BEAUTIFUL DANCE OF KHMER WOMEN

An Apsara dancer strikes an elegant pose

The beautiful young ladies are adorned with gold necklaces, and gold earrings. Gold armbands, and gold bracelets are worn on both wrists and ankles. Gold trim is woven throughout their elegant dresses, colored blue, red or yellow. A bright yellow flower sits over each ear as they dance.

Their headdresses are also gold with studded, circular layers rising above them like a bent Buddhist stupa. Some headdresses look like those seen on topless dancers carved into the walls of the temple of Angkor Wat, that I saw earlier. The dancers on stage before me are all young Khmer women, but the only thing that looks modern about them, is their bright red lipstick.

I'm at the Temple Restaurant in Siem Reap, enjoying an upstairs dinner show. The gold may not be real, but the dance is authentic: this is Apsara. It's unlike any dancing you'll ever see in the west; it has the charm of an Asia that was lost centuries ago.

This ancient art was nearly lost after the communist Khmer Rouge banned it

For those who don't know any better, they might think that these dances and costumes are from old Siam, a.k.a. Thailand. But it's better not to say that to the Khmers. They'll tell you that many centuries ago that the Thais copied them from Khmer dancers of the ancient Angkor kingdom.

The only western dance that looks anything similar to this, is classical ballet. Apsara movements are slow, deliberate, and beautiful. Foreigners quickly notice the women's hands; their thumb and forefinger touch together. The remaining three fingers are pulled back, with each succeeding finger pulled further back. The flexibility of the fingers on these dancers is amazing.

The dancers never smile, keeping their red lips together for the entire performance. Like ballet, their dances and movements tell stories; classical Khmer stories about life and love.

As I watch mesmerized, a traditional Khmer band plays acoustical string instruments, while old style drums keep the beat.

Apsara dancing was often performed for Khmer royalty

Slow and elegant, one dancer balances on only one foot, and pivots around, keeping her other foot elevated. The display of balance and control is amazing. At times this style resembles Hawaiian hula dancing, without the hip movements.

This beautiful Khmer dance tradition was nearly lost from Cambodia forever. When the communist Khmer Rouge took over, Apsara dancing was banned. Nearly all of the master teachers of Apsara were either executed, died from disease, or fled Cambodia.

Later after the radicals were forced from power, a cultural revival began. A few surviving refugee dancers returned to Cambodia. With a princess's support, this traditional dance began to be taught again in Phnom Penh. Slowly but surely, Apsara made a comeback.

Now Apsara is popular once again, and dancers regularly perform for royalty, for Khmer audiences, and for tourists like me. 

Despite all the tragedies that Cambodia has endured, it's good to know that one of their most treasured cultural traditions still survives today. 

THE GOLD TEMPLE

The impressive looking, 'World Precious Sacred Stupa' in Vientiane

I’m not quite believing my eyes.

I’m looking at a grand religious tower, and it appears to be made of gold.

This must be the largest golden structure I’ve ever seen. Like something out of an old movie, it’s a tall, golden Buddhist stupa shining in the sunlight. I never expected to see something like this in a poor country like Laos. This beats other golden icons I’ve seen anywhere, the size is just enormous.

This is Pha That Luang, also known as the, 'World Precious Sacred Stupa'.

Surrounded by a dark stone wall, three golden levels reach up to the center stupa. Approaching, I find the stairs to climb and and around the different levels. The platform around the tower is surrounded by a wall of gigantic, golden lotus flower petals. Continuing up, the great stupa is surrounded by many smaller stupas, forming what almost appears to be a gigantic golden fence.  

Of course the stupa isn’t constructed of gold itself, Laos is far too poor for that. Most of the interior of this grand monument is brick and plaster, covered with gold paint. That doesn’t take away from the stunning view though, the gleaming center stupa reaches 147 feet high, almost as tall as the Statue of Liberty in New York.

Much like Lady Liberty is a symbol of America, the Grand Stupa is the national symbol of Laos. Pha That Luang Temple is for Buddhist worship; it represents the human progression from ignorance to enlightenment. The Supreme Patriarch of Lao Buddhism, the most revered monk in all of Laos, lives in one of the wats (monasteries) of this elaborate complex. 

The first stupa here was probably built around the 11th century. Local legend disagrees, many believe that the original stupa was built way back in the 3rd century, by Buddhists from India. The original relic located underneath the stupa is said to be one of the bones of Buddha himself, making this one of the most revered places in the country.
 

Old king of Laos statue guards the temple

Three golden levels lead to the stupa

In 1991 as communism collapsed worldwide, the Great Stupa replaced the hammer and sickle as the national symbol of Laos. This was very telling, since this national symbol has nothing to do with communism, and everything to do with Buddhism. The government finally returned to their real Laotian roots.

As I step back outside the protective wall, I notice a soldier passing by the entrance with a metal detector. As I watch, he sweeps the detector back and forth nearby. I’m puzzled to see him here. In Laos, anyone with a metal detector is usually looking for unexploded munitions, like the boys I had already seen along the old Ho Chi Minh Trail. But here, at their most revered monument? Perhaps the military still has concerns about possible terrorist attacks. Or maybe it’s a simpler reason; he could have been looking for dropped coins from visitors.

Gold statues in the temple complex

On the walkway leading to the stupa, there are numerous benches where Buddhist pilgrims can rest. I notice these benches are all painted with an advertisement for an airline from Thailand. How ironic to find them here, in a place that was once destroyed by the Thais.

When Thailand (then called Siam) invaded Laos in 1827, their soldiers destroyed this grand icon. The country’s beloved stupa, along with the rest of Vientiane, were left in ruins for decades. This wanton act of destruction hasn’t been forgotten by Laotians, and it’s one of the origins for their ongoing distrust of the Thais.

A somber statue of a Laotian royal, King Setthathirat, sits on a throne nearby. He has a sword laying across his lap, and he’s facing Thailand. It’s as though he’s guarding the stupa from future invaders.

As with other countries in Southeast Asia, over the centuries Laotians were usually dominated by their stronger neighbors. Kingdoms in the region would rise and fall, resulting in frequent border changes, and shifting regions of influence. The Khmer kings, the Vietnamese, the Thais, the Burmese, the Chinese, and the Chams all moved in and out of Laotian territory through the centuries.

Thailand (Siam) retained control of Laos for decades, until the French came onto the scene in 1893. That’s when the French sent two Navy gunboats up a Thai river, and anchored them off of Bangkok, directly threatening their capital. In negotiations that followed, the Thais were pressured to cede control of the land east of the Mekong River to the French. Laos became a French colony for decades to come. It was only in 1953 that the country once again became independent. They still fear domination by their neighbors in Thailand and Vietnam. 

I depart this impressive temple, and head back into Vientiane. 

ATTACK OF RUBBER SNAKE ON MARBLE MOUNTAIN

Buddhist temple on 'Marble Mountain'

It's a new morning, and I'm just south of the central Vietnam city of Danang. I’m climbing stairs up a long hill of bedrock. Step after step, I go up and up, until my legs begin to ache. My quads are going to get a good workout today.

Buddhist statues guard a cave inside the mountain

My guide Khanh has brought me to this place that in Vietnamese, translates as ‘Water Mountain’. Climbing higher, I discover that the rock that makes up this place is mostly marble, hence the nickname American soldiers gave this place: ‘Marble Mountain’. It really should have been named ‘Shrinking Mountain’, since the village next to it had been quarrying marble off of this mountain for generations. They were supplying local artisans, who made their living carving marble sculptures. As the artists continued to turn out their creations, the mountain shrank and shrank. Finally, they started importing their marble from China, and the mountain was saved from shrinking further.

I finish the long set of steps, which were somehow carved out of this mountain more than 200 years ago by Buddhist monks. Arriving at a leveled part of the mountain, I see the monk’s temple and surrounding buildings. There are still 15 monks living up here today.

Rising above the nearby coastline, Marble Mountain has a few natural caves, and Khanh and I head into them to explore. Most aren’t much to look at, until I walk into Huyen Khong Cave. Passing through an arch, an old stone sign translates as, “Cave heaven good hell.” Khanh leads on, and we enter the eerie place. Walking deeper into the mountain’s interior, it grows darker. We reach four Buddhist statues guarding an inner entrance, as though they are sentinels. “Two of them are good, two of them evil,” Khanh informs me. In the dim light, all four figures look rather menacing.


Descending further, the cave opens up into a large natural room. There is a bit more light in here. I look upward, and see holes in the cave ceiling, opening into the morning sky. Through the dim light, a large statue of Buddha is barely visible on the far side. Carved right into the cave wall, the statue didn’t always look down on Buddhist monks. In wartime this cave was controlled for years by the Viet Cong.

“In here was VC hospital,” Khanh tells me. Deep inside marble mountain, surrounded by solid rock, this was one of the few places where the guerrillas were reasonably safe from aerial bombing. As a hospital it couldn’t have been very sanitary though, since the cavern is damp, and not well ventilated. For years the Viet Cong occupied these caves, and ran the hospital deep within the mountain. Leaving the cavern, we walk towards the other side of the mountain. Reaching a narrow point of the walkway, we pass through an old stone arch. Looking closer, I see that both sides of the arch are pockmarked with countless bullet holes. This was a scene of a fierce firefight.

A bullet scarred arch marks where a fierce gun battle occurred in 1968

“American soldiers come, fighting here,” Khanh tells me. During the US military build up in Danang in the 1960's, the Americans decided to force the Viet Cong from Marble Mountain. There were heavy casualties in the fight to take this mount, and US troops prevailed. They held the mountain until they departed in the 1970’s.

Walking around the Buddhist temple complex, we enter a hillside garden. I find a sign within, with these notable below words of Buddhist wisdom. Wise words indeed. 

Through all of the conflict over the decades, the Buddhist monks have remained on the mountain, and their rebuilt complex has expanded. The monks were here before the war, during the war, and after the war. Finally, the mountain belongs to them alone. There are old legends that the monks guarded royal gold hoarded in the caves, but it hasn't been found. 

Further ahead, Khanh points to the mountain’s peak, and tells me that US soldiers had a lookout point up there. The marines called this observation post, ‘the Crow’s Nest’.

View looking south along the coast. On this peak US troops had the 'Crow's Nest' lookout post.

“They come on helicopter”, Khanh says. Back then, rather than climb the mountain as we did, the forward observers were picked up and dropped off by air. With my legs weary from the climbing, I’m wishing I had a helicopter right now. But I still have some energy left, so I decide to climb to the top for a look myself. I don’t know it yet, but I’m going to regret it.

I start my way up another staircase, recently installed for visitors like me. Eyeing up the steps, they look very steep, and not particularly safe. Khanh goes ahead, and I start my climb up slowly.

Workmen stare down at me, after the hose burst right in front of me

Up ahead, I hear a jackhammer pounding away, breaking up heavy rock at the top. As I continue my ascent, I pass a noisy air compressor, with a rubber hose running up the steps. Must be for the jackhammer, I think. A few steps on, I pause on the staircase and pull out my camera. That’s when it happens.

POW! There’s an explosion, right in front of me. Then I hear a loud hissing noise. I duck, and cover my head with my arms, managing to not fall backwards down the steep steps. The hissing continues, and I peer briefly between my arms, to see a fantastic sight. The black rubber hose from the air compressor is flailing around wildly, right in front of me, inches from my face. Blowing out steam from the end, it looks like some giant, mad snake, breathing smoke as it fights for its life. Gradually, the hissing quiets down, and the hose finally collapses to the ground.

I catch my breath. That was a very close call. I have just been attacked by a rubber snake.

The workmen above heard the explosion, stopped their work, and are now standing at the edge of the peak, staring down at me. I pause a few moments to gather my thoughts and thank my maker. Then I have a look at what caused the mishap. A poorly fashioned hose connection had ruptured, apparently from a weak clamp. If that clamp or the hose had hit me in the head, I could’ve tumbled right back down the mountain.

I continue the rest of the way to the top, and the workmen continue to just stare at me. There are no apologies. For many Vietnamese, to apologize after a mess like that would have been a loss of face to them. One workman makes a weak attempt at a joke. I don’t laugh.

Looking around the peak, there are chunks of marble lying everywhere, the results of the jackhammer’s work. Apparently the workmen are installing some kind of visitors platform, but at this point there’s nothing but rocks and brush. The workmen return to their mission of attacking the mountain’s marble, this time  with safer hand tools. At least now I don’t have to put up with the noise of their unsafe jackhammer. After regaining my composure, I take in the scenic view of the surrounding coastline. It’s a very commanding view. I take a deep breath, taking it all in. I can see why the Viet Cong had fought so hard to try and keep this mountain, you can easily see for miles in every direction.

Nearby are a few smaller mountains, and at the base of the mountain is a village. Decades ago there were more shacks down there, now it’s a thriving community of rowhouse homes crowded right up to the mountain’s base. Highway 601 cuts between through the village, heading further south of Danang. I had heard about the southern area from my buddy Kenny, the former US marine who was based there in the 60’s. During the war, villages further south were aligned with the VC. When they fought with the marines, many artillery shells fired by both sides never exploded, since they landed in soft sand.

A view of the neighborhood surrounding 'Marble Mountain'

An Australian engineer I met was working on that sandy land now, supervising construction of a new tourist golf course there. When I passed by it on the highway, I saw his bulldozers pushing sand about. I asked him if they had found any unexpoloded munitions while they were digging.

“Loads and loads”, he said. “artillery, rocket propelled grenades, used bullets.”

Talk about a golf hazard.
 
He told me how some of the Vietnamese construction workers would find this unexploded ordinance, and then play with it. “They would toss it back and forth, and they’d be laughing,” he said. The workers were playing a dangerous game of hot potato. Through some kind of miracle, none of them had been killed. Yet.

To the opposite side of the peak, in the far off haze to the north, is Danang itself.

“There airport,” Khanh says, pointing north up the coast. In the distance, I can make out the runway of the old Marble Mountain Air Facility, built by the US military. Half-cylinder cement hangers are now empty, and the remains of the former American base are now quiet. Part of the base is still polluted with deposits of Agent Orange. It will become prime real estate if it ever gets cleaned up.

Other parts of the old air base however, are already being developed. Next to the ocean, where the base used to have barbed wire fences and guard towers on the beach, I now see huge new hotels under construction. With the need for hotels rising, the base’s beaches weren’t going to remain in the hands of Vietnam's military for very long. The profits of peace are bringing more and more construction into Danang these days.