I've had it up to HERE!

     A police officer sat down on a stool next to us at the bar as we started to eat a well deserved lunch. He smiled.

     "New river." He said looking towards the road with a small laugh.

     We were informed that the days weather was unusual.

     When you first arrive some place you tend to except all the oddities, be it the customs, food, or weather, at face value: so this is what they mean by monsoon season - apparently it wasn't. The rain I had chatted about earlier as setting a backdrop for a wonderful night of sleep continued into the afternoon. When Jackie arrived back from her school, full of stories, I still hadn't left the room (outside of my fantastic breakfast), so I didn't know the condition of Patong.

     With Jackie home and nothing else to do, but think about trying some more delicious Thai food, we set out for lunch. 

     The streets outside of Sea Blue Hostel and Guesthouse were flooded. They weren't terribly flooded, but definiantly overrun with water. Tuk-tuk drivers, hidden under their blue ponchos, drug their feet through the water as they plowed through the flooded street on their mopeds. We splashed across in our flip flops, keeping to the wet, but unflooded sidewalks, as we made our way toward the center of town. As we approached Rat-U-Thit Song Roi Pee road the more dramatic effects of the rain became clear.

     The rain obviously being melodramatic about the whole having nowhere to go thing, like a college kid several weeks after commencement, wasn't about to hinder our search for lunch. In fact it seemed to be offering us quite the opportunity for an adventure, as well as a fantastic way to contract a variety of tropical diseases. 

     With the small river forged, Jackie and I took a short cut through the shopping mall and appeared on the other side about as wet as when we had entered.We had assumed that it was just Rat-U-Thit Song Roi Pee road that was in trouble and how very wrong we were. It soon became clear that besides for a patches of high ground the entire city was awash. Sticking to the side walks we were managing to to stay mostly shin deep in water.

     The city was taking the weather in stride. Trucks and vans fearlessly drove through the rivers and the firemen were out helping Thais and farangs (tourists) alike cross the street. The stable arms and legs of Patong's civil servants were necessary, because the streets had turned into honest, swiftly flowing rivers and the side walks,  hidden under the muddied waters, seemed keen on stubbing toes and tripping up those of us who were still out and about.

     In all this drama it was nice to see many of the dead-eyed tourists, the recently deemed empty bags of flesh, take sight of their surroundings and engage them. Not all of them were able to rise to the occasion, some were still bent over a morning beer seemingly curing a hangover,  but some were and that seemed to be a start.  A couple of them even smiled as they watched Jackie and I posing for pictures with our umbrella or inside the phone booth. 

    One of the many striking features of Patong are the farangs. They give off an unsatisfied zombie like aura. Not all of them, but a range of thirty year old white men and their older counter parts seem to stalk the city. It's unnerving and disconcerting.You have the distinct feeling that they are displeased by the presence of other farangs and by not looking at you, you cease to exist. Then again perhaps it is more out of some sort of drunken stupor or shame that they avoid your eyes; my guess is that Patong isn't known as Sin City without a reason. However, if it is compared to Vegas one more time I will go on a rampage. If this was Vegas I wouldn't be so hard up for work. Honestly though, perhaps the farangs lack of acknowledgement of each other is more noticeable due to their contrast with the Thais. Thailand is known as "The Land of Smiles" and thus far Jackie and I have found little proof that it should be said otherwise (though I personally think it should also be known as "The Land of Mopeds"). The amount of eye contact and smiling that Jackie and I have a tendency for back home seems so perfectly in place here. For every one of our smiles or laughs there is one given in return.

     Back to the our poor flooding city, which one would at first assume is no laughing matter. Bags of sand were stacked military style in front of the open faced store fronts, blocking the lapping waters that stretched over the sidewalks from entering. The women in the massage parlors, standing in groups of five or six, wearing matching brightly colored uniforms, call out to us as we slosh down the side walk, our toes clinging to our flip-flops. Half jokingly they invite us in. Store keepers ask us if we are still shopping, always with a sly, knowing smile. Despite the good nature of the people towards the event our trudging journey was beginning to wear on us. The immediate and  adventurous aspects of the flooding had run its course and now it was time to actually find a place to eat. Finally we located a operating restaurant and scored seats at the bar. It was at this bar, while making quick work of a coke and plate of Pad Thai, that the police officer jokingly pointed out the coursing river to us.