Rumi writes, "where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure." I don't believe it was meant to be read literally, but my last five days of travel have proved that what may be true figuratively, can also be a very true literal statement.
I’ve thought of 1000 different ways to write this post and none of them seemed to have the flow I was looking for, so I’m hoping today, looking back through pictures and quick notes I’ve scribbled in my moleskin journal, I’ll be able to recount for you, the most incredible journey.
Skipping ahead to Saturday morning:
After an evening of $.50 draft beers and "fish foot massages", 4AM came quickly. It was still dark outside when we left the hotel. Bret, Noam and I had sleepy eyes as we crawled into our tour guide, Sok Som's old, white Mercededs van. Sok Som was the unofficial mayor of all things Angkor Thom, one of the oldest and most experienced tour guides, he was able to take us places most tourists do not have access to. ((Angkor Thom directly translates to “The Great City” and is home to the 8th great wonder, Angkor Wat, and scores of other ancient temples.)) After purchasing our Angkor Thom passes, we zipped down old, dark, dirt roads - the windows fogged with condensation, drastically reducing all visibility. From what I could see, we were the only people on the back path, surrounded by colossal mahogany trees and crumblings of ancient temple ruins. The air hung heavy with morning’s dew.
The tires screeched to a halt; Sok Som scurried from the van and quickly moved the metal road barrier blocking our path, waiting until the driver had proceeded, to put it back. I gave the boys a questioning glance. My mind was tired, but giddy at the prospect of adventure.
The van stopped where the road split and we followed our guide’s lead. A cluster of small, yellow candles glowed in the distance and the soft hum of monks chanting echoed in the lush green landscape, still hidden by predawn. We were completely alone. Sok Som warned us to walk carefully amongst the fallen sandstone in the twilight; the silhouette of the Bayon blended in with the early morning sky; it was 5:15AM.
No one said a word. The backdrop of morning prayers and nature’s wispers was the idyllic soundtrack to what seemed like a scene from a Hollywood blockbuster: Three young travelers in the middle of Cambodia, at the center of Angkor Thom (“the Great City”), perched upon a ledge of Bayon Wat at sunrise, surrounded by 216 pairs of sleepy eyes and pursed lips, on the tranquil faces of carved sandstone.
“Sit. Meditate. Let morning come,” were Sok Som’s only words and with that he was gone.
And so we did.
If bewilderment was the currency of the day, then we were richer than the kings that had once presided over this ancient capital city of the Khmer empire.
I debated between closing my eyes to fully take in the native birds melodies and the smell of the dense, fresh air and never taking my eyes off of the awe-inspiring majesty of my surroundings. I didn’t want to miss a single detail; I wanted to be able to hold on to this moment forever. Pure serenity. The sleeping beauties’ serene faces surrounding me, made me feel safe, looked after and calm. While I’ve never associated with organized religion and I consider myself more of a spiritual person, a characteristic many liberal children of my generation share, I felt the presence of something bigger than words and ideas, with us in the Bayon.
Sok Som returned as the sun rose over the eastern facing spires.
“What did God say to you?”
Silence. And in true Crafton fashion, it was broken with the witty repartee:
“God told me I need some coffee.”
We spent the next part of the morning having a private history lesson on Angkor Thom and religion. We wandered the grounds of the Bayon, the youngest wat (temple) in Angkor Thom and learned the stories of Vishnu, Shiva and Brahma; the trinity of Hinduism.
My favorite lesson of the day was the story of Vishnu saving the universe, as his second avatar, Kruma the Turtle. There are a few different readings of the story that I have read, but from what I learned, it goes a little something like this:
The Devas (heavenly beings or lesser gods) were fighting with the Asuras (demons) to get the nectar of immortality. They churned the Milky sea to get the nectar, using the giant snake Naga, wrapped around Mt Mandara. To prevent the mountain from sinking into the ocean Vishnu turned himself into Kurma the Turtle and supported the mountain on it’s back under the water for over 1000 years, when the nectar of immortality appeared; he gave it to the Devas.
And it’s turtles all the way down…
I felt like a child as we made our way to Angkor Wat, the unofficial 8th wonder of the world. The level of detail, the magnitude and the perfect symmetry take your breath away. From the top, you can see from miles, the cool breeze whipping through the ancient structure’s columns.
Bret, Noam and I took hundreds of pictures, but we all agreed that there are no words and no pictures that can truly do this place justice. To understand you must see it, you must breathe it in and let it consume you. The scent of incense burning from the shrines to Buddha wafts through the wats, the Cambodian sun casts detailed shadows of Angkor Wat’s five spires into the reflecting pool and the combination of a multitude of different languages hums and reverberates throughout the great city.
Of course there were plenty of other adventures and ridiculous happenstances that occurred over the past five days, only to be expected on a trip through SouthEast Asia with Bret Crafton and Noam Ron, but that’s for another post.
