An elderly woman emerged from the house as we bumped gently against her pier. She looked surprised to see two farang in the delivery boat but recovered quickly, smiling and gesturing for the produce.
Before accepting the delivery, she pointed to various plants growing along the water’s edge. According to our guide, we needed to correctly identify one of them.
“That looks like water spinach,” I said, pointing to a leafy green plant growing partly submerged near the pier. “They use it in stir-fries.”
Khun Chai translated my identification to the woman, who nodded approvingly. Ray carefully stepped off the boat, baskets in hand. The pier swayed alarmingly under his weight. “Careful!” I called out, but he managed to keep his balance, presenting the baskets to the woman with a respectful wai—the traditional Thai greeting with palms pressed together.
The woman returned the gesture, then inspected the baskets. She nodded in approval and handed Ray a small token with a symbol stamped on it.
“Proof of delivery,” Khun Chai explained. “Need all five.”
As Ray carefully made his way back onto the boat, the wake from a passing vessel hit us broadside, making the boat rockviolently. Ray lost his footing and teetered on the edge of the pier.
“Ray!” I lunged forward, grabbing his arm just as he was about to pitch into the murky canal. With Khun Chai’s help, I hauled him back into the boat, both of us collapsing onto the bench in a heap.
“That was close,” Ray gasped, his face pale beneath his tan. “That water does not look swimmer friendly.”
“No swimming,” Khun Chai agreed solemnly. “Many things in klong water. Not good.”
As we prepared to move on to our next delivery, we witnessed the sorority sisters approaching their first stop. Their boat was zig-zagging across the canal, clearly struggling with the currents. Gemini was attempting to hand up their delivery baskets while Blaine argued with their guide about which plants were which.
“That’s not water hyacinth, it’s water lettuce!” Blaine insisted, pointing at a rosette-shaped floating plant.
“No, no,” their guide kept saying. “Look chart again!”
While they bickered, their boat drifted into a patch of floating debris. Something large moved within the refuse, and suddenly both women screamed as a water monitor scrambled up over the side of their boat, apparently attracted by the fruit in their delivery baskets.
“Get it out! Get it out!” Gemini shrieked, climbing onto her seat as the lizard investigated their baskets. In the confusion, their boat knocked hard against the pier, sending several of their delivery baskets tumbling into the water.
Ray and I couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, even as Khun Chai restarted our engine to continue our journey. “Should we help them?” I asked.
Ray hesitated, his competitive nature battling with his basic decency. “They’ll be okay,” he said finally. “Their guide willhandle the lizard. And honestly, if we were in trouble, I’m not sure they’d stop for us.”
He had a point. The race had created some genuine bonds, like our friendship with the now-eliminated garbage collectors, but it had also fostered fierce competition.
We continued deeper into the network of canals, the scenery shifting subtly. Some areas were lined with more modern concrete structures, while others were jammed with traditional wooden houses. Occasionally we’d pass under a low bridge where pedestrians paused to watch us.
At the next section, we had to navigate through a floating market—dozens of boats selling everything from fresh produce to prepared meals, all jockeying for position in the narrow canal. Khun Chai cut the engine again, and we had to paddle carefully through the chaos, avoiding collisions while staying on course.
“There!” Ray pointed to our second stop, marked with a blue flag—a small general store with a concrete platform extending into the canal. The blue-tagged baskets contained lemongrass, galangal, and what appeared to be small eggplants.
“I’ll do this one,” I volunteered, wanting to experience the delivery firsthand.
Before I could approach the platform, Khun Chai pointed to a bird perched on a nearby post. “Identify first,” he reminded me.
Ray studied our wildlife chart. “That’s a... pied fantail?” he ventured, pointing to the small black and white bird with its distinctive fanned tail.
Khun Chai nodded approvingly. With this requirement satisfied, I proceeded with the delivery. Stepping from the rocking boat onto the platform was more challenging than Ray had made it look. My legs, already tired from paddling, felt unsteady on the shifting surface. A teenage boy emerged from the store to accept the delivery, carefully counting the items before handing me the proof-of-delivery token.
We continued through the canals, each delivery location requiring us to navigate natural obstacles and identify local wildlife. At one stop, we had to recognize a species of canal fish being dried on racks alongside the house. At another, we identified air-breathing catfish that were flopping at the water’s surface.
The fifth and final stop was the most challenging. As we approached a house with a purple flag, Khun Chai pointed to dark clouds gathering overhead. “Rain coming. Strong current soon.”
Almost as if his words had summoned it, the sky opened up. Rain fell in sheets, pounding the canal surface with such force that it created a mist above the water. The current noticeably strengthened, pushing us sideways.
“Engine no good here—too shallow,” Khun Chai said. “Paddle to final stop before storm gets worse.”
Ray and I took up our paddles again, fighting against both the strengthening current and the blinding rain. My arms burned with fatigue, but I matched Ray’s powerful strokes as we inched toward our final destination.
