It's my first few hours in Bangkok, and by looking around the train, I can tell it's rainy season. Thin raincoats cover suits, and young mothers juggle both sunglasses and umbrellas.

As I exit the train, I look up, count to three and speed through a very thick rainstorm toward my Airbnb. After a much-needed nap, I open my eyes to a completely different climate. I peek through the shutters of my room and see an indigo sky, birds flying, and I am feeling the heat.

I pick up my fanny pack and leave the Airbnb immediately to explore the neighborhood. On a quiet side road, beside the fence of a wood craftsman shop, a thick black piece of tarp covers a corrugated fence. It’s held in place by a clever set of weights—filled plastic water bottles.

It strikes me that such an old trick can be found everywhere across the world. I start to wonder how can these four small bottles make it through such heavy, rainy days.

I stop to stare at a man approaching me. The woodchips on his shirt make it seem like he must be heading out from the shop nearby. He whispers something, unties a couple of bottles, and brings them to the shop's outdoor sink. These short bursts of sunlight heat must dry the water in them pretty quickly, I thought to myself. Regardless of the one million square meters of water falling over Bangkok each September, nothing beats the strength of a tropical sun, and the dedication of an old craftsman to keep his work tools dry.