Mekong of Isaan

by Simeone Andrulli

The enchanting flight of birds fill the air of whispers. They rise up to the sky, fall like rain, slide over the river, run after each other. The sudden overtaking and re-entries of the bus wake me up. The driver beckons that I have arrived at Nong Kai. "Pai, pai" (go, go) and he smiles. I am still dazed, the roar of vehicles running on the main road replaces the bird twittering. It's late when I reach the riverbank. The town lights turn on one by one. The houses are arranged along the two main roads running parallel to the river. The temple geometry betrays the proximity and influence across the water. A young monk enveloped by evening darkness watches from a jetty the evolution of the water stream which intertwine, divide and go away. Unfailingly some dogs bark or pretend to bite the imprudent passer-by. Land of dogs or smiles?
Lek is not older than 11, but already smokes. He has lost almost all his teeth because of an incurable tropical disease. He doesn't go to school as his parents can't afford it. He is the mascot of Bung Kan, a small village on Mekong banks. The tuk-tuk drivers joke with him. With bullish attitude he inhales his cigarette holding it with the few teeth left by a malevolent nature. He feels like a star.

Some raindrops fall from the leaden sky. The countryside is covered by water that copiously had fallen during the previous days. The rainy season has passed by some time and despite recent rains the river is shallow. Large portions of the riverbed are cultivated by horticultural crops. Waiting for passengers to ferry to other side, a boatman whiles away time by playing with his friends. A net is being launched. Few are the fishes caught. The young fisherman doesn't despair, he smiles. He smiles like they do around here. Followed by his dogs, a man on motorbike covers the small road paved by straw, winding over the strand. Among the green bed of reeds a man waives his hand, a westerner who is spending a brief vacation on the quiet Mekhong banks along with his family. Married with a Thai woman he settled down here. Living in Isaan, living on the Mekong. The river continues its journey toward the ocean.

From the road the river is visible at times, as groves alternate with open fields. Rice has mostly been harvested; in a few standing fields, hats made of straw and bamboo reveal farmer presence. The implacable and torrid tropical sun impels the buffaloes into the sepia water of near ponds in search of cool. A peasant takes a nap in the shade of a tree.
Near Nakhon Phanom the road widens. There is no much to see in Nakhon Phanom but sipping a beer or eating catfish curry while overlooking the river has a strange romantic appeal: the Mekhong view framed against the giant anthills of the Annamite mountains of Laos gives way to an imaginary world of fairies and dragons, of eternal legends... dreams in the distance.

A broad staircase welcomes pilgrims coming from Laos to pay homage to Wat Phra That Phanom. A sleepy immigration officer beckons to pass. It's hot and the fan is not powerful. The Wat (Buddhist temple) is preceded by an arch and a very broad avenue. Wat Phra That Phanom is for all Lao people the most revered Buddhist temple in Isaan, second only to That Luang in Vientane. The Buddha statues are covered by golden leaves that devotees put on after their prayers. The river continues to swell.
Mukdahan is a thriving commercial center. On the opposite bank lies Savannahkhet from where begins the shortest route to Vietnam. The Chinese minority enhances trade between the opposite riverbanks. Boats loaded with goods and passengers go to and fro between Mukdahan and Savannahkhet. The wind blows, lightning announces an imminent thunderstorm. Passers-by hurry to take shelter under the canopies. Raindrops furiously beat against the ground, the stream swell and run toward the Mekong. Instants of absurd and wonderful violence. Suddenly the raindrops rarefy, the wind ceases, the sun shines again.

Even this is a day like another on the great river of Asia, the Mekong.