We began at a reconstructed temple, originally from the 16th century. The blue lights above are not fluorescent tubes, but the brilliant sky shining through slats in the wood. The temple now houses a handicrafts shop to raise money for local villagers. I came away with a pair of super-comfy braided grass flip flops. $2 well spent I think, seeing as my old sandals died in the Philippines.
From there we bumped along the dirt track to a bluff overlooking a Vietnemese fishing village floating on the Mekong. I do like the giant cantilevered fishing nets, but my favourite part of the floating villages are the little garden plots on nearly every boat. Each raft has at least one old oil drum, defunct canoe, or row of buckets brimful with herbs and vegetables.
After catching the little ferry to the island mid river, we motored up to another little bluff where there is a beach popular with the bovine crowd. The name "Kratie" actually comes from an old word in the local dialect meaning "place of the buffalo", as this is where the Mekong was tame enough, and interspersed with enough rest islands to swim herd of cattle and water buffalo across. Today it is popular with the working buffalo for a good wallow after a hard day of plowing. And in case you were wondering how cows stay so nice and white in a red-dust country, here you go.
Many people on the island make their living from processing sugar palm sap into sugar. Much like maple syrup, the sap is boiled and boiled in witch's cauldrons until it reduces to a blonde, caramel-tasting sugar. What sap is not used to make sugar is either drunk fresh, or fermented into palm wine. We were plied with several glasses of the fresh juice, which was surprisingly sweet and almost lemony tasting.
While at the sap-boiling vats, we heard some music in the distance. Our guides said it was a wedding, and asked if we would like to stop by and see a traditional Cambodian village wedding. Of course we did, and soon found ourselves not only invited, but pulled quite forcefully into the seats of honour right in front of where the ceremony would take place. All the older ladies fussed and clucked over us, bringing bottles of water and sticky rice with sugar palm fruit wrapped in banana leaves. I felt a little guilty about pulling focus away from the bride, but Cambodian weddings are far less formal and far more boisterous than our western affairs, with children running about, people chatting among themselves, and, as we discovered, an open invitation to anyone lucky enough to pass by.
After the wedding, we went to visit the family home of one of our guides. His mother owns a fruit orchard and gardens with peanuts, coconuts, grapefruit, and guava. Wielding a scythe on a long bamboo rod, our guide cut down a fresh coconut for each of us. The neighborhood chicks heard the coconuts falling and came running over to investigate. Cz created a veritable feeding frenzy when he set his half-finished coconut on the ground.
Our final stop was a Wat at which a monk had turned into a crocodile and eventually ate a local princess. There is a long and involved story leading up to the transformation involving many spells and plot twists, culminating in this monument and several temples being built along the river.Had we more time and money, our guides were ready to take us down to see the other temples, but decided to return to Kratie by way of the next set of ferries. We arrived back at our guesthouse tired, covered in red dust, and very pleased.
No candles, but certainly a good way to spend a birthday.
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