Nom Banhchok, a type of locally made rice noodle, is a very popular food that can be found all over Cambodia. The noodle can be served with different kinds of sauces or soup, from a simple mix of salt and chilly or a mix of fermented fish paste and chilly and herbs to the red curry, or the most popular one, the samlor proheur or also known samlor Khmer (fish lemongrass soup). The last is generally served with fresh vegetables including cucumbers, long beans, bean sprouts, banana flowers, water lily stems, and so on. Although popular, it is not a staple food like cooked rice. It is eaten once in a while or on a special festival with a large gathering of people.

Rolaet is a solo instrument of the indigenous people in Mondulkiri province called Bunoong. The device consists of a gourd and a long bamboo tube shaped like a flute with three holes, and a short bamboo tube plugged into the gourd.\nRolaet has been called by the Bunoong people from generation to generation and they do not know the history of this musical instrument, nor do they know which generation or ethnic group was the first creator (According to Mr. Bev Kras and Mr. Dernh Buntha). As for the production of this instrument, it can be made by yourself because the components are convenient and available locally. \n

Neal refers to a cake-making tool called NomNeal (Neal Cake). In some parts of Cambodia, this cake is an annual tradition associated with the ascension (Neak Ta) of the villagers near the Sambor Prei Kuk temple complex in Kampong Thom province. Every month, the locals prepare to make offerings to their Neak Ta, which is associated with the entire archeological site. There are two Neak Ta who are closely related to each other, the "gatekeeper or Neak Ta Tvear" and another one is “Neak Ta” who looks over the entire temples’ complex. In every house, the locals make cakes to donate for any ritual ceremonies.\n To make this cake, they need to mix white rice with some sticky rice and pound it together until it turns into powder. Then add a little bit of sugar and salt to make it taste salty and sweet. Before they start cooking, they boil water in a clay pot and put a coconut shell with a hole on the bottom on top of it. They put the rice flour around the edge of the clay pot so that no steam can come out of the mouth of the pot. They take two long banana leaves and put them on the bottom of the pot before pouring the flour into it. For this powder, they mix them with water to make it sticks together and becomes a paste and then cover it with two or three banana leaves before putting the lid on the pot and pressing it on for about 5 to 10 minutes. When the cake is ready, they remove the cover and touch the leaves. Peel a squash, grate it and squeeze the cake out of the Neal.\n

Silk weaving is one of Cambodia’s traditional crafts. The traditional natural silk dyed with natural color is very expensive and well-known nationally and internationally. Silk can be woven into different-sized pieces of textile, to be used as wrap-around skirts (sampot), shirt, scarves (krama) or Pidan (lit. ceiling) for Buddhist temple decoration. There are three main kinds of Cambodian silk textiles: ‘Phamuong’ (plain colored silk cloth) and ‘Hol’ (ikat and tie-dyed patterned cloth), both used for making clothes, and ‘Hol Pidan’ (elaborately designed pictorial silk textile) and it is usually used as “canopy” or “ceiling” above the principal Buddha images in the Buddhist monasteries.

Sastra or Sastra Sleuk Rith (manuscript written on palm leaves) is an important document that records the knowledge and words of wisdom in Cambodia for centuries. Sastra is the long format of palm leaf manuscripts, other known as Vean (short format), mostly documented Buddhist scriptures in Pali or bilingual Pali-Khmer. In addition, it also contains sermons, legal writing, etc.

#bhutan #bhutaneseculture #bhutantravel #유네스코아태무형유산센터 #unesco \n\nDey-zo is an art of manufacturing paper using an indigenous plant locally called Dey-shing (Daphne: ). The term Dey refers to Daphne and zo is an art therefore, when these two words combine, an art of Daphne i.e. making paper out of Daphne pant bark. Though there are more than 21 different types of Daphne species- for paper making purpose in Bhutan are of two types; Dey-kar, white Daphne and the other is Dey-na, black Daphne.\n\nThe white Daphne grows up to four or five metres in height and has pale green oval shaped leaves and greyish bark. Its flowers are yellow at the top so they look generally yellowish, though the stems are whitish in colour. They produce a pleasant odour. White Daphne grows in Bhutan from an altitude of 1,500 to 3,500 metres in huge groves on the edge of open meadows and forests. The black Daphne, on the other hand, grows from 500 to 3,000 metres above sea level. Unlike the white Daphne, it grows as individual plants, scattered along the forest floor. Though the colour of bark is greyish, the flowers are somewhat brownish. Papers made from black Daphne are considered to be the best for its long lasting and Thsar-sho paper specially manufactured by using bamboo mat frame are normally used for writing purpose.\n\nGenerally Dey-sho comes in two different types; Tshar-sho and Re-sho. Tshar-sho is made by using a special bamboo crafted mat frame while the latter is a produce from cloth frame though both the papers’ raw materials are either white or black Daphne plant bark. However, upon the demand, paper makers also makes blue or indigo paper (Sho-na or Thing-sho) using the tshar-sho making techniques for gold script writing.\n\nPerhaps, the paper making art must have been existed in the early centuries, even before the use of words and sentences, when pictures and symbols were used as a means of communication in Bhutan as the Padma chronicles mention that "the king ordered paper to be collected in the land of the Mon." This was when the Dharma King Trisong Detsen (755-804) of invited Guru Padmasambava to Tibet in the 8th century and introduced the Tantric teachings to that land. Having completed the construction of Samye Monastery, translation of Buddha's precepts and commentary texts that are written in Sanskrit were initiated into Tibetan language through Indian pandits and incarnate translators from Tibet, but there was not enough paper in Tibet. So the king imported huge amounts of paper from the southern country (Bhutan), which enabled Tibet to produce many volumes of the scriptures. This means that trade between Tibet and Bhutan was already active at that time. The so-called shog-tang (shog-ltang), a cargo size of 1000 sheets of Daphne paper, were transported to Tibet in large quantities for trade purposes. This means that very early in history, papermaking was passed down from generation to generation, from father to son, from son to son, and so on.\n\nGradually, as the demand for paper increased, the paper industry in the country expanded, especially in the 17th century when great changes took place in the country after the arrival of Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyal (1594-1651). At that time, the demand for paper increased greatly at the central government, monastic community and monastery levels, leading to a nationwide expansion in the production and use of paper especially for printing purpose.\n\nPaper manufacturing units were instituted in Dzongs and employed five people either form the monastic body or from the lay citizens for papermaking. The raw materials such as daphne bark, ash, etc. were supplied by the residents of the respective dzongkhag as tax. The dzongkhag administrations then transported the paper cargoes to the central government and ensured proper remuneration. The skilled workers at the papermaking centers were also appointed from the villages and households in the district, who were exempt from other charges such as labor, fodder, firewood, and pounded rice. A load Shog-tang as mentioned above, was a bundle of 1000 sheets of paper. (Lam Kezang Chophel, 2021). Normally a single sheet of paper measures approximately 75x110 cm and colloquially it is called pheg-pang.\n\nAlthough, papermaking was once a thriving art until 1970 yet, due to the development progress in the country and introduction of imported papers such as books and note books has gradually affected in declining number of paper production centres in the country.\n\nFor more information\nhttps://www.ichlinks.com/archive/elements/elementsV.do?elementsUid=13874507459569673284

Simple in design but rich in cultural significance, the Lakadou is a traditional musical instrument made entirely from bamboo, found in various rural communities of Timor-Leste. Often carved from a single stalk, it stands as a testament to the ingenuity of ancestral craftsmanship—an instrument that produces sound not with strings or metal, but with tensioned strips of its own body.\n\nThe process of making a Lakadou begins with selecting the right kind of bamboo—neither too young nor too old—so that it is flexible yet strong. Using only a knife or a small carving tool, the outer layer of the bamboo is partially sliced into thin, horizontal strips along the stalk, which remain attached at both ends. These strips act as the instrument’s “strings.” Small wooden pegs or bridges are then inserted beneath them to lift the strips slightly, allowing them to vibrate when plucked.\n\nWhen played, the Lakadou emits a warm, buzzing resonance that can be heard clearly in quiet, open-air settings. The tones are soft yet sharp, melodic yet earthy—reflecting both the material and the environment from which it is made. Each Lakadou has its own pitch and personality, depending on the size of the bamboo and the placement of the tuning pegs.\n\nTraditionally, the Lakadou was played during rituals, agricultural festivals, and informal gatherings. It could accompany dance, storytelling, or simply be enjoyed as a solo instrument under the shade of a tree. It was sometimes played to express emotions—joy, longing, or sorrow—or to pass the time during communal labor in the fields.\n\nWhat makes the Lakadou especially significant is its status as a self-contained instrument. It does not require any additional materials beyond the bamboo itself—no strings, no nails, no external fasteners—just natural design and human skill. This reflects a traditional ethos of sustainability and resourcefulness, values still highly regarded in rural Timorese life.\n\nWhile the instrument is still known in some communities today, its presence is fading. Younger generations are more familiar with modern instruments, and the skill of crafting Lakadou is no longer widely practiced or passed down. In some places, only a handful of elders remember how to make and play it, and the sound of the Lakadou has become rare in daily village life.\n\nEfforts to preserve the Lakadou are growing, however. Cultural festivals, school workshops, and local storytelling events have begun reintroducing the instrument as a piece of Timor-Leste’s musical heritage. Some artisans are even experimenting with new forms, adapting traditional techniques to contemporary performances.\n\nAs a musical tool, the Lakadou is humble. But as an expression of cultural identity, it speaks volumes. In its structure, sound, and spirit, it tells the story of a people who shaped their art from the land around them—and who, with care, may yet continue to do so for generations to come.

Traditionally, navigators learn the way-finding knowledge from fathers or uncles within their family and eventually, when ready, may pass through the traditional initiation of navigators', Pwo Ceremony.\nIn the remote central caroline islands where the indigenous lifestyle of the seafearing system is still practice, it all begins at a very young age and evolves around the central facility known as the canoe house. Every navigator knows to protect his canoe when he is not voyaging. A local canoe house is an important asset and central facility of learning all about navigation. It is said that one has to first learn the stories that are told in the canoe house, then from there begins the long journey toward becoming a complete "Pwo" Navigator.\n\nThe Navigator's Float.\nGetting side blanks fitted.\nBecause the central Caroline Islands are small atolls, bigger logs for canoes are rare. Thus, the canoes, particularly the voyaging canoes need to be constructed in such a way that they are not only large enough but sea worthy. To do so, the builders main objective is to be able to get the main hull of the canoe and start to build up the sides from there. This video shows how the guys are building the sides up and using a similar techniques used by dentist for molding and ensuring the planks are fitted nicely.

In the quiet Kazakh village of Zhosaly, the threads of tradition, resilience, and love are being woven together—one knot at a time. At the heart of this story is Bakytgul Raimbaeva, a mother whose personal struggle with her daughter’s illness led to the creation of something extraordinary: “Ansagan,” a school of traditional Kazakh folk crafts for children with disabilities.\n\nWhat began in 2007 with just four girls—including her daughter Ansagan, who had been diagnosed with a painful and incurable skin condition—has grown into a life-changing creative community of more than 130 students. Children who once felt isolated and hopeless now find joy, purpose, and healing through the ancient art of carpet weaving, korpe-making, and felting. Here, they learn to create with their hands, share laughter, and rediscover strength they never knew they had.\n\nGuided by the belief that every thread carries emotion and intention, Bakytgul teaches not just a craft but a philosophy: weave only with positive thoughts, and your creation will carry healing energy. With carpets made using traditional Kazakh methods and designs—like ornék looms, tekemet rugs, and sacred motifs—this grassroots school revives and preserves centuries-old techniques once passed from grandmother to granddaughter.\n\nAmong the pupils are teenagers like Kuralai and Inkar, who have mastered complex weaving skills and find pride in their cultural roots. But at the heart of it all remains the story of a mother's devotion. Miraculously, two years after the school was born, Bakytgul witnessed the impossible—her daughter Ansagan stood up and walked again.\n\nToday, “Ansagan” is more than a workshop—it's a sanctuary of cultural revival, inclusion, and hope. Supported by the village and driven by a passionate mission, Bakytgul continues to teach, inspire, and heal through craft, proving that folk art is not just a legacy of the past, but a force for transformation in the present.

Baor-making is a unique skill of the Maranao people. With its embossed handmade and intricate designs – particularly called okir – this skill has claimed a recognition abroad. nOkir is folk motifs found in various artworks and objects, they are usually inspired from detailed and different curves and no machines involved.\nBaor is a maranao translation of baul or the trunk.\nAside from the famous Darangen, a singing-like epic storytelling originally from the Maranao people as well, which belong to the top three of United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) inscribed intangible cultural heritage of the Philippines, baor-making skill is listed as an element among the other 366 under the inventory of Philippine Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage.\nHowever, since the 2016 Martial Law declaration in Mindanao stricter regulations are implemented on trees-cutting that are main ingredient to produce baor. Tree like the Philippine National Tree Narra.\nThe absence of professional teaching also creates significant hole for the identity of Maranao younger generations. As of the moment, the only way to transmit the skill is learning the techniques by observing elders while at home.\nThese reasons lead to saddening thought that the Tugaya’s one of a kind skill is slowly dying because youth have now better, numerous options to survive the living over the dynamic society.\nAlthough baor-making is traditionally originated in Tugaya, a small municipality in Lanao del Sur, there is a man who has been living so far from the root of baor-making: Abdulsamad Usman, 58, has been dwelling his fate on making and selling baor amidst the Taguig city’s uncertainties.\nnTaguig is one of the urban cities in Metro Manila, National Capital Region. The gap between Tugaya and Taguig is at least one-thousand kilometers.\nAccording to Usman, more or less a month period before finishing a medium-sized baor. He can carve designs and paint them. He, with his team, is the only considered baor maker who practice the skill in Metro Manila.\nUsman strongly believes that baor-making will not vanish from the present and history because the skill has been playing a huge part for the Maranaos’ culture and identity.\nn기타설명nBaor-making is a unique skill of Maranao people from Tugaya, Lanao del Sur. Baor is a maranao translation of baul or the trunk. The designs embossed in it are called okir --- detailed and different curves. They are handmade and no machines involved. Tugaya is a small community in Lanao del Sur, a province in Mindanao.\nThe skill is considered as an intangible cultural heritage (ICH) among the other 366 listed under the inventory of Philippine Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage.

“The Spirit of the Steppe: Mongolian Horse Culture” takes viewers on a powerful journey into the heart of Mongolia’s nomadic heritage—where horses are more than animals; they are partners in survival, symbols of strength, and spiritual companions.\n\nFor centuries, Mongolians have relied on horses for hunting, warfare, migration, transport, food, and drink. From galloping across the steppe to brewing healing mare’s milk (airag), horses are central to every aspect of nomadic life. Their unmatched endurance, compact build, and gentle temperament make Mongolian horses ideal for long rides, harsh climates, and riders of all ages.\n\nThis documentary explores how foals are trained from a young age, classified into herding, racing, catching, or event horses, and how they are selected for leadership based on traits like stamina, courage, and gait. Viewers will also discover Mongolia’s diverse horse breeds—like Galshar, Tesin Gol, and Darkhad—each adapted to different terrains, from desert to mountains.\n\nWith deep respect, herders care for their horses using centuries-old techniques such as acupuncture, moxibustion, and mindful riding practices. Tools like saddles, bridles, hobbles, and brushes are passed down through generations, and always stored in the honored western side of the ger.\n\nThe film also highlights horse-related rituals and songs, sung when milking mares, calming foals, or praising racehorses. These traditions, rich in emotion and wisdom, echo the unique bond between herder and horse—a bond built on trust, respect, and shared purpose.\n\nMongolian horses are not only fast and hardy—they’re loyal, intuitive, and capable of navigating home across vast distances. With each gallop, they carry the legacy of the steppe.

Along the coastal regions of Timor-Leste, especially in areas where seawater meets fertile land, communities have preserved a unique tradition known as Tein-Masin—the age-old practice of salt making. More than just a method for producing seasoning, this practice reflects generations of local knowledge, environmental adaptation, and cultural ritual.\n\nThe process begins with the careful selection of salty earth, which is usually dug from the beach or coastal swamps. This salt-rich soil is placed into large woven baskets or wooden containers and then carefully filtered using fresh water collected from nearby springs. The resulting brine is collected in clay pots or metal vessels and then boiled over a wood fire for hours—sometimes days—until only fine salt crystals remain.\n\nSalt production is typically carried out by women and elders who have mastered the delicate timing and techniques required for successful extraction. Every step—from gathering the earth to managing the fire’s intensity—demands attention, patience, and experience. It is common to see family members working together, with children helping to fetch water or gather firewood, making it both a household activity and a community effort.\n\nBefore the salt-making begins, it is customary to conduct a ritual led by a lia-nain (traditional spiritual leader) or elder. An animal, often a chicken, is sacrificed and its blood is offered to local spirits as a request for protection and success. This ritual underscores the belief that nature’s resources must be treated with respect, and that balance between human needs and the environment must be maintained.\n\nSalt produced through Tein-Masin is more than a culinary product—it is a symbol of cultural resilience and a vital part of local economies. It is exchanged in traditional markets, used in rituals, and stored as a valuable household good. In times of hardship or isolation, it has even served as a form of currency.\n\nToday, while industrial salt is widely available, many communities still choose to practice Tein-Masin, valuing not only the quality of the hand-made salt but also the cultural meaning embedded in its production. Yet, challenges remain: the practice is labor-intensive and yields are modest, and younger generations are increasingly drawn away by urban migration and modern lifestyles.\n\nPreserving Tein-Masin means more than protecting a traditional technique—it means safeguarding a way of life shaped by harmony with nature, intergenerational collaboration, and deep spiritual connection to the land and sea.