The birds in my garden

Outside my bedroom window, I am lucky to have several varieties of tree growing. They’re not actually in my hotel’s grounds but rather in the grounds of the French language school in the next street, which has its own small café immediately under my first-floor window (and, yes, the food is good!).

There’s a mango tree, which the school’s caretaker and his family raid on Sundays when the school is closed, as this is mango season here in Cambodia. More interesting for me are the two flowering trees, as they attract several species of bird. The trees are a Coral Tree (known as the Roulos tree here, and a variety of Erythrina) and a Royal Poinciana (also known as a Flamboyant) (botanical name Delonix regia). Both are flowering now and, as the Coral Tree in particular is rich in nectar, it attracts both nectar-loving birds and those that feast on the small insects that are also attracted by the nectar.

This is the smallest and loudest avian visitor, a Tailorbird. It is also probably the most elusive and fastest moving, hence the poor quality photo. Though I’ve never seen a nest, the bird apparently gets its name from the way the nest is constructed; the edges of large leaves are sewn together with plant fibre or spider’s web to make a cradle in which the Tailorbird then builds the actual grass nest.

On the opposite end of the size scale is this Zebra Dove (Geopelia striata). It’s not that big, just the largest of my visitors. An alternate name is the Peaceful Dove, which seems apt, as it is often to be seen sitting quietly surveying the scene, usually with its mate, occasionally cooing softly. Although native to southeast Asia, these doves are common in many places further afield (for example, Hawaii and Tahiti) due either to having been deliberately released or to caged birds escaping captivity.

My most common bird visitor – indeed, probably the most common bird in the world – is the humble sparrow. To my untrained eye, these look exactly the same as the sparrows in my New Zealand home but there are, in fact, 26 species of sparrow, so there may be subtle differences.

The sweetest singers amongst my feathered friends are the bulbuls, and they come in two varieties. The more common is the Yellow-vented Bulbul (Pycnonotus goiavier), whose range extends throughout southeast Asia, from southern Thailand to the Philippines and Borneo. As well as small berries and fruit, these bulbuls consume both nectar and insects, so are enjoying the feast in my trees.

The Yellow-vented’s cousin the Streak-eared Bulbul (Pycnonotus blanford) enjoys the same diet, hence its frequent visits to the garden. Wikipedia reports that its natural habitat is tropical and subtropical forest, and implies that it’s not a common sight, so I feel privileged that they come often to my trees.

I’ve left the best till last – or, at least, the most colourful. First, meet Mrs Brown-throated Sunbird (Anthreptes malacensis) who, like most birds, is not as flamboyant as her husband, though I think her olive-green back and yellowish tummy are still pretty. These little birds are nectar lovers so are very frequent visitors to the Coral tree’s flowers.

Here’s the husband, Mr Brown-throated Sunbird! He warrants two photos to show off both his iridescent upper body and his prettily coloured underparts. The sunbirds appear to have very long tongues, and you can see a little of his poking out in both these pictures. While the female will stay still for slightly longer, so I’ve managed to get a few good pictures of her, the male is very skittish, so getting sharp photos is more difficult. It is such a joy to watch his beautiful colours flitting from flower to flower.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the information about these birds, and to Lisa Arensen and members of the Oriental Bird Club for help identifying the birds.

Cambodia's Cats

I am a cat person and I miss not having cats in my life. It’s one of the very few negatives of an itinerant lifestyle.

On the positive side, there are lots of cats here in Cambodia so, although I don’t have one of my own, I do get to talk to them and pat them and photograph them.

Apparently, there are no breeds of cat peculiar to Cambodia, though many of the cats here have no tails, short tails, or kinked broken tails. At first I thought either the cats here were very accident-prone or the subject of cruel acts.

I consulted Professor Google for an answer, which produced some bizarre results. One writer mentioned the people of Indonesia breaking the tails of cats so the cats wouldn’t be allowed into heaven when they died, thus leaving more places available for humans. Another reported a legend in which a cat did something to annoy a god and was punished with a broken tail. One more sensible explanation was that a calcium deficiency in the mother cat caused a malformed tail in its kittens – but why only in the tail?

The truth, in this case, is indeed stranger than fiction, as the misshapen tails are the result of a very odd genetic mutation, common throughout Asia, and they were, in fact, noted by that famous evolutionary biologist Charles Darwin. There’s a good factual report of various cat tail mutations here. 

Apart from this oddity, the cats here are really no different to any other cats around the world, except perhaps for being a little skinnier. In a poverty-stricken country, there’s not always enough food for pets.

So, here’s a pictorial tribute to some of the cats I’ve met and a few of my favourite cat quotes.

Charles Dickens: What greater gift than the love of a cat.

Robert Byrne: To err is human, to purr is feline.

Robert Heinlein: If you would know a man, observe how he treats a cat.

Sigmund Freud: Time spent with cats is never wasted.

Robert Southey: A kitten is in the animal world what a rosebud is in the garden.

Ernest Hemingway: A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.

Jules Renard: The idea of calm exists in a sitting cat.

Wat Atwea: the old, the new and the just plain funny!

Sunday has lately become wat day in my world, and last Sunday was no exception. And, first off, I need to modify a comment I made in a previous blog, about Wat Preah Enkosei being the only place to see Angkor-era temples for free – at Wat Atwea I discovered another (though I have heard some tourists have been asked to pay to look around).

I tuktuked, as Wat Atwea is about 4 kilometres from the city centre, along the riverside road towards Tonle Sap and then perhaps another kilometre down a dirt side road, straight in to rural Cambodia. The transition from city to country can be very rapid here.

The wat covers a large area, with the new living wat sitting within the boundaries of the ancient complex, whose boundary was once a moat that is currently mostly dry. You can’t see the ancient ruins at first approach, as they are tucked in behind the modern temple and its burial stupas.

I decided to have my tuktuk driver, Bunsoth, wait for me and was glad I did, as he was able to share some fascinating details with me, though he hadn’t been to this wat before or known there were Angkor ruins here. He came with me into the modern temple, knelt and made the appropriate obeisance, then walked around taking photos with his cellphone.

I was immediately struck by the large size of the main Buddha, especially considering how out of the way this wat is; and by the large number of colourful hangings dangling from the ceiling; and by the colourful bead hanging that was draped around all four corners of the Buddha’s enclosure, almost like the curtains around a four-poster bed.

Behind the Buddha were more surprises: two four-foot high lions – not dragons as I often think of them (Bunsoth pointed to their manes) – painted in the gaudy bright colours Buddhists seem to prefer. Against the rear wall was a large open-fronted cabinet, like a large set of bookshelves, on which sat an impressive number of small Buddha statues – gifts to the temple in exchange for favours from the deity, apparently.

On the lower three shelves were small cloth bundles, shaped a little like brown pumpkins, but much covered in dust. I was a little shocked when Bunsoth explained these were dead people, the ashes and pieces of bone that remain after cremations. 

For those well-off enough to afford it, these bundles would normally be placed in a family stupa but, for the poor who didn’t want to keep their bundles of ancestors in their homes or bury them in unmarked graves in their fields, they could deposit the bundles in the pagoda. Bunsoth said he was happy not to be in the building at night-time when the ghosts were about and, yes, he was serious. Most Khmer, especially those who live in the countryside, believe in ghosts.

There was one very large stupa in the surrounding grounds. It was bright white and obviously new, and had a small open-sided marquee in front of it. It was unadorned except for the ornately framed photos of three monks. Bunsoth said this would be the burial place of all the wat’s monks and had only recently been inaugurated, perhaps during the recent Khmer New Year celebrations.

Bunsoth escaped to his tuktuk, away from the draining heat, while I continued exploring, through the other burial stupas, around the ancient ruins and amongst the other wat buildings, chatting to a rather bored official who said he didn’t get many visitors and to a couple of monks who also seemed pleased to have a visitor to speak English with.

The ancient ruins are in relatively good condition. They look rather similar to those at Angkor Wat and, by examining the style and remaining decoration - though there is a general lack of carving, there are a couple of apsara dancers, some script, and some sculptural reliefs - experts have deduced that the ruins date to the late 11th century and were left unfinished. There has been some restoration, as the numbers written on some limestone blocks and the newness of other stones testify, and the scattering of masonry to the west of the temple is thought to be the gate to a second enclosure that was also not completed.

After the solemnity of the modern temple and the solitude of the ruins, my morning finished with a charming surprise. A small family – husband, wife and young son – were sitting on the steps of one of the wat buildings and, as I watched, a monk approached and began to drench them with water, a cleansing ceremony, usually to wash away bad luck and evil spirits. The husband and wife were quite serious at first, with hands held in an attitude of prayer but after a couple of bowls the man started to clean the dirt off his legs and the young boy, struggling to contain his joy, began to giggle hysterically. I couldn’t help but laugh with him and I don’t think it was disrespectful – after all, laughter is meant to be the best medicine, especially for chasing away unhappy spirits. I left smiling after another wonderful morning.