Happy Loi Krathong!

I should get some sleep this afternoon because I sure won't get much tonight -- not if yesterday's pre-festival partying is any indication.

It's Tuesday just before midnight and Loi Krathong isn't until tomorrow, but the sidewalks along the river are already jammed with revelers and vendors selling floral candle floats, fire lanterns and all manner of street chow. Live musical performances bleed into one another as we walk, punctuated by the bam-bam-bam of firecrackers and the occasional ka-BOOM of M-80s, which set off car alarms up and down the road. The night sky is dotted with constellations of soft orange light as fire lanterns float in unison silently southward.

Lian and I fight our way through this crush to reach the Buddhist temple across Narawat Bridge. We are toting bagfuls of nonperishable donation food for the monks, who are lined up along the sidewalk with their beggar's bowls ready to receive. (Is there a holiday in this country that doesn't  involve these moochers getting their taste?) Lian transfers the contents of our plastic Rimping Market bags into her decorative metal donation bowl -- "is polite more" -- slips off her sandals and kneels in reverence before approaching the dole line. I hang back and guard the footwear.

Nothing gets in but sound, and every torrential downpour.

At home, long into the night we hear the muffled thump-thump from the music stage across the river ... and the not-muffled yips and coos of the young lady upstairs entertaining her gentleman caller. I should mention, the back windows in our apartment building have no glass, only bug screens and cyclone fencing for security. Do we know our neighbors? Like you wouldn't care to imagine!

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There is a growing body of evidence that I might be a spoiled brat:




She is muttering: "You take photo MAID, la kaa?  Am maid you, chai-mai, MISTER William?"

In my own defense, I did buy her the best mop in the store.