Praying For More People

by Anthony Bushell (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Cambodia

Few things feel more surreal than a deserted tourist hotspot. After dragging myself out of bed in the dark for a sunrise tour, I expected to find the loud tuk tuks driving other tourists to the site for daybreak, the dusty roads leading to the complex, and the staggeringly beautiful temple complex itself. What I hadn’t expected was the almost overwhelming lack of people. What I’d expected even less was the concern that absence caused in my tour guide’s eyes as we made our way along the empty path to Angkor Wat. “Not much business lately,” my tour guide Sen tells me as he looks around. “Bad for Cambodia, bad for me, bad for my family, and bad for my friends.” For local people like Sen who live in the nearby villages the past decade’s tourism boom meant they could make a living providing tours and transport for visitors. A whole generation has grown up in Siem Reap expecting the numbers to keep increasing year on year like they always have. Entire communities have come to rely on this tourism to pay their bills, feed their families, and send their children to school. But now the good times seem to have stopped rolling for people like Sen. “First the trade war with China last year, and now Coronavirus this year. We don’t know what to do.” Sen shrugs. “Maybe there’s nothing we can do, but this isn’t the first time we’ve lost people.” The meaning of his words go over my head as I look around at the eerie emptiness of such a huge place. I can’t help but admire the architecture as we solitarily walk past a gate that’s stood there for more than a millenia. The beautifully carved stone artwork catching the early rays of pre-dawn light depict hundreds of Khmer people parading through the complex in honour of their king and queen. Sen hurries me down the path as it starts to get lighter, all the while proudly telling me stories of how magnificent this site would have been at its peak over a thousand years ago and the rich history of the Khmer people. “Has the meaning of that word changed for your generation...Khmer, I mean?” I awkwardly ask him as his earlier statement dawns on me. “My father died under the Khmer Rouge…” Sen replies distantly. “We are still Khmer people, and this is still a Khmer place. I’m proud of my people and my country.” Visions of my previous trip to the Cambodian capital fill my mind as I see the fierce pride in Sen’s eyes. Few things feel more surreal than visiting the haunting sites of a mass genocide and I begin to understand his meaning. The Cambodian people have been through much worse, they’ll make it through this too. Nearing the main temple complex I hear the sound of chanting in the distance, gradually growing louder as the light behind the intimidating stone work grows brighter. Not a strange thing to hear in this part of the world, but I’ve rarely heard it this loudly so early in the morning and from so many voices. As we round a corner we pass a sea of orange robes bowing and praying. “They pray for more people,” Sen explains. “The government has brought a thousand monks to the site to pray for tourists to return.” “Do you think it will help?” I ask him curiously as the sound of chanting disappears behind the main walls of the temple. Sen slowly shakes his head as he looks back towards the crowd of monks. “I hope it does.” We finally arrive at our destination on the shore of a pond facing Angkor Wat’s famous spires. An array of colours begins to appear behind and below them as their image reflects in the pond. “You think there’d be more people,” I hear as a slow trickle of tourists fills in behind us, the colours becoming more vibrant as the sun moves higher behind the temple. As I stand there with Sen by my side while he happily watches the sunrise for the thousandth time, I can’t help but wonder if a sunset might be more appropriate.