Angkor Wat and the Ancient Temples of Cambodia

During one three-week period  late last year, I rode in or on automobiles, airplanes, vans, tuk-tuks, cyclos, motorboats, canoes, elephants, railroad, motorcycles and my own two sore feet.

I ate Korean bibimbap, mueslix with yogurt, fried rice, fried crickets, fried fish, fried chicken, fried silkworms, fried tarantula, lok lak, paneang, amok, dragon fruit, jack fruit, green tea, mango in many forms (shakes, smoothies, sliced), papaya, and a host of other vegetable matter I couldn't easily identify. And lots of water.

I photographed people fishing, processing fish, eating fish, making rice paper, forging machetes, refining salt, weaving silk, selling food, begging for money, pedaling cyclos, driving tuk-tuks, negotiating traffic, piloting boats, poling boats, fixing flat tires and just living their lives.

Those three lists concluded the journal I kept on that

Angkor Wat at dawn

two-week photographic tour of  the kingdom of Cambodia, and my travel up and down the East Coast to get my flights to and from Phnom Penh. I guess they are interesting inventories of the trip, but like most lists, they only have the meaning you ascribe to them.

Some people might be (and  were) repulsed by the idea of eating fried tarantulas, for example (mine was a little overcooked). Others might think riding an elephant is romantic (it was one of the roughest rides I've ever had).

For me, the lists are mnemonics, ways to jog the memory and awaken the feelings I had at the time. I went to Cambodia the first two weeks of December last year with a small group organized by Ralph Velasco, who led the trip to Cuba that I joined earlier last year.

As part of my last-minute preparation for Cambodia, I had twice watched "The Killing Fields" and plowed through a depressing book called "Cambodia's Curse," which left me wondering what we would find on the ground.

In the mid 1970s, the Khmer Rouge stepped into a power vacuum that had resulted from Cambodia's status as a doormat for both sides in the Vietnam War. The Khmer Rouge then perpetrated one of the worst genocides since World War II until communist Vietnam invaded and drove the Khmer Rouge from power. Since then the government has been one of the most corrupt in the world, with entrenched government officials skimming off aid money that's supposed to go to schools and health care facilities.

Fig trees have taken over the ruins of Ta Prohm

As a photographer, I hoped at least that the tour would not be a sanitized look at Cambodia's tourism hotspots, and that we would have opportunities to photograph real people and real life and even be able to capture some of the curses that have beset Cambodia in the past 50 years.

I was not disappointed. I was pleasantly surprised to find a country full of generally happy and prosperous (by Southeast Asian standards) people with a rich cultural heritage that is gradually transcending recent history. But I also found a country that is fully aware of its recent and ongoing shortcomings. In future blog posts I will write more about the Khmer Rouge and how Cambodia has absorbed its own tragedy, as well as more observations about Cambodian life today.

-----

East Gate at Angkor Wat

The iconic tourist destinations in Cambodia have long been the ancient Buddhist and Hindu temples near the town of Siem Reap. Most notable of these is Angkor Wat, a sprawling complex that holds the distinction of being the world's largest religious building. In the Angkor region are more than 100 temples built during the height of the Khmer empire between 802 and 1432 C.E. During this time, the Khmer empire was the dominant power in Southeast Asia, and  was often at war with neighboring Vietnam and Thailand.

The ruins of the temples are remarkably well-preserved, and ongoing projects aim at keeping them that  way. The walls, mostly built with

Stone carvings

great slabs of laterite that were brought down from distant mountains, are inscribed with intricate carvings that tell the stories of kings, battles and gods. Many of  the temples were built by emperors, monuments to themselves as much as to their deities. The Khmer empire was alternatively Hindu and Buddhist, so the icons carved into temple walls are both Hindu and Buddhist as well. In some cases, a Hindu emperor succeeded a Buddhist emperor (or vice versa) and proceeded to deface icons made by his predecessor.

Today, tourists from all over the world crawl over the ruins, take pictures and try to learn about the empire that flourished and died out before Europeans settled the New World. While the temples are no longer "official" religious centers, people still come to pray, and saffron-robed monks are conspicuous in the midst of the crowds.

Shaman at Angkor Wat

Outside the temples' walls, free enterprise flourishes in this kingdom that was an ultra-communist hell just 45 years ago. Kids hawk whatever souvenirs they have a franchise to sell, while older people sell prayer sticks and lotus buds to those who want to make an offering. And there are shamans who will tie a colorful string of wool around your wrist and chant blessings to bring you good luck. I got four of them. I'm neither religious nor superstitious, but I figure anything is worth a try, and things have been going really well for me ever since. The yarn is very pretty, too.

Woman selling pineapple

There are fruit vendors and small cafes where you can get fried rice and chilled coconuts that the vendors split open with machetes so you can drink the milk. There are dress shops and souvenir stands and elephant rides. I suspect that the scene was similar back in the 11th century, when merchants vied loudly for the attention -- and cash -- of pilgrims coming to the temples.

Crowd watching sunrise at Angkor Wat

The daily ritual at Angkor Wat begins before dawn, as hordes of tourists and saffron-robed monks line the pond in front of the West gate to watch and photograph the sunrise, silhouetting and reflecting the five stupas that are the symbol of Cambodia's history and culture.

Once the sun is up, visitors enter the temple by the hundreds, clambering over the great slabs of laterite and climbing the long steep stone steps into the labyrinth of courtyards and chapels within. Just exploring any of these temples is a good workout for your body as well as your interests in history, religion and aesthetics.

The center symbol on the Cambodian flag is the familiar silhouette of Angkor Wat. Spending a few days, or even a few hours exploring the great temple, you begin to get a sense of how this symbolic monument helps modern Khmers transcend their own recent past.

To see more photos from the temples of Cambodia's past, go to http://www.finsfeathersfoto.com/p901629660

How Do You Look at Photographs?

John Muir once wrote, "When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find that it is bound fast by a thousand invisible cords that cannot be broken to everything else in the universe." My aim as a nature photographer is to illustrate that concept.

Elephant in its natural habitat

There are various ways to do that. One is to photograph wild animals in their natural habitat, to show how they interact with and are interdependent with the other animals and plants around them.  A single still photograph doesn't necessarily show the interaction and interdependence that connect things. Some verbal explanation is still needed, or a series of photos. I like to do this with narrated slide presentations.

Do you feel a connection?

More often, I try to close in on my wildlife subjects, creating intimate portraits, or, to use Muir's phrase, "pick out (something) by itself..." In this case, of course, the invisible cords are indeed invisible, the animal is out of context and not bound to anything.

Or is it?

Ansel Adams once answered critics who complained about the absence of people in his photographs by saying "There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer."

This is the more important bond that I think most nature photographers are trying to establish. The photographer already has the connection; that's why he makes the photo. This is the emphasis of miksang orcontemplative photography, in which photography becomes a meditative practice by making the photographer aware that there is an indistinct line between observer and observed. I attended a miksang workshop recently that helped me understand "true perception" as a necessary skill for any photography. Some of the images from this practice are stunningly beautiful, to be sure, but contemplative photography is like journaling, good practice, but not necessarily meant to be shared. 

How does this make you feel?

When we do share a photograph we aim to help the viewer discover an emotion. In the case of wildlife photography, this emotion might be how the viewer feels about the animal, based on his perception of what the animal is doing, thinking or capable of. Or the viewer may feel an emotion that she at least imagines she has in common with the animal being photographed. 

This can lead us to commit the crime of anthropomorphism. We might show a particular image because we are confident that the viewer will imagine that the animal is feeling dignified or silly or sad, when there is really no way to know what, if anything, the animal was feeling at the moment the shutter opened.

I personally do not subscribe to the purely scientific view that animals are incapable of emotions or thoughts. Anyone who has experienced the unconditional love of a dog, or  the studied indifference of a pet cat knows that these animals think and feel. Many wild animals display social structure, teamwork, compassion, playfulness, and the ability to communicate and to learn that seem to go well beyond instinct. 

What is he thinking?

I also do not think that you can necessarily tell what an animal is thinking or feeling by looking at its face or its eyes. This is especially true of fish, which seem to be very expressive, but which actually have no facial muscles, and therefore no way to project any emotions even if they have them.

But we want them to have emotions, so when we see an image of an animal that seems to be cute or adorable or pathetic, we tend to feel something, too, at the emotional or heart level. We feel connected to the animal, and that's okay, because we are.

And that's the point. As a photographer, I want the viewer to feel the connection that already exists, as Muir said, even if you don't actually understand what is going on behind the animal's eyes. When you connect at the heart level that way, you don't have to understand anything. You just have to feel it.

When you view someone's photographs, you are looking through their window on the world. But if you see an image that really moves you, that makes you feel that connection at the heart level, you are actually looking into a mirror. What you see is you. 

I hope as you look at the photographs on my Web page, or any photos that you like, that you will find a little of yourself. And I hope you like what you see.