moderatelyExcessive

Q: What do Jon Bon Jovi, September 11th, and base-jumping have in common?
A: They all featured prominently in one of the endless stream of Khmer karaoke videos that played on the sole television set at the front of the bus on my six-hour bus ride to Siem Reap. As you might expect, the plot-line of that video (for a song entitled, “Tears of the Pianist”) was indecipherable, though I kept waiting for that “Oh, now I get it!” moment.

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After arriving in Siem Reap, I made my first visit to the Angkor complex this afternoon. Again, words can’t express how humbling it is to approach the obligatory first stop, Angkor Wat. I’ll let the pictures tell the story, knowing that even pictures cannot do this place justice. As astounding as the architecture is, the halls and galleries inside are just as jaw-dropping. Bas-reliefs of incredible detail line the walls, the columns, and almost every available space. Some are ten feet tall and stretch for a hundred-fifty feet, telling tales of Hindu lore.

It is appropriate that one has to approach Angkor Wat via a quarter-mile long walkway, crossing an enormous moat along the way — it forces you to take in the scope of the place before stepping foot inside. It would seem abrupt to just be dropped off at its doorstep.

What’s so difficult about describing this place is that I simultaneously want to to talk about how massive the complex is and the details of its layout, while also describing how incredibly detailed every aspect of it is. Every column and every doorframe is adorned by a bas-relief of an aspara or once held a statue of buddha, surrounded by other decorative detail. It is mind-boggling. Thirty-seven years may seem like an inconceivably long time to design and build a temple/city, but then you witness the craftsmanship of every stone, and the detail in every sculpture, and you wonder how it was ever accomplished at all.

And there are surprises around every corner, like the chamber where you stand and thump your chest with your fist, which then reverberates so deeply like a timpani played in a stone closet — and is felt internally by everyone nearby.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m in awe. How this place was lost to the jungle for so long is beyond me. That it took the French to “rediscover” and begin to restore should be a Kampuchean national shame.

Anyway on to the pictures: