No room at the inn, part two

Another plan gone astray, the landlady informing us that, tonight, we can't keep our room, an arriving tour party landing in the middle of our plan to stay another night before the long road south. Packing again, reluctant to go searching, the bus back down to Sam Neua passing the crossroads in a couple of hours, but time to get breakfast and so back down for a plate of puris and masala. 

"You are leaving today?" Prakesh asks me.

"No room at the guesthouse tonight." I reply.

"Wait one minute." He tells me, taking his phone and making a call. "There are rooms for 60000." 

He beckons me to follow him, points out a motorbike 200m away. We walk down, a lake opening up on the right hand side, white wooden arms upon concrete stilts stepping out into the water, the guesthouse, I can't pause the smile spreading across my face. Entering a large communal area I see, beneath the open windows, a log boat, two people and a fishing net upon it. The room is basic, holes in the thin wooden walls, but enough to allow another day, to postpone the bus to Vientiane and the border.

Taking a room, sitting by an open window, a cool breeze blowing in off the water, the heat gathering upon its margins, a place for a rest day, a pause before the first step upon the long journey south.

From the window I watch the log boat float upon the water, long bamboo poles hitting down upon the surface, splashes upwards, sending ripples out across the surface of the lake. And today becomes one of rest, the afternoon drifting by upon the water, slow changing tones replacing the constant clock.

Tonight there's a scattering of wispy clouds above us, no sunset but perhaps an afterglow, enough of a reason to move, to wander along a road still untrodden, lingering in the reflection of the hill darkened waters as the night gathers me in its embrace, the moon and early stars glittering above.

Moving back into town, time to eat, I pass an artificial football pitch, six or seven a side beneath lights, skills on show, tricks and flicks as the game merges from sport to dance and then one of the nets ripples as the ball finds it. It's unexpected, as are the skill levels shown, a couple of them leaving me smiling and shaking my head as their opponents are left bewildered in their wake.

Along the road once again children gathered at tables, lit by small lights in the dust, gatherings alongside some of them, more memories of other places, that familiarity surging once again as I pass by, a transient shape beneath the pale and occasional streetlights.

I pause at a small shop, enter into a conversation, ask why so few people come here. "It's in the mountains, too far, the roads are twisty." I smile, think that it's a small price to pay to find this place and resume the walk along these darkened roads towards my evening meal.