Phimeanakas

Listen for a moment. Leaves move overhead, a bird calls from somewhere in the trees, and gravel shifts under your shoes. Ahead of you rises a stepped pyramid of rough, rust-coloured stone. It looks less like a palace and more like a giant staircase climbing into the forest canopy. The air here is often still and warm, and it carries the faint, damp smell of earth after rain. This is Phimeanakas, a quiet temple at the heart of the old royal city of Angkor Thom.

The name is usually translated as the Celestial Temple, or the Aerial Palace. It comes from Sanskrit words for a heavenly residence. That idea matters. In Khmer belief, a temple was a model of the universe, a home on earth for the gods. Phimeanakas was a Hindu temple, and it was built as a private sanctuary for the king. It stood inside the royal enclosure, very close to where the ruler lived, slept, and held court.

To understand where you are, picture the layout of the old city. To the south, past the trees, stands the Bayon with its many stone faces. To the east lie the long Terrace of the Elephants and the Terrace of the Leper King, where kings once watched parades. You are now behind those terraces, inside the walled palace grounds. This was the private side of royal life. Ordinary people would not have walked where you are standing now.

Here is the first surprise. Phimeanakas is older than the city walls that surround it. Most of what you see in Angkor Thom dates from the late twelfth century, under King Jayavarman the Seventh. But this temple was begun much earlier, around the late tenth century, and it was finished or reshaped in the early eleventh century under King Suryavarman the First. The later city was built around it, a little like a new house built around an old family shrine.

Look closely at the stone. Most of the pyramid is made of laterite. Laterite is a reddish rock full of small holes, a little like a hard sponge. It was cut from the ground in soft blocks, and it hardens as it dries in the air. Builders used it for strong cores and foundations. The finer sandstone, which is grey and smooth, was saved for the top, for doorframes and for the details that needed carving.

The temple rises in three tiers, each one slightly smaller than the one below. Steep staircases climb the centre of each side, so the building faces all four directions. Stone lions once guarded these stairways at every level. Many of them are now broken or worn, but you can still see their shapes on the landings. Look at the corners of the tiers too. The small stone elephants that once stood at the base corners have mostly gone, but some fragments remain.

At the very top runs a narrow gallery of sandstone. It forms a kind of corridor around the summit. This gallery is one of the earlier examples of a covered stone passage at Angkor. Later temples, such as Angkor Wat, would turn this idea into long, grand galleries filled with carvings. Here it is simple and tight, almost cramped. Once, a central tower rose from this platform, and it was probably covered in gold. That tower has disappeared.

Which brings us to the most famous story about this place. In the late thirteenth century, a Chinese envoy named Zhou Daguan lived in Angkor for about a year. He wrote down what he saw and what people told him. According to the tale he recorded, a spirit lived in the golden tower of the palace. This spirit was a nine-headed serpent, a naga, and the protector of the whole kingdom.

The legend says the serpent appeared to the king every night in the form of a woman. The king had to go up and spend the first part of the night with her, before he could return to his wives and concubines. If the king failed to go, misfortune would fall on him. If the spirit failed to appear, the king's death was near. Zhou Daguan presented this as local belief, and that is how we should hear it, as a story about kingship, land, and sacred duty.

Now a second surprise. The temple you see was only a small part of the royal palace. The king's actual living quarters, his halls and pavilions, were built of wood with tiled roofs. Wood does not last in this climate. Over centuries, rain, insects, and fire destroyed all of it. Only the stone survived: the temple, the walls, the terraces, and the pools. So when you look around these grounds, you are seeing the skeleton of a palace. The rest has returned to the earth.

Just to the north of here, you can find those royal pools. The larger one is often called Srah Srei, the women's pool, and a smaller one is known as Srah Pros, the men's pool. Their stepped stone edges are carved with rows of figures, including fish, serpents, and mythical creatures. The water is still there in many seasons. Standing at the edge, it is easy to imagine the court coming down these steps to bathe in the heat of the afternoon.

If you want to climb, take care. The original stone stairs are very steep and badly worn. A wooden staircase has been added on one side for visitors, and it is the safer way up when it is open. From the top gallery, the view is mostly trees, but you can catch glimpses of the Baphuon temple to the south through the green. Up here, you feel how close the forest is, and how quiet this corner of the city remains.

Before you leave, stand back from the base for a moment. Look at how the red laterite has darkened in places, and how green moss fills the gaps between the blocks. Notice how the roots of nearby trees push at the old walls. Listen again to the birds and the leaves. A king once climbed these steps every night, according to the story, to meet the spirit of his land. Now the steps belong to the forest, and to you, for as long as you choose to stay.