Chapter III - Cambodia: The Guardian Tree

The Kynam Treasure

200-Year-Old Aquilaria Tree

Wat Bang Kradan Temple – Cambodia

By the time I arrived in Cambodia, I had already collected samples from Japan, accumulated pages of notes, and given my chemist enough work to keep him questioning my sanity for months.

Yet I had the feeling that the journey was only beginning.

Japan had taught me about reverence.

Osaka had taught me about memory.

Cambodia would teach me something else.

Protection.

The journey itself was not easy.

After landing, the road stretched onward for hours.

The further we traveled, the more the modern world seemed to fade behind us.

The scenery changed gradually.

Cities became towns.

Towns became villages.

Villages became forests.

The pace of life slowed.

The air changed.

The sounds changed.

The Scents Changed, dramatically. 

 

 

Even time itself seemed to move differently.

Needless to say, this was not the most luxurious trip I have ever taken.

There were easier ways to spend a vacation. I mean much easier.

But there are moments when comfort becomes less important than curiosity.

This was one of those moments.

The destination was a remote temple region known for ancient ruins, dense jungle, and traditions that had survived for generations.

It was also home to one of the most extraordinary trees I have ever encountered.

Long before I saw it, I heard stories about it.

The first story involved money.

A lot of money.

Rumors circulated that a Japanese businessman had offered millions of dollars to purchase the tree. It was presented in multiple documentaries and collectors in small, closed circles talked about it.

Whether the number had grown through retelling over the years, I cannot say.

What I can say is that every person who spoke about it did so with absolute seriousness.

The second story was more interesting.

The locals believed the tree possessed deep spiritual significance.

Not symbolic significance.

Real significance.

It stood near an ancient temple route and was considered a protector.

Many believed spiritual beings resided within or around it.

Others believed it served as a guardian for the temple grounds.

Whatever one chose to believe, one thing was obvious:

The tree was deeply respected.

And unlike many legends, this one came with evidence.

The tree was guarded twenty-four hours a day.

Not by fences.

Not by signs.

By people.

Armed security personnel watched over it continuously.

At first, I assumed the protection was simply because of the tree's financial value.

Later I realized it was much more than that.

To the local people, this tree represented something sacred.

Something worth protecting.

Something that could not be replaced.

The first time I saw it, I understood immediately why.

The tree was enormous.

Majestic.

Ancient.

And unlike anything I had encountered before.

The aroma reached us before the tree itself.

That alone was remarkable.

Most trees reveal their scent only when approached closely.

This one announced its presence from a distance.

The closer I moved toward it, the more extraordinary the fragrance became.

I remember stopping several times simply to absorb it.

Not analyze it.

Not categorize it.

Not dissect it.

Just experience it.

Because sometimes analysis can wait.

Wonder should not.

While we stood near the tree, an elderly monk dressed in yellow robes walked nearby.

Through our translator, we asked if he could tell us more about it.

The monk listened carefully.

Then he smiled.

His response was calm and thoughtful.

According to local belief, he explained, this was not an ordinary tree.

It was protected by spiritual beings.

That was why it should never be cut.

That was why it should be respected.

And that was why the community would defend it.

The translator explained that even though many monks in the area lived very modestly, possessing little beyond their daily necessities, they would still protect this tree at any cost.

Not because of money.

Not because of prestige.

Because they believed it mattered.

That conversation stayed with me.

In a world where almost everything has a price, it was refreshing to encounter something people refused to value in financial terms. People who didn’t had much. Or had nothing!

To them, the tree was priceless.

Not because it was expensive.

Because it was meaningful.

I explained my project to the monk through the translator.

I showed him the carefully labeled samples I had collected during my travels.

Japan.

Osaka.

Leaves.

Branches.

Notes.

Dates.

Observations.

The monk examined them quietly.

Then he nodded.

Without saying much, he walked away.

Several minutes later, he returned carrying a small branch and a handful of leaves.

He handed them to me while reciting what sounded like a prayer or blessing.

I cannot tell you exactly what he said.

I do not speak the language.

But I remember the sincerity with which he said it.

The translator later explained that the monk had given his blessing to the project.

This was free, by the way.

We are not charging you extra for it.

I still laugh every time I think about that moment.

Because even in one of the most spiritual experiences of the journey, my sense of humor refused to take a day off.

Unfortunately, photography was not permitted.

And I respected that completely. except the ones you see here :)

Some moments become more meaningful precisely because they are not captured.

Not every memory needs a camera. Or a social post (our social media manager disagree) but I believe some special memories are meant to remain exactly where they belong.

Inside the mind. And the heart

One of the security guards later told us they had prevented multiple attempts by individuals trying to obtain pieces of the tree.

Some attempted to cut the whole tree.

Others attempted to remove larger sections.

A few incidents reportedly involved armed individuals.

Again, I cannot independently verify every story.

But the fact that such stories existed revealed how valuable the tree had become in the eyes of collectors.

Then there was the scent.

The scent changed everything.

The tree belonged to the Aquilaria family.

That much was known.

Yet from the moment I smelled it, I knew something was different.

Extraordinarily different.

After decades of working with agarwood from around the world, certain patterns become familiar.

This tree did not follow those patterns.

Its aroma possessed a depth, richness, complexity, spiciness and elegance that reminded me strongly of Kinam - known in Japan as Kyara - the rarest and most prized form of agarwood in existence. Arguable one of the rarest raw materials in the natural world.

Was it scientifically confirmed?

No.

Could I prove it with certainty?

Also no.

Am I a Japanese Kodo expert? not at all.

And I want to be honest about that.

This is my professional opinion as a perfumist.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

But I can confidently say that it was unlike any agarwood tree I had encountered before.

Suddenly the rumors about wealthy collectors offering extraordinary sums of money no longer sounded impossible. I can see or smell why.

In fact, they sounded entirely believable.

Yet standing there, I found myself thinking about something else.

The value of the tree was not its price.

The value of the tree was the story.

The history.

The respect.

The protection.

The generations of people who had chosen to preserve it.

Some trees preserve resin.

Others preserve stories.

This one preserved both.

My goal is being able to offer the world, at least the very small world of people who might get an oil from us the experience and the essence of that tree, not just the tree but the feeling. I’m not in the perfume business anymore I’m in the art and sensory science.

As I left Cambodia, I carried a small branch.

A few leaves.

Several pages of notes.

And a blessing.

The branch would eventually be analyzed.

The leaves would eventually be studied.

The scent would eventually be recreated.

Or at least I hoped it would.

The blessing, however, was something different.

That remained with me long after the samples were gone.

And strangely enough, it still does.

At the time, I believed Cambodia would be the most unforgettable part of the journey.

I was wrong.

Because waiting ahead was Bali. A place that would test not only the project.

But me.

In ways I never expected. As I Almost died!

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Here is Chapter Four