by Lindsay Neal –
Travelling to Siem Reap, Cambodia was one of the most spectacular – and sweaty! – experiences of my life. We wanted to see the Temples of Angkor, regardless of the blistering heat and strict dress code. Spanning over 400 square kilometres, these architectural masterpieces were built in the early 12th century by King Khmer Suryavarman II. Beyond the ancient and sacred temples, we uncovered the city’s downtown nightlife.
Eli and I met our cab at 7 a.m. I had to buy long pants and a T-shirt to abide by the temples’ dress code. This was painful, considering Eli wore shorts. Anything that provided ventilation would have been too revealing, or disrespectful. Begrudgingly, I spent five dollars on “elephant pants” and a tacky T-shirt.
The first tomb greeted us with a grin, or 216 of them. Inside Angkor Thom, the peacefully smiling stone faces of Bayon remain. Bayon was debatably dedicated to either Buddah or King Jayavarman. The sun beat down on us as we climbed up three flights of stairs in 37°C heat. My increasingly steamy pants and droopy crotch seam stuck to my legs. The next step up was precisely where I lost all intended modesty. One giant rrrrip, and there was a breeze again. The hole had to have been the length of my calf!
Next was Ta Prohm, the temple nearly swallowed by Cambodian Jungle trees. The collision of nature and Khmer architecture was extraordinary. Silk-cotton tree roots traced doorways and reached under stone walkways. We walked through the maze of framed entries. Each stone was decorated with carvings of kings, animals, and praying figures. I walked the halls, over roots, then rocks, humming the theme of Indiana Jones. Two Hindu monks cloaked in brilliant orange robes passed us. I looked down at my pants.
We arrived at Angkor Wat during the hottest part of the day. Eli was chipper, holding his camera gear for the main event. I stood, grumpy, in my ripped, soaking-wet pants. Five remarkably tall towers, meant to mimic the Ranges of Mount Meru, stood there and at the entrance, monkeys played on top of the stone lions. We disappeared into the massive dark passageways lit by candle. After climbing to the top, and certainly giving my pants a run for their money, we packed up our tomb raiding for the day. I gazed at the moat surrounding the tombs, and never felt so thirsty.
We wasted no time on our last evening in Siem Reap. We hopped into tuk-tuks (carriages pulled by men on motorcycles), and putted about town. While strolling through Market Street, we plunged our feet into fish tanks for tickly-fish-pedicures. We ate Khmer colourful curries and spring rolls. The neon lights led us to Pub Street, where I was dared to eat a fried scorpion. And I did it, while being laughed at by locals.
The next morning, heat exhausted and templed-out, we left. Looking down at my outfit, I reflected that I’d never thought I would have explored sacred temples in holey pants.
