Escape From Bangkok: Flooding at Ridiculous O' Clock

Monsoon season carnage

About last night…

A few friends had rolled into town so we ventured out to a local nightspot - the packed out open air W district market in Phrakanong, Bangkok. Full of delicious eateries, from spicy Thai dishes to Lebanese, Mexican, and Indian curries. Plenty of staff for table service, the Regency brandy bottles flowing onto our table with soda mixers and buckets of ice. A grand old time catching up with plenty of laughs, reminiscing of days past; great company and stimulating conversation.

The rains came down swiftly and without warning. Torrential does not do it justice. We moved to huddle beneath a canopy by the bar, yet still we were lashed by the downpour, strong winds whipping our bodies, which quickly became saturated from head to toe. The sky cracked open with a deafening roar, akin to a bomb going off. The thunder boomed as the earth shook, lightning flashes lit up our surroundings with effervescent illumination. People looked fearful. The rainy season had officially arrived in all its vengeance and glory.

We moved 30meters away seeking shelter in a nearby indoors bar, but initially opted to stand outside perched on the pavement for fear of catching hypothermia should we enter the airconditioned rave. Thais trickled past the roadside on motorbikes clogged up with swamp water and god knows what else, spluttering and splattering through the waist-deep cesspit, conking out, floating adrift, ushering in total carnage.

More Thais began to appear with a smattering of tourists interwoven between the hordes of night-prowling party-going refugees in our new water-world. They bravely waded through floating bins, sewage, dangerous debris, and unknown sharp objects to reach the promised land of higher ground and available taxi ranks.

Still, we stayed longer.

2am.

A bin floated past with a stranded gecko lizard on the handle. We formed a human chain and rescued the little fella - Jeffrey was to be his name. He clung to my friend’s shoulder as we danced through Armageddon by the Dj booth to electro, techno, trance, and deep house beats.

The water began to come into the bar, spelling a watery doom approaching, apocalyptic scenes all around.

The bar trap:

The sole of my left shoe came detached as I danced onwards through oblivion. Shots of tequila were placed in my reaching hands, the room was hazy from the copious amounts of cannabis being smoked by revelers sat down on the leather upholstery.

Bizarre and unapolagetic hedonism with a strange shared intimacy amongst total strangers riding out the storm.

Yet the storm never passed.

3am. We laboured to drape my weary wife’s arms around our shoulders and reformed our human train. Into the abyss we went, plunging knee deep into the khlong watered streets at first. One foot in front of the other. Pot holes and rubbish floating all around us. Horrendous.

Within minutes both my leather shoes completely disintegrated. I ditched the remaining patches of footwear and soldiered on in my socks.

Intense debate ensued on how best to traverse the chaos and land ourselves the holy grail of both a willing and available taxi driver. Sukhumvit road was a disaster zone. Fires burned brightly out of metal bins as locals huddled around to keep warm. It resembled the Escape from New York movie. Pedestrians had to negotiate the pavement with a constant stream of motorcycles chugging along with their headlights dazzling us, cockroaches crawled over our bodies as we flicked them away, whilst maneuvering out of the path of oncoming rats swimming downstream.

Alas, we found a taxi. 500 baht up front (meter price usually 35 THB). We took it. He rolled the windows down and refused to put the aircon on inside the vehicle, as it may have overheated the car, which was submerged over the wheel archways. We took in the aroma of the swamp enveloping us and spied multiple groups of forlorn, stranded ravers in their best clothes, fiercely negotiating their own taxi deals or in some instances persuading random motorcyclists to take a chance with them on the back.

4am. We neared home, having never been so grateful for a hot shower and a change of clothes.

It reminded me of the great floods of 2011 in Thailand.

Hell of a night.

Waiting for the climate alarmists to have a field day with this, despite the Thai media promoting El Nino and droughts all year so far.

Narrative smashed.

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Nicholas Creed is a Bangkok based drowned rat who occasionally gets trapped during mini apocalypses in monsoon season.

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