Cambodia and the Mekong River
Our minds collect images, snapshots of life through the windows of a bus. When sorted in our memory’s hard drive we find not just pictures of what went by but tales of life in wet and dry, in urban and rural, of rich and poor. We traveled not from point A to B but though the cycles of time in a land ruled by seasonal change. The rains of summer renew the soil and all that lives upon it.
It is dry now, hot and humid and the land is dust, red powdery dust. Flaxen fields stretch out toward the horizon bearing rectangular patterns, outlines of fields from the past and receptacles for those to come. Flames dance here and there, releasing nutrients, nourishment for rice paddies of the summer. Water buffalo and cattle slowly meander in search of muddy puddles where they submerge themselves like crocodiles cooling their emaciated bodies. But where streams flow, greenery emerges. Deciduous trees sport spring blossoms. Shrubs appear and magnificent mango trees join stately palms that in other regions stand alone in the parched landscape, their fingers scratching at the sky. A rubber plantation stretches towards the horizon, young trees barely planted, mid-aged trees sporting spouts and collecting pots and groves of the senescent waiting to donate their limbs as firewood.
Water brings prosperity to the land. Where rivers flow cities grow, filled with bustling people. But where water must come from deep in the ground or fall from the skies above, tiny residences perch on stilts with walls the winds could blow through. Mile by mile as water becomes more available the houses change as well, growing larger, gaining windows and colorful bamboo shades or even painted sidings. The modes of transportation utilized reflect this disparity as well. Where dust drifts about one’s feet, no wheels can be found. Increasing aqueous richness in the neighborhood can be measured by whether bicycles, motorcycles or autos rest outside each house.
The Mekong River is wide where we first encounter it, spanned by an elegant bridge. The massive support structures clearly show past water levels just as one might read the tidal change upon the rocks of shore but here it is not the tides that change the flow but the floods of summer monsoons. Now, like the thirsty land, the river too awaits the coming change.
Borne within the elegant confines of the motor vessel Jahan we travelled upstream accompanied by avian diversity and the changing colors of the sky. Silhouettes of fishing boats sat on the golden waters that slowly changed to crimson. As the fiery ball of the sun disappeared behind the clouds of the horizon we dropped anchor, the signal to settle in on our home for the coming week.
