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.

Sea of Cortez

My first impression was the stillness of the water. Very small waves. Shallow. Low-tide revealing a plethora of tide pools with small, but perfectly intact shells. 

Today we took a boat ride further south into the sea. Along the shore we passed white-washed beach homes, resorts, unfinished hotels, beach-goers, sand dunes and dry rocky mountains in the distance. The day was flawless, with almost no clouds and a perfectly serene surface of water. 

Jenna spotted a school of dolphins. They swam in our direction, occasionally arcing out of the water, their fins pointing skyward. As they moved closer they swam directly beneath our boat, then followed us for a short distance. 

We turned our course seaward from the coast until those dry rocky mountains nearly disappeared over the horizon. We came to another set of rocky hills, these being a small chain of islands. They were covered with sea lions and birds. 

As we turned off the engine of the boat we could hear the barking of the lions. I wondered what it was like for them to have their own little playground. They jumped off rocks, baked in the sun and whatever else their heart desired. 

We spent the next two hours watching them and exploring the coves of the islands in kayaks. My favorite experience was swimming with the sea lions—watching them swoosh within inches of my feet, but never touching! They didn't mind at all that we swam with them, treating us as if we were just another sea creature. 

By the end of the day we were exhausted. Although it felt as if we had boated 100 miles across the water, we barely scratched the surface of the Sea of Cortez. It was a healthy reminder that there are so many places in this world that I have yet to explore. 

Until a few months ago, I couldn't point out the Sea of Cortez on a map. If someone had asked to find the Gulf of California . . . then maybe. This inlet is tucked between Baja California and the main body of Mexico. It stretches 700 miles and has a maximum width of 150 miles. There are 37 islands 

It is believed that this gulf is one of the most diverse seas on Earth. An estimated 900 species of fish live here, along with 32 types of marine mammals. There are blue, humpback and gray whales that call these waters home. In addition there are sharks, dolphins, manta rays, sea lions and Leatherback Sea Turtles. On one of the islands is a rattlesnake that is found nowhere else in the world. 

All this marine wildlife is a stark contrast to the hot and barren Sonoran Desert just outside its waters. Sand dunes often flank the coast line and in some areas there grows an abundant sea of cactus. 

It was named by Francisco de Ulloa in 1539 in honor of the Spanish conquistador, Hernán Cortés. Ulloa originally believed that the gulf led to the mythical Strait of Anian, which connected the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Another Spaniard, Melchior Diaz explored the area extensively in 1540, including conducting a survey of the lower Colorado River where it runs into the gulf. 

A couple days later we chose a secluded sandy beach. The dunes sloped downward into the crystal clear blue water. I strapped on goggles and slowly floated on my belly a short distance from the shore, scouring the floor of the sea with my eyes. Remnants of shells were scattered everywhere, most of them white and some twirled in narrow conical twists like the horn of a unicorn. 

I swam parallel to the shore, coming up for air from time to time. When I saw something on the sandy bottom I would extend my arm—if I could reach—and pull it closer to my view. Then I would decide whether to keep it. In this manner I collected a modest cluster of shells. 

I have decided that the Sea of Cortez is a gem that most don't consider. I have only skimmed the top, yet there is an allure, a desire, to return and explore more. 

Perhaps John Steinbeck said it best: “Trying to remember the Gulf is like trying to re-create a dream. This is by no means a sentimental thing, it has little to do with beauty or even conscious liking. But the Gulf does draw one, and we have talked to rich men who own boats, who can go where they will. Regularly they find themselves sucked into the Gulf. And since we have returned, there is always in the backs of our minds the positive drive to go back again. If it were lush and rich, one could understand the pull, but it is fierce and hostile and sullen. The stone mountains pile up to the sky and there is little fresh water. But we know we must go back if we live, and we don't know why.” ♠