Storm on the Mekong Tara Prince
She was meant to glide gently,
two days, one quiet night,
from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap,
under soft skies and river light.
A maiden journey, long and proud,
my newly restored Mekong Tara Prince,
60 feet of hope and timber and steel,
built to carry forty souls —
but this time, only crew and friends,
and dreams still fresh on deck.
Then Tonlé Sap changed her mood.
Dark clouds rolled across the lake,
winds rose like ancient spirits,
waves climbed higher than comfort,
and the river forgot its manners.
We turned into a narrow channel,
slipped into flooded forests,
trees standing like silent guardians,
water where land once lived.
That second night the lake grew angry.
Each wave hit harder than the last,
and for a moment — only a moment —
I wondered if she would tip,
if this brave new journey would end here.
But boats have souls.
And captains have stories.
Ours was a Khmer man
with forty years of river in his hands,
who read the water like a book
and steered with calm when hearts raced fast.
It was him.
And it was her.
Experience and craftsmanship,
local wisdom and solid hull,
working together in the dark.
They carried us through.
By morning, the storm had passed,
and the Mekong Tara Prince floated on,
not just a boat anymore —
but proven.
Sometimes journeys don’t go to plan.
Sometimes the river tests you.
And sometimes, on a wild lake in Cambodia,
you learn what you’ve truly built.
First long cruise.
First great storm.
First real story.