The Approaching Storm

Living in flat suburbs on the West coast of the US most of my life more often than not my view of the sky was the small portion immediately overhead - either blue, grey, laced with thin clouds or occasionally dark rain clouds that would wet things on and off for a few days, at the most.

Thailand is a different story. I've seen majestic thunderheads piled thousands of feet high over Bangkok for days at a time; sometimes just for the afternoon and/or evening, sometimes from morning 'til night. Seemingly within minutes the humidity rises, the sultry air gets "thick" and suddenly they open, unleashing torrential downpours that can thoroughly saturate everything they cover in mere seconds.

Late one afternoon I was awakened from a nap by a loud BOOM unfamiliar to me; making me think housekeeping was slamming a supply room door nearby or someone had knocked over a large piece of furniture in the room above me. As the boom turned into a prolonged rumble (and I became fully awake) I recognized it as thunder; a sound I hadn't heard so loudly or close for over a decade.

Just as I reached the windows and grabbed the heavy curtains to open them there was a sudden flash, bright enough to penetrate the lined fabric and light much of the room, making a bright corona-like ring of light around the closed draperies. Almost immediately there was another concussive blast of thunder - a sharp crack, followed by a deep, booming rumble that faded as it traveled over the city.

Looking down at the Ratchathewi BTS station I could see the edge of the wall of rain maybe three miles away, moving towards me rather like the billowing all-consuming clouds of dust you might see raging across a desert. From my dry perch it looked to be many miles wide, and it moved quickly, driven by the wind that had both the Thai and yellow "Royal" flags both standing straight out on their rooftop flagpoles, looking as though they'd been starched and ironed.

As the edge of the front got closer I could see less and less of the city as rain covered building after building. First the more distant skyline and soon Baiyoke tower faded and disappeared along with the buildings around it, less than a mile away. Soon I saw people covering their heads on the nearby streets, ducking for cover or moving indoors. Folks moved further under the roof of the BTS station and just as quickly drops that seemed to be the size of ten "normal" raindrops combined began to strike the window in front of me.

Pelting it might be a better description, because in no time at all it was as if someone had turned a hose on it as the rain became torrential and again a bright flash of nearby lightning illuminated the entire visible sky, refracted by the dense raindrops. The thunderclap was almost instantaneous, the concussion causing my plate glass window to vibrate like a bass drum against my fingertips.

My view heavily obscured by the downpour I stood and watched the streets 15 floors below me fill with water within minutes; traffic slowing as the water deepened until even at a slower pace their tires sent thick sheets of water up alongside their fenders and far up onto the sidewalks as pedestrians jumped, trying to avoid getting soaked. Soon traffic slowed to a crawl, the "available" lights going out in taxi after taxi as those who could got into them and off of the sidewalks.

All pedestrian traffic came to a near halt, save the few souls who were either desperate, brave, determined or just plain foolish who held umbrellas, soaked newspapers or other makeshift shelter over their heads as they hurried along.

Within 15 minutes it was over. The streets drained shortly thereafter and the thunder moved further and further away, like a boistrous street person shouting at no one in particular as they wander through the city, fading into the distance.The sky lightened, the lights of the city began to come alive and the storm had passed.

For now.