Unfortunately, I made no notes as to what was in it...

Sapo, thrilled to be eating lunch with me.

Following lunch, Sapo and I ride out northwards to a series of sites I’d picked out while we ate.  There are at least twenty spots worth seeing, and only enough time for five or six of those, so time is of the essence.  The temple of Preah Khan.  The large fountain at Neak Pean.  And the perfectly picturesque Ta Som and Ta Prohm, both so beautifully absorbed into the jungle.  Depending on time, we might catch a few others, before timing our day to end atop Ta Keo for one of the best views of the surrounding landscape.  It’s an ambitious schedule, but definitely worthwhile.

Preah Khan. A very large temple complex located just to the northeast of Angkor Thom

While Angkor Wat and most of Angkor Thom were still in marginally good condition, this was the first example of a temple that had been semi-reclaimed by the jungle around it

Preah Khan is low and flat, but very large, with shrines to over 430 deities within it. Most of the statues at those shrines have since been removed, either by thieves, or to protect them for safekeeping

Bird-like Garuda, ancient enemy of the snake-like naga (which Garuda here holds triumphantly in his hands)

Neak Pean. Literally "entwined serpents," due to the many snakes running along the base of the sculpture at this artificial island shrine. It is actually a series of five pools (a central one, with four others built off of it in the cardinal directions) built for medical purposes. The four pools are meant to represent Earth, Air, Fire and Water, and it was thought that entering these pools would provide balance to bathers, thus removing disease.

The temple at Ta Som. Built, like so many of the buildings here, by Jayavarman VII, this temple was a shrine to the king's father who ruled from 1150 to 1160

One of the more famous trees, this sacred fig tree has almost completely covered the eastern gopura (entrance) to the temple

The East Mebon. One of the older sites in Angkor, this 1oth century temple was built for the god Shiva. Originally built as an artificial island, the surrounding lake has since dried up. Landing stages around the base of the temple show it was once reached by boat.

Elephants are a common motif here, with statues of the animals found on all corners

Pre Rup. Like East Mebon to the north of it, this temple was made of brick, sandstone and laterite. Meaning "turn the body," the temple was a place for funeral services where the ashes of the recently deceased would be turned in the four cardinal directions over the course of the ceremony.

Maybe this is just me being infantile, but I was fascinated by the fact that these statues of large cats were precise down to the asshole.

Ta Prohm. One of the most famous sites in Angkor, not for historical reasons so much as for being so picturesquely overrun by nature

Despite being so atmospherically reclaimed by nature, Ta Prohm is one of the newer temples here, built between the 12th and 13th century to honor Jayavarman VII's family

This local kid apparently found a good spot to take a nap

Ta Keo. Our final stop of the day. One of the recommended spots to catch the sunset in Angkor due to this temple's elevation. Sapo dropped me off down below, and then I hiked up a large hill to get to this temple. Those not in the mood for a walk once again have the elephant option here.

The temple is comprised of five tiers, all made of sandstone. Originally, it too was surrounded by water

I'm not alone in wanting to catch the sunset here. While the sunset does bring out incredible colors in the buildings and surrounding countryside, the actual process of waiting is tedious and boring.

Sunset over Angkor

Following sunset, there’s little else to do here, and Sapo’s clearly done with me.  Siem Reap’s a lively town with a burgeoning club scene due to the steady influx of young tourists here.  But I’m apparently getting too old to spend thirteen hours exploring ruins and then go out and rage until dawn.  I have a nice meal with some Canadians and, since I know I’ll be sleeping for a long time anyway, risk ordering my meal “happy.”  This simple adjective, added on to nearly any course on the menu in many restaurants in Siem Reap, means the dish is prepared using ample servings of marijuana.  I tried a “pot brownie” once before.  I found the experience both miserable and paralyzing, as I was abandoned by nearly all of my faculties; As I try it this time before passing out on a surprisingly comfortable bed, the experience is not as unpleasant…

The inner causeway into Angkor Wat. There are five spire-like towers at the heart of it, with the tallest one rising up from the center. I can also say from personal experience that at any given time, 50% of the world's ancient monuments are covered in unattractive scaffolding.

My driver meets me just outside the airport in Siem Reap, Cambodia; it’d be a far more poignant moment if I had actually expected him or knew the man in any way.

“Hello man!  I am your driver.  I am Sapo.”  Sapo?  Isn’t that the name of that stuff we scraped off jungle frogs in Peru and rubbed into open wounds on our bodies to “remove our toxins”?  That’s a fun memory…

“Where are you taking me Sapo?”

Welcome to Cambodia!

“I take you anywhere you want, boss!  You want to see Angkor Wat sunset?  Very nice.  I’ll take you right now!”

“I don’t know, man.  I should probably just take a cab…”

Sapo drives a small motorcycle, a vehicle type I had hoped to be taking a long hiatus from riding, though I guess I should’ve known better.

“Really good price!  I have a wife and two kids!”

The family man’s price isn’t bad, and here on the outskirts of Siem Reap, there aren’t many options to choose from.  It’s uncomfortable riding on the edge of his seat with my large backpack catching stray gusts of breeze and dragging me to either side, but it goes against the general spirit of my peregrinations to avoid a particularly attractive sunset.  It normally costs money to enter the enormous temple complex, but at night Sapo tells me he can get me into the main temple for free if we arrive after 6 in the evening.

“And then after that, I take you to very nice hotel!”

“Cheap and lively would be nice…”

Racing the sunset

“Yes, exactly, and then I pick you up tomorrow morning, take you on tour.  Many things!”

“Let’s just get this sunset taken care of for now, Sapo!” I yell over the wind, nervously  gripping him tighter as we speed around a sharp curve.

“Have to go very fast.  The sun is setting!  We make it, no problem!”

“Sure sure…” I answer.  It occurs to me as I once again risk my life upon a motorcycle, that I’ve actually seen the sun set on multiple occasions in the past.

Angkor Wat.  The legendary temple complex hidden away in Cambodia’s jungles almost as well as Machu Picchu is nestled away in Peru.  There are many parallels between the two sites, though Angkor Wat is almost five hundred years older.  And it is much, much bigger…

Sapo and me, speeding along uncomfortably on our way to Angkor Wat

A Brief History

The sun has almost disappeared when I first spot the unforgettable towers of Angkor Wat (literally “City Temple”), still waging their millennial battle with the jungle that surrounds them for dominance of this land.  For hundreds of years, it appeared that the temple complex — and there are scores of massive, ornate temples and palaces dotting the Angkor region — had lost spectacularly (just look to the centuries old trees firmly planted over the ancient stonework for proof).

A well-dressed Buddhist statue inside one of the outer rooms of the temple. There are several like this, decorated in fancy clothing and offerings, and rooms are almost choked with incense smoke

While most of the ancient city of Angkor Thom had disappeared into the jungle, Angkor Wat itself never fully fell out of use.  Originally built almost a thousand years ago as a Hindu temple to worship the god Vishnu, the enormous temple  – considered the largest religious building on the planet — eventually was repurposed by Theravada Buddhists who have continued to use the temple regularly to this day.

However, it was Angkor Wat’s re-discovery by the French in the 19th century helped boost its popularity on an international scale, and specifically the writings of Henri Mouhout who wrote of it:

“One of these temples—a rival to that of Solomon, and erected by some ancient Michelangelo—might take an honourable place beside our most beautiful buildings. It is grander than anything left to us by Greece or Rome, and presents a sad contrast to the state of barbarism in which the nation is now plunged.”

While Cambodia was under French control, the vast archeological site was opened up for the first time in centuries and the city of Siem Reap became a hot spot on the bucket list of that age’s most intrepid travelers and explorers.  All of that changed, of course, when Cambodia fell to the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot’s decades of slaughtering his own people.  It’s only since his demise in the 90′s that Angkor Wat has once again become a national treasure, with more and more tourists flocking to it annually.

Surrounding the temple for several kilometers is a massive complex of stone buildings constructed around the 11th century known as Angkor Thom, or “great city.”  Only religious and political figures used the stone buildings in their day, and it’s believed that nearly all the land here was covered in small wooden buildings as well for the normal populace, though almost all hints of these structures have been destroyed by time and nature.  Some historians credit Angkor Thom as having a population of over a million during its heyday in the 12th century, giving it a sprawling population greater than the contemporary cities of London and Paris combined.

A layout of Angkor Wat's grounds. The large moat around it kept the jungle for reclaiming the temple for the past thousand years.

Today, Angkor Wat is probably this country’s biggest source of pride.  It graces both the flag and the local currency, not to mention any tourist brochure or poster ever made for Cambodia.  It’s also a minor point of contention with Thailand, as the Thais have laid claim to this land in the past.  As recent as 2003, false rumors of a Thai soap opera actress claiming Angkor Wat belonged to the Thais caused massive riots in Phnom Penh.

My own observation: I think it’s the most brilliant archeological site on the planet.  Every temple, even those most ravaged by history, is a masterwork of intricately carved stonework down to the smallest detail.

After dropping me off  at sunset last night, Sapo negotiated a price with me.  He started high, claiming his girlfriend was pregnant and he would have to pay for the baby.

“I thought you said you were married, Sapo?”

“Married yes, to my wife.  This is my girlfriend.  Different.”

“What??  Mistresses are a luxury, dude.” I stick to my original price and eventually he capitulates.

Angkor Wat, gracing the flag of Cambodia

True to his word, Sapo picks me up at five in the morning, and we zipped around the countryside from massive temples to impossibly large palaces, from sunrise until after dusk and still I saw but a fraction of what Angkor has to offer.  For better or worse, almost all the ruins are completely open for visitors to scamper through unhindered; Roped off areas and “Do Not Enter” signs are at a minimum.  This might not be best for Angkor Wat’s continuing health, but it sure is an incredible hands-on experience.

Other travelers to the Angkor region agree that after a day or so, Angkor Fatigue kicks in, where one begins to get numb to the endless variety of ruins to explore here.  In a similar vein, I feel that posting all of my pictures in a single entry might be too much, so I’m using this entry solely for my pictures from Angkor Wat (both sunset and the  following morning’s sunrise), and the following post will contain all of the remaining pictures from around Angkor Thom.

The main causeway leading into Angkor Wat across its large moat

Trying to capture the scope of the moat

Sunset at Angkor Wat, just about an hour after flying into the country

And sunrise the next morning. Over a hundred people already sat out here when I arrived at 5:30 am, waiting for the sun

Just a regular wall inside Angkor Wat. Look carefully at how intricately the walls are decorated.

A monk chatting up a tourist in one of the main room inside the temple

The stairs are thin, steep and worn down over time. Getting this shot with the ten second auto-timer on my camera wasn't nearly as easy as my suave demeanor makes it out to be

Sunrise at Angkor Wat

The outer wall of the Wat

Holes drilled into the rocks from the scaffolding. A tour guide explains that when Cambodia began renovations on the Wat several years ago, they went with the cheapest option. This is the result...

A fairly large monastery located just next to Angkor Wat. I wandered over and seemed to be one of the few foreigners over there. A young monk in training, looking to practice his English, took me on a tour of the grounds then introduced me to one of his elders. Taking off my shoes, we went into their small temple where the aged monk sprayed me with a thin mist of perfume and recited a blessing over me, while giving me a red, braided bracelet which I still wear. The young monk told me that an offering of any sort is now expected, and I sheepishly gave them the equivalent of a dollar, which they seemed content with. I asked Sapo about it later and he explained that offerings from locals are often just food or small personal trinkets, and one dollar was more than generous.