Chontra and his tuktuk met us, with a smile, at 7:30. The city has been awake for several hours already, getting chores done before it gets any hotter. He expertly weaves us through the center of the city, and soon we are crossing the Friendship Bridge across the Tonle Sap river. The bridge was built in 1966, but was heavily bombed during the Khmer Rouge occupation from 1975-1979. After the liberation from that hell, people began moving back to the city. There was little money for food and certainly no money for infrastructure repairs. In 1995, the Japanese people sent money and engineers to repair the bridge. It is hard to imagine the city living without this bridge.
We motored along a wide street, filled with other tuktuks, some hauling people, but mostly hauling everything you can imagine. We turned off the main road, into a Wat. Because he's wearing shorts (not allowed inside), Ed wanders off explore the river front, while we stare open-mouthed at the gold paint covering everything connected to the Wat. Inside the pagoda walls were coverd with bright, elegant paintings that presumably are used for teaching. But this is what caught my eye:
Is this just too funny? Thanks, Deb Babel, for the photo!
Beside the pagoda, there is a man sitting in front of a richly decorated temporary structure, smoke coming from the top. A funeral pyre. Maybe the woman in the picture is the wife of the man sitting? There are others, in chairs under a big tree close by, sitting quietly.
Stuart and Ed chat with two monks, who readily agree to a photograph. Their english is great.
We continue on a back road, maybe it's paved. Hard to tell. We turn again, on an even narrower road between two shops, and there is the slope to the ferry to Silk Island. It's a quick trip across the very-fast moving river, and the people are crowding down the ramp, even before the ferry arrives on this shore. Chaos, but everyone gets off/on pretty quickly.
Silk Island, according to something I read somewhere, many years ago was a "lady business" island for sailors coming and going on the lower Mekong river. Beyond memory, the islanders were trained to grow silk worms, and weave cloth, which is what brings us to the island today. Deb has a friend here, a weaver, and we hope to find her. Every house, built on pilings under the trees, houses a weaving business. Looms and hammocks take most of the space under the houses. We see small gardens, and emaciated white Cambodian cows tethered on short ropes, laundry hanging on anything sturdy enough to hold it, and small children calling out, "HALLO!" when they see the foreigners pass. Nary is not home, but Chantra knows where to find her, so we bump on down the road. Everyone knows everyone on this small island, and the word travels fast that the foreigners are looking for Nary. Several people stop us to give Chantra instructions, which require at least two phone calls with each stop. All this is fine with me, I'm getting the grand tour of the island!
Eventually we connect with Nary, on the opposite end of the island. I'm awfully impressed with her weavings, and wish I had more room in my backpack. I bought a couple of beautiful scarves, get hugs of appreciation from Nary and her sister, and head back to the ferry. She follows us on her moto, stopping us to give Deb and me small silk bags. What a day!
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