We were coming back from the distant ruins of Sukothai when Sasha spotted him. He had his cart parked underneath an enormously ancient bhodi tree. Behind of him a row of tuk tuk drivers lay sprawled out in the back seats of their tiny cabs, dead to the afternoon heat. We pulled our bicycles off the road and parked beside him.
His stainless steel cart was powered by a motorized bicycle. There were big jars of multi-colored syrup on top. Each one had a picture of a fruit on it. In the middle of the cart under the awning was a sculpture of a minature jet aircraft.
"What is it?" Sasha asked me, swiping at the black flies around her legs.
"I think its some kind of Italian soda." I ordered one and the brown man with a wide smile nodded and filled a small plastic bag with ice. He ladeled a dolop of syrup into the bag. then he placed the bag beneath the tail of the little bomber and began to pump. Soda water spurted into the bag quickly filling it.
"Cool." I said. "Rocket Soda"
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