In Thailand, standing on the borders of three countries proved more powerful to those with me whose parents had to cross this border under the threat of death 40 years earlier.
I stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a windy, muddy river coming into view from my left. It meandered its way across my line of sight until meeting another, larger river perpendicularly. This truer river, clearer in direction and color, came into view from the distant horizon straight ahead and continued toward me until veering out of view past my right shoulder. Between the rivers, of course, was land.
Beyond the windy river from my left was a bank of tall grass. Further back were a few trees, and in the distance were green hills as a backdrop for this empty, low-laying plot. On the right hand side of the larger river coming toward me was a similarly gradual bank with trees beyond and hills in the distance. This bank, however, featured some buildings and development that stayed consistent all along its edge.
On the edge of my bank, I saw only the drop and plants clinging to the top of this boundary before the descent to the rivers below.
And it was a boundary. In fact there were three made by the two rivers: the windy Ruak River straight below and the mighty Mekong River coming toward me.
I was standing in Thailand. The bank of low-laying tall grass to my left was Burma. The built-upon bank along the larger river was Laos.
One point. Three countries.
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