Towards dusk

Already gathering, the clock says 0705, creeping into the room, claustrophobic, a warm blanket whispering that there's no relief to be found today, only hiding in the cold blast of aircons, the small shelters of shadows before they depart in the midday hours.

But by midday energy is spent, caffeine evaporating between cup and mouth, coffee only offering fuel to the sweat, no energy to squander beneath the harsh sun. The river sings, alluring and cool water, but for later, now other thoughts prevail, a short pause here, some small exploration. The streets empty again, only passing cars and motorbikes, scarce walkers beneath the shade of umbrellas.

A pause, time to think. Across the river a set of steps rise from its surface towards the too of an embankment, a short ferry ride for locals travelling across the border. The same river that's crossed our paths since we arrived in Huay Xai both yesterday and an age ago, flowing from the past into the present and, tomorrow, who knows. But in this moment a breeze rides upon it, warm but less feral than earlier, while I sit in the shelter cast by a hut and listen to the leaves rustle above me, watch the curved descent of the sun in the west as shadows begin to lengthen.

Walking along the riverbank, fishing boats below moving through narrow channels, water sparkling along currents; down to the water's edge, looking back up the Mekong, the sun glowing red, the air adusty again, no sunset today. But it's quiet here, ankle deep in the cooling water photographing a fisherman, the light flowing golden into the lens. Climbing back up I continue towards a temple, a mirrored frieze sparkling in the late sunlight, the moon rising behind it, a pale orb brightening against the dimming blue.

The sun set, moving towards town through the afterglow, finding walking street even quieter tonight, feeling like a ghost town, as we arrive upon its edge, less stalls, bars and restaurants almost empty. I've no idea how much of this quiet is because it's out of season, how much to the virus, to the growing reluctance to travel, as if familiar routines offer safety.

Sitting above the dark of the water, stars above, lights reflecting from across the water, from Laos; it's time to move, feeling as if something was left behind at the border crossing, that these next days form a slow return towards Bangkok. An odd feeling, stepping back into a recognisable flow of time, clocks aligned, hours and minutes defined.