Since we had seen the major temple loops and each had our own tasks to attend to, the boys and I only planned a short excursion together on Sunday. We were going to drive out to the floating villages about 8-10 miles outside of Siem Reap. There are floating villages in Vietnam (indeed, half or more of the populations of the Cambodian floating villages are Vietnamese), but I don't think that I will have time to see them and I didn't want to miss my chance to see them in Cambodia. Besides, Chris wanted to see something of Cambodia outside of Siem Reap (and the taxi trip from the border) and while this would still be touristy, we figured that anything would be more authentic than Siem Reap. And so, with our trusty tuk tuk driver Tom spending a third day with us, we set off for the floating village.
On the way, we noticed that the road dropped off about 25 or more feet on each side and that the houses were built up on stilts to the necessary height to connect with the road. Even the spirit houses had their own sets of stilts.
There were cows loose in the road, long strings of tiny bells around their necks. Chickens wandered the road and entered stores, picking through the merchandise like any other weekend shopper (if there had been any others), and restaurants with large decks full of hammocks bordered the two sides of the road. At first, we didn't know that these were restaurants, but Tom explained that they are quite popular and that young couples will often come in the evening and snuggle up in the hammocks. Ah, young love. You'd have to be crazy to try to fit two people in one of those hammocks. Anyway, the real sign that we were getting out of the city was the road. It was rough and, in many places, unpaved. We clung to the tuk tuk at points, fearing that the sheer force of our jerky turns would launch us from Tom's tuk tuk. The road between Poipet (the town on the border of Thailand where we entered) and Siem Reap was just paved in the last 5-7 years, and we could only imagine how terrible that ride must have been before. Apparently, what took us 1.5-2 hours used to take 7-9 as a result. That's 7-9 horrible, jerky hours of a motion sick person's worst nightmare. Anyway, we took it in stride, laughing as if we were on an adrenaline rush-inducing roller coaster.
We knew that we were getting close when we saw a large building to one side labelled "Floating Kindergarten". While not actually floating (it was on stilts like very thing else), it was a good sign. Sure enough, we arrived at the dock minutes later. Simply going out to the floating market was $15, which seemed steep (it's a 1.5-2 hour ride. By comparison, an entire day at Angkor Wat is $20) but we ended up getting our own boat and a guide (Bonaour) who had grown up in the village. Plus, it was pretty awesome. The sun sparkled on the water, a breeze blew through the shade inside the boat, and there was so much to look at! Men chest-deep in water on either side of the boat threw nets and then reeled them in, wading to shore clutching the ends before searching through the contents. Colorful little boats docked beside the river as we drove out to the lake.
Finally, we reached the lake (Tonle Sap, or Freshwater Lake) and water spread out endlessly in all directions. The floating village was, in many ways, just like a normal village. Things were spread out to give people space, with a few clusters of houses here and there and longer rows in other places.
Where the river met the lake, there was a communal floating basketball court,
and other public facilities (like a floating Catholic Church) were centrally located in the village. There was a floating school, a floating orphanage, four floating pig farms, two floating karaoke places, 15 floating supermarkets, a floating hospital, and even fish and crocodile farms. According to our guide, about 1700 families live there. He then estimated that at about 4,000 people, which was strange because he said that families could have 5-6 or as many as 10-12 children. As with other floating markets, the appeal of these places is not living on the water (few actually want to do that) but rather the escape from property and other taxes. It's a difficult existence, and Bonaour estimated that families live on about $150. About 70% of the houses are built on bamboo rafts (the higher quality accommodations) while about 30% are built on top of boats. The bamboo (and perhaps the boats?) has to be replaced every 6 years ago and, mysteriously, bamboo is very expensive. Even though the schools are free except for book and uniform costs (same as on the land), about half of the children don't go to school because it is too expensive.
As we motored about, a woman and her daughter paddled up alongside, the girl showing off a long snake that curved about her shoulders like a living scarf.
She clambered aboard and out the snake around Chris' neck. Bonaour informed us that the snake's mouth was sewn shut so that it couldn't bite, but we could still see its tiny pink tongue darting in and out, scenting the air. Even knowing that I couldn't bite, we all felt nervous as the pounds of coordinated, slithering muscle and scales glided over our shoulders and arms.
As I had suspected, this was a money-making scheme for the mother and daughter, but since we found the snake so intriguing I don't think that any of us minded. I let the little girl take a few pictures with my camera and she absolutely loved it, smiling shyly but unable to look away from the screen. It's wonderful how many simple gifts we can give each other each day at no cost to ourselves.
As soon as we showed ourselves open to giving away money, however, our guide started pressuring us to go to the supermarket to buy food for the orphanage and then deliver that and money to the orphans, as well as visit the fish farm and the marketplace and buy goods there. We had hoped to be back relatively quickly and had spent almost all of our small bills (and were unlikely to get change easily in the middle of Tonle Sap) so we asked to go back. Since it was on the way, we agreed to pop by the fish farm, where we saw a pool full of catfish (caught small and grown up to be sold at market) that nibbled hungrily at the surface when food was dropped in. Next to that was a pit where crocodiles are kept, grown, and then killed for their skin. All of a sudden the numerous shops in town advertising Khmer Crocodile made a lot more sense.
Finally, we got back and our guide pressured us to leave him and the driver large tips. We had loved seeing the floating village, but the constant requests for money were a bit uncomfortable, especially when we couldn't get away. A few dollars of charity wasn't going to fix the long-term sustainability issues of their lifestyles, and we had done what we could with the little girl and at the fish farm.
On our drive back, we decided to stop at one of the hammock restaurants. After all, I was leaving in the evening and this would be our last meal together. It would also leave us free to do as we pleased that afternoon. The restaurant was AWESOME. We had chosen one filled with local families, all enjoying the Sunday afternoon calm. We washed our hands out over the lotus flower-filled water. We lounged in our hammocks. We ordered traditional Cambodian dishes. We lounged some more.
We realized that over an hour had passed. When we went to go ask when our food would arrive, the staff apologized and said that we had ordered so much food that it would be out in about 20 minutes. But we had only ordered four dishes! And then it hit us - most families ate communal style so the kitchen only had to prepare one large serving of a certain dish. We had ordered four different dishes. At least we knew that it was being made fresh! And enjoy the meal we did. Plus, it forced us to endure each other's wonderful company for a few more hours. Fittingly, we ended with David reciting the end of Blake's Ulysses: "It is not too late to seek a newer world."
That night, I left with the trusty Tom for the Siem Reap airport.
It was weird pulling up to one of those lifting arms that allows you in... while in the back of a tuk tuk. But such is Cambodian life. The airport was nice but small; on eflight was boarding as I arrived, and then it was just me and a large group of Asian middle-aged adults on the flight to Ho Chi Minh. Most of them were part of a South Korean tour group, as I discovered from a conversation with my seat neighbor on the plane. It was an interesting flight. I was the only person to carry on a bag of significant size, for starters. Also the flight attendant uniform was beautiful. And then the flight itself was so short - 45 minutes tops.
But what mattered most was that it got me to Ho Chi Minh City - and early! I had previously been worried about my flight because my confirmation has said that I was flying Bravo Air Congo. With a bit of research, I found out that this was a sketchy joint venture of two airlines from the Congo and Spain, which had been started in 2005 and by 2006 was banned from flying in Europe. Not a good sign. But when I arrived at the airport it was listed as a Cambodian Angkor Air/Vietnam Air flight, and everything went beautifully.
The last significant event of the night occurred after I arrived at my hostel. I had picked this hostel for its high ratings and reportedly lively vibe. What I had failed to take into account was my gap year bro tolerance, which is low. I met three lovely boys from England (one named Budge...) and they were lovely until they mentioned that they only eat one meal a day to save money and calories for beer. Is their travel rule. That tipped me off to the fact that while I could have lovely conversations with them at midnight in the hostel, we were never going to agree on travel methods or priorities. Alas, such is the backpacker life: everyone has their own idea of what it's important to see and do in a new country.
Spotted: Sai! Remember that game I played by the lake in Beijing, which was sort of like hacker sack with a weighted badminton birdie? I found it again in Siem Reap! And this time, I was wearing sneakers and therefore didn't kick my shoes into or around any large bodies of water. And I was pretty darn good at it, too.
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