Mekong River, day 13.
We made it, we’re in Laos.
Thailand is just a bunch of memories now, fading out to the edge of our brains, travelling our synapses to become a blurry and overwhelming entity first, and then myth.
It seems like we won’t be able to return anytime soon as more and more countries are shutting down their borders in the desperate attempt to contain the disease.
The Mekong is exactly how I’d picture a mythological boat trip through the purgatory,
a dense haze of pollution, dust and ash coming from several wild fires in the distant jungle.
The red sun is pale and high in the white sky. The myst is swallowing us and everything else around. On the edge pictures from another universe fade in and out, figures of humans washing their clothes, bathing, fishing and looking after their cattle. Children playing, screaming and running wildly.
Life is really happening down there, beyond the edge of this bizarre dream named Mekong, and then us on this deserted boat, in silence.