Around the two boats, which were
waiting for their passengers, there was organised chaos. People were
selling water, food, anything, people were begging, directing travellers;
noise rose from two stroke engines, diesel engines roared, and of course
the smells of it all
vied with each other for a piece of traveller. One boat was going to
Phnom Penh and looked almost half decent. The other one, the one I was
getting to go to Battambang looked like it had definitely had it. We
boarded by way of an old blackened plank, one end on land, the other
on the boat. It kept us out of the filthy water below that surrounded
everything and away from the now fading chaos.
The boat was old and rickety and made of wood. Most of the paint was
worn away and replaced by the black of time and wear. It was a single
deck with a roof that was more a sunshade than a real roof and was held
up by eight or ten thin bamboo poles with sides that were completely
open. The seating facilities were benches made in the simplest of ways
from tubular steel and wood screwed to the wooden deck, some of them
bent and broken. Mid ships housed a roaring engine and the toilet -
at least there was one I thought. When the door to this cabin was open
the noise from the engine was overpowering and only slightly better
when it was closed.
Gracefully passing us a little out from the shore and in cleaner water
was a Khmer woman in a tiny canoe, know as a “tuk”, it was
not much longer than she was tall. She sat cross legged right on the
bow, paddle in hand. Her thick black hair held back from her face with
a gold band that shone in the bright sunlight. She was wearing pyjamas,
not uncommon for women in this region of Cambodia who wore them in all
places and at all times. The ease with which she manuvered that tiny
boat was testament to a lifetime on the lake.
About 28 of us travellers
chose to go to Battambang, CAmbodia by this route. We were from all
corners of the globe and a fair mix of ages, shapes and sizes. The boat
cast off, and, with engine growling, and black smoke puffing out, it
pulled away from the shore and we were on our way. I walked to the stern
of the boat and looked back along its length. There was no passenger
list, no life jackets, no life rafts, no radio, no telephone signal
and no map. There was a captain or at least there was someone who was
at the controls and two other Khmer men on board presumably crew. None
of them spoke English. Not a single person who knew me knew where I
was or what I was doing. My craving for adventure had reached a new
high. My abandonment of common sense, prudence and self-preservation
complete. My mother would surely have heart failure if she knew where
I was.
We sailed the short distance to
the lake passing many floating shacks that lined our route. They were
people’s homes mostly but I could see shacks that had people on
them who were processing fish while other people were working on engines
and mechanical parts. As we got on to the lake I sat right at the front
of the boat right on the bow away from the other passengers and the
noise. You couldn’t see the other shore. There was just me, the
lake and the sky, and a warm breeze in my face. This is what it felt
like to be alive I thought. I could see poles sticking up out of the
muddy water with what looked like nets of sorts bundled over the top.
Birds flew random paths and swooped low before taking off, darting and
disappearing.
I looked down at the muddy water of the lake that linked with the Mekong
River on its southern shore and connected with Vietnam, Laos and China.
During the wet season its waters increased more than five times the
quantity of the dry season. The flooded forest provides a fertile spawning
ground and is one of the world’s richest sources of white fish.
This unique eco system is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. That was my assurance
that this part of the world was pristine land. As yet untouched by the
21st century, inhibited by the people of Cambodia whose lives had hardly
changed for generations.
click
to continue to part two
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