The beginning

I'm standing knee deep in water, all my worldly processions jammed into Dad's big pack and strapped to my back, its substantial weight trying its dammist to pull me backwards. I retie my skirt even further up my thigh, gingerly inch my Jelly-clad foot forward in a search for a stable footing, and step off the curb. Instantly the water level rises to mid-calf. I catch sight of myself in the mirror of a nearby bridal store and laugh; laden with goods, hair in disarray, surrounded my muddy water and floating trash, its definitely not my most attractive moment.

Onwards I trudge, slowly following Cait's determined back though the swollen streets. A middle aged couple playing with a motorized toy boat wave at me as I pass. An old lady and her granddaughter sit curled up on a sidewalk bench, watching floating trash and adventurous neighbors slowly pass their little island. They hail us, asking where we are from. 'America!' Cait yells from across the street, to which a chorus of muttered "oh, America!" from the duo and their relatives, who are now hanging out of the upstairs window, reply, as if that explains everything.

10 minutes later, and I can see my destination ahead. Cait stops on the edge of the unseen curb and we say our goodbyes before she turns around and starts trudging back to the motorbike, which we parked a mile back on (relatively) higher ground. Its a sad but not teary farewell, for though we have no specific plans, we both know in our gut we'll see each other again. (cheers Cait!)

I stand on the curb for a minute, taking in the scene, before stepping off again into what in drier times functions as a roundabout. Up ahead what looks like an upside down tin roof comes floating around the corner, pushed by a gangle of dirty teenage boys. A pregnant women clad in white stands demurely in the middle. The boys call out as they pass; the women smiles slyly, hand resting on her belly. I wave as I turn into the higher and drier bus station grounds.

Goodbye Chaiyaphum.