Sunset

Another bus station, larger buses heading north and south, towards Chiang Mai and Bangkok, masked police sitting ignored at a checkpoint for the virus, most of the waiting faces also masked, no sense of panic but an awareness. 

Arriving in Chiang Khan, the sun high, hot, heat beating down, adding weight to my rucksack as it sucks the energy from my steps. For the first time a prebooked room, somewhere on walking street, towards the river once again, sweating. It's a tourist place, but for Thais not so many farang seem to venture here according to what I've read, but it's a favoured destination for the rising middle classes and we arrive on the weekend.

Walking street is deserted beneath the midday sun, beneath our feet small shadows accompanying us as we walk along an endless parade of guesthouses, a few shops selling tourist t shirts all that appear to be open. Eventually finding the guesthouse, dumping bags, looking for food, too hot to explore, but time to eat. Out into the street, cafes empty, we find a table, entertained by Die hard, dubbed into Thai with Thai subtitles a distraction, the largest, fattest cat I've ever seen another, the clock turning but the heat remains.

Across the water, Laos. I could swim there I think, as the sound of construction continuing through the heat soaked air continues upon this side of the Mekong, on the other a group of children frolic upon rocks and in the flowing water. 

Up a lane, walking parallel to the walking street the town appears. Wood giving way to concrete, trucks and bikes scurrying, coffee shops and cheaper rooms, stores and restaurants under corrugated roofs and canvas the heat clinging to them, radiating, rising, embalming. My thoughts disperse, travel back to the mountains, to the river, a return to the room, turning on air con, as there's no fan, and hiding from the pursuing sun until the air cools and I wander back towards the Mekong.

And there, there's the promise of possibility of a sunset. The clouds seem about right, there's clear air, no haze, water for reflection, all of the ingredients to encourage lingering by the water, following some kind of instinct, maps littered with sunset points. And then the air begins to glow, golden light upon the breeze as it wafts an arm of cloud towards us, breaking the spectrum, orange below and blue above, gold darkening into red the elongated sun pierced by the summits of the hills on the horizon, dark red blood spilling, spreading across the water as clouds burn above, scramble down to the waterside, the last curve above the jagged horizon the streak of light diminishing as tones change again, purple and pink now, a swift afterglow, the reflective river on fire burning a channel between banks as the sky flares. Behind me, almost unnoticed in this conflagration, the risen noon, sliver shining and high, almost full, the rabbit visible, my shadow weird upon the rough grasses and rocks, the afterglow expanding, painting the world in fluorescent tones, the river a dream flanked by shapes  holding smartphones, paused in this extended moment, caught as the world burns around them, as it lingers aflame, dulling incrementally, night gathering moon bright as darkness falls.

Above steps leading down to the water the sound of music, a band playing, a small crowd around a stage, dancing, the far end of Walking Street. We watch a song, wander into a temple instead of listening to any more, begin to walk back towards the room through stalls tended by bored faces, little custom, a sense of weariness spilling out upon the forlorn road.

I'm taken by how quiet it is, how few people are on the street, the restaurants and bars telling the same story, nobody is travelling, the world paused as the virus spreads a contagion of isolation, a diminished flow of people and it's effect on places like this, the economy based in tourism, a famine fallen and, at a guess, little or no safety net to offer support until the cycle resumes.