The song Begawan Solo used to play regularly on Malaysian television. It is an Indonesian serenade in the form of keroncong describing the longest river on Java.
Solo is one of the great rivers of Southeast Asia and when I think of great Southeast Asian rivers, the Salween, the Irrawaddy and the Chao Phraya would come to mind. Adding to the list is possibly the Kapuas and the Musi. But the greatest without doubt is the Mekong.
The Mekong River flows from the Himalayas, snakes through southern China and defines the contemporary boundaries of Myanmar, Laos and Cambodia before empties out into the South China Sea just south of Saigon.
The Mekong is the great river I am most familiar with. From the air, I have seen the river and its delta in Vietnam. I have been to Phnom Penh twice over the span of 14 years and marveled at the transformation of the city. I have walked the streets of Vientiane during what appeared to be a dry season when the river to the west looked meek with people walking across to either get into Thailand or Laos. Further upriver in Luang Prabang where I spent several weeks, the river was wide and fierce. To cross it as many did at the Laotian capital would be pure madness. I have been through the Chiang Khong border checkpoint, where the Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge crosses a gentler Mekong. And more recently, I have been to Sop Ruak where the Thailand-Myanmar-Laos tripoint is.
While geographically and politically familiar with the river, I had never really thought about the history of its exploration until when I picked up a little gem from Tintabudi bookstore some months back. It is Milton Osborne’s River Road to China. I am familiar with Osborne from a long time ago when I took a class on Southeast Asian history at Michigan. His work was one of the references we used in a class run by Victor Lieberman.
River Road to China recounts the 1866-1868 French expedition’s attempt to locate the source of the Mekong and determine whether it was navigable. Based on my previous travels and embarrassingly basic geographical knowledge of the river, I would have bet it was navigable all the way up to at least the Myanmar’s section. At each section of the river that I have visited, the Mekong is wide except in Vientiane during what appeared to be a drought.
With a more limited geographical knowledge but with a whole lot more courage (or bravado), that was exactly the suspicion of the French empire, which was expanding its influence across the Indochina in competition with the British. The French were looking for inland access to southern China via the Mekong, while the British were doing so through the Salween in Myanmar. There was race to Yunnan and the supposed riches of inland southern China.
The French expedition led by Ernest-Marc-Louis de Gonzague Doudart de Lagrée and also later Marie Joseph François Garnier met their first challenge near Sambor, approximately 200km to the northeast of Phnom Penh by river. The Sambor rapids were difficult but it could be negotiated, especially with stronger ships of the mid-19th century. de Lagrée, his men and local guides definitely did with more primitive boats after a struggle that came physical and psychologically.
de Lagrée had been to the Sambor rapids before and he had thought it was impossible to pass. But the expedition did pass the rapids and that raised hope.
That hope was quickly dashed. The Khone Phapheng Falls at the modern Laotian border is the uppermost reach of navigable Mekong. Khone Phapheng Falls are in fact the widest waterfall in the world. I never knew that, thinking Iguazu Falls on the Argentine-Brazilian border being the widest. But no. The Khone Phapheng Falls have a width of nearly 11km, Iguazu is only nearly 3km.
Unlike the Iguazu that rises close to 100 meters, the Khone Phapheng is just 21 meters tall in a series of cascades. In many ways, the Laotian falls are a gentle feature. But that was enough to block any steamship from going upstream. Years later, the French ended up building a rail line to sidestep the problem presented by the Falls.
Now knowing the Mekong was unnavigable, there was still an objective left: find the source of the Mekong. And so, the expenditure pressed on but in a disastrous fashion due to tropical diseases, the limits of French medical knowledge of that time, political realities of the Indochinese interior and simply, European imperial arrogance. de Lagrée in fact spent a second half of the expedition suffering from what seems to be malaria and died unceremoniously in Yunnan away from the Mekong after a failed surgery. de Lagrée shared the fate of another French explorer, Alexander Henri Mouhot, who popularized in Europe the ruins of Angkor but died out of malaria. Mouhot is buried in a tomb in the outskirts of Luang Prabang.
The rest of the team attempted to look for the source but they eventually abandoned the mission due to a civil war in Yunnan between the Muslim rebels and the Chinese imperial forces. It was too dangerous to proceed.
While there was strong suspicion about the location of source of the Mekong by the end of the 19th century, it was only truly discovered by the 1990s technology. We today know that the Mekong originates from Lasagongma Spring, deep in the Tibetan Plateau.
Finally, there are two other points I would explore slightly further.
One, the expedition played a role in expanding French influence in Southeast Asia. During the expedition, France controlled the Mekong delta (French Cochinchina) but one surviving member of the expedition, Garnier, briefly captured Hanoi on the delta of the Red River in northern Vietnam on the pretext of securing free river passage in yet another attempt to access Yunnan but this time, via the Red River. While he died in a battle near Hanoi and the city itself was liberated by the Vietnamese soon after, in the longer run, France ended up ruling the whole of Vietnam because Garnier showed it was possible.
Two, I wonder if there were non-Europeans who had traversed the length of the Mekong before the French exploration. It seems quite plain that the locals who worked as porters and navigators for the French knew about the rivers more than their employers. More than that, there were Malay fishmongers all the way from the Malay Peninsula in Phnom Penh when de Lagrée spent days dining with the Cambodian king, Norodom I. He was familiar with the king given that earlier, he played a role in forcing Cambodia to become a French protectorate. More curiously, there were Malay bombmakers as far north as Dali, the northernmost city along the Mekong that the French explorers visited. If there were Malays along the upper reaches of the Mekong, surely it would not be an overreach to expect others like the Thais, Laotians, Cambodians. Vietnamese, Chinese or any other local groups that had explored the river.
