On the way to Tri Ton, my heart was filled with both excitement and curiosity. I brought along my small camera – my companion to capture every moment. I wondered: What has kept this festival alive and spreading for decades, becoming a source of pride not only for the Khmer people but also for the entire Southwestern region of Vietnam? I believe the answer lies in the photographs I am about to take.

From early morning, Tri Ton was bustling like a festival. Crowds of people from all over flocked to the racetrack, everyone filled with excitement. Khmer people in their colorful traditional costumes, tourists from within and outside the province, adults and children alike, all jostled and chattered as if it were a spring festival.

I weaved through the crowd, camera in hand. Seeing an elderly Khmer man leaning on a cane, slowly walking amidst the throng, I quickly raised my camera to capture his gentle smile. Then I saw children laughing loudly as the oxen were led out; they cheered with delight, their eyes sparkling. I kept clicking away, trying to capture the entire lively atmosphere.

Inside the racetrack, the oxen were groomed, their bodies sturdy, their eyes gleaming with excitement. The ox riders – strong Khmer men with bare feet accustomed to the mud of the rice paddies – were also preparing, their eyes tense and full of determination. I panned my camera, capturing pairs of oxen butting heads as if warming up, and also the sight of the ox riders whispering and gently patting the oxen's backs as if reassuring them.

The atmosphere was heating up. As the loudspeaker blared, signaling the start of the match, I raised my camera, my heart pounding as if I were about to capture a once-in-a-lifetime shot.

The rhythmic sounds of traditional Vietnamese music filled the air. Pairs of oxen charged forward, tearing through the muddy rice paddies. From the stands, thousands of eyes watched, their cheers thundering like lightning. I held my camera, my fingers clicking continuously. It wasn't easy to capture the moment when mud flew up, the oxen strained to gallop, or the oxen's faces contorted with intense concentration.

At times, I had to quickly wipe the lens because mud was splashing all over the camera. But then I quickly continued shooting, because with every passing second, a precious moment could slip away. I watched with both nervous anticipation and excitement, like a true photographer.

The sound of traditional Vietnamese music filled the air, mud splattered everywhere, and each sprint of the oxen was a masterful display of the riders' strength and skillful control.

The audience occasionally gasped when a pair of oxen slipped and fell, or when another pair unexpectedly surged ahead. I also squeezed into the crowd, cheering and trying to raise my camera high to capture panoramic shots: a sea of ​​people, white mud splashing everywhere, and oxen galloping like lightning. There were moments when I knew for sure that the photos would not only be beautiful, but would also evoke intense emotions.

During a break, I put down my camera and took the opportunity to chat with some locals. An elderly Khmer man told me, "Bull racing isn't just for fun; it's about showing gratitude to our ancestors and praying for a good harvest." Hearing him say that, I understood even more why the bull racing festival has lasted so long. It's not just a game, but also a bridge connecting the community, a ritual with spiritual significance.

Each pair of oxen participating in the race is an asset, a source of pride for the entire family. The villagers care for them year-round, and on the day of the festival, they offer a part of their dedication to the community. I raised my camera, capturing the smiles and handshakes after the race ended. Through my lens, they appeared not just as winners and losers, but as friends and brothers in the same peaceful and close-knit Khmer community.

Beyond its traditional significance, the bull racing festival is also seen as a cultural exchange and a creative space for photographers, allowing them to capture images in any location and terrain.

Standing amidst that scene, I suddenly remembered the Ngo boat race in Go Quao commune that I had recently witnessed. While the Tri Ton bull race takes place on muddy fields, where the explosive strength of the bulls determines victory or defeat, the Ngo boat race takes place on the vast river, where dozens of oarsmen work together in harmony, creating a collective strength.

I've also taken many pictures of Ngo boats cutting through the waves, their long hulls, brightly painted, and oars rising in unison. Compared to the picture of the two oxen galloping, these are two very different images, yet both are extraordinarily vibrant. One reflects agricultural life connected to the fields, the other reflects the vast riverine culture. The common thread is that both originate from Khmer beliefs, from the spirit of praying for a good harvest and community cohesion. In my lens, the ox races and Ngo boat races, though different in scenery and sounds, both radiate the smiles, pride, and zest for life of the Khmer people of Southern Vietnam.

The final race sent the entire field into a frenzy. As the two strongest pairs of oxen started, mud splattered everywhere, and cheers erupted like waves. I cheered along with the crowd while snapping photos non-stop, almost unable to catch my breath.

The moment the oxen crossed the finish line, the ox handler raised his whip high, and I captured that image perfectly. The photograph clearly shows strength, joy, and overwhelming emotion. It's not just a picture of a competition, but a picture of community victory. I know for sure this will be the most precious photograph of the entire trip.

The bull racing festival is not just a sporting event; it's an opportunity for the Khmer community to preserve and showcase their traditional cultural identity. Each time the festival comes around, large crowds of people from all over flock to the racetrack, each filled with excitement.

Leaving Tri Ton, I was still feeling euphoric. On the way home, I opened my camera and looked through hundreds of photos. Each one was a piece of memory: a child's smile, an old man's gaze, cheering spectators, oxen's hooves galloping in the mud. I suddenly understood: A camera doesn't just preserve images, it also preserves emotions. Thanks to it, I know that even as time passes, I will still clearly remember the heat, the noise, and the joy of the ox racing festival in Tri Ton.

Compared to many modern festivals, the Tri Ton bull race or the Go Quao Ngo boat race have their own unique appeal: rustic yet fierce, simple yet majestic. Both have made me love the Mekong Delta even more and appreciate the beauty of Southern Khmer culture even more.

Attending a bull race for the first time, I saw not just a race, but a living heritage. And through my lens, that memory will remain intact and vibrant, just like the smiles and pride of the people I met yesterday.

Text and photos: HUU DANG

    Source: https://www.qdnd.vn/van-hoa/doi-song/xem-hoi-dua-bo-847206