On the way to Tri Ton, I was both excited and curious. I brought along a small camera - my companion to record every moment. I wondered: What has made this festival exist, spread for decades, become the pride not only of the Khmer people but also of the entire Southwest region? The answer, I believe, lies in the photos I am about to take.

From early morning, Tri Ton was bustling like a festival. People from all over poured into the racetrack, all carrying with them excitement. Khmer people in colorful traditional costumes, tourists from inside and outside the province, adults, children, all jostling, chattering like a spring festival.

I entered the crowd, holding the camera in my hand. Seeing an old Khmer man leaning on a cane, slowly walking among the crowd, I quickly raised the camera to capture his gentle smile. Then I caught sight of the children laughing loudly when they saw the pair of oxen being led out, they cheered with delight, their eyes sparkling. I kept clicking the camera, trying to capture the bustling atmosphere.

Inside the racetrack, the pairs of oxen were groomed, their bodies firm, their eyes shining with eagerness. The oxen riders – sturdy Khmer boys, their bare feet accustomed to the mud of the fields – were also preparing, their eyes tense, full of determination. I panned the camera to capture each pair of oxen butting heads against each other as a warm-up, then took pictures of the oxen riders whispering and patting the oxen’s backs as if to reassure them.

The atmosphere gradually heated up. When the loudspeaker blared, signaling the start of the match, I raised my camera, my heart pounding as if I was about to capture a memorable scene.

The five-tone music resounded loudly. The pairs of oxen charged forward, tearing up the muddy fields. From the stands, thousands of eyes watched, cheers thundered. I held up the camera, pressing the buttons continuously. It was not easy to catch the moment when the mud splashed, the pair of oxen galloped, or the oxen driver's face grimaced in concentration.

At one point, I had to wipe the lens quickly because mud had splashed on it. But then I quickly took another photo, because every second that passed, a precious moment could be lost. I watched nervously and excitedly like a true paparazzi.

The five-tone music resounds, the mud splashes, each pair of oxen sprinting is a smooth coordination between the strength and control technique of the oxen rider.

The audience occasionally cheered when a pair of oxen slipped or fell, or when another pair suddenly overtook them. I also squeezed into the crowd, cheering and trying to raise my camera high, taking panoramic photos: the bustling sea of ​​people, the white mud, the pair of oxen galloping like the wind. There were moments when I was sure the photos would not only be beautiful, but also leave a strong impression.

During the break, I put down my camera and chatted with some locals. An old Khmer man told me: “Ox racing is not just for fun, but to show gratitude to our ancestors and pray for good harvests.” Listening to him, I understood why the bull racing festival has existed for so long. It is not just a game, but also a bridge connecting the community and a ritual with spiritual significance.

Each pair of oxen participating is the property and pride of the whole family. People take care of them all year round, and on the festival day, they consider it as a gift to the community. I raised my camera, capturing the smiles and handshakes after the race ended. In my lens, they are not just winners and losers, but friends and brothers in the same peaceful and close-knit Khmer community.

In addition to the traditional festival, the Bull Racing Festival is also considered a cultural exchange and a creative space for photographers, who can take photos anywhere, on any terrain.

Standing in that scene, I suddenly remembered the Ngo boat racing festival in Go Quao commune that I had also recently watched. If the Tri Ton bull racing takes place on mud fields, where the explosive strength of the pair of bulls determines victory or defeat, the Ngo boat racing takes place on the vast river, where dozens of rowers work in unison, creating collective strength.

I have also taken many pictures of Ngo boats cutting through the waves, with long hulls, brightly painted, and oars rising in unison. Compared to the picture of a pair of galloping oxen, these are two very different images, but both are unusually full of vitality. One reflects the agricultural life associated with the fields, the other reflects the vast river culture. The common point is that both originate from Khmer beliefs, from the spirit of praying for good crops and community cohesion. In my lens, the ox racing festival and Ngo boat racing, although different in scenery and sound, both shine with smiles, pride, and love of life of the Khmer people in the South.

The final race set the field ablaze. Mud splashed everywhere as the two strongest pairs of oxen started, and cheers rose like waves. I was cheering along with the crowd and clicking away, barely catching my breath.

The moment the pair of oxen crossed the finish line, the rider raised his whip high, I captured that image. The photo showed strength, joy, and excitement. It was not just a photo of a competition, but a photo of a community victory. I knew for sure, this would be the most precious photo of the whole trip.

The bull racing festival is not only a sporting event, it is an opportunity for the Khmer community to preserve and express their traditional cultural identity. Every time the festival comes, crowds of people from all over flock to the racetrack, all carrying with them excitement.

When I left Tri Ton, I was still in a daze. On the way back, I turned on my camera and reviewed hundreds of photos. Each photo was a piece of memory: a baby's smile, an old man's eyes, the cheering audience, a cow's hooves galloping in the mud. I suddenly understood: The camera not only captures images, but also emotions. Thanks to it, I know that no matter how much time passes, I will still remember the heat, the noise, and the joy of the cow racing festival in Tri Ton.

Compared to many modern festivals, Tri Ton bull racing or Ngo Go Quao boat racing have their own charm: rustic but fierce, simple but majestic. Both make me love the West more, and appreciate more the beauty of Southern Khmer culture.

The first time I went to see a bull race, I saw not just a race, but a living legacy. And through my lens, that memory will remain intact, bright, like the smiles and pride of the people I met yesterday.

Article and photos: HUU DANG

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