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| Travel Writing & Photography |
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Kristina L. Mayer combines her passion for creating change in the developing world with adventure travel, personal philanthropy, writing and photography.
Prek Toal Biosphere and Bird Sanctuary, Cambodia (2003)
Written by Kristina L. Mayer, Ed. D.
Photographs by Karen R. Bowman, RN, MN, COHN-S
One very tired evening on a trip to Cambodia, I discovered a short description of the Prek Toal Biosphere and Bird Sanctuary. After the brief moment it took to convince my travel partner, Karen, it was an adventure she wouldn’t want to miss, we set in motion the plan for early the next day. John, our driver, would pick us up at 4:30 a.m. and drive us south of Siem Reap to the floating village of Chong Kneas.
The alarm rings, it is very dark and quiet. We rustle our gear into day packs; gulp down instant espresso before quietly making our way past the sleeping night watchmen... Read more »
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Prek Toal Biosphere and Bird Sanctuary
Written by Kristina L. Mayer, Ed. D.
Photographs by Karen R. Bowman, RN, MN, COHN-S
One very tired evening on a trip to Cambodia, I discovered a short description of the Prek Toal Biosphere and Bird Sanctuary. After the brief moment it took to convince my travel partner, Karen, it was an adventure she wouldn’t want to miss, we set in motion the plan for early the next day. John, our driver, would pick us up at 4:30 a.m. and drive us south of Siem Reap to the floating village of Chong Kneas.
The alarm rings, it is very dark and quiet. We rustle our gear into day packs; gulp down instant espresso before quietly making our way past the sleeping night watchmen inside and outside the front foyer. Outside the watchman sleeps on a cot covered with mosquito net. The rustling of our gear and soft sound of our footfalls wake him. He jumps up to unlock the gate where John is already waiting.
The ride through town affords a look at the early market merchants making their way to the dark, dank stalls where they will spend the next 12 to 14 hours selling their wares – brightly woven baskets brimming with farm goods, hand-loomed scarves, and cloth sacks of rice. We see parents and barefoot children riding three or four deep on motorcycles, dogs roaming the streets and women bustling toward their work.
The narrow road is deeply rutted and dusty. It is still dark when we arrive at the floating village. Houses on stilts line the narrow road, artifacts of daily life are strewn on the ground – plastic, aluminum cans, empty water vessels. Most people sleep. A few new fires pour smoke into the early morning sky.
John quietly speaks to the government check-point agent while gesturing toward the lake. He slides back into the car and we make our way toward our destination. We slow to a stop at a spot where colorful wooden boats cluster on the shore. A woman appears from nowhere along the barren muddy shoreline, ushering us toward a boat where two bronze-faced men hurriedly prime and start the huge diesel engine which straddles the stern of the boat, extending its long rudder behind.
 A quick glance around us and we realize we are alone with our skipper, leaving the shore and the familiarity of our driver, John. It is still dark, and the sky and water are deep blue. It is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. The boat’s motor hums along. Life in the floating village is stirring. Merchant boats overflowing with goods are making their rounds, fishermen are heading into the big lake, and morning smells of cooking food fill the air.
The driver, Mr. Hun, makes only one stop, to get diesel fuel. He pulls the boat up to a dock, hops up on the deck and begins to fill the tanks. His expression is full of intent; cigarette smoke swirls around him. He disappears to pay someone and returns with a small brown paper bag which he stows in the front of the boat near him. Nothing is said.
Nearly two hours slip by before we reach Prek Toal, another floating village, home to nearly 800 families. It is close to 8 o’clock and we see many people navigating the lake. Children in uniforms go by on their way to school. We approach the Environmental Office and are greeted by a young man, fluent in English who welcomes us. He promptly turns us over to a very drawn, wrinkled man in a uniform who collects our fee and writes us detailed receipts. A man arrives who is going to be our guide. He brings two laminated charts which display the birds we are likely to see. The charts turn out to be very useful, if not invaluable, as our driver and guide speak only Khmer.
Environmental office in Prek Toal
After another hour of swift travel along the lake shore, we begin to see hundreds of birds, more birds than I have ever seen – Chinese Pond Heron, Grey-headed Fish Eagles, Oriental Darters, and Stork-billed King Fishers. With lots of pointing from the charts to the birds and back, we build rapport with our new Cambodian friends. They are very serious about showing off the varied nature of the biosphere and often slow the boat to make sure we see flocks of Spot-billed Pelicans perched in trees or Blue-tailed Bee Eaters on the low-growing scrub brush.
 Karen and I talk about this extraordinary opportunity to experience the migratory pathway of so many Southeast Asian birds with our knowledgeable guides. Language separates us but also provides us occasion to interact. Their interest in our English pronunciation of the names of the birds is intriguing to each of us. They begin to try to repeat them, which initiates our day of personal exchange and making new friends.
The boat approaches a marshy area. We see a massive tree ahead with a wooden boat tied at the base and a tall slender man standing on the bottom rung of a set of steep bamboo steps that ascend the tree. We are surprised to learn that two researchers live and work in the elongated lateral branches of the tree for stretches of seven days at a time. Through a series of gestures and Khmer words we learn about the scientific endeavors of the crew of deeply committed environmental enthusiasts. The scientists observe and record migration patterns and nesting behaviors. Mr. Hun brings out the brown bag and shows us the bottle of herb wine he purchased at the diesel station. He then pours two glasses of wine and gestures to pass them around the circle. Sticks with dried prunes are shared, we break out cashews and the celebration is underway.
 The scientist invites us to climb the ladder to the work station. I decline and stay in the boat with our driver while Karen crawls off the front of the boat. She climbs up the bamboo ladder to the research station where two scientists are collecting data. The long bamboo steps scaling the tree are wrapped and bound with rope. While in the boat, I have the chance to study the long boat which is the only place other than the tree for the scientists to inhabit. It serves as a place to store food, to cook, and to get around at the water level to gather wood.
The warm midday sun, wine and good company make the afternoon fly by as we continue to exchange words and connect through our common interest in birds. On the way back to Prek Toal, Mr. Hun spots a tree where many large birds are perched. He attempts to give us a close-up look by driving into some water strewn with shrubs. Suddenly, the boat is stuck. The driver tries to rock the boat to dislodge it, but to no avail. After some conversation between our guide and the skipper that I can’t understand, Mr. Hun strips down to his shorts and jumps into the water to lend his muscle to the problem. After a half an hour or so, the boat is free. We continue our journey to Prek Toal, Mr. Hun dripping wet but content to have freed us.
When we arrive at the Environmental Office, we are greeted by the older leathery-faced man and offered lunch in a living room next door to the office. After we wash our hands, two women appear with a platter holding two whole fried fish and a large bowl of cooked greens resembling blades of thick grass. I panick. My queasy western stomach growls. Karen is much more gastronomically adventurous and digs right in. I’m relieved because our host has taken up a post next to the table, almost as though to make sure we are eating.
By the time we leave the Environment Office, we have become fast friends with our driver and guide, exchanging words and our love of the natural environment as though language and culture were no barrier at all.
Kristina, our guide and our driver, Mr. Hun
Wind-blown and eyes heavy, we make the trip toward Chong Kneas with only the sounds of the lake water rushing past, diffused by the hum of the diesel engine. Just before we make our way up the fingerlet to the village, Mr. Hun stops the boat and kneels on the soggy boat floor. He shares his deep gratitude for the gift of a few words and wants them written on a piece of paper with simple pictures to keep the meaning fresh. Four English words: BIRD, NEST, EGG and BABY.
Aw kohn, trei and niak ch’muah ei: we have our Khmer words to take home, too.
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