Mekong River | river, Southeast Asia | Britannica.com river, Southeast Asia Alternative Titles: Lan-ts’ang Chiang, Lancang Jiang, Mae Nam Khong, Mékôngk River, Mènam Khong, Song Cuu Long, Sông Tiên Giang Related Topics Khone Falls Mekong River, Cambodian Mékôngk, Laotian Mènam Khong, Thai Mae Nam Khong, Vietnamese Sông Tiên Giang, Chinese (Pinyin) Lancang Jiang or (Wade-Giles) Lan-ts’ang Chiang, river that is the longest river in Southeast Asia , the 7th longest in Asia , and the 12th longest in the world. It has a length of about 2,700 miles (4,350 km). Rising in southeastern Qinghai province, China , it flows through the eastern part of the Tibet Autonomous Region and Yunnan province, after which it forms part of the international border between Myanmar (Burma) and Laos , as well as between Laos and Thailand . The river then flows through Laos, Cambodia , and Vietnam before draining into the South China Sea south of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon).

Vientiane (Viangchan), the capital of Laos, and Phnom Penh , the capital of Cambodia, both stand on its banks. About three-fourths of the drainage area of the Mekong lies within the four countries the river traverses on its lower course—Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The Irrawaddy and Mekong river basins and their drainage networks. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc. Overview of the Mekong River and its declining fish population. Contunico © ZDF Enterprises GmbH, Mainz Physical features The Mekong River drains more than 313,000 square miles (810,000 square km) of land, stretching from the Plateau of Tibet to the South China Sea . Among Asian rivers, only the Yangtze and Ganges have larger minimum flows. Mekong River delta, southern Vietnam. M. Gifford/De Wys Inc. The contrast between the physical conditions that prevail above and below the Mekong’s descent from the Yunnan highlands divide it into two major parts.

The upper Mekong flows 1,215 miles (1,955 km) through a long, narrow valley comprising roughly one-fourth of the total area, cutting through the mountains and plateaus of southwestern China. The lower Mekong, below the point where it forms the border between Myanmar and Laos, is a stream 1,485 miles (2,390 km) in length draining the Khorat Plateau of northeastern Thailand, the western slopes of the Annamese Cordillera in Laos and Vietnam, and most of Cambodia, before reaching the sea through the distributary channels of its delta in southern Vietnam. Similar Topics Godavari River In its upper reaches, the Mekong rises in the Tibetan Plateau between the Salween and Yangtze rivers; the streambed has cut deeply into the rugged landscape through which it flows. Along its course between Myanmar and Laos, the Mekong drains about 8,000 square miles (21,000 square km) of territory in Myanmar, comprising rough and relatively inaccessible terrain.

In its more gentle lower stretches, where for a considerable distance it constitutes the boundary between Laos and Thailand, the Mekong inspires both conflict and cooperation among Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam. Physiography The sources of the Mekong, including its principal headstream, the Za Qu River, rise at an elevation of more than 16,000 feet (4,900 metres) on the north slope of the Tanggula Mountains in Qinghai province. They flow southeast through the Qamdo (Chamdo) region of Tibet, where the Za Qu joins other headstreams to form the main stream, called the Lancang in Chinese. It descends south across the highlands of Yunnan, through which it carves a deep valley, to a point south of Jinghong , where it briefly marks the border between Myanmar and China. The river then bends southwest; over a reach of more than 125 miles (200 km) it forms the Myanmarese-Laotian border.

Although two great roads cross it—the caravan route from the southeast to Lhasa and the road from Kunming to Myanmar—much of the river valley in the highlands of Tibet and Yunnan is remote and sparsely populated. Below Myanmar, the river basin may be divided into six major sections on the basis of landforms, vegetation, and soils: the northern highlands, Khorat Plateau, eastern highlands, southern lowlands, southern highlands, and delta . Most of the vegetation in the lower basin is of the tropical broad-leaved variety, although the occurrence of individual species varies with latitude and topography . Britannica Stories Scientists Ponder Menopause in Killer Whales The northern highlands have highly folded ranges that reach elevations of about 9,000 feet (2,700 metres) above sea level, many with steep slopes. As far south as Vientiane, these dissected uplands (i.e., cut by erosion into hills and valleys) are covered with dense deciduous forest that has deteriorated as a result of frequent cutting and burning for shifting cultivation.

The Mekong’s important tributaries in this region include the Tha , the Ou , and the Ngum rivers, all draining northern Laos. All About Asia To the south of the east-west course of the river below Vientiane lies the Khorat Plateau , which embraces almost all of the Thai portion of the basin as well as the lower parts of the Mekong’s Laotian tributaries. This is an area of gently rolling hills set amid relatively flat alluvial plains. Soils and deciduous vegetation on the hills are thin, and much of the original forest has been replaced by grassland as a result of grazing and repeated burning. The Songkhram River drains the northern part of the plateau and enters the Mekong above Tha Uthen in Thailand. The Mun River —one of the Mekong’s most important tributaries—drains the majority of the plateau and joins the Mekong at Ban Dan, Thailand. The eastern highlands form part of the Annamese Cordillera, from which streams drain west into the Mekong.

Throughout most of the distance between Ky Son (Muong Sen) in northern Vietnam and Ban Hèt in southern Laos, the watershed forms the border between Vietnam to the east and Laos to the west. There is greater relief in the northern than the southern parts of the watershed, but the highlands in general are characterized by rapid streams that flow through narrow valleys before entering the lowlands bordering the Mekong. The Mekong’s most important tributaries in this region are the Kading, the Bangfai, the Banghiang, and the Kong—which, with its affluent the San, drains a large area of southern Laos, central Vietnam, and eastern Cambodia. Forest degradation , which has resulted from lumbering, shifting cultivation, and grazing, is widespread in this region. The southern lowlands border both sides of the Mekong below Pakxé (Pakse) in Laos. The Mekong enters Cambodia with a sudden plunge at Khone Falls. Between the falls and Krâchéh there are rapids interspersed with alluvial plains. Below Kâmpóng Cham the river’s gradient becomes gentle, and it flows through wide stretches of alluvium in its floodplain.

Near Phnom Penh a junction occurs between the Mekong and the Sab River, which connects it to the Tonle Sap , sometimes called the Great Lake . The direction of flow of the Sab River varies according to the season. During the peak flood season, when the level of the Mekong is high, waters flow through the Sab River to the lake, which then expands from a little more than 1,000 square miles (2,600 square km) to a maximum of about 4,000 square miles (10,400 square km). In the dry season when the floods subside, the Sab reverses its flow to drain southeastward into the Mekong. The Tonle Sap is a highly productive fishing ground. Connect with Britannica Facebook Twitter YouTube Instagram Pinterest The Dâmrei (Elephant) and Krâvanh (Cardamom) mountains in southwestern Cambodia constitute the southern highlands. Several streams flow from these uplands into the Tonle Sap. The river divides into two branches below Phnom Penh: the Mekong proper and the Bassac (Basak). Below this point the delta spreads out to the sea.

It has a total area of about 25,000 square miles (65,000 square km) and can be divided into three major sections. The upper section, above Chau Doc (Chau Phu), has strong natural levees (embankments built on either side of the river by accumulated deposits of silt) behind which are low, wide depressions. The middle section has some areas that are well drained, others that are poorly drained and swampy. Along the lower section, formed by the river mouths and by the area to the southwest, sediment carried down from the upper river is in the process of being deposited, and the flooding is less extreme than in the upper sections of the delta. The area north of the Ca Mau Peninsula is forested and swampy. Climate and hydrology The Mekong’s flow comes chiefly from rainfall in its lower basin, which fluctuates seasonally with the monsoon winds. In April the flow is ordinarily at its lowest. In May or June—as the rain-bearing southerly monsoon winds arrive—the flow begins to increase, with an especially rapid increase in the eastern and northern highlands.

The Mekong’s highest water levels occur as early as August or September in the upper reaches and as late as October in the southern reaches. The northeasterly monsoon wind, beginning ordinarily in November in the southern areas, brings dry weather until May. During the long dry period, rice cultivation is impossible without irrigation, and the river’s waters are vital to agricultural production. Britannica Lists & Quizzes Find a Mekong river cruise Overview From China to Vietnam, the Mekong River is the lifeblood of Southeast Asia and offers a glimpse into the long history and diverse cultures of the region. The 12th longest river in the world and the 7th longest in Asia, it flows through six countries: China, Myanmar (Burma), Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. As home to roughly 1,000 species of fish, 20,000 plant species, and hundreds of bird, reptile, and mammal species, the Mekong is one of the most biologically diverse areas in the world—second only to the Amazon River.

See daily life come alive as you pass traditional villages, experience glorious sunsets, and learn about the activities, history, and cultures along this amazing river. Fast Facts Watch & Learn About the Mekong River Geography The Mekong River connects six countries in Southeast Asia and flows through six distinct geographical regions, each with characteristic features of elevation, topography, and land cover. It originates on the Tibetan Plateau and flows down to the mountainous area through the Yunnan Province in the Hengduan Mountains. After leaving China, it forms the border between Laos and Myanmar (Burma) for roughly 62 miles. It then creates the border between Thailand and Laos, and flows east and south into Laos for roughly 250 miles. This stretch through Laos is characterized by gorges, rapids, and shallow depths during the dry season. It then marks the border between Thailand and Laos again before it passes through the capital of Laos. This is followed by a short stretch through Laos alone, including the region above Khone Falls, which are mostly too treacherous for river traffic. Below Laos, it becomes much wider and before it crosses into Cambodia, the Mekong comes together with the Mun River.

In Cambodia, it receives the Sap River and flows through the capital of Cambodia. As it goes into Vietnam, the Mekong slows and splits into smaller channels of the Mekong Delta. It finally discharges into the South China Sea. History The Mekong River is steeped in a long history, and for thousands of years, it has been the lifeline of the populations that depend on it for survival. The earliest settlements along the river date to 2100 BC with the first recorded civilization—the Indianised-Khmer culture of Funan—dating to the 1st century. Excavations have uncovered coins from as far away as the Roman Empire. In the 5th century, the Khmer culture Chenla existed along the Mekong, and the Khmer empire of Angkor was the last great Indianized state in the region. Roughly 700 years ago, the Thai people escaped from South China across the Mekong to form the kingdom of Siam (now Thailand), and the Mekong protected Siam from invasions. The same ethnic group also settled in Laos. In 1540, the Portuguese Antonio de Faria was the first European to discover the Mekong.

Although Europeans showed only some interest in the Mekong, the Spaniards and Portuguese did launch some missionary and trade expeditions to the area, and the Dutch led an expedition up the Mekong in 1641-42. In the mid-19th century, the French led an exploration on the river between 1866 to 1868 and discovered that the Mekong had too many rapids and waterfalls to ever be useful for navigation. From 1893, the French enlarged their control of the river into Laos until the First and Second Indochina Wars ended French involvement in the region. During the Vietnam War, the west bank of the Mekong provided a basis for raids against the advance of the communist armies in Laos. After the war, anti-communist forces fled west across the Mekong to refugee camps in northern Thailand. The tensions between the U.S.-backed Thai government and the new Communist governments in the other countries prohibited cooperation on the river's use. The Mekong has long been regarded as the foundation of Southeast Asia's economic growth and prosperity—necessitating cooperation between the countries.

In 1995, the "Agreement on the Cooperation for the Sustainable Development of the Mekong River Basin" signed by the governments of Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam formed the Mekong River Commission (MRC). The MRC facilitates joint management of the shared water resources and collaboration on development issues. In 1996, China and Burma became Dialogue Partners of the MRC. Today, peace has returned to the Mekong, and much of it remains undeveloped and even unexplored. It is closely tied to the daily lives and culture of over 60 million people—people who depend on it for transportation as well as for water for cooking, irrigation, cleaning, and sanitation. For these 60 million—many of whom live in poverty—the fish and other resources in the river account for most of the protein in their diets and for their survival. However, life along the river is changing, as China has already constructed large dams on the river with plans for many more. Highlights In Vietnam, cruise the massive Mekong Delta that covers an area of some 15,000 square miles.

This picturesque area is dotted by rice paddies, fish farms, fruit orchards, and more. The rice produced in the delta accounts for over half of Vietnam's rice production, so it's no surprise that it is commonly referred to as the "rice bowl" of the country. Near the end of the Mekong River is Cai Be. Close to Ho Chi Minh City, Cai Be is best known for its busy floating market, where locals transport goods to the market via rafts and boats. Nearby is Sa Dec, where the French writer Marguerite Duras lived. Duras had a love affair with Huynh Thuy Le, the son of a wealthy Chinese family, which became the inspiration for the film L'Amant-The Lover. The public can now tour the house of Huynh Thuy Le. Chau Doc, situated near the Cambodian border, is one of Vietnam's most multicultural cities with large Cham, Chinese, Khmer, and Vietnamese communities. The influence of these communities can be seen in their places of worship—mosques, temples, and churches—making it an interesting town to visit. See nearby Sam Mountain, with its beautiful views and numerous pagodas and temples.

After crossing the Cambodia border, visit Phnom Penh, Cambodia's capital and largest city. The capital since the French colonized Cambodia, Phnom Penh has retained its French charm and is the center of politics, economics, and heritage. Here, learn about the sobering Khmer Rouge regime. Other highlights include the Killing Fields, National Museum, Royal Palace, and Silver Pagoda. The quaint and charming town of Kampong Cham is an important trade and transportation center on the Mekong. Cambodia's third largest city, Kampong Cham's history—dating back many centuries—can be seen in its archeological treasures. Nearby is Wat Hanchey, a temple dating back to the 8th century, where you can enjoy spectacular views. Also nearby are the twin holy mountains of Phnom Pros and Phnom Srey (man and woman hill), where you will see the beautiful stupa as well as two huge Buddha statues. Tonle Sap (Great Lake) is the largest freshwater lake in Southeast Asia and has been designated as a UNESCO biosphere.

After the rainy season, the Tonle Sap backs up to form a huge lake, which provides the perfect breeding ground for fish, providing food for the people living in the floating villages on the lake. This is the most picturesque part of your journey as the river narrows and passes through villages and woodlands. Siem Reap is the gateway to Angkor, considered by many to be the most spectacular ruins on earth. These ancient temples, built between the 9th and 13th centuries, are unmatched among ancient ruins anywhere in the world. See many of the temples, including spectacular Angkor Wat, built in the early 12th century and honoring the Hindu god Vishnu, and Banteay Srei, the 10th-century temple dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva. Cruiser Profile The Mekong River offers an opportunity for travelers to learn about new cultures and experience a different way of life. From ancient temples to modern palaces and from traditional villages to bustling cities, the Mekong boasts an experience like no other.

Explorers will delight in the mix of new languages, traditions, and lifestyles as they cruise down this mighty river, while nature lovers are sure to enjoy the sunsets and scenery offered along the way. At the end of the journey, travelers will have an in-depth understanding of life along the river and the people who depend on it. Did You Know? In China, the Mekong River is called the Lancang Jiang, meaning "Turbulent River." The name derives from the Thai language's Mae Nam, meaning "Mother of Water." In 2009, 145 new species were described from the Mekong Region, including two new bird species, five mammals, 96 plants, six new amphibians, and 29 fish species previously unknown to science. The Mekong has more large fish—including the Mekong giant catfish, which can weigh up to 660 lbs. and grow to be almost 10 ft.—than any other river. The Mekong River Basin is almost the size of France and Germany put together. It would take 48 hours of driving at roughly 62 MPH to drive the same distance as the length of the Mekong River.

About the Mekong River ABOUT About the Mekong River It is known by many different names in local languages as it flows through countless districts, provinces, and several countries. The Mekong River remains one of the mightiest and most untamed rivers in the world—a description that can only be understood after witnessing the spectacular beauty that lies just beyond the riverbanks. Though it may be only the seventh longest river in Asia and the 12th longest in the world, the Mekong River boasts one of the richest areas of biodiversity on the planet—the Mekong river basin. Explore the lush landscape on your Mekong River cruise and see places that will overwhelm you with the depths of their history. Many of Southeast Asia’s largest cities lie on the banks of the Mekong—Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam’s largest city and financial hub, for example. Cambodia depends largely on the river for food and other aspects of their fledgling economy. In total, more than 60 million people depend on the Mekong for most facets of their daily lives.

The river supports one of the most diverse fisheries in the world and is known for hosting various species of large fish; the biggest include the giant river carp, freshwater stingray, Siamese giant carp, and giant catfish. It is even said that dragons live beneath the surface! The Mekong is a temperamental river that experiences extreme seasonal variations with numerous rapids and waterfalls, making it a challenging river to navigate. This has made the Mekong a natural divider, rather than unifier, of the various populations that live near its waters. The Mekong rises from the Tibetan Plateau, where it is known as the Lancang, and flows southwest through the Three Parallel Rivers of Yunnan Province in the Hengduan Mountains. At this point it runs nearly parallel to the Salween River in the west and the Yangtze River in the east. Flowing southeast out of China and into Southeast Asia, it continues through Burma, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, at times forming the border between Burma and Laos, as well as Laos and Thailand for a good portion of its length.

After running through Cambodia, the Mekong then slows as it enters Vietnam, dividing into the nine channels that comprise the Mekong Delta—adjacent to Ho Chi Minh City. The waters of the Mekong continue southeast through the delta and flow into the South China Sea. Earliest known settlements date as far back as 2100 B.C., with the first recorded civilization being the Funan Kingdom, the precursor to the better-known and mighty Khmer Empire. The remnants of the Khmer Empire can not only be seen at the ruins of Angkor, but symbolically on the national flag of Cambodia itself. The lower Mekong River basin harbors approximately 100 different ethnic groups, making it one of the most culturally diverse places in the world. The river supports farming, fishing and the tourism industry. The Mekong Delta is referred to as Vietnam’s “rice bowl”—it produces upwards of 16 million tons of rice annually. It also houses productive shrimp farms, orchards and markets. The richness of the Mekong’s surrounding environment and culture cannot be disputed; its beauty lies in the simplicity and charm of the surrounding population’s way of life.

Contact Your Travel Agent or Call Viking at Contact Your Travel Agent or Call Viking Cruises 1-800-304-9616 Mekong Valley - definition of Mekong Valley by The Free Dictionary Mekong Valley - definition of Mekong Valley by The Free Dictionary Related to Mekong Valley: Mekong River Me·kong (mā′kông′, -kŏng′) A river of southeast Asia flowing about 4,500 km (2,800 mi) from southeast China to the South China Sea through a vast delta in southern Vietnam. The delta, a major rice-growing area, was the scene of heavy fighting during the Vietnam War. Mekong (ˌmiːˈkɒŋ) n (Placename) a river in SE Asia, rising in SW China in Qinghai province: flows southeast forming the border between Laos and Myanmar, and part of the border between Laos and Thailand, then continues south across Cambodia and Vietnam to the South China Sea by an extensive delta, one of the greatest rice-growing areas in Asia.

Length: about 4025 km (2500 miles) Me•kong (ˈmeɪ kɔŋ, -kɒŋ, ˈmi-) n. a river whose source is in SW China, flowing SE along most of the boundary between Thailand and Laos to the South China Sea. 2600 mi. (4200 km) long. ThesaurusAntonymsRelated WordsSynonymsLegend: Noun 1.

Mekong - an Asian river; flows through a large delta in southern Vietnam into the South China Sea Mekong River Burma , Myanmar , Union of Burma - a mountainous republic in southeastern Asia on the Bay of Bengal; "much opium is grown in Myanmar" Cambodia , Kampuchea , Kingdom of Cambodia - a nation in southeastern Asia; was part of Indochina under French rule until 1946 Cathay , China , Communist China , mainland China , People's Republic of China , PRC , Red China - a communist nation that covers a vast territory in eastern Asia; the most populous country in the world Lao People's Democratic Republic , Laos - a mountainous landlocked communist state in southeastern Asia; achieved independence from France in 1949 Kingdom of Thailand , Siam , Thailand - a country of southeastern Asia that extends southward along the Isthmus of Kra to the Malay Peninsula; "Thailand is the official name of the former Siam" Mekong Divides Different Worlds In 'Golden Triangle' As Thailand Thrives And Laos Struggles : NPR i View slideshow Part of northern Thailand is so closely linked with drug production and drug trafficking that it boasts an official museum, built under royal initiative, chronicling the

 illicit trade.

The Hall of Opium is in the Thai province of Chiang Rai in the "Golden Triangle," a drug-producing area that overlaps the borders of Thailand, Burma, Laos and Vietnam. A short film at the Hall of Opium explains that large-scale production of illegal opium and heroin started in the area less than 60 years ago. Interactive: A River And A Region Transformed "Early government efforts to control drug production and trade met with little success. Traffickers moved freely along the long, ill-defined and insecure borders, and opium was the sole cash crop for poor hill villages remote from markets and roads," the film's narrator says. As history lessons go, it's not bad. But for pure visuals, the museum can't compete with the view from the top of a hill less than a mile away in Sop Ruak: directly below is Thailand; to the left is Myanmar; to the right, just across the Mekong River, is Laos. Yuthana Thungkaburee, a longtime resident of the area, says opium was produced in Thailand, Myanmar and Laos, and often transported down the Mekong River for export — opium that found its way to the U.S.

and Europe in its more refined form as heroin. "Thailand was like an opium market," he says. But Afghanistan provides most of the world's opium these days. The Thai government, with help from abroad, has put a major dent in the opium trade here, and re-branded the Golden Triangle — in Thailand at least — as a tourist destination. Article continues after sponsorship The Mekong In Thailand And Laos Credit: Nelson Hsu/NPR The China Threat Hordes of travelers — mostly Europeans — now pack the tourist boats and souvenir stands along the stretch of the Mekong at Sop Ruak. Smaller boats take gamblers — mostly Asian — to casinos across the river. Thai tourists prefer the casinos on the Myanmar side while the Chinese flock to the new, gold-domed casino on the Lao side. And not everyone in Laos is happy to see them. "In casino, all Chinese. That area is Chinese, this area is Lao," says one souvenir vendor, who declined to give her name. "It's not good if many Chinese come." Antipathy toward China and the Chinese is heard frequently in Laos.

In the past century, Laos was a French colony; in this one, some fear, perhaps it is becoming a Chinese colony. Many Laotians were proud when their country hosted the Southeast Asian Games, a regional multisport festival, in December. But others wondered whether the honor came at too high a price: The games were held in the capital, Vientiane, at a new stadium complex built and paid for by China. In return, many Laotians say, the government promised China a good chunk of land in Vientiane for a satellite city to accommodate some of China's growing population. It's a sensitive topic in Laos, and talking about it openly all but guarantees a visit from the police — even as the government strenuously denies making such a deal. But many Laotians are quietly seething and embarrassed. "We are helpless," one businessman says bitterly. "Our ideological brothers China and Vietnam are strong, and we are weak. What can we do?" Thailand Envy It's a problem largely of the government's own making. After the communist takeover in 1975, many of the country's best and brightest fled.

It was a time when the Lao People's Democratic Republic — still the country's official name — was plunged literally into darkness and when Soviet-style planning made an already poor country even poorer. The Laotians don't have to look far to see how things could have been different. Thai farmers cultivate rice near Chiang Saen, near the Mekong River. Thailand is the largest rice exporter in the world. Christopher Brown for NPR hide caption toggle caption Christopher Brown for NPR Thai farmers cultivate rice near Chiang Saen, near the Mekong River. Thailand is the largest rice exporter in the world. Christopher Brown for NPR On the Thai side of the Mekong, the electricity is constant, the roads modern, and rice farmers such as 28-year-old Chinawat Manoma are happy with their lot. Chinawat, who lives further downriver near the city of Chiang Khong, says things are much better than they were in his parents' time. New farming techniques, new seeds and easy loans have helped make Thailand the world's largest rice exporter. And that has helped make Chinawat solidly middle class, with a new house, two TVs and two tractors — which he rents out to other farmers.

His 7-year-old daughter is already in an elite school, he says proudly, thanks to a strong showing in a nationwide exam. He predicts she will be the first in the family to graduate from university. Not bad, considering her grandparents didn't finish grade school. Back on the Lao side of the Mekong, Thai music blares from the speaker at a riverside bar in the southern town of Thahkek. The Laotian patrons nurse their beers as they stare, with some envy, at the new cars, new motorcycles and new businesses on the Thai side. It's clear Laos lags far behind Thailand in terms of development; it's also clear it's not entirely the government's fault. Bombs And Poverty In the soaring limestone formations of Khammouane province near the border with Vietnam, some 40 miles to the east of the Mekong River, bomb disposal teams try to clear leftover ordnance from the Vietnam War. More In The Series Part 1: At Mekong's Source In China, Past And Present Collide Feb. 15, 2010 The U.S. was never officially at war with Laos.

But it dropped more bombs on the country than it did on all of Vietnam, an estimated 1.6 million tons. The goal was to disrupt Vietnamese supply lines along the Ho Chi Minh trail, but not all of the ordnance did what it was supposed to. David Hayter, country director for the Mines Advisory Group in Laos, estimates that about 30 percent of all ammunition of that period did not detonate. He says leftover ordnance still kills or maims dozens of Laotians every year: farmers plowing their fields, children playing with the rusted, tennis-ball-sized cluster bombs they find in the forest, or poor villagers trying to sell the metal — even the explosives inside — to scrap dealers. In addition to the human cost, Hayter says, there is the economic cost of unexploded ordnance. "A lot of agricultural land is denied to people because of the presence of [unexploded ordnance], and this is the main problem with it. ... It promotes and prolongs poverty because people can't do what they need to do.

And even if they farm it, knowing that [unexploded ordnance] is present, they will not farm deeply enough to get the best quality crops," he says. The U.S. government is now one of the most generous donors to programs such as this one. But it will take many decades — and many millions of dollars more — before the problem of unexploded ordnance is solved. Obstacle Turned Opportunity Back on the Mekong River, a few hours to the south of Khammouane, lies an opportunity for Laos at a place that was not kind to the colonial powers here in the past. The French had big plans for the Mekong when they ruled. They were going to use it to extend their political and economic reach all the way into southern China. The river was going to be a major transportation link and a way for French naval vessels to get upriver and extend their military power as well. The sun sets over the Mekong River in Luang Prabang, Laos' ancient royal capital. Christopher Brown for NPR But when they reached the Khone Phapheng Falls at the border with Cambodia, they realized their plan wasn't going to work.

The series of waterfalls — some as high as 45 feet and almost three-quarters of a mile long — was too high, too fast and too rocky to get up or to get around. The French tried for years to figure out a way to do so, but they never did. The Laotian government hopes to do better with its plan. It wants to dam one channel of the falls to generate hydropower. It's part of a larger scheme to turn Laos into what the government calls "the battery of Southeast Asia," selling power to its energy-hungry neighbors, Thailand and Vietnam. The Laotians and Cambodians are planning 11 dams on the Mekong and its tributaries. And that alarms some, who worry about what damming might mean for fish migration in one of the world's most productive fisheries. Jeremy Bird heads the Mekong River Commission , an advisory group based in Vientiane and created by several countries along the river. Unlike in North America, Bird explains, where the issues relate to six or seven species of salmon, there are about 60 to 70 commercially important migratory species in the Mekong. "This is not just an issue of conservation of species," he says.

"This is an issue where it is directly linked to the social well-being and the livelihoods of people who depend upon it." Producer Tung Ngo contributed to this report. Next: Cambodia, where 70 percent of the population depends on fish as its main source of protein. The Mekong | The Economist A world receding THE scent of woodsmoke from Mr Guo’s cast-iron stove hangs heavy in the brisk evening air. The household generator is switched off for the night, and the low kitchen in which his family and two guests gather is made cozy by the light of kerosene lamps. His wife brings a succession of bowls to the table: steamed rice, chunks cut from a salted pig’s leg that hangs above the stove, lettuce braised with garlic, scraps of beef sautéed with chilies, and tsampa, a roast barley powder favoured by his ethnically Tibetan family. His mother-in-law serves a medicinal-tasting infusion made from local leaves and berries, as well as eggshell cups of local wine. The wine tastes as though it was made by someone who knew only two things about wine: it is supposed to be red, and it is supposed to get you drunk.

French missionaries brought grapes and the Gospel to Yunnan in the late 19th century; wine has been made in Cizhong ever since. They left a more enduring monument too: a sombre stone church with a charmingly incongruous Tibetan-style roof that sweeps skyward at its edges. A priest from Inner Mongolia holds masses there for ethnic-Tibetan Catholics. Cizhong spreads out from the church like the bottom half of a Chagall painting: donkeys wander the stone streets; ramshackle houses squat along alleyways; vineyards and rice paddies frame the view. But that is about to change. A little way downriver, a state-owned power utility is building the 990-megawatt Wunonglong dam. In 1995 the Manwan dam, some 600km farther downstream, became the first to stem the river’s flow. Since then five more dams have been finished along its Chinese reach; the Wunonglong dam is one of a further 14 being planned or built there. China’s Communist Party has long been keen on dams.

At least 86,000 have been built over the past six decades, providing 282 gigawatts (GW) of installed hydroelectric capacity by 2014. The government is building yet more to curb the country’s greenhouse-gas emissions. By 2020 it wants an astonishing 350GW of installed hydropower capacity; in the European Union that would be enough to meet about three-quarters of total electricity needs. The dam at Wunonglong, about 300 metres long and more than 100 metres high, will provide a smidgen less than one of those extra gigawatts. The other 13 are expected to add 15.1GW more. Downriver countries intend to build another 11 large dams on the Mekong, with dozens more planned for its tributaries. In 20 years the Mekong could well be dammed from Tibet to just above Phnom Penh, where the delta begins. In no other large river basin in the world is the planned rate of growth of hydropower as great. The dams will change the quality of the water in the river and the rate at which it flows.

Some of this change could be for the better. Dams can prevent flooding by regulating the flow of water downstream. But some Mekong riverbank agriculture would not welcome too steady a flow. Increasing water in the dry season would shrink riverbeds, leaving less space for crops—millions of Mekong-basin dwellers grow vegetables on riverbanks. Reducing water in the rainy season produces smaller floodplains with less sediment deposited in them, impoverishing the soil. According to International Rivers, an environmental NGO, the full cascade of dams planned for the Lancang would trap nearly all of the sediment coming from China, cutting the water’s sediment load in half. That will be bad for soils and bad for fish; the sediments provide the river’s nutrients. And the dams lower down could worsen the problem; the clear, “hungry” water that flows from them in spates will carry away existing sediment in riverbanks and riverbeds. Some of that will be deposited farther still downstream; some will wash uselessly out to sea. Those lower dams will also make things yet harder for the nutrient-deprived fish.

The 11 proposed in Laos and Cambodia could block the migration of around 70% of the Mekong’s commercial fish catch. Interfering with the fish’s feeding and reproduction to that extent would imperil the food security of populations across the lower Mekong basin, where the average person eats some 60kg of freshwater fish per year, more than 18 times what is on the menu in Europe or America. Considering how poor many of the people here are, replacing fish as a primary protein source is virtually impossible. Dams restrict the movement of fish; they force movement on people. Along the road leading out of Cizhong, past the dormitories housing the construction workers for the Wunonglong dam, He Zhenghai, a friend of Mr Guo, points to a denuded spot where a village used to be. A few kilometres farther on he points out the resettlement: rows of squat, charmless concrete structures plonked down along the side of the road, near nothing. Estimates by NGOs of the total number of Chinese people resettled because of dam projects exceed 20m. Dams on the Lancang have already added thousands more, mostly poor rural farmers, to the total.

In 2013 the compensation received on relocation was about 80,000 yuan ($12,500). Some farmers complain that they have been resettled on sheer hillsides ill-suited to farming and, to add insult to injury, chronically short of water. The Wunonglong dam will inundate Yanmen, a nearby village whose residents will be resettled on Cizhong’s rice paddies. And this means that, in a way, Cizhong, too, will vanish. Brian Eyler, deputy director of the South-East Asia programme at the Stimson Centre, an American think-tank, says Yanmen sits above Cizhong in China’s administrative league tables, meaning that after resettlement Cizhong will be renamed Yanmen, losing its name along with much of its charm. The vanishing 4,000 AT HUAY XAI on the Thailand-Laos border, around 1,000km downriver from Mr Guo’s house in Cizhong, a sampan’s tubercular engine kicks in with a wheeze, a gag and a violent sneeze of black smoke.

As the motor stammers a tiny conductor terrorises the boat, calling brusquely for tickets, chastising people for where and how they sit, shouting at the pilot to get a move on. As the boat pulls away she jumps off, smoking and yelling the whole time. Some of the locals immediately set about the business of napping, using rice sacks as pillows. Others spread bolts of fabric to picnic on, pulling out plastic bags of grilled chicken, sticky rice, bamboo shoots and tiny, floral South-East Asian oranges. The tourists, meanwhile, open cans of beer—except for the Brits, who open bottles of rotgut Thai whiskey. Tourists and locals alike start the journey staring at their phones. Eventually reception wanes and they are forced to gaze out at the wonder on all sides. By the time it reaches Huay Xai the Mekong has already run more than the entire length of the Rhine and descended more than 3,000 metres—handily more than the Rhine manages. It still has almost two Rhine-lengths to go—but along that journey it will only drop a further 400 metres. It is a lowland river now, lush and steady.

The evening chill of Mr Guo’s kitchen has been replaced by ripe, vaguely fetid South-East Asian warmth. About two hours into the two-day journey east from Huay Xai to Luang Prabang, the boat pulls over to a muddy shore, distinguished only by a concrete staircase cut into the side of a mountain. As the boat approaches people suddenly appear out of the jungle at the top of the stairs. The scene repeats itself with minor variations throughout the journey: a muddy path rather than a staircase, a rickety little jetty or two. A couple of hours before the boat pulls in to regally sleepy Luang Prabang, it passes the Pak Ou caves: two caverns in a mountainside from which hundreds of Buddha statues brought by devotees stare down at passing boats. Just downstream from Luang Prabang, the $3.5 billion, 1.3GW Xayaburi dam is rising—one of nine this country of 6.8m mostly rural, mostly poor people plans for the Mekong mainstream. Laos wants hydropower to be its main source of revenue by 2025: it plans to sell its capacity to neighbouring countries.

The Thai government has agreed to buy 95% of Xayaburi’s power. Six Thai banks have financed the dam and a Thai construction firm is building it. Laos’s downstream neighbours are far less enthusiastic. Cambodia (two dams of its own planned) and Vietnam (no suitable sites for dams at all), worried about the impacts that the Xayaburi dam will have on fisheries and water flow, have lodged objections with the Mekong River Commission that was set up by Cambodia, Laos, Thailand and Vietnam in 1995. The MRC is meant to facilitate co-operation among the countries that share the watershed; China and Myanmar have the status of “dialogue partners”. Environmental groups warn that by turning a free-flowing river into a series of reservoirs the upstream Lao dams could wipe out the Mekong’s two largest freshwater species: the giant catfish and the giant pangasius. Similar warnings have been raised about the Don Sahong dam—which would span the Mekong across the breathtakingly beautiful Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands) region near Laos’s border with Cambodia—and about Cambodia’s giant Sambor dam, which may destroy one of the last remaining habitats of the Irrawaddy dolphin.

The Xayaburi dam’s builders have redesigned its sluice gates to allow more nutrient-rich sediment to flow downstream, and widened its fish pass to accommodate more fish of different species. The Lao government says these tweaks will alleviate the worst harms. Environmentalists are less certain. Fish passes in dams have been repeatedly found not to live up to promises made for them, particularly when fish must pass through multiple sets, as they would if Laos builds all its planned dams. The Mekong might survive a few big mainstream dams, but a dozen—plus dozens more on its tributaries—present a qualitatively different sort of threat. This highlights a recurring theme of Mekong development: dam-builders tend to assess the impact of each dam individually; NGOs pay more attention to the cumulative effect of multiple dams. The NGOs also worry that with every new dam built, further dam-building becomes more normal, and the next project thus becomes easier to justify. Environmentalists think both that such synergies make the harm done by dams greater than governments claim, and that the benefits are overestimated.

Touting hydropower as “green” because it can be used in the place of fossil-fuel derived electricity overlooks external costs such as compensation and relocation, lost agricultural productivity and biodiversity and lowered water quality. And although benefits may be large (especially for electricity exporters), they are hardly overwhelming, especially in the context of broader development. Power demand in the region is expected to more than double between now and 2025—having already doubled from 2005. According to Richard Cronin, a Mekong specialist at the Stimson Centre, an American think-tank, the nine Lao and two Cambodian dams currently discussed would provide just 6-8% of the total electricity needs of the lower Mekong basin by 2030, with most of the power going to Thailand. “For that,” Mr Cronin asks, “you’re going to kill the river?” Pressure from downstream countries and international NGOs has slowed Laos’s progress on its next two dams, the Don Sahong and the Pak Beng, and has forced developers to spend more money studying potential downstream harms. But Laos is a poor country with few natural resources that sees hydropower as its route to development.

In the absence of better options, concerned citizens and the governments of the downstream neighbours may be able to do little more than delay Laos. For now the Mekong remains blissfully unobstructed as it passes from Laos into Cambodia—except for the bloom of tiny islands that give Si Phan Don its name. People live on just a few of these islands. Some cater to tourists happy to spend a few days rafting the occasional rapids and listening to the Mekong rush past. But many are little more than a clump of rock and mud on which sprays of rivergrass and shrubs have taken root, still green against flowing brown. Past the waterfalls roiling the water into spume the river relaxes again. On clear days it becomes a hazy mirror, the stark blue above turning to indistinct brightness below. Fathers and sons CHANG NAA stands up on the prow of his narrow wooden canoe and casts a small net into the water under the watchful eyes of his son Chang Thung, a four-year-old as solid and sombre as his father is lithe and placid. Beneath the canoe’s tattered fabric roof his wife stirs a pot of samlaa macchu, a sour soup.

Before serving it she rinses the dishes in the murky water. The Tonle Sap river is a two-way tributary which joins the Mekong about 800km downriver from Xayaburi, at Phnom Penh. In drier seasons it drains South-East Asia’s biggest freshwater lake, also called the Tonle Sap, into the Mekong; during the monsoon it flows the other way, bringing water and sediment from the Mekong to the lake. Mr Chang Naa and his family live in one of the river’s floating villages. He is 33 years old; he has been fishing the Tonle Sap for 15 years. His father fishes these same waters. In time, says Mr Chang Naa, so will Chang Thung: “With us, what the father does, the son will also do.” Mainly he catches what he calls chkok and onpun—small, silvery fish. Some are destined for his wife’s soup pot. The rest—he catches between two and three kilos per day—he sells for prahok and tuk trey, a chunky paste and clear brown liquid both made from salted, fermented fish.

Some fishermen supplement their meagre income with rice farming, but Mr Chang Naa and his family own no land. Like most people he knows, he is working off a perpetual debt incurred by money borrowed at extortionate rates for food, fuel and equipment. A fisherman from a village near Mr Chang Naa’s says he spends four or five months a year paying off local moneylenders. The Tonle Sap lake yields around 300,000 tonnes of fish a year, accounting for most of Cambodia’s freshwater catch. In all, the MRC estimates that the Mekong yields around 2.6m tonnes of wild fish each year, worth at least $2 billion in dockside sales. Add in secondary industries such as fish processing, markets, fuel and equipment sales and boat building, and the total value of the Mekong’s fisheries is between $5.6 billion and $9.4 billion. Small-scale fishing predominates along the Mekong—most boats in Cambodia weigh less than five tonnes and use engines with less than ten horsepower. Mr Chang Naa’s livelihood is not that different from his father’s or the vast majority of his peers. But that is starting to change with the rise in aquaculture.

Production in the fish farms of Vietnam’s delta is now larger than that from its other freshwater and seawater fisheries combined. Prices for wild-caught fish are rising—Khai Ratana, who fishes a little way upriver from Mr Chang Naa, says he gets 12,000 riel ($3) per kilo, up from 3,000 riel five years ago—but that is because they have grown scarcer in recent years. At this point in the river’s descent to the sea, its potential as a power generator has been used up. The lowest lying of the dams under discussion, Cambodia’s dam at Sambor, lies around 300km upriver. Cambodia’s fisheries thus illustrate the fundamental political tension at the heart of the region’s development: upstream economies overwhelmingly reap the benefits of changes to the river’s regime, while those downstream bear the cost. This is the way with all rivers, but all the more so with the Mekong, because the geographical hierarchy reflects the geopolitical one. China, the most powerful nation, has the high ground and the most hydropower potential.

It is also least dependent on the river’s water for other purposes (though it has plans to divert some of it away to its thirsty east anyway), the least susceptible to civil-society pressure and the least interested in binding itself to an international order. This worries everyone downstream. China and Thailand have long enjoyed good relations, and China has bought goodwill in Laos and Cambodia with massive infrastructure investments. But Myanmar has opened up to the West in the past five years in part to counterbalance Chinese influence. Vietnam fears its powerful northern neighbour—China invaded as recently as 1979, and the two countries contest territory in the South China Sea—and anti-China sentiment has been rising in Laos. As China has grown more regionally assertive, Laos and Vietnam have sought to deepen their relations with America. Yet that will probably do very little to dissuade China from building more dams, any more than the objections of Laos’s vastly richer and more populous neighbour Vietnam deterred it from building its dam at Xayaburi. These tensions will be kept in check by the general desire for a commodity quite as valuable as water: peace.

For a long time it was in short supply, with decades of war, political division and the spiralling horrors of the Khmers Rouges perversely protecting the Mekong from exploitation. Nobody wanted to put up the capital for a dam that would be bombed, nationalised or left to rack and ruin. Those days are over; none would wish them back. The problem is managing equitably, and without permanent environmental degradation, the prosperity peace brings. A hundred kilometres or so south-east of Mr Chang Naa’s fishing grounds, tourists in Phnom Penh sip mojitos in front of cafés as an endless parade of late-model sedans and smoke-spitting tuk-tuks jostles for space along Sisowath Quay. It is Cambodia’s one big, bustling city, with a sleazy edge to its tattered colonial elegance. Away from the river tens of thousands live in crowded slums—mainly rural Cambodians yearning for a bit of urban prosperity. Chang Naa expects his son, Chang Thung, to fish in his footsteps; he may want it so. But like all sons Chang Thung will step into a different river—or perhaps, in this case, onto a different shore.

Phnom Penh was a city of just 189,000 in 1980. It could be home to 2.5m by 2030, and Chang Thung may choose to be one of them. His choice may be a free one. People in backwaters, both figurative and literal, choose cities all the time. But it may not be. By the time he reaches working age, the fears of dam sceptics may have been realised. There may be no more fish for him to catch. The delta FIVE waitresses work the busy rooftop bar, ferrying drinks to the bright young things of Can Tho, the Mekong delta’s biggest city. Melodic, minor-key Vietnamese pop blares from the speakers as smartly turned-out young men and women sip lurid drinks, their faces lit by their phones. In the early evening the Hau river, a broad Mekong distributary, has taken on the same blue-grey cast as the sky, reflecting rows of quayside lamps as it flows into the distance, reaching for the sea.

Can Tho has the feel of a minor boomtown: scooters still outnumber motorcycles which still outnumber cars; there is plenty of commerce but few chain stores; tourists remain rare enough that a wedding party will invite a passing foreigner to eat, drink and toast with them. It is a gentler, friendlier place than Phnom Penh, but with an underlying sadness that one does not feel further upstream: Phnom Penh will grow more crowded and unmanageable in the coming decades; Can Tho may vanish. To drive the four hours from Phnom Penh to Can Tho is to witness an increasingly blurry line between land and water. Narrow, glittering streams bisect rice fields. Rills, canals and other waterways flow deep into lush jungle, while the river itself wanders lazily toward the sea. Cambodians like to remind visitors that much of this delta region was theirs before the French partitioned the territory in 1949. The Vietnamese dispute this. The delta’s fertile soil has long been worth arguing over—or fighting for. The famous floating markets of the delta are a little way south of Can Tho; their products abound on the city’s streets.

Older women preside over rainbow mounds of dragonfruit, pomelo, durian and jackfruit, while young men tend grills of muddy-tasting snakehead fish. Of the Mekong delta’s 18.6m people, about a fifth of Vietnam’s population, more than three-quarters work in agriculture; on its roughly 4m irrigated hectares, the average farm size is just 1.2 hectares. From only 12% of Vietnam’s surface area the region provides most of the country’s fish and fruit, as well as half its rice; farmers can get seven crops in two years. Dang Kieu Nhan, a researcher at Can Tho university, points to an old Vietnamese saying: “If you want to make a good living, go to the Mekong delta: it’s hard to be hungry there.” The worry is that some of what the region enjoyed in the past may now be beyond purchase. Few places in the world are as threatened by climate change as the Mekong delta. A brief stroll around Can Tho already leaves you coated in sweat, and the city is set to grow much sweatier.

Average temperatures in Can Tho rose by 0.5ºC between 1979 and 2009. Vietnam’s natural-resources ministry predicts that temperatures will rise by a further 1.1-3.6ºC by 2100. It also expects more severe storms, wetter wet seasons and drier dry ones; all those effects, it says, will be greatest in the south. Though rice thrives in wet, warm climates, it cannot stand too much of either. Rice fails when submerged underwater for long periods. Flooded fields can also hinder planting, and therefore harvesting. Rice yields may decline by an average of 10% for every 1ºC rise in average night-time temperatures. A changing climate may also lead to a flourishing of weeds and pests in rice fields. Rising sea levels threaten not just the crops, but also the fields themselves. A report from the International Centre for Environmental Management, a consultancy, projects a 28-33cm rise in Vietnam’s seas by 2050, and 65-100cm by 2100—levels exacerbated, in the delta, by declining sediment flow from upstream.

A sea-level rise of one metre could flood more than a quarter of the delta, and leave five million homeless. Can Tho is just 80cm above sea level. The ocean could make farming impossible well before it finally swallows the land. Rising seas cause saline intrusion: seawater moving into places unaccustomed to it, such as wetlands and freshwater aquifers. Salt in a rice field can ruin the crops. Up to 70% of the delta’s agricultural land could be subject to saline intrusion this century. Some delta farmers have responded by switching from rice farming to aquaculture: shrimp, in particular, thrive in brackish water. But they fare poorly when the water gets as salty as the sea proper, meaning rising sea levels will eventually render shrimp farming just as impossible as rice farming. Mangroves once provided a healthy buffer against both salinity intruding into the water table and the heavy winds that drive seawater inland, but population pressure and aquaculture have put paid to a lot of Vietnam’s mangrove forests. That leaves the delta reliant on dykes and hydraulics to mitigate saline intrusion, and these are expensive to build and maintain.

Less intensive agriculture could relieve the stress on the delta, but Vietnam has a growing population to feed, and makes billions of dollars from exporting rice, fish, shrimp and fruit. Sediment carried downstream can help repair coastal erosion, but not if dams trap it in reservoirs. Mr Nhan mentions the prospect of shifting crops: cultivating rice and shrimp in the brackish lowlands, fruit and vegetables in the centre and high-value export rice in the upper delta. This makes sense—it may be the best that can be done until drought ruins the rice and rising seas reach the fruit. For now the Mekong, which began as a trickle of snowmelt high up in Tibetan cloud-country, slices through riots of tropical green to meet the South China Sea in a network of river mouths known as the “nine dragon river delta” in what appears to be much the same way as it always has. Tourists who watch women haggling in floating markets over baskets of mangosteen and fresh fish, or who see peasants in conical hats farming paddies by hand, imagine that they are witnessing something timeless—life as it always has been, its rhythms dictated by seasons, land and sea.

But though it seems they are witnessing a pastoral, what they are seeing is in fact the opening scene of a tragedy: the part where the characters act as they always have, but their fate looms large. Eventually, all rivers empty into oceans; water comes together with other waters. But for this river, at this delta, the sense of an eternal return is lessened, that of an ending heightened. The seas, driven by a century of global industry, rise higher, while for the sake of a little more industrial power, the gifts of the river are being squandered. Life as it has been is not life as it will be. The days of stepping into the river are numbered. hidden The Mekong | Magazine Articles | WWF wet too wet Tri’s house is less than a minute’s walk from the ranger station where he and Cu have their fishing gear checked by park rangers before they enter the park each morning. When they are done fishing, they return to the station to report their catch and have it weighed. They are committed participants in this management system, which helps keep Tram Chim’s natural bounty in balance. Once cleared by the rangers, they head home.

At Tri’s house—a patchwork of wooden beams with gaps that let in the sunshine—his wife Trau hovers over a huge wok that is scratched and burned from years of use. Mud carps sizzle in oil, salt and chili. When Tri hands off his morning’s catch of crabs, she immediately begins cleaning and cooking those as well. It’s only 10 a.m., but the family has been up for almost six hours, and the belly of their 11-year-old son Khanh is grumbling. In a diet that consists almost entirely of fish and rice, he says, fried snakefish is his favorite food. It’s a similar picture around town: Every little food stall and restaurant seems to serve fish exclusively, whether it's turned into savory fried patties; used in omelets, soups and stir-fries; or transformed into fish sauce, the region’s ubiquitous condiment. None of these fish would be in Tram Chim if it weren’t for the park’s connection to the Mekong. The rich alluvial silt that flows downstream forms the basic environment in which fish can grow.

A healthy hydrology also nurtures couch grass, sedges and watermeal, as well as small crustaceans, which in turn entice water birds. And the river carries the necessary nutrients to help grow rice at four times the yield that was seen in this region four decades ago. “If it weren't for the silt from the Mekong, the park wouldn’t be as unique,” says park director Nguyen Van Hung. But Tram Chim’s relationship with the river is also its biggest weakness. Hundreds of miles upstream, Cambodia and Laos, under pressure to develop new energy and economic resources for their people, are building dams on the Mekong and its tributaries. Those dams, which will not only block fish from migrating but keep sediment from flowing downstream, are the “biggest and most significant threat” to the park’s fragile ecosystem, Hung says. Dams cause changes in “water quality, water quantity and the timing of water flow changes,” he says. “This means, for example, that the flooding season that historically started in July now starts later.” He adds that once the population of any one species—a water plant or crustacean, for instance—diminishes, other species that depend on them could quickly follow.

Dams, however, are only one example of the mounting pressure that the socioeconomic development of the region is having on the ecosystem. In addition to upstream activities like agriculture, deforestation and pollution, which damage both water quality and water quantity downstream, there are the effects of climate change. Scientists have already observed irregular river flows and flooding periods, as well as a reduction in the river-carried sediments and nutrients that refresh Tram Chim and restore the coast of the Mekong Delta. In fact, evidence shows that the delta is actually sinking and shrinking, leading to the infiltration of saltier water farther and farther upstream—and putting Tram Chim in yet another squeeze. “I am really not sure if we can maintain the same biodiversity or if some species will become extinct,” says Hung. “The water flow really changes the conditions.” Villagers clean and pick fish to sell at a local market. Fishing provides a key source of income for many of the communities living near the park, as well as all along the Mekong. The Value of Fish and Fowl In spite of all that, Tri insists his community is excited about the future.

WWF is supporting a burgeoning tourism business in the park, he says—an expansion of opportunities for local people to show visitors from Ho Chi Minh City and beyond the landscapes and lives of the people who live here. While fishing earns Tri enough to meet the basic needs of his family, he, like many breadwinners, hopes to offer them a better life. For him, that would mean things as simple as providing a concrete house that doesn’t shake when strong winds blow over the delta, and enabling his sons to go to university. They study hard, he says, and are too smart to become fishermen like their father and grandfather. He says that showing tourists how to fish might bring his family much-needed income, but at the same time he is thankful for what he has. “I wish there was more tourism development for the park,” says Tri. “But now, I just do everything the best I can for the future of my family.” Thao, a fisherman’s wife, cleans vegetables harvested legally within the park. On the way to an observation tower built to encourage tourists to visit, WWF’s Viet Hoang leads a small group along a waterway surrounded by a thick wall of melaleuca trees that look like a stage curtain.

Oriental darters fly past while a family of water buffaloes grazes on the slightly raised ground of an engineered levee. Viet points out that the dikes were built to solve one problem, but soon came to cause another. In the dry season, he explains, forest fires used to plague the area. Although trees grew back quickly, the park management could be held responsible for such fires, no matter the cause. So a massive system of dikes was built with the sole purpose of keeping water inside the park year-round. Unfortunately, the policy backfired. Each of Tram Chim’s different habitats demands a different system of water movements—a unique hydrological cycle—that the park had supported naturally. With the dikes, trees like the melaleuca started to die off— essentially, they drowned. “The eleocharis is another one,” Viet says, pointing at the seemingly ubiquitous green grassy rushes rustling above the water. “It’s food for the Sarus crane. The plants need to be dry for four to five months of the year.

If it’s flooded year-round, the plants die and there is no food for the cranes.” After the dikes’ installation raised water levels in the park, the number of Sarus cranes—and other bird species that thrive in lower water levels—began to decline. “When we started working here, we talked to experts and studied the history of the park, the hydrological regime of the park, and we think the way it was managed was not suitable for Tram Chim,” Viet says. After several studies, WWF and park management decided to mimic the historical Mekong hydrological regime and take down parts of the elaborate dike system at prime locations to restore natural water flows. And while their numbers are still alarmingly low, the cranes began to return. Today, Tram Chim (which translates roughly as “bird swamp”) supports nine globally threatened bird species and is home to more than 20,000 water birds in the dry season. The newly constructed observation tower puts tourists eye-to-eye with nesting birds. Just 10 feet from the leaf- and twig-covered platform, a young Oriental darter frantically cleans his plumage; his nest-mate appears to be yawning.

Their mother returns, her throat filled with treats from the park, and quickly feeds her chicks, pushing the food past their wide-open beaks. As soon as she leaves, the siblings join the greedy screams of hundreds of juvenile egrets, cormorants and darters. It is a deafening declaration of life. The Center of their Lives For the park rangers, waking up to a concert of trilling, tweeting and chirping is the best part of their job. They sleep on the edges of the park, typically in huts on stilts, and birdcalls signal the beginning of their workday on the winding waterways. Cu sits in Tri’s house with Tri’s wife and son. They are among the 50,000 people who live closest to Tram Chim and are working with rangers to protect wetlands and a way of life. Tri regularly meets a ranger when he is out with Cu; friendly words are exchanged. In the evenings, rangers and fishermen sit together, sharing homemade rice wine, roasted snails and fried snakehead fish. They often sing, and Tri always seems to be the one to encourage people to share just one more song before calling it a night.

The rangers and Tri agree that these cheerful gatherings would have been impossible five years ago, when fishing in the park was illegal. Tri is one of the growing contingent who understand both sides: before he was a fisherman, he was a park guard. Ranking lower than the rangers, and with little experience, Tri received a meager wage. Still, he remembers those days fondly, not least because it was through his job that he got to know his wife, Trau. “I was fishing in the park, together with my brother,” Trau says. “And I was a guard, so when I found them, I had to tell them off,” Tri interjects. “But then,” Trau continues, “he kept coming to our house to explain why we couldn’t fish in the park.” Tri laughs sheepishly and admits: “When I first saw her, that was it. Love struck. I knew I had to make a move, so I needed the excuse to visit her at her house.” “I know I must go away for university, but as soon as I graduate, I will return. This park has everything. It has birds, fish, vegetables, and there is the river.

Definitely, I want to live here.” Khanh Tri's son Stories like this make Tri thoughtful. More than once, Tram Chim National Park has played a fateful role in his life. As best he can, he tries to pass his love and appreciation of Tram Chim on to his three sons. He’s proud that they do well in school, and that they have set themselves goals in life. At 11, his son Khanh has his mind full of soccer, but knows he must concentrate on his studies. He wants to go to medical school, “so I can take care of the health of my whole family.” He smiles, showing a big gap between his front teeth. On the other hand, the thought of ever leaving Tram Chim bewilders Khanh. “I know I must go away for university,” he says, “but as soon as I graduate, I will return.” Looking from his mother to his father, he says, “This park has everything. It has birds, fish, vegetables, and there is the river.

Definitely, I want to live here.” Location of the Don Sahong dam Seeking solutions along the Mekong Over the next 10 years, demand for electricity in Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam is expected to grow by 6% to 7% annually. To meet this demand and fulfill the unmet energy needs of millions of people in rural areas, the region will look to the Mekong River, which still remains close to untapped and holds the potential to be Southeast Asia’s powerhouse. But the Mekong and its countless tributaries already serve as the primary source of protein for 60 million people. So the question of how to access the energy potential of the Mekong must be thoughtfully addressed. One approach is hydropower. While dams offer a cleaner source of energy than coal or other traditional power sources, some (such as the Don Sahong dam proposed for southern Laos) could decrease downstream fish stocks by 80% and put the health of entire ecosystems at risk. We must find a solution, and WWF is supporting a 10-year moratorium on hydropower projects on the Lower Mekong in the hopes of achieving a smart balance.

For example, the Thako Water Diversion Project would produce almost the same amount of electricity as Don Sahong without blocking the channel and preventing fish migration. Both projects would impact the same watershed near the Khone Phapheng falls in Laos, so the choice represents a true crossroads: As we seek to meet the needs of people and wildlife, which path will we choose? Our needs are linked to the health of freshwater ecosystems. Of all the water on the planet, only 3% is fresh, and less than 1% is both fresh and accessible. Most of the world’s fresh water is used for food and energy production, and these human demands put a strain on freshwater ecosystems. Globally, food production accounts for around: 30%

Question: The Mekong river is the border between Laos and which other Asian country for about 1000km of its length?
Answer: THAILAND