The Tuesday morning excursion was to a Vietnamese village by the name of Tan Chau, not far from the border. We met our guide for the remainder of the cruise, a forty-ish gent named Thang who at first blush came across as more formal, almost stilted, than our Cambodian guide, Samath.

A “local junk” (small wooden powerboat) took us to the first stop, a fish farm. It comprised of a series of docks surrounding and enclosing four netted fish pens in the river, each maybe ten meters square. One of the pens was covered with a simple shed roof, another by the home of the family that operated the farm, their continual presence necessary, according to Thang, to prevent fish thievery. Continue reading 09. Lies, Damned Statistics, and Tourism →