Tonlé Sap is a lake whose own river runs backwards for months every year. When the monsoon swells the Mekong, the Tonlé Sap River reverses and pumps water inland instead of draining it away. The lake then spreads from roughly 2,500 to over 13,000 square kilometres and deepens from about a metre to nine or ten. What that does to the shore is the reason to come. Villages like Kampong Phluk stand on wooden stilts six or seven metres tall, and at the height of the flood the whole settlement — school, shop, place of worship — becomes a water-borne town reached only by boat. Canoes slip between half-submerged trunks into the flooded forest, quiet green tunnels where the leaves brush the surface.
At dusk the water turns orange and violet, fishing boats drift past in silhouette, and lake and sky blur into one. Come in the dry months and it is another place entirely. The flow has drained back to the Mekong, the forest stands on cracked mud, and the stilts tower absurdly over dry ground. This flood pulse is one of the largest on any freshwater system, and the drowned forests along the rim work as fish nurseries while the water is high. UNESCO named the lake a Biosphere Reserve in 1997. The pulse is now weakening. Upstream dams and riverbed sand mining are blunting the flood the whole lake lives by, and the fishery, the villages and the bird colonies in the flooded forest all depend on it.