You take a plane to Thailand. You take another plane to the north of the country. You drive for two hours until you reach the border. You cross that border, the Mekong river, in a small boat.
You take a tuktuk taxi until you reach the point where you embark on a slowboat. You spend nine hours on that boat, after which you reach a tiny village against the steep hillside bank, deep in the middle of the Indochina subcontinent.
And what is the first thing you see?
A day after this odd encounter, I am still puzzled. How does a plaster cast of Brussels’ most famous inhabitant end up in this tremendously beautiful but godforsaken place. Anyway, it made me feel welcome.
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