





To get to the river you take a moto (taxi motorbike) down the long main street to Pasar Krom — the waterfront market.
It feels a little strange sneaking up on the river from behind, so to speak. The road is lined by a motley assortment of small businesses and shacks.
In between, you glimpse the countryside — the vivid green wetlands given over to rice, commanded here and there by thatched cottages on piles. Meanwhile, greetings are coming thick and fast — “Hello, sir”, “Good afternoon”, “What’s your name?”. It’s nice to feel so welcome.
I pass a temple complex with saffron-robed monks smiling hellos from the yard. A dirt road branches off to the right, and heads down to a stream. It crosses a breakwater — one that draws a crowd. Net casting fishermen share it with the traffic, as well as sporting kids, as a bevy of motor bike owners wash their machines.
Now there’s a novel scene!
When it gets to the river, the road does a sharp left to become a kind of esplanade. On the riverbank side are lots of little eateries and stalls. The “esplanade” soon turns into a track, and I am in amongst a maze of wooden stilts.
Then the fun begins.
The people are so friendly here, I reach celebrity status before I’ve made a hundred yards. Ladders lead steeply up to the cube-like domiciles perched atop the piles. Once ensconced up there you must feel pretty safe, except maybe in a storm.
Backtracking now, I stand on the riverbank and overlook the houseboats down below. There are far more than I could ever have imagined. They are moored in neat rows stretching away as far as you can see.
A high rickety bridge takes you over the stream — the one with the breakwater. A lady wearing a conical hat awaits my arrival.
“Boat — five dollar one hour!”
Gliding serenely on the Tonle Sap; (below) a domicile on stilts by the river.
And who could resist her charming smile. I tell her I’ll be back tomorrow morning. An even bigger smile!
The scene here is simply amazing. Makeshift plankwalks lead out to rowboats that take commuters and school kids to and from their homes. Neighbours sit and chat across the decks.
Fisherman mend engines and nets, and the kids just lark about. Boat builders and mechanics work away on the river or the shore, and floating shops sell everything from groceries to soup.
Most of the boat dwellers are, in fact, Vietnamese. They are fisherfolk who have ventured up the Mekong from the Delta, then worked their way up the Tonle Sap.
Around 150,000 Vietnamese make Cambodia their home. Most reside in Phnom Penh, but many are fishers and rice farmers who have followed in the wake of the not infrequent Vietnamese invasions of Cambodia. The first of these occurred in the 17th century, and the most recent was in 1979.
Next morning, I’m as good as my word. Traversing the bridge again — risking life and limb — I am met by the boat lady with the hat and the smile. She soon has me seated in her boat and conveyed out amongst the other crafts.
She works a single oar while standing at the bow — how I wouldn’t know. The houseboats have a surprising array of mod cons — TV, karaoke and the like. The rowers sidle up to one another for a chat. A hawker boat stops by, and they maybe grab a coffee or a snack. Gee, it ain’t so bad here living on the water, after all.
Kompong Chhnang on the river. — TOM COCKREM
Back on terra firma, I find an alternative route back up town. It’s a dirt road lined with shrub-enshrouded homes. Motorised traffic here is light, and the road is given over to vendors, cyclists and strollers such as me.