Mekon sunset

A morning bus back down to Chiang rai, a slight sense of regret at leaving Mae Sai, the feeling that there's more to be seen around here, other roads, ghost peaks rising in the haze; thoughts of another time, dreams to reflect upon as the road unwinds beneath my feet. And then the bus station, a break for some lunch before finding the next bus out to Chiang Khong.


Arriving late at the border, the journey taking an hour longer than expected, getting through just before 1600 and finding a tuk tuk down into Huay Xai and the search for another room. Just stepped into the street, struck by the familiarity of the place, when we're offered one at a "cheap" price and agree to have a look. Entering, I recognise the old woman who runs the place, realise that I'd stayed here last time also.


The town's much the same dusty one street place I recall but also different, a collection of new guesthouses sprung up along the road, the sound of heavy machinery rising from the Mekon. I recall an alley leading down to the river, an old blip of sunset, a quiet place upon the bank of the river. No more. Now a short hop ferry from Thailand, a restaurant in the shape of a ship's prow and heavy machinery scattered on both sides of the water.


On the island a tent, the sound of bass, a few figures gathered by a small boat, ferries passing in the changing light, the sun setting once again behind a big Buddha arisen upon a hill across the river; set now, the afterglow painting sky and water pink, deepening into purple and then, to my surprise, night has fallen; spots of light shining from the opposite bank. 


And along the street restaurants gather the scatter of travellers staying overnight, plotting courses north or south, the bus or the slow boat down to Pakbeng. And it remains as it was, a sleepy place, that it's good to be back here, to feel the weight of my rucksack again; returned to those places coloured, still, by romantic notions of travelling, the journey unravelling as it will…