Wooden boats of all states of repair bob in the Mekong River just outside Huay Xai. They're rickety and uncomfortable, but they're a huge draw for adventure-seeking tourists. Photograph by : Graham Andrews/Edmonton Journalcanada.com
Joanne Lane , Special to The Times
I was lured to explore slow boat travels on the Mekong River by tales of romantic visions of slow, watery days watching floating villages, fishing boats and river life meander by.
I was in Siem Reap, located on the edge of the Tonle Sap, a tributary lake of the river, so from there I decided to take a boat to Phnom Penh, from where you can follow the Mekong north or south.
The river actually starts on the Tibetan plateau at 5,181 metres in the Chinese Qinghai province, crosses the Yunnan province and follows the Myanmar-Laos border. It also forms most of the border between Thailand and Laos before plunging into Cambodia. It emerges again in Vietnam and finally gushes out into the South China Sea.
It's the 12th-longest river in the world and runs like a vein through southeast Asia for 4,200 kilometres; at times a raging muddy torrent, other times a sleepy coiling snake.
If it was India they would have made the river a god. People would come from everywhere just to dip a toe into the water. In Indochina, river worship is not such a fad, but the 60 million people who live along its basin and depend on it daily for subsistence fishing, transport, industry and agriculture must view it somewhat religiously. The river also supports diverse fisheries, second only to the Amazon.
Certainly the names the locals have given it read like a list of credits. In Tibet it is called "Dza Chu," in China "Lancang Jiang," in Thailand and Laos "Mae Nam Khong," in Cambodia "Tonle Thom" and Vietnam "Cuu Long."
Translated these are the water of stone, the turbulent river, the mother of all the waters, the nine dragons river and the great water.
Standing by the Mekong in Phnom Penh, it was impossible not to be inspired by it--a murky expanse littered with fishing boats and local river craft, crumbling colonial architecture and Buddhist temples clinging to the banks and a view over cultivated lawns to the elaborate king's palace.
The entire city was in preparation for the Bom Om Tuk festival. This three-day festivity celebrates the end of the wet season and the provision of fertile land. It draws people from every province and canoes were on display to be raced in the coming days.
From Phnom Penh I took the northern route to Laos, a three-day journey to the border alone.
Until Kratie the river was wide, brown and uninspiring. But north of Kratie it became a mosaic of rapids, eddies and whirlpools coursing between vegetated sandy islets. These featured waving children, birdlife, charging buffalo, coiling tree roots and flapping laundry.
I took the common passenger ferries, keen to see how the Indo-Chinese travelled. Boarding always started early, loading bags of sticky rice, motorbikes and boxes of live chickens. Some ferries were air conditioned with karaoke videos or over-dramatized gangster films.
People played cards or with babies, drank Laos beer with their packed lunches, shuffled to the rear-side bathroom in flip flops, or even slept.
The ferries only ran once a day and were express. But they would take on new passengers mid-river--a fascinating ordeal as the smaller village boats tried to transfer people and possessions without spillage in the swirling currents.
In the mid-afternoon we would halt in a town of no acclaim, its lack of tourism more fascinating as traditional life prevailed: vegetable markets, French breads, coffee houses with reclining chairs to watch TV, limited electricity and a lifestyle beyond laid-back.
Upon entering Laos the Mekong meandered through Si Phan Don's 4,000 islands. Some of the islands are open for tourism but for now the rice fields, buffalo, French villas and colonial railways remain intact. The pace of life was "lounging" interspersed with coffee, the rice harvest and children.
Leaving the Thai border, the river continued north to the mellow Laos capital Vientiane and the UNESCO-listed Luang Prabang. The river coils around both cities and it's impossible not to be within sight or conscious thought of it. Besides, the river is the best place for dining and people watching: saffron-cloaked monks, village women with stained teeth and old fishermen.
From Luang Prabang it's a two-day journey to the Thai border, a popular route for leaving or entering the country.
Freelance travel writer/photographer Joanne Lane who lives in Queensland, Australia.
© Chilliwack Times 2008
Joanne Lane , Special to The Times
I was lured to explore slow boat travels on the Mekong River by tales of romantic visions of slow, watery days watching floating villages, fishing boats and river life meander by.
I was in Siem Reap, located on the edge of the Tonle Sap, a tributary lake of the river, so from there I decided to take a boat to Phnom Penh, from where you can follow the Mekong north or south.
The river actually starts on the Tibetan plateau at 5,181 metres in the Chinese Qinghai province, crosses the Yunnan province and follows the Myanmar-Laos border. It also forms most of the border between Thailand and Laos before plunging into Cambodia. It emerges again in Vietnam and finally gushes out into the South China Sea.
It's the 12th-longest river in the world and runs like a vein through southeast Asia for 4,200 kilometres; at times a raging muddy torrent, other times a sleepy coiling snake.
If it was India they would have made the river a god. People would come from everywhere just to dip a toe into the water. In Indochina, river worship is not such a fad, but the 60 million people who live along its basin and depend on it daily for subsistence fishing, transport, industry and agriculture must view it somewhat religiously. The river also supports diverse fisheries, second only to the Amazon.
Certainly the names the locals have given it read like a list of credits. In Tibet it is called "Dza Chu," in China "Lancang Jiang," in Thailand and Laos "Mae Nam Khong," in Cambodia "Tonle Thom" and Vietnam "Cuu Long."
Translated these are the water of stone, the turbulent river, the mother of all the waters, the nine dragons river and the great water.
Standing by the Mekong in Phnom Penh, it was impossible not to be inspired by it--a murky expanse littered with fishing boats and local river craft, crumbling colonial architecture and Buddhist temples clinging to the banks and a view over cultivated lawns to the elaborate king's palace.
The entire city was in preparation for the Bom Om Tuk festival. This three-day festivity celebrates the end of the wet season and the provision of fertile land. It draws people from every province and canoes were on display to be raced in the coming days.
From Phnom Penh I took the northern route to Laos, a three-day journey to the border alone.
Until Kratie the river was wide, brown and uninspiring. But north of Kratie it became a mosaic of rapids, eddies and whirlpools coursing between vegetated sandy islets. These featured waving children, birdlife, charging buffalo, coiling tree roots and flapping laundry.
I took the common passenger ferries, keen to see how the Indo-Chinese travelled. Boarding always started early, loading bags of sticky rice, motorbikes and boxes of live chickens. Some ferries were air conditioned with karaoke videos or over-dramatized gangster films.
People played cards or with babies, drank Laos beer with their packed lunches, shuffled to the rear-side bathroom in flip flops, or even slept.
The ferries only ran once a day and were express. But they would take on new passengers mid-river--a fascinating ordeal as the smaller village boats tried to transfer people and possessions without spillage in the swirling currents.
In the mid-afternoon we would halt in a town of no acclaim, its lack of tourism more fascinating as traditional life prevailed: vegetable markets, French breads, coffee houses with reclining chairs to watch TV, limited electricity and a lifestyle beyond laid-back.
Upon entering Laos the Mekong meandered through Si Phan Don's 4,000 islands. Some of the islands are open for tourism but for now the rice fields, buffalo, French villas and colonial railways remain intact. The pace of life was "lounging" interspersed with coffee, the rice harvest and children.
Leaving the Thai border, the river continued north to the mellow Laos capital Vientiane and the UNESCO-listed Luang Prabang. The river coils around both cities and it's impossible not to be within sight or conscious thought of it. Besides, the river is the best place for dining and people watching: saffron-cloaked monks, village women with stained teeth and old fishermen.
From Luang Prabang it's a two-day journey to the Thai border, a popular route for leaving or entering the country.
Freelance travel writer/photographer Joanne Lane who lives in Queensland, Australia.
© Chilliwack Times 2008
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