About twenty kilometres upstream from Phnom Penh, the Mekong embraces a flat land covered with orchards and mulberry trees that Cambodians call Silk Island. Koh Oknha Tey has lived from thread for generations. River cruise ships moor at the bank, and decorated tuk-tuks await passengers, horns honking cheerfully, in the shade of the mango trees, to take them along red-earth paths to the weaving village of Chong Koh. The ride itself, between bamboo hedges and colourful houses, is already worth the trip. The stop usually lasts half a day, enough to see everything without ever feeling rushed.

Thread, from Cocoon to Scarf

The visit follows the path of the silk itself. It begins at the rearing trays, where silkworms devour mulberry leaves with a sound like gentle rain before sealing themselves in their golden cocoons. Next comes reeling: dipped in hot water, the cocoons release an almost invisible thread that the women wind onto large wooden reels. Then the dyeing, prepared in basins of deep colours, and finally the weaving. Each step takes place before passengers' eyes, explained by those who have practised it since childhood, often with a humour that needs no translation. The demonstrations are priceless for anyone who never imagined that a square of silk begins with a caterpillar.

Looms Beneath the Houses

In Chong Koh, almost every family has its own wooden loom, set up in the shade beneath the stilt house. The pedals keep time, the shuttle flies between the taut threads, and the patterns appear row by row with a slowness that commands respect: a complex scarf takes entire days of work. The weavers notably produce the krama, the checked scarf seen everywhere in Cambodia, tied around farmers' heads and students' necks alike, as well as richly coloured fabrics for weddings and ceremonies. Buying them here, directly from the person who wove them, gives the souvenir in your suitcase a whole new weight.

Countryside Living to the River's Rhythm

Between workshops, the tuk-tuk passes through scenes of the Khmer countryside: banana trees, tidy vegetable gardens, zebu lying in the shade, schoolchildren in blue and white uniforms ringing their bicycle bells. Some itineraries also offer a kayak outing along the banks, at water level, to watch fishers and floating gardens from the river itself. Nothing here seems staged: the community simply works, and welcomes visitors with a curiosity equal to their own. The best of the port call lies in those hours, with no monuments or admission tickets: a greeting exchanged over a hedge, a loom picking up its rhythm again, a teapot set on the low table for passing visitors.

Tips for This River Port Call

• Mooring at the riverbank; tuk-tuk ride to the weaving workshops.
• Complete demonstrations, from silkworm rearing to the loom.
• Purchases in US dollars or riels; small bills are useful.
• Hat and water bottle recommended: the terrain is flat but very sunny.

At departure time, the loom pedals are still beating beneath the houses, steady as a pulse. You take away from Koh Oknha Tey a square of silk, of course, but above all the memory of those precise hands that turn mulberry leaves into festive fabrics, on an island the Mekong cradles without ever rushing it.