Asia Travel - Part 34

Timeless Temples and Trees of Angkor

Angkor Wat, Siem Reap, Cambodia

by Lee Beavington

The full moon hangs low. Voluminous clouds shroud us in darkness as we ride toward Cambodia’s ancient Angkor temples, and the world’s largest religious monument. The open sides of the tuk-tuk (essentially a motorcycle pulling a covered cart, in which my girlfriend Jen and I sit) allow us to breathe in the cool, tropical air, a far cry from the stifling midday heat. Our nine-temple itinerary convinced us to wake at a bleary-eyed 4:30 am.

We catch a glimpse of moonlight shimmering on Angkor Wat’s monstrous moat, which holds enough water to fill a thousand swimming pools. The tuk-tuk rumbles past the hordes of tourists, all armed with cameras in pursuit of a perfect temple sunrise. We head toward a less traveled destination: Srah Srang. Dug out nearly a thousand years ago, the 700 by 350 meter “pool of ablutions” once served as bathing grounds for Angkorian royalty.

The tuk-tuk comes to a grinding stop. Between the masked moon and the now dimmed tuk-tuk headlight, we find ourselves staring into pitch black. A girl’s voice suddenly breaks the sacred quiet of the sanctuary.

“You want coffee?”

Touts are commonplace outside every temple, born out of third world tourism, and always with something in hand to flog. “You want tea? Or maybe a shirt? Trousers? Books?”

We negotiate our way through darkness and touts to the water’s edge. A dozen other tourists are scattered around the sandstone terrace. Elephantine steps lead down to the tranquil lake, while life-size lion statues sit regally beside us, their stoic stares awaiting the first reflections of dawn. Pale light fills the overcast sky.

We turn, and suddenly face our first truly spectacular sight of the day: on the opposite horizon, the full moon is setting above the elaborate stone-carved gateway to Banteay Kdei. Absorbed by the veiled sunrise, I didn’t notice the archway with its huge face in the rock gazing back at me. Passing beneath the entrance—large enough to accommodate an elephant—feels like passing through a time portal. Built around 1300 during the reign of King Jayavarman VII, the crumbling Buddhist monastery still retains its original masonry—countless corridors and bas-relief carvings.

For centuries Buddhists roamed these halls; some still do, as evidenced by the sugary incense shedding smoke over cross-legged Buddhas. Most walls hold carved Bodhi leaves and ornamental flowers, outlining sculptures of sensual apsara dancers and peculiar creatures from Hindu mythology: Garuda, a man with the head of a bird, and his mortal enemy Naga, the giant, multi-headed serpent with a cobra hood. In Cambodia’s past, Hinduism supplanted Buddhism, at least for a time, so their respective sculptures merge and overlap in most Angkor temples. The exotic, entrancing stonework never seems to end, and the sun creeps well toward noon before we depart.

“Ta Prohm,” we tell our tuk-tuk driver.

He nods, and we shield our faces from the dust as we speed toward the next temple on our agenda, and the highlight of our two weeks in Cambodia. On foot again, we cross the threshold of another imposing entry tower (called a gopura, meaning “gate with a face”) and flash our pass at the guard. We make our way to the root-ridden central sanctuary. A dozen stone towers materialize amongst the tapestry of green and yellow foliage.

“Oh my god,” Jen remarks, a common refrain at Ta Prohm. “Oh my god.”

Most of the Angkor temples have been cleared of curious vines and invasive trees. But here, tropical jungle has run amok, transforming Ta Prohm into a living exhibition of man versus nature. The temple’s four concentric walls are riddled with visible roots belonging to century-old silk-cotton and strangler figs. Their spiderweb branches stretch well above the tallest towers. From a seed that found a patch of viable soil atop the laterite walls, tentacle-like roots – some of which are thicker than me – reach down through the crevices of masonry, dislodging huge cubic stones.

I find a secluded spot to sit and absorb the magnificent display. The eroded wall next to me leans precariously to one side, like oversized lego blocks placed by a toddler’s hand. Part of the upper half has already toppled, so I can see the detached, individual stones used in Ta Prohm’s construction. Each of these huge grey bricks are far too large for even four men to carry. I am lost in wonderment, inspired and humbled by humankind’s remarkable and resolute mind. Only the ants marching over the slabs of rock, an endless highway of workers, show a comparable determination to create such vast empires. I think of the thousands of Khmers who laid down this temple’s foundation in 1186, all as a tribute to Jayavarman’s mother, the former Queen.

From there, we visit the three-tiered pyramid of Pre Rup, and then the vast complex of Preah Kahn, wandering the vaulted corridors of the antiquated Buddhist university. But it is the ancient city of Angkor Thom that demands a more thorough exploration.

Here, the monuments and shrines are ubiquitous. It takes a hundred steps to follow the continuous hunting scene sculpted in stone along the elephant terrace. Phimeanakas, the royal palace, resides high above a daunting set of steep, shallow steps that only accommodate feet placed sideways.

Jen squints to see the top. “I am not climbing that.”

“We’ll find a way,” I say. And we do. I feel like Indiana Jones on the most elaborate set ever constructed.

The shaded and peaceful Preah Palilay, a solitary tower with huge trees growing like stubborn pillars right out of the crumbling foundation, is the perfect place to awaken everyone’s inner Buddha. And then I spot the countless face-towers of the Bayon.

From afar, the Bayon resembles a pile of unexciting, lichen-clad ruins. Upon closer inspection, I realize the temple is watching me from all sides. The thirty-seven preserved towers rise up above a labyrinth of dark chambers, arched corridors and treacherous stairways; colossal stone faces stare impassively from each, usually in all four cardinal directions, their original emotions long since eroded. The stoic gaze of King Jayavarman follows my every step. Is he welcoming me? Or cursing me for trespassing? “Angkor Wat?” our tuk-tuk driver inquires when we return.

I nod. We’ve saved the biggest and boldest for last.

Angkor Wat was originally a Hindu temple, lost for centuries and rediscovered in 1860 by French adventurers. Of course, the Cambodians knew it was there all along. The temple has infiltrated almost every aspect of their culture, from the flag and currency to t-shirts and the national beer.

Our tuk-tuk driver yields to a train of oncoming elephants. Soon Angkor Wat’s five summit towers become visible over the high tree line. The main causeway of this grandiose 12th century temple holds hundreds of people, stretching across a moat with a six-kilometre perimeter. Inside the main complex, endless arrays of bas-relief narratives showcase creation myths, historic processions, and godly battles. Everywhere I look, another marvel: nearly 2,000 carefully carved apsaras. I want to touch one of those smooth, weathered bodies of stone, but stay my hand in order to preserve the feminine curves for future generations. Where countless others have touched them for good luck, statue faces, bellies and breasts are blackened by skin oils.

Macaque monkeys scurry up the central temple-mountain, their lithe, tailed bodies silhouetted by the darkening sky. The gathered crowd roars at their amorous antics. Overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the place, I crane my neck and gaze upward in awe at towers that have stood in solitude for almost a millennium. Within the gargantuan walls of this grandest of creations, I feel like an ant from a visiting colony, very small and very out of place. Yet I don’t want to leave. I am shaken by the audacity of humankind to conceive and construct such a monument. To haul huge masses of sandstone from the distant Kulen Mountains, stack them into structures both imposing and reverential, and meticulously carve every available surface is a testament to our species’ tenacious drive to create.

On our way out, the sun hugs the horizon. We stand in front of the south pool and a willing fellow tourist snaps a shot of Angkor Wat reflected above us in the calm waters. We thank him and venture back to our hotel in Siem Reap, utterly spent.

As I drift off to sleep that night, I see a vision of the day’s first temple – Banteay Kdei – recalling it as I walked through its grand gopura under the light of the full moon. Truly one of the wonders of the world, the temple ruins are a rare opportunity for an up-close, hands-on travel through time.

If You Go:

Cambodians speak English in all the major towns. Despite the lack of a language barrier, the oft-smiling Cambodians certainly appreciate hearing thank you (“awkun”) in their native Khmer.

Pick up a copy of the remarkably informative Ancient Angkor by Claude Jacques (available in English and French). It retails for about $30, but you can find it in Siem Reap for $5 US.

Currency: Cambodian Riel. However, US dollars are readily accepted nearly everywhere in Cambodia. $1 USD = approximately 4000 KHR. Many hotels and restaurants take credit cards. Have small cash on hand to pay tuk-tuk drivers and vendors selling water and snacks.

Best time to go: Late November to February. The rainy season runs from June to October. April is the hottest month, when temperatures soar over 40 degrees Celsius. However, the average daytime temperature stays above 30 degrees year-round, making a hat, sunscreen and light clothing all essential items.

How to get there: Fly in through the capital, Phnom Penh. An air conditioned bus from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap (a five hour ride) costs under $10. Siem Reap is ten minutes south of the Angkor temple ruins. This bustling river town has its own airport, which is an option for a shorter trip just to see the temples. Accommodation: Accommodation is available in Siem Reap, which includes hot water, fridge and air conditioning for under $15 a night, although you may have to put up with mosquitoes and ants.

Visiting the Temples: A day is simply not enough to see all of Angkor. Passes can be bought for a single day ($20), three days ($40) or a week ($60). The fittest travellers can rent a bicycle to get around, but that makes for an exhausting day, especially with the heat. Your best bet is to hire a tuk-tuk driver, who will drive you around from sunrise to sunset for a mere $12. Also, an English guide can be hired for $25 a day.

Other Attractions near Angkor Wat: Kbal Spean, home to a number of amazing riverbed carvings, is about an hour’s tuk-tuk ride from the main temples. The standard tuk-tuk fare seems to be $28. In Siem Reap, the quiet and modern Buddhist temple Wat Bo offers a respite from the busy city. Hundreds of shrieking fruit bats hang out in the trees near the Royal Gardens, which many people seem to miss. The Artisans d’Angkor workshop is also worth a visit, to see how traditional stone and wooden carvings are made, and the Old Market (Psar Chaa) is a hub for shopping, where every imaginable item can be haggled for – if you can handle the pandemonium.

For More Information:

Wikipedia: Angkor Wat
UNESCO: Angkor

Angkor Wat Tours Now Available:

Half Day Private Splendour of Angkor Wat Cultural Tour
Full-Day Private Discovery Tour of Angkor Complex from Siem Reap
Angkor Wat Helicopter Flight with Private Tour of Temples
Private Tour: Angkor Wat and The Royal Temples Full-Day Tour from Siem Reap

About the author:
Lee Beavington works as a biology lab instructor at Kwantlen University College in BC. In the past two years, he has traveled to India, Sri Lanka, Kenya, Iceland, Cambodia and South Korea. He writes in many genres, including memoir, science fiction and flash, and had a novella published in Writers of the Future XXII.
Writing website: www.leebeavington.com
Travel blog: http://leeodyssey.blogspot.com/
Contact: lee@leebeavington.com

Photo credits:
First Angkor temple tree photo by James Wheeler on Unsplash
All other photos are by Lee Beavington / Jennifer Burgess.

Digging Up An Ancient Khmer Puzzle

Ban Non Wat, Northeast Thailand

by Doug Matthews

We’re playing in the dirt, my new friend and I. We’re lying on our stomachs flat on the ground, pushing and poking the dirt with our toys. We’re just like kids, chatting, laughing, with not a care in the world. But there’s a subtle difference.

I’m a retired volunteer getting away from Vancouver’s February rain on a holiday in rural northeastern Thailand, and my new friend is Dr. Charles Higham, an archaeologist and one of the world’s foremost experts on SE Asian prehistory. (In photo below, with hat.) He is a Professor Emeritus at Otago University in Dunedin, New Zealand and Principal Investigator on this “dig,” an archaeological project run jointly by Otago University and the Thai Fine Arts Department in Bangkok. Our “toys” are trowels and fine surgical instruments that we use to clear away the dirt from a 3000 year-old Bronze Age skeleton adorned with marble bangles and beads, and accompanied in her burial by over a dozen beautifully decorated ceramic pots. She is one of 290 similar burials unearthed by Higham over the past three years of managing this project.

The project is large by current archaeological standards. It employs 20 staff, mostly archaeologists in their own right or specialists in a related field such as osteoarchaeology (specialists in bones and skeletons) and geomorphology (study of landforms), and 35 local villagers from this tiny rural community called Ban Non Wat, as labourers. The villagers subsist on only rice and a few other meager crops throughout the rest of the year, so this dig provides a major secondary source of income. The remainder of the team is comprised of volunteers such as myself.

The thrill of hearing your trowel “clink” on an artifact or part of skeletal remains that nobody has seen for over 3000 years is shared by all of us who are volunteers. In addition to digging, we take turns reconstructing ancient pottery (similar to assembling a three-dimensional jig saw puzzle) and sorting other finds such as jewelry and tools. In the evenings, we are treated to short lectures about the project and the ancient Khmer civilization.

For the privilege of literally getting down and dirty for two weeks on a real dig, we pay the equivalent of $2800 Canadian each. This covers our two-week room and board at an upscale hotel in the local town of Phimai, a 45-minute ride away from the dig site in a pickup truck outfitted with side seats in the truck bed. A clean room with air conditioning and en suite shower and toilet is considered luxurious as digs go, and this one is popular for that reason. Exquisite food that is sympathetically not too spicy for the western palate and cheap beer ($1.50 Canadian for 660 ml), add to the popularity. As part of our evening activities in this quaint town, we occasionally venture out to get to know the locals and encounter such tempting market delicacies as fried scorpions and grasshoppers (I try the grasshoppers but pass on the scorpions) and such activities as betting on kickboxing matches, with some wildly enthusiastic fans. Elephants mixing with the local traffic is also a common sight.

The $2800 fee (2005 price) is paid to an international non-profit organization, the Earthwatch Institute, headquartered in Maine, USA. Of this amount, 50% ends up as the lion’s share of funding for Higham’s dig, with the remainder of his revenue coming from grant money. Throughout the dig season running from early December to early March (Thailand’s dry season), there are five volunteer teams, with each team of up to 15 persons staying for two weeks, although there is also a shorter one-week option available. Volunteers come from all countries and walks of life. Our dig, for example, had volunteers from Canada, USA, Britain, Bangladesh, Japan, and Sri Lanka, their ages ranging from early 20’s to mid 70’s. Earthwatch, whose mission is “to promote understanding and action necessary for a sustainable environment,” has over 125 similar “expeditions” in which anyone of any age can work shoulder to shoulder with experienced scientists in the field on real – and often exotic – research projects as varied as studying Namibian Black Rhinos in Africa, listening to disappearing Russian folk music, or controlling invasive plant life on the Galapagos Islands. My choice, one of their many archaeological digs, helped to fuel what is rapidly becoming an engrossing retirement hobby of studying the world’s major ancient civilizations. The dig experience, advertised as the “Origins of Angkor,” also allowed me to fulfill another dream, that being to visit the extraordinary temple complexes of Angkor in northern Cambodia following my two weeks with Higham.

Phimai, the town where we lodged while on the dig, was the northernmost settlement of the ancient Khmer empire that covered a lot of Southeast Asia between the 9th and 15th centuries. A highway linked Phimai with the capital of Angkor during that period, a distance of about 225 km, but it has since been overtaken by jungle. Today, it is much more efficient and comfortable to travel the distance by air on one of the regular flights from Bangkok to Siem Reap, the main tourist town just south of the ruins of Angkor. Siem Reap is a bustling, bursting small town that is like a teenager blooming too fast and not knowing how to deal with the changes. Hotels from every world chain are rising daily and aid money is pouring in. Most of the world, with the notable exceptions of Canada and the USA, seems to have discovered the awesome magnificence of Angkor. The streams of tourist buses are endless.

Siem Reap: Angkor Wat

Thanks to recommendations from dig members, I reserved accommodation at the charming Palm Village, a recreation of a typical Cambodian village with each guest room actually being a small palm house, surrounded by giant jungle flowers. Since it is located away from the city centre, it is much quieter. Awakening to the sound of distant Khmer music is magical. The price is also right, $35 per night including breakfast.

What is Angkor, and why visit? Most people who have not visited misunderstand and believe it is only a single monument, Angkor Wat. Indeed Angkor Wat is amazing. It is one of the largest single temple complexes in the world and a masterpiece of ancient architecture. However, it is only one part of the ancient Khmer capital city of Angkor, a city that covers an area of roughly 200 square kilometers (77 square miles), buildings of which are still being discovered in the surrounding jungle. This city, at its height in the 12th and 13th centuries, had a population of around a million at a time when European capitals were much smaller. It was a vividly colourful, well-planned and laid out complex, with canals and waterways used for transportation. Today, the remaining buildings, which are numerous, are mainly temples that still elicit gasps of wonder at the sheer architectural creativity and especially at the detailed bas reliefs on most of them. The entire area was only re-opened to the public in the 1990s as prior to that it formed the centre for the notorious Khmer Rouge regime led by Pol Pot, and had to be cleared of land mines before anyone could visit.

The origins of Angkor are mysterious since few detailed records remain. We do know that the society was heavily influenced and probably mostly populated by the Indian sub-continent. The prevailing religions were modified forms of Hinduism and Buddhism, as scenes from these are prevalent on all the existing temples. A series of kings built the city but the empire gradually collapsed mainly from relentless incursions by the neighbouring Thais. What little is presently known of daily life in the empire has been provided by a Chinese scholar, Zhou Daguan, who visited Angkor from 1296 to 1297, when it was at the height of its splendour.

Thanks to some advance reading,, I am partially prepared once I arrive in Siem Reap. As one can imagine, the ruins of Angkor are considerably spread out and good transportation is essential. Many tourists come in buses but I opt for the daily rental of a car with air conditioning and a good driver since I am alone. One can also rent bikes but this is sheer madness, as the heat is relentless, no matter what time of year (winter is slightly cooler and much drier than the monsoon season of July and August). After the first day of a three-day pass ($40 US and well worth the price) I realize that the best way to survive the temple crawling – yes, there are stairs everywhere and good shoes plus a minimum level of fitness are necessary – is to start early in the morning when crowds are smaller and the sun less overpowering, take a rest at mid-day and finish with another two or three hours in late afternoon before sunset. The car is on a daily rate so the driver is willing to drop you off and return to the hotel for pickup at any time. A final tip – avoid the crowds who try to go to the best places for sunset and opt for a quiet stroll among the ruins at dusk as birds come to life and you can stand alone in the middle of a ruined temple overgrown with jungle vines while the ghosts of the past whisper their secrets to you.

Angkor is one of the gems of the ancient world, well worth a place near the top of everyone’s list of places to visit. I have tramped through Egypt, China, the British Isles, Italy, and most of the major Mayan cities and this is equal to any of them as a single concentration of truly magnificent ancient architecture in a spectacular jungle setting.

More Information:

Earthwatch Institute Web Site
Dr. Charles Higham

Angkor Wat Tours Now Available:

Half Day Private Splendour of Angkor Wat Cultural Tour
Full-Day Private Discovery Tour of Angkor Complex from Siem Reap
Angkor Wat Helicopter Flight with Private Tour of Temples
Siem Reap Street Food Evening Tour
Full-Day Photo Tour Angkor Wat from Siem Reap

About the author:
Doug Matthews is a writer and educator based in Vancouver, Canada, with previous careers as an aeronautical engineer and special event producer. His writing ranges from technical engineering papers to general interest pieces for newspapers and magazines, as well as original music and mini-plays. He has also published three books on special events. Check out his blog about special events at www.specialeventguru.blogspot.com
Contact: gear6@shaw.ca

Photo credits:
Temple, in Phimai city, Northeast Thailand by Supanut Arunoprayote / CC BY
All other photos are by Doug Matthews.

Sapa, Vietnam: The Heavenly Gates

by Sandra Harper

Jumping off the Victoria Express train in 5:00am fog at Loa Cai, a Vietnamese border town next to China, is not the most inviting start to the day, but I am here – determined to find the Heavenly Gates near the mountain-top town of Sapa. I dash over to my name-sign held by a smiling guide, half hidden in the darkness. Ting introduces himself and grabs my knapsack. We run through the rain to a waiting van to drive along a narrow, zig-zagging road through the Hoang Lien Mountains which soar barren, 6,000 meters high. Pine trees are few, having being felled for fuel and for hand-built terraces where crops of rice flourish. Wandering water buffalo putter on the road alongside the minority H’mong women and children dressed in traditional blue pants and tunics.

By the time we drive up into Sapa, the sun casts a momentary brilliant gleam over people, in heavy winter jackets, bustling about the market stalls. Sapa is formerly a hill station where the French sought refuge from the summer heat and hurly-burly of the cities. Sapa now is a large commercial city filled with local minority groups, Vietnamese, and tourists.

I wonder, in a soft voice, where the Heavenly Gates are. “Not to worry. Your arrival is auspicious,” Ting says. “The sun shines! Normally fog seeps over everything at this time of year. Maybe this is heaven now.”

Fog. I feel its coolness brush my cheek. I make a wish for continued good weather, as I pull on another layer of clothes for an early morning hike to the village where we will spend the night. The cold pierces my skin as I sling on my knapsack. Ting guides me up and down over a sliver of a rocky, narrow path, under the rhythmic waves of high mountain peaks. Farms of H’mong and Dzao minority peoples, in patchworks of terraced rice fields, surround a golden People’s Committees house standing regally above.

By mid-morning, the sun is intense. Now I rarely look at the scenery – I must focus on the rocky trails. “No falling before I get to the Heavenly Gates” I keep saying. Four hours later I stagger into a Taphin Dzao family’s home. My hosts, Po and Tan, are eager to show me their house before I sit down. It is compact, with four rooms downstairs, and a wooden ladder leading up to the second floor where I am to sleep among the huge bags of rice stored for the winter. Downstairs, two bedrooms, a kitchen with a fire-pit, a large room where a giant television brings news of the world to the two children sitting on the floor in front of huge bags of rice. Po eagerly shows me all the world-wide channels they receive daily from China. The dichotomy between their living conditions and immediate access to world news seems normal to him.

As Tan prepares dinner, she suggests that I sit on the outside porch. Finally, I rest! A continuous stream of Dzao ladies, with hands turned blue from dyeing cloth, engage me in conversation to practice their English and promote their jewelery. Ideas are exchanged, with laughter shared. It feels like heaven on earth here.

I go inside to sit on the floor by the fire-pit in the kitchen to watch the preparations and to talk with the family, Ting, and neighbours who drop in. Here is the centre of entertaining guests. Soon comes an array of foods –garlicy French Fries, egg-rolls, rice from their land, pork and vegetables, carrots shaped into flowers too good to eat. For dessert, the home-made rice liquor appears. Bottle after bottle. We shout in unison with the only English words Tan appears to know at this point of the evening, “Happy New Year. One. Two. Three.” At three, we gulp the fire-laced liquid down. Over and over again. Conversation becomes merry. Finally I stagger up the ladder to my mattress on the floor and snuggle into the arms of immediate sleep, with no thoughts of my divine search.

At sunrise, I waken to absolute quietness. Eventually Tan makes delicious crepes and the noise of eating rouses Ting. I tell him that I’m eager to find the Heavenly Gates to cleanse my soul after last night’s celebration. Rather than a long hike back to Sapa in the brilliant sun, Ting wisely orders a van comes to pick us up by the river flowing through the valley near the farm.

Saba’s large market is in full swing under puffy white clouds when we arrive. Hundreds of minority people, with their colourful costumes indicating their ethnic group, fill the market tables with jewelry, clothes and food. Fruits and vegetable abound. Tables, covered with chunks of meat and inner organs, are poised beside tubs of innocently swimming fish, unaware of their destiny. I dine at the Viet Emotion Café where a chair by the warm fireplace lures me from pursuing the Heavenly Gates today.

Next morning, with hints of fog whispering around the fir trees, we start to climb the thousand steps down to the Muong Hoa Valley. We are to visit the Cat Cat villages on our way to find the Heavenly Gates. In one tiny village, women show me how to dye material blue and Ting plays the ken instrument, which emits a sound like a prehistoric violin. He says men compose individual songs to play on the ken when they court a wife.

On the trail again, we move upwards past black pigs rooting among the grass with chickens, bare-bottomed babies sitting with little brown dogs, and water buffaloes with elegant horns watching us with cold eyes. The steps get steeper as we approach the Bac Falls that feed silvery water into a green-shuttered, power-generating station built long ago by the French. Soon I am pulling out my inhaler as I struggle to breathe. Steps carved out of the mountain’s rock are nearly vertical. The fog suddenly starts to roll down from the peaks and casts a white veil over the pumpkins ripening of the shed roofs on the farms. Strips of ox skin, being stretched thin by the weight of heavy rocks, collect tiny dewdrops.

What goes up must come down. So we do. At the bottom of the other-side of the mountain, two guys with motorbikes motion to us to jump on and ride back to town in the cold, wet fog. They drop us off at Ham Rong Mountain, which has the shape of a Dragon, so Ting says. We skitter up steep, wet rocks and find a collection of orchids, with some in bloom. I am gasping for air when Ting announces we are now near the Gateway to Heaven. I realize once again that life unfolds when you least expect it.

The fog is now so heavy that we are clutching the black porous rocks, that form a tunnel, to find our way forward. When we reach the arched gate of black rocks, the vision of what is beyond is lost in thick, swirling grey clouds. Within a flash, I realize that the search for the heavenly gates is more the reward than what is beyond. I clutch the slippery rocks and walk down the mountain to hot soup in a warm café.

Sapa Morning Tour of Ma Tra Village with Valley Walk

If You Go:

General Information: www.FootprintsVietnam.com is a great website for information about Viet Nam. They provide very well organized and reasonably priced tours for one person to a group. Contact footprint@hn.vnn.vn
Accommodation: In Sapa I stayed in the pleasant, mid-range Hotel Goldsea. There is a range of hotels from the budget, Auberge Hotel to the top end, Victoria Sapa Hotel.
Things to Do: There are many areas to hike, with trekking maps easily available for those who want to go independently. Guides can be arranged at the hotels and home stay accommodations can be booked through Footprints. Markets in Sapa happen every day, but Saturday is the largest one.
Eateries: There’s a wide variety of eateries. Gecko is a French-run restaurant with good food. Viet Emotion is run by a Vietnamese man and has excellent Vietnamese foods, traditional soups, sandwiches, coffee and warm fireplace. Pho soup is particularly revitalizing at the end of a hard day of hiking.
Transportation: To book a train from Hanoi, contact the Railway Booking Office (871 480). Presently, a sleeper ticket between Sapa and Hanoi can be booked only through hotels and agencies in Sapa, but you can book at the station in Hanoi.

Sapa Tours Now Available:

1 day Private tour Sapa Off The Beaten Path trekking start from Sapa
1 day Private tour Sapa trekking Y Linh Ho – Lao Chai – Ta Van (start from Sapa)
2-Day 3-Night Sapa Trek with Homestay Experience

About the author:
Sandra Harper combines two passions: traveling and writing. She has traveled all over the world and written about many of the countries she has visited. She’s the author of two travel books: Traveling the Sun: A Healing Journey In Morocco, Tunisia and Spain and Inside Kenya: Creating Tomorrow.
Contact: sharper7604@shaw.ca

Photographs:
All photos are by Sandra Harper.

Music in the Borneo Jungle

Rainforest World Music Festival in Kuching, Sarawak, Malaysia

by Lenora A. Hayman

The 10th Anniversary of the annual, three-day Rainforest World Music Festival (RWMF) was held in mid July 2007 in the Sarawak Cultural Village in Santubong, 45 minutes drive outside of Kuching, Sarawak on the northwest coast of the island of Borneo.

I toured aboriginal homes, including the Orang Ulu iron-wood longhouse of the central Borneo Kayan, Kenyah, Kelabit and Lun Bawang tribes that are built on tall poles, allowing a bird’s-eye view of approaching enemies. There was also a Bidayuh and an Iban Longhouse, Penan Hut, Malay House, Chinese Farmhouse and a Melanau Tall House.

In the Melanau Tall House, Rose Anthony showed me the process of producing sago. The sago palm trunk’s pith is removed and these shavings with water are stomped on, in a large basket, allowing the sago starch to drain through. The gel is dried on mats and rolled into white pellets. Rose cooked me delicious warm sago wafers on top of the stove.

I was also shown a 12 foot pepper tree at the Chinese farmhouse. Orange and yellow cayenne pepper corns are soaked for two weeks to soften and eliminate the outer skin. The white seed is dried in the sun for one week and white pepper is the result. (right)

Ten years ago, two Canadians, Randy Raine-Reusch, a multi-instrumentalist specializing in wind and string instruments from East and Southeast Asia, and Robert Basiuk, former deputy chief executive officer of the Sarawak Tourism Board, initiated the Rainforest World Music Festival. It is based on the Winnipeg and Vancouver International Folk Festivals with afternoon workshops, up close and personal, with the musicians, followed by evening shows. This year over 23,000 music lovers enjoyed 20 groups from 17 countries including Malaysia and Sarawak.

The Blow-Me workshop involved the Huun Huur Tu Russian Tuvan throat singers and the Aseana Percussion Unit playing the Australian Didgeridoo, an Indian and a Chinese flute. Randy Raine-Reusch played the North Indian pungi snake-charmer double clarinet and the Lao and northeast Thai Khaen, free-reed bamboo mouth organ. (below left)

The Doghouse Skiffle Group from Hull, England explained that after the Second World War there was little money for musical instruments so Lonnie Donegan, the Beatles etc. formed bands using washboards, for percussion, tea-chests with a broom-stick and string attached to sound like a double base (called the doghouse bass) and a guitar.

In the evening there were television screens beside two stages, allowing acts to perform alternately without a break. It was magical, sitting on the ground under the stars, with a happy, international crowd and a Malaysian gliding colugo leaping, like a flying squirrel, from tree to tree.

Dressed in red-beaded costumes and skull caps, the Kelapang Kelabit Bamboo Band and the Anak Adi’ Rurum children, a branch of the Orang-Ulu tribe of Sarawak produced wonderful sounds including hymns from bamboo flutes.

The Black Umfolosi group from Zimbabwe with hard hats and gumboots sang wonderful a capella and with great frenzy, loudly slapped their bodies and pounded their boots while dancing and catapulting into the air. Gumboot dancing began in the flooded South African gold mines during the migrant system. Speaking was prohibited so messages were dispatched via smacking gumboots and shaking ankle chains.

The Mah Meri is one of the 18 ethnically defined tribes of the Orang Asli living along the Malaysian Selangor coast including Carey Island. These fishermen and woodcarvers believe in ancestral spirits. Dressed in bark cloth, grass skirts and magnificent masks they performed for the first time in public, the sacred dance honoring their ancestors.

Thanks for a fantastic, fun time!

More Information:

www.rainforestmusic-borneo.com
www.sarawaktourism.com
www.visitborneo.com
www.borneoadventure.com

Sarawak Tours Now Available:

Sarawak Cultural Village from Kuching City
Semenggoh & Sarawak Cultural Village
Sarawak Semenggoh Wildlife Centre Tour
Sarawak River Cruise Tour

About the author:
Lenora Airini Hayman was born in New Zealand and has lived in Vancouver B.C. for 43 years. She’s been a volunteer since 1984 with the Disability Access Committee for the Vancouver International Folk Festival and was thrilled at the opportunity to attend the Rainforest Music Festival. She is a freelance travel/food and wine writer. Her assignments have taken her to the jungles of Borneo to investigate orangutans, Taiwan to study 13 indigenous tribes and the French Polynesian Islands of the Marquesas to research the original tattooing of the Polynesians who settled there 500 years before the Maori. Contact: itravellen@shaw.ca

Photo credits:
All photos by Lenora A. Hayman.

Hiking Hallasan in the Snow

Mount Halla, South Korea

by Lee Beavington

At the foot of Mount Halla, my girlfriend Jen and I stop and gape at the meter of snow clogging the trailhead. Our guidebook clearly specified: no special equipment required. Sure, it’s the middle of winter. From a distance, the only visible snow lies atop Hallasan’s trapezoidal summit, like a white fin on a surfacing whale. For two days we have explored the various temples and caves of Jeju Island. This offshore island boasts higher temperatures than the mainland and the nickname “Hawaii of South Korea.” But we’ve dedicated our last day to hiking Mount Hallasan, starting early to reach the cloudless peak before the afternoon air rises, cools and condenses into concealing fog. The Yeongsil trail to the top – the shortest of four possible routes – should be an easy climb. Or so we thought.

Hallasan, a dormant shield volcano and the country’s tallest peak, is the central figurehead of Jeju. A gentle slope descends on all sides of the prominent pinnacle, a volcanic crater that holds Baengnokdam Lake and dozens of white deer.

But in February, the topmost summit is closed for conservation, and even the start of the trail appears inaccessible.

After filling our water bottles from a natural spring, a local man waves us toward his store. We walk on, wary of a sales pitch, but he persists, barking frenetic Korean. “He’s saying it’s slippery, I think,” Jen translates. As if in response, he emphatically hand-signals a near-vertical angle – no exaggeration, as we soon discover.

With a new pair of eight-dollar crampons now strapped to our running shoes, we begin the nearly four kilometre trek. At first, the path is relaxed, the metal spikes effortlessly stabbing into the packed snow. Waterfalls materialize beyond the leafless arms of Japanese oak, plunging down an enormous snow-lined bluff. But the cold breath of winter has frozen the streams into steeple-sized, dangling shards of ice.

Ahead, I spot a soaring ridge above a precipitous cliff. There is movement over the crest of rock. Recognition dawns on my face. “Guess what, Jen? That’s where we’re headed!”

She looks up, her eyes following the dark specks of people trudging along the imposing ridge high above us. “I hope it’s not as dangerous as it looks…” Abruptly, the trail becomes sheer. We stand at the bottom of a daunting hill, as steep as a ladder. There are no rungs for our feet. A knotted rope provides a hold as we pull rather than push ourselves up the icy slope. Without crampons, our shoes would prove useless in finding footholds.

The going is slow but steady. Hand over hand, we haul ourselves to the top of the ridge that looked so impenetrable from afar, and reach our first viewpoint. I look to the west: dozens of craters dot the slope, the parasitic cones and lava domes like benign tumours on this ancient volcano. Cawing crows pester us for handouts as we refuel on water and chocolate. Despite freezing temperatures, the sun and sweat of the climb compels us to shed our outermost layer of clothes.

In warmer weather, Hallasan boasts over 2,000 species: fields of blooming azaleas paint the slopes purple, while weasels, snakes, frogs and 200 different birds call this unique alpine ecosystem home. Now, however, the flowers are buried, the trees wear a thick fur of hoarfrost, and all but the hardiest creatures have vanished. Yet the snow gives the grey mountainside a distinctive grandeur, transforming the harsh landscape into a shimmering white kingdom that rises right into the heavens.

I continue carefully along the ridge, digging in my crampons with forceful steps, fancying myself a mountaineer. Stairs have been hewn into the rock, and guideposts with a running rope steer hikers in the right direction—except in this deep snow, the line drags near our feet instead of at our hips. Vertigo threatens my balance. I try to focus by gluing my eyes to the narrow path, but can’t help my gaze wandering to the distant shores of the South Sea, whose waves blend seamlessly into the misty cloud above, blurring the horizon. From here, everything seems so small and insignificant. I feel empowered, momentarily invincible.

My foot suddenly gives out from under me. Before I know what’s happening, my left leg plummets through the crust. Having put my weight off the tightly packed main course, I find myself lodged in the sidewalk of deep, loose snow. I yank my leg free and shake the white dust from my pants. Not long after, Jen is down to her hip. She laughs, pulls herself out, and follows me into the ominous forest of firs.

The craggy, barren landscape has flattened, and we pass into one of the world’s few naturally occurring sites of Korean fir. The three-meter trees stand like misshapen trolls, the summer guardians of Hallasan now frozen in time. Hoarfrost covers their stubby branches, encasing them in knobby white armour. Icicles hang from their limbs like crystal daggers. Their horizontal, windblown lines of snow salute the rising sun.

This feels like another planet. I walk between their boughs in silent awe, teary-eyed. Am I so enthralled by this unworldly place? Jen notices me squinting and has a different take. “We should put some sunscreen on your face. Snow is an excellent reflector.” She’s right: two days later my entire face begins to peel like old paint. A Korean woman who passed us near the trailhead now hastens by in the other direction. The summit must be near. Most Koreans favour a fast-paced, multiple-itinerary day. Jeju is inundated with “Express Tour” buses that seem to prepare for departure from a given site as soon as they arrive.

Four monks move leisurely by us. I think to myself, If we are trailing grey-robed Buddhists, we must really be taking our time.

Mount Halla’s summit soon rises majestically above the tree line. Its fiery core once spewed lava and rock; now, the breathtaking peak reminds me of the venerable Kilimanjaro. Jen and I move out from the trees and onto a smooth snowscape. Here, the signposts and safety ropes are completely buried, but the well-trodden path is easy enough to follow. A wisp of cloud floats beside us, then disappears. Months of wintry wind have carved snow dunes into the neighbouring slopes, forming white waves that lap toward the summit. Of all Jeju’s attractions, none are as spectacular as Hallasan.

Closer now, having reached the 1700-meter mark, I scrutinize this godly stone sculpture. A flawless blue sky outlines the crater’s toothed rim. We have beaten the afternoon clouds! Spines of snow-covered rock ripple down Hallasan’s edges, the pillars of ice enough to dissuade further passage. Others ignore the warning signs, venturing over treacherous terrain to snap the perfect photo. We decide to be respectful of the environment – and our own well-being.

“All right,” Jen says after we’ve devoured our packed lunch. It’s high noon. The sun hangs directly over Mount Halla’s noble peak. I feel tired yet exhilarated, galvanized by conquering a snow-covered mountain on foot.

Jen stands up. “Ka-ja,” she says. Korean for let’s go. Now it’s time to go down the other side.

If You Go:

How To Get There: Jeju Island can be accessed by air or ferry. Buses will take you to the Eorimok, Gwaneumsa and Seongpanak trailheads. Yeosil requires a taxi or your own vehicle to reach the actual trailhead, which is 7.7 km from the bus stop. The cost for parking is about $2. As we arrived early in the morning by taxi ($20 from Jungmun) we didn’t have to pay an entrance fee.

When To Go: Hallasan can be hiked any time of year. The spring bloom of azaleas is nothing short of spectacular. However, we found a most rewarding trek in the white landscapes of winter.

Facts about Mount Halla (Hallasan):
– shield volcano, elevation 1950 meters
– a large, 400-meter diameter crater is found in the prominent peak
– last eruption: 1007
– about 360 parasitic cones dot Hallasan’s side slopes

The four trails:
Each trail boasts a unique set of sights and viewpoints. One option is to go up one trail and down another. This is easily done if you use public transport. Be sure to start early enough to reach the summit by noon, as the peak is often cloud-covered after this time. Also, park regulations require that you make your descent by a certain time, usually between 12 and 3 pm, depending on the trail, to avoid being caught out after dark. Watch for warning signs, and for the environment’s sake, don’t climb into the crater.
Eorimok: (4.8 km, one-way) – The easiest trail, although not the shortest. The slope is mostly gentle but steady, and can even be climbed by children (although I saw most dragging their feet toward the peak, or getting piggybacks from dad). 4 – 5 hours round trip.
Yeosil (3.7 km) – The shortest trail, but with very steep sections. More impressive viewpoints and scenery than Eorimok. Not recommended for young children or the unfit. About 4 hours roundtrip.
Gwaneumsa (8.7 km) and Seongpanak (9.6 km): Reserved for more ambitious trekkers. Start out at dawn, and leave at least nine hours to get up and down Hallasan.

What To Bring: Water, food and sunscreen are essentials any time of year. You can fill your water bottles at several natural springs. Some may find a hat and sunglasses helpful to fight the glare. Bring a light poncho in the summer. In the winter months (late November to March) you may also need hinged or semi-rigid crampons. Basic strap-on crampons are sold at the trailheads for $8. Hiking boots are recommended, though running shoes should suffice. There are outhouses near the summit.

Jeju Island Tours Now Available:

3-Day Tour of the Beautiful Jeju Island
Custom Private Group Tour of Jeju Island
Private Full Day Tour of UNESCO Global Geo Park in South Jeju Island

About the author:
Born in Canada as the 100th resident of Arkell, Ontario, Lee Beavington works as a biology lab instructor at Kwantlen University College in BC. In the past two years, he has traveled to India, Sri Lanka, Kenya, Iceland, Cambodia and South Korea. He writes in many genres, including memoir, science fiction and flash, and has had a novella published in Writers of the Future XXII.
Writing Website: www.leebeavington.com
Travel Blog: http://leeodyssey.blogspot.com/

Photo credits:
All photos are by Lee Beavington.