What do you do with a free afternoon in a Cambodian city? Hang out with monks.
After three days of temple hopping around the famous Angkor Wat and a motorbike pilgrimage to a remote temple on the border of Thailand, I had two days to chill in Siem Reap and took up the invitation to visit a Buddhist pagoda.
I had met Sam, a 25-year-old monk, at Prasat Preah Vihear - the 900-year-old temple I visited amidst armed Cambodian soldiers waiting for a second Thai attack on the World Heritage listed site - two days ago.
I had never been to a pagoda and was intrigued. Sam gave me a tour and I was surprised to find the pagoda so open to the public. Another tourist was taking photos amongst the students who attended the on-site primary school, the outsiders who used the pagoda as a short-cut between their homes and the city and even motorbikes and bicycles on the dirt road that cut through the centre.
Huge tombs and a cremation box dominated the courtyard. We went inside the new dining hall, beautifully decorated with Buddhist images, which was erected last year so the pagoda's 70 monks, 10 nuns and two clergy could share breakfast and lunch together (they are not allowed to eat past 1.30pm), sitting on cushions at low tables.
The monks' rooms, like a series of townhouses, are lined on one side of the pagoda with a water pump in front, around which the monks congregate to wash in the evenings.
After my tour, Sam took me to his room. A bit bigger than the size of an average bedroom in Australia, it was extremely well organised with his few belongings - study books, a pile of cassettes (yes, cassettes!) and a couple of chairs.
His large wooden bed is covered with just bamboo mats. I made the mistake of sitting down on it, expecting a soft mattress only to land hard on the wooden slats!
Sam's friends also popped in and I sat on a chair amongst the orange and brown clad monks. I felt very at ease although I could not believe that I was hanging out with a group of Cambodian monks in their personal quarters. It was also surreal when they pulled out their ringing mobile phones from within their saffron (later when I saw monks without their saffron I learned that they have a vest underneath, which has a pocket where the phones are mysteriously kept). Smoking monks and cans of soft drink also seemed out of place.
Most of the monks could speak English well and happily revealed their backgrounds and what led them to the monkhood. Some want to join the Army after their religious "service", others dream of university or working as a tour guide.
They live simple lives, surviving off donations from followers. When I took a huge bag of fruit the next day, I received the traditional prayer from Sam.
As it got dark, they arranged for a friend to drive me home on his motorbike and I agreed to come back the next day to practice English with the students. The monks teach outsiders and their colleagues in the dark, demountable classrooms. They were enthusiastic to have a native English speaker and their favourite question was "are you married?"
It was an insightful way to spend a couple of afternoons in Cambodia. Amongst the shopping in Siem Reap's many markets, getting a one-hour massage for $6 and people watching in the many, many cafes, restaurants and bars (there's even a Pub St!), I also had a fascinating few hours at the Cambodia Land Mine Museum.
It was established by a former Khmer Rouge combatant, Aki Ra, who, as a child, was responsible for laying thousands of land mines during the 1970s but has since realised the damage his actions caused and has dedicated his life to deactivating the three million mines estimated to still be in the country, hence the numerous "danger" signs I had seen up north.
According to a documentary played at the museum, about six million mines were strewn all over the country during years of civil war. They have killed or injured - usually leaving the victim an amputee - tens of thousands of Cambodians. I have seen the evidence myself: legless men using their arms to move themselves across the floor, a farmer hobbling down his dirt driveway with a prosthetic leg, a one-handed motorbike rider, just to describe a few.
Donations to the museum help to fund the attached school for children who have been injured by land mines. Their stories are told on displays in one of the rooms and make for very sad reading.
To finish off my last afternoon in Siem Reap, I took a walk along the city's river back to my guesthouse (which, by the way, is just $3 per night for a private room!). It was a calming end to a hectic week, watching tourists and locals sitting in benches along the river bank, usually in pairs and eating fried noodles from the street vendors - until at the end of the river, there lay a boy about 12 years old. I shook my head as a tourist squatted just a metre away and took a photo of the poor child sleeping on the cement before walking past him.
It was definitely time to move on, so the following morning I hopped on a bus to the capital, Phnom Penh.
Email a friend