I think sometimes about how to share or describe this place with people who've never been here, people I will return to when my time here as a social work advisor has ended. No amount of newsletters or blogging will ever really capture the sights, smells, sounds, tastes, dynamics, relationships, and experiences of being here.
No photo of the markets will ever capture the pungent smell of dried shrimp, the tricky navigation of bargaining without committing to a purchase, the feel of your sticky clothing pressed against your skin as people bump past you with carts piled high of rice bags or baskets on their heads carrying assorted meat sticks or green mangos in plastic bags quartered around the pits with corresponding packets of salty chili powder, the mesmerizing sight of sequins and silks piled floor to ceiling in stall after stall, the ongoing assault of sellers asking if you want to buy this or that...
No words can really describe the beauty of the countryside, the dust of the dirt roads that swirl upward with the occasional passing moto, the dogs that snarl to guard their property, the wooden homes built high on stilts in preparation for the rainy season, the yards full of laughing children playing ball and waving hello, and the chickens that peck the ground for seeds. The rice fields, set between rows of mango and papaya trees, gleaming fruit hanging heavy, peaking out from beneath green leaves blown back and forth by the hot breeze coming off of the river in the distance, the reprieve of quiet from the city's cling and clatter...
No wide-angled lens can really capture the vastness of Angkor Wat, one of the seven wonders of the world (according to some lists), and it's surrounding temples, all built between the 10th--12th centuries when the Khmer Empire extended across much of SE Asia. The massive steps that rise at 60-75 degree angles, the crumbling bricks, the towers of 4-faced Buddhas, and sculptures of apsara dancers with Medusa-like hairdos, the inscriptions of another age and carvings of war and underworlds marking the walls to remind a people of their stories, their heritage...
Nor could I truly describe the feeling of fish nibbling on my feet in what is known in Siem Reap as a "fish massage," or the taste of a fried taratula (hairy stale potato chip?) -- both of which are standard Cambodian tourist initiations and first-time experiences for all three of us!
What a gift to be able to share Cambodia with people from home. Forever there will be someone in my family who has a context for this amazing country, and a friend and professional photographer with loads of beautiful pictures. Thank you both for coming all this way, for adventuring with me, for encouraging and praying for me--I enjoyed every meal, tuk tuk and bus ride, late night, and conversation. It means more than you know!
(PS: For a lovely overview of our week together, check out Carrie's blog: http://carrielambing.blogspot.com/2011/03/cambodia.html)
That is just beautiful
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