Far-flung Fairyland

Almost up to the last minute, I remained unsure whether to continue on the Banteay Srey. My quandary revolved around the roughly 20 dollars Mr. Ho told me I would have to add to the 12 dollars we’d earlier agreed I would pay him per day of his services. That might seem like a small extra, but I reminded myself that I count on a civil servant’s salary to finance my wanderings. But as we drove away from Ta Prohm to return to town—where I planned to have breakfast, get batteries and take a rest before heading back for Bayon; the afternoon to be spent sampling the town’s stylish bars and shops—something caught my eye in the wrinkled copy of Siem Reap Angkor Visitor’s Guide that Mr. Ho always kept in his touk-touk. An excerpt in the booklet described Banteay Srey’s “fairyland ambience” before going on to say, “Banteay Srey is well worth the extra effort.” Without a second thought, I called out to Mr. Ho, trying to make myself heard over the drone of the engine. “Mr. Ho! I want to make a deal with you!” And so, having bargained down the surcharge for the Banteay Srey side trip to ten dollars, I found myself cruising down a road flanked by countryside scenery: huts on stilts, paddy fields and little stalls selling native handicraft. After twenty-plus kilometers of steadily sparser touk-touk traffic—most tourists coming this far preferring to go by car, van or bus—Mr. Ho halted in front of some sun-baked sandstone ruins just a little way from the road.

Even at first glance, Banteay Srey was clearly of more modest scale than the other monuments I’d seen so far. But what it lacked in size it made up for in the intricacy and crispness of its ornamentation. The carvings were so fine and deep they seem to leap at you, especially more so with the high-contrast midday sunlight. The shrines themselves were reminiscent of some of those I had visited in Bhubaneshwar, hardly surprising given that this Angkor monument is also Hindu, dedicated to Shiva.

Unfortunately, the place was crawling with tour groups of East Asians as well as Westerners, and unlike Angkor Wat and the Bayon, the relatively Lilliputian size of Banteay Srey made the crowds all the more obtrusive. Nor was there the comforting shade and added atmosphere given by ancient trees, unlike in Ta Prohm. Most welcome though was the music provided by another traditional ensemble made up of landmine victims. And later, while wandering through the orange-brown ruins, I was surprised by a pair of high-pitched voices singing what most be a Khmer song, blending beautifully. Peeking from behind a wall, I saw two young female guards trying to dispel their boredom with an impromptu number, probably unsuspecting that any of the sightseers would pay them any mind. With the pleasant feeling imparted by the song, I headed for the exit, pausing momentarily beneath a copse of trees where the native band was playing to a sparse audience of curious tourists. Back in the touk-touk, I told Mr. Ho that I was ready to go back for my much-belated breakfast and a shuteye in the cool confines of my Borann lodgings.

(May 2007)