Gimme one dolla'

Photo-op in front of Angkor Wat

Raining at Bayon Temple

Ta Phrom Temple

Some kids helping move the rice seedlings

West Bantay Lake in the storm

I hate rain - always have. Give me snow or give me sun, just don’t get me wet unless I plan on it. The meteorological madness that let loose the last two days apparently didn’t care to pay attention to my preferences. Harsh sunlight and incredible heat, downpours of biblical proportions that may last 10 minutes or may last all night, the weather bounced between these radical conditions with only seconds of notice. Despite the obligatory moisture that goes along with rainfall and is noticeably in contradiction to my opening partiality towards remaining dry, I actually found the sudden storms both afternoons perfect for the setting. The scenes created by the torrential rainfall beating against 1,000 year old temple ruins or whipping across the rippling lake were almost cinematic in nature. If I hadn’t been worried about my camera getting too wet, I would have been running around in the rain taking more photographs.

I started out yesterday exploring the ruins of Angkor Wat. For those of you familiar with this national symbol of Cambodia, you probably have an image in your head of the temple and may suspect that there is a surrounding complex. The few of you that have had the opportunity to visit know that there is so much more to it than that. Angkor Wat is but one temple complex in an expansive national park full of ruins. Temple after temple rest amongst the trees and lakes that go on for miles. After visiting the main temple, I returned to the hotel for lunch and a swim before setting out again in the afternoon. It was while visiting Bayon temple that the skies opened up, and we sat surrounded by the leaky stones of the temple, smiling Buddha faces peering at us from all directions. It was another one of those moments, where I felt as if I was standing between eras. The ancient pride of the Khmer people lying in silent testimony of the former greatness of this land as the percussion of the rain drowned out the sounds of modern life. The steady beat of water dripping through the stones reminded me that time had not been suspended.

Walking back to the car with our umbrellas overhead, a young girl approached us on the elephant terrace. She was wearing pajamas, soaking wet, and jumping from puddle to puddle making a bigger splash each time. The girl started chatting playfully with my guide, and as he paused to explain something to me, she reached for my umbrella, and I reluctantly handed it over. I was nervous she might take the umbrella and bolt, leaving me to face the elements, but instead she stood beside me stretching to her limits to try and hold the umbrella above my head. When the guide finished talking, she motioned to me as if to say, “Get moving, we have stuff to see.” My guide asked her what grade she was in - fourth. Then he inquired as to what exactly she was doing here - selling postcards of course. That’s when she remembered that she’s supposed to be working. “Hey Mr., you want postcard? One dolla’! Ok, ten postcards, one dolla’!” Frustrated by my negative responses (I had already bought 10 postcards from another young girl), she finally said, “Ok, no postcards, just give me one dolla’!” She followed us to the road constantly reminding me that I should just fork over some money because she told me to, but switched targets very quickly when a group of Brits were getting ready to get in a Tuk Tuk back to their hotel. She blocked the entrance of the Tuk Tuk, leaving them standing in the rain, smiled innocently and said, “Gimme one dolla’!” Priceless, simply priceless. That night, the rain came harder and harder, thunder rumbling incessantly with occasional flashes of lightning. At some points, I thought the hotel might float away the rain was so hard.

In the morning, things had calmed down, and the sun was out like usual. We returned to the Angkor complex to visit Banteay Srei temple, another example of intricately carved elegant temple architecture from year 967. From there, it was on to Ta Phrom temple, used in the filming of Tomb Raider, and then on to one more temple, the name of which I can’t recall. We also made a brief stop at the Landmine Museum, something not every country has. The civil war in Cambodia only officially ended in 1998, so tragic remnants of the decades-long conflict still dot the country. Signs litter the roads between town and the temples, ‘Mine Field Cleared by…” I know that should be a positive message, but it really makes me wander how many non-cleared fields are a short walk away.

My touring program continued in the afternoon, when my village guide came to take me out to his village. We rode down another dirt road pocked with large holes, ditches and puddles of unknown depths. Once in the village, we started walking around as the guide explained his village origins, the social intricacies of village life in Cambodia, and the local farming economy. We stopped at the home of his siblings to see how the planting of the rice seedlings was going and to enjoy some fresh coconut water. The driver had left the village to drive to the other side of the lake where he was supposed to meet us after a leisurely boat ride. Trekking through the fields and forests near the village, I once again started thinking about those mine field signs. In heavily mined areas, it’s always best to stay on paved surfaces, but instead, I was making my way through drained rice paddies and rural dirt paths. Brilliant. Turns out my worries were misdirected. My guide pointed out an ant nest on the ground surrounded by rather large black ants. “These ants are very poisonous and aggressive, so just jump over them.” Fabulous, just what every fat American in shorts and sandals wants to hear while wandering through the countryside of Cambodia.

I made it to the shores of West Bantay Lake without any ant bites or exploding landmines. The boat was tied to a post a good 5 meters into the lake and it wasn’t getting any closer. I took off my sandals and waded out to the boat. I’m not quite sure how I accomplished it, but I managed to climb aboard the boat from the water, and then we looked out into the distance and saw a wall of water coming towards us. The dark clouds dimmed the sunlight, the wind picked up and began to turn the lake into an angry sea. Suddenly the rain dropped on us as if the gods were taking turns pouring buckets over us. The wind was blowing the rain sideways, soaking us from all directions. Rather than sitting on the edge of the boat, we were standing in the middle, directing our efforts to finding the driest place possible in a makeshift swimming pool. We watched as small fishing boats were rocked from side to side, taking on more water until they sank almost completely into the lake. For a brief moment, the rain subsided, but the guide looked out into the distance and said, “One more coming.” After a second round of being beat about by bullet-like rain and rough winds, we were left with a sunny blue sky and proceeded across the lake where the car was waiting.

The last stop of the day was a silk farm, where I saw how silk worms were grown and fed, how they spin their cocoons, and how the cocoons are turned into raw and fine silk for weaving. The Artisans de Angkor silk farm finds people from the villages and brings them out to the farm for training and then allow them to work for the locally significant sum of $150 USD per month. It’s income that they wouldn’t otherwise have, and a skill set that they can take with them anywhere. Most of them are also given English lessons at the silk farm, another skill valuable in the long-term. We often forget how fortunate we really are.