Cambodia

It's always breezy and cool out on our balcony.
Five or six stories up, we can see about half of Phnom Penh proper, including the river - which is an offshoot of the Mekong itself.
A tempremental beast, the Mekong river floods, and drains, moves south, and then north, all according to territorial flooding patterns.
In the early spring, the provinces outside Phnom Penh recieve a bounty - in the form of large, and expansive flooding. This excess volume from the Mekong pours into the endless network of Rice paddys, leaving them, and half the jungle submerged for weeks - sometimes months at a time.
With the water, come fish, crabs and other edible fresh water species. Local fishermen take full advantage - filling their boats with crab, eel, and catfish that can grow 3 meters long. Once the water recedes, these fresh water creatures often get trapped by the raised partitions that separate the rice crops.
A long time after the water disappears, families will be pulling food out of the swamp. Much of it is ground up and fermented - creating a traditional Khmer fish paste that is used in almost all of the local cuisine.
Fortunately, up on our balcony, drinking coffee and enjoying the breeze, we don't have to smell this final product.

Village Life

My $500 Allen Edmonds' were caked in mud as we made our way up the rocky embankment behind our hut.
She smiled at me, I smiled back.
The sounds of a small necklace harmonica had floated across the village.
The sky was clear and the air was still cool and clean.
As we made our way down the dirt road that cut the settlement in two we followed the sound of the harmonica.
We came upon the small musician a bit down the road, but he was far too interested in his new instrument to notice us.
We all kept walking. She smiled at me again.