“It’s so sad,” the schoolteacher said, shaking his head. “Land mines being planted to protect criminal activities. People hobbling around with feet blown off. Elephants wearing steel shoes so they can continue working on stumps. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder if I am still on the planet I was born on.”
24
“I see Kirk’s SUV up ahead,” Chantrea said.
Finally. I was getting a little paranoid driving in land mine country. The two boys on top of the car had jumped off earlier.
A battered white Land Rover with a faded U.N. insignia was in the clearing along with a truck and trailer. A bulldozer was on the trailer.
“Is that Kirk’s SUV?”
“Yes. Something he picked up after it was stolen or maybe abandoned by the U.N. Looks like they’re finished.” She pointed to a group of men off to my right down a path cut through the dense growth. “I’ll get the lunch I packed out of the back.”
Kirk waved to us as Chantrea parked the car to the left of his Land Rover.
I couldn’t help but notice as I got out of the car a small object inside Kirk’s vehicle. Crudely wrapped with newspaper and tied with string, it reminded me of wrapping I saw at the Russian Market. Some of the stalls there had boxes full of small relics that were unwrapped and visible to the eye, while other pieces were still wrapped in newspaper. My paranoid brain interpreted the wrapped package as booty from temple looting.
I looked around while I waited for Chantrea to get the food. She had told me the area that Kirk and his men were working on used to be a fertile rice field but abandoned decades ago during the civil war. Several mines had recently been discovered here.
The whole area was overgrown and heavily forested with trees and brush. As I gazed at the dense overgrowth to my left, something caught my eye. The longer I looked the more I was certain it was a temple, hidden behind the growth of the thick brushes and trees.
“Here.” Chantrea handed me a small baguette with slices of spicy chicken and pork wrapped in foil.
“Thanks. Look over there,” I said excitedly, pointing to the area. “I think it’s a temple.”
I wondered how many of these treasures were hiding in Cambodia, camouflaged by vegetation and jungle, still undiscovered.
“It is,” she said as she took a bite of her sandwich. “There are thousands of relic sites in Cambodia, most of them covered by jungle or brush just like this one.”
“Makes for open season for looters, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly.”
I moved closer to the area to get a better look. “Can we get to it? Has Kirk cleared it for mines?”
“I wouldn’t go there even if he did. This area is filled with snakes.”
I stopped in my tracks. She gave the answer so quickly, I wondered whether she was telling me the truth or if there was another reason she didn’t want me to see it. My gut feeling said it was the latter but I remembered my guidebook saying that the country had many varieties of poisonous snakes.
“We’ll find more accessible temples to look at.”
So far on the trip we hadn’t stopped at any.
It occurred to me that Kirk had the perfect job for obtaining and smuggling antiquities. He went to places where no one else did and his missions were not questioned because they were sanctioned by the government. Even better, no one looked over his shoulder since what he was doing was too damn dangerous.
“Let’s go talk to Kirk,” she said.
My feelings about Kirk were still mixed. I was definitely attracted to him but he had also lied to me. I was determined to find out what he and his pal Bullock were up to. I was sure he hadn’t seen me spying on them at the market, but by now Bullock could have told him he saw me there.
Kirk finished his business with the crew by the time we reached him.
“I see you two made it safely. Enjoy the ride so far?” Kirk directed his question to me with a grin. He had a pistol in a shoulder holster.
“Absolutely. I feel like a real urban adventurer. I’ve seen lots of rice fields, people, animals … and bad roads.”
“There are worse, believe me. You definitely stay off them at night.”
“Speaking of roads, I think we should head out for Siem Reap now,” Chantrea said, “before it gets too dark.”
“You’re right. Let’s plan on having a nice Khmer dinner in Siem Reap. On me. I’ll follow you two,” Kirk said.
* * *
“WE’RE MORE THAN halfway to Siem Reap,” Chantrea told me when we got back into her car. “It’ll still be daylight when we get there. None of us likes to travel rural roads at night. Along with the banditry, there are all kinds of animals, kids, and motos with no lights that pop out in front of you.”
So much for the road trip being safer than flying. Now I was sure it was arranged to keep an eye on me. “I take it we’ll go to Angkor Wat tomorrow morning.”
“Actually, I’ve arranged for both you and Kirk to stay at the site. It’s just a few minutes from town.”
I didn’t question why we were staying on the temple grounds instead of at a hotel in Siem Reap. Who wouldn’t want to stay at one of the most incredible places in the world? But I was curious about the sleeping arrangements.
“Is there a hotel at the site?”
“Only the kind with a canvas ceiling.”
“A tent?”
Chantrea laughed. “We’ve been experimenting with offering a camping experience to visitors. Many foreigners, especially the Australians and New Zealanders, prefer roughing it. Not exactly luxurious accommodations but you’ll have a great view, especially at sunset and sunrise.”
“I’ll love it.”
It certainly helped to know the right people. An offer like that didn’t come along every day. My father probably would’ve given his right arm to stay the night at Angkor Wat.
I just hoped the accommodations came with a modern bathroom, a wet bar, and a swimming pool to cool off in after seeing the ruins.
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF STATE
Bureau of Consular Affairs
Washington, D.C. 20520
Consular Information Sheet: CAMBODIA
ANGKOR WAT: The town of Siem Reap and the vicinity of the Angkor Wat temple complex remain officially open to tourists. The Embassy advises U.S. citizens to travel to these locations by air or to exercise caution if traveling by road or boat and to limit their movements to the city of Siem Reap, the main Angkor Wat temple complexes, and the main national auto routes.
25
The ancient temples and ruins of the vast Angkor site, the “Pyramids of Asia,” were located north of the Tonle Sap Lake and Siem Reap, about five miles from the town. We had traveled about two hundred miles north of the capital, most of it with the enormous lake some miles off to the left.
The region—forests and farms—looked pretty much like what I’d seen during the drive from the capital. But nothing prepared me for being waved past the front gate and seeing the ageless edifices of Angkor Wat in the distance, its towers inspired by the shape of the exotic lotus plant.
We arrived at sunset and Chantrea drove me to a spot where I could see the eerie, shadowy temple spires in the fading light. It was magical and otherworldly.
I felt every bit as excited, awed, and mystified as the first time I saw the Sphinx and pyramids outside Cairo.
Chantrea turned me over to Kirk and went off on administration business. She told me she’d take some time tomorrow to show me the complex and suggested I take in the Apsaras performance at the site that evening.
I told her not to bother, that I would rather see them by myself. I didn’t tell her I already had a guide in mind.
“We’ll have dinner about nine,” Kirk said. “It’ll be cooler then.”
That worked out good for me. While Angkor was usually closed after dark, the Apsaras show under lights was scheduled for that evening. I hoped I’d run into Nol’s friend, Bourey, when I went over for the show.
Chantrea hadn’t been kidding about the tent—that’s what was waiting for me at the Angkor site. The actual Angkor conservation park was enormous, miles in every direction. The experimental campsite for tourists wasn’t set up next to the temple complex but in a grove of trees several hundred yards away. Strings of bare lightbulbs ran from tree to tree.
A golf cart was parked outside each tent. “For going back and forth,” Kirk said. He showed me a can of mosquito repellant. “The mosquitoes are thirsty at dawn and dusk.”
Five tents, each representing a hotel room I supposed, were lined up in a row. A young couple with backpacks and Aussie accents said hello after they came out of their tent to head for the antiquity site. That’s what this tent city was geared for—backpackers, young people who stayed at hostels when they traveled. I was definitely the five-star hotel traveler.
“This is terrific,” Kirk said when he saw the look on my face. “You’ll be able to experience the real Cambodia up close. Isn’t this much more exciting than staying in a sanitized room in a luxury hotel?” he said, laughing.
“I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that I came halfway around the world to camp in a jungle with mosquitoes as roommates. Are there snakes around here?”
Chantrea had assured me there was only a “slight chance” that I’d get bitten by a deadly snake while walking among the ruins at night. After checking my guidebook and discovering that Cambodia wildlife included panthers, tigers, bears, and elephants, along with “numerous poisonous snakes,” her definition of “slight chance” wouldn’t make me take a walk by myself at night without a powerful flashlight and some kind of weapon. Too bad I didn’t have a gun like the one Kirk carried in a shoulder holster.
“There are snakes everywhere in the world, especially in the tropics. You’re much more likely to be annoyed by bugs that—”
“A simple ‘no’ would have done nicely. I hope those things aren’t what I think they are.”
“Those things” were small, square canvas shelters that looked suspiciously like they were meant to be a tropical version of an outhouse.
“Toilets and showers.”
“No roofs. What do you do when it rains?”
He grinned and shrugged. “You can shit and shower at the same time.”
I was afraid he’d say that. And after ten hours of a hot, sweaty trip, I was in desperate need of a shower.
“I suppose there’s no hot water in those showers?”
“I think you’ll get what you expect. Nice cool water. You’ll love it. Just don’t lick your lips while you’re in the shower.”
“Why?”
“There’s bottled water in your tent. The water used for showers is clean enough to bathe in, but I doubt if it’s drinkable. My stomach’s used to the local micros, yours will rebel.”
I estimated it would take three days for me to see Angkor Wat and Thom. One night in a tent was fine, but tomorrow I’d be checking into the Siem Reap version of the Ritz.
Kirk got on the phone to make arrangements for a meeting later while I went into the tent to change. I wondered what the “meeting” was about.
The tent was a double—two small “army” cots with a folding canvas end table between them, two racks for hanging clothes, and two bamboo benches for holding luggage. A reed mat covered most of the floor—but not under the beds. That made me wonder what kind of nasty crawling critters might be lurking there. Foot-long scorpions and fist-size hairy black spiders came to mind.
I put on my short robe, grabbed a bar of soap, and flip-flopped over to the row of canvas showers in my rubber thongs. The floor of the shower stall was a wood pallet made up of strips of wood. I looked carefully at the inch-wide cracks to see if anything like a snake or scorpion raised its ugly head. I knew I was being a pansy, but I was not an outdoor girl.
I took off my robe and hung it on the hook. It took a second to get used to the cool water but surprisingly it felt good on my sweaty body. I soaped down, getting ready to wash my hair, when I heard the shower start up next to me. Kirk hadn’t said anything about taking a shower so I was curious as to who was next door.
As I washed my hair I heard a tearing noise in the canvas. I looked over and suddenly froze. I saw the knife slitting a hole down the canvas. I just stared at it, unable to move. This was not happening, I thought.
Just as I was about to let out a bloodcurdling scream, Kirk’s head appeared through the hole.
“Hello.” He had a big grin on this face.
“Jesus, you scared me. I was just about to yell bloody murder.”
“Sorry. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you did. You’re going to get us into trouble for damaging the place.”
“Chantrea will take care of it. I’m just making sure we don’t offend the sensitivities of Cambodians when I fuck you.”
“You sure know how to have fun.”
“Especially with a beautiful woman.”
I had to admit it was exciting to have a man rip through your shower tent to have illicit sex with you.
Kirk easily slipped through the tear. He pulled me against his wet glistening body and kissed me on the mouth, then worked his way down to my nipples, devouring each one with this mouth.
“You are crazy, you know that.”
“That’s what makes it exciting.”
Damn. Why was I so weak? I knew he was wrong for me, probably a tomb raider and smuggler, but he had that strong masculine appeal and slightly dangerous vibe that turned me on.
I gave in to my need for sexual gratification. I grabbed his limp cock and squeezed, feeling it come alive in my hand. I couldn’t deny it; I was horny for him.
“God, it’s hard already.”
“That’s what you want,” he said huskily.
His erect cock slipped out of my hand as he moved his way down my abdomen and to the mound between my legs. His tongue found my sweet spot and I pulled his face harder against it, spreading my legs for him.
“Feel good?”
His tongue stroked my clit and I started to tremble inside. “Yes,” I groaned with pleasure.
“You want more,” he teased.
“Yes.”
“What do you want. Say it.”
I was about to come any moment. “I want you inside me.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he grabbed my buttocks and lifted me up. He shuddered and held me tight. A minute later, I started giggling uncontrollably …
We hadn’t heard the elderly Japanese couple in the tent next to us until we stepped out of the shower. The man avoided my eye but the woman gave me a big smirk.
Maybe she figured she would get lucky tonight, too.
LOOTING HISTORY—AND DESTROYING IT
In Angkor Wat … almost all the Buddhist statues have been beheaded. Looters and dealers prefer to take mainly heads.… [O]ut of the thousands of statues that once stood at Angkor Wat, only twenty-six are left.
—MASHA LAFONT, Pillaging Cambodia: The Illicit Traffic in Khmer Art
Looting has caused even more destruction than war. At Angkor Wat scarcely a freestanding statue retains its head, while many statues have disappeared entirely. In the 1980s the Cambodian government removed most freestanding sculptures and stored them in a guarded warehouse in Siem Reap. Even so, armed bandits attacked the warehouse and made off with priceless works. Today the worst pillaging has shifted to hundreds of outlying temples, such as Banteay Chhmar.
It takes no special insight to see why looting would be endemic to Cambodia, one of the poorest countries in the world, still swept by periodic famine. A poor farmer who finds a sculpture in his fields or a soldier who plucks one from a temple at night knows that if he sells it to a smuggler, he will be able to feed his family for several years.
—DOUGLAS PRESTON, “Close Encounters at a Khmer Temple,” National Geographic, August, 2000
26
I left my golf cart near the causeway entrance to the temple complex. Since we were camped inside the
park, I didn’t have to go through the main gate and buy a ticket. The front of the buildings were lit for the evening show. I wouldn’t have minded seeing the show, but I preferred to meet up with Bourey the guide.
I was sure the curator had a reason for referring me to the guide besides getting a good tour of the temples. I felt as if I was being tested … as if Rim Nol knew something, wanted to share it with me, but was still cautious to do so because he didn’t know if I could be trusted.
The gate where tour guides hung out was at the entrance. I wasn’t even sure if there were guides on duty this late. I was about to head for the front gate when a man slowly approached me.
He appeared older than Nol. To my Westerner’s eye, he was a venerable ancient yet ageless relic. His hair was snow white, his features resembling the classical majesty of the faces of Angkor kings on the Bayan temples on the cover of guidebooks. Like Rim Nol, he was rail-thin, not an ounce of excess flesh on him. He wore casual, loose-fitting clothes typical of Cambodian men, sandals, and a clipped-on laminated ID that identified him as an Angkor guide.
Also like Rim Nol, he oozed honesty, reliability, and sincerity. I liked him immediately.
He met me with the traditional Cambodian wai greeting, a small bow with his hands clasped together in a prayer position. “I am Bourey.”
“How do you know who I am?” I asked.
He smiled and nodded again. “Nol said you were an exceptionally beautiful woman.”
I liked this man a lot. I offered my hand and he shook it. “After a comment like that, I am your faithful servant for life. Nol’s, too.”
We walked together toward the temple.
The Deceivers Page 18
