Saturday, July 14, 2007

The Outer Circle

I met Sinoun at the reception desk/bar at Earthwalkers. She is dark from the sun with big teeth that fill her wide smile. She is a friend of one of the girls who works there. I asked her if she wanted to go to the old market for dinner. We went to a place I like called Le Grand Cafe. The building is French Colonial. It has a grand central staircase surrounded with potted palms. They lead to the open air balcony that comprises the entire the second floor. Pretty brown skinned Khmer girls in black and white uniforms flutter around us. Big brushed nickel overhead fans with wooden blades spin overhead. We are sitting at a cast iron bistro table with a marble top. Behind me there is another huge potted palm. The street below us buzzes with motorbikes and then, the occasional ox-cart. Just beyond me a big German with thick glasses sips a tiny cocktail as he enjoys his cigarette.

First she tells me she is a chef at a hotel. Then she tells me she is the assistant to the chef and makes the cold sandwiches. Then she tells me she is actually a waiter. I stop there before we work our way down to floor scrubber.

She offers to take me on the outer loop the next day. We zip from temple to temple on her red moto. The breeze feels nice in the dense jungle humidity and I have to hold onto my hat on the bumpy road of red earth. The outer loop is not on the scale of the inner loop but still... riveting. She could not be more bored. The gentle curves of the stone Apsara, the Sanskrit inscriptions nothing makes an imprint on her. She was born here and had never ventured beyond Angkor Wat or Angkor Thom.
"What is it you see when you look at this?"She asks me.
"I imagine the million plus people that lived here. I see their wooden homes and the streets that must of filled this great enclave. I think about their kitchens and shops and animals. I think about their hand woven clothing and ornamentation. I think about their language and rituals and hierarchy. I hear the voices of their children at play. These stones are just the skeleton left behind but you can still feel the vibrations of a great civilization."
Her eyes have completely glazed over.

Later. I ask her later what she would like to do.
"Whatever you like."
"This is your town, what would you like to do?"
"Shopping."
"Ok, lets go shopping."
"You buy me?"
"Sure, whatever you want."
She leads me down the unlit streets of old town. We have to tread gingerly around the sewage and trash that runs in the gutters. Little beggars dart forward from the dark alleyways. Then, like a mirage, we come to a brightly lit modern convenience store. Only it's built for the convenience of westerners. The prices while cheap are unquestionably beyond the reach of the locals. She goes directly to the aisle of hand creams, shampoos and other beauty products. She softly runs her fingers along the smooth curves of the plastic dispensers. She gazes long and longingly at the English text that I am sure are a mystery to her. Nothing can break her spell of fascination. Her look is one of awe and devotion. A devotion that a thousand years ago her ancestors might have reserved for a Buddha in a great stone temple.

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