Songkran Adventure: Thailand’s New Year Water Festival}

Songkran Adventure: Thailand’s New Year Water Festival

by

DougBangkok

April is Songkran, the Thai New Year. Thai people celebrate three new years every year: the standard Gregorian one at January 1, Chinese New Year, and Thai New Year. Did I mention that Thai people like to have fun?

Songkran is also known in English as The Water Festival. In the Buddhist temples, priests conduct ceremonies pouring water over peoples hands while chanting a prayer.

On the streets, however, is where all the action is.

Tuesday

Today, my Thai assistant and I were out and about looking at hotel rooms, as my lease is up tomorrow and I have been looking for a smaller, cheaper place. We looked at four today alone, and that brings us up to 9 or 10 (I forget exactly) over the last week or so, plus innumerable phone calls.

While walking out of the parking lot of one hotel, I was suddenly splashed with water, and I dont mean a sprinkle, I mean a bucketful. I was shocked, of course, and then quickly realized that it being Songkran, I should have known better. My Thai assistant also got pretty wet. We walked about 20 or 30 feet, and all of a sudden, wham! Another bucket of water. Now the only thing you can do is laugh and try and wipe the water out of your eyes before it happens again.

We stood in the lobby of another hotel, and as it happens, there was a group of about 8 young people about 20 feet away, laughing hilariously, each armed with a bucket, a big pot, or a water gun. All of them were in their 20s, not kids, and all were soaking wet. Two were women, the rest guys. The women were wearing identical purple sarongs, and looked like hotel employees. They were standing on the sidewalk, watching the street. Whenever a motorcycle came by, they flagged it down, and doused the rider and passenger. Same thing for the 3-wheeled open taxis (tuk-tuks). All were drenched. Occasionally, a pickup truck (ute for you Aussies) would come by, filled with young people in the back. The trucks always stopped in front of the group, and they sprayed each other. Each person in the back of the truck was armed with something to throw water with, or squirt with. In one truck, there were 15 people, ranging from about 6 to 26, in the back. After a couple of minutes, the truck moved on, looking for another group.

This goes on all day, every day, for about 5 days, I think. This is the first day.

I saw one young woman who had two large, yellow water tanks on her back, and a hose leading to a huge plastic water gun which she held with two hands. In my day, a water pistol was a little black plastic thing that you had to refill every minute. Not these babies, though, she was easily carrying 10 litres of water.

As we were watching safely out the window, an elderly Muslim man with long white beard, white robe, and white cap walked by. Nobody squirted him.

Then an older Thai lady pushing a food cart walked slowly by, pushing her heavy cart, which has two large bicycle wheels, and two smaller wheels. She was already wet. She eyed this group warily, and sure enough, the two women squirted her.

I left the safety of the hotel lobby and dashed across the street to an ATM machine, where I got some more money. My ATM card, which had been in my wallet, was wet, but the machine accepted it anyway. After I got my money, I put the receipt and money in my pocket, and turned around. I noticed two young women, again in their early twenties, on the fourth floor of the building across the street with a big tub of water and a couple of saucepans, and they were letting fly at anything appropriate 40 feet below.

Just then two dark skinned men walked by the group, and they got squirted. I noticed there were a number of Arabic signs on the buildings, and realized they must be Arabs, although they were not wearing traditional jelabas, they were wearing Western clothes. They got squirted, not badly, but got angry, and yelled at the group of Thais. So of course they got squirted again. One of the Arab men then ran quickly out of range, but the other turned his back, obviously very angry, and walked stiffly away. So naturally, the Thais squirted him again.

And I was thinking, How dumb can you be? You come to a foreign country where the customs are totally different, and you get angry with the locals because they are following their traditions.

My assistant and I walked up the street, heading for the Skytrain station. We had to pass by another group of young people, and I discovered another part of the ritual. I had noticed that many taxis and cars were smeared with something white, which I first thought was bird poop, and then, since I saw so much of it, thought must be paint or clay. Wrong. Turns out its just flour, and its smeared on your face for good luck.

As we walked into this second group, one of the teenage girls tried to smear the powder on my face. This is after four others had each thrown a bucket of water at me. Everyone was laughing and giggling and having a grand time. A fifteen year old girl reached for my face, with her hand covered in this white goop. I quickly grabbed her hand, and moved it around in front of her face, and she squealed and laughed and backed away quickly.

Then I got another bucket of water from the rear, drenching my backpack and my rear end.

We walked on, and yet another group doused us.

At this point, being a normal male, I noticed yet another cultural difference. If this had been North America or Australia, all of the girls would have been wearing T-shirts, and none would have worn a bra. A huge wet T-shirt contest. Not so in Thailand. Everyone was appropriately dressed for a normal day out, and every one of the Thai women wore a bra. My assistant, for example, was wearing a business suit, and she knows all about Songkran.

Eventually, we made it to the main street, and my assistant squished her way up the steps to the elevated station. There was a KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) nearby, so I decided to head there, as it was now dinnertime, and I havent had an order of Grease and Cold Fries for 7 or 8 months now.

Four of the KFC employees were out front with a big bucket and small pots. All of them were in uniform, and yes, they were dousing everyone.

I entered the restaurant, and immediately started shivering, as the place was air conditioned. Outside, it was a hot 33 degrees C, but inside it was only 23 or 24. Being completely wet, I was cold. I noticed that there were two employees with mops wiping the floors, and that I was, myself, leaving a trail of water as I squished my way in. I made my way to the counter, where the menu is the usual stuff, plus a few spicier things for the Thais, and ordered my usual three pieces and fries and a Pepsi. I reached for my money, and had difficulty extracting it, as it was all stuck together in a wad in my wet pocket. The ATM receipt was just a blob of pulp.

When I got to my table with the food, I took the wad of money and dried each note with a serviette. Then I opened my wallet; I keep my credit cards and frequent flyer cards and some paper notes in separate plastic pockets. Each card was wet. The water had penetrated into the wallet and into each plastic sleeve. Amazing.

After dinner, I hailed a taxi, and made it back to my hotel without further incident. Once there, I literally wrung the water out of my clothes, and then decided to throw everything in the laundry.

So this is Thailands New Year. Sanook mahk!

Happy New Year. Now quick, duck!

Thursday

I moved to a new, cheaper hotel, and spent six hours unpacking and setting up three computers and a network, getting the Internet working, etc.

Friday

I spent the whole day programming and by evening was pretty tired. I had a leisurely dinner of Thai food in the coffee shop in the hotel, and then decided that I needed to stretch my legs. Since I was getting short of money, I decided to make a visit to an ATM the evenings project. I had noticed on a map earlier that Silom, one of the main streets of Bangkok, was apparently within walking distance of my new hotel, so decided to head that-a-way. I knew there would be lots of shops and restaurants and many ATMs there, and so I could stop for a Pepsi somewhere before heading back.

Its still Songkran, the Thai New Year Water Festival. I read in the Bangkok Post that the festival lasts different lengths of time in different parts of Thailand, varying from three days to five. Friday night was the last night of the Songkran celebrations in Bangkok.

Now at this point, someone should have taken me roughly by the shoulders and pushed me up against the wall, and slapped my face a few times to get my attention. This. Is. The. Last. Night. Of. A. Five. Day. Water. Festival. Get it?

Um, well no, not really. I mean, I read the words in the newspaper, but what they implied was lost in translation.

I knew there was a chance I might get wet, so I removed my wallet and didnt bother with my backpack. I have been carrying around a backpack with a backup hard drive with all my work on it, in case the hotel burns down or collapses in an earthquake while Im out. (Hey, I was a Boy Scout, and we were taught Always Be Prepared!). But on my other excursion, the padded cardboard box protecting my hard drive got pretty soggy, so Friday, I decided to forego the backpack.

I took a business card with the hotel name and address, and my own business card with my name on it (in case someone found my body), my ATM card, and the little money I had (about $16). I took a look at the map, memorizing the streets in this area, then folded the map, and put it in my backpack, which I intentionally left behind. I find that, if you are going to explore a strange city at night, its much more sa-nook (fun) without a map, and anyway, being a former Boy Scout, I have an infallible sense of direction.

I made my way out of the hotel, picked up a couple of rocks in case of dogs, and made my way to the main street, a couple of blocks away, where I discarded the rocks. They were unnecessary. The lane I wanted was directly across the street from where I was standing, right next to the Citibank headquarters, according to my map. But there were six lanes of traffic and a canal in between me and it, so I had to walk a couple of blocks to the nearest intersection, where I could take a pedestrian bridge across the road.

Thailand has many catchphrases that have been used throughout the years: Amazing Thailand, Land of Smiles, and Expect the Unexpected come immediately to mind.

I learned years ago that Expect the Unexpected applies to all steps in Thailand. In western countries, you can rely on steps being the same distance apart, and all the same height. Not so in Thailand. Chances are, the step height will be different from what you expect, and there will be at least one or two steps that are either vastly taller or vastly shorter. If youre not careful, you can fall flat on your face going upstairs (I have done this) as your foot unexpectedly trips on a step that is too tall. Going downstairs, I always hold onto the railing and peer through my bifocals trying to determine in advance whether or not Im going to break my neck.

In any case, I made it across the bridge, then walked back down the other side of the road until I found the lane next to Citibank, with only two false starts, that turned out to be driveways for other buildings. As Im standing facing this narrow lane, deciding if I really want to do this at night, a tall foreigner with a German accent asked me if I spoke English. Yes, I replied, Im from Canada.

Do you know where one can eat in a restaurant without getting wet?

Um, well, as far as I know, you can eat in any restaurant without getting wet. We seemed to be on different wavelengths, so he toddled off one way, and I toddled off down the lane.

Turning the corner, I saw a pickup truck ahead, filled with young people with buckets of water, stopped at the side of the road. Oh, oh, what to do, what to do? I stood in a doorway, hidden from view. A young woman came walking out of a side lane, and looked startled at seeing me hiding in a dark doorway. I pointed at the truck up the street and yelled Songkran! and she laughed and walked on. I had the thought that if a young woman was unafraid about walking down a dark lane alone at night, I, a former Boy Scout, could certainly make my way past the truck. So I stepped out, and just at that moment, the truck pulled away.

I walked down the lane, which twisted and curved around, and as I passed by an intersection, another truck came around the corner and I got squirted a couple of times. I walked on, and was about to walk past an apartment building when I heard someone laughing. Looking up, I saw four young men with a big bucket and some pots, so I quickly crossed the road and continued on. I made it to a main street without further incident, and continued walking towards Silom.

Or so I thought.

I was looking for Convent Road, which I knew would take me directly to Silom. I came to an intersection, and the sign said this was Convent Road, but it was not going the way I thought it should go. So, unlike most men, I asked for directions. A young woman came along, and I said Ta-nohn Silom tee nai? which means Road Silom where? which is how you ask a question in Thai. She pointed down the street, matching what the sign said. So my infallible sense of direction was pointing me 90 degrees off from where it should have pointed; it was pointing this-a-way and it should have been pointing that-a-way. Oh well, seems to me I never did get all my Scout merit badges.

I walked down Convent Road towards Silom, and passed through an area of 4 or 5 restaurants side by side. This is one of the great pleasures of Thailand. The sidewalk was crammed with tables, over 100 people, with barely any room to squeeze through. But the smells are incredible all that Thai food, cooked right there on the street, just fantastic. I looked inside the restaurants, and they were all empty. Everyone was outside enjoying the atmosphere. I love the smells of Thai food, but I cant eat the spicy stuff.

I got to Silom finally and was amazed at all the people. There were thousands of people, covering the road. Silom has six lanes with a large median in the centre, which has huge pylons holding up the SkyTrain. There was a single lane of traffic, moving very slowly, mostly pickup trucks filled with people armed with water pistols and buckets and pots of water. The sidewalks and other lanes were filled with people doing the same thing. Loud rock music was playing from several directions.

Oh, now I understand. The last night of a five day water festival. Party time.

I was on the south side of Silom. Where I wanted to be was on the north side, which is where most of the restaurants are and where I knew there were a number of ATMs. The SkyTrain station was right above me, and 50 feet to the right of where I was standing, was a long stairway up to the station. The problem was, there were over a hundred people between me and the stairway, and they were all armed.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

I slowly made my way through the crowd to the stairway, getting squirted a few times, but not too badly, considering.

I climbed the stairs, didnt fall on my face, and made it to the platform. Standing there, I had a birds eye view of the throngs of people. I moved around a bit, watching from different places, and made my way down the stairs on the north side.

The crowd was thicker on the north side, and I found myself being pushed along by the people as they moved into a side lane en masse. OK, I had no particular destination in mind, so I just went along with the flow.

Forty-one years ago, I happened to be walking along a main street in London, England, at exactly 5PM, when all of a sudden, hundreds of people came rushing at me. It was time to go home from work, and everyone left at the same time, and rushed at me. I got trapped, turned around, and was pushed and prodded until I was running along with them. We went into the Tube entrance, and down three incredibly long old fashioned escalators, until we were 200 feet underground. I got pushed up against a ticket booth, where I had to give some money for a ticket to someplace I knew nothing about, and then pushed onto the platform, and when the train came, pushed into the centre of a carriage. It was three stops before I could force my way out of the train, and then I was faced with the prospect of figuring out what I was going to do 200 feet underground in a huge city I knew nothing about. I still remember that experience 41 years later, but its filed under Fun Things I Have Done, not Horrible Experiences I Have Endured.

Now it was happening again.

The lane was narrow, and there were hundreds of people. Along the sides were lots of young people armed with buckets of water, water pistols, and one guy had a hose, which he squirted on everyone. Within seconds, I was drenched. There was an incredible amount of noise, rock music, people laughing and squealing when they got splashed. I kept my hands on my pockets, protecting my money, as I was pushed and squeezed by people deeper and deeper into the lane.

I was squirted from the side, and the water went into my eyes. I had to put my hands on the side of my face to protect my eyes from all the water.

At one point, I happened to look up and saw, like a freeze frame, a bucketload of water coming at us, a meter above our heads. I ducked, and sure enough, my back was drenched. Then moments later, two more bucketloads hit me from the rear.

Just then, I heard some tall people yelling at each other, saying something like This is stupid, how will we get out? I couldnt see through my glasses, as they were steamed up and all wet, but they were obviously foreigners. The tallest one started bulling his way forward toward the main street, causing the people around me to lose their balance and squeeze even closer together. Now this is a dangerous situation; this is how people get crushed and trampled. Fortunately, it eased up as the crowd adjusted and the bulls made their way out of the lane.

The crush of people eased a little, and something very cold splashed my back. I turned around, and a young guy was scooping ice water out of a big cooler filled with Cokes. I yelled Nam kaeng! (ice) at him, and he laughed and said yes, and offered to throw a second bowl of ice water at me. I declined, so he changed his angle slightly and threw it at the back of a young girl who promptly squealed.

At one point, a young guy gave me a fierce hug and yelled Happy New Year! in my face from six inches away.

The crowd kept moving forward further into the lane, and I went with them. I knew there was a street parallel to Silom, so I thought I would just go to the end of the lane, and take a taxi home from there, and forget about the ATM for tonight. But as I went further, the crowd stopped moving and I discovered that this particular lane was a dead end. I stood there, looking back at 2000 people, wondering if I had the energy to do that again. Suddenly I got squirted again. I was standing next to a bar with an open door, so I quickly ducked in there and stood dripping in their entrance.

The bar was mostly empty, and loud rock music was playing. I squished and squelched over to the bar, and ordered a Pepsi Cola.

The girl reached for a Sprite and a Coke and made like she was going to pour them together into a glass.

Whoa! Misunderstanding here. I yelled over the music, No, just Pepsi Cola.

She held up the Sprite.

No! I yelled, Pepsi!

She held up the Coke.

I nodded my head, and she poured the Coke into a glass with ice, and brought it to me where I was standing at the bar.

I reached into my pockets for my money and discovered I had no money. Well, I still had some coins and my ATM card and a blob of pulp that in a previous life had been business cards, but the bills were gone. That guy who was hugging me was probably pinning my arms while his light-fingered friend was lifting my money. I never felt a thing.

I pulled out the coins I still had. The drink was 60 baht ($2) but all I had was 40 baht and a few cents. I pushed it at her, and then yelled Kamoy! (thief) and showed her I had no more money. She looked uncertain as to what to do, but then made a motion which clearly meant Give me more money. I yelled Kamoy again, and went through my little pantomime again, then suddenly noticed that the loud rock music I was listening to was Spanish Techno-Rock. And the name of the bar was Noriegas.

Expect the unexpected.

Here I am, standing dripping wet, listening to Spanish Techno-Rock, in a Spanish bar in Thailand, with no money, unable to pay for a drink. How weird is that?

There was a Spanish-looking guy, with a pony-tail, standing near the doorway. Four or five young guys came in, and he stopped them, and asked them in Thai what they wanted. They said they wanted to use the toilet, and he said okay, but he made them leave their guns on the counter. Im thinking, this is just like a Western movie. The kids put their water pistols on the counter and made their way to the washroom at the back of the bar. After they left, I figured that was a good idea, maybe I could dry off a little, so I went back too, but there were no paper towels and no hand dryers. Sigh.

When I went back to the bar for my drink, I asked the Spanish-looking guy if he was the owner, Noriega. He said, yes, he was, and he had escaped from jail and had a facelift. He has probably told that joke a thousand times, but I laughed. He told me that his father was from Chile and had married a Thai woman, and that he, Noriega, was born in Thailand and spent all his life here. And he didnt speak Spanish, only Thai and English.

I told him a kamoy had taken my money, and that I didnt have enough to pay for the drink, and he said that was OK, then reached behind the bar for his wallet, and took out a 100 baht note (about $3) to give to me for a taxi home. I thanked him, declined, and told him I was walking distance away. He then showed me the back door, which led to a parking lot, and said that I could avoid the crush out front by going out that way.

So I did that, but the problem was, that lane lead back to Silom, where there were thousands of people. Sigh.

I stood there, watching the action, and planning my next move. I didnt want to get caught up in a crush again. As I was watching, a tall, skinny German-looking lady, maybe 65 years old, appeared in front of me and squealed and laughed. Someone had just squirted her in the back. She made her way across the lane in front of me, and someone squirted her again, and she squealed again, so then two more people squirted her.

There were stairs leading to the SkyTrain station, and right near them, an ATM. Only 200 people between me and them. Sigh.

I stepped out onto the sidewalk on Silom, and very shortly, a young man stepped directly in front of me holding a small plastic bowl half-filled with white goop, the flour slurry. He slopped some on both my cheeks and grinned at me; I reached into his bowl and smeared his face, too, and he said Happy New Year!. I said Happy New Year to you too! and turned slightly and saw a young woman grinning at me. She slopped some goop on my face and I did the same to her, and we exchanged greetings, all of us grinning like maniacs, surrounded by noise and hustle-bustle.

And now I get it. The last night of a five day water festival. Happy New Year.

And Im thinking about the silly ritual we practice in Western society where everyone wears a party hat and stands around drinking beer or wine until close to midnight, and then everyone counts down from 10 to 1, then kisses the person next to them, and then blows a loud horn. The Thai way is much more sa-nook.

To make a long story longer, I made it to the ATM, climbed the stairs to the station platform without damaging myself, bought a 30 cent ticket, rode one stop, and got off near my hotel. I then discovered two convenience stores that I hadnt known about, so I stopped and bought a few supplies. Yet another cultural difference: both stores sold milk by the litre, but neither sold large containers of orange juice, only small drinking boxes. But both stores had 8 or 10 kinds of green tea in litre bottles. I passed.

I walked two blocks to my lane, and stopped to pick up a couple of rocks to throw at the dogs, if necessary. It was necessary. As I approached the end of the lane, two dogs came bounding out, barking furiously. Why do they always have to be guard dogs? Why cant they be guard cats or guard canaries? Maybe because saying I was attacked by a guard canary just doesnt have the same ring.

At home in the hotel, I was shocked when I looked in the mirror. My hair was plastered to my head, my face and neck were covered in flour, my shirt and shorts were dripping wet, and had many flour blotches. I could see my nipples and chest hair through the T-shirt. I was a walking wet T-shirt contest

I took a cold shower with all my clothes on. Yet another cultural difference: in Canada, if you have a cold shower, someone would have to call an ambulance and treat you for hypothermia. In Bangkok, a cold shower is actually quite pleasant.

Anyway, Im a glass is half full kind of guy, not a glass is half empty guy. Taking stock of the situation, I had a neat adventure, accomplished my goal of getting money from an ATM, went down some roads I hadnt been before, enjoyed some wonderful smells, got plastered (literally), and discovered a couple of convenience stores conveniently located near my hotel. And all it cost me was $16.

Sa-nook.

Happy New Year.

Doug Anderson is a retired computer programmer living in Bangkok. He is the author of Speak Easy Thai. http://www.thai-culture-publishing.com

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Songkran Adventure: Thailand’s New Year Water Festival}