As soon as I left the hut, the elements hit me, especially the cold, it brought me back down to earth.

The sky had something unreal about it, too powerful for words; the stars had that spiritual dimension they should always have retained.

It was winter, and the winter skies in the jungle of the golden triangle allow a more powerful and faster ascent to the creator than any other sky I have known; one can pick up the stars and put them in one's pocket.

Were they the stars that pierced me? I could no longer bear to be stuck on this ground; I had to get out of it, find a way, escape this dream that was becoming reality.

I was walking towards the exit of the village, trying to no longer hear the men's voices from beyond the grave, as if a wild demon had ravaged the entire village.

It was then that, in the distance, I saw a fire, shadows that were dancing, as I approached I saw that they were Akha women, all dressed in black, they had gathered together to escape their loneliness and the curse of opium that struck their homes.

As they saw me approaching, they stared at me respectfully and with their fingertips pointed to a stone that could serve as my seat.

One of them beckoned me over and I decided to take out my Leica, to attempt a portrait of her face illuminated by the flame of the large fire.

© Asia Slow Travel