We had not yet repossed Angkor's emotional impact, When we entered the Avenida de Agua that approached one of Tonlé Sap's floating peoples.
Cambodia does not just understand, because there is no sense of a country where a few kilometers from the most sublime temples in the world, Families live on water for not being able to pay a piece of land to settle.
There were streets, Farms, shops and restaurants. Everything floated on the lake. I saw chickens in his pens, ducks and pigs on rafts far from the shore. There was even a crocodile farm that some dump decided that it could attract tourists and incidentally serve as food and maybe even make a shoe.
Many young people were born in the water and if prosperity does not knock on the door, Maybe they die there, In houses without foundations.
The truth is that there were not too many tourists there and the inhabitants of the lake do not sell postcards. Although at first glance, An aquatic labyrinth sounds like an elf design, reality is much less lyrical. Many young people were born in the water and if prosperity does not knock on the door, Maybe they die there, In houses without foundations.
In tonlé sap the boats are the legs with which to go from side to to another, To visit a neighbor, to the Hindu temple, which is the only building that is based on a piece of land. Children play naval battles about tiny sweeps that are caravels to conquer their world.
Women remind the networks looking at the only possible horizon, The one with a pale blue, But they are the ones who seem tangled in that water loop and boats that do not lead anywhere.
Maybe music unites them to the world, that a melody does not need a firm and the voice does not occupy space.
We stop at a random house, To see that there were inside and jump doors, to the approach, We enter a humble space but with the dignity of a home. The house had several stays, A hammock to rock your freedom in the afternoons of sun, Several children running, a duck cage and a sound team designed to set concerts in a stadium. Maybe music unites them to the world, that a melody does not need a firm and the voice does not occupy space.
They have a liquid look there, imploring the weight of sidewalks, But their nomad status makes them resist. They smile as they all smile in Southeast Asia, As if the misfortune never achieves them. They have become accustomed to the tides, that make them row with the home elsewhere, In search of fish under the family bedroom. And so year after year, with wet feet so much leaving home, both walk and so few steps.
There are places where there are no shores where a future
