We set out on our own during the late afternoon, ambling through yet another dry riverbed, andwound up at the top of a windswept peak at sunset: Lemarti and Boniface building a fire, Trzebinski embracing and whispering to her young daughter, Tacha, relaxed conversation, aperitifs on offer--and a communal sense of wonder.
It looked to be entirely overgrown, but Sopheng knew a trail that woundthrough the vines, bushes and branches to a hollow under the tower itself, where I was surprised to find not only ancient inscriptions but also fresh incense and candles.