She is the picture of grace: A woman lowering her oar into the water and, with what seems like a single fluid stroke, maneuvering a wooden boat from one side of the canal to the other, right to where I’m sitting.

We say good morning to each other as I glance over her wares. Her bow is filled with leafy potted plants and bunches of tiny green bananas, but I point to a pile of tender young coconuts — my first purchase of the day at Tha Ka Floating Market, about 80 kilometers (50 miles) east of Bangkok.

With a few thwaps of her knife, she cracks open the top of a coconut, inserts a plastic straw and hands it to me. Her name is Ow, and like most of the women vendors, she wears a wicker hat whose broad brim and sloping shape resembles a lampshade. Her boat curves up at both ends and is just wide enough for her to sit cross-legged on its floor.

While I sip the sweet, cool juice, Ow returns to the rest of the boats on the opposite side of the canal. Although both sides are lined with concrete pathways, most of the activity takes place along the one across from me.

I watch boats jostle gently against one another, bow against bow, creating a percussive rhythm as shoppers mill about, stopping in front of various boats to talk, buy and eat.

To join them, I cross over the canal on a rickety bridge, the middle of which can be raised by hand to let boats with taller loads pass. Brightly colored bunting has been strung from side to side, giving the market a festive air on this balmy Sunday morning.

The boats themselves are the stalls, some overflowing with fresh fruit and vegetables: Red chilies, mangoes and golden jackfruit slices tempt customers with their distinct fragrances. Elsewhere, women fry up dishes right in their boats: mussels and bean sprouts sizzling on round iron griddles, the air above them growing hazy with smoke.

Trading on the river has deep roots in Thailand, as it does elsewhere across Southeast Asia, reaching back to the 1300s. The country’s many rivers — and the communities that lived along them — encouraged such trade.

This continued well into the 1800s, when the development of roads and rails slowly diminished the need for floating markets. Almost all of the ones within Bangkok are now gone, as people have drifted farther from the riverbanks.

In Tha Ka, however, the market appears to be thriving, and I am surprised by the equal number of locals and tourists. Among them is a woman named Hun, her smooth black hair pulled into a low ponytail. She tells me that the market began more than 100 years ago — 150 years, maybe. “Before,” she says, “it was only Thai people, to buy and exchange fruit, food, shirts, everything on the boat.

“Long ago, it was not like this—” she says, gesturing to the walkway we’re standing on and to the three bridges spanning the canal, all constructed in the last 10 years. “Before, everybody cannot walk. Before, it was only boat, only river.”

While it is family that draws Hun back here every weekend (her husband’s sister lives nearby), I wonder what about the market still attracts other locals.

“They come for everything; it’s cheaper than Bangkok,” Hun says, confirming my hunch. I had noticed that prices are right on par with street food elsewhere in Thailand — a fact that, with enough purchases, proves dangerous for both my wallet and my stomach.

Belly full of thin rice noodles and oliang (iced black coffee), I say goodbye to Hun and set off to explore the canals. At one end of the market, it’s possible to hire a boat for a 45-minute ride. I’m even given my own wicker hat to wear.

Recalling the easy grace with which Ow had negotiated the canal, I attempt the same. As my guide, Malee, rows behind me, I dip my oar into the water, losing myself in the lush surroundings. Verdant groves of coconut trees grow along the river, mingling with fuchsia bougainvillea and neon birds of paradise. A dog paddles past, only his ears and nose above the surface.

Hun had told me there are still 400 people living in Tha Ka village, and Malee and I pass by some of their houses, with narrow offshoots of the canal leading up to their doors like driveways. I think of all that has changed since the market first opened, and yet for those who call these quiet, winding canals home, life is still lived on the water.

Only boat, only river.