Again. Songkran (April 13-15) was the second New Year in two months that I’ve celebrated in Bangkok. And just when I was getting used to 4705. Well, Happy 2550 everyone.
Songkran is a kind of karmic spring cleaning; traditionally, houses are tidied up, Buddha statues are washed and doused with lustral water at the temples, and elders’ hands are sprinkled with water in a sign of respect and renewal.
Practically, though, Songkran has turned into an insane, multi-day, nationwide water fight. Everyone, young and old, is in on it, armed with water pistols, cannons, buckets, and hoses, as well as plaster made from talcum powder. There is no escape. In Bangkok, the water festival went on for four days straight; in Chiang Mai, Songkran is said to last a week or longer. It was fun for a couple of days, this drenching and getting drenched, but by the fourth day I had hung up my water pistols like a grizzled Clint Eastwood character and just stayed inside my guesthouse. No more damn water.
Can you even begin to imagine what a disaster this festival would be in the US?
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