Some where, some time >> Travel: Laos, Myanmar, Thailand 02

Sunset, sunrise. Sunset over the Mekong. Sunrise over the Irrawaddy.

Water, water everywhere. Cramped like sardines, with a barrel of flammable fluid at one end and a monk at the other. On a two-day trip down the Mekong, the swirling waters barely half a rule below our opened windows.

Cramped again, in a well-travelled bus sharing space with one mobile stall, two pots of hot food, sacks of rice doubling as foot rests and cheerful faces too many to count. At least we are not seating on the roof, with the bicycles.

Not cramped now, but taking a horse cart down a muddy track in the rain. Reaching the latest ruin to gaze through the slight mist at old stones resting in bucolic tranquility.

From cart to bus. Seating across an affable man, smartly-dressed in soldier's suit, and his missus, decked out in a vibrant three-piece. For the man, his belt spots a row of bullets and holster where a handgun nestles. For the woman, she carries a shiny handbag and wears gold jewellery that glitters. For the man, he has additional ammunition in the form of a rifle. He slides it under their seat.

A bus halts in the early hours of the morning. We stagger out of the vehicle, rubbing our hands in the frigid air. No street lights on the road, just an inky dome that is the night sky, lit by winking stars as far as the eye can see. Everyone, however, is more interested in a hot drink, perhaps with a bite to eat. No one looks at the stars. Except the squatting monk. And two city-slickers dazzled by the sparkling night sky.

Night again, now in town, the starlight dimmed somewhat (but still visible) by its neon competitor. In a local restaurant wolfing down a salad. Fresh, cold watercress, tangy lemon juice and creamy hard-boiled eggs are the stars in this feast for the tastebuds. At the next table, our Caucasian neighbours are eating fries and fried chicken.

Another meal, this time in a rickety shack overlooking the Mekong. Across, the atmospheric Pak Ou Caves with its miniscule landing surrounded by long-tailed boats, like devoted fans gathering around a star. Throughout our lunch, boats glide in and boats slide out, each with their load of camera-touting tourists. Lunch is simple, sweet and salty sticky rice from the morning market, fish flakes contributed by our Japanese friends and bananas from us. Talk flows, my fingers get used to the unfamiliar feel of kneading rice into small balls for bite-size consumption. Beautiful scenery, interesting companions, culinary sensation, this meal is over too quickly.

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