I'm currently sitting on the roof of the boat. From up here, the Mekong river is one wide expanse of water. It's not difficult to see how this great river supports the whole of Indochine (to borrow the French word). Along the river, villages encroach timidly upon its banks. Little bridges straddle little tributaries that drain into the Mekong; like gates into another world of small villages.
Louis and Martinez (who were also couchsurfing at Steve's while I was there) take out their guitars and entertain us with a mix of English and Spanish songs as we pass the morning by. The engine roars deafeningly - so loud that I can't even think. It causes the boat to shudder and vibrate beneath me. The other tourists can't stand it. Myself? It doesn't particularly bother me. At least now I can concentrate on the view.
At every passing village, children run out of their houses right up to the edge of the riverbank to wave at us. As we wave back, their smiles grow from ear to ear. Some jump up and down excitably whilst others dance around maniacally. The commotion causes the adults to pause at whatever it is they're doing: fishing, mending nets and boats, washing clothes and utensils, or preparing dinner. I guess being this far away from anything, a boat-load of tourists must provide some respite from the monotony of their lives.
As dusk approaches, young herders lead their cows down to the river. The scorching heat gives way to a gentle cool as both man and animal bathe in the calming waters of the river.
***
A white crack of lightning and it starts to pour. A five-second run for cover and I'm drenched. My first instinct is to save my journal - funny. In the van, we pass smooth green fields by. The distant woods are shrouded in mist and it isn't hard to imagine a mysterious ancient civilization hidden in such a beguiling country.
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