Angkor's Apsaras

Apsaras are an embodiment of the ideal female beauty in Cambodian culture. Both modern and ancient Khmer artists rendered them elaborately and with great emotional intensity.

Dance in Cambodia is as ancient as the temples of Angkor, whose carved facades seem to dance. A single gallery in Angkor Wat alone features over 1,500 of these dancing nymphs, synonomous with the Cambodian idea of beauty. The word apsara derives, like much of the culture of ancient Angkor, from Indian Hindu influences. Apsaras were lesser goddesses of unimaginable beauty who danced for the entertainment of higher gods.

The dancers originally performed topless, and so they are often depicted in has-relief. It was only due to later Chinese influence that they began performing clothed. The dances features over 4,500 body movements known in Khmer as kbach. A pin peat ensemble consisting of oboes, xylophones, gongs and drums provides musical accompaniment along side singers who narrate the stories.

The term "apsara dance" today is interchangeable with court classical dance. At the height of the Khmer Empire, it is estimated that there were 3,000 Apsara dancers in the 12th century court of King Jayavarman VII. When Angkor was sacked in at the begining of the 15th century, the Apsara dancers were seized and taken to Thailand. Classical dance survived, and its influence spread throughout the region.

The Khmer Rouge considered dancing to represent the decadent Royalist society itwas determined to stamp out. Its proponents were executed or sent from their city homes to work in a countryside they did not understand. It is estimated that 90 percent of all dancers and musicians were killed during the reign of the Khmer Rouge regime. Along with them died the knowledge of many dance and theatre forms. Thankfully, those who survived have dedicated themselves to preserving this ancient art of Cambodian culture, and passing it on to the next generation.

Destination Cambodia: 4 Days and counting!

Could it be?

Is that Angelina Jolie? Sadly,no. It's only me (although the resemblence is startling). I've always been a bit of a tree- hugger, but I think this sudden outburst of affection was the due to the realization that I had finally found a place where I could live out my childhood dream of being Indiana Jones. Angkor Thom, Cambodia.

Welcome to the Jungle: Ta Prom

My first visit to Ta Prom was unforgettable, and I couldn`t wait to explore the tangles of tree roots and temple ruins all over again. This time, it was the people I met there that I`ll never forget.

It`s taken me forever to get these pictures up. Hopefully I`ll get the time to write a bit more about them soon...Gomen ne, minna! m(- -)m

Smiles of the Bayon

I met this young monk at the Bayon, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing with him and his friends at their small pagoda in the forest. My best memories(and photographs) of the temples of Angkor are of the people I met there. As amazing as the temples are, they pale in comparison to the beauty and resilience of the Cambodian people.

Yeay Bayon, or Grandma Bayon. If you've been to the Bayon, chances are you may have seen this beautiful old nun hiding in one of the many chambers, inviting visitors to burn incense before a small idol of the buddha. At 75 years old, Yeay Bayon a rarity in a nation recovering from the brutal legacy of Pol Pot and civil war.

A young Apsara teacher shows off her soft hands and beautiful smile. A single mother with 3 children, she left her husband after he repeatedly beat her, spending what little money they had on alcohol. Now she supports her children by singing at a local Apsara dinner theater and teaching. At 28, she says she is too old to dance. "Only young and beautiful girls can dance for tourists." I didn't get to see her dance, but she invite me to hear her sing. Hopefully I'll be able to get a video of the Apsara performance up soon...

Unforgettable: The Children of Ta Prom

Things I will never forget: La's smile.

I've been putting off this post because I realized I am missing the CD of pictures I took at Ta Prom and the Bayon. I kept hoping it would magically materialize in my bookbag or under one of the many piles of junk accumulating in my apartment, but deep down, I know exactly where it is: On a computer in a Siem Reap interent cafe. (ioi) Saddness. At least I have my memories, and a comforting feeling that I will see these children again.

The way Ba scrambled up and over the crumbling ruins of the temples without any shoes.

When I first met Ba, he was hiding behind a moss colored sandstone wall, crouching among the piles of stones thrown down by the crushing roots of the Banyon trees. Like me, he seemed to be hinding from the few remaining tour groups rushing through the temple grounds, hurrying behind tour guides leaving echos of Spanish, Italian, French, Japanese and German echoing through the quiet courtyard. I sat alone in silence for awhile before I noticed him peaking out at me, only to take cover when I looked up at him. I began playing a game of peek-a-boo, which brought an adorabley beautiful smile to his dirt-smudged face. It was getting late, and the last of the tourists had long since passed through our secret courtyard, but I wasn't quite ready to leave this beautiful boy all alone.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, assuming he'd understand an exaggerated gesture of me scooping food into my mouth. He giggled. "You. Me. Yum yum?" He shook his head no and climbed back up on the rocks. "Oh, come on Ba! (We had been though the name and age formalities) I know your hungry! Let's go!" He scrambled up over the rocks and disappeared. I was sad to see him go, and sat down on the rocks again hoping he'd come back.

It didnt take long before he reappeared, popping his head out of a darkened doorway with his two friends La and Run close behind. He pointed at me, I assume telling his friends something along the lines of "This is that strange foreigner I was telling you about," although I cant be sure because it was in Khmer. "Come on!" He called to me smiling, ushering me into the darkness with the wave of his hand.

The way Run repeated everything I said, and then busted out into laughter that echoed through the temple courtyrads and chambers.

They led me through the shadow-filled halls of the temple, through tiny cracks and holes showing me hidden apsaras immortalized in stone. Through a small opening of tumbled stone they led me to a narrow chamber, pointing out the small, strangled head of a buddha peaking out through the tangled tree roots. The guided me through the temple laughing and playing with me, smiling all the way, trying their best to communicate in any way they could.

The pure joy of playing.

Getting to know the children: talking, laughing and playing with them. Learning about their lives, their families, their hopes and dreams...

Being able to make them smile so easily, and hearing them laugh.

By the time we left the temple it was almost 6 O' clock. I asked Ba, La and Run where they would like to eat, and they led me to a small stall staffed by a single woman with a huge smile on her face. She spoke very good English, and I told her to give the boys whatever they wanted. A small crowd of children had gathered around me, and were looking up at me with big, hungry eyes. "Madame, yum yum?"

"How much for these kids, too?" I asked her.

"Hmmm," she thought, perhaps struggling to choose between the chance to make a killing off a foreigner or help feed the children. "7 dollars."

"7 dollars? For how many kids?" Looking behind me the crowd had grown considerably. I opened up my wallet. All I had was $12 lousy bucks.

"Hmmm...12 kids."

"How many are there here?" I asked, trying to number the beautiful little faces swirling around me. She shouted out numbers in Khmer to the children, checking to make sure no one was counted twice.

"26." She announced when she was sure she had counted right.

"26?!" I frowned. " I have 12 dollars. Look. I swear its all I have!" I showed her my empty change purse, pulling out my pockets.

"Hmmm..." She thought to herself, looking around at the kids.

"How can I choose only 12 of them?" I asked her, with sincere tears welling up in my eyes. (I swear Im not usually this emotional). "You do it. I cant choose."

"Ok. Ok." she smiled after a long silence. "Khmer price. 12 dollars, everyone eats!" Khmer price or not, sounded like a deal to me.

26 of the children from the nearby villages get ready for some yum-yum (^-^)/

Apsara Dance

Classical Cambodian ballet is a stunningly graceful, 2,000-year-old blend of sinuous hand gestures and sensuous body movements, all deep with meaning. The graceful movements of the Apsara dancers, adorned with brilliant gold headdresses and colorful, silk tunics and skirts, are carved on the walls of many of the temples at Angkor. Estimates are that there were 3,000 Apsara dancers in the 12th century court of King Jayavarman VII.

Dancing holds great significance for the Khmer people, and the government considers the Royal Ballet in particular to be a national treasure. In the past, the classical dance was the Royal dance, performed only before kings to commemorate their dynastic ancestors and to honor the gods.

The Apsara tradition was devastated by the Pol Pot years. Dancers were killed in large numbers as symbols of bourgeoise excess, and only a few instructors survived to keep the ancient tradition alive.

Until I can embed it, you can watch one of my videos of the dance here.

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

The legendary origins of Angkor Wat (or Capital Temple), according to locals, lie in the story of Preah Ket Melea, son of the king of heaven and a mortal woman. The gods complained that he smelled, and asked his father to send him down to Earth. The king agreed, offering his son the opportunity to have an exact replica of any edifice in heaven erected on Earth with the help of the celestial architect (whom villagers still invoke whenever a building is constructed). A modest man, Preah Ket Melea chose the stable. An ox was released onto the plain of Angkor and the place where it layed down became Heaven on Earth: Angkor Wat.

Sunrise Over Angkor Wat

My second day in Cambodia began at 5:30 AM as I jumped from my bed to catch a bus to one of the seven wonders of the world. Charmed by the chanting of the monks nearby, the sun slowly rose out of the darkness, above the five peaks representing Mount Meru, the center of the Hindu universe and home of its gods. I'm back. Hope all of you waiting won't be too disappointed.

New Years: Where Else?

Just before the sun rose over Angkor Wat on the first day of 2007.

It's only been a few days since I let the colorful cambodian capitol of Phnom Penh, its bustling streets overflowing with life, laughter, poverty, and hope, but the Khmer colored collage of city and countryside is still fresh in my mind. Painted in thick, textured strokes of dry, golden rice fields, shimmering swirls of warm sunlight, and the dark, midnight shaded sihouettes of tall, slender sugar palms against a radiant, ruby and clementine sky, I might as well have been sharing the view with Van Gogh.

I can still taste the restless, rust-colored clouds of dust that swallowed my mighty motodup and I, resurrected from dry, dirt roads by the occasional passover of a precariously packed pick up. Men, women, children, animals, furniture, some standing, some seated, some sitting on top of each other or other cargo, some hanging on for dear life, all smiling at me from beneath their colorful, checkered scarves as they passed. I can still hear the bubbling laughter of children jumping into ponds filled with blue skies and floating water lillies, with only drops of sparkling water covering their richly spiced, chai colored skin like fine, jeweled silks.

Billowing saffron robes draped with modest dignity over deeply bronzed skin dot the landscape of my memories, pausing beneath matching umbrellas to bless an almsgiver.

Shoeless children, with smudged faces and tattered clothing, carry bags too big for their small bodies, collecting whatever might fill the emptiness in their bellies or fetch a few hundred Riel. Heart-breakingly beautiful children, their knotted hair lightened by malnutrition, covered in scabs, bug bites, dirt, and little else, sleeping peacefully in the shallow shelter of a store front. Others stand as if under a spell, holding small bags to their mouth, filling their lungs with poison.

Cambodia.

Sometimes I just don't know what to say.

Perhaps I should start by finishing the last chapter in my travels there: Battambang.

Happy Valentine's Day

A Valentine left on the board for me at Nishi Junior High...

No, Thank you! 

Happy New Year Kansai!

Well my first weekend back in Japan turned out to be quite an adventure!

Wakausa Yama Yaki, Nara. 

I happened to come across an amazing photo of Wakakusa Yama Yaki (The Burning of Young Grass Mountain). The stark black silhouette of a 5 storied pagoda seemed to spread its wings and rise from the sea of fire engulfing the gentle slope of the mountain behind it. Fire flowers (the actual translation of the Japanese word for fireworks), shot up from the waves of flame, blooming like cherry blossoms in the dark veil of the night sky.

Luckly along with the picture was a note saying that the festival, which commemorated a battle between Buddhist monks of two rival temples who had set the mountain on fire, was celebrated January 15th of every year! Happy birthday to me!

The next day I was on my way, riding in the lap of the luxuriousShinkansen, Japan’s ultra-fast bullet train. But by the time I got to Nara the sunny blue skies of Ena had faded to paler shade of grey, draped in heavy rain clouds that soaked the earth beneath. There was as much chance of the mountain burning as there was of me spontaneously combusting, so needless to say, I was hopeful.

Todaiji, the largest wooden structure on earth, is only a shadow of its former self, 30% the width of the original structure. Fall 2002. 

As I walked toward Todaiji (The Great Eastern Temple), home of the world’s largest cast iron Buddha, I was inevitably stopped by a young rickshaw driver. She casually informed me that this year the festival had been held on January 9th. Ah well. It’s a little early to be celebrating my birthday anyway, so I wasn’t too disappointed. I went to hang out with Buddha for a bit, and figured since I was in Kansai, things could only get better! That’s just the way it works!

Daibutsusan, the Great Buddha of Nara. 

I called Lindz and went to meet her for dinner in Osaka. We noisily slurped down a bowl of miso ramen in a tiny shop conveniently located in her apartment building and run by a bunch of young, American-music-loving kids. I was sucking down noodles to the beat of Michael Jackson, Blink 182 and for a brief moment, Whitney Houston, until thankfully one of the horrified waitresses rushed to the radio and promptly filled the shop with the soothing sounds of something techno.

Lindz said I could crash at her place, so I took the chance to catch up with my long lost partner in crime. Unfortunately, the fact that we are, despite some serious effort, inevitably growing up, she had to work the next day, which made the chance of a joint adventure impossible.

I was ready to head for home the next day when I snapped out of it. There is no way you can go to Kansai and not make brief cameo in Kyoto! I mean, that’s sacrilege!

Kabuki, a traditional form of Japanese theatre, in which all roles are acted by men. 

I wandered up the subways stairs, past the famous Minamiza Kabuki theatre and towards Gion. Since it was lunch time and Indian food is a rare commodity in these here parts, I indulged in a little curry and dal in the same place where I had celebrated thanksgiving. It always makes me smile to hear the owner speak Japanese with his undeniably Indian intonation.

The autumn illumination of Kiyomizudera, the Temple of Pure Waters, attracts tourists from all over Japan. 

Lindsey's Farewell Fireworks: Osaka Style

Lindz' friend Yukiyo had invited us to the PL (Perfect Liberty, a new religion in Japan) fireworks display in Tondabayashi, PL`s Holy Land. Its the largest display in the world, with over 120,000 fireworks! We headed to Yukiyo`s, where her mother and 6th grade sister struggled to dress all three of us in Yukata in time to brave the crowded trains and streets early enough to secure a good seat, which we did, 3 hours before the show began. As we walked around the crowded lot admiring yukatas, I found a few admirers myself. A Japanese man yelled out "Kawaii!" a few times before braving a "Hello!" to get my attention. "Mecha Kawaii! (Super cute)," he assured me, smiling. "Niateru! (It suits you!)." As we headed back to our seats (a plastic bag stretched out on the hot concrete of the Holy PL Parking Lot, a Peruvian man walked up to me, looked me up and down and said "Hola guapa!" Hmm...Maybe I should wear yukata more often!

The fireworks were well worth the the wait! Its been a long time since I saw fireworks, but these were amazing. They were sending hundreds up at a time, for over and hour!

PL is the world's largest yearly display of fireworks, with over 120,000 fire flowers blooming in the stars (a typical fireworks festival will launch between 5,000 to 10,000). Highlights include "Niagara Falls", a 50 meter high, one kilometer long river of falling fire (pictured left). The grand finale, a firestorm of more than 7,000 fireworks launched at once, transforms the night sky into a burst of light, if only for a moment.

The music was kind of creepy- new age PL style- and probably loaded with subliminal messages to join the dark side, but we survived unconverted.

The finale was incredible. The sky lit up like it was broad daylight, and the sound rattled the ground beneath me and caused my heart to skip a beat. It was terrifying and breath-taking. I got video of that, too!

We ended the night at a sentou, or pubic bath/onsen, where we soaked the marathons of walking we had done over the weekend away.I passed out staring at a huge poster of Johnny Depp playing the piano hanging on Yukiyo's ceiling. It was after 2 AM (I had to be up by 4:30 to begin my trek back to Ena), but it was the perfect end to an amazing weekend!

My Favorite Maiko: Mamechika

Lindz was always complaining that her job with NOVA left her with little time to do anything even mildly cultural, besides pass out on her futon after a hard day of Eigo-to-go. With her emminent departure looming, I decided to take it upon myself to rectify the situation by using my hook-ups to get us a private tea party with Mamechika.

Of course this was no act of self-sacrifice on my part...This is something I have been wanting to do ever since I first came to Japan. Considering our history of wandering the streets of the ancient capital composing haiku, dressing up like maiko to admire the cherry blossoms, and running into maiko whenever we set foot in Gion (even in Starbucks), this was a fitting way to end this chapter in our Japan-land adventures.

Thankfully, I was able to understand almost all of what she said, despite the fact that she was speaking Kyoto-ben (dialect), something all maiko must learn before they can entertain guests. Mamechika was born in Kyoto, so she is a native speaker, but today many maiko-wannabes from all over the archipelago come to Kyoto for a chance to become a living work of art. The fact that I could speak Japanese suprised her as well. She confessed how nervous she was when she entered the tea house and saw two gaijin (you can see the fear in the picture above), and how relieved she was when I started speaking to her in Japanese.

At just 20 years old, Mamechika has been serving the richest and most powerful men in Japan in as a maiko for 5 years, and will become a Geiko in March. Even talking about it seemed to make her nervous. "I don't know if I can do it! I will miss my Onesan!" Onesan means 'big sister', but she isint talking about her actual paternal sister. She is referring to the Geiko that has trained her for the past 5 years, teaching her everything she needs to know and helping her make all the right connections to help her become a successful Geiko.Geiko is Kyoto dialect for Geisha. There is no difference between a Geiko and a Geisha, except that a Geiko or Maiko will never refer to themselves or anyone else as a Geisha.

She was so charming and easy to talk to, after awhile we were laughing like old friends. She kept commenting on how good my Japanese was, and how cool it was that we could be understanding each other even though we were from completely different places. I asked her if she remembered any of the English she had learned in Elementary and Junior High, and she said she could remember a little. When foreign guests came to parties where she was entertaining she could understand little bits of conversation, like "Hello!", " How are you?", "Nice to meet you!" and ofcourse "Why is her face white?"

Studying to become a maiko doesn't leave you much time to do anything else. When I asked her what she likes to do for fun she said go out to eat, go shopping, like any other young woman, but she also enjoys practicing dance and Ikebana (Japanese flower arrangement). I wondered if she liked foreign food, knowing the great Indian place across the street from the Hanamikoji, but she said usually they just go for stuff like soba or udon. Pop culture? She confessed she was clueless. "But you like dancing, so what do you think about hip-hop? Do you want to learn how to break dance?" I asked her laughing. "Break dance! Its so cool!" She giggled.

When I told her we were going to see the PL fireworks, she said a patron had taken her last year. "It was so hot, and there were so many people!" she said her her soft, southern drawl. I told her we were going to try to wear yukata (try being the key word). "Oh, that's easy!" She assured me, waving her fan. Light, cotton kimono like yukata are nothing compared to even the lighter summer kimono that maiko wear. Kyoto's infamous, sweltering summer heat, thick with humidity and temperatures climbing well into the 90's, would not be complete without maiko rushing to their appointments bundled in 10 to 15 kilos of exotic silk. (Thats 20-33 lbs.)!

Coordinating the extravagant ensembles of silk that maiko are famous for is no wasy task, either. Colors, patterns, degree of decoration, and even hair ornamentation must all be carefully considered and chosen appropriate to the season and rank of the maiko. Dressing a Maiko or Geiko is an art in and of itself. Mamechika explained that her Okasan, the mother of her Okiya, chose her kimono and obi each day. "Really, I want to wear pink," she whispered. "Everyday I go to mother (Okaasan) and say 'Pink would be good, dont you think?" but she says it doesn't suit me. But pink is so cute!" She pouted. "It is difficult to choose, though. There are so many!" For every month, her Mother must choose between 15-20 different kimonos designed with traditional seasonal motifs and colors. "Mother knows how much design is good," she said pointing at the blossoms swimming in a sea royal purple silk . "And where the design should be." Since Mamechika is a high ranking maiko, the majority of the design elements of her kimono graced her long, flowing sleeves, and the trailing skirt of her kimono.

We were all amazed by her wonderful kanazashii, or hair ornament. We agreed it was beautiful and striking, but couldn't figure out what the design was based on. "Fireworks!" She smiled. "My big sister (Onesan) chose it for me. I really like it. I'm so sad that I won't be able to wear it anymore." It was the last day of July, and from August she would be wearing a new kanazashii. That night she was planning to take out her elaborate hair do, and have it restyled the next day for the coming week. "My hair is just about as long as yours, Onesan!" She said, smiling at me.

I asked her if she had been abroad, and where she hoped to travel to. "I went to Hong Kong with my clients once, and it was so different! Really amazing. I couldnt read the kanji at all," she blushed. "I hope some day I can go to America. It would be so cool to see New York!"

And now for the answer to the question all you gaijin have been waiting for...Why is her face painted white?

"Long, long ago, when geiko began to entertain in dimly lit tea houses, there was no electricity. Geiko usually entertained at night, and the white paint helped to reflect what little light there was, illuminating their faces and making it easy for all the party people to see. It wasn't meant for bright flourescent lights. I can see how some people might think its a little scary. But in the low light of the teahouses, I think its beautiful."~Mamechika

Before we left, she asked if we wanted to take our picture with her, but I was so nervous I was afraid to get too close to her. The Mother of the teahouse told me to move in closer, but everytime I moved she just smiled and said 'a little more.' "I'm sorry!" I apologized, "I'm just a little..."

"Nervous?" Mamechika finished my sentence.

"Yeah," I blushed.

"Don't be! I was nervous too!" She smiled.

As we slowly slipped through the noren of the teahouse, she sat, poised as porcelain, thanking us for our time. As I looked back to see her disappear behind the noren, I felt a sadnesss creeping through me. Luckily I had forgotten my umbrella, and I ducked back in to get it. She smiled as I came back in, and as I apologized and grabbed my umbrella, she rose both of her hands up to her shoulders and waved them in typical Japanese school girl fashion, like when they part with their friends on the train or leave school. " Bai bai!" She smiled, her long flowing sleeves gathered in puddles at her elbows. I excitedly waved back as I ducked out of the room, thanking her and hoping that someday, we'd meet again.