Claw

Angkor Wat, December 2002. Long ago, the tree had clung to life on the roof of a temple. Now, I am barely half the height of its ancient roots.

I disliked Cambodia. It pulsed with an undertone of hunger and mute violence - from the swaggering, truncheon twirling security guards at the small Seam Reap airfield, to the hawk-eyed taxi drivers demanding up to 100 USD, to the openly distrusful young children, to the people's hatred for Thais, evident in the name Seam Reap, Defeat of the Thais.

Angkor Wat is testament to the unique vision and capability of the historical Cambodians. No words can adequately describe its breath-taking temples, palaces and ruins, of which I took countless photos. But this tree was my favourite, as it seemed to capture most the country's present day spirit: a stark, wild necessity for footing and survival upon its barren artifice of black stone.

It's not fair to judge a country and its people like that, but if you really want to see a landscape of transcendental Buddhist architecture, go to Pagan in Myanmar, where the people have learnt to behave so. And hey, they too are shadowed by a history of cruelty, repression and bloodshed.