Trat

My version of myself as a radiation impregnated mutant superhero.  This is how I pass the time whilst doing nothing in my lovely town of Trat.

Time passes slowly here, as sedately as the sluggish flow of the river inn front of my guesthouse. I am lulled into the barely moving tempo, my day set to no faster than an adagio, paced and stately. There is nothing to do and nothing that requires doing. I read my book down by the river, sheltering from the late afternoon sun, sitting under the bridge like a troll. I wander the amulet stalls by the city Wat, chatting with the vendors and comparing the virtues of the luck that is on sale for anyone who needs it. With my small purchase of a beaded cord which hangs my new amulet safely from my neck, I stroll to the market for a coffee or a bowl of noodles. Sitting amongst the Thai locals, sharing my simple meal at the common table, market life moves on apace, vegetables, meats and fishes all laid out in their appointed place.

Today, the first day of the year, the town of Trat is even more somnambulant than usual. Many of the shops are shuttered, their roll up doors firmly down. The Thai folks are cooking, eating, sitting around in laughing groups.

I play at idle thoughts, watching them hover about and float away. Setting aside my book, I smoke and let the flow of the river pace my heart. A man armed with a long section of pipe walks along the river promenade, pushing at palm fronds in the water to set them slowly adrift on their way to the Gulf of Thailand. We exchange greetings and big smiles. He is working, barely, as if in a slow motion dance. No energy wasted and all the time in the world.

Playing with the iPad, I make up a new version of myself from a self portrait, my vision of myself as a mutant superhero, blasted by radiation. This keeps me amused for an entire evening.

There is the constant call of swifts, always in the background of my hearing, but it is the recording of bird calls, played on a loop over speakers. The song is to call in the real swifts to nest in an abandoned building so that their nests can be harvested for the consumers of that flavourless soup, an expensive delicacy. I sit on my balcony and watch the tiny swifts flash by in the evening light, feeding on mosquitos. As I do nothing, my own personal gecko pounces on an insect near my feet, keeping me safe. What will I do without the sound of the gecko's call, that joking question that is a constant here?

Tonight, my last in Trat, I will walk over to the open air bocce ball courts and watch the Thais play under the lights clouded with insects. Tomorrow I leave for the islands, my last stops before heading on to the Big Mango. First Ko Chang, busy with tourists and beach bars, but only in transit. The destination if Ko Wai, a tiny, quiet island that only has electricity a few hours a day, and not much else.

Now the day has set and the evenings music is drifting over the tops of the buildings. I will wander out into the warmth of the evening and drift through the last hours remaining here.
All is well.