A disaster area

It started with a dark cloud in the horizon, slowing coming towards the bay from the sea. The open-air house I shared with Pink and JJ had a wonderful view, sitting high up on the jungled hill. We'd lived there for four wonderful days, but seeing the clouds made us worry. A house with no walls is great on sunny days, but we knew not how it would hold up in a storm. We aroused from the lethargy of our great music and conversation to put down the plastic flaps, which are surprisingly good at keeping things dry. Our two open walls were covered fine, save one section of the front that was broken; leaving a small opening in the top right corner.

The rain hit, but it wasn't too bad. Our house stayed dry and it let up to a light sprinkle by the time I had to walk to work. It was raining the next morning as well. Normally, I head down to Beam shortly after my cup of coffee, but with the steady rain, I chose to finish my book and have a couple extra cups. The second day's rain kept me inside, chilling with my friends, which was really not too different than any other day. Work was dead; few chose to brave the rain. That night, I could feel something building though. The peaceful rain became more ominous; the sky darker than normal. I'd heard rumors of a storm, but on a tropical island, there are always rumors of a storm with any drop of rain. It vacillated between steady rain and downpour, and during one lighter stretch, I asked Gae if I could leave early to not get too wet. He complied, but the rain picked up immediately. I stripped into my underwear and walked home, soaking.

I awoke in the middle of the night; the wind was howling, but it wasn't the wind that stirred me from my slumber; the plastic flaps were slamming against the wall of the hour furiously. I sprung up and tied them down the best I could. The rain was falling at rates I'd never seen. Fat drops like from exploding water balloons were falling so fast, I wondered if it was possible to swim through the air. I tried my best to sleep, but found it impossible. The rain didn't let up the next morning. I procrastinated breakfast as long as I could, hoping the rain would stop. Eventually, we lost power, so no electric kettle, and even with the windows shut and flaps down, the wind kept blowing the out flame of the gas burner. After my fourth cup of cold, instant coffee, I was too jittery to survive without food and braved the short walk to Beam.

I'd never seen the restaurant so filled. Every resident of the nearby bungalows were entrenched, some wrapped in blankets, all wore sweaters. I'd never seen most of the people wearing more than beachwear. A man I'd never met had set up a few bongo drums, which he played with wild vigor. Many were dancing around the restaurant to the beats, smiling, making the most of the insanely rainy day. I took my normal seat and prepared for another day inside. It seemed less fun than normal though; even though I did the same thing on sunny days, I liked having the option of leaving. None of us went to work that day; word from one brave soul said it was closed anyway.

The next day offered no relief. The downpour had now been going on for 36 hours. I couldn't comprehend that the air could still drop precipitation. When I walked to Beam, even more people crammed in. Some of the hermits who lived on the hill found their homes flooded, unable to handle so many days of constant rain. The morale had sunk only a little; many were just annoyed, especially those on two weeks vacations, finding their beach holiday spent inside. JJ had brought his guitar from the house, so we spent much of the day singing songs, doing our best to stay happy. We had one customer that night at Spice.



The next few days all blurred together. The downpour slowly let up after the fourth day, but the rain continued for a solid week. On day four, the food started running low; not that we were going hungry, we just didn't have many choices...potatoes were the first to go, followed by fresh coconuts and most disastrously, Oreos, but the coconuts were not a loss: cold weather yields little desire for its magic hydration. Nobody was going anywhere. I only left to attend work. Even the short walk to Spice was dangerous, trees were falling everywhere. My coworker Stu had missed being creamed by a coconut tree on the way to work by inches.


We all became quite close those days. One day, we started a massage parlor. Michelle, Cara, Rob, and I were all taking turns giving each other rub downs. It was quite a nice experience on both sides of this deal. We weren't the only ones. With a bay full of massage therapists, the upstairs area of Beam always had somebody face-down on a mat for most of the storm.

One night, trapped by the rain and the late nights socializing, I was invited by my friend Michelle to spend the night on her giant bed in the big dorm; all others were taken by the refugees. We awoke holding hands and finding it quite nice, we decided to start some romance. Given my new lack of fear of being close to other people again, it was quite lovely to find some physical closeness in such depressing circumstances. Everyone seemed to be cuddling anyway, a natural reaction to the close quarters and cold weather. Michelle and I continued to date until we both left the island and we plan to meet in Laos in the near future.

It was impossible for laundry. In a bay void of luxuries like dryers, we were all forced to were our dirty clothes. Most of things became moldy, including my hiking boots which I needed to chuck. The day before the rain started, I was already down to my last clothes. We all played the game of finding our least damp sarongs and shirts, after a while, we just got used to the smell of dampness and feeling of being wet.

I abandoned the house for good after a point; the small hole in the plastic flaps were enough to saturate the whole house; it happened slowly, but after the third day of downpour, Beam was a much better option for sleeping. The beds were all wet; there was precious little floor room that was not waterlogged. The dorm was slightly better, though many people had ceased even walking the few steps to the toilet, choosing to urinate in a bucket that lived on the balcony.

When the rain hits the bay, even slightly, the internet and phone reception disappears. We had no contact with the outside world. For all we knew, there could be nuclear war; we also didn't know how bad the storm truly was or how long it was going to last. Our best hope was it wasn't a crisis that would worry our families at home. The boats were not running for days; the road had washed out. We were all trapped. Many missed flights. Every once in a while, we'd hear rumors that the military was evacuating the neighboring islands Koh Samui and Koh Tao.

Finally, exactly one week after it started, the rain stopped. First the downpour tapered to just a steady drizzle. Some people tried to escape, only to return, finding that nobody was leaving the islands, except by the emergency helicopter and aircraft carriers that had evacuated the nearby areas due to massive floods. If they could have caught boats to the mainland, they'd find themselves trapped in Suratthani anyway. The mainland was devastated, roads flooded, all transportation halted. Thailand had been declared a disaster area.

We were lucky to be in such a secluded bay, because the damage was quite minimal compared to everywhere else. There was no flooding except for some odd houses. My first walk in the post-rain through the familiar palm grove was surreal. A large percentage of the trees had fallen, I lost count after forty. Some huts had been destroyed by the falling trees, but most were fine. We were lucky.

Saturday was the first day of sun and there was no better day to usher the warmth. The whole bay convened on Guy's Bar for the weekly morning party. We all had so much energy to blow, nobody stayed sitting. The dance floor was a mass of wiggling bodies, loving the first good sweat in a week. We were all alive in our disaster area.