Letter home from Cambodia and Laos on June 23, 2008
Dear family and friends,
I am writing from the sleepy, idyllic Buddhist enclave of Luang Prabang, Laos.
A short flight from Siem Reap, Cambodia, this is the third (and last) new country for this expedition.
When I leave here, I'll head back to Thailand and start winding my way back to Bangkok for my return flight home.
The Laotians in Luang Prabang are wonderfully warm, patient and friendly. They're not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination but they have a peacefulness and contentedness in their demeanors. It's really relaxing being in their presence.
I strolled up and down the handful of Buddhist temple-lined streets.
I learned a bit about the country and culture; checked out handmade goods and crafts from Laos; ambled alongside pretty, winding views of the Nam Khan and Mekong rivers; and stumbled into a lovely shop, Naga Gallery Jewelry Designs, where I had a charming discussion with two French expats, Fabrice and his mama.
It is, as my friends and family in San Francisco would recognize, like a MultiKulti of Luang Prabang. The owners' eye for astoundingly gorgeous local finds is a wonder.
After poring over the selection for hours (and being woefully aware of my Lao kip cash budget, which was the equivalent of about $20), I picked out a pure silver Chiang Mai rose pendant, regional to northern Thailand.
With the ELMA students from Cambodia still close in my heart, this pendant came to symbolize them and my time here.
************
Angkor's magnificence
My week at Angkor, in Cambodia, which refers to the entire archaeological site, was easily my most intense and physically grueling week of shooting since I was in Antarctica in 2006.
I noticed the parallels in the concentrated spans in which I was working: my seven-day Angkor pass vs. five days of landings and zodiac excursions.
The extreme physical conditions: heat, humidity, and logistical spread over many miles vs. extreme cold and logistical spread over islands and the continent itself.
And the toll that each took on my body: 2.5 days of food poisoning / dehydration / exhaustion at the end of my week in Cambodia vs. 20 hours of seasickness at the beginning of Antarctica.
Is anyone surprised, really, that I got violent food poisoning in Cambodia?
During the early part of the week, I worked with the cultural guide, Vey Lav, to get a handle on the enormity of Angkor.
The Angkor site is, in fact, so vast that most of it hasn't even been excavated from the jungle yet. Dozens of sites are accessible now but hundreds are hidden throughout the forest.
A combination of Buddhist and Hindu temples and monuments, they were made during centuries of vision and labor, and constructed out of materials like sandstone, pink sandstone and red volcanic rock.
I charged forward hard all week, monsoon or no, learning the sites, shooting, scouting ideas for the future, adding to my wish list, learning about potential shots for other years, other seasons, taking mental notes, and making photographic snapshots in my mind for images I'd like to make someday.
Some of my favorite sites are Ta Prohm, the Bayon, Angkor Wat, Pre Rup, Bakong, Neak Pean, Ta Som, Preah Khan, the South Gate and Thommanon.
A blessing of my choosing to come during the monsoon low season is that fewer tourists were around—smaller crowds and fewer people to have to shoot around.
The monsoons, which last anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, also provided welcome relief from the omnipresent heat.
I learned the signs of when a monsoon was about the start: The air would dramatically cool down and the humidity would get cut. Then the air would become still and tight, as though a giant took in a huge breath. A slight humming noise would start to radiate.
I'd get my umbrella ready or take shelter in an outdoor temple and wait for the deluge.
When the butterflies started to propagate the air again, I knew that the monsoon was finished.
Coconuuuuuutttttt
My dedicated tuk tuk driver all week for Angkor, Mr. Savay, spoke limited English. My Cambodian consists of thank you (aukoon), no thank you (te aukoon), and bless you (spy). Oh yeah, and cow (go)—some kids taught me that one.
Because Mr. Savay carted me around all week, we worked out ideas and signals.
He used the word "hungry" for everything from "Do you need to eat?" "Did you eat?" "I need to eat" to "Are you going to eat?"
I realized early on that he likes to eat as much as I do!
When I could tell he was losing his patience with timing or exhaustion or fill in the blank, I'd suggest we get some refreshment like a meal or my jungle favorite—the juice of fresh green coconuts.
I'd ask, "Mr. Savay, coconut time?"
Not prone to straightforward answers like yes or no, even in Cambodian, Mr. Savay's "yes" answer was saying an exaggerated, "Coconuuuuuutttttt" and his "no" answer was looking at me like I was crazy.
When I last wrote, it was the eve of my first morning getting up at 4 a.m. to catch the sunrise in front of Angkor Wat.
As incredible—or dare I say impossible—as it might seem to those who know how hard it is for me to get up in the morning when I am home in the city, I relentlessly stuck to that schedule from Monday through Saturday.
Mr. Savay and I had the same disgruntled yet spirited exchange at the end of every day.
"I want to try the sunrise again tomorrow morning. 4 a.m."
Exasperated look, "Why every morning?"
"It will be years before I can return. I have to try every day that I am here."
Mutual laughter as we agreed on 4.
Rinse and repeat until the 3:30 a.m. start time the Saturday morning of the summer solstice.
A friendly group of Americans from Colorado reminded me of it on the 20th. I'd been so immersed in my daily bubble of sunrises, monsoons, temples and sunsets that I lost track of the calendar.
They suggested that I photograph Angkor Wat from the east, rather than from the west, as I'd been doing all week.
It was an interesting idea, one that required an earlier start, not only because of the solstice but because it meant an additional 20 minutes of fumbling in the dark around Angkor Wat with my headlamp to get to the other side.
Mr. Savay was not happy with the news but I placated him by reminding him that his torture was almost over—that I was leaving on Monday and he could have soon have his life back. Another round of laughter.
A monk, a nun and an Angkor conservation worker
During one of my many afternoons exploring, I wanted to get away from the crowds and a little off the beaten track.
I was at Angkor Wat and people were everywhere so I walked off of the main site and went to one of the open air sandstone libraries adjacent to the main temple.
Of the four narrow staircase approaches, I got the bright idea to enter through one surrounded by tall grass, figuring no one had walked there in awhile. I got my wish alright.
By the time I left the site, I realized that my pant legs and tripod bag were covered in hundreds of prickly sticky grass shards—ones that, due to the thin expedition weight material of my pants, needed to be removed one by one so as not to crack and leave the prickly heads in my clothing.
Amazed by own brilliant lack of common sense, I tramped back to Angkor Wat to sit in a well-trod, safe, stone area to begin pulling the shards out.
A few minutes into my effort, a monk appeared, smiling, laughing and offering advice in Cambodian. I couldn't understand him, so he sat down beside me and started pulling out the shards alongside me.
Moments later, a nun appeared and joined suit. And then an Angkor conservation worker.
All three smiled at me joyfully, empathetically and kindly. They chatted in Cambodian. They alternately picked at individual shards with their fingers or used a stick-rubbing technique.
I said "aukoon" (thank you) again and again, and smiled at each of them in turn. About 45 minutes later, I was sticky-grass free, thanks to the patient and selfless efforts of three Cambodian angels.
A monkey, a lily and a can of Raid
On Friday morning, after three consecutive days of thwarted sunrise attempts due to monsoons or overcast skies, I was blessed with my second extraordinary day of shooting at Angkor.
The skies were clear, sublime. Perfect reflections of the Angkor Wat silhouette were in the pool in front of the temple. I spent the latter part of the morning marveling at the light on the lily pads in the pond.
A Cambodian man was swimming in the lily pool, collecting flowers and doing some conservation work.
He carefully placed two beautiful fuchsia-colored water lilies by the shoreline. I went over to try to photograph them in the gorgeous morning light, but just as I was about to get a clear shot, a can of Raid bobbed to the surface of the water right behind the lilies!
All that morning, a very aggressive monkey had been harassing tourists, even climbing up one man's leg.
The Cambodian man in the water started singing a joyful song to the monkey, who started watching the man, as though in a trance.
The monkey whisperer kept calling to the little troublemaker while an astounded crowd of onlookers gathered to see what would happen.
In a flash, the monkey leapt from the shoreline and started swimming toward him. The crowd laughed and cheered. The man continued to sing to the monkey.
A few minutes later, the monkey swam back to shore and went over to the spot where the man had deposited the lilies. The monkey started playing with them and then the can of Raid.
I didn't exactly get the shot I was hoping for but I had one of my best laughs during this trip!
ELMA School for Children
On Wednesday afternoon, I visited the ELMA School, which Vey helped found.
Miles of unpaved dirt road from Siem Reap, in the tiny village of Sambour, it is the only English language school in the vicinity, and serves poor and orphaned Cambodian children.
I was lucky to be the first tourist to ever visit the afternoon students. Vey told me that about five other tourists had visited with the morning classes during the two years that the school has been open.
The children ranged from about 5–18 and were split into two levels by age group.
I thought my ride into Cambodia itself was harrowing but the patchy, narrow, dirt and mud strip to the school was the bumpiest stretch I've ever been on.
I wondered whether the children walked to school. It turned out that most of them rode bicycles. The school is a simple open air concrete building with two classrooms and a tiny library. When I arrived, we visited the younger class first.
The littlest girls, the 5- and 6-year-olds, were beside themselves with excitement and were all over me with their smiles, giggles and questions.
They wanted me to take their pictures, they posed, they adjusted their hair, they put their arms around each other, they mugged. They were joyful and appreciative in spite of their living conditions.
The teenagers were more reserved and self-conscious. They felt more comfortable after I approached them first, and then they would warm up.
During my five years as a camp counselor, I worked with hundreds of teens. It was heartening, in a way, to see that they're the same the world over regardless of their life circumstances.
The younger children had learned the English alphabet and could say individual words and a few sentences which they'd memorized.
The teens impressed me by actually being able to read an entire chalkboard of sentences in English. It was so gratifying to see them so far along their way.
Vey was so excited to show me their library.
When I walked into the small concrete room, which consisted of only two small shelves, I thought of the humble but still well-stocked public libraries I grew up with and compared them in my mind with the tattered picture books before me.
The handful of 20 or so picture books on a small, low shelf was largely comprised of discards from an international school in Taipei. When I worked in books ages ago, I specialized in children's books, and have always had an affinity for them.
Although they have one full shelf of young adult level books, those are mostly too advanced for the students.
A voracious reader as a kid, I read 106 library books in one year alone while I was in elementary school. That seemed to be more than the total number of books in the ELMA library.
This juxtaposition of images simultaneously flashed in my mind. So many students at the ELMA School sharing so few books.
When I asked Vey whether they wanted more books, he looked at me with joy and shock.
I told him that when I get back to the United States, that I can easily shop for children's book to help build their collection, and he said that the children would love to have access to more books.
They are interested in stories about family, children, animals, history, science, etc.
One of their favorites is a picture book about Patagonia and Antarctica because they love to see the foreign landscapes and the pictures of animals.
They can hardly believe such exotic places exist, and were beside themselves when I told them I had actually been to those icy, glacier-covered places.
**If you or anyone you know have extra children's books that you no longer need, feel free to funnel them to me and I will take responsibility for shipping them to Cambodia.
This is an ongoing endeavor for as long as the school is in existence and I retain my contacts in Cambodia.**
Hope for Cambodia
Of all of my warm and wonderful interactions with people in Cambodia, it was the ones with the children that most affected me the most.
I interacted with hundreds of children—beggars, orphans, students, workers for family businesses, disabled, maimed.
One afternoon, I saw a young girl crumpled and crouched at the foot of a bridge.
Her skin, features and body were mangled, maimed beyond the ability to lead a normal life. She radiated almost inconsolable sadness.
I asked Vey if he knew what had happened to her and he said that she had been burned but he didn't know how or why. It took me days after seeing her before I could process my shock and grief enough to cry.
In spite of everything that they have been through, so many of the children still have such beautiful hearts and dreams for their futures.
While photographing sunset at the Bakong pyramid monument, a little deaf girl walked up to me and gave me a ring and flower that she'd made out of grass. We sat side-by-side on a rock and watched the sunset light on the pyramid together.
After awhile, we were joined by a boy from her village.
He was excited to practice his English with me. I asked him if he learns it in school and he said no, he learned English from speaking with tourists but that he plans to study Mandarin and Japanese in school.
He wants to learn multiple languages so that he can be an Angkor guide when he grows up. He was thin and poor. His clothes were simple and dirty and ragged like so many of the other children's.
But he had such light in his eyes and a steady, forward-looking gaze. I looked at kids like him and thought that there are many of them who are going to make it.
************
Night has fallen here in Luang Prabang, Laos.
I'm turning in soon, as I'm still recovering from the food poisoning incident from Friday night. I flew into Laos thinking that if I don't get better soon, I'll head to Bangkok early and see a doctor.
But the rest from the past couple of days has done me a world of good and the slow, healing pace of life in Luang Prabang should keep me on the mend.
Be appreciative, be generous and be open. 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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