April 3, 2026

The star attraction of the Phanom Rung archaeological site is that four times a year — including the current days in April — the sun is aligned in a manner that at sunrise the light shines through all fifteen portals to the temple at the same time. It sounds spectacular and seductive, but I doubt that I’ll make to the site at sunrise, given that I haven’t slept much of the night, what with the onset of bronchitis, thanks to being seated next to a sick person on my recent outbound flight from Vancouver and switching between extreme heat and jets of cold AC. My current health issue wouldn’t be so challenging if I hadn’t forgotten the extra strength Tylenols that would have helped alleviate the sense of malaise in the Bangkok Airbnb — and that after apparently scouring the place for my things prior to departure.

But how will I even get to Phanom Rung? Either I can spend a lot of money on a private taxi to the site or try to jury rig the trip with public transport, taking a minibus on the east-west highway to the junction nearest the turnoff to Phanom Rung, then negotiate with motorcycle taxi drivers who will hopefully be available at the junction. Then I have to figure out how to even get said bus, given that there is virtually no transport in town, and while there will be bus stops along the highway, they are not marked on the Google Map. On top of everything, the information provided by Google in AI mode is wrong, advising taking the bus from Nang Rong westward toward Korat — even though Phanom Rung is located to the southeast of Nang Rong.

I watch the sun rise from the large window that my room is blessed with and console myself with the fact that the lighting is far from memorable anyway — it would hardly have offered much of a show in this hazy, overheated landscape. But now that I will obviously not be at the temple ruins at dawn, there is far less of a rush to get there, and perhaps I should spend a few hours preparing for the day, including writing in my journal prior to leaving for the bus station when I am in a better physical and mental state.

The large picture window and glass balcony door are very appealing, especially with the views of the flat, brown countryside speckled with the occasional palm tree, but it soon becomes apparently that even the first rays of dawn are causing the temperature to rise significantly in the room. On the wall sits a plaque itemizing the fines that will be exacted based on damages to items in the room, the detailing of which points to evident experiences with such damages.

Amazingly, I am able to hail a Bolt motorcycle taxi to the bus station, which seems incredible, given yesterday’s experience. Never mind that the whitewashed modernist lobby and its uniform air-conditioning is far from the most uncomfortable place to be waiting. While the hotel does not offer any breakfast, there are jars of cookies as well as well as tureens of drinks set up to provide appealing supplements to the takeout breakfast I enjoyed earlier on. Few people are visible in the lobby, and there are almost no vehicles left on the parking lot, not that most guests wouldn’t have left at a much earlier hour.

Finding public transport heading eastward is hardly much of a challenge, given that the highway that runs east-west through the town is the direct route to Ubon Ratchathani, one of the largest cities in the Isan, and not far from the Lao border. I could probably have caught the bus along the road passing by my hotel, but that could have become complicated, given that I wouldn’t necessarily be able to identify the applicable bus until too late, risk missing one or more buses, and in the end simply unnecessarily waste a significant amount of time.

The bus pulls out of the bus station, turns onto the highway, then begins its journey, retracing the distance I covered from the hotel, then passing by the now familiar spires of the decrepit temple I visited yesterday, then continuing onward into the relatively characterless rural expanse of the eastern Buriram province. Despite having made it clear to the driver that I want to disembark at the intersection leading to Phanom Rung, I follow our progress obsessively on the map, assuming that the driver may somehow have forgotten my request, and rightfully so: we approach the intersection in question and careen past as I rush towards the front of the bus, shouting at the driver and pointing toward the intersection we just passed. He gradually slows down, but is visibly unperturbed and indifferent to what just happened — yet another example of dealing with bus drivers when traveling anywhere in the world.

Crossing the broad highway on foot is easy enough, given how little traffic there is, but when I reach the other side, I quickly realize that there is no stand for motorcycle or car taxis waiting to take visitors to Phanom Rung. Presumably anyone motivated enough to visit the site would have access to a car, and not be traveling in as arcane a manner as the budget backpacker. A few people are gathered at a small kiosk of the east side of the 2117, one younger woman speaking relatively fluent English and happy to help me find a motorcycle taxi driver who would take me to the archaeological site. However, it seems that the only candidate for such an effort would be a morbidly obese young man who wants far too much for the effort. Not only do I refuse to be taken advantage of, but am rightfully concerned about the safety of riding on a scooter with this enormous person.

Rather than negotiate for a lower price, I tell them the price is far too high, and make my way on foot southward along the highway, imagining with characteristic optimism that it just shouldn’t take that long to walk to Phanom Rung from here. That could perhaps be a reasonable idea in some alternate universe, but given the intense midday heat, it doesn’t take long for the reality of my endeavour to sink in, every step forward increasingly forced, my legs increasingly leaden, my legs increasingly irritated by the sweat-drenched synthetic fabric rubbing against my skin. I see no sign of taxis of any sort; while some of the scooters passing by with no passengers could hypothetically be interested in bringing me to the archaeological site, no one is evidently that interested that they even slow down next to me and make any kind of offer. It should certainly be fairly evident as to where I am heading — why otherwise would any farang in their right mind be walking along this solitary highway?

One reason, perhaps subconscious, that I take actions that reflect a excess degree of naïveté and optimism is that I really am lucky, and what is about to take place is another good example of exactly that. As I wearily continue trudging along the highway, several scooters pull up to me, one driven by a young man by himself and the other with two young women, one of whom is the one I spoke with at the intersection regarding getting a ride to Phanom Rung. She tells me that her friend — the young man driving the other scooter — can take me to the site, since he is passing by there anyway. And no, he doesn’t want any payment.

I am overjoyed at this turn of events, but adamant that I should pay him something. No, they insist, he doesn’t want any payment. I am effusive in my thanks, then am off, the diminutive young man occasionally speaking with me in halting English. We continue some distance to the south, then turn east at the first major intersection. The terrain is flat and somewhat more bucolic than would be evident from the main highway, but the land around us unequivocally rural, with only very scattered encampments of houses, most of the land dedicated to a mix of agriculture, pasture, patches of forest, and much of it apparently fallow.

I quickly see that walking even a portion of the distance to the archaeological site would be utterly unrealistic, certainly given the heat and my physical condition. The further we ride, the more astonished I am at the generosity of the young man; somewhere en route, he points to an ostentatious, traditionally European-styled structure that is the college he attends. But we still have quite some distance to continue to Phanom Rung, the local highway jogging eventually southward, then not far beyond the bend, the entrance to the Historical Park — even the distance from the local road to the entrance of the archaeological site itself is considerable.

I bid a heartfelt farewell to the young scooter driver, then am off to explore Phanom Rung. The parking area of the site extends across a considerable terrain, individual bays separated by clusters of trees, with no apparent indication as to the location of the ticket office or entrance to the site with the actual temple structure. At the rear of a flagstone-paved walkway I see what appears to be ticket office, and so I head in that direction. The female attendants in the office are flattered by my presence, not surprisingly, given how remote this place is as the likelihood of foreigners appearing slim. As luck has it, a festival is in progress at the site, and even better, for reasons I can no longer recall, admission is free today. What luck!

The ticket office doubles as a museum, so naturally, I begin my tour of the archaeological site here. The collection is relatively limited, consisting of a series of larger, weathered stone sculptures found onsite of stylized animal figures and saints dating from the 12th century. Given the limited selection on artifacts, I suspect that a larger number of pieces would be displayed in national exhibition spaces — or at least whatever wasn’t pillaged in the day.

Outside, the stone trail continues uphill for some distance, eventually reaching a set of stairs that lead to the pinnacle of a hill on which the ancient Khmer temple was erected. On the sides, modest landscaping consisting of shorn grass and the obligatory frangipani trees, caressed with traces of white and pink flowers. A small, ornate stage has been erected on the grounds, and before it seating in the form of hay bales topped with plaid cushions. As of yet, few people linger in the seating area, the scheduled performances not intended to begin for some time. Given the challenges of coming here without a vehicle and the presumable lack of any kind of public transport out from the site — even with the throngs of people gathering — it will be unlikely that I will be able to take in any of the performances. I also need to keep in mind that it gets dark around dinnertime, so I have to have arranged some sort of return transport well before that.

Groups of women in elaborate costumes gather on the grounds, although it isn’t clear to me as to whether they are dressed to represent some cultural area or will be performing. As the afternoon progresses, I see successive groups of costumed women arriving. To the side of the stage, a grid of kiosks selling the obligatory Thai market food and drinks, and given the amount of human traffic on the site, the vendors mostly seem to be doing brisk business. Given how remote the temple complex is, it is surprising to see such a crowd gathering, although I see no trace of any other farang.

The stone walkway leading to the temple is lined by stone posts crowned with identical carvings of lotus buds. The passage climbs to the temple proper by means of a series of staircases and bridges, the latter representing the connection between heaven and earth. The upper staircase leads to the temple proper, consisting of an outer courtyard in which the inner courtyard is situated, and within which lies the principle temple structure, which culminates in an elaborately-carved towering prang. While the courtyard walls are unadorned other than regularly-spaced square windows lined with banded columns. The exterior walls of the inner temple are embellished with elaborately-carved religious iconography, the decorative aspects concentrated on the gables and fascia of the porticos. The complex is partially restored, and while most of the outer roof canopies are missing, the outer wall segments are largely intact, moreover, much of the architectural nuances and brilliant sculptural detailing of the central structure.

From the placard at the site: “Khao Phnom Rung is an extinct volcano which has been dormant for 900,000 years. When the sanctuary was built on the top of Khao Phnom Rung, slight alterations were made to the crater, and it was turned into a huge reservoir with sufficient water supply for consumption. Phnom Rung has been the original name of the mountain itself and the sanctuary on top of it since at least 989 or the 11th century A.D. The word appeared in 4 Khmer alphabet inscriptions written in the Khmer language discovered at Prasat Phnom Rung. The word ‘Phnom Rung’ derived from a Khmer word ‘Vnam Rung’ which means a large mountain, the same meaning as the words ‘S-Thuadri’ and ‘S-Thula Saila’ in other Khmer alphabet inscriptions written in the Sanskrit language.

Prasat Phnom Rung is a sanctuary dedicated to the Pasupata sect of Sivaite Hinduism, which believed in the God Siva. The construction of Prasat Phnom Rung on the top of the mountain was compared to that of the God Siva’s residence, which is believed to be situated on the top of mount Kailasa. The buildings within the complex of Prasat Phnom Rung can be divided by chronological order into 4 periods. The most ancient are the two brick towers of Koh Kare style built around the 10th century A.D. The second period is attested by Prasat Noi, which was built around the 11th century A.D. in Baphuon style. The third period is when most of the structures within the complex were constructed including the main tower around the 12th century A.D. in the Angkor Wat style. The last period is apparent from the two laterite libraries or Bannalai built between the 12th-13th centuries A.D. in the Bayon style.”

Phanom Rung is absolutely breathtaking for its splendor, state of restoration, unique and sublime aesthetics, and scale; if it weren’t for the festivities currently happening at the site, I can well imagine that there would be very few visitors to the archaeological site. As it is, the bulk of attendees remain on the grounds below, near the stage, and don’t climb up to the temple; as they are presumably local, they would have visited often enough and seen the temple proper at least on several prior occasions.

I descend the steps to the lower concourse and fields closer to the parking area. When I return, the rows of vendors whose booths have been set up amid the lightly treed space are busy preparing and selling snacks, sweets, souvenirs, and devotional offerings to the increasing crowds of mostly female visitors. These women are almost universally clad in traditional attire gather, socializing in groups, and inspecting the wares offered at the stands.

It is now already 3:30 in the afternoon, not so late, but given the distance I am from the highway where I can find a bus to Nang Rong and the presumable absence of any public transport, I need to be focused on whatever means I can find to leave the site. It would have been wonderful to be able to visit other temples in the area, but short of meeting anyone actually traveling to these sites and willing to take me along, it would be best I stay focused on returning to Nang Rong.

At the parking lot, the group of uniformed traffic police seem like a good start for finding ways of leaving the temple. After explaining my situation using the translation app, they tell me to wait, but as more vehicles arrive, and group upon group of costumed women arrive, almost all disembarking from hospital vehicles, it doesn’t seem as if anyone is heading back to any of the major urban centres in the region. The ride-hailing apps certainly don’t work here, which is hardly surprising, and there are no car or motorcycle taxis.

A young woman who speaks some English assists one of the police officers in trying to locate a car online, a largely useless exercise. But after some back and forth, she suggests that I could come with her vehicle to Prakhon Chai and take a bus from that town back to Nang Rong. Since Prakhon Chai is on the main highway to Ubon Ratchatani, that seems like an excellent idea!

Sitting in the back of her vehicle, we navigate the perfectly-paved road that weaves down the sides of the extinct volcano to the sun-baked flatlands below, in this rural environment the countryside quite green and pleasant, unlike what you see from towns and the primary highways. The distance we are to cover is not that far on the map, but it takes some time to cover what is effectively a considerable distance.

The road throughout is in excellent shape, the traffic very light, and our occasional small exchanges in the vehicle augmented by the services of Google Translate. They convey to me that the reason I saw so many apparent medical services workers at the temple festival is that the temple is sacred for people working in health care. They work at the hospital in Prakhon Chai, and to illustrate the high quality of healthcare in the country tell me that there are five or six hospitals in Buri Ram province alone.

As convenient as the ride to Prakhon Chai was, the wait for the bus to neighboring Nang Rong is interminable, the bus scheduled an hour and a half from my arrival, and even then coming half an hour late. Ugh. I could really imagine better ways of spending my time. There isn’t much to do here other than meander among the vendors selling mostly food items lining the road next to the small bus terminal. The bus terminal is hardly much of a social affair, a handful of bored and possibly despondent locals waiting for some bus that never seems to arrive and a handful of touts carousing loudly.

Across the road, somewhat of a rarity, a fruit stand selling the familiar and unknown, a great place to stock up for the next few days. The family running the shop allows me to try various of the to me previously unknown fruits, including the delicate, bittersweet longkong and the plum-shaped maprang that tastes like mango. Amazing discoveries! Next door, a modest roadside eatery features a row of bamboo gazebos and marble picnic tables for customers, not a setting I would have expected here, and certainly a great place to enjoy a serving of their fried rice!

When the bus heading westward to Nang Rong arrives, I am again content, with the knowledge that the rest of the day will be settled. I only need to watch the progress of the bus on the map and make sure that I get off across the temple just east of the town centre, leaving me with a few short blocks to the hotel. There is one challenge remaining, and that would be the feral dogs now hiding along the fringes, ready to attack at the slightest provocation. I stay on the quieter side of the street, but revert to brandishing a stick just in case matters escalate.

Once I reach the lengthy parking area leading to the Rabbit hotel the dogs will not be a problem — and yet I see that there is actually another modest accommodation establishment at the entrance, with a sprawling courtyard and restaurant. I enter cautiously and am greeted by the elderly owners, the man telling me he has been running this place as a nexus for independent travelers for years. Had I known! The Rabbit hotel is quite fantastic, and for the few days I will be staying in Nang Rong, I will be happy to stay there, but I am definitely returning to the California hostel in the morning for breakfast — and even better yet, to rent a scooter. The owner tells me that in the many years he has rented scooters to foreigners, no one has ever been checked for papers; I only need to stick to the country roads and be sure to wear a helmet. My concern about renting a scooter had been that I had not acquired an international driver’s license prior to leaving Canada.

Concluding the evening, I cross paths with a group of costumed women who just returned from the festivities at Phanom Rung. They tell me that every group of attendees is dressed in the traditional garb of their town, the bulk of the visitors originating in the Buri Ram province and working in the medical field. They are thrilled to know that I had been at the temple earlier on, but I am somewhat sad that I didn’t stay for the evening’s festivities. If I spoke Thai, perhaps it would have been more apparent that guests would be returning in the evening to the neighboring towns, including Nang Rong, and hence I would have had the opportunity to secure a ride with someone. But I don’t speak Thai …