The monsoon deserves its own blog post.

Every day, in the time before dinner, the hotel burns a kind of fragrant incense. Somewhere between smoky and bitter, though not unpleasant, the smell permeates the whole building and comes in plumes up the stairs and out the front door all at once. I found out the smoke kills mosquitoes and have started to welcome the unfamiliar, heady scent. Today the effect is heavy as monsoon clouds descend upon the city and the light begins to fade. The humidity in the air hangs expectant of the rain to come—the past two days have ended in downpours like I’ve never even imagined.

The rain begins slowly but quickly builds to a sheet of falling drops. It crashes down with a force I never knew rain could build and in such quick succession you’re unprepared to suddenly be caught outside. The rain is warm at first, a caress on your skin like silk. It falls straight down in sheets so thick you can’t see across the street. Soon the streets are full of rushing water, creating canals with currents strong enough to encourage motorcyclists towards the sidewalk to avoid being swept away. Soon the balconies and sidewalks are slick with water, soon water is sliding off of every roof and soon you are soaked to the bone. The flashes of lightening and crash of thunder, so bright and loud they could wake you out of the deepest sleep begin. The lightning flashes three, four, five times in a row bringing the streets to full daylight in an instant. Then it is gone and replaced by a clap of thunder that could make you jump out of your skin. Last night it happened between about 2 and 4 am, and Allison (sleeping next to me this week in the hotel) saw me sit straight up in bed and within seconds joined me, both of us just stared in wonder at the falling rain, wondering how in the world the sky could hold so much water.

The rain clears out the air, if only for a little while. If it rains late in the evening or overnight, you wake up the next day and there are waves of mud like sand that's been washed by waves on the beach all over the streets. The cobblestone sidewalk, already an adventure interrupted by huge tree roots and areas where it simply disappears, becomes treacherous. The stones are slick with rainwater, hours after it's rained. Any sun at all and the water begins to evaporate, leaving a hazy fog in all the streets, lingering in the branches of the trees. I can't imagine a more complete humidity, instantly making your body sheen over in sweat. Even when the heat isn't bad, it's impossible to escape. I'm adjusting to it, but it's interesting--especially coming from Colorado, aka the land with zero humidity. Rickshaws are a relief from walking to the ACM office from the hotel, the only breeze in this country seems to originate from racing along the streets in one.

I have to go now, but I wanted to thank you all for reading and also let you know that my massage was fantastic (and I fully intend to get another one in the very near future).