Monsoon Mindset

I thought from living in Thailand that I knew the monsoon. Turns out I was not even close.

Next door, in Bangkok, people refer to the “civil servant rains.” Meaning: a heavy shower begins mid-afternoon, after the bureaucrats have safely returned from lunch. This downpour drenches everything, brings traffic to a crawl, and sometimes backs up the sewers for an hour or two, but it does nothing to interrupt the lives of the desk jockeys. Many of them may not even realize that the torrent has come and gone, working as they do in windowless rooms. By the time they’re ready to drive home, the sun has come out again and the roads have cleared.

That’s how rainy season works in Thailand. You can almost set your watch by it.

Here in central Myanmar, you gotta think about things like, “Did my pillow mold?” “Is my phone wrapped in plastic?” “Has my passport grown fur?”

ImustsweartoGod the rain in Yangon doesn’t let up. Morning, noon, night. We are talking about a deluge, not a cloudburst. Endless, persistent, continuous, interminable, and uninterrupted.

People who arrive here from elsewhere bearing leather goods end up giving them away. Belts and purses turn green when not used daily.

I’ve heard that some folks leave their home air conditioners on all day, even when they’re at work, because they believe the slight wind keeps mold away. Even if they’re right, it’s an idea that most people here can’t afford. More often, living with the monsoon involves scrubbing the walls with a vinegar solution, wearing damp clothes, carrying extra umbrellas, stashing spare rubber shoes at frequent destinations in case a swollen street swallows one up, and adjusting the attitude. In other words, deal with it.

This last task hasn’t come easy to me. Maybe next year I’ll find my way to a monsoon mindset.