Memories of genocide haunt a savory lunch on a paradise-perfect day
When I lifted the cut-out lid on the coconut, the curry steamed into the sweaty air. My lunch simmered in this makeshift piece of dishware. For a moment I reprimanded myself for having ordered a hot meal on one of the most scorching days I have ever experienced. The Cambodian air settled at 115 degrees Fahrenheit. But the aroma of coconut curry, strong but sweet, proved my culinary decision a wise one. In the soft tissue of the coconut sat chicken, peas, basil, and ginger, in a simmering yellow curry. An ice-cold coconut lassi helped wash down my meal and quenched my thirst.
Slouched in my chair, sweat running down my back, I felt relaxed for the first time that day. Earlier I spent hours climbing, trekking, and gawking, at one of the manmade Wonders of the World. In all its grandeur, Angkor Wat symbolizes both a prosperous time in Cambodian, then Angkor, history, and a dark and painful memory. Like the psyche of the Cambodian people, Angkor Wat is scarred from years of civil war, and a genocide for which justice is only now being served. Pol Pot’s right-hand-man, “Brother Number Two,” and Kaing Guek Eav, known as “Duch,” the infamous commander of the Tuol Sleng (S21) prison, where up to 20,000 people lost their lives more than 30 years ago, are only now being tried for crimes against humanity and war crimes.
Covered in bullet holes, the temples of Angkor Wat soar 215 feet from the ground. And though punctured with battle wounds, their beauty is startling. One wonders how these massive towers, some of which reveal the faces of smiling buddhas made of huge rock slabs, were erected in the 12th century. King Suryavarma II built the temples, and Angkor Wat became the main temple, and capital city, of the Khmer Regime. The three-pyramid temple, the most famous, appears on the Cambodian flag. The temples at Angkor stretch for miles, but some parts have not been cleared for tourists since landmines still sit under the earth waiting to explode.
I spent my day at Angkor Wat climbing through temples, taking photos and staring at ruins ensconced in tree roots and jungle, and my coconut curry lunch, served at a small open-air restaurant on the periphery of the temples, acted as yet another example of a paradise-perfect day in South-East Asia. The sun, the lush greenery, and the fragrant smell of Khmer cuisine only added to my visceral happiness. But amid all this perfection, my thoughts began to roam toward the imperfect, to something dark and haunting. I thought about the kids, some missing limbs, some covered in skin disease, begging for money and food around the temple. I also thought about the unspoken, unseen, history of a genocide that probably escaped the minds of the many camera-toting tourists roaming the temple grounds. I remembered the bullet holes on the smiling buddhas, and the fact that I avoided going off the prescribed route for fear of stepping on land mines that loomed beyond the tourist path.
As I ate my curry, I watched as another group of sweating but laughing tourists sat down at the next table. And as the scorching sun lowered in the sky I asked the small waitress for another lassi, and wondered just how many family-members she lost in those dark days.
(Written March 26, 2009)
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