Page 75 of The Big Race
The boat was loaded with woven baskets brimming with tropical fruits, vegetables, and what looked like bundles of herbsand flowers. A pair of long wooden paddles rested along the gunwales.
“Each stop has specific order,” Khun Chai said in halting English, pointing to colored tags on the baskets. “Match color tag to color flag at house. Very important—deliver correct items, identify correct wildlife. Water not always friendly today—monsoon season brings strong currents and many creatures.”
“Creatures?” Ray said, eyebrows raised. “What kind of creatures are we talking about?”
Khun Chai pointed to our wildlife chart, which showed illustrations of water monitors, various birds, and fish species native to Bangkok’s canals. “Nothing dangerous if you respect. But monitor lizards big, sometimes come on boat looking for food.”
“Great,” I muttered, eyeing the murky water with new apprehension.
We settled into the boat, and instead of taking his place at the engine, Khun Chai handed Ray one of the long wooden paddles. “First section—no engine. Too many water hyacinths. You paddle through plant barrier.”
Sure enough, ahead of us stretched a section of canal covered with a thick carpet of beautiful but invasive water hyacinths, their lavender flowers belying the dense, impenetrable nature of their root systems.
Ray and I exchanged glances, then without discussion, positioned ourselves on either side of the boat. Three weeks ago, we might have argued about the best approach, but now we moved in silent coordination. Ray, with his upper body strength, took the starboard side where the growth looked thickest, while I positioned myself to port where I could help navigate.
“Ready?” Ray asked, dipping his paddle into the water.
“Together on three,” I replied. “One, two, three!”
We dug our paddles deep, finding a rhythm almost immediately. The boat inched forward through the mass of vegetation, requiring significant effort to push through. Behind us, I heard the sorority sisters already bickering about paddle technique.
“Hon, you’re splashing me!” Gemini’s drawl carried across the water.
“Well, if you’d actually put some muscle into it instead of worrying about your manicure...” Blaine shot back.
Ray and I shared a small smile but kept paddling. Sweat beaded on my forehead in the intense humidity, but there was something satisfying about the physical effort, about watching our progress through the tangled plants.
“Look,” Ray said softly, nodding toward a partially submerged log ahead. What I had taken for a piece of driftwood suddenly blinked—a massive water monitor lizard, nearly six feet long, was sunning itself on the log. Its dark, scaly skin glistened in the sunlight, and its forked tongue flicked out to taste the air as we approached.
“Water monitor,” Khun Chai identified. “Very common in klongs. Remember for wildlife challenge.”
We carefully steered around the log, giving the impressive reptile a wide berth. It watched us pass with unblinking eyes but made no move to approach.
After fifteen minutes of hard paddling, we broke through the hyacinth barrier into open water. Khun Chai started the engine, and the sudden acceleration as we moved into the main canal system was a welcome relief.
The difference between the main river and the smaller canals was immediate. The busy river gave way to a quieter, more intimate waterway—a klong perhaps twenty feet across, lined with wooden houses built on stilts over the water. Manyhad small platforms or piers extending into the canal, where residents washed clothes or dishes directly in the water.
“This is incredible,” I shouted over the engine noise. “It’s like traveling back in time!”
Ray nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. “Look at those houses—some of them look like they’re barely hanging on!”
Indeed, many of the structures leaned precariously, their wooden supports weathered by years of exposure to water and humidity. Laundry fluttered from lines strung between windows, and potted plants adorned many of the small balconies. Children waved at us from doorways, and elderly women looked up from their washing to watch us pass.
Suddenly, Khun Chai cut the engine, pointing ahead. “Current change here. Water from tributary comes in strong. You paddle again, stay in main channel.”
I saw the confluence where a smaller canal joined our waterway, creating a visible disturbance in the current. The water swirled and eddied, forming small whirlpools that could easily push our shallow-draft boat off course.
Again, Ray and I took up our paddles without discussion, each intuitively understanding our roles. As we approached the turbulent section, a flock of white egrets rose from the canal banks, startled by our approach. They circled overhead, their long legs trailing behind them, before settling again further along the canal.
Ray nodded, focusing on keeping us in the main channel as the crosscurrent tried to push us toward the bank. The muscles in his arms and shoulders strained with the effort, and I matched his tempo, our paddles dipping and pulling in perfect synchronization.
We navigated the challenging section successfully and were soon approaching our first delivery stop—a house with a red flaghanging from its small wooden pier. Khun Chai restarted the engine just long enough to position us alongside the pier before cutting it again.
“First stop,” he announced. “Red tag baskets. Also, must identify one canal plant before delivery accepted.”
We scrambled to identify the baskets with red tags—three in total, one containing mangoes, another filled with what looked like morning glory greens, and a third with tied bundles of some kind of herb I didn’t recognize.
“I’ll hand them up if you take them to the house,” I suggested to Ray, who nodded and positioned himself near the bow.
