Up the Mekong to Phnom Penh.

The next morning, we get ready to embark on the express boat up the Mekong into Cambodia.

We are met at our hotel by a band of bicycle rickshaw drivers ready to shuttle us to the boat.

It's a mad rush through the morning traffic. My driver had
to screech to a halt to avoid some pedestrians, then after berating them,
had to pedal hard to catch up.

The streets are bedecked with Tet decorations.

Chickens are being bought and killed.

The river is busy with people going about their daily routines.

As we proceed upriver, we see evidence of a more traditional, slower-paced way of life.

After about two and a half hours, we reached the border crossing into Cambodia.

It looks and feels very different from Vietnam. More like a cross between Thailand and India.

And suddenly we can't even read the writing, much less understand the language.

The farms we can see from the river seem more primitive and poorer than those in Vietnam.

We can see the roofs of many temples and wats from the boat.

And people washing their cows.

After six hours, we at last see the spires of Phnom Penh.


As we get off the boat, we are greeted by a horde of insistent hawkers
and beggars, as well as what turns out to be the first of many, many
sculptures depicting gods and demons in a tug-of-war with a
seven- or five-headed naga. Renditions of this scene from the Vedic
episode known as the Churning of the Sea of Milk can be found
all over Cambodia.

So, unfortunately, can the hawkers and beggars.

P.