This summary of my Southeast Asia tour originally appeared on the Global Basecamps Blog. Global Basecamps is a specialty travel company focused on sustainability. I appreciate their commitment to eco-friendly travel, and I appreciate their co-founder who is on the board of Kids for Peace! Thank you to Global Basecamps for posting my blog entries and for generously contributing to my travel experience.
After four years of hard work completing my undergraduate degrees, I decided to treat myself to a trip I had dreamed about since my youth. Southeast Asia enticed me with images of orange clad monks, golden Buddha statues, and seemingly endless rice paddies. With the highest proportion of practicing Buddhists on the planet, I went to experience peace: to meditate in temples, contemplate beauty from the peaks of Laotian mountains, learn and connect.
One month of travel took me to the magnificent temples of Siem Reap, Cambodia, rural villages of Northern Laos, and tranquil beaches of Koh Samui, Thailand. As part of my personal mandate to experience the fullness of life, I sought not only experiences that foster peace and joy, but those that could teach me about human suffering—the key component of the Four Nobel Truths that form the basis of religious practice and culture for much of the region. I designed a trip that would go beyond touring the temples and art I admired and delve into the depths of the human experience, embracing too the suffering true of our existence.
In Siem Reap, Cambodia, I admired some of the most beautiful artistic expressions created by humankind. With monsoonal rains drumming against the forests’ canopies, I explored the temples of Angkor in surreal solitude, dancing to the natural rhythms of the forest and admiring the awe-inspiring reliefs and architecture that idealize the harmony of Buddhism and illustrative lives of Hindu deities.
I left the magnificent temples to visit the Cambodian Landmine Museum and Rescue Center where children who have lost limbs receive an education and care. I learned about how millions of undetonated devices left from the Vietnam War continue to jeopardize the security of rural Cambodians and Lao. In the faces of these smiling children, I saw the cruelty of war firsthand, the injustice that affects civilians long after fighting ceases.
Along with gorgeous temples and bustling markets, I visited the killing fields and prisons of the Khmer Rouge in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia where I learned about some of the most heinous acts one human could do to another. I asked questions of victims of forced migration and heard stories of starvation and struggle for survival.
In the villages of northern Laos, I trekked through beautiful rice paddies, participated in a Buddhist festival to honor the departed, gave alms, and enjoyed the slow pace of rural life. On one trek, I explored the dim caves of Muang Ngoi where villagers lived for twelve years while their country fought a civil war and Americans relentlessly bombed the Ho Chi Minh Trail. I listened to adults who were born in the caves and who lost family members to disease when it was too unsafe to seek outside medical attention.
Along with some dark moments, my trip was blessed with periods of unparalleled bliss. One day, I bicycled 70km in the sunshine through the countryside of Luang Prabang, Laos to swim in pools at the base of massive waterfalls. I took a day-long cooking course in Chiang Mai, Thailand that introduced me to the epicurean concepts behind my love of Thai food. I was treated to a divine Thai massage at one of the most internationally praised spas in Koh Samui, Thailand, and swam with tropical fish during a daylong snorkeling excursion off of the deserted Koh Tao Island. Many days of morning meditation in inspiring Buddhist temples left me with a feeling of harmonious emptiness and a constant smile that I carried with me throughout my days.
From my willingness to explore suffering and bear witness to the affects of violence, I was able to connect with those I met and deepen my understanding of the human experience. Through tears and smiles, laughter and joy, I glimpsed the expanse of life: the struggles that no one deserves but some must endure as well as the pleasures small and large that help sustain us. In an extraordinary trip that took me out of the comforts of the Middle Path, I experienced the extremes of beauty, happiness, and suffering in Southeast Asia, learning more about life in one month than in many of my years past.
Showing posts with label Cambodia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cambodia. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Accessing the Divine through Art and Architecture: A Visit to Angkor Wat
Traveling during monsoon season in Southeast Asia is not for the faint of heart, but for those with a sturdy plastic poncho, ribbed-soled sandals, and a good attitude, it can mean lighter crowds and an exceptional experience on a rainy day in the forest.
When I arrived to Siem Reap, my guest house operator looked at me like I had two heads when I said I was ready to go to the temples despite the rain. All of the other guests appeared cozy inside watching a movie, but I was determined to explore.
My first visit was to Ta Prohm, the jungle temple that served as a setting in scenes of Tomb Raider. With rain pouring down and several-inch deep pools of water gathered in every courtyard, the temple was a ghost town. As I admired the high and low-relief stone sculptures, I danced in jubilation to the natural rhythms of rain falling in the forest, birds chirping, and monkeys howling. This was all I imagined Angkor would be!
The next morning, I set my alarm to 4am in order to make it to the main temple of Angkor Wat in time for sunrise. My dedication to the cause made me among the first to arrive, with an excellent spot for viewing. In the dark of the late morning, Buddhist monks could be heard chanting mantras in the distant temple. As the sun rose, silence fell upon the reflection pool for several moments before the buzz of tourists returned.
The quality of art and architecture within the Angkor complexes is exquisite, representing some of the finest humankind has made. Many of the temples were constructed around a central mandala design, with several including reflecting pools nearby that extend the images of the architecture to two planes resulting in incredible visual appeal.
During my days of wandering in and out of various surrounding temples, I was inspired by the images of Hindu and Buddhist deities that lined the halls. There was something so powerful about the religious messages shared by Indians traveling in Cambodia that the local people decided to convert and construct these monumental structures. The entire society became based around temple life, complete with festivals, religious ceremonies, and royal celebrations aimed at creating a connection with the divine.
Today, the temples of Siem Reap support the livelihoods of thousands of Cambodians who survive off of the tourist industry. Despite the heat and humidity, every person I encountered was equally inspired and pleased with their decision to visit Angkor. Like those who came before me, my pilgrimage was a moment to connect with the divine, a childhood dream come true.
When I arrived to Siem Reap, my guest house operator looked at me like I had two heads when I said I was ready to go to the temples despite the rain. All of the other guests appeared cozy inside watching a movie, but I was determined to explore.
My first visit was to Ta Prohm, the jungle temple that served as a setting in scenes of Tomb Raider. With rain pouring down and several-inch deep pools of water gathered in every courtyard, the temple was a ghost town. As I admired the high and low-relief stone sculptures, I danced in jubilation to the natural rhythms of rain falling in the forest, birds chirping, and monkeys howling. This was all I imagined Angkor would be!
The next morning, I set my alarm to 4am in order to make it to the main temple of Angkor Wat in time for sunrise. My dedication to the cause made me among the first to arrive, with an excellent spot for viewing. In the dark of the late morning, Buddhist monks could be heard chanting mantras in the distant temple. As the sun rose, silence fell upon the reflection pool for several moments before the buzz of tourists returned.
The quality of art and architecture within the Angkor complexes is exquisite, representing some of the finest humankind has made. Many of the temples were constructed around a central mandala design, with several including reflecting pools nearby that extend the images of the architecture to two planes resulting in incredible visual appeal.
During my days of wandering in and out of various surrounding temples, I was inspired by the images of Hindu and Buddhist deities that lined the halls. There was something so powerful about the religious messages shared by Indians traveling in Cambodia that the local people decided to convert and construct these monumental structures. The entire society became based around temple life, complete with festivals, religious ceremonies, and royal celebrations aimed at creating a connection with the divine.
Today, the temples of Siem Reap support the livelihoods of thousands of Cambodians who survive off of the tourist industry. Despite the heat and humidity, every person I encountered was equally inspired and pleased with their decision to visit Angkor. Like those who came before me, my pilgrimage was a moment to connect with the divine, a childhood dream come true.
Killing for Equality
In the “People’s Republic of Cambridge,” the writings of Marx are upheld as a sort of blueprint for idealist scholars. Several of my Harvard peers call themselves Marxists, inspired by a vision of equality and universalism.
For the people of Cambodia, the word “Marxism” brings back memories of one of the country’s darkest times. To explore the history of Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge and the genocide that ensued under the party’s leadership, I headed to Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
In its four years of national rule from 1975-1979, the Khmer Rouge is believed to have caused the deaths of 2 million of Cambodia’s 7.5 million civilians, making it the deadliest regime of the twentieth century. To force egalitarianism upon its populace, party leaders ordered the exodus of all urban dwellers to the rural countryside where a policy of self-sufficiency required people to produce their own rice, clothing, and medicines. In addition to the hundreds of thousands of deaths that resulted from starvation and lack of access to modern medicines, the party’s policies of torture and execution aimed at suspected capitalists depleted Cambodia of some of its most educated, famous, and prosperous members of society.
The Tuol Sleng Prison Museum is located near the center of the capital city of Phnom Penh. Once a high school, the Khmer Rouge converted the campus into a systematized torture facility and prison. During its four years of operation, an estimated 20,000 prisoners met their demise behind prison walls, with only seven known survivors.
The exterior of each of the school buildings remains covered in barbed electric wire, meant to prevent prisoners from committing suicide. The tiny cells constructed within the former classrooms appear insufficiently small to fit a resting body, sized more appropriately as coffins than prison rooms.
As each prisoner entered the facility, they were photographed and ordered to provide a full life biography. Today, the prison rooms are filled with the haunting photographic portraits of the thousands held captive and tortured within the facilities.
Just fifteen minutes outside of the city center, I visited Choeung Ek Genocidal Center, the location of the largest known mass graves in Cambodia. Here, at least 20,000 people were executed and murdered, many of them family members of those detained in Tuol Sleng prison, representing a small fraction of the estimated 1,300,000 buried in mass graves throughout Cambodia. Today, the bones of the bodies excavated at Choeung Ek are kept on display in a memorial stupa in the center of the killing fields. The land surrounding has been largely untouched since the excavations began. Grass now covers the shoveled pits where skeletal remains were removed; trees, once used to bash in the heads of infants, stand swaying in the wind; and local fishers now use the property to catch evening supper. The calm in this former place of mass violence is eerie with birds chirping and insects humming where once, the screams of thousands were heard.
It was amazing for me to learn that the Khmer Rouge party remained strong until the early 1990s, not officially dissolving until 1999, when I was ten years old. Today, the Khmer Rouge Case Trials continue, a slow effort overseen by the UN to bring justice to the Cambodian people.
I left the killing fields in silent prayer, sending peace to the spirits of Choeung Ek and praying for an end to senseless violence everywhere.
For the people of Cambodia, the word “Marxism” brings back memories of one of the country’s darkest times. To explore the history of Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge and the genocide that ensued under the party’s leadership, I headed to Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
In its four years of national rule from 1975-1979, the Khmer Rouge is believed to have caused the deaths of 2 million of Cambodia’s 7.5 million civilians, making it the deadliest regime of the twentieth century. To force egalitarianism upon its populace, party leaders ordered the exodus of all urban dwellers to the rural countryside where a policy of self-sufficiency required people to produce their own rice, clothing, and medicines. In addition to the hundreds of thousands of deaths that resulted from starvation and lack of access to modern medicines, the party’s policies of torture and execution aimed at suspected capitalists depleted Cambodia of some of its most educated, famous, and prosperous members of society.
The Tuol Sleng Prison Museum is located near the center of the capital city of Phnom Penh. Once a high school, the Khmer Rouge converted the campus into a systematized torture facility and prison. During its four years of operation, an estimated 20,000 prisoners met their demise behind prison walls, with only seven known survivors.
The exterior of each of the school buildings remains covered in barbed electric wire, meant to prevent prisoners from committing suicide. The tiny cells constructed within the former classrooms appear insufficiently small to fit a resting body, sized more appropriately as coffins than prison rooms.
As each prisoner entered the facility, they were photographed and ordered to provide a full life biography. Today, the prison rooms are filled with the haunting photographic portraits of the thousands held captive and tortured within the facilities.
Just fifteen minutes outside of the city center, I visited Choeung Ek Genocidal Center, the location of the largest known mass graves in Cambodia. Here, at least 20,000 people were executed and murdered, many of them family members of those detained in Tuol Sleng prison, representing a small fraction of the estimated 1,300,000 buried in mass graves throughout Cambodia. Today, the bones of the bodies excavated at Choeung Ek are kept on display in a memorial stupa in the center of the killing fields. The land surrounding has been largely untouched since the excavations began. Grass now covers the shoveled pits where skeletal remains were removed; trees, once used to bash in the heads of infants, stand swaying in the wind; and local fishers now use the property to catch evening supper. The calm in this former place of mass violence is eerie with birds chirping and insects humming where once, the screams of thousands were heard.
It was amazing for me to learn that the Khmer Rouge party remained strong until the early 1990s, not officially dissolving until 1999, when I was ten years old. Today, the Khmer Rouge Case Trials continue, a slow effort overseen by the UN to bring justice to the Cambodian people.
I left the killing fields in silent prayer, sending peace to the spirits of Choeung Ek and praying for an end to senseless violence everywhere.
Bombs and bonds
I made a friend in Japan who I bonded with over a discussion about bombs. Rika and I chose to spend the day together in Hiroshima, and neither of us held back as we asked questions and provided answers about the war and the atomic attack. We realized that both of our understandings of the atomic bomb were deeply rooted in the patriotic telling of history provided by our textbooks and educators which gave a single perspective in an infinite sea of war stories.
In Cambodia, I entered another former enemy’s territory. I knew little about the Vietnam War outside of what movies, popular culture, and brief mentions in history books have taught me.
In Cambodia, I learned about the War from child survivors of landmine explosions.
The Cambodian countryside appears much as I imagine it did forty years ago, with yaks still serving as a major form of transport and labor, children playing naked in water pools, and families working from dawn until dusk in the rice paddies before returning to their thatched roof huts. This tranquil setting is where the vast majority of Cambodia’s 40,000 amputees lost their limbs and where most of the estimated 4-6 million remaining undetonated devices reside.
During the War, Vietnamese used territory within Laos and Cambodia to supply troops in Vietnam. Known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail, this supply line became a main target for near-continual American bombing that resulted in the loss of an estimated 600,000 Cambodian civilian lives. Hundreds of thousands of these bombs did not detonate and still litter the countryside, making rural Cambodia one of the most dangerous places in the world to live over thirty years later.
The number of undetonated ordinances increased following the end of the Vietnam War with the rise of the Khmer Rouge. Landmines were seen as a key part of their strategy, debilitating but not killing their victims, as the economic cost of an amputee to an enemy is greater than that of a casualty.
At the Cambodia Land Mine Museum and Rescue Center, children who have lost limbs receive an education and disability care. There, in the countryside of Siem Reap, I heard the stories of children as young as five who had been picking rice or walking to school when a bomb exploded nearby. These children, forever disabled, knew nothing of the difference between communism and democracy. The stories they wished to share were not about politics or war strategies, but about the long-term impact of bombs.
As I left the museum and the smiling faces of the limbless children, I felt deep appreciation for what a blessing it is that people have openly shared with me stories from the other side, those told by child soldiers, limbless civilians, and A-bomb survivors. The stories of war continue long after the signing of peace agreements and can be heard in the voices echoing in the countryside many years later.
In Cambodia, I entered another former enemy’s territory. I knew little about the Vietnam War outside of what movies, popular culture, and brief mentions in history books have taught me.
In Cambodia, I learned about the War from child survivors of landmine explosions.
The Cambodian countryside appears much as I imagine it did forty years ago, with yaks still serving as a major form of transport and labor, children playing naked in water pools, and families working from dawn until dusk in the rice paddies before returning to their thatched roof huts. This tranquil setting is where the vast majority of Cambodia’s 40,000 amputees lost their limbs and where most of the estimated 4-6 million remaining undetonated devices reside.
During the War, Vietnamese used territory within Laos and Cambodia to supply troops in Vietnam. Known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail, this supply line became a main target for near-continual American bombing that resulted in the loss of an estimated 600,000 Cambodian civilian lives. Hundreds of thousands of these bombs did not detonate and still litter the countryside, making rural Cambodia one of the most dangerous places in the world to live over thirty years later.
The number of undetonated ordinances increased following the end of the Vietnam War with the rise of the Khmer Rouge. Landmines were seen as a key part of their strategy, debilitating but not killing their victims, as the economic cost of an amputee to an enemy is greater than that of a casualty.
At the Cambodia Land Mine Museum and Rescue Center, children who have lost limbs receive an education and disability care. There, in the countryside of Siem Reap, I heard the stories of children as young as five who had been picking rice or walking to school when a bomb exploded nearby. These children, forever disabled, knew nothing of the difference between communism and democracy. The stories they wished to share were not about politics or war strategies, but about the long-term impact of bombs.
As I left the museum and the smiling faces of the limbless children, I felt deep appreciation for what a blessing it is that people have openly shared with me stories from the other side, those told by child soldiers, limbless civilians, and A-bomb survivors. The stories of war continue long after the signing of peace agreements and can be heard in the voices echoing in the countryside many years later.
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