Ghostdance

Half aware of the sound of cowbells ringing in the pre dawn light, too tired to fully waken, a herd of cattle, a dream? Eyes open towards faint light spilling in through the window and sleep returns. A couple of hours later, awake, showered and drinking coffee, bag packed and ready to head off towards the station, hope for a songthew towards Kenethao. 

On the street groups of figures wearing masks, cowbells hanging from their waists, clanging; a poster says 4th - 9th of March, a festival but I've no idea what it's about, more masks gathering, waving cheerfully as I walk down the street, more people joining and then they set off clanging along the backroads as we continue up in our way towards the border.

The internet eventually informs me that its the Phi Tha Khon festival, dancing with the ghosts. Boun phavet, Buddhist merit making, protection from the ghosts in the eyes of others. I wonder if that was the reason for the market, the opening festivities, wish I'd been aware of it...

Sometimes I think that we all travel with ghosts, voices quietened by death or departure, the residual pasts merging with the present as we continue upon our path.

At the bus station a songthew, half full, going to Kenethao soon. Tickets bought we clamber on board, I'm given a surgical mask to wear, a thumbs up from a young girl, everyone else wearing them, the virus reaching out across the planet, a wave of unease gathering upon each horizon. And then on into another landscape, rolling hills and dry streams, I think of the Borders, more familiarity in these places, melancholy spilling down gentle slopes rolling across the eyes, leaving; today or tomorrow back to Thailand, a week and it's back to Taipei. Too soon, too quickly Laos falling behind our steps, retreating once again into the illusions of memory.

Kenethaw another border town, a few guesthouses, a beautiful panorama of hills above it. But it's not the time, or maybe something else, that it's a moving day, the first of two towards Chiang Khan, the further we get the less tomorrow holds. And tomorrow the visa expires, so no time to linger, to explore, practicality trumps romance and we find a tuk tuk towards the border, meet a friendly cat, and continue towards Loie, there to seek a bed.

Kenethao offers no reason to linger, a border town, a plate of rice and egg and a tuk tuk to the crossing, shortening the journey tomorrow, moving on. We arrive in Tha Li, another journey towards Loei, the fifth of the day, arriving at 1630, there's a songthew to Chiang Khan at five but we don't get it, remaining in the anonymity of the city, finding a cheap hotel, expensive food, nothing to see or do here but sleep, wait for the morning to brighten upon the road out.

Through the same picturesque landscape we've travelled the morning into a different country, another random line sketched in old blood upon a map. Similarity and difference, dry rice fields and mountains, summits reaching up into the realm of clouds laid low above them; the hammer and sickle replaced by portraits of the new king as monarchy replaces the republic.

And then Loei, a hub, stark and anonymous, a place to work or pass through, a big modern city. We find a cafe Amazon, as much for Wi-Fi as coffee, check for a nearby bed, outside its already getting dark, traffic passing beneath the streetlights, scant figures gathering in small eateries. We find a hotel, modern and cheap, five minutes walk and check in. Another day fallen behind, Laos resumed to memory.