Last night the power went out. I walked back to my bungalow, streets pitch black lit by the candlelit tables of sidewalk restaurants and the headlamps of passing motorbikes. Without the town lights, the sky was splattered with stars, some bright and others a distant dusty powder, but hardly an inch just black and starless.
The insects or frogs wound up to a loud, vibrating hum, like a whining motor that's vibrating too fast to hear each click. Another species chimed in with a hollow, guttural whine until the whole night was clicking, whining, purring and croaking. And then would all sputtered and cut out to start up again minutes later. Laughter and single plucked guitar notes from a far off bar carried in the echoing silences between the vibrating choruses.
I read by candlelight. The rooster started at 3am. I don't know who said that roosters crows at dawn. This has been disproved time and again, from Cambodia all the way through Vietnam, Laos and now Thailand. Roosters only shut up between midnight and 2am. The rest of the time, they crow. Loudly.
Today was an easy, hot day. I baked in the sun by the pool. Ate sweet and sour vegetables in the shade. Started a new book which I put down in a puddle by mistake. The back cover and last 50 pages are damp and stuck together. The sky is white and edged with pink as the sun goes down. The air is dry and smells of dinner being fried in oil. Mopeds putter by and somewhere a car radio is playing Asian pop (what else) with a tribal beat. Dogs have unpeeled themselves from the sidewalk (where they spend their days) and are running alongside bikes, scrounging for food. There are lots of flowy, printed clothes behind me for sale. A coke is 25 cents and comes in a long neck bottle. A Chang Beer is 70 cents and comes in a very big bottle. Dinner is calling.
