002 RUINED

Ride to the NGO for breakfast….omelette and rice.

There are two French women and a French man at the table. They’re 50 something and have come by taxi from Sisopon. They are staying in another house arranged by the NGO in accommodations similar to mine. They don’t much care about comfort. They want to see the ruins. The rest is not important. We talk about their previous trips. They have spent a lot of time off the beaten path in some very remote and very  interesting places. They are on the same route as me. We part with firm handshakes all around but never meet again.

Now to get ruined!

There are 9 satellite sites in the area. I saw one on my way in yesterday evening, two are engulfed by jungle and one has yet to be de-mined. The remaining five are today’s mission.

I begin not with a temple but a baray or water reservoir. The Khmers grew rice. Rice needs water…a lot of water. Cambodia is monsoonal. Most of the yearly rain falls in a four month period. Collection, storage and distribution of that rain is of vital importance. Enter the king. The hydraulic systems are his responsibility. A good king will do his duty for love of his people, a bad king for fear of losing his throne. No water = no rice. No rice = hungry people. Hungry people = rebellion. It’s not rocket science. Cambodia is dotted with these barays. Many are still in use.

The baray is six kms. east of the main temple, an easy ride down a dirt road. The wind still blows strongly from the north and the trees bend and sway. The baray is huge. I guesstimate at least 1km. a side. The road runs along the south side but I discover an arbored trail right on the rim. It’s lovely riding…cool, shady and dancing with butterflies. The trail ends at the southeast corner. I sit on an old log and eat oranges. Fishing birds hover, bees buzz and butterflies wink in the sunshine. The baray is covered with floating vegetation the wind pushes towards me. My guidebook talks of a temple on an island but I can’t find it.

The baray

Lunchtime!

Back to town where I find a restaurant. Will I be lucky this time?  The food is precooked and resting in aluminum pots on a counter. I raise each lid in hope and return each in despair. I choose one, tuck in and imagine something better. It’s not a big stretch.

Now the temples.

The first two are total ruins. They are what they are. All ruins have their charm and as a true lover of old stones I savor them all. Restored ruins are like the rich dressed for the evening….lovely but with a whiff of pretense. The untouched are honestly weather beaten and proud of their age. There is a terrible beauty in each. What the unrestored lack in elegance they make up for in solitude. Few visit such sites. Those who do are all as stone mad as me and make good company.

 

 This and the following photo were taken from what was once the sanctuary of the temple looking first in one direction, then the other.

Man pushes nature. Nature pushes back. The smart money is on nature.

The above temple from another angle.

Prasat Ta Prohm is in another league,  a lovely temple with a fine four-faced Avalokiteshvaras in that enigmatic Bayon style.  A look of infinite compassion or  a sneer of cold command?  He’s the poster boy of Khmer art.

You can vaguly see some figures inside. They were just leaving as I arrived.

A discovery just outside the entrance. That’s a Yoni, the base of a Shiva Lingam. There’s no mistake.The round hole dead center would have held the lingam. The spout on the left collected the water poured over the lingham for distribution to the faithful. This stone is well over a meter long so it did not wander here by itself. It has been deliberately moved from its proper place inside the temple, but why?

Listen the story of the stone.  The temple was once Hindu. All the early Khmer temples were.  Hinduism arrived in Cambodia before Buddhism, carried by South Indian sea traders who were active in this area long before the Europeans arrived and blew them out of the water… literally. It was popular among the royals and the elite. With its ideas of cast Hinduism provided a handy answer to that disturbing ( to the king, at least ) question “How come you’re up there and I’m down here?” A religion with a king’s mind in mind  they took to it like ducks to water. The poor folk slopping in the muck weren’t so impressed. Buddhism which arrived later via the same sea route was more their style. As Buddhism spread Hindu worship declined so this temple was switched from Hindu to Buddhist. The Shiva Lingham was given the heave ho and now lies abandoned at the entrance to the temple where it was once worshiped. It’s a God eat God world out there.

The people vaguely seen in a previous photo left this behind. A Buddhist offering. That’s rice flour on the stone snake. I take solace in the thought that the Gods are eating no better than I am.

Another satellite temple. Another Avalokiteshwara in Bayon style. Trusty’s always up for a selfie.

The same temple from another angle.

The last site of the day. If you take a picture of your shadow can you call it a shelfie?

I head back on a road outside the moat encircling the main temple. The sun is low and the wind still strong.   Disaster!   Trusty goes lame.   The puncture is not so big.

I’m able to cycle most of the way back to the NGO.

Trusty is all whiny. I tell him if he were a horse he’d be put down. He shuts up.

I have the tools to fix a flat but my pump is a small hand held job. A proper pump is too heavy and too bulky to carry. My tires take 35-40 Psi. That’s a lot of work. When I have a roadside flat I just inflate enough to ride to a proper pump. I figure the NGO has a good pump. They do but it’s locked in a shed and the man with the key has gone home. Not to worry.  I’ll fix it tomorrow.

I have dinner, leave Trusty at the NGO and walk home. A young man from Germany has moved into the house. He has just finished high school and is on a program visiting various countries in Asia and doing volunteer work. He will be here for two weeks. His work is cleaning vegetation from satellite temples and will be part of a Khmer crew. He is surprisingly mature. His English is good. When I use an unfamiliar word he writes it down in a small notebook. I ask to see his book. It is mostly slang, cuss words and idioms. His core vocabulary is solid. In German high schools they must study English and another foreign language. His choice was Latin. I’m surprised and ask him why. He says he just loves Latin. Good for him. Not many can say that. His feet are firmly on the ground. He knows clearing vegetation from temples is bullshit work and it is ridiculous to have come so far to do it. His eyes are most interesting…. a rare dark blue of a fathomless depth. One can see his soul. We chat for a while then call it a night. 10 o’clock and I’m in bed. The village is quiet save for barking dogs.