Ap­pun­ti cam­bo­gia­ni

No­tes from Cam­bo­dia

Abitare - - CULTURE -

I tem­pli e le mon­ta­gne, le ri­sa­ie e l’ac­qua che spes­so in­va­de tut­ta la cam­pa­gna, le cit­tà e il flus­so omo­ge­neo del traf­fi­co, le ca­se sui tram­po­li e i mo­to­ri­ni che ser­vo­no a fa­re tut­to. Istan­ta­nee di vi­ta e fram­men­ti di pae­sag­gio cat­tu­ra­ti da un viag­gia­to­re cu­rio­so

He­re we pre­sent snap­sho­ts of li­fe and frag­men­ts of a land­sca­pe as cap­tu­red by a cu­rious tra­vel­ler – wi­th tem­ples and moun­tains, ri­ce pad­dies and wa­ter that of­ten floods the who­le coun­try­si­de, to­wns and ci­ties and the stea­dy flow of traf­fic, along­si­de hou­ses on stil­ts Cam­bo­gia, pae­se piat­to, den­so, af­fol­la­to ma si­len­zio­so. Cit­tà nuo­ve per­cor­se da traf­fi­co omo­ge­neo, sen­za au­dio e flui­do, co­me di pe­sci nel­la cor­ren­te. Nes­su­no gri­da, nes­su­no suo­na, nes­su­no si scon­tra, tut­ti si scan­sa­no e sgu­scia­no, sia a pie­di che in motorino o sul Tuk-Tuk. Tem­pli im­po­nen­ti, lon­ta­ni, fred­di e in­va­si di for­mi­che uma­ne con lo smart­pho­ne. Mon­ta­gne tra­fo­ra­te che ti af­fron­ta­no a on­da­te di pie­tre an­co­ra so­li­de ma mu­te, che rac­chiu­do­no il pa­ra­dos­so di una ar­chi­tet­tu­ra im­men­sa sen­za spa­zi in­ter­ni se non pic­co­le crip­te o cor­ri­doi e por­ti­ca­ti che gi­ra­no at­tor­no al sen­so del sa­cro e del­la ri­pe­ti­zio­ne in­fi­ni­ta. For­se so­no dei man­tra di pie­tra o una ne­nia so­li­da per pre­ghie­re so­li­ta­rie. Il con­tra­rio dell’In­dia do­ve nei tem­pli si pre­ga, si man­gia, si dor­me, si la­vo­ra, si ven­de, si li­ti­ga, si su­da, si an­nu­sa. Cam­bo­dia is a flat, den­se coun­try – cro­w­ded but si­lent. New to­wns and ci­ties are fil­led wi­th a stea­dy flow of traf­fic, whi­ch is bo­th hu­shed and fluid, li­ke fi­sh in a stream. The­re are no cries, no noi­se, no col­li­sions, and eve­ryo­ne is dod­ging and slip­ping pa­st ea­ch other, whe­ther on foot, on a mo­tor­bi­ke or in a tuk-tuk. The­re are im­po­sing tem­ples, whi­ch are di­stant, de­ta­ched and in­va­ded by hu­man an­ts wi­th smart­pho­nes. Moun­tains pre­sent you wi­th wa­ves of still so­lid but mu­te sto­nes, en­clo­sing the pa­ra­dox of an im­men­se ar­chi­tec­tu­re wi­th no in­ter­nal spa­ces ex­cept small cryp­ts or cor­ri­dors and ar­ca­des that turn around a sen­se of the sa­cred and of end­less re­pe­ti­tion. Pe­rhaps the­se are man­tras of sto­ne or a so­lid lul­la­by for so­li­ta­ry prayers. It’s the op­po­si­te of In­dia whe­re the tem­ples are fil­led wi­th peo­ple pray­ing, ea­ting, slee­ping, wor­king, ha­w­king, ar­guing, swea­ting, and sus­sing ea­ch other out.


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