We have been tied to the river for a week. It has been our highway, our conduit to adventures and enlightenment. We have glimpsed into the world of those whose lives depend upon the bounty delivered by the mighty Mekong and, although we have not lived as they, we have risen with the sun and watched and learned as they moved by. Tomorrow we transition, going back in time to complete our journey through the ups and downs of the Khmer people’s history.
The rooster chased a Cheshire moon barely visible in a lightening sky. As with every morning the swallows were the first to respond to his awakening cry. The noise of traffic, both terrestrial and aquatic, added a harsh element to what visually was a soft and gentle morning. The wind and currents drew patterns on the surface of the waters while the sun struggled with a thickening cloudy layer on the horizon. Just as it seemed to reach the edge it was smothered once again. Over and over, the pale orb came and went until, just as we reached our morning’s destination, it seemed to overpower the opposition and glow fiercely overhead.
The colors of Wat Hanchey certainly more than compensated for the paleness of the morning. Borne on the backs of motorbikes half of us climbed the rocky hillock with ease, while others meandered along a winding wooded path. Flamboyant flags flew everywhere as if the vibrant shades of the temples weren’t enough to shock our eyes. Monks in saffron robes, both singly and in clusters, were busy at their tasks. Children swarmed to demonstrate their communication skills, putting us to shame with their proficiency in English while our Khmer is limited to maybe just one word. Nestled in a quiet corner, a 7th-century Hindu temple could almost be overlooked — its clay colored bricks quiet and nondescript, a silent sentinel to a stepping stone of beliefs. The temple and monastery are Buddhist now, a philosophy we are only beginning to comprehend. Blessed by chanting monks we continued on our way.
The colors of Wat Nokor were subtle, its deep rusty red lateritic blocks forming a maze of walls. Sandstone carvings scattered here and there introduced us to the ornate Angkorian style that will become our focus for the next few days. Buddha sat within a tower wrapped in his golden robe. Above him fruit bats murmured, restlessly awaiting evening light.
The modern town of Kampong Cham was restless too as the sun dropped lower in the sky. Cars dashed across the river on a modern concrete span or tested the strength of a unique and annually constructed bamboo bridge, its fragile appearance a frightening prospect for us but navigated easily by scooters and automobiles.
Farewell and thank you to the crew of the Jahan. Their happy smiles and kindness will be remembered for a long, long time.
