We arrived at Shwedagon pagoda, in Yangon, Myanmar around 3:30 in the afternoon, maybe expecting to poke around for an hour, then relax until sunset.  Two hours later, we had barely made it half-way around.  It's not that Shwedagon is a particularly large place;  It is big, but with a brisk stroll, one could make it all the way around in probably 15 minutes or less.  It's more that there's something to the atmosphere at Shwedagon that makes you want to go slow.

Firstly, there is just the sheer beauty of the place.  The Shwedagon pagoda itself is coated with gold.  Not gold paint, either.  This is the "what your wedding ring is made of" gold.  Surrounding the pagoda are hundreds of other small, golden pagodas as well.  Then you get to the pedestrian area, a wide swath of cool, white tile, which in turn is surrounded by more pagodas and temples.  Inside those temples are large statues of Buddha  in various standing, seated, or laying positions.  It's as if everything is laid out in layers and the more layers you peel back, the more you can find.  

Next to some people praying, there is a small engine that whizzes and coughs its way loudly through its cycle.  Throughout the day, it turns and moves its various parts as they squeak and churn their way around and around, like an old man's knees.  The end purpose of this machine is not to power the fans; in fact the engine makes the room hotter.  It did not generate electricity for lights or power a water pump for a fountain.  In fact, it's sole purpose was to move a small temple back-and-forth over a churning, metal sea.

As it was explained to me, there is a spirit of the sea, which helps out seafarers  when they get in trouble in the open waters.  Or maybe it sinks their ships?  Or both?  I couldn't understand the explanation clearly, as it was coming from the mouth of a nearly-toothless 70 year-old man chomping on betel nuts, but I did understand the point that there is a spirit in the ocean.  In any case, the temple in the ocean represents whatever side is the good side, either fighting with or working against the spirit.  And this, we find out, is the target we need to hit.  More specifically, we needed to throw small folded bills into the bowl attached to the front of the moving temple.

One of the many reactions to seeing foreign things is "why is that?"  You see something different, you don't understand why it is that way, so you question its reasoning.  This is a natural response.  In Korea, I never understood why people could ignore queues like they weren't made for them.  In Guatemala, I never understood how they could have such bland food when they are surrounded by the chili-infused cultures of Belize and Mexico.  In Japan...well, I just don't understand Japan.

Some people like their old buildings all nice and pristine, looking like they did when they were first built.  I, on the other hand, prefer my ruins to be...well...ruined.  Preah Khan is one of those ruins that is sufficiently ruined and is a place begging to be explored.

Unlike some of the more popular sites at Angkor, Preah Khan is pretty wide open for exploration.  Its not hard to climb through a couple of small doorways, over some rubble, and find yourself all alone in an ancient, empty room.  In fact, it's so open and large that it's easy to get disoriented and find yourself at the opposite end of the temple than you expected.  Fortunately, for the princely sum of $1 the workers assigned to guard the temple from looters will take you around and show you the highlights if you so choose.  If you do take it, though, don't forget to leave some extra time to do some of your own Indiana Jones-type exploring!