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Islands of silk.

Six of us climbed into our two tuktuks.  Clutching our precious cargo, we venture through the city.  We stop once at a temple familiar to Nathan.  A chorus of "Hello!(s)" and wide smiles welcome us.  Stepping out into the Cambodian sun, Nathan offers flippant suggestions as we click away on Canons, Nikons, and Pentaxes.  Due to his reputable manners and the all-round good-naturedness of our knowledgable guide, the temple workers and even a senior monk happily oblige to modeling for our little band of paparazzi.

After playing with various excited children, we clamour back into our tuktuks, slightly sticker than when we disembarked 30 minutes prior.

We continue our journey.

We cross the Mekong by ferry.  The boarding of the three Western women is accompanied by subtle smooching sounds from the young ferry operators.  I can feel the sweat dripping down my temples, roll down my back.  Boys, I know I'm hot.

Dodging motos and tuktuks, we continue onto the island to our destination.  Silk Island is aptly named: the best quality of silk, and most of the silk sold in the Cambodian interior will have been made here.  We bounce along the dirt roads, waving at the children who chase our tuktuks for a time.

The sun is every-sweltering.  Our shirts are quickly drenched in sweat.

We make various stops throughout the island, chatting with the locals.  Thoughts pass through my mind in rapid succession.

Angle of the sun.
Frame her against the loom.
Diagonals.
Colours of silk.
Frame faces.
Create Life.

So many thoughts, I hope I made some good one.

There is a woman as old as Time itself.  Every muscle and bone is visible on her fragile frame.  Her face is sunken and weathered, telling of hard life lead, full of stories.  She squats alongside the road, picking through dirt and weeds.  Don't photograph her.

By the end of the village road, I've been deeply moved by the lives of our new local friends.  I've come here to learn how to make inspiring images, and am leaving touched by the rigourous lives that are lead here.  Figures.

We purchase silk.  Scarves, blankets, table runners .... For pennies.  But a fortune for those who've made them.

It's time to return.  My body is exhausted from the heat.  We move sluggishly to our tuktuks.  Thanking our local connections for their company, we begin our trek back.  Inhale, exhale ... I heave through the dust.  I'm sure half of Cambodia can be retrieved from my lungs.  I wipe my forehead with a cloth.  Yup, half sweat, half dirt.

We settle at a local bar along the Mekong for some final, lazy sunset shots.  We sit, relaxed.

The day has given more than I expected.  We chat contently about the moments we've recorded.  I feel enlightened in the company of these knowledgeable companions.

At long last, I soak in the shower.  Cambodia washes off my face, arms, feet, ears.  But the images and experiences of the day will not be dismissed so quickly.  Hello Cambodia, I love you.



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