August 24, 2007

Prasat Preah Vihear (CAMBODIA)

A Pilgrimage North through the Jungles of Cambodia

I rose at 5:30 this morning and after quickly tossing the last of my stuff in my sack I clenched my teeth while I endured yet another frigid shower. I have the horrible habit of never using towels when I travel (preferring to air dry), but this morning I had no choice but to hop back in bed and roll around so I could dry off and get warm.

Fortunately, the breakfast was hot and both Jo and I did our best to fill ourselves for the long day ahead of us. Although we still weren't quite clear how we were going to do it, we intended to reach the temple complex of Prasat Preah Vihear, which straddles the Cambodian-Thailand border. The first step in this modern-day pilgrimage - Lonely Planet described the ordeal as being "almost the equal [pilgrimage] of any undertaken at the height of the Angkorian Empire" - was hopping in a small tri-shaw (motorcycle with a small carriage attached to the rear) at 7am for the 20 minute ride to the bus station. The second we arrived we handed our bags over to the bus driver and were ushered aboard as the bus pulled out from the station. Although I was unsure of what lay ahead, I couldn't help feeling excited at the audacity of what were attempting. Somewhat more realistic was Jo, who was clearly tentative about what she was getting herself into. Nevertheless, she rewarded me with a smile as we left the city of Siem Reap behind.

Our second form of transport for the day - an archaic bus jammed with local Khmers - had drama of its own as I struggled to explain to the driver we wanted to be dropped off in a small town called Dam Dek. The town is hardly a blip on even detailed maps, so neither the driver nor the bus full of locals could understand why on earth we wanted to be dropped off here. I did my best to explain we were heading to Prasat Preah Vihear, but either the implausibility of such an undertaking or the language barrier got in the way of a proper understanding.

It was when I sat back down next to Jo and went back over what were attempting that I realized how unorthodox our plan was. I suppose it was always easier to justify it in my mind than to a perceptive mind with a large stake in the matter at hand. Either way, we were not long from being reminded once more the massive rewards that go hand-in-hand with the massive risks we were taking.

After an hour on the bus we were dropped off at the main intersection of Dam Dek. I looked around hoping there was some kind of mistake, but there was no question that the town only extended 50m in any direction. I did my best to avoid Jo's eyes as the only life we could see was a a local petrol station (using Jack Daniels bottles, not gasoline pumps) and a small market across the street. Truth be told, things were not looking good at this point, but only the brave deserve the fair so I didn't waste any time worrying.

Instead, I immediately walked to a nearby jeep where a young monk was sitting in the front seat (monks are always given priority in Southeast Asia). The monk spoke enough English for me to explain we were headed North toward Prasat Preah Vihear and were in need of a lift. By the time I explained all this there were a dozen locals gathered around trying to figure out what on earth two young westerners were doing in a place like Dam Dek. I can only imagine how otherworldly the two of us must have looked with our massive backpacks and western clothes.

Fortunately, the locals began talking amongst each other, and because they apparently took on the responsibility of our well-being, word of what we wanted quickly spread. Thus, it wasn't long before we were led to a small scattering of plastic chairs on the side of the road. The chairs obviously belonged to the welcoming Khmer man was sitting behind a small collection of wooden crates that served as his make-shift desk. We waited contentedly while he rang a variety of people on his mobile phone, and 15 minutes later he gave us a smile. It was slowly translated to us that in another hour or so a local truck would come by and we were free to hop on for only a few dollars. Other than a finger vaguely pointing in a Northerly direction, it was not clear where exactly this truck was headed, but there weren't any other options so we happily agreed. In the mean time, I accepted an invitation to lay out on an old US Army hammock while Jo sat down to read a book. I was afraid to imagine what might have been going through her mind at the time, but I have a feeling I was precariously close to being on her bad side.

As promised, the truck arrived just after 9am and we were ushered aboard while the locals graciously ignored our protests and carried our belongings. The bags were hoisted atop the pile of goods already overflowing from the bed of the truck and everything was tied down. Now it was our turn to grab a spot, but a quick look into the cab made it all-too-clear we were to join our gear on the back. We shimmied up the side with surprising ease and made ourselves comfortable atop bags of God-knows-what. I doubt either of us will ever forget what it was like as we sped off down the dirt road riding 10 feet in the air. Both our knuckles were white as we held on for our lives, but we soon settled in and let the wind whip across our faces while the sun brought smiles to our faces.

For the first hour we passed huts, locals bicycling, the odd motorbike, and for each person we passed there was a lightning quick jerk of the head at the sight of us. I don't know who was enjoying our presence more, us or the locals. Either way, to everyone involved this was entirely out of the norm, and for both Jo and I this was the way traveling was meant to be done.

We stopped for lunch just before noon at the kind of small town that is oozing charm because of its secluded nature. We took a quick look at the dishes on offer - simply a matter of pointing to the pot or plate of food you wanted - and decided it wisest to stick with vegetables. I was once more impressed that Jo was willing to eat the food as most girls I know (and guys) would surely squirm away from taking the risk of eating the food. Despite the lack of sanitary precautions (flies were everywhere) the food was surprisingly good and far different from the tourist-directed Khmer food we have seen at restaurants.

After we finished eating we said goodbye to the last remnants of civilization and began the journey through unadulterated jungle. Now is a good time to point out that Lonely Planet describes the route to the mountain as being "a unique and challenging experience, an adventure that will make an explorer of any of us." True to their word, the dirt road went from being horrendous to being, well, even more horrendous. We maxed out at 15kmh as the driver did his best to cushion the blow as we bounced from crater to crater. We are in the heart of monsoon season and the rains leave massive holes in the road that are only exacerbated when cars like ours drive through the mush. Making matters worse, we were riding so high on the truck that the moment created was sufficient to send us flying at the slightest jarring. It was like trying to sit atop an out of control drying machine for hours on end.

Things got significantly worse when the rain started. At first, I thought it would just be a matter of getting wet, but the torrential sheets prompted the Khmer man riding atop with us to pull out a tarp as a shield. There was no way to hook the tarp down so we all did our best to hold it down while the wind ripped at it like a sail. Despite such trying times, the worst was still to come as the tarp was covered in small red ants, and after a few minutes I felt the first of the bites. There was very little I could do to prevent the ants from biting me because we could barely hold the tarp down against the onslaught of rain, and the bouncing of the truck was even more severe now that the visibility was limited. This was easily the low-point of the day, and when the rain finally subsided I counted 14 bites on my right arm alone.

As Jo would later point out, the adventure was more than worthwhile, but there was no denying it lasted an hour longer than our limits could tolerate.

Shortly after four in the afternoon we reached a town called Sa Em. Although the town only consisted of nine wooden buildings, we viewed it as our savior because it was the outpost at which mankind was struggling to overcome the hell through which we just ventured. I felt like we had successfully crossed the Cambodian jungle's equivalent of the Arabian Desert: instead of the tiring sway of a camel's hump we had the jarring bouncing of a truck, instead of the incessant flies on camels we had the tiny pincers of red ants, and instead of arid heat we had the monsoon rains.

But we weren't done yet. From Sa Em it was another 50km to Prasat Preah Vihear, and the driver wanted us to get off here. I felt a prickly heat creep down my back as I struggled to figure out what to do next, but we lucked out when the driver agreed to take us to the base of the mountain. We still weren't out of the woods as my travel guide described the route we were about to take as being "seriously difficult and [the route] shouldn't be attempted by anyone who isn't willing to put up with misery along the way." I tried to hide this passage from Jo because I was feeling awful about everything I put her through today, but she saw it and was hardly perturbed. We had endured so much that very little could scare us off at this point.

As we approached the stretch of mountains that separate Thailand from Cambodia we were overcome with awe at the beauty of what we were approaching. After seven consecutive hours of jungle misery and a solitary dirt road for comfort the mountain range was a much needed change of scenery. Further, the "seriously difficult" dirt road we took for this leg of the journey was a cake-walk compared to what we endured earlier in the day - a testament to just how bad things were.

By the time we reached the base of the mountain it was well past 5pm and we were confronted with a new worry: where to sleep for the night. The nearest town offering accommodation was Choam Ksant, which was 75km away and it might as well have been 5000km because we had no way of getting there. Fortunately, things tend to work out when you give them a go and then refuse to give in when difficulties arise - and today was no different.

We were approached by a Khmer man who offered to drive us up the mountain on his huge dirt motorbike for $5USD/person. I remember thinking the price was a small fortune in a place like Cambodia (especially considering it was only a 800m climb), but after he mentioned that his sister owned the only accommodation on the mountain and could give us a cheap room we happily agreed to use his services. It turned out that the $5USD ride was one of the best bargains thus far. There was a gradient of 40% the entire way up the mountain, and the 30 minute ride was devoid of any kind of paved roads. Instead, we traversed loose gravel, running streams, boulders, and yet-to-be-cleareded mud slides. It was the most terrifying experience of the day as we were literally hanging on for dear life on a variety of narrow paths barely suited for fully-outfitted hikers. At one point we cut off the "main" route and ventured off through undergrowth, braking the entire time as the motorbike descended down a 50 degree incline. I was instructed to hop off the moving motorbike as we neared the bottom and a muddy mess forced both Jo and I to walk the remainder of the way.

When we finally reached base camp for the mountain Jo and I breathed a mutual sigh of relief, but both of us were too exhausted to begin reflecting on the endeavor we just endured. We checked into a room for the night, and although the room was hardly large enough for the bed and mosquito net engulfing it, we were happy to have a place to lie down. However, even rest was put on hold as we decided to finish what we started and climb the remainder of the mountain. So, exhausted as we were, we set off in the setting sun for our final adventure of the day: climbing the mountain temple of Prasat Preah Vihear.

Built during the the 9th Century and culminating in the 12th Century, Prasat Preah Vihear is a multi-leveled set of temples that boasts the most dramatic location for all Angkorian temples. From the mountain's peak we could look out on the Cambodian low-land jungle that we spent all day crossing, and indeed there was nothing to be seen except dark green jungle stretching to the horizon. We were able to see part of the road from Sa Em, but beyond that the jungle swallowed any hope of following the path we took.

For every bump we hit along the way and for every misery we endured - and God knows there were quite a few - the temples on the mountain and the sense of look at what we have accomplished made everything worthwhile. Other than small groups of local children and vendors lounging around, we were the only ones exploring the ruins and enjoying the evening views. Most people who visit the sight come as day-trippers from Thailand as there is actually a paved road leading here from the Thailand side. Even so, I would not want to venture here in such a way because it takes away from the sense of otherworldliness we were experiencing.

Before we began climbing I picked up four cans of Angkor beer and a canister of sour cream and onion Pringles so Jo and I could have a relaxing treat at the top of the mountain. We found a nice place to sit amongst the ruins and looked out over the expanse of green carpet hundreds of meters below us. There was no better way to end the day, and if this is a sign of things to come while Jo and I travel together then I am surely the luckiest guy on earth.

Just so people don't think life was grand after climbing back down the mountain, I want to include that Jo and I had to wait for the generator to churn to life before we could use any lighting (which only lasted for one hour), but the best part was the shower: there were two barrels full of freezing water with a bucket in each so we could shower.