Traveling the world and sharing its music

A Cambodian Folk Tale



Statues of the King and Queen in the story above found in Wat Phnom Sampeau


Long ago, the area where we were standing was all part of a large inland sea, and the crown prince of the land fell in love with a beautiful girl that he eventually married. The king, however, already had another bride picked for his son and forced him to leave his first wife (though the prince lied and said he’d come back) and to marry this more suitable Long Haired Girl. The first wife is heartbroken, and goes to the edge of the sea to throw her self in, when she notices that in a nest of crocodile eggs, there’s a human baby. She takes the baby home and raises him as her own, and he grows into a strong and magnificent young man. The boy, however, can’t help but notice his mother crying all the time. Eventually, he confronts the mother, and she tells him about the prince, who married and deserted her, and who by this time had become the new king.



 Ship /Sail (Capsized leaning to the right) and Crocodile Mountains

The boy was furious, and searched the king out the next time he visited the province, stopping him in his boat and asking him why he didn’t come back for his mother. The king refuses to speak with him, so the boy jumps into the water, transforming himself into a huge crocodile. He thrashes around the water, threatening to sink the boat. The rest of the passengers on the boat then thrown cages of chickens and ducks off the side to appease the croc-boy, but to no avail. He tells the king that he will sink the boat unless he comes back to the boy’s mother. The king refuses again, and his wife, the Long Haired Girl - as wicked as she is beautiful - steps up to save her husband. The Long Haired Girl lets her hair down over the edge of the boat, soaking up all the water, and killing the crocodile boy. When the crocodile boy died, his tail trashed around and his two nostriles splash water, creating three lakes. (Most of the story copied from cajolable.com)

You can see the Crocodile, Ship+Sail, Chicken Cage, and Duck Cage mountains in the regions around Battambang. The lakes in the region are missing, but our excellent guide, Phalla, seems to remember them from his childhood. There's a lot of irrigation for rice farming, so perhaps all of the water has been drained into the patties.

We found an excellent guide, Phalla, who took us to two contrasting temples around Battambang. It's a small town that's a nice contrast to Phnom Phen (Big City) or Siam Reap/Angkor Wat (Tourist Hell), where we'll be heading to next.

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Wanderlust by Robert Service

The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas,
Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth;
The Wanderlust has haled me from the morris chairs of ease,
Has hurled me to the ends of all the earth.
How bitterly I've cursed it, oh, the Painted Desert knows,
The wraithlike heights that hug the pallid plain,
The all-but-fluid silence, -- yet the longing grows and grows,
And I've got to glut the Wanderlust again.

Soldier, sailor, in what a plight I've been!
Tinker, tailor, oh what a sight I've seen!
And I'm hitting the trail in the morning, boys,
And you won't see my heels for dust;
For it's "all day" with you
When you answer the cue
Of the Wan-der-lust.

The Wanderlust has got me . . . by the belly-aching fire,
By the fever and the freezing and the pain;
By the darkness that just drowns you, by the wail of home desire,
I've tried to break the spell of it -- in vain.
Life might have been a feast for me, now there are only crumbs;
In rags and tatters, beggar-wise I sit;
Yet there's no rest or peace for me, imperious it drums,
The Wanderlust, and I must follow it.

Highway, by-way, many a mile I've done;
Rare way, fair way, many a height I've won;
But I'm pulling my freight in the morning, boys,
And it's over the hills or bust;
For there's never a cure
When you list to the lure
Of the Wan-der-lust.

The Wanderlust has taught me . . . it has whispered to my heart
Things all you stay-at-homes will never know.
The white man and the savage are but three short days apart,
Three days of cursing, crawling, doubt and woe.
Then it's down to chewing muclucs, to the water you can eat,
To fish you bolt with nose held in your hand.
When you get right down to cases, it's King's Grub that rules the races,
And the Wanderlust will help you understand.

Haunting, taunting, that is the spell of it;
Mocking, baulking, that is the hell of it;
But I'll shoulder my pack in the morning, boys,
And I'm going because I must;
For it's so-long to all
When you answer the call
Of the Wan-der-lust.

The Wanderlust has blest me . . . in a ragged blanket curled,
I've watched the gulf of Heaven foam with stars;
I've walked with eyes wide open to the wonder of the world,
I've seen God's flood of glory burst its bars.
I've seen the gold a-blinding in the riffles of the sky,
Till I fancied me a bloated plutocrat;
But I'm freedom's happy bond-slave, and I will be till I die,
And I've got to thank the Wanderlust for that.

Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home.
Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam?
Oh, I'll beat it once more in the morning, boys,
With a pinch of tea and a crust;
For you cannot deny
When you hark to the cry
Of the Wan-der-lust.

The Wanderlust will claim me at the finish for its own.
I'll turn my back on men and face the Pole.
Beyond the Arctic outposts I will venture all alone;
Some Never-never Land will be my goal.
Thank God! there's none will miss me, for I've been a bird of flight;
And in my moccasins I'll take my call;
For the Wanderlust has ruled me,
And the Wanderlust has schooled me,
And I'm ready for the darkest trail of all.

Grim land, dim land, oh, how the vastness calls!
Far land, star land, oh, how the stillness falls!
For you never can tell if it's heaven or hell,
And I'm taking the trail on trust;
But I haven't a doubt
That my soul will leap out
On its Wan-der-lust.

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