Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [78]
“This is great!” Micah said.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“It reminds me of the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom ride at Disneyland.”
“You’re such a crass American,” I complained.
“Don’t you think it does? Or, it could be a movie set. Like someone had imagined what a ruined temple looked like, then built it. It looks too real to be real.”
“Too real to be real?”
“Exactly,” he nodded. “Like someone planned it.”
Forty minutes later, we were back on the bus; our next stop was the Bayon. There the jungle had been cut back and we made our way through the ruins. Unlike the heat in Australia, the heat in Angkor was intensified by the humidity. Mosquitoes were prevalent, and we slathered on the bug spray.
The Bayon was unremarkable when compared to Ta Prohm. It had the same configuration as the others, though we did see our first examples of the relief carvings for which the temples are famous. In the sandstone, we could make out various images, each of which came with a story.
The stories, however, were hard to follow. Of all the languages in the countries we visited, Cambodian seemed most foreign. The linguistic sounds were so different that simple words were incomprehensible. Thus, whenever the guides spoke, even in English, we had to sift through heavy accents and long pauses as our Cambodian guides stumbled over words. It was not only hard for us to understand what they were saying, but they had an equally difficult time understanding us.
“Why do they call them relief carvings instead of just carvings?” Micah asked.
“These . . . uh . . . are . . . uh . . . relief carvings,” our guide answered with an accommodating smile.
“But why relief?”
“See?” he said, pointing to the wall. “Relief carvings.” He enunciated the word carefully. “Relief.”
“Ah,” Micah said, knowing he wasn’t getting through. “Thanks anyway.”
The guide bowed. “I’m welcome.”
The sun was directly overhead and beating down hard when we finally arrived at the Elephant Terrace. We were told the rulers used to sit atop the wall—essentially a long, thick wall with elephants carved on it—to watch performances on the plaza out front.
“What kinds of performances?” Micah asked.
“Like the . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
“Play?”
“No . . . the uh . . .”
“Circus?” Micah offered.
“Yes, the circus. With the swingers on the . . . uh . . .” The guide waved his hand, mimicking the word he was looking for.
“Trapeze?”
“Yes. Trapeze. And there were women . . . uh . . .” The guide moved a little, swinging his hips to the side.
“Dancers?”
“Yes, dancers. And . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
“Elephants?” Micah suggested.
“No, no elephants.”
The three-hour break once we were back at the hotel was welcome. Both Micah and I worked out, ate, and napped before heading off to Angkor Wat. By then, we’d been told repeatedly that our two hours there wouldn’t be nearly long enough to fully appreciate it.
In a way, we learned, they were right, simply because of its size and scope. And yet, unless you were well versed in the stories about the Hindu god Vishnu and had the patience to learn how those stories had been interpreted into pictures, two hours was more than enough. One of the TCS lecturers on the trip was absolutely fascinated by—and had studied intensively—the relief carvings of Angkor Wat. After making our way over the causeway to the main walls surrounding the temple, he grew giddy with excitement. As we stared and photographed portions of the carvings—and they were amazingly detailed, I have to admit—our lecturer would stop every few steps and point to the various sections of the wall, describing it in even further detail, his voice resounding with enthusiasm.
To be honest, it only confused us.
“Now this,” he might say, “is where Vishnu crosses the river. Look where he’s standing. See