August 12, 2012
Ancient Angkor: Stories in the Stone

Angkor Wat’s pinecone-tower contours are already etched onto my mind when Iain and I cycle towards them in the crisp dawn air. You can’t avoid images of the temple in Siem Reap, where t-shirts, bags, hats, photographs, paintings, ink drawings and sculptures, all emblazoned with Angkor Wat, are sold virtually everywhere in the ruins’ nearest town. I stop my bicycle, chain it to Iain’s, and try to set the image in my head aside, to see this architectural representation of the Hindu universe through the cosmic lens that its Khmer designers intended. In the distance, the five pinecone towers become Mount Meru’s craggy peaks, silhouetted against the lilac morning sky. The sun is slowly rising over this universe, the primordial ocean is still calm, and a few visitors – mere specks – are moving toward the sacred mountain’s summit. I cross the ocean, represented by a moat, and stand at the bottom of a long causeway where stone naga serpents are stretched out on either side. Passing thenagas, I symbolically leave the realm of men and enter the world of the gods. 

Continue reading Ancient Angkor: Stories in the Stone»

Ancient Angkor: Stories in the Stone

Angkor Wat’s pinecone-tower contours are already etched onto my mind when Iain and I cycle towards them in the crisp dawn air. You can’t avoid images of the temple in Siem Reap, where t-shirts, bags, hats, photographs, paintings, ink drawings and sculptures, all emblazoned with Angkor Wat, are sold virtually everywhere in the ruins’ nearest town. I stop my bicycle, chain it to Iain’s, and try to set the image in my head aside, to see this architectural representation of the Hindu universe through the cosmic lens that its Khmer designers intended. In the distance, the five pinecone towers become Mount Meru’s craggy peaks, silhouetted against the lilac morning sky. The sun is slowly rising over this universe, the primordial ocean is still calm, and a few visitors – mere specks – are moving toward the sacred mountain’s summit. I cross the ocean, represented by a moat, and stand at the bottom of a long causeway where stone naga serpents are stretched out on either side. Passing thenagas, I symbolically leave the realm of men and enter the world of the gods. 

Continue reading Ancient Angkor: Stories in the Stone»

July 9, 2012
Atrocity Tourism in Phnom PenhAfter fifteen minutes a middle-aged woman approaches you. Without introducing herself, she leads you into the first of Tuol Sleng’s classrooms. It is sepia-toned, picturesque. A pool of light collects beneath a rusting bed, with iron rods and tin boxes on top of it – one for beatings, the guide tells you, the other for excrement, but it’s hard to be sure. Her English is heavily accented and she’s speaking quickly, already hurrying you on, into the classroom next door. It is much the same: ochre paint, hues creeping with the damp; checkerboard tiles, amber and off-white spread apart by veins of black; cast iron bed, delicately welded at the head. A black-and-white photograph of the bed has been hung on the wall. It was taken by the Vietnamese in 1979, after they captured Phnom Penh. A corpse is tied to it; blood has collected on the floor in place of light.Somebody has tucked a frangipani into the foot of the bed. It is still fragrant, and reminds you of the incense beneath the Killing Tree. It was also Animist, also focused on an object: this exact bed, that exact tree, as if they were able to explain the violence, or were somehow to blame. You wonder if the flower has been offered to the spirit of the man in the photograph – if he haunts this room.Continue reading Atrocity Tourism in Phnom Penh»

Atrocity Tourism in Phnom Penh

After fifteen minutes a middle-aged woman approaches you. Without introducing herself, she leads you into the first of Tuol Sleng’s classrooms. It is sepia-toned, picturesque. A pool of light collects beneath a rusting bed, with iron rods and tin boxes on top of it – one for beatings, the guide tells you, the other for excrement, but it’s hard to be sure. Her English is heavily accented and she’s speaking quickly, already hurrying you on, into the classroom next door. It is much the same: ochre paint, hues creeping with the damp; checkerboard tiles, amber and off-white spread apart by veins of black; cast iron bed, delicately welded at the head. A black-and-white photograph of the bed has been hung on the wall. It was taken by the Vietnamese in 1979, after they captured Phnom Penh. A corpse is tied to it; blood has collected on the floor in place of light.

Somebody has tucked a frangipani into the foot of the bed. It is still fragrant, and reminds you of the incense beneath the Killing Tree. It was also Animist, also focused on an object: this exact bed, that exact tree, as if they were able to explain the violence, or were somehow to blame. You wonder if the flower has been offered to the spirit of the man in the photograph – if he haunts this room.

Continue reading Atrocity Tourism in Phnom Penh»

April 12, 2012
The Banana Pancake Trail

“Lonely Planet has been blamed for creating one of the most overrun backpacker trails in the world: the Banana Pancake Trail, an informal route that is as much a concept as it is a series of criss-crossing transport connections dotted with popular destinations. The Banana Pancake Trail’s roots lie in the Hippy Trail to the Indian Subcontinent. After travelling overland from London to Kathmandu in 1972, and then all the way to Sydney, Tony Wheeler and his wife Maureen took the information they’d gathered along the way and compiled a guidebook, Across Asia on the Cheap, published by their own start-up, Lonely Planet Publications. With the first book published, the sheer demand for information about independent, budget travel – and their own passion for the open road – inspired them to embark on a second journey: a year-long motorbike trip around Southeast Asia, out of which Southeast Asia on a Shoestring was born.

Today, the Banana Pancake Trail refers to a collection of Southeast Asian destinations that are extremely popular with backpackers, taking its name from the eponymous snack that is sold at traveller cafés or stalls along the way. It’s made up of a list of must-see sights, and now that air travel is cheap enough, people often fly from site to site or ‘paradise’ to ‘paradise’, rather than travel overland as they did in the past. It cannot be precisely defined because it is ever-evolving: it expands when an airport near Nha Trang is renovated or a road in Cambodia is tarred or visa regulations change. To me, the term is best used to describe locations where tourist facilities are better developed than the infrastructure used by locals, or where the proliferation of services geared at tourists has pushed other businesses further and further out, until a substantial part of a town’s centre is a tourist ghetto.

As far as it is a physical route, the Banana Pancake Trail predominantly snakes through mainland Southeast Asia – Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and, increasingly, Laos – but the Indian hippie haunts of Goa, Gokarna, Hampi, Pushkar and Rishikesh are often considered part of the trail. Some call its Indian incarnation the Hummus Trail because of the abundance of young Israelis travelling after a period of compulsory military service. A handful of scenic spots in Southwestern China such as Guilin, Dali and the towns within reach of the famed Tiger Leaping Gorge – all close enough to northern Laos or Vietnam to reach by bus or train – are sometimes classified Banana Pancake Trail territory too, as are parts of Malaysia and Indonesia.”

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