A day to fill, to make some small wanders around the town, a slight exploration. There's an offer to leave our gear, to return and have a shower at the hostel later, to use the place as if we'd booked another day. Another act of kindness.

Moving into the streets before the heat rises too much, off towards the big temple, its Buddha image said to be the most beautiful in Thailand. It's busy here; handwash containers around the entrance and notices pointing towards temporary sinks laden with soap and water. The virus having arrived here weeks ago, authorities taking minimal chances upon recurrence, attempting to reduce the chance of recurrence, of a full outbreak. I wash my hands, walk towards the entrance where I remove my sandals, washing my hands again before entering the temple, finding myself surrounded by a multitude of Buddhas lining corridors, gazing down upon the faithful upon their knees, the faithless wandering through the grounds and enclosures, figures pausing to wash hands at every offering. I find the Buddha, fail to see any particular difference in this image and so many others, offer a nod of my head and wander off again, wondering when I became templed out, when the sense of wonder mutated into something else. And yet still I appear in these places. In the streets the sun's risen higher and hotter in my absence, clinging to the shortening shadows I begin to walk, away from the river, towards the mosque, random turns, crossing the railway tracks and continuing until I'm lost. But I know, roughly, where the tracks are, some general sense of directions as I move further into the alleys, continuing until it's time to find a cold drink, to pause. Wandering, lost, eventually I'll find the river but, for now, it's enough to wander aimlessly through the streets.

It feels oddly nondescript this place, another anonymous city studded with points of interest, historical remnants hiding beyond the ubiquitous store fronts, giving way to small eateries, almost empty despite it being lunchtime, faces masked against the unseen predator which stalks the airwaves and printed page.

Walking back towards the hostel, mid afternoon now, through a temple, its stupa bare bricked, smaller ones beneath it, broken and bare, from another part of the temple there's the sound of music, a bamboo flute, a voice floating above it, not Thai, sounds more Indian, curious I follow it finding myself standing in front of a small Hindu shrine, Vishnu as goatherd, Ganesh and Shiva. Taking a seat, some shelter from the sun, breathing in the scents of incense and burning wax while the music surrounds me, a raga on repeat, nothing to do, just breath, pause. In the distance of the adjacent road the sound of traffic remains as it was, a constant drone, within the walls orange robed monks resting nearby, the sound of a brush sweeping, voices, life continuing, noticed but removed, an approximation of place. 

The day passed, another night in a train station, waiting on a train. Across the platform the moon rising orange through the polluted sky, hanging sickly above the tracks, a large rat scurrying in search of scraps of food, guards, monks and soldiers interspersed with travellers stretched out upon wooden benches, the sound of fans blowing the warm air around the platform, voices rising and falling across waves of weariness. Again it's not unfamiliar, late trains and night journeys welcome fixtures of travel, offering up that confused delight of waking in a new place. But tonight there's no bed, just a chair, the knowledge that tomorrow brings further transit, a flight through the city towards the airport, departure.

The last trains that have passed through have been old rolling stock, hard benches for seats, six and a half hours to Bangkok, no bed, hoping that when the train arrives it's a new one, seats comfortable enough to rest in. 2250, time to move, old stock, but the seats are comfortable enough, but the carriage is warm, the windows pulled down, scarce fans in here, the wind buffeting my face as we move and pause, move and pause, the moon higher now, pale above the returned smog, lights appearing, low, in unmeasured distances, a flat land, the mountains gone, motion measured in the changing tone of the rails, unseen bridges, trains moving north, the familiar lullabies of the journey amplified through the open windows, hypnotic rhythms weighing upon eyelids until, somewhere along the line, sleep casts an embrace upon me and the night passes.