Kompong Cham Temples

Monday is the culmination of Chhum Ben and we have plans to visit more temples. In practice we should visit seven (you never know where the evil spirits are lurking). We make it to six (though we don’t pray at all) so we will have to cross our fingers and touch wood for good measure.

The first is just on the edge of Kompong Cham. It is a typical functioning temple, but build amid the 14th century ruins of a Wat. (Wat just means temple, but I will reserve it for ancient ones.) If I had a choice, of all the temples I’ve visited so far this is the one I would worship in. I don’t have to climb 280 steps up a mountain (that comes later in the day, when the sun is hotter) or block out the smell and noise of the big city. For sheer beauty this temple wins. But it also has the power of the lost history of its Wat and hundreds of years of amassed prayer. It also has a small population of macaques, greyish-brown furry monkeys with expressive faces; our first personal encounter. We have seen them from a tuk tuk in Phnom Penh, boinking of course.

Anna-Marie usually makes fun of my penchance for photography rocks, but the temple ruins are unexpectedly colourful. We often see them photographed in black and white (and I intend to do this myself) but the stone is steel blue with vertical streaks of bright yellow-orange moss staining them.

As we are nearing the end of our walk about the temple a tourist police office approaches and requests $3/person admission fee (for the two foreigners). I pay this, but Anna-Marie becomes suspicious of the amount (having read that $1-2 is typical). She sets off in pursuit of the officer with Dara to translate. He stonewalls for fifteen minutes, first saying he cannot provide a receipt (Anna-Marie must have one to submit to her NGO). After persisting, he produces a receipt book, records the data, but refuses to hand it over (for internal use only). This still fails to provide us (and our imaginary NGO) with a receipt. He then agrees to a hand written one on a page in her notebook, writing the date and producing a small rubber stamp to officially seal it. But he refuses to include the amount, his name, or badge number. Anna-Marie persists; if it really is three dollars it would be normal to include that on a receipt. Finally, he wheels about and heads off, the three of us in pursuit. We get to his motorcycle where he produces an official receipt, which clearly states the amount is $2/person, and a refund of his personal service charge. Anna-Marie is my hero.

Phnom Pros and Phnom Srei (man hill and woman hill) lie west of Kompong Cham. The two hills mythologize a classic battle of the sexes, where the women trick the men into building a smaller hill. As compensation, today Phnom Pros has more on top of it; but as Phnom Srei offers the better view we climb it. The citadel consists of a very small temple hardly more than an alter, a fountain, a few covered rest areas, and food and drink vendors (who have toted their coolers, tables and chairs, and supplies up the 280 steps). The view is grand; to the east both Kompong Cham and the Mekong glisten.

Below, on a much smaller hill, between Phnom Pros and Phnom Srei, is a modern temple, the activities of the final day of Chhum Ben in full swing. It is a cross between Easter and a fall fair. Loud pop music and monks chanting blare out of competing speakers; musicians accompany dancing actors (dressed as monkeys and clowns); kiosks sell food, candy, and toys; and games of chance amuse. My favourite is a child’s game: three darts for 500 riel, pop three balloons and win I prize. I play twice (and lose) in the hopes of winning a can of beer, passing over the stuffed animals, candy, and pop.

Below the temple are several ornate buildings, and two giant buddhas, one standing in a diorama, the other reclining. One small building houses a giant concrete lotus blossom, filled with human skulls. During the reign of the Khmer Rouge, there was a local massacre of villagers. Some of them, from starvation, had eaten food reserved for the Khmer Rouge. The response was to kill hundreds and bury them in a mass grave. Later, more villagers dug up the remains and brought them to the temple.