Under the cool rain the vegetation glows bright green against the white sky. It's falling fast enough to soak anyone or anything out in the open. Below palm fronds and banana leaves its aim is more sporatic. Patches of soil and bark remain dry in the rainshadow.
It is the perfect day to watch--with warm coffee in hand and leaky roof overhead--the hummingbirds visit sheltered blossums, squirrels gorge on ripening bananas, and leaf cutter ants march under their tiny green umbellas.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Rinse and Repeat.
Wake up.
Gallo Pinto con huevos.
Caffee.
Walk (avoid snakes!) or ride in tractor two kilometers.
Put on helmet/life jacket/etc.
Kayak, 2 hours.
See monkeys.
Eat pineapple.
Rain heavily.
Back to put in.
Kayak, 2 hours.
Rice and beans.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Gallo Pinto con huevos.
Caffee.
Walk (avoid snakes!) or ride in tractor two kilometers.
Put on helmet/life jacket/etc.
Kayak, 2 hours.
See monkeys.
Eat pineapple.
Rain heavily.
Back to put in.
Kayak, 2 hours.
Rice and beans.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
South to the Mouth.
The van pulls into a gravel driveway off a small side street. I grab my bag and an old women directs me down a narrow alley on the left side of the house. Behind the house is the Mekong. A narrow plank connects the shore to the small boat that will take me six hours down river to northern Vietnam. Nearby several young men unload bricks from a large barge. Our boat's engine starts and we ease into the current, heading south.
After several hours floating past dry farmland and buffalo pasture we arrive at the Cambodian border. The police checkpoint is in the colorful courtyard of an old country home. A guard stamps my passport while a budda watches us from the opposite wall. In a few minutes the process is repeated at Vietnamese customs, though here the atmosphere is different, a giftshop clerk watches over the transaction.
At the border we change boats and soon turn off into a side canal bound for the delta's northern city of Chau Doc. The water is overhung with branches--shading hundreds of free ranging ducks and providing diving boards for local children.
South of Chau Doc towards the coast lie hundreds of kilometers of busy waterfronts and markets, rice fields and shrimp farms.
Like Cambodia, southern Vietnam is waiting for the overdue rains of summer. Each hot afternoon the sky looks ready to burst. But aside from heavy winds, distant lightning, and rainbows the dry season continues.
The aquaculture industry appears to have brought economic stability to the delta's communities. It's small cities are busy with store fronts and motorbikes. In the countryside newly renovated levees stand guard over fields and homes whose natural protection--mangrove forests--have been cleared away in exchange for rectangular ponds. Ponds filled with shrimp larvae and fish fry, aerated by plastic paddle wheels that churn idly in the sunshine.
Along a secondary road a small path branches off to the east. For nearly ten kilometers it runs past small homesteads and football fields; through dry rice paddies and bamboo thickets. The path parallels a small brown canal, bridging countless tributaries. In some places small patches of mangrove forest remain. In one of these an old man digs snakes from the sticky gray mud. The path and canal end together at the Brassic River--one of the "nine dragons" of the Mekong Delta. Here blue/green tidal waters mix with the dark brown run off from the delta and slip slowly into the sea.
For nearly 4,400 kilometers people fish and float on the river. Boat props, paddle blades, and bare feet churn its muddy bottoms. Fish, otters, and springtails live and die under and on its shores. Here at the mouth of the Mekong an old man uses his only arm to start an outboard motor, breaking both the river's smooth surface and the afternoon's silence. As he accelerates, the wind hits his dark cheeks, and he smiles.
After several hours floating past dry farmland and buffalo pasture we arrive at the Cambodian border. The police checkpoint is in the colorful courtyard of an old country home. A guard stamps my passport while a budda watches us from the opposite wall. In a few minutes the process is repeated at Vietnamese customs, though here the atmosphere is different, a giftshop clerk watches over the transaction.
At the border we change boats and soon turn off into a side canal bound for the delta's northern city of Chau Doc. The water is overhung with branches--shading hundreds of free ranging ducks and providing diving boards for local children.
South of Chau Doc towards the coast lie hundreds of kilometers of busy waterfronts and markets, rice fields and shrimp farms.
Like Cambodia, southern Vietnam is waiting for the overdue rains of summer. Each hot afternoon the sky looks ready to burst. But aside from heavy winds, distant lightning, and rainbows the dry season continues.
The aquaculture industry appears to have brought economic stability to the delta's communities. It's small cities are busy with store fronts and motorbikes. In the countryside newly renovated levees stand guard over fields and homes whose natural protection--mangrove forests--have been cleared away in exchange for rectangular ponds. Ponds filled with shrimp larvae and fish fry, aerated by plastic paddle wheels that churn idly in the sunshine.
Along a secondary road a small path branches off to the east. For nearly ten kilometers it runs past small homesteads and football fields; through dry rice paddies and bamboo thickets. The path parallels a small brown canal, bridging countless tributaries. In some places small patches of mangrove forest remain. In one of these an old man digs snakes from the sticky gray mud. The path and canal end together at the Brassic River--one of the "nine dragons" of the Mekong Delta. Here blue/green tidal waters mix with the dark brown run off from the delta and slip slowly into the sea.
For nearly 4,400 kilometers people fish and float on the river. Boat props, paddle blades, and bare feet churn its muddy bottoms. Fish, otters, and springtails live and die under and on its shores. Here at the mouth of the Mekong an old man uses his only arm to start an outboard motor, breaking both the river's smooth surface and the afternoon's silence. As he accelerates, the wind hits his dark cheeks, and he smiles.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Clouds over the Tonle Sap.
Around three in the afternoon billowing white thunderheads begin to fill the sky. Soon they loom over the entire lake. Later in the afternoon the clouds are tinged orange and red by the setting sun. As the thunderheads push higher into the atmosphere the winds increase, pulling warm air and moisture from the lake into the towering clouds. The shallow brown water begins to roll in low waves--each crest tinged bright green by algal blooms.
After sunset the storm clouds are illuminated internally by the constant flash of lightning. Hours later the rains arrive. The large drops resonate on tin and bamboo roofs--they fill barrels and pots with clear, cool water. Shortly after starting the rains stop, silence settles over the lake, and the clouds are replaced by innumerable stars.
During these hot, dry months of spring the rains are a welcomed rarity. Momentary relief from the baking sun and heat. Once the rainy season arrives these storms come with such intense regularity that after a few months the lake will rise nearly eight meters. As the water rises whole villages will go up with it, buoyed by hundreds of long bamboo floats. The lake will spill into its floodplain, covering hundreds of kilometers of pasture, rice paddy, and forest--quenching the parched earth.
After sunset the storm clouds are illuminated internally by the constant flash of lightning. Hours later the rains arrive. The large drops resonate on tin and bamboo roofs--they fill barrels and pots with clear, cool water. Shortly after starting the rains stop, silence settles over the lake, and the clouds are replaced by innumerable stars.
During these hot, dry months of spring the rains are a welcomed rarity. Momentary relief from the baking sun and heat. Once the rainy season arrives these storms come with such intense regularity that after a few months the lake will rise nearly eight meters. As the water rises whole villages will go up with it, buoyed by hundreds of long bamboo floats. The lake will spill into its floodplain, covering hundreds of kilometers of pasture, rice paddy, and forest--quenching the parched earth.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sweet Water.
We have been moving sluggishly down the Tonle Sap River for two blindingly sunny, scorchingly hot mornings and afternoons. The landscape, historically part of an extensive flooded forest ecosystem, had given way to dry, scrubby, shashed, and burned grassland. This stretched off to the horizon broken by the silhouettes of tall palm trees, water buffalos, and the occasionally spindly farm house.
The flood-plain, though no longer the maze of tangled branches that provided breeding and feeding habitat to fish in one of the world's most productive fresh water fisheries, still supports innumerable trey riel. These small fish are so important to Cambodians that their name is shared with the national currency.
Our dated maps tell us that around the next bend there should be a long canal, a short cut through the flat lowlands. Slowly a huge green mass starts to show on the right bank. In our shadeless, sun-soaked world the promise of large leafy branches is only too welcome. A half an hour later huge branches, large enough to tower as trees themselves, hang over my head and yellow kayak. Next to the twisted roots the canal--long silted in--enters the muddy river. Though the canal holds too little water to offer much of a short cut the trickle of clear liquid in it looks perfect for drinking. After gathering empty bottles and my filter I began to decant the clean water.
A shirtless child watches us from the top of the bank. A small puppy stands by his feet. As the first bottle fills a man comes over the bank--we exchange greetings. I pantomime my intention to drink the clear water at my feet, asking with thumbs up if it is clean. Instantly he shakes his head, pointing to the farm fields above and successfully communicating that in this clear stream, below this scared tree, flows harmful pesticides. After this lucky encounter the muddy water of the big river taste that much sweeter.
The flood-plain, though no longer the maze of tangled branches that provided breeding and feeding habitat to fish in one of the world's most productive fresh water fisheries, still supports innumerable trey riel. These small fish are so important to Cambodians that their name is shared with the national currency.
Our dated maps tell us that around the next bend there should be a long canal, a short cut through the flat lowlands. Slowly a huge green mass starts to show on the right bank. In our shadeless, sun-soaked world the promise of large leafy branches is only too welcome. A half an hour later huge branches, large enough to tower as trees themselves, hang over my head and yellow kayak. Next to the twisted roots the canal--long silted in--enters the muddy river. Though the canal holds too little water to offer much of a short cut the trickle of clear liquid in it looks perfect for drinking. After gathering empty bottles and my filter I began to decant the clean water.
A shirtless child watches us from the top of the bank. A small puppy stands by his feet. As the first bottle fills a man comes over the bank--we exchange greetings. I pantomime my intention to drink the clear water at my feet, asking with thumbs up if it is clean. Instantly he shakes his head, pointing to the farm fields above and successfully communicating that in this clear stream, below this scared tree, flows harmful pesticides. After this lucky encounter the muddy water of the big river taste that much sweeter.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
File cabinet.
Even when all of your belonging fit into one large blue backpack and a camera bag it is still possible to discover long forgotten possessions. Several dozen Italian train tickets for example. How these lurked around for so long escapes me, but they did provide a really fun mental journey back across Italy.
Early mornings, sunsets, and moonlit nights are fabulous here in Phnom Penh. The temperature becomes more bearable, a breeze comes in off the river, and the general mayhem of this rapidly growing city settles down.
Speaking of mayhem it was two weeks ago that I spent 18 hours trapped in a hot bus trying to get back into Dhaka for a few days of quick goodbyes, roof tops, and a two AM flight here.
Which brings me back to Italy. Late night drivers are not always the most honest in Dhaka and when I realized that mine had decided to use my desire to catch my flight as a perfect cover for extortion I began verbalizing only in Italian. No matter how many times he asked for his big tip (baksheesh or bribe) I feigned ignorance. Out of confused frustration he delivered me to the airport.
Enjoy spring rivers!
Brett
Early mornings, sunsets, and moonlit nights are fabulous here in Phnom Penh. The temperature becomes more bearable, a breeze comes in off the river, and the general mayhem of this rapidly growing city settles down.
Speaking of mayhem it was two weeks ago that I spent 18 hours trapped in a hot bus trying to get back into Dhaka for a few days of quick goodbyes, roof tops, and a two AM flight here.
Which brings me back to Italy. Late night drivers are not always the most honest in Dhaka and when I realized that mine had decided to use my desire to catch my flight as a perfect cover for extortion I began verbalizing only in Italian. No matter how many times he asked for his big tip (baksheesh or bribe) I feigned ignorance. Out of confused frustration he delivered me to the airport.
Enjoy spring rivers!
Brett
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
