The Chinese freighters moored along the riverbank in the northern Thai town of Chiang Saen are testimony to the rapid change coming to this area of the upper Mekong.
The area where Khampong Bordee grew up on the Songkhram River is famous in Thailand for its pla dek, a pungent, fermented fish paste. In late April and May, the river floods the surrounding forests and the fish gorge on rotting vegetation and insects.
In the dry season, the rocks at Khon Pi Luang north of Chiang Khong, Thailand, jut up from the Mekong like the incisors of some great riverine beast. This is the gullet that after the rains forms one of the upper Mekong’s last big rapids, the sort that in the 19th century led French explorers to conclude that the Mekong would never be navigable.
The Mekong touches thousands of communities. Millions of people depend on it. And, major decisions concerning the future of the mainstream river and its many tributaries are now being taken.
Fisherman Tran Van Hua sat in his sampan on the great lagoon at the mouth of Vietnam’s Huong River, praying for fish. “The catches keep getting smaller,” he said ruefully. “There are fewer fish, shrimp and crabs. We don’t know why.”
There were roast chickens and rice, pig’s heads and beer – all borne in a solemn procession as offerings to an unlikely recipient, the Mekong giant catfish. “Please accept our wishes to live in harmony, fish with humans,” intoned an official standing before a catfish statue raised high on a bamboo altar.
It is all too common to hear of species threatened with extinction. Not so common is to hear of an entire river threatened this way. But for many years, it seemed, China’s Yellow River was doomed.
They live in a forested swamp that is submerged by floodwaters for part of the year, eking out an existence on the fish they catch and whatever they can grow or gather. Malaria and malnutrition are rife. To say that the wetland communities of Attapeu province in southernmost Laos are poor would seem a gross understatement.