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I rose this morning at the same time as the sun and was in a position to admire its ascent over the Mekong River. Through the dawn light everything appeared a hazy purple. A light mist lay over the water and through this punctured the fiery disk of the sun. It was the same dusky orange as a bonfire in its dying stages, yet as its position in the sky grew higher, so did its vibrancy and within a matter of moments this almost etherial period between light and dark was shattered into day.
This early start was my last in Thailand until I have to fly out of Bangkok on the 22nd of May as today I ventured into Laos.
As I write I am sat on a boat of roughly sixty foot by twelve foot which I am sharing only with the other seven people on my tour, drifting down river through some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever been fortunate enough to witness. The river itself snakes its way along with the power and girth of an ocean, its turbulent depths punctuated by jagged rocks which protrude like the barred teath of a dog, ready to bite any boat that ventures too close. Above this rises great dunes of sand, deposited after the monsoons when the river swells to be ten meters higher than it currently is. These golden shores in turn give way to the mountainous jungle. The green leaves of the canopy are as delicate as butterflys' wings and diaphanous as amber. The trunks and branches to which they belong ebony fingers which gracefully extend into the pastel blue sky. Either side of this scene ones view is obscured by the towering spires of the hills which mark the extremities of the river valley. This cutting off from all humanity is oppressively liberating and gives the illusion of time itself having stopped, due to the extinction of its relevance.
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