An Irishman named Neil boarded the minibus, already drinking at 9am, with a clinking plastic bag bulging with Chang beer bottles, and a toothy grin on his face.
The slow boat collided softly with the tyres bound to the ferry port at Luang Prabang, and the tourist horde disembarked, stretching and yawning. Caramel waves chased each other down the Mekong like energetic children playing tag. It was nice to have finally arrived.
I once met a German in Thailand, settled into the life of a long term traveller, lingering in his hotel, in no rush to do anything. He declared that his goal for the day was to cut his toenails; he never got around to it. When asked why, he replied “hurry makes worry”.