SEPTEMBER 2026

CONTENT

Banteay Srei, Where Stone Turns to Lace.

BANTEAY SREI
WHERE STONE TURNS TO LACE

Set apart from the great masses of Angkor, Banteay Srei does not overwhelm visitors with the sheer power of a temple-pyramid or the massive scale of a sacred city. Instead, this breathtaking sanctuary reveals itself through intimate concentration. Everything here is smaller, tighter, and closer to the eye: the towers, the doors, the pediments, and the exquisite divine figures. Yet, this reduced scale diminishes nothing. On the contrary, it forces the stone to become precise and deeply expressive. Closer study reveals sandstone that seems to have been worked not by ordinary stonecutters, but by master goldsmiths.

A Sanctuary for Knowledge

Banteay Srei was consecrated on April 22, 967, at the turning point between the reigns of King Rajendravarman II and King Jayavarman V. Its origin is an exception in Angkor’s monumental history. It was not ordered by a king, but by Yajnavaraha, a high court dignitary, royal adviser, and tutor to the future Jayavarman V. Inscriptions also associate his brother and sister with the project, reminding travelers today that the temple was born from a scholarly, religious family foundation rather than a raw display of royal power.

The temple’s foundation stele paints Yajnavaraha as a learned man who was also attentive to the sick, the poor, and victims of injustice. This duality of scholar and benefactor sheds light on the sanctuary’s unique character. Banteay Srei is not a monument of military conquest. It was conceived as a peaceful sanctuary for knowledge, devotion, and cultural transmission. It was protected by an elite class close enough to the throne to master royal architectural codes, yet free enough to redesign them on a warm, human scale.

The Heart of a Lost City

The temple originally anchored a grand estate named Ishvarapura, or the “City of the Lord,” whose historic landscape reached far beyond the stone enclosures visible today. In its prime, the sanctuary was surrounded by bustling dwellings, cultivated fields, local roads, and complex water systems linked to the Siem Reap River. Banteay Srei was never an isolated jewel lost in an empty jungle; it was the vibrant ritual heart of an inhabited, highly organized community.

The main deity honored here was Tribhuvanamaheshvara—“the Great Lord of the Three Worlds”—a powerful form of Shiva. However, the temple layout devotes significant space to Vishnu. The southern side of the complex highlights Shiva, while certain northern structures are dedicated to Vishnu. Rather than a conflict of beliefs, this harmonious coexistence showcases the incredible depth of the Hindu pantheon as it was adopted and reinvented by the Khmer civilization.

A Journey of Calculated Progression

The sanctuary unfolds along an east-west axis, a signature layout in Khmer sacred architecture. Approaching from the east, a long causeway guides visitors through a succession of elegant entrance pavilions. From there, it opens up to three nested enclosures, galleries, and annex buildings. Near the center, at the northeast and southeast corners, sit two buildings conventionally called “libraries.” While historians still debate their exact function, their artistic value is undeniable, hosting some of the monument's most famous and intricate pediments.

Walking through the complex feels like a carefully calculated progression. Each doorway narrows the space, drawing you closer to the heart of the sanctuary. The wider, more restrained outer spaces set the stage for the intense detail of the inner enclosure, where three central towers stand together on a single terrace, rising so close together they almost touch. While this tight arrangement might look crowded in a larger monument, here it becomes a strength; the structures form a compact, powerful core, looking as though the buildings themselves tightened to shield the dwelling of the god.

An Inviting Cosmic Design

As one walks away from the center, the eastern pavilions gradually increase in size. This growth happens not by adding height, but by extending the ground plan. Thanks to this clever layout, the temple preserves a striking vertical tension at its core, even though the main tower rises to only about ten meters. This unique organization conveys a form of cosmic expansion. The sacred energy contained within the central sanctuary spreads from enclosure to enclosure, widens, and finally rejoins the outer world.

While the smallness of Banteay Srei has often been described as a whim, it actually responds to a precise geometric discipline, based on classic Indian architectural models adapted by Khmer builders. The proportions are never reduced at random. Instead, they are meticulously recalculated according to a coherent, harmonious module. The monument never seeks to crush or intimidate. Instead, it draws the viewer into a stunning succession of visual frames, gently compelling one to slow down, breathe, and truly look.

Pink Sandstone That Changes with the Light

Banteay Srei’s legendary reputation rests first and foremost on its remarkable choice of stone. The central sanctuary is built of fine-grained red sandstone, which famously glows with a soft pink hue when the daylight softens.

The builders reserved rougher laterite and brick for the outer enclosures and specific structural elements. As one advances toward the sacred center, the exquisite sandstone becomes more present, denser, and more heavily worked. This hierarchy of materials mirrors the transition into the temple’s most sacred spaces.

Despite its durability, this hard stone lends itself to carving of extreme delicacy. Ancient sculptors cut deep, crisp lines into the rock to fashion nervous foliage, delicate jewels, elaborate headdresses, and expressive faces and bodies. Remarkably, these details still retain an astonishing sharpness today. Under the morning sun, the stone reliefs appear spun from gold. Later in the day, they shift to deep tones of copper, scorched earth, or dried blood. The colors change constantly, but the precision remains.

Guardians, Myths, and Moving Stories

Intricate decoration covers almost every available surface, yet it never feels cluttered or overwhelming. The artwork concentrates exactly where the architecture opens, closes, or changes direction: on door lintels, triangular pediments, slender colonnettes, pilasters, false doors, niches, and the sharp angles of the towers. The sculpture does not conceal the construction. Instead, it artfully emphasizes its structural design, making each threshold feel like a distinct boundary between the human world and divine space.

Devatas and dvârapâlas occupy the niches. The devatas embody celestial presences of attentive grace. Meanwhile, the armed and powerful dvarapalas guard access to the sanctuary. Around them appear Kala, the monstrous mouth from which scrollwork is born, alongside standing lions, garudas, serpents, flowers, and foliage.

Here, stone turns effortlessly into vegetation, and vegetation transforms back into architecture. This craftsmanship led French archaeologist Maurice Glaize to compare the temple less to monumental stone sculpture and more to the delicate art of goldsmiths and wood engravers.

Banteay Srei marks a vital turning point in the evolution of Khmer art. The pediments and lintels do not just display isolated figures or protective symbols; they become backdrops for vibrant, moving narratives. Entire action scenes from Hindu mythology unfold above the doorways, composed with a brilliant mastery of depth, movement, and scale.

On certain pediments, Ravana shakes Mount Kailasa while Shiva remains impassive at the summit. Elsewhere, Kama, the god of desire, attempts to disturb Shiva’s meditation. Other compositions evoke Indra’s rain, the death of Kamsa, Shiva’s cosmic dance, and Durga’s victory over the buffalo demon Mahisha.

These ancient myths are placed side-by-side like illustrations in a book. They are perfectly adapted to the geometric form of the pediment, neatly constrained by the triangle, the curves of the framing decoration, and the narrowness of the space.

The famous episode of Shiva and Arjuna, known as the Kiratarjuniya, effortlessly reveals this compositional intelligence. Shiva takes the appearance of a hunter to confront the hero Arjuna. Multiple moments of the single story coexist seamlessly within a single lintel. The main battle occupies the absolute center, while secondary figures, nestled beneath arching stone plants, guide the eye directly toward the combat. The story builds its drama through perfect symmetry, rhythmic repetition, and converging movement.

The pediment devoted to the abduction of Sita by the demon Viradha goes even further. The heroes Rama and Lakshmana stand on either side with weapons raised, while wild animals and twisting vegetal scrolls invade the scene. The setting is no longer a simple frame; it transforms into the hostile Dandaka forest of the Ramayana, participating directly in the emotional meaning of the image. At Banteay Srei, the jungle does not just surround the narrative—it becomes its living landscape.

An Invisible Order

This storytelling innovation is all the more remarkable because it relies on an older artistic vocabulary. The temple artists took up traditional forms developed earlier at Roluos, Preah Ko, and Koh Ker. However, they simplified them, reorganized them, and subjected them to a much more rigorous composition.

The true originality of Banteay Srei does not lie in a complete break from the past. Instead, it arises from the brilliant way inherited traditions were disciplined, refined, and made capable of telling stories.

While the first glance registers an abundance of detail, the entire complex obeys a strict, invisible hierarchy. The decoration becomes noticeably more complex as you walk from the outer periphery toward the center, matching the flow of the architecture itself. The most elaborate narrative stories mark the major buildings, while simpler motifs remain at the margins. On the towers, the eastern, northern, and southern facades generally receive more prestigious artistic treatment than the western faces.

Even the false stories follow a strict gradation. The lower levels, which sit closer to the eye and to ancient rituals, are much more richly carved than the upper parts. This organization prevents the profusion of art from dissolving into mere decoration. Each figure has its proper place, each motif serves a function, and each variation carries spiritual value.

The true beauty of Banteay Srei lies less in the sheer quantity of its carvings than in their absolute submission to an invisible order. The temple remains legible beneath its rich ornament, while the ornament reveals the underlying logic of the temple.

The same artistic mastery explains the effect produced by the three superimposed pediments on certain libraries. The frames interlock seamlessly, the scenes answer one another, and the curves continue without a hint of confusion. The eye passes naturally from one narrative to another, yet always returns safely to the center. The composition acts like a breathtaking miniature architecture placed inside the real architecture.

The Citadel of Beauty

The name Banteay Srei was actually coined long after the sanctuary was built. It is generally translated today as the “Citadel of Women” or the “Citadel of Beauty.” Over the years, several explanations for the name have emerged: the delicacy of the stone carvings, the small size of the buildings, the numerous graceful devatas guarding the walls, or the romantic idea that only a woman’s hand could create a work of such refinement.

While none of these modern explanations reflect the temple’s ancient name, they all perfectly capture the astonishment the monument sparks in everyone who visits. Its original title anchored it firmly to the sacred realm of the god Shiva. The modern name moves it instead into the realm of pure vision and raw sensation. Between the two names stand a thousand years of rich history. On one side sits the holy sanctuary desired by a scholar; on the other sits the “jewel of Khmer art,” universally admired for the sensuality of its stone.

Looters, Rebirth, and a Blueprint for Restoration

Modern archaeologists first catalogued the site in 1914, though local populations had never forgotten its existence. Its relative remoteness and the exceptional quality of its carvings quickly made it a target. In 1923, French writer André Malraux, along with Clara Malraux and Louis Chevasson, detached several sculpted stone elements to steal them. They were arrested in Phnom Penh, and the pieces were recovered. While often romanticized in old adventure novels, the episode was simply an act of looting that damaged the monument and exposed the critical fragility of Khmer heritage.

The clearing of the site began shortly after the scandal, led by archaeologist Henri Marchal in the early 1930s. He applied a pioneering method called anastylosis, which he had studied on temples in Java. Workers systematically dismantled, inventoried, and numbered the stone blocks. Then, they replaced them precisely into their original positions. This exact project became the model for restoring the rest of the Angkor region. The photographic archives of the École française d’Extrême-Orient still preserve images of this patient reassembly, notably capturing work on the southern tower between 1931 and 1933.

The discovery of a foundation stele in 1936 established a definitive chronology of the temple. Before its discovery, the richness of the decoration led scholars to assume the temple was built much later. The inscription proved the opposite: this artistic perfection fully belonged to the tenth century, forcing historians to rewrite the evolution of Khmer art.

Preserving a Living Masterpiece

Conservation has continued long after those twentieth-century restorations. A joint Cambodian-Swiss program launched in the early 2000s to tackle modern threats, managing drainage, water control, structural stabilization, and jungle root protection. These continuous efforts remind us that even the toughest sandstone remains highly vulnerable to humidity, temperature shifts, aggressive vegetation, and heavy foot traffic.

Banteay Srei today belongs to the Angkor complex on the UNESCO World Heritage List. UNESCO counts it among the undisputed masterpieces of Khmer art. However, its long-term survival relies on continuous work by Cambodian institutions, international scientific teams, and the local communities who still inhabit this historic landscape.

A Close-Up Discovery

Banteay Srei does not rely on immensity to impress. Its strength comes from an almost physical relationship between the eye, the hands, and the stone. Visitors do not need to crane their necks toward the sky. Instead, one must draw close, follow a crisp line with your eyes, recognize a smiling face, and wait for a passing shadow to reveal the deep dimension of a stone scroll.

The temple does not reveal its magic in a single, sweeping view. It surrenders itself slowly through a succession of close-up discoveries. Here, true monumentality does not depend on size. It is born from a dense concentration of meaning, perfect geometric proportions, and a flawless blend of architecture and narrative. The gods are not simply placed onto the walls. They seem to actively emerge from the pink sandstone, carrying entire forests, mountains, epic battles, and the movements of the world along with them.

One leaves Banteay Srei with a lingering, beautiful question: is it the ancient architecture that carries these images, or is it the images themselves that have kept the architecture standing for over a thousand years

SOURCES
• École française d’Extrême-Orient, Henri Marchal photographic collection and archives of the anastylosis of Banteay Srei.
• International Coordinating Committee for the Safeguarding and Development of the Historic Site of Angkor (ICC-Angkor).
• Bourdonneau, Éric. “Redefining the Originality of Banteay Srei: Relation between Iconography and Architecture.” In Aséanie 3, 1999, pp. 27–65.

TEXTS by Secret Indochina

ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAP by Lucas Varro (website)

CAPTION
- Banner: Banteay Srei.
- Banteay Srei map.
- Banteay Srei Courtyard.
- Banteay Srei Dvarapala.
- Banteay Srei Guardian.
- Banteay Srei Library.

BANTEAY SREI
AND THE MEASURE OF BEAUTY

At Banteay Srei, the carving begins before the visitor has properly arrived.

The temple is entered from the east through a small gateway. Above it, Indra rides Airavata, the elephant of the clouds, here given three heads. On either side of the doorway, lions’ heads alternate with the heads of birds. They are not large. Nothing here needs to be. Before the towers have appeared, the stone has already asked the eye to come closer.

Beyond the gate, an avenue leads towards the temple. Boundary stones mark its edges. On either side, two long galleries open towards the path. Their roofs have vanished, but once glazed tiles rested upon wooden frames, catching a light whose colour can now only be imagined.

The arrangement has an older memory. Its long approach recalls Prasat Thom at Koh Ker, the tenth-century capital north-east of Angkor, while the triangular pediments above the gates also inherit forms first developed there. Banteay Srei did not appear from nowhere. Its refinement belongs to a long Khmer experiment in how a sacred place should be approached, entered and gradually revealed.

The famous central towers are still some distance away. Instead, the visitor encounters smaller buildings and carved scenes.

In one, Vishnu appears as Narasimha, the man-lion, tearing open the demon Hiranyakashipu. Yet the god looks more terrifying than the creature he has come to destroy. Narasimha has the face of a beast; the demon resembles a handsome prince. Divinity and monstrosity cannot be distinguished by beauty alone.

Elsewhere, Shiva holds his trident beside Uma as they ride the bull Nandi. At the ends of the lintel, makaras disgorge garudas rather than the more familiar nagas. Their curling snouts are almost trunks; the round colonnettes preserve another memory, this time of pre-Angkorian architecture.

The avenue continues through another gate and into the outer enclosure. A short causeway crosses the water. Another gopura waits beyond it, and then another threshold after that. Arrival at Banteay Srei is never a single event. Each entrance opens only onto the possibility of entering again.

Eventually the visitor stands before the low, broken wall of the innermost enclosure. A rope now marks the limit. The central towers are closed to entry, though they remain only a few metres away.

Above the gateway, Shiva dances.

He has ten arms, each extending the movement further into the stone. Below him, in the lower corners of the same scene, two figures answer the dance. To the right, a musician plays his drum with unmistakable delight. To the left crouches an emaciated woman with fangs, her body reduced almost to bone.

She is Karaikkal Ammaiyar, the Tamil poet and saint who asked Shiva to release her from beauty. Tradition remembers her as a woman whose appearance drew the attention of men when she desired only to worship. She sought neither restored youth nor divine loveliness, but a form from which worldly desire would turn away. Shiva granted her the body of a ghoul. In that terrible form, she remained near him, singing beneath his dance.

It is an extraordinary figure to find at the threshold of the temple most celebrated for its beauty.

Banteay Srei does not resolve the contradiction. The dancing god, the joyful drummer and the woman who relinquished beauty remain together. Beauty is neither rejected nor allowed to become sufficient. It may delight the senses, but the stone remembers a devotion willing to pass beyond it.

There is another presence behind the temple. Banteay Srei was consecrated in 967 by two Brahman brothers, Yajñavarāha and Viṣṇukumāra. Yajñavarāha, a grandson of King Harshavarman I and tutor to the future Jayavarman V, stood close to royal power without himself being king. There is something fitting in the survival of a teacher’s name at a temple that still rewards the quality every teacher hopes to awaken: attention.

Beyond the rope, the central ensemble gathers itself into rose-coloured stone. Three towers rise from a common platform. Beside them stand the two buildings conventionally called libraries, their pediments filled with some of the most powerful narrative carving at Angkor.

On one, Ravana shakes Mount Kailasa. The mountain fills with agitation: animals flee, supernatural beings recoil, ascetics turn towards the disturbance, while Shiva and Uma remain above the violence. An entire mountain trembles within a confined triangle of stone.

Then there are the devatas.

They stand in niches around the central buildings, richly adorned yet quietly composed. Their bodies incline with an ease that seems almost impossible in sandstone. Jewellery, folded cloth, elaborate headdresses and flowers remain sharply legible after more than a thousand years. They are commonly associated with the temple’s modern name, Banteay Srei, the Citadel of Women.

From a distance they appear related, almost repeated. Magnification reveals difference: one face more inward than another, one mouth on the verge of a smile, one hand turning differently around the stem of a lotus. Ornaments change. Cloth falls in another rhythm.

The closed central enclosure has not destroyed the temple’s intimacy. The carvings remain close enough to study with the zoom of a phone camera. Binoculars are better. Through them, features that seemed decorative become inhabited: a face among foliage, a small animal beneath a throne, fingers closing around a weapon, fear passing through a crowd.

This is why “miniature temple” feels wrong. Banteay Srei is not a reduced copy of something larger and more complete. Its sacred world is whole. What has been diminished is not ambition, but distance.

The other familiar phrase—“the jewel of Angkor”—comes nearer to the truth. Banteay Srei possesses the concentration of a gem. Light settles differently in the warm sandstone at different hours, turning it from dusty rose to copper, muted gold and back again. Deep carving gathers shadow beneath brows, ornaments and leaves. A surface that appears complete from several metres away opens into further worlds when examined closely.

It is best encountered when quiet: early in the morning or later in the day, after the larger groups have passed. Crowds do not make the temple less beautiful, but they can make its beauty harder to receive. Banteay Srei depends upon pauses—before a lintel, beneath a pediment, beside a devata whose differences take time to emerge.

The temptation is to hurry along the avenue towards the famous towers. It should be resisted. The outer gateway, the galleries, the small shrines and the successive enclosures are not preliminaries to the temple. They are how the temple teaches the visitor to arrive.

Some monuments establish their greatness through immensity. They make the human body feel small beneath towers, terraces and impossible masses of stone.

Banteay Srei does something quieter.

It waits only a few metres away: in a lion’s head, a dancer’s hand, a mountain trembling beneath a god, the wasted body of a woman who surrendered beauty, and faces that become less alike the longer they are seen.

The temple does not need to be larger.

It needs us to look.

TEXTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS by Lucas Varro.

CAPTION
- Banner: Banteay Srei Lintel.
- Banteay Srei Devata.
- Banteay Srei Pediment.
- Banteay Srei Guardian.

THE ENDURING LEGACY OF
THE "KINGDOM OF A MILLION ELEPHANTS"

Laos derives its historical and cultural identity from the kingdom of Lan Xang Hom Khao. This “Kingdom of a Million Elephants and the White Parasol” flourished from 1353 to 1707. At the time, it was one of the largest kingdoms in Southeast Asia.

Its name brings together two essential symbols of royalty: the elephant and the white parasol. The elephant served as an instrument of war, transportation, and prestige. Meanwhile, the white parasol stood as an emblem of sovereignty across the region's Buddhist monarchies.

Rather than a state with precisely defined borders, Lan Xang functioned as a vast network. It connected principalities, cities, and tributary territories organized around the royal court, the Mekong River, and its tributaries. This unique geography partly explains the vital importance the river still holds today in the country's imagination, economy, and organization.

Lan Xang: From the Reign of Fa Ngum to Fragmentation

At its height from the 15th to the 17th century, this vast territory encompassed much of present-day Laos. It also included areas now located in Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam.

Lan Xang was founded in 1353 by Fa Ngum, a Lao prince raised at the Khmer court. Supported by the military power of Angkor, he unified several principalities in the Mekong Valley. He then established his capital at Luang Prabang, which was known at the time as Muang Sua. From that point onward, the monarchy played a strategic role between the kingdom of Ayutthaya (Siam), Burma, the Vietnamese Dai Viet, and the Khmer world.

The kingdom's golden age reached its zenith during the reign of King Sourigna Vongsa in the 17th century. Following his death, the kingdom gradually weakened. It ultimately split into several rival principalities, including Luang Prabang, Vientiane, and Champassak. This deep division later facilitated the Siamese invasion.

Fa Ngum also introduced Theravada Buddhism from the Khmer world to his court. Along with the religion, he brought the Pha Bang, a small, sacred Buddha image traditionally regarded as the palladium of the kingdom. Believed to protect the country and legitimize the authority of its sovereign, the image became profoundly important. Eventually, the capital even took its name. Luang Prabang translates to the "City of the Venerable Pha Bang." Still kept in the former royal capital, the statue remains one of the most revered symbols in Lao history.

Religious Heritage and Living Traditions

Although Lan Xang no longer exists as a political entity, it remains omnipresent in the Lao national identity. It constantly evokes a foundational age of unity, sovereignty, and cultural influence in the face of neighboring powers.

Theravada Buddhism once served as the state religion and the spiritual pillar of the kingdom. Today, it remains the dominant religion, even though the country has officially been secular since 1975. Royal and monastic traditions inherited from the kingdom continue to shape contemporary culture. Furthermore, this rich legacy can still be seen in historic cities through key landmarks and festive traditions:

Lan Xang’s monasteries were never merely places of worship. They also served as schools, libraries, and centers for transmitting knowledge. Within their walls, religious, medical, legal, and astrological texts were painstakingly copied onto palm leaves.

It was during this vibrant period that several major works of Lao literature developed, including the Phra Lak Phra Ram. This text is a local adaptation of the Ramayana, in which the classic Indian narrative is transposed directly into the geography and cultural world of the Mekong Valley.

The elephant was once an emblem of military power and royal prestige. Today, it remains a powerful national symbol despite a severe modern decline in its population. The number of individuals left in the wild has dropped to no more than a few hundred.

Formerly used by armies, for royal travel, in logging, and during grand state ceremonies, elephants contributed directly to the kingdom's power. Extremely rare white elephants were perceived as signs of supreme merit and sovereign legitimacy. While their discovery could greatly enhance a king's prestige, it could also arouse the deep envy of his neighbors. Today, forest fragmentation, poaching, and conflicts with human activity threaten their continued presence. This reality gives the historic name "Land of a Million Elephants" a deeply melancholy resonance.

Preserving the Legacy of the “Kingdom of a Million Elephants”

Today, around ten active sanctuaries or conservation centers operate across the country, each guided by its own ethical approach. The most notable is the Elephant Conservation Center in Sayaboury, supported by the NGO ElefantAsia. It sits in a region historically associated with elephant culture.

The 1,912-square-kilometer Nam Phouy National Biodiversity Conservation Area (NBCA) extends across this area. It comprises mixed deciduous forests, secondary forests, a few tracts of primary forest, and dense bamboo forests. The region is inhabited mainly by Lao Loum and Hmong communities.

The Elephant Conservation Center in Sayaboury

Initially founded in 2001 around a veterinary care program for elephants used in the logging industry, this center is located in Xaignabouli (Sayaboury) Province. It gradually expanded its mission toward a comprehensive approach, becoming Laos's first hospital dedicated entirely to the gray giant.

The center treats, rehabilitates, and monitors the health of its twenty-seven residents. This vital work is carried out alongside specialized breeding programs designed to support genetic diversity.

The center also promotes initiatives to protect the forest ecosystems essential to the survival of wild elephants. It achieves this through reforestation projects, sustainable natural resource management, and targeted efforts to reduce human-elephant conflict.

In addition, environmental education programs run alongside schools, rural communities, and visitors. These programs successfully raise awareness about biodiversity, deforestation, and coexistence with wildlife. The center also provides training in sustainable practices to communities living around the park and to local mahouts.

For travelers with an interest in conservation, stays of varying lengths offer opportunities to meet caretakers and mahouts to learn about the center's daily work. Possible experiences include:

The Mekong Elephant Park in Pakbeng

It is also worth highlighting the Mekong Elephant Park in Pakbeng, located in Oudomxay Province. The park sits right at the scenic confluence of the Nam Beng River and the Mekong River.

Once accessible only by river, Pakbeng was where French naval officer Francis Garnier stopped on May 30, 1866, during his famous Mekong exploration expedition.

Today, this intimate park is managed by Cannes native Wendy Legatt. The project successfully combines strict environmental objectives with economic and social ambitions.

Working in close cooperation with the Sayaboury center, it offers valuable insight into the critical importance of preserving Asian elephants. All funds raised through visitor tickets and donations contribute directly to protecting rescued pachyderms, while providing their mahouts with a decent, sustainable wage.

LEARN MORE

CAPTION
- Banner: royal elephants, painting by Sompaseuth Chounlamany.
- The Elephants, Alix Aymé, 1930, oil on canvas.
- The keratinized “nails” of an elephant from the Central region © Secret Indochina.
- Illustration by Eugène Burnand (1885) for Paul Néis’s account, Voyage dans le Haut Laos.

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