They weren't any better than us

For Vietnamese New Year, Calah, Alicia, and I went to the great, the awe-inspiring, the one and only tourist-ridden Angkor Wat.


On the first day we decided we'd watch the sunset from atop one of the temple-mountains. Climbing up that old, old rock face, I could hardly help but have a few thoughts. First thought: Ancient Angkorians were obviously very fit.
And upon reaching the top, second thought: Holy cow that's a lot of tourists.
How am I supposed to have my epic Angkor Wat sunset experience with all these people here cramping my style? How am I supposed to take pictures of exotic landscapes with modern people in the way?

And it happened like that all week until it started to seem a little ridiculous. People were constantly stepping into each others' photos and then apologizing, like if Grandma saw your pictures from vacation and there was anybody in the picture she didn't know she would cut you out of her will. Or if your friends found out that there were actual tourists at Angkor Wat (never mind that you yourself are one) suddenly they would recognize you for the Lame Poser you really are.

So then I had a third thought to chew on for the rest of the week: Why do we love to pretend that we are the only tourists here?

I think part of it comes from Western individualism. We like to think of ourselves as independent, as pioneers. We don't like to be reminded that we are not the first, and definitely not the last, and most certainly not the most important individuals ever to see this amazing place.

And a (perhaps related) component is the desire for the exotic. We don't normally like to travel for long distances in cramped quarters only to see other people just like us. (Though of course, we do still want food that is palatable to us and hotels that are safe and clean and have pools like our hotels at home.)

But I think the most powerful reason is the sneaking suspicion that ancient peoples were so much cooler than people like us. I mean, what's the modern American equivalent of Angkor Wat? The White House? Lame.  The Mall of America? Ugh. Gag me with a spoon. And not only are modern structures not as cool, but they won't even last for half as long as Angkor already has—and they didn't even have the luxury of fork lifts back then! Yessiree, we tourists are major lame and ashamed of it.

But while that may be true, there's probably another side to the story. Looking at the heavy slabs of stone I was struck by the sheer amount of manpower required to build just one of the hundreds of monuments that populate the ancient capital of the Angkor kingdom. Who provided all that labor? Probably slaves, or serfs who were as good as slaves. Who could command such a great effort from his people? Only a despot.

King Jayawarman VII, despot extraordinaire

And even if their monuments are still standing, the fact remains that their empire eventually collapsed, just like every other empire since the invention of history. Just like modern Western hegemony will someday also kick the bucket.  

The urge to romanticize the ancient peoples of foreign lands is completely understandable. Life in the 21st century just feels so ordinary. But even if ancient Angkorians were really cool, I don't think that it means they were necessarily any better than us. They probably would have had a few things to teach us, for sure, but it's not like history has made zero progress since they disappeared from the stage. Things like women's rights and the 8-hour work day are only a few of the may perqs of being a modern-day human. 

So the next time you feel guilty for being a WASP or a suburbanite or some other totally lame, over-privileged segment of the population, just remember Angkor and realize that, the way history works, someone is always gaining power at the expense of others, and the only thing you have control over is what you do with the position you have been given in this mess. History is not your game to play, it's your own life that's yours to play.

So peace out!

They weren't any better than us

For Vietnamese New Year, Calah, Alicia, and I went to the great, the awe-inspiring, the one and only tourist-ridden Angkor Wat.


On the first day we decided we'd watch the sunset from atop one of the temple-mountains. Climbing up that old, old rock face, I could hardly help but have a few thoughts. First thought: Ancient Angkorians were obviously very fit.
And upon reaching the top, second thought: Holy cow that's a lot of tourists.
How am I supposed to have my epic Angkor Wat sunset experience with all these people here cramping my style? How am I supposed to take pictures of exotic landscapes with other white people who look just like me in the way?

And it happened like that all week until it started to seem a little ridiculous. People were constantly stepping into each others' photos and then apologizing, like if Grandma saw your pictures from vacation and there was anybody in the picture she didn't know she would cut you out of her will. Or if your friends found out that there were actual tourists at Angkor Wat (never mind that you yourself are one) suddenly they would recognize you for the Lame Poser you really are.

So then I had a third thought to chew on for the rest of the week: Why do we love to pretend that we are the only tourists here?

I think part of it comes from Western individualism. We like to think of ourselves as independent, as pioneers. We don't like to be reminded that we are not the first, and definitely not the last, and most certainly not the most important individuals ever to see this amazing place.

And a (perhaps related) component is the desire for the exotic. We don't normally like to travel for long distances in cramped quarters only to see other people just like us. (Though of course, we do still want food that is palatable to us and hotels that are safe and clean and have pools like our hotels at home.)

But I think the most powerful reason is the sneaking suspicion that ancient peoples were so much cooler than people like us. I mean, what's the modern American equivalent of Angkor Wat? The White House? Lame.  The Mall of America? Ugh. Gag me with a spoon. And not only are modern structures not as cool, but they won't even last for half as long as Angkor already has—and they didn't even have the luxury of fork lifts back then! Yessiree, we tourists are major lame and ashamed of it.

But while that may be true, there's probably another side to the story. Looking at the heavy slabs of stone I was struck by the sheer amount of manpower required to build just one of the hundreds of monuments that populate the ancient capital of the Angkor kingdom. Who provided all that labor? Probably slaves, or serfs who were as good as slaves. Who could command such a great effort from his people? Only a despot.

King Jayawarman VII, despot extraordinaire

And even if their monuments are still standing, the fact remains that their empire eventually collapsed, just like every other empire since the invention of history. Just like modern Western hegemony will someday also kick the bucket.  

The urge to romanticize the ancient peoples of foreign lands is completely understandable. Life in the 21st century just feels so ordinary. But even if ancient Angkorians were really cool, I don't think that it means they were necessarily any better than us. They probably would have had a few things to teach us, for sure, but it's not like history has made zero progress since they disappeared from the stage. Things like women's rights and the 8-hour work day are only a few of the may perqs of being a modern-day human. 

So the next time you feel guilty for being a WASP or a suburbanite or some other totally lame, over-privileged segment of the population, just remember Angkor and realize that, the way history works, someone is always gaining power at the expense of others, and the only thing you have control over is what you do with the position you have been given in this mess. History is not your game to play, it's your own life that's yours to play.

So peace out!

Holiday Photo Report

This holiday season I made two trips. First, a trip down south to visit a longtime friend of my grandmother and see her hometown in Ben Tre and her current residence in Ho Chi Minh City. Second, a trip to Laos with my host uncle Hùynh and sister Hạnh that included a trip across the border to Thailand for an afternoon.

Click on the links for the detailed report:

Impressions of Saigonese Soups (and other secondary things)

Visit to Ben Tre including a snake farm, lots of coconuts, and heaps of fresh fruit.

Trip to Laos (and an afternoon in Thailand) at the invitation of my host family.

Slippery Green Leaves of Grace

The spring rain has begun. I heard it falling and splashing under motorcycle tires from my bed this morning. Naturally I was not looking forward to being wet and cold and most likely late for work because the buses are always overloaded on rainy days. But for some reason, when I left the house, umbrella in hand, what I noticed was not the mud in the gutters or the puddles or the dripping hem of my left shirtsleeve, but rather the way the rain made all the branches of the trees black and the leaves a slick and vivid green.

The reason for this happy turn of events was that as I was walking to the bus stop I saw that the gate of Hà Pagoda was open and decided to step inside, buses and work be damned.

Perhaps the fact that I've lived for a year and a half in a city of four million honking scooters has eroded my standards for quiet. Or perhaps there really is something about a walled garden, incense, a fishpond, and rain falling on a tiled courtyard that is more silent than silence. In either case, the effect was the same: I began to settle down. And since praying is what you do in a pagoda, I started to pray. And as I prayed, I was given a gift.

As I watched the incense float heavily off into the wet air, the gift I received was the realization that this is not about me. Yesterday was not about me, or what I did, or how much fun I had with my friends last night. Today is not about me, or the long soggy commute to the office ahead of me, or the computer I will sit in front of when I finally get there. And tomorrow is most certainly not about me either, or about the pain and pleasure I will experience then. And because it is not about me, I am free to notice the world for what it is, rather than for the obstacles it puts in my path. I am free to notice the color of the leaves in rain.

I cannot put into words what a relief it was to remember this, what a relief it is every time I truly pray to remember that I am not the center of the universe, nor the master of my own destiny. So I won't try. Let it suffice to say simply that I walked through an open door like grace and received there the eyes to see the true color of things. The true color of my small self, and the true color of this majestic, sopping wet, slippery green world made by God.