Letter home from Cambodia on June 15, 2008
Dear family and friends,
I'm writing from Peace of Angkor Villa, my sanctuary in Siem Reap, Cambodia.
It's a gem of local, European and period architecture, hospitably owned by a professional photographer, Dave Perkes, who caters to like-minded folks http://www.peaceofangkor.com/.
And because this is Cambodia, it's only $15–$20 a night. A place like this in the United States would easily cost $100-$200 a night.
Sleepless in Bangkok
The bus trip from Bangkok to the Cambodian border was smooth, literally and figuratively. Paved all of the way, lush tropical jungle foliage was dotted with lily ponds, shantytowns and Buddhist temples.
In Bangkok, I stayed in the modest backpacker lodgings at the Donna Guest House.
I wasn't shooting in Bangkok, so while I ran errands to set up my overland border crossing into Cambodia, I locked up $5,000 worth of photography equipment in my $8 a night room (think high-end camping), and chuckled at the irony.
Sleepless in Bangkok my last night, I walked the bustling Th Khao San backpacker / expat / tourist district and feasted on a plate of street noodles and a spring roll for $1.12.
I got the hang of the Thai baht currency and getting around really quickly on my day-and-a-half stopover—comfortable just in time to switch countries, languages and systems!
The overall friendliness of the Thai people and the huge number of English-speaking expats and tourists proffering advice certainly made it manageable.
Cambodia: into the monsoon
On my shoestring expedition budget, I chose the cheapest (and most harrowing) option: overland on unpaved roads.
I skidded into Cambodia in the middle of a monsoon and the most chaotic border crossing.
The highlights and lowlights involved switching between multiple shuttles and buses, getting soaked through, blindly slogging through mud pond unpaved streets in an attempt to follow the confounding bus agency employees, language barriers, convoluted procedures, and unsettling discrepancies around visa protocol and rates.
Most of us passengers took it all in stride and laughed our way through—nothing a healthy dose of common sense and a good attitude couldn't cure.
It was an adventure of a lifetime but suffice it to say I'm rethinking the allure of overland border crossings and looking into flights for when I depart Siem Reap in the next week or so.
Other western travelers consistently warned me that the road and service conditions would deteriorate immediately once I crossed the Thailand / Cambodia border.
They suggested that instead of continuing on the bus, which likely would have busted shocks and would not be able to navigate the potholes, that I split a taxi ride with other passengers to Siem Reap, the hub for Angkor tourism.
Of my busmates, I got along best with a spirited trio of Norwegians whom I initially mistook for Americans: They had the slang down, having grown up watching the same syndicated '80s shows that were the foundation of my childhood in California.
With their dry senses of humor, they all had me in stitches: Chris, a quick-witted future pediatrician with wanderlust; Audun, a guitar-playing religion grad student; and Christopher, a former garbage man and kindergarten teacher, and an innate caregiver who looked out for me during the rough crossing.
The newly formed quad decided to share a taxi and brave the muddy, unpaved roller coaster Cambodian roads together.
Our driver didn't speak English and none of us spoke Cambodian. A cheerful and friendly guy on the outside, he passed motorcyclists and other cars with a proximity and flamboyance that literally made me squeeze my eyes shut in fear.
He also had a penchant for pulling over at random businesses, on lonely stretches of unpaved, monsoon-flooded roads and to answer nature's call without any forewarning or explanation to us as to what was going on.
The Norwegians and I usually stared at each other for a moment and then got out of the car to stretch our legs and keep an eye out for his unpredictable return. Facilities were uncomfortably threadbare or nonexistent.
In every direction, we just saw mud, rain-soaked monsoon skies waiting to flood more water onto us, and the occasional dot of green farmland or rudimentary shelter.
During the harrowing anchor leg four-hour journey, we traded travel war stories and shared in the creation of one of our best ones yet. I laughed in the boisterous moments and prayed in the silent ones. I also learned to count to 10 in—you guessed it—
Norwegian.
The seat of compassion
Witnessing the poverty in Thailand and Cambodia has been an eye- and heart-opening experience in compassion and empathy.
I am continuously astonished at the conditions under which I am watching people survive: bony, near-naked and sometimes naked children despondent and begging in the rain. Open-air tin roof or tree branch shelters with multiple families crammed inside. Piles of garbage. Mud, mud everywhere.
This is my first experience witnessing such extreme poverty and I knew that it would change me but the pain is palpable.
You want to help in ways that are meaningful and lasting, not just a handout for the afternoon. I've had my ears to the ground learning about local and international organizations that make real differences in education, safety and teaching leadership skills for the next generations of Cambodians.
My cultural guide is a magnanimous person named Vey Lav. I am grateful to Jennifer Davis for referring him.
Vey grew up just outside of Siem Reap and has spent his life observing the needs of Cambodians, learning Cambodian history, tangibly giving back to his community, and looking ahead to the future and how Cambodia can rebuild.
For many years, he has worked as a cultural guide and now aspires to start his own cultural tourism business partnered with nonprofits. He also helped found a local English language school for more than 100 impoverished children, called the ELMA School for Children.
Although Vey refuses to accept any payment from me for his guide help while I am here, I promised that in lieu, I will do volunteer work to help the school.
Star of Angkor
Angkor Wat is the star that brought me to Cambodia, one that served as my guiding light and perspective touchstone to push through the physical discomforts of being in third-world countries.
This morning, from the warmth and sanctuary of my beautifully appointed room, I awoke to a monsoon as heavy as the one I got caught in yesterday while crossing into Cambodia. Weather changes on a dime, so I geared up to spend my first full day in the Angkor complex.
It is, as so many people described to me, magnificent beyond imagination. No single photo can capture the beauty and energy here so I'm focusing on individual aspects.
While I make my way through the temples, I am awed and reverent. You can literally feel the care, consideration, devotion and thoughtfulness that went into the design and construction.
It is art, achievement, greatness, craftsmanship and vision. It is a spiritual paradise and a photographer's paradise.
The careful balance, astoundingly perfect reflections and synchronicity with the sun and seasons is called solar orientation.
The monsoon barely cleared today so what little I shot of Angkor Wat and the Bayon was in pretty flat light. Tomorrow onto Ta Prohm. The next day is Banteay Srei. I'll be here for at least a week.
Anything could transpire during that time, but no matter what happens with my photos, I am honored that I've had the opportunity to witness Angkor with my own eyes and to feel reverence here with my heart.
I'm signing off now to get up in a few hours for a 4:45 a.m. guide and tuk tuk transportation call time. In theory, it seems like such a good idea to catch the sunrise ...
Be compassionate, be kind and be happy. I will do the same.
Love,
Leah
Leah C. Lau
Photographer, Writer and Philanthropist
Silent Light Photography
http://www.leahlau.com/
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