Angkor

Writing about Angkor is a bit like visiting it; you don't know where to begin. It is ancient, vast and spectacular; you see, think and feel so many things in the furiously busy days you devote to it, that by the end you are completely knackered. But here goes...

The Khmer empire flourished in what is now Cambodia from the 9th to the 13th century AD. They were skilled and intelligent people; extremely efficient farmers and irrigators, and with the surplus wealth their talent generated, they built Angkor; the greatest pre-industrial city to have existed anywhere in the world.

Angkor Wat is the largest and most famous of the temples to have survived, but it is only one of many. Each of them is a model of the universe; the central prasat or tower representing the cosmic mountain, the dwelling place of the Gods. From this centre the rest of the world, continents and oceans, fan out in an orderly fashion, in contrast to the primordial chaos.

The remains speak of different aspects of Khmer beliefs and techniques, shining light on the specific areas that they best articulate. Angkor Wat's size is matched for impact by the breathtaking detail of the stonework. Bas reliefs cover the five and a half kilometre perimeter wall, intricate carvings on every stone.

Angkor Wat from the south-west pool

Titillatingly detailed carvings, Angkor Wat

The temple of Banteay Srei holds the finest examples of carving, detailed and wonderfully preserved. Less well preserved, but in many ways more fascinating are those found at Kbal Spean, carved into the banks and bed of a mountain stream by the hermits who lived there. The extraordinary patience and craftsmanship required to create them testify to the strength of the Khmer faith, and how deeply it reached into the most unlikely places.

Riverbed carvings at Kbal Spean

Carvings at Banteay Srei

Elsewhere, the irresistible power of nature stamps its authority over the decaying buildings. Ta Prohm is the best example of a temple left at the mercy of the jungle, and looks today how most of the sites would have appeared to the first Europeans; overgrown, crumbling and unspeakably beautiful. Walking around it, picking your way over tree trunks, roots and piles of rubble, you feel closer to the essence of the temples, and the strange wilderness in which they fell into disrepair and abandon.

The east gopura at Ta Som

The jungle entwines the temple of Ta Prohm

I thought perhaps Ta Prohm would be my favourite, but it was usurped by an unsung hero, in the shape of Banteay Samré. It is in remarkable condition, the entire structure intact, and relatively small; so small that each enclosure is tightly shuffled to the next, making the incredible symmetry and structural perfection much easier to admire. And there is the added joy that comes from being able to leap across the narrow gaps from one continent to the next.

The sun's getting low in the sky, and with the walls so close to one another and the shadows long and crisp, Banteay Samré becomes a canvas of darkness and light. I doubt it is as spectacular as sunrise over Angkor Wat, but it is subtle and beautiful to see the little Khmer universe divided up like this. The light seems so important in Angkor; enhancing so many different qualities as it works its way around, shifting its focus to the tiniest corners and breathing life and detail into them.

Darkness and Light, Banteay Samré

Colonnettes in Angkor Wat

The Khmers placed lakes and ponds to reflect the temples and the world that surrounds them, multiplying their glory and wonder. A similar effect can occur inside the temples; when doorways line up in succession, or in long galleries the senses cannot count or measure. The impression they create hints at infinity; the multiplication of the world and an irresistible magnetism draws you inside or along.

It's hard to truly envisage Angkor in its prime, and whenever you begin to grasp the size and scale of the city, it becomes almost overpowering. For every stone still standing, hundreds lie scattered all around you.

The Khmers built monuments to the order and structure of the universe, and then the universe clawed so much of it back, leaving a fraction of what once stood remaining. But so spectacular are those pillars that still reach above the water, that they hint at a world we can't really comprehend. To be lost in it, in the heat, dust and sweat, and to puzzle over it, is a joy and a privilege that should not be missed.

Go on Mỹ Sơn

And behold, for on the morning of the seventh day He woke, and there was no more rain.

But be careful what you wish for. It turns out that as well as dampening my spirits, the rain has been keeping hordes of tourists locked up in the resorts that circle the old town. Now they roam free; it's like some activists busted out the denizens of the local zoo, and the charming side of Hoi An that shone through the drizzle is suddenly overrun.

The locals have stepped things up a gear too, and are competing fiercely for the extra dollars. Walking down the street being greeted by each person trying to flog me something, I feel obliged to offer cheery replies. From every shadow, alleyway and shop front comes another salutation and entreaty to buy something else I don't want.

-Hello
-Morning

Keep walking...

-Hello please
-Hello thank you

Next one:

-You want buy something from my shop?
-No thank you

From behind a tailor's dummy:

-You want buy nice clothes mister?
-No thank you

-Taxi for you?
-No thanks

-Boat trip for you my friend?
-No thanks, I get sea sick

Still walking...

-Motorbike tour?
-Nope

Keep going...

-Breakfast?
-No thank you, I've already eaten

-Massage for you sir?
-No I'm fine thanks

-You want eat in my restaurant
-No thank you, not hungry

-Nice shoes for you mister?
-Don't wear shoes, thank you

-Hire motorbike?
-No thanks

Keep walking. Stop. Turn back...

-How much for half day?
-80,000
-Done

I hand over the cash (about £2.50) and he hands over the keys, together with a crash helmet that offers about as much protection as, and is slightly less fetching than, an upturned salad bowl. With a hand scribbled map stuffed in my pocket, I set about getting as far away as I can in as short a time possible.

Okay, so it's not Hanoi or Saigon, but it's still crazy. Oncoming trucks and buses, dust, fumes, people carrying trees on their bicycles. Cows, dogs, chickens, old women, kids. It's like playing Paperboy but in real life and a lot faster. I get the hang of it after a few tentative minutes. The trick is not to ride too fast, and to remember that you only need the throttle, brake and the horn. Other extras, like mirrors and indicators, are completely superfluous.

Settled into the rhythm of things, I really begin to enjoy myself. In the hour and a bit I'm on the road, I don't see a single other tourist. And by the time I reach my destination, the ancient Cham temple complex of Mỹ Sơn they've all left there for the day as well. I'm in stunning surroundings, wandering in and out of the ruins, and there is not a soul to be seen; just invisible crickets and frogs for company.

It's probably not the most visually impressive of the many historic sites I've been to on my travels, but it's still impressive. The temples and tombs date from between the 4th and 14th centuries. For a thousand years, this was the greatest religious site in the Kingdom of Champa, a once great seafaring empire that controlled central and southern Vietnam but was eventually squeezed out by the north. In 1969 the site was subjected to US carpet bombing, and remains surrounded by unexploded ordinance. It's hard to tell what accounts for this, but most of the statues I see have been decapitated.

It happens to all Great empires in the end.

City in the clouds

Some places are, quite simply, very, very special. Trying to define them with words, even pictures, feels futile and disrespectful. All you can do is wait until you see them for yourself, sit quietly somewhere, and appreciate them just as they are. Machu Picchu is without question such a place.

Via a bus to Ollantaytambo, another bus, and the train that weaves up the Sacred Valley towards Aguas Calientes, I made my way. My stomach almost completely recovered and buoyed by the excitement of what lay ahead, I ate a splendid meal in town before getting an early night in anticipation of a very early morning. The river roared outside my window and sent me into a blissful sleep.

It also disguised the sound of the rain. The torrential rain. It did such a good job, that I wasn't even aware of it at all until I stepped outside at 6.30 am, hopelessly unprepared. Luckily it abated a little as we made our snake like ascent to the summit and the famous 'Lost City' of the Incas. I'm not quite sure who was meant to have 'Lost' it, but they definitely found it again, that's for sure.

Even at this time there are plenty of people knocking about, though it's hard to see them through the clouds. I resist the temptation to look too much and wind my way up the slippery steps to the Hut of the Caretaker for the classic view of the ruins. It is completely obscured by cloud, but I don't really mind.

In some ways more incredible than the city itself is its location. As the clouds gradually dissipate, stunning ragged mountains appear from the mist. The Incas built the city here to be closer to the Gods. They succeeded. The sense of being somewhere both intensely spiritual and physically improbable see to that.

History is not within the grasp of mortal men. Quite the opposite. We lie within its reach. Every now and then its icy fingers tingle down the spine and we may be lucky enough to feel it. Reaching out to us, breathing life into us through the actions and beliefs of people who have long since shuffled off. In a quiet spot in Machu Picchu, or Pisac, or any of the other ruins in the Sacred Valley, you can almost hear it, whistling between the great stone walls.

My week in Ruins

Cuzco itself is surrounded by a number of notable Inca ruins, and more still lie in the Sacred Valley of the Río Urubamba.

From the centre of town you can walk up to Saqsaywamán. It will almost kill you, but you can, and accompanied by a couple of Aussies from the hostel, I do. It's a big sprawling site with spectacular views over the city. It is also overrun with tourists, many of them Latinos, with the odd group of Americans discreetly blending in amongst them.

Blending in

This is my first proper experience of an Inca site. Perhaps the most remarkable thing is the stonemasonry. First of all, they got these massive stones to wherever they needed them without using the wheel (although they knew about it, it was pretty much useless on the terrain). Then they would somehow cut and fit them together so tightly that a sheet of paper won't fit in the cracks. Modern attempts to replicate the possible techniques they used have been fruitless. Their walls were also built to withstand earthquakes, making them virtually ineradicable. Which is why so many of them remain today.

Inca stonemasonry

Saqsaywamán

Half an hour or so from Cuzco, on the banks of the Urubamba river, lies the little town of Písac. And on the sides of a mountain that looms up from the town, lie the remains of the old Inca settlement. The hillsides are terraced all the way round, for agricultural and defensive reasons. At the top, the buildings cling impossibly to the rocks. It's a wonderful place to walk around - far less tourists and many more opportunities for peace. I spend a few long minutes at the top, clinging desperately to my hat in the gusting wind and wondering how the hell they managed to build the bloody place.

Písac

Via an absurdly precarious footpath, a tunnel and some nice stone steps alongside a sheer drop, you can make your way to the other side of the mountain, more ruins, and if you're stupid, like me, you can make the 45 minute descent into town.

Further up the Sacred Valley you hit the tiny town of Ollantaytambo. Ruins and terracing ascend the hillsides yet again, but the town itself this time is pretty much unchanged since the Incas were around (probably a few more hostels nowadays).

It's a cool little place with friendly people, but there are a lot of gringos in town, myself included. And that's because this is the last stop on the way to the greatest site of them all. Machu Picchu. And I cannot wait.