TradItion and Tide: Life on The Mekong.
At 5 am, life on the Mekong roars; it is a vibrant, rumbling dance of tradition and rhythm. Merchants shout over the markets’ hum and traders nearly sink their small vessels with produce.
The lives connected to the Mekong seemed to mirror it, with their wrinkles branching out like river tributaries.
I am just a witness to this world. Come drift with me through the Mekong's currents, camera in hand, to capture a story that may not last forever.
A Boat Trader removes plastic wrapped around the propeller.
The Mekong is one of the world’s great rivers. Rising in the Tibetan Plateau, it winds its way through Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, carrying life across thousands of kilometres. Its deep brown colour comes from the sediment gathered along its vast journey across the Asian continent, nourishing the millions who depend on it. Yet, like all ecosystems, the Mekong faces mounting pressures from modernisation, pollution, agricultural runoff, pesticides and damming that threaten its future.
A Local Boat Trader pushes his boat away from the docks.
Plastics trapped in Water Hyacinth, floating houses on the Mekong.
The pace of life in Can Tho is dictated by the river’s current. Its tides swell with force, often spilling over the banks and flooding nearby streets and homes. Locals have grown accustomed to these rhythms, wading knee-deep through waterlogged alleys while market vendors rush to higher ground.
Can Tho streets flooding due to river rising.
Can Tho Riverside Market at Dawn.
Squished between motorbikes pushing through the narrow market streets, my leg pressed against the rattling warmth of an exhaust, I watched the rhythm of the market swell around me.
Catfish, eel, crab and turtles, along with every kind of seafood, exchanged hands for weathered notes of dong as heavy smoke from cigarettes and charcoal stoves curled in the air. Thin sheets of ice splintered across metal pans to keep the catch fresh while the morning sun crested the horizon and the mercury began to climb.
A Can Tho Local Stands Next to the Mekong at Dawn.
I felt a strong hand grip the inside of my bicep. I turned, but no one was there, until I looked down and found the eyes of a woman fixed on mine. She spoke the word boat, over and over, like a chant.
I had no choice but to follow as she dragged me forward with a force that felt like the Mekong itself. She gave me a price. It was fair. We did not barter. I respected her tenacity, and she let me capture her image before I made my maiden voyage upon the Delta.
Her days of mastering the river's currents had long passed, with her eyes starting to gloss and their colour fading. She walked with the physical stiffness that comes from hard work.
She flagged down her partner, who captained the small vessel, splitting the boat fare between them. She ushered me down a set of slippery steps to where the small, angular boat sat low in the river.
A Cai Rang River Trader negotiates produce price.
The small motor spluttered and spat water as our props dropped into the fast-moving current. Distant yells carried over the river, hands pointing as money passed between the fingertips of traders selling produce. Boats clanked and groaned as they pressed into each other, stopped by old tires strapped to their sides. People hopped on and off different boats, inspecting the sellers’ produce curiously, as if at a regular supermarket. I was in awe of the way they navigated the river.
Mekong Traders Load fresh pumkins on their boat.
Commercialisation:
The landscape is changing for the river traders, with the primary mode of transport for goods now shifting to trucks, which can load and deliver directly to and from local farmers. New highways and bridges are cutting deep into the river economy. The completion of the Co Chien Bridge reduced the travel distance between Trà Vinh and Ho Chi Minh City by around 60 kilometres, making truck transport far quicker and more efficient than traditional river routes (World Bank, 2016). As a result, floating markets such as Cái Răng are seeing fewer trading boats each year, with local vendors citing improved roads and embankments as the main reason for the decline (Earth Journalism Network, 2024).
Boats carrying commercial signs cruise under bridge.
Environmental Factors:
Recent surveys have revealed rising levels of microplastics, heavy metals and pesticides contaminating the Mekong. In one study, researchers screened 64 pesticides across 276 samples and found 56 pesticides in surface water and 43 in soils (Ngin et al., 2024). Plastic pollution is also a growing concern, with baseline surveys in the Mekong Delta recording an average of around 54 microplastic particles per cubic metre of surface water (Kieu-Le et al., 2023).
We surged against the current, passing boats anchored down and built into homes, laundry drying next to greasy motors. Suddenly, our motor started to gurgle, like it had been asphyxiated and was choking. Muttering curses, the boat driver yanked the propeller out of the murky water and started to unravel long strands of plastic. This was not a singular occurrence, happening over three times within an hour.
The numbers are alarming. Yet there is also hope, with international support from Japan, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland and Australia investing in ecosystem protection, improved data collection and stronger flood and drought risk management programs across the Mekong basin.
The floating market trade is not just shrinking in physical presence, it’s eroding generationally. In Cái Răng, for instance, only about 200 boats now operate regularly, down from 500 in 2016 (Mekong Eye, 2024). In smaller markets like Ngã Năm and Ngã Bảy, fewer than ten boats remain active (Mekong Eye, 2024).
The older generation reminisces about the 1990s when Ngã Bảy alone had 800 vendor boats each day (Mekong Eye, 2024). Meanwhile, younger people are increasingly seeking work off the river, preferring more stable and less physically demanding jobs. As one trader said, ‘My daughter doesn’t want to work here … she prefers to work for a company and invest in stocks’ (Al Jazeera, 2025).
A Can Tho Trader smiles for his portrait.
Our boat slid through a tangle of water hyacinth, engine finally quiet. Across the dock, the woman in red who had dragged me into this world waved once before disappearing into the market's chaos, swallowed by the same currents of commerce that have sustained her family for generations.
I showed the boat driver the photos on my camera - him wrestling plastic from the propeller, traders balancing impossible loads, floating homes weathering another tide. He laughed and pointed at the image of tangled plastic, shaking his head. Some problems, his gesture seemed to say, we just learn to live with.
Stepping from weathered wood to concrete, I felt the weight of solid ground beneath my feet - stable, predictable, modern. Behind me, the Mekong rolled on, carrying its ancient rhythms toward an uncertain future.
If you have made it this far, thank you. I truly appreciate it.
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Thank you,
Michael
