Songkran Part 1

Hammas taking careful aim from his lookout.

Every religion has used water at one point or another as a symbol of cleanliness and renewal. Buddhism is no different. Thailand calls this time of cleansing “Songkran.” Songkran is the Buddhist new year and just to make sure everyone is left awash in the newness, the Thais celebrate with a three day water festival. Almost all countries in SE Asia have some kind of water festival during this time but Thailand is the place to be for the celebration that most resembles MTV’s Spring Break. I was lucky enough to experience three different Songkran traditions. 

When last we left off, our travel team was splitting up. Allison left for a week long motorbike ride, Elena prepared to head back to Spain, and Martin was finally getting out of the hospital. I left Molly with our Canadian brothers to head back to school for a week and celebrate this holiday as traditionally as possible. The children were all wearing Thai colors and Hawaiian looking shirts as we gathered out in the school’s driveway for the traditional parade. Holding flowers and cups of water, I walked with the children to the end of the drive, where chairs had been set up next to a statue of the Buddha. Flanking Buddha were two large bowls for water with flowers in them. We all kneeled before Buddha as the school owner and manager took turns having a chat with Buddha. Then they took their empty silver cups, dipped them in the blessed water next to Buddha, and washed the shiny little guy while praying. 

The alter. The two bowls are filled with water and flowers.

After prayers parents in the crowd came to sit in the chairs along with the manager and owner. When they didn’t have enough elders to fill up the chairs I was ushered in with another farang teacher to fill in the gaps. Slowly the children filed by, dipping their cups in the blessed water next to Buddha then pouring a little water over the extended hands of the seated elders. With our hands wet, we then touched the foreheads or cheeks of each passing student. This allows the students to honor the elders with the blessed water and in return, the elders bless the children with good health and a clean slate for the coming year. Having no idea what I was suppose to say to these little monsters I pinched their cheeks or tickled them with my wet hands. When the last child had passed through the gauntlet, the elders started getting up and filling their cups from the still very full bowls of water. I was too busy watching to make sure I was doing everything correctly to notice one of the bowls had disappeared and was sneaking up behind me in the arms of Nong, the teacher who drove me home everyday. She dumped the almost full bowl of blessed water on my head. I was able to throw my camera onto the lawn a few feet away just in time. Then all the elders were throwing water on my face and body and the spiritual cleansing ceremony turned into a (water) gunfight. Suddenly the kids all had buckets filled with water, huge guns, hoses attached to water packs on their back and they were aiming it at me then at each other. My favorite guns were the ones that had an umbrella attached to the nozzle so as to use as a shield. Someone had started running the hoses to big barrels where you could fill up your gun or bucket. I grabbed a bucket and stood guard over one of the barrels, trying to fiend off my attackers, before I was conquered. It was splendid pandemonium, children running everywhere, adults running among the kids with bigger guns. I got to throw a bucket of water in my boss’s face. Felt great. I felt an intense jealousy towards my kids as I watched them hurl water on their parents, teachers and peers: they get to look forward to this every year. I can only imagine what it would have felt like as a kid to look forward to a three day country wide water fight every summer.

 

 

I changed out of my soaking wet clothes and was given leave to go met Katie at the high school. After she finished up her water fight with the high school kids we loaded up our bags and headed to the bus station.

Quick parade to the end of the drive.

Buddha gets a quick bath.

We met Molly and the Canadians in Chiang Rai two days before Songkran officially started.  Martin had recovered from his pneumonia, Pat his sinus infection and Molly’s burn was looking disgustingly scabbed, which is a good thing (three days later she would get a message from me telling her I found the scab on the floor of our hotel room, which we all had assumed was lost to some dance floor in Chiang Mai.)  We spent two days sight-seeing and catching up before heading to Chiang Mai for the official Songkran. Getting off the bus and into a large tuk-tuk we realized the 3 days of Songkran rule meant nothing in Chiang Mai. Here it’s a weeklong celebration. We were sitting ducks for the bucket throwers and gun holders with nothing to defend ourselves with. We got to the hotel and waited till the 6 pm cease-fire before wandering out for guns and food.

The next morning was the first real day of Songkran. Buddha had decided that this had been a particularly dirty year for Thailand and started dumping buckets of icy rain water on Chiang Mai. Buddha also thought the inhabitants of Thailand really needed to be taught a lesson so he also made it cold, really cold. The coldest I’ve experienced in Thailand. On a holiday where it’s usually so hot you beg people to pour ice water down your shirt our little group sat on our balcony wrapped up in whatever we could find, trying to psych ourselves up to step into the mess we could hear going on just outside the hotel courtyard. It took some coaxing. Pat dug out his surf gear, designed to be wet and keep you warm. Martin took it like a man: lit a cigarette and walked into the frenzy to buy whiskey and guns. Molly, Katie and I eased into it a bit. By ease I mean we stepped outside the hotel gates and were immediately doused with buckets of ice-cold water from the people standing next to us. The most popular commodity for this celebration happens to be giant ice cubes being bought and placed into the tubs of water each family places outside their business or home  so the water they are throwing is extra cold.

The view from our position at the bar.

It’s hard to properly explain what we walked into when we left the hotel. We were on a four lane street that normally received a good amount of traffic. It was grid locked. Pick up trucks were everywhere. Kids, parents, teenagers and grandparents were stuffed into the back of these trucks with trashcans filled with water (mostly ice water). Those who didn’t have a gun or bucket used their hands to throw water on the truck filled with people next to you, on the person zooming through traffic on a motorbike, on the pedestrians trying to nail each other on the sidewalk. I got nailed a few times by people who were stuck in traffic and would role down their windows just enough to stick the nozzle out. Before you could retaliate they had rolled their window back up. It was chaos. You would never have known it was raining, there was so much water being thrown everywhere. Being in the trucks was the best and worst idea: when they got moving they were fun for the sneak attack but mostly you became a sitting duck for everyone else. And it’s not like you hit someone, they respond in kind and you walk away. No, no, you go and go until someone runs out of water or your attention is drawn to another attacker. There is no safe moment.

The Eastern Gate

We got buckets and guns and navigated the crowds and traffic to the ruins of the East Gate where it looked like a MTV holiday. Stages had been erected, hoses coming out from everywhere to spew water or allow you to refill your gun or bucket. Thousands and thousands of people, Thai and farang, soaked this small area. Traffic was again a gridlock so you were engaged in constant warfare. The three of us hopped on a random tuk tuk for a few minutes but couldn't handle the exhaust fumes, bailed and walked back into the mess of people to get the full impact of the experience. Freezing, we started walking back towards the bar that was across the street from the hotel. Martin and Pat had already set up camp in the bar and were helping the staff man the buckets, barrels and guns outside the door.

Irish coffees to try and stay warm!

The parade started right as we got to the bar. The street was blocked off so that every temple in Chiang Mai could lead their Buddha in a procession down to the East Gate. Suddenly flowers were poured into all the barrels of water on the street and we were throwing blessed water on every huge Buddha that was wheeled, carted or carried down the street. I began to feel sorry for all the people involved in the procession: if I was freezing they must be worse. And I was really cold. My teeth were chattering and my hands were going numb. Martin kept running back to the hotel to fill up his water pack with steaming hot water from the shower then spraying all of us when he got back. Soon everyone was running back to the showers at least once an hour. We ate noodles and soup, drank whiskey straight out of the bottle (no use in making a drink as water would fly right into it), danced and fought to try and keep ourselves warm but nothing really worked. Two hours before the ceasefire we returned to the hotel to warm up.

The next day we explored other parts of the city, sticking to the back roads to try and not get as wet. Another futile endeavor. After another day of fighting we packed our bags and said our goodbyes. Molly, Martin and Pat would spend their final week in Thailand on my favorite island, Koh Chang, while Katie and I went back to work. Molly and I stared at each other for a minute before hugging. No words were necessary. Kisses were given to Martin and Pat (who will remain my two favorite travel buddies met on this wild ride) and Katie and I boarded the bus back to school.

 *Thanks to Pat, Martin and Molly for the photos, as I was too scared to risk my camera!