mandevu.net

Mamamandevu was over here for an all too short 10-day visit.  She’s back home now.  But, it was a real treat to see her.  This half-a-world-away thing is for the birds.  While she was here, we hit the major tourist attractions, including Angkor Wat and a mess of the other temples up near there.  It was a lot of fun.  It also gave me a little reminder about just how much heights do not suit me.

I have never been keen on heights.  I always get a little woozy and shaky atop ladders and near edges.  I’m pretty sure that the base of the Paul Bunyan statue up in Bangor, Maine still has claw marks from my struggle to slowly lower myself into my father’s arms as a little kid (everybody thought that spot would make for a great picture– maybe so, but clearly not without lifelong trauma).  However, I never totally froze up.  Until now.  It was early in the first day of our three days of temple touring.  Our second stop, pictured here, was not particularly high.  It might have had a sandstone veneer in earlier times, I’m not sure, but now all that is left is laterite– a porous stone that reminds me a lot of lava, even though has its origins are in mud rather than melted rock. 

I was about halfway up, mid-conversation, when I realized that I was in imminent danger of falling backwards off of the building and that the stone seemed to be giving way beneath whatever part of me was in contact with the stairs (there was a lot, because as my panic grew, a crouched lower to make as much contact as I could– hands, feet, knees, whatever I could find).  My pace slowed, totally opposite to my breathing and heart rate.  MamaM later noted that I just sort of stopped speaking around that time.  Each step up took a whole lot of thinking, both to stem the rising panic (as in, to shout down the crowd of monkeys) and to make darn sure that I fit each of my fingers into every crag and hole possible.  Each foot I placed very carefully, checking before shifting my weight, to make sure I wasn’t stepping on a pebble or a sandy patch or anything would compromise my traction.  I wanted to not be up there, but if I stopped I would have had to spend the night on the stairs.  Not an attractive prospect.  Once I reached the tier just below the top, I gave up and sat down, trying to catch my breath and rein in my brain.  The others scampered on up, without problems.  I just held really still, and spread myself out so as to make as much contact with the stone as possible (I did not want to not blow off the building or tip over by mistake).  I tried to enjoy the view (we were in the back, so it was forest).  I did a lot of calculating of what my options were– as in, how I could get off the temple.  Of course, much to my dismay, helicopters and firemen with tall ladders or a bucket truck were out of the question.  I rationalized about how people have been climbing up and down these things for over 1000 years.  At the time, that particular fact mattered less than it seemed like it should have.  So, I just sat for a while and tried to get quiet.  Results were mixed.  MamaM and our friend finished exploring the top and made their descent, waiting patiently at the base discussing temple construction.  A few minutes later, I followed.  Very, very slowly.

It was pretty distressing to have had such an episode.  Over the next couple of days, it became sort of a project– to not be beaten by the stairs.  And, I did pretty good.  It never got easy though.  Mamamandevu took this other picture while I was making my way up the stairs to one of the towers of Angkor Wat (at a 70 degree angle, I might add).  I almost didn’t go up, but couldn’t just leave without a visit to the highest level of the temple.  The other picture is of the one stairwell which has a railing installed (a tiny, flimsy railing).  That makes it easier to get down, but not much easier.