Travel: Exploring Cambodia's temples in the monsoon

The appearance of dragonflies swerving at eye level foretells rain in Cambodia. When we travel through the country in late September to early October, swarms of yellow-striped flutterers, which resemble bumble bees, with their distinct yellow and black stripes, seemingly flattened and pinned against diaphanous wings dart around us. The dragonflies flourish in the rainy season (from May to October) and while they themselves are objects of beauty, their presence tells both of Cambodia’s ecosystem and beliefs.

In the rains, pools fringe the roads, creating the perfect breeding ground and ensuring abundant food. Dragonflies wouldn’t frequent a stagnant smelly swamp, as they prefer clean water, making them “natural bioindicators of a healthy ecosystem” showing us that most parts of Cambodia are rich in clean air, flowing water and verdant landscapes at this time of the year.

We see numerous dragonflies as rain is our whimsical companion through our nine-day holiday in Cambodia, which takes us to the temple city Siem Reap, the island Koh Rong, and the capital Phnom Penh. While most tourists choose the drier months of November to March, the country bestows upon us its own wet charms.

The winding roads in Siem Reap were often empty for miles, except for our tuk-tuk chugging past paddy fields and roadside stores selling grilled meat. With most rural houses built on stilts, people went about the business of life, even while walking through muddy knee-high water just to reach their homes. In endless puddles children sloshed around, with a few trying to catch fish. We often passed bridges where the naga or eternal snake formed the balustrade. These snakes are associated with water and reminded us of the land’s many water connections.

Riding in a tuk-tuk through the countryside, every few metres we would see a hammock tied between trees. Here men and women and children enjoy their afternoon siestas. Hammocks are strung by the river, by lakes, by streams, in roadside dhabas and even in tuk-tuks. Here there is both room and opportunity for a midday family picnic, for an afternoon nap, for a leisurely lunch by the river.

In Goa, we call it susegad, in Assam lahe lahe. It is a peace of mind and tranquillity of life that brings not lethargy but contentment, and is typical of water-drenched lands. But then, while revelling in the slow joys of the countryside one will suddenly pass a “landmine museum” which rudely yanks one to the dark and violent past of this country, crimes that were perpetrated both by its own people and by foreign forces. It is easy to forget that this is a country with a brutal history, one where a civil war took place only a few decades ago.

Rome, Delhi, Paris might be the great cities of the world given their profusion of ancient sites, but all are essentially urban metropolises today. Siem Reap is somehow still marvellously sylvan. In this season, especially. Monuments become one with the earth, trees prop up ancient lintels, moss greenwashes facades, water unmoors foundations, sky falls through walls, sun descends through windows, wind rushes down stairs, rain stomps over towers.

Siem Reap might be best known for Angkor Wat, the 12th-century temple and the world’s largest religious monument, but the town yields numerous other pleasures. We often have entire temples all to ourselves, and even in the popular ones, we can always find a quiet corner, infused with rain and incense, to marvel at the sights. One is constantly amazed. How can there be so much beauty (both man-made and natural) in a single location?

The splendour of Siem Reap is not only in the glorious architecture of its monuments that date back to the 10th and 11th centuries—the back and forth of history, how the monuments have moved between Hinduism and Buddhism and survived marauders and colonisers—but rather how the monuments and nature converse.

Each temple nestles its own glories, and everyone will have their own top choice. To me, Banteay Srei, 30km from Angkor Wat, is arguably the most beautiful with its intricate and detailed stone carvings dedicated to Shiva, which was commissioned, interestingly, by a courtier and not a king.

The temple that is particularly memorable at this time of the year is Ta Prohm, built without mortar. Tree trunks and roots are the new sculptors of the temple. While most tourists will see the monument covered in brownish moss, we see it clad in a cloak of pompous green, offset by the laterite red and the greys skies. The silk cotton tree’s roots clawing across the foundation and the canopy crowning the monument makes the temple seem alive.

The rainy season, with its brimming moats and overflowing canals, best illustrates how the Khmers became “one of the great hydraulic civilisations of history” (William Dalrymple, The Golden Road). The Khmer Empire capital Siem Reap was the largest city in the pre-industrial world. It is now believed that they succeeded in feeding a large population (around a million people compared to around 30,000 in London) because the Khmer hydro-engineers figured out how to harness the force of the monsoon for the benefit of paddy cultivation.

The location of Cambodia is such that it is waterlogged in the rainy season and drought prone in summer, but the engineers of the time created elaborate reservoirs, diverted rivers and constructed canal systems, allowing for the profusion of fish and rice. The river that runs by Angkor Wat was made over 1,000 years ago, and it now runs like a silver ribbon through the town.

The ingenuity of the engineers can also be seen at North Baray, a large ancient reservoir, latticed with lotuses and lilies bordered with mangrove, stretching as far as the eye can see. At this time of the year, the waterbodies are sites of recreation for Cambodians who come from neighbouring provinces, dressed in their best white dresses and ready with their phone cameras.

If Siem Reap immersed us in the natural and ancient, in Koh Rong, an island in the Sihanoukville Province, we see Robam Moni Mekhala, a traditional Cambodian rain dance, play out in the skies.

On this island, resplendent with white sands, coral reefs and sandy coves, we get two days of rain and one of sunshine. We watch contingents of grey clouds break over the rippling blue waters, as thunder rumbles above and lightning blazes.

Robam Moni Mekhala is a dance drama between the goddess Moni Mekhala and the demon Reamso. Moni Mekhala is awarded a crystal ball after winning a battle of wits, set by her teacher, against the demon. The demon is jealous and tries to seize it from her with his axe. According to the legend, the sound of his axe produces thunder, and lightning is born when she throws the crystal ball in the sky, which disorients the demon, allowing her to escape.

To be in Cambodia in the rains is to embrace the clouds and its many silver linings.

Nandini Nair is Associate Director, New India Foundation and a literary journalist.