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I Broke Angkor Wat
by Pam Mandel
Liv Fun: Vol 5 – Issue 2
The crowd faced east, awaiting the rising sun. Seeking a little space from which to observe what was billed as a transcendental moment, our little group of friends wandered across the open grass to a freestanding pavilion of delicately carved 12th century stone. In bracing myself between the footing and the window sill, I pulled away a chunk of rock about the size of a loaf of bread. I stared at it before turning to my friends, mortified.
“You guys, I broke Angkor Wat.”
Angkor Wat is a splendid, ornate, iconic temple complex, and for many travelers, it is the primary reason they go to Cambodia. More than 2 million visitors go to Angkor Wat annually. I was one of those visitors. A college art history class ages ago alerted me to the temple’s existence, and I swore to make the trip one day.
A few days before reaching Siem Reap, the town where hotels, restaurants and shops are overrun with travelers on their way to this monumental site, I’d spoken with a couple who’d been at the complex a few days before.
“It’s intense,” the young Australians told me, “but look up. If you look above the crowds, you’ll appreciate it more.”
And then, there we were, in a veritable traffic jam coming from the town of Siem Reap; scooters and buses and bicycles and elephants — yes, elephants, even! — entering Angkor Wat, all on the same narrow road, through the same elegant archway. “Look up,” they’d said, and there were the serene faces of the Buddha, presiding over clouds of visitors. Magnificent; literally a travel dream come true. An experience darkened with a very real example of the impact of my presence; this chunk of stone in my regretful hand.
Liv Fun
by Leisure Care
Summer 2016
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Advice for the Journey
by Arica VanGelderen, LLMSW
Q: I have always been an independent person, almost to a fault. I wait until the absolute last minute to ask my husband for help opening a jar, carrying the groceries inside, or even fixing the flat tire on my bike! I hate being seen as someone who needs help doing anything.
Find My Purpose? In This Mess?
by Jeff Wozer
I, without my consent, own 57 T-shirts. How or when this happened, I don’t know. I thought maybe 20, 25 at the most. But not 57. It’s an embarrassing number, bordering on fetish. Even more embarrassing is that I weighed the T-shirts, the cause behind this triggered more by guilt than curiosity. For they say it’s not what you eat that creates guilt-inducing motivation, but rather how much you weigh.
I Broke Angkor Wat
by Pam Mandel
The crowd faced east, awaiting the rising sun. Seeking a little space from which to observe what was billed as a transcendental moment, our little group of friends wandered across the open grass to a freestanding pavilion of delicately carved 12th century stone. In bracing myself between the footing and the window sill, I pulled away a chunk of rock about the size of a loaf of bread.