The Churning of the Ocean Milk



Angkor Wat (Photo by Sang Kimleng)

Earlier in the week we had traveled overland on route 6 to Siem Reap, where the Angkor temple ruins are located. The drive takes about 6 hours and is amazingly scenic. Outside the window was the luscious countryside, vibrant fertile green fields of tall grass, palm trees and large bodies of water dotted with lotus flowers.  Our bus swiftly swerved in and out of traffic, passing pick up trucks overflowing with goods and passengers; motor bikes with mattresses and other furniture attached to the seat;  motor bikes with pigs strapped together and tied onto seats; motor bikes with women riding side saddled, their sandals dangling delicately onto their feet, yet never falling off.

Bayon Terrace

I'm still quite sore and actually pulled a muscle climbing through ruins. It can be quite strenuous. It can also be incredibly annoying due to the volume of tourists, especially at Angkor Wat and the surrounding temple complex. You will inevitably encounter those individuals who will pose and photograph themselves in front of a landmark for like 30 minutes, seemingly oblivious that there are hundreds of people trying to capture a photo. 

This is where my dear friend Sang came to the rescue.   

He's a photographer and runs a guest house in Siem Reap that thankfully isn't listed in any of the major travel guides.  He knows all the back roads and routes to get around the crowds. He took us on a pilot episode of "Off-roading in the Tuk Tuk with Sang".

Beng Mealea

Beng Mealea is one of those gorgeous outlying temples that doesn't get much foot traffic.  It's a 2 hour drive from Siem Reap on a road that runs along the base of the Koulen mountains. The temple was built in the 11th century under the rule of King Suryavarman II and many scholars argue that it may have been the model for Angkor Wat. The jungle has overrun much of the structure as it was abandoned for years under Khmer Rouge rule and it currently isn't considered a part of the Angkor World Heritage site. Snacking on sticky rice with black beans wrapped in thin rolls of roasted bamboo, we made the trek with Sang in a moto driven rickshaw.

 

Lost Temple

I spent several hours at Beng Mealea climbing over broken walls, clambering over moss covered stone and scaling precariously along the outer edges of the labyrinth structure. Resembling strong hands, there are trees roots that gently lift entire sections of the inner sanctuary, in a silent confirmation of nature's strength. Thin tree limbs hang from the sky, flowing to the earthen floor in smooth spirals. I was completely absorbed in my element, feeling my skin baking in the immense weight and heat of the jungle, running my fingers through the rust colored dirt and watching the pale patterns of sunlight trickle through the canopy of abundant lush forest.

Angkor Wat Rule No. 01: Let go of your travel guide  : -)

Ta Prohm....ROOTS!



Lawless Fearless Fabulous Phnom Penh

 

Wat Phnom

The river changed its course the first time I arrived in Phnom Penh a few years ago.  It was during the Boon Om Tuk festival,a three day celebration that marks the reversal of the current of the Tonle Sap river at the end of rainy season. The energy here feels a bit unsettled as before and the air is undeniably thick. Here is a city that had the shit kicked out of it, literally emptied of all of its inhabitants at the beginning of the Khmer Rouge regime's deadly 'Ground Zero' experiment a little over 3 decades ago. Possessing the resilience of a fighter, Phnom Penh is recovering and has rapidly grown. An influx of new restaurants, boutiques, book stores and wine bars line the streets. Then there are the mainstays like Happy Herb's Pizza on the riverfront. Yes, the name implies exactly what you're thinking. The city is rough. It can be raw, without too many frills.  At the same time, it's quite striking and beautiful, sitting just west of the confluence of the Mekong, Tonle Sap and Basac rivers.

Who doesn't love the resilience of a fighter?

Monkey at Wat Phnom

I had learned a few Khmer language phrases since my last visit, but I'm still finding that no one understands me when I speak. The language is somewhat staccato and tonal, with a collision of consonants that I can't quite wrap my tongue around.....and my French is limited to Catholic prayers. The only person who has understood me is Veasna, a colleague from graduate school.  She was born here, but grew up in the US. She has started an NGO that helps to provide educational scholarships and opportunities for rural Cambodians. (She also confided to me that no one understands her when she speaks Khmer either.)

Banana Tree



On the official, the traffic here flows on the right. This doesn't mean that motorists won't often drive in the opposite direction.  Traffic lights are adhered to arbitrarily.  The other evening, I was one of three passengers, side saddled and sandwiched in the middle of a motorbike. I held on to my knees and balanced the weight of my upper torso in the opposite direction. Helmet? Who needs a helmet when you've got a ribbed tank top and flip flops! I was nervously laughing on the outside as we sped through the streets. On the inside I was praying that it wasn't in my destiny to check out on the pavement of Sisowath Quay.  

We visited the ongoing exhibit of Al Rockoff's photographs at the Foreign Correspondent's Club.  He was one of the most intrepid photo journalists in the 1970's in Cambodia and Vietnam. Sitting on the upper terrace, the breeze of the mighty Mekong provided a brief respite from the heat.  Everyone that you meet here has a story of the three years eight months and twenty one days that the country was under the rule of the Khmer Rouge. The stories that people have shared with me are almost unspeakable. The ceiling fans spun in oblong patterns.  From the river below, I saw in the reflection the city lights, the resilience and collective will of a people and the gritty strength of the human spirit.
 

Cycling



City of Angels, BKK

 



Wat Arun

It's the dry season of late November and the relatively cooler climate in Bangkok is "just hot." This I learned a few years ago while visiting here and complaining about the heat.  A young man who introduced himself as "Penelope" flamboyantly explained to me the three seasons of Bangkok..."hot, very hot and so very fucking hot! Right now girl, it is just hot". 


Surprisingly the adjustment to the 15 hour time difference has been unnoticeable.  I haven't had any jet lag. None!  I think this may be due in part to the herbs that I consumed en route and the stockpile of mangosteens that we've amassed...those small dark purple colored fruits with thick skin and a citrusy flavor.  These delightful lemon size balls of perfection are slightly sour and incredibly sweet at the same time.
 

The Bottom of the Reclining Buddha's Feet


Yesterday involved a visit to one of my favorite temples in the area, Wat Pho, where the largest reclining Thai Buddha resides.
The Buddha's body is enormous and made of gold. The bottom of his feet are constructed of mother of pearl and are about the
size of a MUNI bus. There's also a massage school on the temple grounds and for 480 Baht (about $15 USD), you can schedule an incredible hour long full body massage with herbal compression. I've heard Thai massage referred to as 'lazy people's yoga' and it's a pretty accurate description.  The aromatherapy of the heated packs of herbs pressed into stressed muscles takes the whole experience to another level.  (Maferefun Ewe!)

The traffic here moves, as in Japan, on the left hand side so I'm constantly reminding myself to look right first! Much unlike Japan, crossing the street here is a feat of embracing the chaos with a 360 degree vigilance. I've gotten a lot better at it,stepping into the street with confidence that the cars, the diesel belching trucks, the motos, the moto driven rickshaws and everything else on the road will swerve around me. I'm often standing in between 6 lanes of traffic trying to work it out.
The not for tourist green curry is an inferno of bliss.  Usually after about the third spoonful, I can feel my heart pounding in my ears and the sweat trickling between my shoulder blades.  It's soo viciously hot, but so delicious. I'm finding that cannot stop eating it even when my eyes water, I can't see quite straight and my mouth, lips and tongue become inflamed.

"Bangkok makes Las Vegas look like Salt Lake City..." said a Brasilian fellow that we met last night at Lumpini market. Well, in fact there are some things that happen in Bangkok that should stay in Bangkok. So gorgeous, violent, opulent, peaceful, shady, raucous and seductive is the City of Angels with it's air scented in hints of incense, rotting garbage, garlands of orchids, dried salted fish, vehicular exhaust and meats simmering in coconut oil.
 

Street Noodles on Sala Daeng



68 and 1/2 Hours in DC

Here’s some last minute serendipity: United Airlines added additional flights into Dulles at the exact moment that I determined that I needed to be on the National Mall for Barack Obama’s inauguration as the 44^th POTUS.

My father laughed and said that this is the first time that the actual residents of DC have come out to participate in an inauguration.  His words seemed to be true.  The streets and sidewalks close to my friend’s flat near Howard University were thick with people even at 3:00am. I had heard that the bars across the city were open 24 hours to celebrate the occasion.  The U Street corridor was alive and incredible, best described as a pan African version of the parking lot at a Dead show.  For me, the blend of the intellectual, artistic and literary scenes was just as seamless and intoxicating as the sides of collard greens, injera bread, jerk chicken and honey wine.

Our crew of 5 comrades, 2 of whom were under 10, set out on foot just as the sky was beginning to lighten.  We were very fortunate to eventually make it to a location near the Washington monument, directly in front of three jumbo-trons after what was a three hour trek in sub freezing conditions down North Capital Avenue.  The crowd, an incredibly diverse sea of D-I-Y democracy, softly seethed with unity, love and the collective force of will.  The audio on the jumbo-trons was so clear that you could almost hear the president placing his hand on the bible just before the oath was taken.  One thing for certain is that I was well layered: silk long johns, wool socks, one of my Chicago winter coats and a hat with flaps.  I wrapped my head in a thick scarf, which allowed me to warm my face with my breath.

The Jumbo-Tron

My mind repeatedly flooded with ancestral whispers as I stood on the National Mall, stories of the dizzying reality of suffering and genocide that was quite a component in the founding of this placed called the USA.  Many in my lineage weren’t ever able to vote in their lifetimes because of their ethnicity or gender.  Many were systematically diseased and stripped of their land and lives.  Having made a conscious effort to change their name to Outlaw, my paternal family was run out of the southern states for daring to pursue their full measure of happiness. Suddenly a roaring thunder arrived and my thoughts were interrupted with the deafening sound of 2 million people clapping in gloved hands.  Ahaaaaa!!!  The grey frigid skies over Washington DC seemed to suddenly burst with the warmth of enthusiasm and hope.

I know it’s somewhat surprising that someone like me - someone very ill suited to cold weather and quite politically cynical - would ever end up at a presidential inauguration, spending 9 hours in 11 degree winter winds.  However I found myself void of words, speechless for a couple days after January 20, 2009.  I just have this pervasive feeling that something could be right in the world, if only for a moment, if only for a day.  I suppose I just needed to capture a glimpse of history, to fill my pockets with snippets of inspiration, to witness a lit match that could ignite the masses to be the change.

The National Mall