The Durian Apocalypse

Was treated on Sunday to a kind of fascinating little scene. Walking down the street, and was approached by a young girl with a broad, beaming smile, asking, “Where are your shoes?”

Just as I was getting ready to explain that footwear is the work of the demons, she realised that she’d lapsed out of character, and immediately transformed herself into a wan, pathetic, pitiful child of misfortune; no longer able to speak any English; and holding up an empty baby bottle.

It’s kind of a little cottage industry. I understand the parents even keep their kids home from school to go out and work the tourists instead. But that was my first time seeing behind the scenes.

Later, hanging out down by the river in a patch of shade, juggling and reading and eating and stuff, the cultural taboo against shirtlessness finally got the better of me. It’s strongest in Thailand, but also prevalent in Laos and Cambodia. So, after three months in the region, I’ve got the all-time Farmers’ Tan.

But it’s just so damned hot now, getting hotter every day, so it would seem. Removed my shirt, and there was a bit of a breeze blowing; it was like as the whole World had gone upheaval! How great to be alive in this patch of shade, with this little breeze blowing!

And do you know? Couple hours later, I chanced to look down at the torso; and there I was sunburnt! Right through the shade. Was not aware that this was possible. Apparently, it is. Learned me well the importance of a base-tan.

Wasn’t so bad, though. Mainly just itched a little bit. I figured it’d be good and tanned up by morning. But when it wasn’t, I decided not to head up to Banteay Srei ‘til the following day, so as not to aggravate the burn. Probably an unnecessary precaution, in hindsight.

So instead, had a nice conversation with a young man somewhat thick of accent who’d elected to walk along with me. Finally able to glean out his introduction, I asked…

Me: What are you saying? “Skunk”? What is that, dope, you’re selling?
He: Yes.
Me: Ah, no thanks.
He: No! No! Skunk. You know, Skunk?
Me: No, I guess I don’t know.
He: You know Weed?
Me: Yeah. No, thanks.
He: Cocaine?
Me: No, thanks.
He: Heroin?
Me: No, thanks.
He: Opium?
Me: No, thanks.
He: Indian—
Me [Agitated]: Do I look like a fucking drug addict?
He: Okay, no problem!

And he disappeared down an alley. I suppose it was my having shouted out the word “drugs” on a busy street, and not my exasperation, which stopped him in his tracks. It was kind of mean of me, though. I mean to say, oughtn’t to’ve been so disparaging of drug addicts, who are after all only victims.

So, yesterday, Tuesday, was all for it. Banteay Srei or bust! Turned out my decision to wait an extra day proved most beneficial indeed, as it was completely overcast. Indeed, it even rained a piece or two while I was en route. Kind of a hassle having to deal with the taking off of and the putting on of the poncho; not to mention the securing of its loose flaps while riding.

But it made for wonderfully cool conditions. Took me about one-half of one hour longer to attain the temple than I’d projected it would. At about the two-thirds mark, a motorcyclist came up and rode beside me, giving me the same same old It’s-too-far-you’ll-never-make-it! song-and-dance.

I brushed him aside, and got to business enjoying the stretch between the northern boundary of the Park and the location of the temple. Bunch of little villages lining the road in here; and the village folk are not only very friendly (which is typical), but also insanely jovial.

In every village, there were two or three or more people were just laughing their fuckin’ asses off! It was great fun. I do believe that on some occasions their laughter’d been triggered by my bare feet. But mostly, I think, they were just entertaining themselves to death.

If Preah Khan is the Magic Kingdom of the Angkor temples, Banteay Srei is the Pixie Kingdom. Teeny-tiny, yet so stunning beautiful, one may be forgiven for thinking that it must be a movie set.

And when I say, “Teeny-tiny,” it ain’t no joke, neither. Here I am standing next to a doorway.

Teeny-tiny though it may be; in a remote location though it may be; it doesn’t stop the Japanese busloads from arriving in their multitudinous droves. The grounds are, really, too small to hold them all.

Something of a bummer. But, what’s one gonna do? Anyway, once they get up to their usual hijinks, one can’t help but be sucked in.

So just what is it? What’s the Srei’s whammy? Well, apart from the structures’ cute-as-a-button miniaturised scale, it’s the awesome red/brown colour of the stones, and the best carving work in the entire Park.

Besides which: monkeys guarding the Central Prasat! (The entire central courtyard, though, is roped off from the public, to prevent damage to the structures.)

During the visit, it struck up raining a few more times; before finally letting loose with a good soaker. During which, ever’body had to seek shelter under some trees outside the gate near where the Temple Band was playing, or just bug out altogether.

It was kind of nice, ‘cause after the rain ceased, there were hardly any people at all back inside the grounds; so for ten or fifteen minutes’ time, it was a much nicer temple-going experience, with the elbow-room and the un-obstructed sightlines and all.

Definitely one of the Park’s absolute must-see attractions. In fact, I’d say that if one had time to visit only three temples, this should oughta be one of them. Certainly lives up to, and even exceeds its hype; and definitely worth the time expended in getting up there and back down again. Though, if I had it to do over again, I might get a tuk-tuk for one day, and get to both Banteay Srei and the Roluos group on that same day; thus giving one extra day for cycling inside the Park proper.

There’s also a pretty nice Interpretive Centre, the Park’s only, put up just a few years ago. Including some great old photos of the temple before and during restoration.

After finishing up, I was sitting on a bench outside the Interpretive Centre, having a gander at the map, and was offered to purchase a guidebook for $1. Pretty common occurrence; and usually I just offer a, “Yeah, right,” or a, “Whatever,” in response. But as I was already sitting down, I figured might try to peel the onion a little bit.

“Why is it only $1. Is it stolen, or something?”

The purveyor continued to rattle on explaining how nice the book is, and pointing out to me its $27.95 list price.

“Yeah, I understand, it’s a nice book. So, how can you sell it for only $1?”

“You have Thai Baht? 1,000 Baht, if you want to pay in Thai money.” That’s about $33.

“What? So it’s 1,000 Baht or $1?”

“One? No, eleven dollars.”

“You said $1.”

“No, I said $11.”

Back and forth we went, him denying, me un-denying (but more importantly, trying to persuade him to fess up why he’d lied about it). At last, he got sick of arguing the point; but as he was walking away, turned and offered to sell it to me for 500 Baht.

As I say, this is a common scam in the park – but I’ve never seen it executed to completion, so am still puzzled to learn its nature. I thunk it out a little, and here’s my best guess. The tourist hands over $1, and the argument then begins whether the offer had been for $1 or $11. Meanwhile, the scammer has already pocketed the $1; and so the tourist has to either raise a big scene to get his dollar back, resign to having lost the dollar, or fork over a ten-dollar bill to get the book.

Not that $11 is such a terrible price, of course – the books are admittedly perfectly nice. But, clearly, business isn’t booming enough even at that price to deal honestly with the peeps; so more “incentive” is injected into the system.

After cycling back to the Park, I plopped down at Srah Srang – it looking quite lovely indeed on this day…

… – and et the Jakfruit I’d purchased back near Banteay Srei. During the feeding, there was, like, Cambodian circus music coming from yonder village. Neat. But, neater still, every five minutes or so, a dude — sounding much like an auctioneer would do – would chime in with an impassioned monologue. Funnier/cooler than fuck-all.

I had to find out what that shit was all about! Following the sound back into the village, I never did arrive to the temple from whence I presumed the sound to have been originating. But I was pretty close to the loudspeakers when he struck up the chorus again, and here took a bit of footage.

Following on, I was able to discover that an evening shindig was in the works. Presumably, a wedding. And so, though I never did catch sight of him, I guess the orator to’ve been a monk letting fly with pre-ceremonial blessings (or what). Not sure…but am sure that he’s a maestro sent from Heaven.

So then there were still a few hours of daylight remaining; but having now with Banteay Srei visited all of the temples (save a few very small, out-of-the-way holes-in-the-wall), I was unsure how to spend them. Looking on the map, I noticed that Ta Prohm was very close by, and couldn’t resist a return visit.

I wanted to circumnavigate the walls – which I’d done at Preah Khan, but had not done during my first visit to Ta Prohm. A very wise and great decision, as it turned out!

Tree = god, I tells ya! Here I am, paying some well-earnt respects.

Wherever I went, I kept noticing from different angles this one really cool wishbone-shaped tree. Gotta be a sign: god wishes me to taking more pictures!

Back out to the bicycle, the sun had finally emerged. It was okay, though: by this time in the afternoon, it’d let slip from its grasp (at least for this day) its power to kill/maim/destroy. So, I never had to put on a hat.

Cycling back around toward Angkor and the exit, I caught this ultra-cool view of Ta Keo.

Figured I might pop in to Angkor for a time, but ended up yet again getting sidetracked by the damned monkeys. First, one off all by his lonesome, mango-fied to beat the band.

Next, down the road a piece, the bulk of the troupe, being dined by the congregated tourists.

And lastly, atop the south wall, monkey-business did yet ensue.

But why am I so fascinated? Don’t know.

Wednesday evening, now. So freaggin’ hot to-day! Looked as if a evening cloudburst would be forthcoming; turned out to’ve been a false alarm.

What a great day! (Yesterday, Tuesday, that is.)

By whatever law of coincidence which controls the fates of the Sun and all its planets, the temples visited on this day were in a notably greater state of disrepair than those whose paths I’d  before then crossed.

Like all massive civilisations (that is to say, empires), this one received its just desserts in the end. Fuck ‘em. But, in truth, it’s not “Dancing On The Ruins” in the “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” sense: “These stupid jackasses thought they could, by claiming divine right, impose their will to power over their known world. Now they’re gone; let’s party!”

Nothing wrong with that sense of it, natch. But I’ve, instead, in mind the sense of: “Oh boy! Awesome fun shit on which to climb around!” But then, I guess the two are equally necessary, ain’t it?

Pre Rup’s crumbling walls set the stage for the days touring.

The Japanese were here in force, up to their old tricks. Lent the morning a nice, festive beginning.

On the way out, a coupla vendors, having spectacularly failed in their attempt to get me to purchase their wares, decided instead to chat me up a bit.

One of them said he was from San Francisco. I somehow let slip that I’d lived in Hawaii for a year; and the other one claimed that he, too, had lived in Hawaii. I was thrilled to hear it. It’d been a long time ago, he added; and his colleague chirped in, “Yeah…like 300 years ago.”

We all had a good laugh. But I’m still not certain whether they were just bullshitting about having lived in the States, or what?

On to Eastern Mebon, which has the Park’s finest elephant statues (at least that I’ve seen to-date). There’re eight of them guarding the corners of the first and second levels.

Mebon, like Pre Rup, is spectacularly and fascinatingly crumbling to ground.

There are renovations underway at this site, however.

I lingered a while to watch the workmen. Looked to be a maddeningly painstaking way to fill up eight hours of one’s day – especially given in a few short years’ time it’ll have proven to all’ve been for naught. Nature always wins, but humans never learn. (Or will we?)

A tip: if one would care to get hold of William Catton’s remarkable Overshoot: The Ecological Basis Of Revolutionary Change; Chapter 7, “Succession And Restoration”,  will be particularly apropos to this discussion (though, of course, I recommend reading the book in its entirety).

Anyway, enough with the preachifyin’, and back to the itinerary. I was working the “Big Circuit”, but decided to veer off-course to take in Banteay Samre. About five kilometres, each way, out of the way; but it proved a treat.

The temple is actually in amongst a fairly bustling village, which’s even got its own school, and whatnot. So the locals were out in force; catering, owing to the temple’s off-the-beaten-path destiny, to a smaller crowd of tourists than do the sellers in the centralised sites.

I’d purchased some bananas from one of the villagers (much more reasonably priced than at the mega-temples’ shops), and sat down near the entranceway to have some lunch. A gaggle of schoolgirls (and one schoolboy), were kind enough to only ask me once each to buy some crap from them.

When I’d refused them all in turn, they sat down to shoot the shit. Astonishingly competent English spoken by these kids. I asked whether they’d learned their skillz in school, or in pestering tourists. It’s both, they insisted.

When some tourists did walk by, they were quick to abandon me and go try to rope in some cash money; but then returned to entertain me some more.

The temple itself isn’t terribly large, but it’s a beautiful little jewel of a place.

The carving work here is to die for.

Meanwhile, the bricks’ marvelous red hue ensures a most pleasant viewing experience all the way ‘round.

On the way out, I said goodbye to the kids, and re-joined the Big Circuit.

At Ta Som, one is greeted by an appropriate (for the day’s theme) scene.

And not to worry: there’s plenty o’ rubble throughout.

Also,  the most R-rated carvings I’ve yet seen.

Krol Ko is just a little hole-in-the-wall not even really part of the circuit – though it’s along the route. Not without its charms, however.

Moving right along, I gather that Neak Pean is considered one of the Park’s can’t-miss attractions. Certainly, its informational sign is not only the Park’s most evocative; but also treats us to maybe the loveliest English prose in all of Asia:

The ponds in question number four. They were fed by a complex system of anthropomorphic and zoomorphic fountains.

Gotta love it! Alas, when one arrives, after a long stroll atop a boardwalk to the island, one finds that it’s closed off to the public. Renovations, dammit all. Didn’t they know that to-day’s the day for letting nature have its way?

Here’s as close as can be seen.

Drat.

Now, with only one temple yet to explore, and its being still pretty early in the afternoon, I got to wondering what I should do after visiting Preah Khan? Come to find out, Preah Khan is a fucking wonderland which will fill up with incredulity so many hours of one’s day!

A monument to impermanence, and a testament to the folly of civilisations’ endless putting up of massive architectural structures which will only, in the end, be laid low by Mother Nature’s never-ceasing criterion of change and adaptation.

It was huge, too: once held 100,000 people within its sway. Approaching from the east, one passes through the outermost wall, after which it’s a fine ten-minute nature walk before one even comes to the moat. A wonderful sight it is, know ye this.

After another fine woodland walk of some minutes’ duration, the next wall is reached. Here, the war between the trees and the pavements explodes onto Centre Stage, neatly cleaving the tourist’s unsuspecting gourd into shocked and awed halves.

Oh my!

A walk around the entire perimeter of this wall takes forty-five minutes or so. Every second of which is to thrill in the sights and the colours, while the birds and cicadas make sure your ears may be entertained as well.

Whoever got the idea that god made man “in his own image” was just an utter dipshit. What – I ask you – what could be more obvious than that if there is an all-knowing creator taking a recognisably terrestrial form, this all-knowing creator exists in the form of a tree? Nothing could be more obvious, that’s what!

Once inside the temple complex, one is treated to a labyrinthine zig-zag amongst the strewn rubbles altering one’s path at many a turn. But also, the place was once an impressive structure.

Finally, though, one’s attention is drawn over and yet over again to the central storyline of the trees’ staging of their Sherman’s March over and through the temple’s grounds. (Lest one may’ve thought they’d been satisfied with the mere ravaging of the outer walls…)

The glory of Preah Khan lies not only in the fact of its state of decay; but also in the rainbow of colours marking the event. The greens, reds, browns, and grays leave the visitor wanting more, and then still more again.

The oddest sight, though, is that, for all its long-lost splendour, the complex appears to have been designed for use by little kids. See how low the ceiling! The doorways are the same, as well.

If all the spectacular sights and sounds weren’t enough for one’s soul; it may be noted that the temple is somehow strangely devoid of tourists. The guidebooks mark it off as one of the Park’s highlights, and it’s right there on the Big Circuit, but…where are all the people? Okay, it was getting on in the afternoon; and the place is so cavernous as to make it perhaps easy to not notice others in your midst. Whatever the case, it certainly contributes to the incredible ambience.

At one point, having long since lost track of the time in the infinite joy of aimlessly wandering the halls and courtyards, I slipped under this balustrade to see if I could get a better gander at another hotspot in the trees’/stones’ epic battle for these acres of real estate.

Before I even knowed what was going on, I’d clambered up this pile of rubble here…

…and crowned myself “King Of The Ruins!”.

The view from up here; nay, the aura from up here was indescribably electrifying. And, yes, a viable photographic angle was obtained. (Perhaps a little too viable: I suppose I snapped a good forty thousand million shots of this place. I’m pretty terrifically happy with ’em, though. I guess you know where to find them.)

Right at eye-level with the tops of the prasats, I couldn’t believe that such a  magnificent vantage point was available to a lowly mortal onlooker.

After several minutes’ marveling in the euphoria of this miraculous perch, I decided to take some footage.

After which, I climbed up onto the nearby wall seen there, and took yet some more footage from a slightly different angle. Notice, in both videos, how wonderful the score provided by the birdsong – and then note that it sounds so the much more fantastic in person.

Finally realised that the sun was getting pretty low in the sky; and that if I weren’t careful, I’d be caught out having to ride back after dark among the wrong-side-of-the-street-drivin’, no-headlight-engaging-after-dark maniacs atop their god damn stupid god damn motorcycles. So, reluctantly, I began to make my way out.

Yes, okay, Angkor Wat and Bayon and Baphuon are all must-see sights in the Park. But Preah Khan is right there with them. In fact, while acknowledging that it’s not as architecturally accomplished as its more famous cousins, I think it’s my favourite of the lot. Zounds, but what a jolt!

Outside the wall, heading back toward the East entrance, I passed by a group of four Britishwomen, one of them just asking one of the others, “Which temple is your favourite?”

“No, none of them,” the friend crustily replied. “I dunno…they all seem the same.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I wondered aloud. But they were out of earshot, and so fisticuffs did not ensue. Good thing, too: while I’d not mind getting my ass kicked by four out-of-their-minds Britishwomen, there was still the nature walk back to the parking area to experience!

So superior were the dusk-time jungle-sounds, that I had to take yet some more footage.

Cut it off early, frig it, ‘cause I seen a mosquito land on me right at the same time as I seen, on the screen, the dreaded warning call of, “HOLY CRAP! YOUR CAMERA’S BATTERY IS LIKE NINETY-NINE-POINT-FIVE-PERCENT FUCKED!”

Too bad, ‘cause right after this was when one of the cicadas, ever-present in the Park’s woods, began sounding. These damned things get so revved up, one always begins to marvel, “HOLY CRAP! THAT SON OF A BITCH IS LIKE THREE-POINT-FIVE SECONDS AWAY FROM BLASTING OFF TO PLANET MOON!” And then…it just sputters out; like as though somebody’d done and pulled the goddam plug just at the very instant our hero should have been igniting its rocket. Boy, it’s odd. Maybe I’ll try get some footage at a future visit…or maybe one’ll just needs must make visit and hear for one’s own self!

Back out in the parking area, there was only one vendor remaining; a husband and wife team. After striking out in selling me cold water and/or a guidebook, the husband began to ask how long I’d been in Siem Reap, and how many more days I’d be coming to the park?

As I politely answered his questions, he walked over to me. Having so many times before (including by two different ticket-checkers at major temples) been subject to this opening interrogatory gambit, I knew precisely what would be his next query.

“Have you been to Banteay Srei?”

“No, not yet; but I’m planning to! On this,” I added pointing, before he’d an opportunity to ply his wiles, at the bicycle upon which I’d arrived.

“It is…very far.”

“No, it’s not. It’s like forty kilometres. Not even that. More like thirty-five. From town,” I added, noting his facial contortion.

“From Siem Reap is thirty-seven kilometres to Banteay Srei!!”

“Exactly! That’s nothing! So…no motorcycle.”

In pausing, a great look of concern passed over his face and, ever the psychoanalyst, he lowered his voice almost to a whisper before offering, “I think you want to go on motorcycle.”

“No, I don’t want to go on motorcycle,” I countered laughing uproariously. The moto- and tuk-tuk drivers are possibly even more insistently cheeky than are the trinket sellers.

As I hopped on the bicycle, he protested, “Motorcycle is very cheap.”

But I hardly even heard him: my thoughts were already back at Preah Kahn, the Magic Kingdom of the Angkor temples. As I pedaled the tree-lined road back to town, there was no doubting which song would be springing forth from my Angkor-infused lips. For, ‘twas the same that had already been coursing through my veins for hours and hours even before arriving to Preah Kahn.

How if you sing along with me (for old times’ sake)?

Well, let’s see here. Saturday, two days ago, I took an extra day off to rest my injured foot. Being gloriously cloudy and breezy, it was a great day, too, to hang out in the park juggling, listening to the temple band, listening to the birds, listening to the distant thunder (only one very loud thuderboom, no lightning, just a smidge of rain — still fun, though), smelling the incense, and cetera. Hardly believable what a difference some clouds and a nice breeze can make!

These people were at the temple.

So that was cool. Practically every shopkeep past whom I now walk offers to sell shoes to me. I guess word’s getting out there’s a barefoot farang in town – but why doesn’t word get out he’s not interested in the purchase of footwear? It’s even spreading to non-shop-owning folk. Here’s a conversation I had with a young teenager:

Him: Do you want to buy some shoes?
Me [Laughing]: No, thanks.
Him: Why are you not wearing shoes?
Me: They’re very bad. Shoes are very bad for you.
Him: No, they’re not.
Me: Yes, they are. Shoes are very bad.
Him: Then why everyone is wearing them?
Me: They’re idiots.
Him: No…that’s you.
Me: Well…maybe I am an idiot. But, why don’t you try it and see how you like it?
Him: No.

Then he turned and strode off.

So, yesterday, Sunday, was Day 3 at the temples. The itinerary called for the Big Circuit in the morning, then Angkor Wat in the afternoon. But also, on a later day to return to Angkor to study the Bas Reliefs. I thought, why not do both on the same day, and eliminate some traveling between sites?

Plus, it was cloudy again, so I figured that’d be a great time to visit the Temple, and then in the afternoon, if the sun had come out, it’d be a great time to be under cover in the galleries. And this is precisely how the weather played out; so, yay for me.

Huhn, they say it’s better to visit Angkor in the afternoon. Something to do with the quality of the light (or what). But, I dunno, I thought the quality of the light was just fine in the morning.

Yes, very fine indeed.

As far as the temple complex is concerned, sure enough, it is quite beautiful. I kept having to tell myself, “This is not a dream; you are visiting Angkor Wat…”

There’re hundreds of these Devata carvings around and about. Fifteen hundred, specifically, if I’m to understand it correctly.

Also, finally, a Buddha not all duded up in modern raiment.

Making the dizzying climb up the stairs (this is the only temple in the Park in which they’ve got amusement-park-style line control for the stairway) affords one an even closer view of the central Prasat (check the bird flying in the upper right).

Also, as always, a look down at the treetops.

And, what the Hell, an opportunity for an Art Photo (heh heh, I guess I need another visit to the exhibition in Vientiane to remind myself what artistic photography really looks like).

I exited out the East entrance, and walked back to the West entrance via a perfectly wonderful little trail betwixt the outer wall and the moat.

Almost criminal that such a great walk was so under-populated – I saw only two other people during the whole of the forty minutes or so it took to return to the West Entrance. Just myself, the cicadas, and the beautiful trees.

The “moat” is more like a friggin’ river, by the way. However you call it, it’s crazy awesome.

Back at the West Entrance to look around a little more, the fellow on the right here asked me to take a picture with himself and his friend. Sure, no problem. Then he wanted to get a picture with myself. Okay…if you want to… I thought that getting one with my camera as well would be kinda cliché, but now I rather regret not having done. Oh, well.

I’ve generally tried to keep people out of photos of the Temples (not so easily accomplished!); but I think they rather nicely add to the ambience in this shot. Well, what I really think is that it’s basically impossible for a black-and-white photo to look anything other than “rather nicely”.

Off, then, to visit a few nearby smaller temples, before returning for the study of the reliefs. What’s this, then? Mausoleum Xing? Entering Derby Zone? Nah, just a speedbump warning.

I preferred the Victory Gate to the South Gate, speaking strictly of the gates themselves. But the South Gate’s roadside statuary beat out the Victory’s. Most of ‘em had their heads still attached, and all.

The story behind Baksei Chamkrong is pretty cool.

And it’s true about its being a “jewel”…but those stairs are a bit of a fright on the downward direction! Well, I did end up making it all the way back down.

At Phnom Bakheng, another great nature walk winding one’s way up the hill to get to the temple. Elephant rides offered in the afternoons, for $15. My favourite part about the temple, though, was the view of nearby Angkor.

Speaking of which, back to, for the studying. My impression is that Angkor’s murals are not quite as impressive as Bayon’s – though they’re plenty impressive enough.

They’re more numerous, for sure. This is just half of one of eight presentations.

There’s certainly a dark side to the artistry, alas.

That last sentence says it all, don’t it? Fill the people up with fear, and then bring down upon their heads the whammy. “Why is King living so high, and we so low?” “Shaddup, you’ll get devoured by the big snake, talk like that!”

Fucking religion, man. What a scourge. Along this section, a tour guide was explaining that the victims depicted here had killed Holy Men, and thus when they died, had to go in “the fireplace”. At least that was cute.

Also cute: somebody gived him a mango.

It was funny that this was right near the gallery with the scene from the Ramayana with the monkey-man battle.

Inspired in me a little poem (probably better advised to skip it; you’ve been warned):

Monkeys in the halls
Monkeys on the walls
Whatever can it be?
It’s Angkor Wat, y’alls!

In addition to monkeys, Angkor’s reliefs have it over Bayon’s in that they include in amongst the birds and elephants and fishes and horses bunches of mythical animals too.

And as far as the birds are concerned…

…this one remind anybody of a certain Real Tuesday Weld video we all know and love???

Okay, the Japanese here are pretty insane. There are just busloads and busloads and busloads of them. In Thailand and Laos, it’s mostly Europeans one will find to be one’s fellow tourists. But here at Angkor, it’s Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, Japanese.

The Japanese tour guides have microphone-headsets; I think more for the surreality effect that any practical need. Also, the guides need to have aides to keep the Japanese in line. They’re (the tourists) always trying to light up cigarettes, or touching the murals, or god knows what else; which behaviour elicits staccato clapping from a nearby aide, who then scolds the offender back into his or her place.

It’s all pretty amusing. But most amsuing of all is they’re totally into performing these goofy-assed poses for the camera. This guy was required to, for some reason, hold his forever-and-a-day.

Before heading back into town, went down into the courtyard and got me a nice Reflection Photo or three. Lords save me, I’m just a sucker for those reflection shots.