| Boat
to Battambang
by Dorothee
Lang
 |
“The
boat to Battambang leaves at seven”, said
the boat-ticket-seller cheerfully. I sighed. being
at the boat at seven means pick up at five thirty
means get up at five... which is exactly the time
I got up the day before, to see the sunrise at Angkor
Wat.
And no, there's no later boat. Just as there's
no later sunrise. Cambodia is still pretty much
running on suntime. Life starts at dawn, when the
first rays of light dance through the night sky,
tickling the stars. That's when the streets start
to get crowded with people balancing baskets of
fresh bread or fresh fish on their head, with bicycles
delivering unbelievable amounts of coconuts in one
go, and with motobikes carrying whole families or
whole pigs on their backseat. |
You can see old monks in their orange robes
lined up for food offerings now, young girls in their
blue-white school-uniforms lined up for pickups, and multicoloured
markets full of fresh vegetables and fruits under yellow
and green umbrellas lined up for customers.
As the sun rises higher and higher,
the heat pours in the streets and fields, and everyone
moves towards the shade. Siesta-time. Time of swinging
hammocks, of dozing dogs, of motortaxi-drivers taking
naps on their bikes like cats on the branches of a tree.
Then, in the afternoon, the pulse of life increases again.
The street get busy once more. and the river, too - boats
come and go, fish get caught, laundry gets done. One hour
before sunset is bathing time - young girls are splishing
and splashing, young boys are jumping from boats into
the river again and again, women in pink sarongs wash
their black hair, old men gracefully take their daily
bath. All in this one river, that starts to change its
colour again, reflecting the orange and the hazy yellow
clouds in its water mirror.
If you happen to take the seven o'clock
boat from Angkor to Battambang, and if your engine breaks
down, too, you can watch the whole day-circle from the
deck of the boat, while you slowly float through hundreds
of s-shaped curves. You sit there, let the hours pass
by, and with every hour the easiness and hardness of this
life that seems light years away from our electric-light-and-inside-shower-world
touches you deeper.
And then, much later, when the
sun has said goodbye and the moon has said hello to the
skies again, you find yourself on the balcony of your
guesthouse, under the shining stars, above the sleeping
streets, beside the river that just keeps flowing and
flowing, and you find yourself saying a prayer for all
the children that waved hello to you during the day on
the river, wishing they find a way to a safer life without
loosing their smiles.
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