At Home With the Cave Dwellers

I was a few kilometers outside of Battambang when I realized my motorcycle’s instruments had stopped working. For an experienced rider, this might be a source of concern; I was a novice, a thirtysomething Manhattanite with atrophying motor skills and a very recently issued motorcycle license—the skin on my knees was still healing—and I was terrified.

But I managed. Afraid of my fuel tank running empty, I bought petrol compulsively from roadside stands, one recycled Pepsi bottle at a time. When I wasn’t buying petrol I bought water, to take a break from the midday Cambodian sun and to ask for directions, reinforcing the little I could glean from the Khmer road signs. So went my stutter-step pas de deux of refueling and rehydration, my bike and I tracing a series of concentric circles that gradually tightened as we neared our destination, the ruins of Wat Banan. I climbed the mountain and saw the temple; it was okay.

I had come to Battambang after seeing the majestic, and majestically decaying, temples of Angkor—it was inevitable that Wat Banan would pale in comparison. I was all set to return to my air-conditioned hotel when I saw a winding path, and a sign for a cave—why not, it was worth a shot.

I hired a guide, and after a quick “Watch your head, brother,” I was suddenly in a different world. I duly listened while she talked about the cave’s mystical water deposit and which animal the stalactites resembled, but, for me, the cave offered something simpler, and more visceral—the feeling of home.

On my trip it was difficult to perceive the sights of Cambodia—the splendor of Angkor or, conversely, the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge—other than at a remove, through layers of interpretation. But here, hiding from the heat, I was able to envision the cave’s Neolithic residents returning to find sanctuary after the vicissitudes of a day spent just trying to stay alive.

And then I realized how important the concept of home is in travel—not just a beacon at the end of the journey, but an anchor that influences our everyday existence. The amazing variety of experience and sensation—not all positive—that we encounter in any given day traveling take on more vividness and significance because we return safely to our (temporary) home. Unlike the paintings at Lascaux or Chauvet, the cave at Wat Banan will never be a wondrous link to a prehistoric time; rather, it offers a modest, yet timeless testament to the power of home—not bad for a $5 guide fee.