Nagara and Desa

Stonehenge

2011-06-27T14:31:00.001-07:00

At first we weren't sure if we'd go to Stonehenge. We really didn't want to take a tour bus and be herded along by a boring guide. Our gracious hosts recommended taking a local bus to Amesbury and hiking out to the monument. Having grown up in Amesbury, Steve assured us that the town itself wasn't interesting. We'd have to agree, but before starting out on our hike, we spent a couple of minutes wondering around a church yard.

We crossed over bright green pastures, passed by small wooded patches, and meandered through a flock of sheep along the way. Our light weight umbrellas can in handy on the unseasonably sunny and warm afternoon.

It didn't seem worth it to pay an admission fee to file along a paved walkway with a hoard of tourists, so we took pictures through the chain link fence and headed over to see barrows (neolithic burial mounds).

After seeing Stonehenge, we hiked over to Woodhenge. To read about the connection between the two sites, check out this fairly recent article:
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2008/06/stonehenge/alexander-text/1

Shingles

2011-05-03T15:33:00.001-07:00

When the itchy red spots of childhood chickenpox disappear and life returns to normal, the battle with the virus that causes chickenpox seems won. But for too many of us this triumph of immune system over virus is temporary. The virus has not been destroyed but remains dormant in our nerve cells, ready to strike again later in life. This second eruption of the chickenpox virus is the disease called shingles or herpes-zoster.

The National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke
“Shingles: Hope Through Research”

A few days before our trip, Ian mentioned that he'd pulled a back muscle; he couldn't figure out how he'd injured his back while sitting at the computer and writing.

The next day he had a stomach ache; it seemed weird since we'd eaten the same things and I felt fine.

A day later he noticed an itchy, swollen bug bite. Then another popped up right next to it.

On our second day in Salisbury, I convinced a reluctant Ian to stop at Boots pharmacy and ask for advice. A pink tender area surrounded the itchy "bites." At first the pharmacist confirmed my diagnosis: a bad reaction to bug bites. But he wasn't quite sure, so he called over a colleague to give us a second opinion. Ian described his symptoms, shyly showing her his belly. "It's a childhood illness," she said. "I can't think of what it's called. Wait here." She talked with a third pharmacist for a minute or two and returned. "You haves shingles. You should go to the walk-in center."

What?

It took 10 minutes and 30 pounds to confirm the diagnosis.

Itching. Blisters. Severe nerve pain.

Ian's shingles stretched in a band from his belly button to his spine, which is the most common pattern. If you zoom in, you can see the individual fluid-filled blisters. He didn't want me to take this picture for some reason.

Was it cruel of me to sing "Shingle Belt Rock"?

Old Sarum Hike: Salisbury Day 2

2011-05-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

On the morning of our first full day in Salisbury we hiked to Old Sarum.
The delicious full English breakfast gave us plenty of fuel. The handmade sausages, farm fresh eggs, and homemade jam and bread were particularly tasty.

We ignored our host's warning about the short cut preferred by locals, deciding to take a chance. The pastures weren't as muddy as he'd feared, and we didn't even see the "temperamental bull."

After passing through farm land we stopped at a village church.

Old Sarum sits above the Salisbury plain. It began as an iron age fort before becoming in turn the site of a Roman town, a Saxon stronghold, and a Norman castle and cathedral. Very little remained of the Norman's outer walls, but we found a "window."

I'm posing in front of a part of Henry I's stronghold.

The massive earthen works date back to the iron age, when the builders of the hill fort controlled local trade.

Spring Break in England

2011-05-01T18:42:00.000-07:00

At the end of January I had major minor surgery. The day of the surgery nausea from the anesthesia kept me in bed for 5 or 6 hours. That night after a few bites of mild food, I revived a little and became restless. I hobbled to the computer, opened our email, and aimlessly clicked on a few messages. As I lazily skimmed a Travelzoo email, a too-good-to-be-true deal from San Francisco to London caught my eye. With good reason, Ian was slightly hesitant to buy tickets based on his drugged wife's "research." The next morning I convinced Ian that a week long trip to England would be perfect. It was a great time for a getaway since Ian planned to turn in a draft of his dissertation to his adviser right before Berkeley's spring break.

Our non-stop flight on British Airways took a little over ten hours. Local transportation proved to be a little tricky. We took a bus to a train station in Woking, a suburb of London. From there we boarded a train to our final destination: Salisbury.

A pleasant twenty minute walk wound from the train station, through the town, and to our bed and breakfast.

For our first two nights, we stayed at Cathedral View. Unfortunately, it was completely booked on Saturday, so we moved next door to the fancier and less comfortable Spire House.

Ian's Birthday Hike

2011-04-28T21:35:00.001-07:00

Here are a few pictures we took during our recent hike in Morgan Territory. In the spring over 90 species of wildflowers cover the nearly 5,000 acres of rolling hills. It was 60 degrees and mostly cloudy, our ideal hiking weather.

holiday

2010-01-14T10:22:00.000-08:00

Perhaps we're a little odd. Instead of heading south to escape wintry weather we opted to go north this Christmas. Anxious for the start of the Bay Area's rainy season, we longed to explore rain-drenched temperate rain forest. And since we'd been vaguely thinking of taking a leisurely drive up the coast since we moved to California in 2004, this seemed like as good a time as any.

We took advantage of a "storm watchers" special and booked two nights at a cozy bed and breakfast in Pacific City, Oregon.

An unseasonably warm and dry morning allowed us a stunning forested hike with ocean vistas.

On our second day we toured (actually we just ate the free samples) the Tillamook cheese factory and walked to a small waterfall.

On our way to Seattle, we stopped for a glimpse of the Portland temple.

We were "blown away" by spectacular views of the Columbia River Gorge.

The Krumpermans took us on a fantastic whirlwind tour of Seattle. Our day began with a stop at water works park and a visit to a local troll's lair.

Next we saw the highlights of the zoo, including two brown bears and a family of gorillas (Ian's favorite). After touring Pike's Place Market, (and sharing some very tasty doughnuts) we visited the aquarium.

A single night at a bed and breakfast in Chilliwack and a day exploring urban parks in Vancouver, satisfied our cravings for adventure and Cadbury chocolate.

Peter and William Fehr

2009-10-01T16:01:00.000-07:00

Something that might be of interest to Loughrans/Applegates/Fehrs, if this is the right William and Peter. It might not be. This is a US Senate document published in 1910.

Sõnnikuhunnik!

2009-09-06T22:20:00.000-07:00

Väljaulatuv kumerus:

Oh häda! Maksahaigus!

Ocean views

2009-04-11T10:29:00.001-07:00

If you come to visit us, we'd love to take you on this easy hike with rolling green hills and stunning ocean views.

Family Resemblance

2009-03-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

Here's a clip of Barry Sullivan, Dad's first cousin once removed. Do you see the family resemblance?

Giza

2009-03-14T16:03:00.001-07:00

Matt, Chris, Anne and I walked over to the main office where we secured Giza's archaeological director as our personal tour guide. He let us into two mastabas to the east of Khufu's pyramid and explained many of the images and hieroglyphs. He was quite surprised when Anne started sounding out some of the hieroglyphs and asking remarkably informed questions. He spent most of the time speaking to her excitedly and at one point stopped to shake her hand when she correctly described the original statue found in the shrine next to the Sphinx.
These days they drastically limit the number of people who can enter the great pyramid. With Matt we got in with no problem, and we crawled our way through the low tunnels until we reached the close and dimly lit burial chamber. An incredible experience.

mmmm...Vla

2009-03-14T14:26:00.001-07:00

On our way to Egypt we had a 10 hour layover in Amsterdam. Ian and I fought heroically against the fog of jet lag as we toured the impressive Van Gogh museum. After a few hours at the museum, we set out into the cold in search of Vla, a drinkable chocolate pudding recommended by my friend Sarra's boyfriend. Satisfied, we stumbled back to the airport.

White Men CAN Jump

2009-03-14T13:44:00.000-07:00

We took these pictures a few months ago at Point Reyes, one of our favorite coastal areas.
Airborn

Succulents

Mid-sentence

Cliff face

Searching for pebbles

Out to sea

Training...

2009-01-03T21:51:00.000-08:00

We're ready...

2009-01-03T19:58:00.000-08:00

Mendocino

2008-12-06T16:47:00.001-08:00

In November Ian and stayed at a New England style bed and breakfast in a tiny coastal town called Mendocino. Even though Ian was recovering from a nasty cold, we still managed to go on a short hike through a primeval forest rich with decay. Can you find the banana slug? (You should be able to. It's pretty easy. Hint: If you think it's in the last picture, you're wrong.)

A Hard Nut to Crack

2008-12-06T11:55:00.000-08:00

Thanks Mom and Dad! Frohen Nikolaustag!

The Good Life

2008-11-20T11:08:00.000-08:00

"Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

I would not change it."

- Duke Senior, "As You Like It"

Tolerance

2008-11-03T13:23:00.000-08:00

Back in 2004, when we first arrived in the Bay Area, we were excited about participating in our first political demonstration. We didn't know what kind of demonstration that would be. We had a John Kerry bumper sticker on our Ford and a bunch of misgivings about U.S. foreign policy. Wouldn't it be so easy to just slip invisible into any local demonstration knowing that practically everyone would agree with me?

This morning Anne and I parked our car next to I-80 and made the long walk up to the Berkeley pedestrian bridge overlooking the highway, each holding a wimpy yellow sign and an umbrella. I don't know what compelled us. The ward Prop 8 organizers from Berkeley and Oakland had advised us to be cautious; the bridge is, after all, far-left territory. But we couldn't think of a more effective place to wave the little signs we had been given, even if we were going to be crowded out by a horde of the opposition.

Not since my mission had I felt that fluttering protest in my stomach saying, "Go back to the library, Ian." As we approached the sign wavers, a middle-aged man quickly approached me and fired the first shot. "Your sign says Prop 8 = Free Speech. How can you possibly believe that Prop 8 is about Free Speech?" "Oh boy," I thought to myself, "I'm carrying THAT sign--in Berkeley!" I tried to marshal the relevant arguments, particularly the one about how vocal advocates of preserving the nearly universal definition of marriage (i.e., the gendered and conjugal kind that is inherently oriented towards the procreation of children) as the basis of sound family law are branded as intolerant bigots, no better than racists. Of course, I just squeaked out something incomprehensible and left him staring at me confusedly. My unintended diversion worked and he didn't get angry!

Turns out that here and there among the more seasoned demonstrators were a few uncomfortable looking folks holding up small yellow signs to the chain-link fence of the overpass. One of them relaxed somewhat when he saw us. They were from the Hilltop ward in Richmond, he said. They looked at that moment like they had never been outside of the house. After mutually suspicious introductions, we learned that we were all in the same boat: private Bay Area Mormons who were responding awkwardly to the injunction read by stake presidency representatives on Sunday to make our voices publicly heard.

Besides the Mormons there were two more Yes on 8 folks holding the fort. One was a Slavic Evangelical from Sacramento who has been driving his beat-up van to cultural war hot-spots in California for years. He had raised a lonely yellow banner towards which Anne and I naturally gravitated. His friend campaigns to abolish all public schools. That's right, just your everyday California conservatives.

The friendly eccentrics pointed out a little bit of fence where we could wave our signs. Hoping to avoid confrontation, I stuck myself underneath the yellow banner and peered over the edge self-consciously.

Anne, my saintlier half, positioned herself confidently next to a young man with the No on 8 campaign. I don't know how she does it. In no time she was waving her Yes on 8 sign while carrying on an amiable conversation with Shiloh. Shiloh was there with his gay partner because his advocacy group had assigned them to the pedestrian bridge that morning. He asked Anne what kind of training we had received from our organizing committee before we arrived. She explained that we lived in the neighborhood and had decided on a whim and on our own accord to just show up.

As the two of them chatted away, it started to rain. Anne offered the man her umbrella. Standing up for a moment to give my busted knees a break from kneeling on the pavement, I checked on Anne and noticed something remarkable. Shiloh was holding the umbrella over them while they talked, gazing down at the honking motorists below and waving their opposing signs. I went over, thanked him for keeping my wife dry, and told him that he was a class act.

I can't say for sure if I'll ever face issues like this again about which I feel so strongly. Marriage is more than an outward token of two people’s romantic love (why should romantic feelings be the law's business, after all?). It is more than a legal contract guaranteeing two people's joint ownership of property and shared responsibility over any dependents (or else why exclude two widowed sisters from the institution?). Conjugal marriage is the legally-recognized union of a man and a woman, consummated in coitus, sustained through vows of permanence and sexual fidelity, and thus uniquely oriented towards the procreation and rearing of children. The human mind, sensitive as it is to the generative origins and identity of the self, perceives that children deserve as far as possible to know and be raised by both of their biological parents (see http://www.anonymousus.org/). Marriage is the only social and legal construct that upholds the ideal of biological parenthood. Without that ideal, there would never have been any reason for marriage at all. And that is why, in spite of the great diversity of kinship systems and sexual norms in human history, marriage (as opposed to other forms of socially constructed kinship such as the blood-brother bond) has never been considered genderless.

I admit that at that moment, rubbing my sore knees and observing my impassioned opponents on the Berkeley pedestrian overpass, I wasn't too enthusiastic about declaring my support for conjugal marriage publicly. But I was nonetheless encouraged by the sight of Anne and Shiloh under the umbrella. One among many important lessons that I will take away from this exhausting and emotional campaign, whatever the result, is that democracy, founded on the right to free speech in a civil conversation, survives when we strive to disagree agreeably. That is, after all, the true meaning of tolerance.

Halloween

2008-10-31T10:04:00.001-07:00

Anne is Felicity! A colonial American girl with carrot-red hair.

Yes on Proposition 8!

2008-10-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

Ian and I will be voting YES on Proposition 8.

Pictures from Win and Jan's Visit

2008-07-08T21:52:00.000-07:00

Please check out our pictures:http://gallery.mac.com/inl79#100137&bgcolor=black&view=grid

Emmanuel in Phnom Penh

2008-05-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

At Phnom Penh's bustling airport, I spotted Emmanuel before Ian did. After giving me a big hug, Emmanuel suggested that we quickly walk in the other direction, leaving Ian to search the crowds for us. Just as we did an about face Ian looked over his shoulder and saw us. Drats!

After stashing Emmanuel’s luggage at our dingy family-run hotel, we went to the National Museum. The museum is in a shocking state of disrepair. It was hastily abandoned when the Khmer Rouge forced everyone to vacate the capital city in 1975. The museum director courageously attempted to stay behind and safeguard the art but was shot for his efforts. When the horror subsided and people began returning to the city in 1979, an enormous bat colony was discovered in the museum’s ceilings. Immediate action was needed to prevent the weight of the bat guano from collapsing the ceilings and corroding artifacts. A second roof was built below the original so that the bats could continue to enjoy their home. This proved impractical. The bats were evicted in 2006.

While we walked through the museum, Ian found several intriguing pre-Angkorian (7th-8th centuries) inscriptions that weren’t labeled (how typical!). Using the museum’s inventory, which Ian had acquired from a French curator on a previous visit, Ian was able to figure out which of these inscriptions were recent editions to the museum’s collection and hadn’t yet been transcribed or translated. Since photography is strictly forbidden, Emmanuel and I created diversions as Ian took photographs of several stelae. A heavy downpour, which whipped rain into the galleries, gave us an excuse to sit and chat in the museum’s courtyard.

After the rains had passed we took a stroll along the riverfront. Here the mighty Mekong meets the Tonle Sap and then splits into the Mekong River and Bassac River. Since we arrived in October, the government has begun rehabilitating the riverfront, evicting residents of shanty towns and improving flood protection.

Coming Soon: Emmanuel at Angkor

2008-05-22T21:27:00.001-07:00

Last week we had the pleasure of hosting Ian's friend Emmanuel. I'll be posting picture-filled blogs soon.

Rainy Season

2008-05-18T22:51:00.001-07:00

The monsoon season has finally arrived. We suffered through dusty, scorching April and are very grateful for relief. From now until we leave (August) it will rain most afternoons. I took this picture from our front door just before the clouds burst.

Biking through Angkor

2008-05-07T04:16:00.000-07:00

It's nearing the time when my Angkor Pass expires. Not wanting to waste precious days, Anne and I decided to ride our bikes to some less accessible corners of the old capital. The monsoons have come early this year, making for a crisp morning trip out. On discovering that the guards at Angkor Wat won't let barang (white folk) bike in across the eastern causeway as all the Cambodians do, we proceeded to a 13th century monastery that is only accessible by foot and by bike (it's too much of a trek for people by foot, so it's always completely empty).We then continued along the lonely forest trail north where we came to the Siem Reap river, spanned by a yellow metal bridge just wide enough to let us walk our bikes across. A friendly man fetching water from the river helped us get across safely and pointed us the way back to civilization. The trail, paved I believe with Angkorian stones, passed by an abandoned wall that I will have to inspect another day and through the forest for a mile or two until it shot out onto the main road in front of the Victory Gate of Angkor Thom. We followed the royal road up to the palace, slipped in with our bikes through a gap in the enclosure wall (do as the the Cambodians do), and spent a half an hour climbing around on the palace's steep temple-mountain. Before heading home, I wanted to explore a small temple called Krol Romeas north of Angkor Thom. We past it accidentally as the sign is worn and the path to the "temple" even more so. Turns us it isn't a temple at all but a peculiar circular dug-out enclosure lined with laterite that may very well reflect, in some mysterious way, the modern Cambodian name for it: "the rhino pit." I think it was once the royal elephant stables. Turning south, we encountered some monkeys on the side of the road who waited in vain for us to feed them something tasty.

Ian's birthday at Angkor

2008-04-30T22:17:00.001-07:00

We celebrated Ian’s 29th birthday at the Angkor archaeological park. We used the cooler early morning hours to thoroughly photograph the “historical” bas-reliefs of the Bayon. Scholars aren’t sure if specific events or more general circumstances are depicted. Ian is especially interested in images of foreigners (Chinese and Cham). But are variations in dress and hairstyle necessarily meant to differentiate between ethnic groups? Or could costume relate to a person’s social rank and occupation? Based on the different hat denotes different ethnicity theory, several scenes have been interpreted as battles between Cambodians (hatless) and Chams (upside down lotus hats). This might seem straightforward but other scenes confuse things. Hatless soldiers fight hatless soldiers in what has been described as a civil war scene. And a battle between a mixed group (hat and hatless) and another mixed group fills a large section of the wall. Ian may study these scenes in his dissertation.

After taking nearly 300 pictures of the Bayon, we went to Angkor Wat. First we concentrated on the historical procession bas-relief, which shows the king, his high officials, and groups of soldiers. Ian carefully read the short inscriptions identifying the most important, and therefore largest, figures. One tiny inscription of Suryavarman II’s (supposed) posthumous name, Paramavishnuloka, is the only basis for dating the massive temple complex to his reign. While Ian studied inscriptions, I photographed soldier’s hats, which didn’t seem to correspond to the region of the empire they represented. Perhaps this supports the idea that costume indicates rank.

Next we studied the heavens and hells bas-reliefs. In the heavens the well-dressed righteous sit serenely in palaces. The hells are much more interesting. Short labels name the hell and describe the punishment for a particular sin. Some sinners have their tongues extracted, their eyes gauged out, or their bones broken. Others are submerged in blood, tar, or freezing cold water.

Finally, we explored the pre-Angkorian capital of Hariharalaya. We photographed a few weathered doorjamb inscriptions that listed slaves’ names.

Khmer New Year: April 13-15

2008-04-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

Since our friends at church kept asking what we would do to celebrate Khmer New Year, we had to think of something. Lacking more exciting options, we trekked over to the newly opened Angkor Trade Center. Locals call it the “modern market,” which is fitting; it’s essentially a bunch of outdoor market stalls moved indoors. People from the provinces poured into Siem Reap to visit family and enjoy a few modern conveniences. The Angkor Trade Center was packed with extended families and gangs of teenagers. The main attractions were Swensen’s American ice cream parlor and the escalators. I watched the crowds suspiciously but excitedly observe the escalators as Ian paid for our ice cream. A young women with an ice cream cone in hand rode a little ways up before panicking, falling, and landing face first at the foot of the escalator. Miraculously her ice cream survived but she limped away with a dazed looked.

Pedestrians

2008-04-14T22:20:00.000-07:00

It's not easy to walk places in Cambodia.

A block-long walk goes something like this: stride confidently forward, pause for a parking motorcycle who didn't pause for you, twelve steps forward, veer right to avoid erratically "parked" cars, twenty steps forward, tuk-tuk and motorcycles in the way, veer back to the left and step cautiously into the road, hug the curb as cars whiz past, when possible hop back onto the sidewalk, respond to "Tuk-tuk, sir?" with a shake of the head, take a few steps, stop abruptly as a motorcycle zooms onto the sidewalk directly in front of you, step over a fragrant pile of trash, a near miss with a car backing up, arrive mostly unscathed to destination. And this is when sidewalks exist, which they usually don't.

Wild Fruit

2008-04-14T22:08:00.001-07:00

Last Tuesday two of our students gave us fruit. Sophea brought back half a dozen large yellow fruit from the branch’s youth trip to the Kulen mountains. She explained that these fruit are only found in the forests of Siem Reap province. Another student gave us a bunch of small red fruit that grow in the forests near Banteay Srei temple, about 20 km from our apartment.

Not knowing what to expect, I snapped a yellow fruit off the branch. Immediately, a thick, milky-white liquid seeped out of the top and ran down the sides. I rinsed it with purified water, hoping to flush away the rest of the stuff, but it leaked for more than a minute before slowing to a drip. Then I cautiously peeled back the skin, and as I did, more white stuff oozed out. The sticky orange flesh stuck to the rind with melted-marshmallow-like gooey strings.

With the rind removed, I was getting somewhere. I just needed to figure out what kind of seeds awaited me: big and sharp, little and harmless, or some other variety. A tentative nibble revealed a mass of large seeds, each covered in a thin coating of sour pulp. It was really quite tasty. Ian laughed at my puckered face, but I took a picture of him with the orange glue-like goop that wouldn’t come off our lips.

The little red fruit was much easier to figure out. Inside the easily removed rind a translucent grape-like slippery ball surrounded a single seed. Ian found it was easiest to let it dissolve in his mouth.

April Fool's Day

2008-04-14T21:53:00.000-07:00

To celebrate our favorite English class student’s 17th birthday, Ian, Sophea, and I took a hot air balloon ride. Sophea was a little nervous. The balloon rapidly rose 300 meters in the air, giving us stunning views of the surrounding farmland and distant glimpses of several Angkorian temples. After a few minutes of enjoying the scenery, we gently descended. It wasn’t the most exciting ride, but we had fun.

Flying Motorcycle

2008-03-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

That's what Cambodians call the ultralight aircraft. An Australian archaeologist, who has used the ultralight to select excavation sites and to map settlement patterns, recommended taking a short flight to get a better sense of the Angkorian landscape. I opted for the "temple loop" and enjoyed fantastic views of fields, villages, and ancient sites. Ian's longer flight allowed him to survey northern Angkor's artificial and long abandoned public works: the stunning North Canal that fed the area north of Angkor Thom with water diverted from the Puok river, settlement reservoirs, and the beginning of the Angkorian road to Phimai in Northeast Thailand. The updrafts caused both of us to get a bit queasy.

Our pilot, Donald, is a Vietnam war veteran, an airshow junky, and now an indispensable part of the Sydney Angkor Archaeological Project team. He's not here to cater to weak-kneed epigraphers. Just don't be sick in the crash helmet!

My Secret

2008-03-16T23:28:00.000-07:00

Untitled Self-Portrait 2008

Most locals are used to hoards of tourists and don’t take much notice of barang (white people) like us. Perhaps once a week though, usually at a market or in an untouristed shop, I feel eyes following me and hear soft-spoken comments. The whispering women marvel at my white skin, scarcely believing I’m not wearing make-up or whitening powder.* On one such occasion a young women asked another, “How did she get so white?” Ian surprised her by replying in Cambodian, “You should ask her parents.”

The secret to my peaches and cream (or pasty white) complexion is a combination of excellent genes and sunscreen. Wearing long-sleeves, a scarf, and a hat or helmet helps too.

*The author wishes to express her gratitude for Ian’s translations, without which this blog would not have been possible.

Andrew at Angkor 5

2008-02-21T20:19:00.000-08:00

Having thus far avoided the crowd, we bit the bullet and got dropped off at Angkor Wat. Nowadays Angkor Wat is too famous and too close to the hotels to ever be quiet (except when it rains, as Anne and I once discovered to our simultaneous joy and dismay). Nonetheless, it is the centerpiece; there are probably good reasons for why your average Joe may have heard of Angkor Wat but has never heard of Cambodia or perhaps even Southeast Asia. Whatever the reasons for Angkor Wat’s fame, they are more architectural than historical. That is not to disparage Joe for his ignorance of history. It is rather to disparage the architects of Angkor Wat who left barely a clue about when and by whom the temple was built. Most are convinced of its 12th century date: the vaulted galleries and narrative bas-reliefs seem to indicate a more “evolved” style. Scattered throughout one of the long bas-reliefs, the “historic procession,” are a series of inscriptions identifying the portrayed individuals. The name incised beneath the image of the king (the one shaded by the most parasols) is Paramavisnuloka, the posthumous (post-death) name of Suryavarman II who reigned in the early to mid-12th century. Scholars were quick to attribute the temple to him, and that identification still stands for most. Here are the problems. No subsequent archaeological or architectural study has been performed to confirm this dating. There’s no particular reason to assume that the same ruler who built the temple also carved the bas-reliefs; half of the bas-reliefs of Angkor Wat were in fact carved during the 16th century when the Cambodian king Ang Chan “rediscovered” Angkor. And then there’s the question of why a king would choose to identify himself posthumously. In every other Angkorian inscription the posthumous names are used only in reference to already-dead kings. So was Angkor Wat a late funerary shrine to a legendary king? One serious scholar believes so, and that the temple dates from the 14th century; with no evidence to back up this claim, he still hasn’t been refuted because no one has bothered to make the effort. Instead, another scholar took measurements of Angkor Wat and, applying these measurements to the cubit and to Hindu cosmology, discovered that Angkor Wat was actually an elaborate code for the most important events in the life of Suryavarman II. It’s one of those books that everyone has to cite, but that is at best esoteric, at worst just plain cuckoo.

Fortunately, Angkor Wat, for its sheer size, is one of those sites like Notre Dame or the Pyramids about which you don’t need to know anything to appreciate it. Tiptoeing along single-file behind flag-waving tour guides and their creaky Japanese automatons, you have plenty of time to study the delicate carvings (Andrew was particularly mesmerized, I think, by the infinite seeming quantity of these) and gaze up at the bizarre corbelled vaults of the galleries. Actually, if you choose to peal off from the tourist-trudge you can find empty corridors and neglected annex buildings at every turn. Even monkeys.

Andrew at Angkor 4

2008-02-15T21:04:00.000-08:00

If the walls weren’t enough, the moat (“with width of a blunderbuss shot” according to the 16th century secondhand account of Diogo Do Couto, Portuguese) would have rendered an attack on Jayavarman VII’s super-city that much more difficult. Of course, the moat had a decorative and symbolic purpose as well (the ocean around Mt. Meru, the fertile waters of the naga spirits, etc. etc.). What I didn’t know until I started following the walls on my bike towards the less accessible corners was that the moat also once allowed for the in- and out-flow of the city’s water. The natural drainage of the area being to the south-west, water from the moat at the north-west corner entered through the wall at a vaulted intake point. The water coursed throughout the city in laterite-lined canals, flowing eventually into a collecting point at the south-west corner where waste water passed through another vaulted conduit (seen below) and reentered the moat. Not the Roman aqueducts or the Parisian sewers, but still pretty impressive. The 16th century Diogo Do Couto, who seems to have had better informants in Goa than the modern tourist gets in Siem Reap, described the water system in this way:

“From each of the town gates. . . is a highway as wide as on the outside bridges, with parapets built of the same dressed stone and in the same magnificence as those on the outside. And on each side of this highway stretch very fine canals, full to the brim with water which comes from the great moat surrounding the town, and which enters through two sluices on the north and east sides, and then returns to the same moat to the south and west, so that the water in the said moat never diminishes, and howsoever much water enters the two sluices, returns again through the other two. . . And so the town is cleaned of all the filth which is washed down to moats; so that, after the King (16th century king Ang Chan) who discovered this town had transferred his court there, it was the finest, the best regulated, and the cleanest of all the cities in the world.” (B-P Groslier, Angkor and Cambodia in the Sixteenth Century: According to the Portuguese and Spanish Sources, 53-54).

Looking for a better view of the wall and water works than exists at the crowded south gate, we drove through Angkor Thom and over to the deserted east gate, or “gate of the dead.” There you can see vestiges of the internal canals lining the east-west axis road and climb up onto the walls (and for the men, water the nearby bushes) in utter seclusion.

Andrew at Angkor 3 (Enter Andrew)

2008-02-04T00:05:00.001-08:00

Now, since Andrew only made a brief two-day swing through Angkor, he did not get to experience it in full: the day was too cloudy for him to see the reservoir when flying in to Siem Reap, and I didn’t have much time to punish him with inscription reading (“Okay, we’ve stared at five of these door-jambs and you can’t read this one either”). We did, like all visitors to Angkor, get to visit the walled city of Jayavarman VII, called modernly Angkor Thom (Big City). Unfortunately, we’re jumping here several centuries ahead to the late 12th and early 13th centuries, but Jayavarman VII was the ultimate megalomaniac, and his ubiquitous constructions, Angkor Wat aside, dwarf in scale the works of his predecessors—they deserve to be seen first regardless of one’s preference for chronological context.

Having secured the Siem Reap branch’s first counselor as our driver for the two days (Jan.7-8), we picked Andrew up early in the morning at the Siem Reap airport—one of those spiffy-new hope-you-don’t-notice-the-rest-of-Cambodia places that Anne and I have come to appreciate (they even have a Dairy Queen!). Andrew walked out of the terminal with a laptop computer and with a tiny, mostly empty backpack carrying treats from Kuala Lumpur and, we hoped, a change of clothes. We stopped in town to pick up some photocopies, buy bakery items at the Blue Pumpkin, and show Andrew our study spot at the Center for Khmer Studies. While driving around Siem Reap, Andrew commented on the town's squalid appeal, and with the possibility of returning to Pudong clearly on his mind, even mused about looking into jobs in Phnom Penh. We assumed he was joking. After getting our Angkor passes, we approached the south gate of Angkor Thom (with its distinctive sleepy faces) and got out of the van to stroll through by foot. The van drove through to wait for us on the other side—to give you the sense for how big these gates are.

The walls of Angkor Thom, eight meters high and forming a square 3 km long on each side, are to me the most striking evidence that the Cambodian elite once had other means of generating wealth besides taxing casinos. That is not to suggest that the walls were merely an advertisement of the king’s monopoly on treasure. At each corner of the city Jayavarman VII constructed a small shrine housing a stele/inscription, one of which (from the south-west corner shrine, seen below) indicates the wall's originally defensive purpose:

CVIII. At that time, following a one-day combat, the defenseless kingdom of king Sri Dharanindravarman was taken by Sri Suryavarman; king Yasovarman, having just arrived from Lavodaya, was deposed by king Tribhuvanaditya; and the latter, proud of his power, was deposed in his turn by the king of the Chams named Jaya Indravarman.

CIX. Having heard of the conduct of these kings, king Jayavarman. . . having offered his wealth to the land [Angkor Thom? Cambodia?], and having rendered it impregnable by garnishing it with ramparts and other (defenses). . . spoke to the future kings:

CX “If men are bent on taking an enemy city, when its taking has been difficult . . . by heroes hidden in the interior of a dense forest.”

CXI-CXVIII. (ruined)

Ah, the maddening joy of a well-placed lacuna!

Andrew at Angkor 2

2008-01-27T22:59:00.000-08:00

So, a medieval city, but nothing like the cities in the Far West with their compact bazaars, fortified hill towns, and Yemenese skyscrapers. A French archaeologist B.P. Groslier in the 1950s, having mapped evidence of habitation around Angkor, announced to the world that Angkor at its height was a city of one million when London was bursting at 50,000. In the past five years archaeologists have meekly lowered that estimate to between 50,000-100,000 souls spread out over the landscape along various “linear features”—causeways and canals—that gave Groslier his impression of the city’s unprecedented scale.The archaeologists are still holding out for Groslier in a way; their new big claim is that Angkor was “the world’s most extensive pre-industrial low-density urban complex.” This is to me a curious way of saying that Angkor was an urban complex that wasn’t really urban, but conveniently was when we’re writing grant proposals. Less cynically, these same archaeologists have their own ways of defining urbanity, and for them the “city” is defined by its artificial system of reservoirs, levees, and dikes to feed a population that could otherwise not have lived in or farmed the area in such relatively great numbers. In any case, the archaeologists have never had to argue this point: that when the kings of Angkor chose to build, they built big.

One can point to several proofs of royal megalomania from the Angkor period. The late 9th century king Yasovarman constructed a massive east-west reservoir, 4.7 miles long and a mile wide (now dry). The kings a century later decided to build another bigger one further west, 5 miles long and 1.4 miles wide, that is still mostly full of water and is clearly visible as a perfectly-shaped rectangle on Google Earth if you zoom in on Cambodia (see above). Anne and I took a wooden boat (see left) out to the artificial island at its center. If that’s not enough, there are two smaller reservoirs in the area, and other cities in the empire—Preah Khan of Kampong Svay, Beng Mealea, Banteay Chmar, Koh Ker—had their own ridiculously large reservoirs. The waterworks are easily impressive, but far more intimidating in my mind are the size of Cambodian Sanskrit poems. Sanskrit panegyric is headache inducing in any country and context, but at the 10th century temple of Pre Rup the sovereign erected a four-faced inscribed stele with 66 lines on each side, forming 298 stanzas of the most mind-numbing super-fluff I’ve ever tried to read:

CCLVIII. In his [the king’s] zeal for laying aside his own profit [or: the original meaning] in favor of another’s profit [or: another meaning], his conduct [or: the grammatical form], as in conciliation and other (ways of behaving) [or: as in a grammatical composition, etc.], was decorated with the identity of his intentions (for others) [or: with the identity of meanings].
I still suffer a rush of vertigo when I try to parse a measly two lines of this stuff.

Andrew at Angkor 1

2008-01-27T22:56:00.000-08:00

Andrew’s two-day visit from Malaysia has prompted us to write a blog to commemorate the occasion and in honor of this magnificent computer he presented to us. What better way to express our thanks, and to advertise Cambodia, than by posting pictures of our temple romping with Andrew?

We don’t actually live in Angkor, of course. Technically, we don’t live in Siem Reap either, and this next year the Cambodian government has concocted a scheme to change the burgeoning city’s name to “Angkor City.” So if the government actually does what it says, Angkor may come to us out here on the National Road east of town and south of the medieval city.

The medieval city? The guidebooks will say “ancient,” and that’s all well and good, but I think it does better justice to the site if you put it in its greater Eurasian context. The walled city of Jayavarman VII at Yasodharapura, known colloquially in his day and today as Nagara/Nogor/Angkor, was only built in the late 12th century. Yasovarman, the city’s namesake, founded the original city in the late 9th century, while his father and other previous kings perhaps stretching back to the early 8th century ruled at a site a few miles east of our house on the National Road called Hariharalaya (Place of Visnu-Siva). That’s old, and there’s a lot of excitement over recent news that they’ve dug up a bunch of Tang dynasty pottery to confirm that age, but we’re getting beyond ourselves a bit by calling it “ancient.” You could argue that it’s ridiculous to gauge ancientness by how Europeans define antiquity—pre-5th-6th century or whatever—but that’s not the point. The point is that Cambodia was at its hey-day in a post-Gupta, post-Han, post-Roman, post-Muhammad world awash with merchants (and their goods) and religious pilgrims (and their texts) exchanging knowledge and inspiring stateless societies towards the idealism and worldliness that lead to that situation old-fashioned scholars call “civilization." Historical-materialist purists (read Marxists and archaeologists) will insist that Angkor would have happened on its own without any influx from the medieval marketplace of ideas, and Angkor’s unique agricultural regime and consistent negligence of commerce (though what to do now about this Tang pottery?) would seem to support their take. Autonomists argue that whatever Indic impetus there was occurred early and nearly all-at-once in the age of Late Antiquity (2nd-3rd centuries) in the southern coastal polities, and that this culture was never more than a mere “flaking glaze” over a dense indigenous cake. No one seems to mention that the cosmopolitan, and in Southeast Asia’s case “medieval,” art of literacy, not evident in central Cambodia until the early 7th century, directly preceded the architectural and archaeological feats to which we will now turn.

Phnom Penh

2008-01-11T21:46:00.000-08:00

We don't particularly enjoy the six-hour bus ride from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh but we always find reasons for going. Our last trip (Dec. 21-24) allowed Ian to meet with an immensely helpful French curator at the national museum. He provided Ian with an invaluable list of recently discovered inscriptions, which have not yet been properly catalogued or studied. Ian viewed a few rubbings and was encouraged to email requests for images of anything that interests him. The curator rightly insisted that the rubbings and photographs are useless if not readily available to interested scholars.

When we were in Phnom Penh we also stopped by the Buddhist Institute’s cramped and unorganized bookstore to find a Christmas present for one of the missionaries. After browsing through stack upon stack of books, Ian found two small Pali grammar guides for Elder Masters, who hopes to learn a little of Cambodia's liturgical language. Before we hopped back into our tuk-tuk and headed to our hotel, Ian chatted with a monk. Cambodians often want to know how Ian learned Khmer and what he’s doing in Cambodia.

Having enjoyed our last international buffet so much,
we decided to try the family-friendly brunch at the Intercontinental Hotel. We were impressed with both the selection and quality. Ian savored his spicy noodle soup, and I really enjoyed the Belgian waffles with whipped cream and caramel sauce. A Pilipino guitarist with a lovely voice performed old favorites including some of Simon and Garfunkle’s greatest hits. Midway through our meal, an ice sculpture began to take shape. Close examination and a little imagination helped me be the first to correctly guess what the ice sculpture would become. Can you believe the dessert bar had cotton candy?

Bus Station

2008-01-09T21:43:00.000-08:00

On our most recent trip to Phnom Penh, I snapped a few pictures at the bus station. It's located outside of town and just a short bike ride down the national road from our apartment.

A snack stand selling sausages

A baguette seller

A cart selling accessories--I bought the yellow face mask

Christmas

2008-01-09T21:19:00.001-08:00

We had the pleasure of hosting a small Christmas party at our apartment. Ian and I spent the first two weeks of December scouring the local markets for decorations. The mini multicolored lights that Cambodians use in their ancestor shrines surprised us with their 8 settings—twinkle, flash, slow glow, etc.—and their extremely poor quality; two sets broke as we hung them. The small silk stars resembled starfish with slightly curving arms. Our $3 “Made in China” mini tree shed needles but looked reasonable when lit up. After having no luck finding a nativity at the market, Ian suggested checking at Siem Reap’s tiny Catholic church where we bought a beautiful hand-carved nativity.

Our small party of 8 (two senior missionaries, two American missionaries, and two Cambodian missionaries) barely fit in our living room. We munched on cheese and crackers and salad before the authentic Italian pizza arrived. After eating and chatting a bit, we read and discussed a few prophecies of Christ’s birth and mission from the Bible and the Book of Mormon.

Next came the gift exchange. Elder Enslen had suggested a $3 limit. You’d be amazed what you can get for $3 in Cambodia. Elder Bennion wore the Santa hat and passed out gifts. Each person chose a favorite Christmas hymn to sing after opening his or her present. Sister Enslen accompanied us on her electric keyboard. Elder and Sister Enslen bought matching hats and “I survived in Cambodia” t-shirts for Ian and me. I chose to sing “Oh Come all Ye Faithful,” and Ian picked “Lo How a Rose ‘Ere Blooming.” Ian encouraged Elder Masters’ interest in Cambodian religion by buying him Pali primers from the Buddhist Institute in Phnom Penh. I bought Keebler fudge cookies and a Hershey’s Santa for Elder Bennion. After finishing the gift exchange, we served vanilla ice cream, lemon sorbet, Scottish shortbread, and Mint M&Ms for dessert. Though we missed our families we had a very pleasant Christmas.

Coming Soon

2007-12-21T02:46:00.000-08:00

We promise to post more pictures as soon as we can. We'll be sure to include Cambodian Christmas pictures. Since our computer died two weeks ago, we haven't been able to upload any images. Andrew will bring us a new Mac when he visits in early January. We wish to thank Jan and Win for their thoughtful Christmas present.

Almost

2007-12-20T04:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we almost ate lunch at a new Malaysian restaurant. Luckily, we wondered around to the side of the building looking for a secure place to park our bikes. As we came around the corner, we saw a guy squatting in the dirt road plucking a headless chicken over a bucket of feather-filled water. After a few moments he noticed us and disappeared into the kitchen. We decided not to eat there. It's too bad; I was really looking forward to chicken satay.

Christmas Treat

2007-12-16T19:29:00.000-08:00

As an early Christmas present and as a much needed escape, I took Ian to a sumptuous (and pricey) dinner buffet at Raffles Grand Hotel d'Angkor. Raffles, the only true five star hotel in Siem Reap, is a charming restored French colonial building. As we entered the lobby, we were greeted with smiling faces and cool mint scented cloths. The manager welcomed us and led us to a table, and attentive waiters refolded our napkins and supplied fresh silverware each time we returned to the buffet.

The buffet, though smaller than some, offered tantalizing choices. The au gratin potatoes were creamy and crisp. The yellow noodles with vegetables was subtly spiced. The lime vinaigrette I chose for my salad complimented the sweetness of the yellow and red peppers. Ian enjoyed a range of seafood dishes, including sushi, as well as lamb, duck, and freshly carved beef. I found the Gruyere particularly satisfying, and Ian feasted on blue cheese.

I thought the desserts were the highlight. The vanilla mousse with milk chocolate shavings was my favorite; the creme brulee was a close second. The warm chocolate cake was a bit too rich for me but Ian appreciated its ruddy flavor. The creamy and tangy passion fruit and chocolate mousse hit the spot as did the strawberry cheesecake squares. The hot banana and chocolate bread pudding with vanilla sauce pleasantly reminded me of chocolate chip pancakes; it wasn't a favorite but was very good. For a few hours we pretended we were in the first world. It felt wonderful to be pampered.

Teaching English

2007-12-07T22:08:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago Elder Enslen, the branch president, asked us to teach an English class on Tuesday and Friday evenings. Our mission is two-fold: to expand the educational and economic opportunities of our students and to help find people for the missionaries to teach.

Most of our students attend church on Sundays. Two young men want to learn English so they can serve missions; the older of the two is 21 but only attended public school through third grade. Poverty and a difficult family situation forced him to drop out so he could work. He can't read or write well in Khmer and is really struggling with the alphabet. Other students know quite a bit and aren't afraid to ask questions.

We have three students who attend fairly regularly but, for the most part, each class is different. We never know who will be there or how much the students already know. One Tuesday a Korean travel agent (the second counselor) and his two kids came. His children attend a small English speaking international school and knew basic English well. Their father hasn't had as much practice and was content to listen as his children answered questions.

Last night a middle aged Cambodian man attended. He attends church with us and is a German-speaking tour guide at Angkor (a few weeks ago we ran into him at one of the temples). Before class started he asked Ian to translate a sign into English (fish hatchery, no commercial fishing). He wanted to explain the sign to tourists visiting the Tonle Sap lake.

Usually I choose the topic and prepare the lesson. Ian looks over the plan and makes suggestions. During class I take the lead, and Ian explains any complicated concepts in Khmer and makes sure the students understand. Sometimes I work with the more advanced students while Ian helps other students learn the alphabet or simple phrases. We make a great team.

Angkor Market

2007-11-29T21:36:00.001-08:00

Can you imagine doing all your grocery shopping at a gas station mini-mart? We shop at Angkor Market, which is about the size of a Seven Eleven. If you took a stroll through the store, this is what you’d find: An entire aisle is devoted to drinks, including numerous kinds of ultra-pasteurized unrefrigerated milk. A small freezer section stocks a surprising amount of hot dogs and bratwurst, as well as ice cream from New Zealand. The refrigerated section boasts French butter, cheese, and yogurt, a small section of decent looking meats, and limited fresh produce. Toiletries, baby products, and cleaners—with directions in Thai, Khmer, French, and German but not English—fill another aisle. The most unappetizing and depressing kind of canned goods, instant noodles, and questionable sauces occupy the next aisle. Cereal (mostly German and Australian), Asian snacks, and cookies have their own section. Coffee, tea, dry goods, and pet supplies make up the last aisle. A tiny counter displays baked goods and a few shelves house bread. It’s not much but we appreciate it.

The Enslens

2007-11-29T21:05:00.001-08:00

The branch president here in Siem Reap is one Elder Enslen, a senior missionary from Wetumpka, Alabama (don't let him hear you saying he's from Montgomery!). He and his wife are true characters (read "Southerners"). He is an energetic lawyer who has been one of the trailblazers for the church in Alabama; he's a proudly amateur historian of the church in his state, a proud descendant of
famous Confederates and of the founder of Atlanta, and a proud ex-Baptist (he published a book in his home town of articles he had written for the local newspaper defending the church and the Book of Mormon from neighborhood detractors). His wife is scared to death of Cambodia, is absolutely freaked out about cicaks, and plays the electric keyboard beautifully. They took us to the first Cambodian Open, a tournament in the Asia tour.

We're Back!

2007-11-28T00:35:00.001-08:00

After a very long and frustrating process, our computer appears to be working again. Our hard drive crashed. Then the new hard drive crashed. And now we're biding our time until it crashes again. Who knows, our computer may actually pull through this time.

In the meantime, enjoy some pictures:

http://gallery.mac.com/inl79/100068

Computer Woes

2007-11-13T22:14:00.000-08:00

We're abandoning our computer in Phnom Penh for repairs so you might not hear much from us for the next little while. It could be weeks until the laptop is working again.

Center for Khmer Studies (CKS)

2007-11-03T00:29:00.000-07:00

The Center for Khmer Studies (CKS) is located in the grounds of a wat across the river from Siem Reap's main tourist area. The library is in a tastefully restored colonial building surrounded by flowering trees. It's the library of my dreams, not because it's pretty, but because it has nearly everything I need all in one place. The east wing of the library building is reserved for "senior fellows," and I discovered on arrival that I am one. Anne and I can use the quiet, spacious, air-conditioned room whenever we want, and it comes with free WI-FI, a large locker for personal things, and, most crucially, a surprisingly complete set of the most important academic journals concerning Cambodia and Southeast Asia. My sister's probably squirming at my nerdiness, so I'll end this blog by saying that five minutes away we've found a restaurant with the best chocolate cake ever. And that's where we're going now.

Biking home from school
Two shy little girls
Ian and one of the CKS cats
Ian in action

Bikes

2007-11-02T19:35:00.000-07:00

Getting around Siem Reap is a bit tricky. The majority of “roads” are unpaved and pothole ridden, and public transportation is non-existent. Cambodians pile onto the back of pick up trucks, jump on motos, or peddle along on bikes. Tourists prefer tuk-tuks for greater safety and comfort. Most expats zoom around town on motorbikes, while wealthy expats hire a driver. We bought bikes. Ian opted for a second-hand Japanese bike but bought a new Thai model for me. Biking requires helmets, sunglasses (Chanel and Versace knockoffs of course!), and disposable surgical masks to keep out the dust and exhaust fumes. It takes thirty minutes to bike from our apartment to the Old Market area, where we can buy basics, enjoy a cheap meal, or cross the bridge and visit the Center for Khmer Studies library.

Wildlife

2007-11-01T22:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday as Ian and I crossed the lawn at CKS a muted thud caught my attention. A meter-long green snake fell from a tree landing just behind Ian and just in front of me. My small shriek of surprise amused the guards. Constant vigilance!

Venturing Out

2007-10-31T23:33:00.000-07:00

$60 is what you pay for a week at the Angkor Archaeological Park. $0 is what you pay when you slip into the complex by a back road (without getting caught and fined) or visit sites that fall outside park boundaries. As I wait to see whether the Apsara Authority approves my research pass, I’m all about option number two, and option one if I can somehow find that alternate route.

One day last week I took off on my spiffy Japanese second-hand bike down the dirt road towards Angkor. Or at least I imagined it would land me at Angkor eventually; drawing a straight line route north from our house on a map, my pen had waded across the (admittedly dry) east reservoir built by Yaśovarman I. Trouble is, I hadn’t bothered to confirm whether my chosen path followed a continuous road or whether I would soon be treading water in an irrigation ditch. It turns out the road was neither the magical back door I had anticipated nor the mud-fest I had feared. I did find myself on a dusty causeway passing by primeval thatch huts and naked children staring at me like I was a zoo animal on the loose. A few minutes later I was by myself on what little trail there was left through the swamp (if I had gone much farther I may have soon been swimming) gazing at the towers of Angkor Wat just beyond a thicket of kapok trees to the west. Just then I heard a bicycle behind me and turned to see a little girl (between 5-15 years old, one can never tell) peddling standing up with a toddler teetering precariously on the seat. I asked her whether the road continued to Angkor and she looked at me quizzically and pointed at Angkor Wat, as if to say “you’re already there, bonehead!” Once she figured out that I had lost faith in my present path, she assured me that a turn to the left was coming up just ahead.

And she was right. A minute later I was shocked to be standing next to a team of road workers who were playing volleyball on a four-lane highway, yet unpaved but partially lined with street lights and stretching out towards some orange and white monstrosity—a hotel or a conference center, I don’t really want to know. Glad to be headed in a direction, if not the right direction, I took the unfinished road to where it met the fancy new road north to the temples. I accompanied a stream of cars, motos, air-conditioned tourist buses, and tuk-tuks to where the road ended at a booth, where I was flagged down by the Apsara Authority and kindly advised to show my pass or get lost.

Though I didn’t find my secret back-door route to Angkor (I make my next attempt later this week), I got a sense for the mind-boggling transition this area has been going through over the past fifteen years. In fact, the transition, or utter lack of one rather, is always right there in your face. Having the Indonesian kampung just over the wall from the expat compound in Jakarta was nothing like riding from an Andaman-island-like world to the world of 21st century commerce and five-star resorts in a little over five minutes.

Anne accompanied me the other day to a 9th century temple, Prasat Gok Cak, just south of park boundaries and north-west of Siem Reap. I was guessing that it was going to be a relatively quiet place, but it turned out to be quite isolated—we agreed to compensate the tuk-tuk driver for the mud puddles we had to slosh through to get there. Most of the small early temples around town have been incorporated into local wats and are therefore easy to find, but the two crumbling shrines of Prasat Gok Cak rest on a slight overgrown mound (gok means “dry land,” or better, “land elevated from the muck”) hidden from the road by trees and by the fact that the jungle-strewn towers could be mistaken for trees.

The reason for visiting this particular shrine (besides the joy of slipping into one for free) was that it contains a neglected 11th century Old Khmer inscription about a legendary elephant hunt episode that supposedly took place two centuries earlier around the site. Anne and I snapped some pictures of the inscription and the brick shrines, and we returned home without having accomplished much of anything but feeling smug nonetheless.

Just for fun, here’s the short inscription (K. 521) from the south shrine’s door-jamb transcribed and loosely translated (with help from George Cœdès):

772 śaka gi nu vraḥ pāda śrījaivarmmadeva stāc dau viṣṇuloka ta rājaputra vraḥ pāda parameśvara xxxixxx vrai slā 'nin svey rāja chnāṃ tap pramvāy cāp taṃmrya duk xxx lāṅ mann taṃmrya rat cval ta vrai neḥ ta jmaḥ viṣṇugrāṃma yap phdaṃ ta gi svaṃ pratyādeśa yol kaṃmrateṅ 'añ vaiṣṇava mvāy pandval ta vraḥ pāda viṣṇuloka thā daha ñyāṅ vixxxx pi sthāpa rūpa 'añ bhaktiy 'añ oy taṃmrya noḥ viṅ udaiya guḥ 'aṃpān taṃmrya noḥ ta vrai neḥ pandval pre chgā ta neḥ sthāpanā rūppa kaṃmrateṅ 'añ śakavrāhmaṇ dikṣā jmaḥ viṣṇugrāṃma jvan bhūmi trey jnaṅ prāṅ 'ji 'añ khñuṃ paṃcyāṃ mvāy jmaḥ teṅ hyaṅ jā svāmiy loñ las jā vraḥ khlaiy toy vraḥ dnāy mok jvan ta vraḥ neḥ pre paṃmre panlas vraḥ sarira teṅ hyaṅ nu loñ las paṅgaṃ thpvaṅ nivedana svaṃ bhūmi nu yeṅ khñuṃ paṃcyam paṃmre ta jā caṃmryeṅ xxx vraḥ pāda kamrateṅ 'añ karuṇā prasāda bhūmi sot 'āy xxx 'moghapūra caṃnat vyar ṇnivāsa caṃnat dūk chloṅ

772 śaka (850 AD), His Majesty Jayavarman, He who went to Visnuloka [Jayavarman III], son of Paramesvara [Jayavarman II], (residing in) Vrai Sla in Anin(ditapura), having reigned for sixteen years, captured an elephant and kept it. . . Then the elephant escaped into the forest called Visnugramma. That night, while lying down to sleep, the king requested a visitation from a Vaisnava deity, who addressed Visnuloka as follows: If you strive. . . set up my statue and worship me, I will return the elephant to you. The next morning the king caught the elephant in the forest. He ordered that the forest be cleared and set up a statue of Lord Sakavrahman. He called [the shrine] Visnugramma and gave a plot of land by a riverbank [to the shrine]. My ancestor Ten Hyan, the wife of Lon Las and sister-in-law [of the king] by. . . , came to make offerings to this god and to direct its servants in place of the king. Ten Hyan and Lon Las requested the land [in these terms]: We, serving as "singers". . . His Majesty deigned to bestow more land to. . . in Amoghapura: the establishment Vyar Nivasa and the establishment Duk Chlon ("boat for traversing").

Apartment Tour

2007-10-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

After two weeks of searching, purchasing, hauling, and deep-cleaning, we feel sufficiently moved-in to reveal our apartment.

Yes, an apartment. After the rental agency's attempt to put us in "villas" with enough room for a family of five, and after looking at a few hotel-room-for-a-year options, we found a modest one-bedroom place that suits us perfectly. Well, almost perfectly. What we gained in terms of home comfort we lost in terms of convenience; we decided on a new apartment complex outside of town on the National Road, far enough away that expats look at us like we're crazy. Actually, our bike ride into town is fine, and the advantages to living a little ways out were too many to ignore. And it's all about the views, really; we were seduced.

Our apartment building is new and actually still looks it after six months in use.

We are on the top floor, the balcony with the blue chairs. When you arrive on the top floor, you see to your left a laundry drying area where the washer woman hangs things up to dry. Entering the apartment, you see our purified drinking water lining the wall, as well as our truly cool plastic shoe rack.

Our bedroom is small but has plenty of closet space.We managed to fit everything--water dispenser, washing machine, stove, fridge--into our kitchen, and we even used some shelves in the kitchen for our books. The living room is spartan (less cleaning), and we use the vanity for desk/computer space.

Opening the balcony doors, you can see the "buses" smoking by on the National Road, water buffalo wading in the marsh (charming but bug-infested), Phnom Bok mountain and Angkor Wat, of course, in the distance. In the afternoons the monsoon clouds roll in over the Kulen mountains and cast a grey-blue hue over the landscape.

While we figure out how to post multiple pictures on our blog, we invite you to check out this link:

http://gallery.mac.com/inl79#gallery

The Louvre

2007-10-28T21:24:00.001-07:00

You may be wondering how I occupied my time in Paris. What did I do while Ian photographed rubbings of inscriptions and copied obscure articles at the EFEO?

A few days after we arrived in Paris, I purchased a year-long youth pass to the Louvre, which was a steal for 15 Euros. This nearly magical pass paid for itself in two visits and even let Ian tag along for the Louvre's evening hours on Wednesdays and Fridays. I spent most mornings and early afternoons exploring the splendid Egyptian collection. My nonexistent French hardly mattered. I was delighted to find that I often knew more about the objects than the plaques explained. Ian kindly translated anything that I couldn't figure out and listened patiently to my little lectures about stylistic details and periodization. My parents indulged me by taking my tour of the collection highlights.

I usually enjoyed a small quiche from our neighborhood bakery as part of a late lunch and lounged around the apartment until Ian returned. When I felt more ambitious I reread and jotted down notes from my favorite art history book, Gay Robin's The Art of Ancient Egypt. Other times I napped.

Bus to Siem Reap

2007-10-14T04:12:00.000-07:00

Supply list:
*Four Poptarts
*three bottles of water
*a box of shortbread cookies
*a Bounty bar (for Ian)
*Dramamine (for me).

Pluses:
*reserved seats (7A, 7B)
*AC
*tour guide
*toilet in back
*airplane like service
*refreshing towelettes
*complementary snacks

Minuses:
*tour guide
*complementary snacks
*television playing Cambodian karaoke
*small Cambodian boy pees in plastic bag and ties it to seat in front of him (bag hangs ominously across the aisle from us for half an hour), stewardess explains toilet to mother who has younger child pee in same bag, mother deposits bag at front of the bus
*bus breaks down 5 km outside Siem Reap, strange noises issue from the back, bus limps into town as onlookers gape

Marching onward

2007-10-11T06:33:00.000-07:00

So here we are. Packing. Again. With a little luck, we'll arrive in Siem Reap tomorrow afternoon. Our tickets for the "Mekong Express Limousine Bus" are safely tucked in an envelope. Cambodians are a bit fussy about creases, small tears, and other cosmetic blemishes. In fact, at the airport, an embassy employee needed to convince the border police that the stamp on Ian's visa wasn't "too messy" to be considered official. Apparently, the woman believed that the off kilter stamp would make it impossible for Ian's visa to be extended. At our security briefing, the embassy official warned us against accepting money with even the slightest wear and tear, because Cambodians are unlikely to consider it valid.

A short evacuation from our hotel room momentarily interrupted the writing of this blog. A few ants quickly turned into several hundred marching toward some tidbit on the window sill. A kind employee efficiently sprayed the trails and to my astonishment, I discovered that the room's pleasant fruity scent came not from a cleaning product or air freshener but from bug spray.

Special Rats

2007-10-10T07:11:00.000-07:00

Three days into our ten months in Cambodia and we are already jittery about the urban wildlife. It's one thing to see a rat vanishing into the storm gutter or to hear a mouse scurrying behind boxes in your garage. It's quite another when a mouse is in your hotel trash can and, before you can even reach the bedside light, leap up, and charge blindly at the creature, it manages to disappear behind the television or into its little lair. Ian tried several times to trap the mouse in a bag but jetlag, Tylenol pm, and plain incompetence combined to thwart his efforts. We slept soundly nonetheless, and promptly made reservations at another hotel the following day.
When Anne caught sight of her first cat (Anne is always looking for cats), it was chasing a rat out of a restaurant--no one but Anne and the cat seemed to notice. Then the rat darted up a tree (!), leaving the cat to sulk below. A few minutes later Anne pointed out a dark shape moving above our heads, which turned out to be yet another rat balancing on a power line. Are rats supposed to be able to do that? Maybe it's just one of those head-scratchers, among many, that leads us to believe that Cambodia is a special place.

Anne spotted this striking kitten at Wat Phnom, and we interrupted its meal (a plastic bag of rice, probably garbage) to take its picture: