The Promised Bubbly (Aka - Happily Stupid) Entry

At my art school I live in a rainforest and it makes you know it's a rainforest. Every night (because it becomes night once the clouds roll in) at exactly 3:30 it starts thundering and lightninging, and, what do you know, raining. Everybody either proceeds to take shelter or whips out their black umbrella (they're always black. Always.)

I however, have always loved getting soaked by the rain. For some mysterious reason it makes me sing aloud (showering and biking also do this to me). It also reminds me of home, which is nice in this exotic place which I find hard to believe is on the same planet as Victoria.

So when it starts to rain, I just walk blithely back to my room, singing Disney songs and happily reinforcing the locals' notions that Westerners are insane.

And then the monsoon started.

It started pouring. It started raining not cats and dogs, but tigers and elephants. It was raining not measly buckets, but swimming pools.

I laughed and clapped my hands in delight, which earned me a befuzzled, awed, and concerned look from Nisha, my cooking teacher.

"I've always wanted to walk in a monsoon!" I explained brightly. Which was true. Ever since Meggy had told me about walking in a monsoon just for the fun of it in the Caribbean (or was it South America? Someplace tropical, anyhow) I've wanted to as well. Seemed like the sort of fun-but-in-the-end-stupid thing I usually like to do.

Nisha's eyes widened.

"No umbrella?" she said in the same worried/awed/amused, but mostly worried voice that adults seem to use on me puzzlingly often.

I waved away her proffered black (see??? Black!!!) umbrella.

"Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaw," I said as I stepped out the door. "I'll be fi-"

I never did finish that sentence because it was just then that I stepped out from under cover.

Imagine jumping into a pool with your clothes on.

Except wetter.

And except that instead of you jumping into the pool, the pool is jumping onto your head.

This is what it's like walking in alotofrain à la monsoon.

When I say I was instantly drenched, it is not hyperbole; in fact, it's kind of an understatement. My kameez (Indian women's shirt) was plastered to my tummy instantly, thus parading my bellybutton around to all those skin-starved men who never even get to see ankles. I quickly realized there might be an evolutionary advantage to having down-facing nostrils. To avoid drowning.

As I walked, the gaggle of schoolchildren waiting for their bus and all clustered under identical (black!) umbrellas, all stared at me in curiosity, confusion, and amusement, which only made me laugh all the harder.

It took me only the time it takes to sing Hakuna Matata for me to reach my rooms.

The staff, who now all know me as "Uncle Maria" (curse who ever told them that name!) all laughed when they saw me flopsh into the shelter of the foyer.

I laughed too, because I think the pounding of swimming pools on my fragile head addled it up the creek and I said,

"I. Have. Officially. Walked in a monsoon."

And I have. And it was great. And I'll probably do it again.

Love/miss y'all tons and tons,
Bisous,
Namaste,

Zio,

The Girl Who's Going To Wash An Elephant Next