THERE’S MORE THAN ONE WAY to climb a hill. But I never expected to be climbing a small hill on the back of a large elephant in the middle of the jungle in the middle of Cambodia. However, the chance was too good to pass up …
Cambodia. Most people who go there go to eyeball the crumbling remains of the ancient Kingdom of Angkor. And I’d read enough to know that this World Heritage site was up there with other archaeological biggies: like Egypt’s Pyramids, China’s Great Wall, Jordan’s Petra, and Peru’s Machu Picchu.
Way, way back – between the 9th and 13th centuries – a string of Khmer kings used their empire’s wealth and work-force to erect a swag of monumental temples, many of which were subsequently reclaimed by the relentless jungle. But some of the most beautiful examples have been restored.
My guide was a delightful young man whose name (‘Daling’ – pronounced ‘Darling’) embarrassed me when I first used it out loud. But I could hardly believe what he was showing me: towering moss-smothered stonework… vast terraces, moats, and spires … endless sculptures of deities and royals … wall-to-wall murals recording Hindu battles and Buddhist rituals.
The centuries have taken their toll, of course, but long ago, while other eventual world capitals were still humble villages, this was a royal centre populated by more than a million people!
The largest and best-preserved temple is Angkor Wat, built by Suryavarman II in honour of the god-king Vishnu. Bridges across a deep moat point the way through arched entrances to the central temple structure, where paved courtyards and corridors are decorated with ‘Apsaras’ (Heavenly Dancers) – still graceful, frozen in time and stone.
Trying not to look down, I scrambled nervously to the topmost terrace where Buddhist priests once did their thing.
Next morning after breakfast, as we approached the walled city of Angkor Thom, I was suddenly aware of a giant weathered face peering at me from above the gate. Inside this famous temple complex, countless collapsing towers were adorned with similar huge faces, smiling meditatively as they lit up in the morning sun.
Nearby was an ancient parade ground, the Elephant Terrace, and I tried to imagine monks and warriors, decorated elephants and cheering crowds, in a colourful, noisy procession.
Elsewhere amongst these sprawling remains is the Ta Prohm monastery – left as it was found, unrestored, still gripped in a battle with the tropical jungle. The intricate stonework is being devoured by giant 600-year-old strangler-fig trees, enormous trunks and roots spreading like claws to grip every crack and crevice.
A shadow hangs over Cambodia. The bloody rule of Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge (1975 to 1978) saw cities emptied and two million people killed. And I felt that shadow acutely when, over lunch, I met Veesna. This serious young man was only four when his father, a local government official, disappeared. He’d been dobbed in by neighbours, taken to a torture camp, and executed.
“Cambodians killing Cambodians – so evil!” said Veesna, who also lost grandparents, uncles, cousins. “I still can’t understand it …”
Thankfully, the shadow is lifting. The Khmer Rouge are no more, the infamous landmines are being cleared, and this small nation with a remarkable ancient past is slowly recovering.
Phnom Bakheng was the name of that rather steep hill – and off we lurched through the jungle. My elephant was fast – we easily caught up with a slower beast in front. But, with no room to pass, my driver could only shout and prod its hairy bum with his sharpened pole.
Up top were crowds of camera-toting tourists. And Daling and I sat down to a picnic of boiled eggs and sour mango that he’d been given by a white-robed Buddhist nun.
Night falls quickly in this part of the world. The brilliant orange sunset was fading before we knew it … and vast clouds of black bats now filled the darkening sky.
Another day in Indo-China was almost over …
