Flashes of blood red and pearly white peer through curtains of coconut palms along the riverbank. Others push through the flotsam and jetsam of the Mekong, breaking up congregations of swollen-stalked water hyacinths and coconut husks borne along by the torpid current. Legend has it that this mighty waterway is ruled by river monsters, but these fiery eyes are painted onto boats —big ones laid low with mountains of coconuts, little ones ferrying fishing traps and fruit farmers cradling jackfruits and durians.
“It’s a tradition of the area to decorate boats like this,” says my guide Jerry Le, baseball cap in hand, his Americaninflected drawl lifted onto the breeze that follows in the wake of a large cargo ship passing our open-sided sampan boat. “We believe the eyes are a window to the soul, so by painting the eyes on, they’re giving the boats a soul. Then the boats help protect their owners —especially at night.” Known locally as the Nine Dragon River, the Mekong has so many limbs that it’s easy to get lost in its anatomy. It writhes for 2,700 miles from China through Myanmar, Laos, Thailand and Cambodia until eventually erupting in Vietnam at its widest point, where I’m sailing its delta for three days. From Ho Chi Minh City, we’d driven two hours south west to a tiny jungle dock at Mo Cay near the point where the river drains into the South China Sea. The plan is to head deeper west into its tributaries to reach the Mekong city of Can Tho.
Boat tours are part of the river’s modern currency and hotels have taken root on its islands, but at heart the Mekong remains an agricultural region. Responsible for a third of Vietnam’s total agrarian output,
