S.E.Asia─2015: Khmer Kingdoms

We left the house January 1, stayed overnight in Portland and the next morning at 6:40 started our flights; landed in Bangkok January 4 at 6 p.m., 19+ hours in the air, some 29 hours in transit.  (We lost a day at the international date line.)  We easily passed through Thai immigration and were met on the other side by our guide holding a sign with large print: "Mr. Johnson."  He introduced himself, took control of our luggage and guided us past other guides, handlers, shills, through the doors into the heat, by cab drivers, and cabs to a small van and we were on the way to our hotel.

The next morning at 8 he showed up to guide us through the 8 or 9 million people who live or work in the city.  First we visited the flower market

where Deb stopped to smell the roses, so to speak.

Along the way, we tried a tuk tuk, the Thai version of the ubiquitous auto rickshaw.

Then on to the Grand Palace compound near the Chao Phaya River, about 54 acres of temples, palaces, pagodas, stupas, pavilions, offices, and other structures, crowded with officials, monks, worshipers, tourists, and us.

Deb was especially taken with some of the tiles decorating walls,

I with sculpture such as the 20 foot tall Yaksha guarding an entrance to Wat Phra Kaew, the temple of the Emerald Buddha.

According to legend, the well-traveled Buddha (actually Jasper or jadeite─sources differ) was carved in India about 43 BCE, taken (or looted) to Sri Lanka some 500 years later, then to Angkor, and thence to various capitals in S.E. Asia before King Rama I looted it from Vientiane and with great ceremony in 1784 moved it to its current home.  It is considered the palladium of Thailand and kept in the main building of the temple on the high altar where it is clothed in gold, the garments changed three times a year, for the summer, rainy, and cool seasons.

The palace grounds go on and on, the buildings ranging from spectacular

to utilitarian depending on their purpose and when they were built.  We spent the morning dodging tourists and admiring art and architecture.

 Phra Thinang Dusit Maha Prasat─the throne hall

Temple of the Emerald Buddha

The golden garudas that line the wall of the temple.

Wall painting of a scene from the Ramakien, the Thai version of Ramayana.  I was especially taken with a pair of bronze lions guarding the temple of the Emerald Buddha.

We had hardly scratched the surface but my legs and resolve weakened so we found the car to drive to a restaurant.  The traffic was so bad, our guide told the driver to meet us later, and we hoofed it faster than the vehicles in the street.  The river-side restaurant turned out to be tourist-focused and served probably the worst meal of our whole trip, steam-table stuff offensive only to anyone with a desire to taste anything, much less taste Thai food.  After, we boarded a "long-tailed" boat─a narrow vessel with a large gimbaled engine on the rear deck and a long drive shaft out the back that could be shifted in any direction to steer.

Bangkok's average height above sea level is six feet, so canal life seems reasonable.  We headed up river to view life there.

Houses along the canals were built on teak or concrete posts and this afternoon were largely deserted,

but as we puttered by, a few hawkers paddled canoes out to try to sell us souvenirs.  We resisted.

The next day we drove northeast toward Nakhon Ratchasima until we reached our first Khmer era ruin: Phimai.  The structures date from the late 11th to the late 12th century, and comprise the largest and most important religious sanctuary in Thailand.

We entered the complex across a Naga bridge guarded by stone lions

and then walked through a number of doorways

until we arrived at the inner courtyard and the main Prasat─the temple.

The temple marks the northern end of a major Khmer highway from Angkor.

The next day we drove to Phnom Rung, a name derived from ancient Khmer "Vnam Rung," meaning "vast mountain."   It dates from the 10th to 13th centuries, dedicated to Shiva, and as it was built on top of an extinct volcano (1,319 feet high), there are a lot of stairs, starting with an up and down

to the processional walkway lined with 70 sandstone posts topped by lotus buds.

Thailand's Department of Fine Arts spent from 1971 to 1988 restoring the structures at which time the park was officially opened.

In 2005, the temple was submitted to UNESCO for consideration as a future World Heritage Site.

My favorite sculpture here was a Nandi, Shiva's companion and mount, with a sign I'm sure Shiva would find disquieting.

We visited Muang Tam (c.1000 CE), about 8 kilometees from Phnom Rung.

 

  Its primary deity was Shiva, although Vishnu was also worshiped.  Evidence shows that it was abandoned about 1300 CE but was reoccupied about 100 years ago.  It was formally opened only in 1997 in honor of the 50th anniversary of the King's coronation.  Among its interesting carvings are lintels

including this one showing Shiva and Uma riding Nandi.  (See sign above.)

Then we drove to the border, crowded with cars, tour buses, tourists, and hawkers, where our guide introduced us to two young men who were to see us through.  Exit was easy, the official stamped our passports and we walked into an area that at first I thought was Cambodia but which turned out to be a special area with a booming casino, off limits to Thais and Cambodians, air conditioned with nice bathrooms.  Outside, backpackers and budget tourists waited in long lines in the 90+ heat and humidity to process into Cambodia.  Our new guides led us to a table at an open air restaurant across from the casino and told us to wait, took our passports and US$100.  Turned out, there was a VIP entrance for those with the right information and money.  Some 10 or 15 minutes later, the two returned with our passports completely processed and led us through the sweating crowd, showed our passports to a border guard, and brought us to our Cambodia guide, Long Vudthy, who suggested we call him Mr. T.  We climbed into the air conditioned car and started the drive to Siem Reap, Mr. T talking most of the way, telling us about Cambodia and the country we were driving through.  When we arrived at Prumbayon Hotel in Siem Reap, we were ready for martinis by the pool.

Angkor Archaeological Park, some 154 square miles in size, contains the remains of capitals of the Khmer Empire from the 9th to the 15th centuries, more than anyone can see in a week, definitely more than I could keep track of.  T took us to Banteay Srei, a temple complex finished in 967 CE of red sandstone, a material that allows for intricate carving, including undercutting, which, I was amazed to see, has survived more than a thousand years.

Then on to others.  Our favorite, without questions, was Ta Prohm, a complex started in 1186 CE by Jayavarman VII in honor of his family.

It housed more than 12,500 people (including 18 high priests and 615 dancers) with an additional 800,000 in the surrounding villages providing services and supplies.

The organization involved early with restoration, the École française d'Extréme-Orient, decided that Ta Prohm would be left largely as it was found, as a "concession to the general taste for the Picturesque."

A wise decision, I think.

Angkor Thom was another site that captured us, especially the 75 foot tall towers at the city gateways.

The openings are about 11 by 23 feet and would originally have been fitted with wood doors.

A causeway spans the moat in front of each tower; these have a row of devas on the left and asuras on the right, spirits in Vedic texts who struggle with each other for power.

But of course, the crowning site is Angkor Wat itself, a destination I've dreamed of for years.  Words and photos are inadequate.

And I'm not alone: two million visitors a year, in the most recent count, with an estimated annual increase of nearly 20 percent.

We arrived early and there were already tour buses filling the parking areas and crowds filling the causeway and entrances but Mr. T knew this site and led us to paths less traveled.  He showed us bullet pocks from Khmer Rouge days but concentrated on the art.

The first level includes long bas-reliefs illustrating scenes from the Ramayana and from Suryavarman II's court.

Angkor Wat was constructed to create the world as seen by the eleventh century Khmer.

The central towers represent Mount Meru, home of the gods, the walls, the mountains enclosing the world, and the moat, the oceans beyond.  Even the dimensions of the structure have cosmological significance.  We, however, were taken by the spectacle.  On the second level, mummers dressed in traditional costume for a dollar would pose for photographs.  In New York, we resisted this charade, in Cambodia, not so much.

In Khmer days, only the king and close advisers climbed to the third level; today anyone dressed appropriately with bare head and bare feet and the entrance ticket may make the ascent.  And they do: it's a continuous conga line.

Mr T led me up and then around the crowds at the first openings waiting to take photos to other windows with similar views but no waiting.

When I scheduled our trip with our Cambodian travel agent, I questioned if three days would be enough time in Siem Reap and was assured that it would.  On the one hand, we visited major sites and much that most tourists miss; on the other, more awaits: a week would not have been enough, perhaps a month, a lifetime.... We saw a lot but the experience seems incomplete, seems as if we barely penetrated the world of the 8th to 15th century Khmer.  At home, I have books; I will continue to explore.

We liked Mr. T.  He was knowledgeable  about the monuments and the countryside.  In the evenings, he taught computer skills to children too poor to afford school.  His father had been military adviser to the king when the Khmer Rouge captured Phnom Penh.

T was 16 when they caught him and tried to get him to reveal where his family was hiding.  He knew that no matter what they did to him, he would not talk.  If he told them what they wanted, they would kill his family.  They beat him so badly he lost his right eye, the ring finger on his right hand, and they smashed his foot.  After that, he told us, nothing in life bothers him─"Everything is fine."

Bo Jangles

Life on the Edge

In August, 1999, we found the nest in the loft.  At that time we had just stopped running cattle and the barn was still full of hay.  Several half-wild cats who earned their keep herding barn mice lived there and did their best to hide themselves and their litters from toms, coons, skunks, and us.  In the bowl-shaped depression in the hay lay two kittens, not two weeks old, motionless, one dead, one dying, its eyes barely open, clearly abandoned.  Late summer kittens rarely do well, often left by mothers who perhaps cannot find mice or other game enough to feed a litter, perhaps driven off by stifling loft temperatures.  Deb took the still alive one back to the cooler house and with a syringe began force feeding KMR every hour.  I set up a terrycloth surrogate mother in a cage to comfort and protect it from predators between feedings.

Against odds, the kitten revived and was soon sucking on a bottle.

Within a few weeks, it started exploring its new home as if it had never been so close to the edge.

We named him Bo Jangles.

Lily and Buddy were a little skeptical at first but soon tolerated the addition.

While they never got as close as they were to each other--they were litter mates, after all--Bo was certainly related, since at that time, all the cats on the place were descendants of the Ur-mother, Mousetrap.  And Bo was pushy.

He soon saw himself as king of the house, a position that Buddy did not exactly agree with.

They often vied for high spot on the mailbox scratching post but when Bud wasn't looking, Bo took over.

Once, Deb brought Bogie, our Neapolitan Mastiff puppy, 80 or 90 pounds or so of muscle, to the living room past the mailbox where Bo was surveying his domain.

Without hesitation, Bo leapt, claws out, to prove control.  Poor unsuspecting Bogie about turned inside out to escape to the kitchen and the yard.  I'm not sure he ever saw the monster riding his back.  As Bo grew older, he grew even more dominant, although he tolerated Buddy and Lily as old-time residents.

He enjoyed sleeping on Mother's lap when she was still with us, but like teenagers generally, Bo wanted little to do with Deb, even though Deb had saved his life and was pretty much the only mother he ever knew--except for the terrycloth surrogate.  He would sometimes climb on my lap but it was rare enough that Deb snapped his photo.

Later in life, his standoffish attitude mellowed.  When he heard a car in the driveway, he sat in front of the door waiting for whoever was arriving, and followed into the kitchen demanding food.  If I was in my office and he wanted attention, he walked in and put claws in my leg so I petted him.  Sometimes he was content to sleep on the floor next to my chair, other times he kept after me until I walked to the kitchen and fed him.

When Deb brought Vader home, Bo beat him up and kept him terrorized, although eventually they reached an accommodation of sorts.

As he aged, Bo developed arthritis in his paws and began walking on his wrists.  For a while, he could still jump up but it was painful to jump down so we put a box next to the bed to ease the climb down.

In July of this year, I found him in distress, unable to lift his head.  His vet diagnosed potassium deficiency, a classic presentation, and feared he would not last the night.  An IV drip was started, and in two days, we brought him home, not quite as lively as a kitten, but still himself.  We had gotten Annie, a Cane Corso Mastiff, and Deb wanted her house trained.

The first time Deb brought her inside, she weighed perhaps 30 pounds.  Bo no longer climbed on the mailbox, but that didn't slow him.  The moment he saw Annie, he jumped in her face, landed several blows to her nose before the puppy knew what happened; she was convinced: she would not walk past Bo unless one of us stood between her and the cat.  When Bo lay on the rug on the way to the kitchen, Annie stayed on her doggie bed in the living room.

Then the cancer got worse, potassium levels plummeted.  We brought him home from the hospital and stayed with him through the day.  At first he acknowledged our presence, then toward evening he could no longer raise his head.  Sharon Blouin, Bo's vet, came to the house to help.  At about 7 p.m., Bo quietly slipped over the edge.  We buried him in the flower garden near Lily and Buddy.  In the spring, we'll plant flowers.

Bo Jangles

August 1, 1999--December 3, 2014

Requiescat in Pace

Rainsong Redux

We went back to Rainsong winery to sample wines, visit with friends, enjoy potluck, and to bottle a barrel of red, this year a generic combination of merlot, cabernet, and pinot noir.  The weather was in the last throes of summer: clear sky, warm, a lovely day, perfect for a drive and a party.  We arrived about noon.

The vintner, Mike, had already unplugged the barrel and draped a Tygon tube to the filling trough.

After most of the crew had arrived, Mike told us again about the procedure, and pointed out the pressing barrels, which have bladders in their centers that squeeze grapes against the sides for a more efficient result than bottom squeezing, as screw presses do.

So much for barefoot virgins.  In short supply anyway, here, given our ages generally.

We gathered in position, and the wine started flowing.

Filling bottles.

Corking.

Labeling.

Martha Lewis designed the labels.

Twenty-five cases later, potluck.

The wine is a little rough to start but if you let it air out, it improves greatly.  Like a lot of us.