You have to take it calmly. There is no other option. On the approaches to Siem Reap, the city that serves as a base to visit the temples of Angkor, the traffic is heavier than my grandmother’s stew. The driver deals with trucks, motorcycles, tuk-tuks (or rickshaws), tractors, cars, coaches and pedestrians. However, as we move further north, the road becomes clearer. The houses that surrounded it disappear. We also left the rice fields behind. Some strings of fruit trees appear. Then, patches of closed jungle alternate with open fields where the charred stumps of recently felled trees still stand.
It took us three hours to reach the checkpoint. There you pay the entrance fee to the Temple of Preah Vihear, but you still have to get on a jeep that goes up the last ramps, half an hour of sharp curves and a terrifying slope. The route balances between Cambodia and Thailand. And when the border was drawn at the beginning of the last century, it was not clear which side Preah Vihear fell on.
Finally, in 1962, the International Court of The Hague ruled that it belonged to Cambodia. Wars followed, plunging Southeast Asia into a bloody orgy. Preah Vihear was not spared, and was the scene of the negotiation that ended with the surrender of the last Khmer Rouge in 1998. Finally, in 2008, it was included in the UNESCO world heritage catalogue, which did not prevent it from becoming heated. again the dispute over its ownership, which led to the deployment of hundreds of soldiers on each side of the border. In 2009 and 2011 the maneuvers were repeated, with some skirmishes and some shooting.
But today, when I finally reach the first flight of steps, nothing allows me to guess it. The staircase ends under the gaze of two thick snakes, which raise their seven heads. In Khmer art, no older nagas are known. A wide paved avenue follows, which leads to another staircase. Above waits the first gopura, a monumental entrance tower. The construction, which is ten centuries old, makes it impossible to see what comes next. And, when it is overcome, another paved avenue appears, which ascends to another staircase, with the corresponding gopura above.
The route, straight as an arrow, goes up the slope from north to south. You have to cross two more gopuras before getting a glimpse of the main enclosure. A wall surrounds the first patio; a gallery, the second. In the center, finally, you reach the sanctum sanctorum dedicated to the god Shiva. Inside, a saffron-robed monk welcomes and blesses pilgrims. Behind it rose the ancient prang, the spiked tower sculpted in imitation of Mount Meru, the center of all the universes and the abode of Shiva. But all that remains of the prang is a pile of rubble. Jumping over stones, running across roofs, over eaves and through the branches of trees, macaques chase each other, play, fight and make love.
Finish the enclosure. But, to understand its reason, it is necessary to advance beyond the last wall, a few steps. Then the edge of the abyss is reached. Preah Vihear sits on a spur that rises until it culminates in this arrogant prow. Preah Vihear dominates the dense, green plains, crossed by few roads and punctuated with some ponds, which extend far below, at its foot, and to the horizon. This is how the gods will see the world from their thrones.
In any case, just in case the slightest hint of arrogance had passed on to me, one dinner will be enough to return me to my mortal essence. The night has closed, determined to demonstrate how dense the darkness can be. The waiter serves a papaya salad and with it, the lesson. Even the most tender dish can hide hell. And, with the first bite, a legion of demons assaults me. Green papaya salad without chili? The waiter looks at me astonished: he cannot conceive it without the abrasive spiciness of it. It would be like asking for oxtail without oxtail.
