Today was my third full day here in Siem Reap, Cambodia, and I still haven't been to the temples. I did go to Angkor Wat twenty years ago when I was here with my family, but I have held my visit off this time because there were a few things I really wanted to do first.
I remember when I was in a letter-writing mood, I thought about writing to all the butterfly houses around the world and asking about their infrastructure. I wanted to do this so I could give the responses as a gift to my mother, who loves butterflies. I didn't end up doing that, but while I was doing my research, I saw that there is a butterfly house here in Siem Reap. I remembered that when I was planning my trip here, and it was at the top of my list of things to do.
So I asked Thy to take me there this morning, and it was a magical little setup. It was quite a way out of town, and I liked driving around the countryside and seeing all the people going about their business. We arrived at the butterfly house, and you can see the two signs at the entrance below.
There was banana laid out on a table for the butterflies, and below you can see one eating a piece.
He then took me into a room where there were more boxes with cocoons and infant caterpillars. He told me that the butterfly house used to give caterpillars to local families and get them to raise them until they spun a cocoon, and then they would buy them back for the house. That way, it provided a small income for people. The man then talked about how he taught young children in his village about butterflies and conservation, and he said he did it for free because it was his main priority to raise the next generation with awareness.
There were another two younger Western women walking around with a guide, and when they left, they didn't tip her. I literally tip everyone I encounter, but I wondered if I'm doing the wrong thing. As we walked back to Thy in the car, the man asked me if I had been to Cambodia before, and I told him I had twenty years ago. He then said to me that I must have been around 18 years old when I came, and I just laughed. I think I am at the age now when someone suggests you're even five years younger, you take it as a compliment.
This guy definitely had the gift of the gab, so for his compliment and the passion he had for butterfly conservation, I gave him double the tip I usually give everyone else, and that was $10. We said goodbye, and he invited me to go and meet his students. I said I would go, but we didn't exchange details, so it was a bit of an empty promise.
Across the span of my life, I have experienced déjà vu a few times. It doesn’t necessarily mean that I have lived through something before, but more that certain moments feel so right when they happen—almost as if I knew they were going to happen or as if they make perfect sense. Today, I experienced that feeling again.
I’ve always known that there would come a day when I’d be forced to formulate an opinion on silk. I understand the vegan perspective, and when I was considering a vegan lifestyle for myself, I read extensively about what happens to silkworms during the silk-making process.
When I think about agriculture and the way animals are killed for food, I recognise the cruelty involved. Vegans argue that these animals are sentient beings that deserve a full life, and I agree—it is undeniably cruel. But I’m not sure if I object entirely to the killing of animals.
Whether or not humans are supposed to eat meat is a discussion for another day, but for the sake of argument, if we are meant to eat meat, killing animals for food makes sense. The issue lies in how methodical and sadistic the process often is. It’s not a fair fight; we taunt them, we torture them, and we elongate their suffering. Personally, I’d prefer if a man or woman simply sharpened a knife, went out into the bush, hunted their prey, and killed it quickly before eating it.
When it comes to the exploitation of animal products, I lean toward supporting the use of animals for their fur—and maybe for silk. On second thought, perhaps not silk, since it’s a luxury item, but fur to keep warm feels more justifiable. I prefer the use of animal fur because I believe our Neanderthal cousins and early hominins relied on it, so it feels instinctual. Of course, they likely killed animals for food as well, which must have been absolutely revolting to eat uncooked. But I digress—this isn’t a post about eating meat.
It’s about the killing of silkworms. Silkworms are majestic creatures. When I was a child, my mother used to keep silkworms at our home. We had mulberry trees, and I remember how incredibly frightening the moths looked. My mother never killed or exploited them for their silk; I think she simply loved them.
And I love them too—for what they are.
I told Thy I wanted to go to the silk farm, so we made our way across to the other side of town and reached a relatively modern-looking facility. A young man met us at the entrance and told me he would take me on a tour.
There was an informational area, with posters about the process of extracting the silk, but it didn’t say anything about killing the silkworms.
Before we entered the facility he showed me some freshly cut mulberry trees. You can see them in the photo below.
He then took me into a room where there were some silkworm moths mating, and I took a photo below.
The young man told me that the moths mate for 12 hours, and then the male dies. I found that incredibly interesting, and I’m wondering if something got lost in translation. That would have been a relevant fact to include in the talk I went to the other week at the South Australian Museum.
While we watched the moths mate, he told me about their lifecycle—from a caterpillar to a pupa and then a moth. I said to him, "You kill them, don't you?" and he said no. I looked at him and wondered if they had a different technique for keeping the silk intact, but that part seemed lost in translation.
He went through the full cycle, and when he got to the bit about how they are in the silk cocoon as pupae, he said that 80% are put out in the sun to dry them out and kill them, while 20% are cut free so they can go and mate and start the cycle again.
Eighty percent is a lot. If you think about all the magical creatures that were put on Earth, this has got to be up there with the best. Caterpillars putting themselves to sleep in luxurious silk while they transform into what is actually a freaky-looking moth—but the idea of it is beautiful. And humans, so calculated and methodical in their killing of them, put them out in the sun while they are in their cocoon and wait for them to slowly die.
I initially thought they put them in boiling water, which I personally think would be kinder because it would be instant, but I suppose the drying out has something to do with preserving the silk. I frowned at the man when he told me about the killing of the silkworms, but ultimately, he has no malice against nature. He’s just trying to earn a decent living in a country where it appears jobs are hard to come by.
He showed me around the remainder of the facility. There was a part of the process where the cocoons were put into boiling water, but I didn’t quite catch what the lady was doing. He showed me a large room where there must have been forty people, each at their own workstation with a loom, set up to thread the silk. He then showed me the museum, where they exhibited clothing made of silk, and it really is a luxury item.
I don’t own any silk. I want a long dress from a designer named Camilla, and they are all silk, but they are also very expensive. The creation of silk is cruel, but it’s like people who love meat but feel bad about it—can you argue that the animals would have died anyway, regardless of your belief? I don’t think I’m going to go out of my way to buy silk anytime soon.
After I had finished the tour, the young man left me at their shop, and I didn’t buy anything because my conscience wouldn’t permit it. I’m going to spend time thinking about this in the future, and if it ever comes up that I have the chance to buy a Camilla dress, I’ll think about whether I can tolerate the guilt associated with wearing it. Below you can see some photos I took on the tour.
I got to my room, and the air conditioner had been running all day—it was like a fridge. I called reception and asked if someone could come and help me with it, but no one understood me. So I called back and asked if the manager who helped me last night was available. They said they would call me back, but it wasn’t long before my doorbell rang, and there he was.
I thanked him for giving me this new room but told him I couldn’t change the temperature of the air conditioner, and it was absolutely freezing. He speaks very good English, and I asked him if he thought it was cold. He said yes. So he called someone to come and take a look at it. They fiddled with the controls and told me it would take time for the temperature to go up. I had it set to 27 degrees, but it was so cold I went under two doonas.
You sort of need the air conditioner on because, without it, it’s really hot. The man assisting the manager told him in Khmer that it was fixed, and he left. The manager told me it would take some time. I realised I need to work around it because it’s not going to get fixed, and I can’t change rooms again.
I got another $20 out of my purse and went to tip the manager again, but he told me not to be silly and wouldn’t take it. I thought that was so lovely of him. He actually stayed in my room, and we talked for a while before he left.
When I leave here, I’m going to buy him something special to say thank you for being so nice to me.
