Southeast Asian Monsoon

I once stood on the front porch of a gentleman during a downpour of rain. The shower was so intense that it reminded him of the monsoon season in Vietnam when he served in the war. “It was so reliable,” he said, “that you could set your watch by it.” 

For some reason that little conversation has always stayed with me. I knew that someday I wanted to go to Vietnam, but would I really want to go there during the monsoon? On one hand I wouldn't want inclement weather interfering with sightseeing. But on the other, a Southeast Asian monsoon would be an experience few on the other side of the globe would ever have. 

Several years later I finally got the opportunity to travel to the Mekong Delta area of Vietnam and Cambodia. Our visit would be during the first two weeks of October, which would not be at the peak of the monsoon season, but on the shoulders. Phnom Penh receives an average of 9.7 inches of rain during October, while Ho Chi Minh City receives 13.4 inches. For both places, September is the wettest month, followed by October. 

Storm clouds brewing near Sam Mountain in Vietnam.

I didn't want to be stuck indoors or beneath an umbrella for the entire two weeks, so I did my research and many people online assured me that when the monsoonal rains came, they hit hard and heavy, but after an hour or so Heaven would turn off her spigot and all would return to normal. No matter what the scenario, our journey would be an adventure. 

During our first day and a half in Saigon, it didn't rain at all. Then, while we sat at a table in Chinatown in a restaurant with a full open-air front, the sky began to release its water. With excitement I stood up and walked to the front of the restaurant where I met the sidewalk and watched the street, traffic and people turn wet. Some pedestrians and motorcyclists quickly donned plastic ponchos while others braved the storm. 

But as quickly as it came, it left. The skies gave no more. I waited for the rest of the evening and there was no more rain. I was surprised that after two days in Vietnam we only had one measly outburst. Certainly no setting our watches with that. 

Our first heavy rain came on days 3 and 4, both in Phnom Penh. They began in late afternoon and lasted several hours after dark. It made navigating the streets more difficult. Many streets had no sidewalk, which left us to dodging potholes of water, cars and mopeds, all while holding wide umbrellas above our heads. And all this in the dark. 

It also made it more difficult to find a place for dinner. Most street vendors and restaurants with outside seating closed shop once the rain began. 

Puddles of water on the street in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

The majority of locals wore ponchos rather than use umbrellas.

We observed the locals. Most preferred ponchos to umbrellas. A surprising amount used nothing at all and chose to get soaked. It was always cute to see a family on a moped, perhaps the father on front wearing a poncho, and his two school-aged daughters on back getting soaked! 

I recall our final night in Phnom Penh. We went to the night market to look around, then to the food court where we ate on red mats placed on the ground, kind of like a picnic. After our dinner the rain began to pour. It wasn't heavy, but constant. Jordan and I both walked a mile to our hotel. I used an umbrella and Jordan chose to go without. Needless to say, he was soaked by the time we got back (but he said it felt good). 

Another remarkable thing about this time of year is how much water there is . . . everywhere! The Mekong River swells in size and this is why those living near its banks dwell in floating homes or on stilts. The Tonlé Sap River connects Tonlé Sap Lake with the Mekong, merging near the city of Phnom Penh. During the dry season the river flows toward the Mekong, nearly draining Tonlé Sap Lake. But during the rainy season the river actually reverses course and brings water from the Mekong back into Tonlé Sap Lake. 

Houses built along the swollen Tonle Sap River in Cambodia.

Water is everywhere during the rainy season.

In addition to extra water in the river, many of the fields and other places are also flooded with water. As a tourist it was difficult to know which places always had water versus those that were flooded due to it being the rainy season. Once you got out of the city, much of the land, it seemed, was submerged under water. 

The seasonal floods are vital to rejuvenating the river's ecosystems. Floodwaters bring nutrient-rich silt which is necessary to nourish the vast amount of rice fields in the Mekong Delta. Additionally it also provides moisture needed to water crops. 

Storm clouds over the Mekong River near the Cambodia / Vietnam border.

One positive benefit for the tourist is that it brings temperatures down to bearable. I recall a trip to Thailand several years ago during the dry season. They say in Thailand there are only three seasons: hot, hotter and hottest. We were there between “hotter” and “hottest” and although beautiful, Thailand was scorching. Here in nearby Cambodia and Vietnam during the rainy season, other than a little mugginess and heat during the climax of the day, I felt comfortable most of the time. 

As far as the rain restricting and interfering with our trip, fortunately for us, I would say it didn't too much. Most of our downpours came in the final 2 or 3 hours of daylight, or even once the sun had already set. Our biggest daytime downpour came while we toured the infamous S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh, and we were inside for most of that. My advice is to come prepared with an umbrella or poncho, and a little flexibility. 

Downpour at S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh.

During our stay in Chau Doc, a Vietnamese city near the Cambodian border, I purposely booked a hotel on the edge of town that overlooked rice patty fields and the distant Sam Mountain. My favorite monsoon experience came here while sitting on the balcony. 

Rain came down in droves, starting just before dusk and lasting into the night. It was exhilarating to relax and observe the storm, listening to the flood of water descend from the sky. Wind blew the cold scent of storm across our skin. Suddenly a flash of lightening lit up the sky and for a moment the palm trees, rice fields and Sam Mountain flickered before us in silhouette, only to instantly disappear. Seconds later a low rumbling echo of thunder bellowed through the night air. 

After several hours the rain stopped. 

Now was the next movement of our symphony. Cicadas buzzed in the distance and frogs chirped a melodic song. Somewhere out of view, probably in the bar in the next building, we listened to the singing of karaoke. 

All was right in the world. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do but sit and listen to beautiful music in a foreign land. ♠

Storm moving over Sam Mountain in Chau Doc, Vietnam.

Boat Ride on the Mekong

We arrived at the office for the boat, a dusty backroom of a restaurant on the quay. A man who only spoke broken English with a Khmer accent sat behind a desk and took our names. We set our luggage against the wall and waited on a chair while other passengers filed in. 

A lady with a straw hat, stringed tank top and light flowing long skirt came into the room. She traveled alone and spoke in an Australian accent. One family came from India, another from Hong Kong. Several carried red German passports. Today there would be a medley of passengers. 

At last the boat came and we carried our luggage out to the loading dock and stepped onto the vessel, handing our bags to a crewman to stow beneath the boat. We sat next to the window, behind the Germans, overlooking the river. 

At the loading dock in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

It was monsoon season in Southeast Asia and I watched dark clouds billow in the sky. The river was brown, nothing clean about it. Occasional trash floated on the surface along with green stalks and leaves of water hyacinth. 

I watched as we departed the port. Familiar sites of the Royal Palace and Wat Ounalom passed by as we moved down-river and within fifteen minutes the skyscrapers of Phnom Penh faded behind us. 

Goodbye to Phnom Penh.

The Mekong River is the twelfth longest in the world, wending nearly 2,500 miles from the Tibetan Plateau to the South China Sea. Once it enters Vietnam it begins meandering and spreading out, creating the Mekong Delta. This area is critical to the livelihood and food security for millions of people. It is known as the breadbasket of Vietnam. Much of the area is covered by rice patties that are irrigated by delta water and fertilized by delta silt. 

I sat gazing at the distant shore while the wake of the boat spewed water up and across the window. I spotted a Buddhist temple nestled behind the trees and a larger than life reclining Buddha. 

We passed beneath the Tsubasa Bridge, a mammoth structure that spans the entire length of the river. This bridge carries traffic between Ho Chi Minh City and Phnom Penh, eliminating the need for a ferry when it was built in 2015. We were not to pass another bridge the entire trip. This was remote country. Access wasn't easy. 

Splashing water on the Mekong River.

A glimpse of village life.

Tsubasa Bridge.

A ferry carries locals across the river.

Passengers enjoy the breeze.

Further down the river we passed more Buddhist temples, small fishing villages, barges on the river, water buffalo, and men working in the fields. But everything was at a distance due to the wide span of the river. Swollen as it was, it had to be over a mile wide in many places. 

After three hours we finally came to the immigration office at Kaorm Samnor on the Cambodian side of the border. We docked the boat and walked to a small building where we handed our passports and visas to a man behind a window. Fingers were scanned and pictures taken. And just in case we needed it, a Buddhist shrine sat on the grounds. 

We returned to the boat, only to get out a few minutes later on the Vietnamese side of the frontier. We waited in another room for over an hour. This time we waited in a room with tables and chairs. Outside was a wooden patio overlooking the river. By now the sun was setting, casting a glow on those dark monsoonal clouds. They finally returned our passports and we filed back onto the boat. 

Reclining Buddha on the shore.

Buddhist temple with small reclining Buddha (still in Cambodia).

Dark monsoonal clouds.

On the grounds of the immigration office in Kaorm Samnor, Cambodia.

Again we sped across the darkening murky waters and I wondered what we would do if the boat were to capsize. Could we swim ashore, or would we be swept down-river? It would be a terrifying ordeal for sure. 

We came to a point where we left the Mekong River and cut through a canal to the Hau River. The canal was long and our passage lasted half an hour. We passed trees whose bases were covered in water. We passed floating houses that sat at the water's edge. What would it be like to live here? The place had the feel of the bayou. These people lived at the water's edge with no other nighttime noise except the occasional speedboat, lapping of water and croaking frogs. 

Finally in Vietnam, enjoying the sunset.

At last we arrived at the Hau River, a distributary of the Mekong. This general area was the beginning of the Mekong Delta.  Instead of tributary rivers that fed into the Mekong, there were now waterways such as the Hau (Bassac River in Cambodia) that flowed out. 

Once on the Hau River, it wasn't too much longer until we arrived at the dock in Chau Doc. I was excited to spend three nights here as it was a location not yet on the radar of most tourists in Vietnam. We unloaded our luggage, and as warned from the literature, cyclo drivers were outside waiting for us. ♠

 

Final destination, Chau Doc, Vietnam.

On a cyclo, headed to our hotel.