The ruins of Siem Reap

It was a cool and quiet December morning and my guide, Han, and I were making our way to the east entrance of the Angkor Wat complex. He was ushering me past the local peddlers — young girls about eight years old, face full of grime, feet bare, hands persistently shoving cheap souvenirs towards me. They opened their mouths to trade their wares for some US dollars. In their voices, I heard the distinctive American accent, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the situation.

That was among the many surprises Siem Reap tossed my way during the short three-day jaunt in this little city, whose atmosphere reminded me so much of Malaysia’s Langkawi island many decades ago. Though it seemed like a backwater village from the 1980s on first impressions, Siem Reap was clean and the people were gracious. Perhaps it was mirroring back the gigantic smiling faces of Buddha from the Bayon temple nearby.

Our approach to the Angkor Wat complex took us along a red dirt path that threw up dust with each step we took. I pitied those with respiratory problems as I tried hard to hold my breath in. A huge lake framed by mature trees created a peaceful backdrop to the location, amplifying my anticipation to see the much revered building.

The east entrance to Angkor Wat was less touristy — in fact, I got to see local labourers at work cleaning up garbage and, in between work shifts, taking a snooze in hammocks they’d hitched up among the trees.

Yes, I would miss out on a grand entry into the temple by avoiding the main gate, but the quiet path around the back here was the perfect route to avoid the early morning crowds that were already swarming at the front entrance.

I’d heard a lot and done some readings about the Angkor Wat complex. The prospect of standing within a historic piece of world-renowned archeology was actually the determining factor over a fun and frolicky holiday in Bali. As I strolled beneath the cool shade of trees, making my way closer to the UNESCO Heritage site, I felt like a blushing bride about to meet her groom at the altar for the first time.

And then again, another surprise. Nothing really prepared me for the beauty and majesty of the temple. In pictures, I saw much rubble, dust and stones. But here before me was a well-designed symmetrical building, very much intact, with perfection in both form and functionality. The building blocks used to stack one over the other as foundation was made of lava rock, while the walls utilized sandstone that were that much easier to carve and sculpt into highly detailed visual tales.

I marveled at the sophistication of the architecture and design, and imagined what kind of civilization — and the motivations — that could conceive and construct such beauty with the rudimentary machineries available at the time.

Han informed me that the outer temples were the prayer halls for the common people, while the inner-ring of corridors were meant for high-ranking officials to pay their respects. Finally, the steep-rising stupas of the inner sanctum was solely reserved for the king to worship.

Engravings on the walls portrayed in graphic detail stories of good and evil, of heaven and earth, of life on earth and karma in the hereafter. I was surprised yet again that the stories had similar themes to all the major religions of the world.

The temple courtyards were cool and quiet despite the presence of groups of camera-toting tourists busying themselves with selfies and wefies. Still, a feeling of reverence hung thick in the air, even after hundreds of years had passed since these buildings were abandoned of their original purpose as a religious monument. The calm and stillness of the temple from protective prayers held over many years long ago draped over the visitors…even the Chinese groups spoke in hushed tones!

In the vast open grounds behind and in front of the complex, there were two standalone buildings of almost exact architecture and precise detail. Though in partial ruins now, their handsome features were still evident beneath blackened moss and the passing of time. In the old days, these were the libraries of the temples, guarding the sacred texts belonging to the king.

It was not with a little regret that I ended the tour of the temples that evening, and faced the journey back to the noisy city. And my, how different the atmosphere was in comparison.

The temples, despite being hundreds of years old, still exuded an air of sanctity about them. It wasn’t hard to imagine how regal and grand it had once been.

In contrast, there was a loose and crass ambience back in town. Tourists seemed to rule the place in every café, bar, restaurant and shop. Nowhere was there that sense of deep respect that resonated along the dark corridors of the temple just ten minutes away.

And again, I was caught by surprise…this time by Cambodian hospitality. They were hardly meek, but rather, modest individuals who were, perhaps, a little overwhelmed by a sea of such foreignness. A confrontation between a Cambodian hotel staff and an irate tourist exemplified the humble and peaceable character of the locals. In appeasing the tourist, the Cambodian hotelier kept on repeating soothingly, “You are not wrong,” as a mother would hush and pacify a petulant child. This gently repeated affirmation somehow eased the tourist’s anger until she herself became visibly embarrassed by her own petty outburst and self-righteous demands.

Yes, there were wars and battles fought with neighbours in the old days, and yes, there were back-and-forth religious beliefs between Hinduism and Buddhism, and today, there are foreign crowds — German, American, French, Russian, Chinese — on every corner of this town creating a nervous chatter of language and temperament. However, despite all this, the essence of Cambodia is thankfully not lost amid the temporary flooding of foreign influence. It comes through in the small little gestures if one cares enough to look — the respectful sampeah accompanied by an almost imperceptible nod of the head and downcasting of the eyes, in the calm and soothing tones of the Khmer language, and the serenity of the religious hallways of the Angkor complex.

It’s ironic how tourism deeply serves and severs a community. Certainly here, tourism has taken over Cambodia, but somehow its spirit lives on within the ruins, intact.