What do you if you cross the chaos of civil war, the thrill and threat of personal injury of paintballing, the carnival atmosphere of Mardi Gras and the amount of alcohol drunk at Oktoberfest? Well, for one thing an expensive health insurance premium and probably a nasty headache the next morning. However, you’d also get Songkran, the festival I’ve been immersing myself in for the past three days. This is the Thai New Year, kind of like all our holidays wrapped up in one and set to explode.
It officially lasts from April 13th-15th, though some (all) people start on the 12th as well, and some of the bigger cities can go on for as long as there’s water available and whisky still unquaffed. For Nongkhai, I was relatively wet on Tuesday and soaked on Wednesday and Thursday. I’m hiding on Friday writing this blog and doing my university loans. Live the bureaucratic dream!
Monday was spent at the orphanage, after a chaotic morning of panicked organisation, we arrived to find more than half the children missing. After rounding them up, making sure they were washed and had clean teeth, we began apple bobbing. In my view, the bowl was too shallow, but the kids had a great time. And I love apples. After this, we broke out the fruit cordial, generously donated by Jira Nun’s shop Natalad Tha Sadet. Of the twenty bottles and holders we made last week, three remain. Read into that what you will.
I spent Tuesday with Jira Nun’s family and friends. I went round in the morning just to say good morning, they’d just come back from Bangkok. I met her son, Chin, the LSE Social Policy student. Within two minutes she’d invited me to have breakfast with them at one of the best noodle places in town. Whilst we were on the way, she immediately brought me a Songkran shirt, a sort of colourful flower print Hawaiian shirt worn a little ironically throughout Songkran. And without irony all year long by overweight middle-aged farangs. The one Jira Nun brought me was a lovely blue and yellow flower and swirl pattern, which I’ll make sure to wear every 13th-15th April.
I got talking with her son, and am amazed by his mastery of the English language. Having gone to the Thai Harrow School from a young age before going to one of the best universities in England, if not the world, his English is near perfect. It made me feel a little insecure about my slang and Kentish accent when compared to his crystal enunciation. If I’d called him without meeting him first I’d have assumed he was a Lordling from the Home Counties. I’d heard a lot about him from Jira Nun, she’s very proud of her children (with good reason). Having both been privately educated and love English we have something in common. I felt even worse when I made a bit of a Thai faux-pas when I put the dipping sauce in the noodle soup, I felt like a six year old being caught licking gravy of my knife blade, a habit not at all remedied over a decade later. The rest of the day was spent shopping for last minute supplies, sandals, ponchos and buckets. We enjoyed a Starbucks and toured Jaja’s friends around the sculpture park.
Myself and Matthias were invited for an evening meal with them, which we both agreed to without hesitation. We visited Daeng, a Vietnamese spring roll restaurant. It’ one of the best in Nong Khai, and some of the finest food I’ve ever enjoyed. We were joined by Jira Nun’s daughter, Jaja (prounced the German “yesyes”, forgive me for the spelling) and her two friends, arts graduates from a famed Thai university. Jura Nun would not let us simply be contented with our meal, she made sure we were literally stuffed to bursting point. Then she ordered an extra course to be put into doggy bags for our midnight snack, a snack I was still enjoying for lunch four days later. Bloody hell it’s good. Peanut chilli sauce with fresh salad, white noodles and Vietnamese sausage, all prepared to perfection. I had maybe twenty individual rolls, I would have been happy with maybe ten, but Jira Nun seems sure I’ll waste away.
Wednesday the fun really began. Matthias was busy visiting his students, so only I could meet Chin and co. It began with logistics, trying to find the best place to sit, where to put the water barrels... ad infinitum. We were ready to go, and hurtled head first into the battle. I scored my first hit on a small child with a water pistol, but to be fair, he started it. From then on it went to full scale pandemonium. With four people in bright orange ponchos and a farang hanging off the back of a pickup truck, we were a pretty obvious target.
Imagine the last forty minutes of “Black Hawk Down”, people running in the streets, heavy fire from street corners and pickup trucks weaving their way in the chaos. Essentially, people throw water at you, you throw water at them. Some have water guns, some buckets, some hosepipes but everyone is trying to soak you. Only the street sellers are (usually) taboo. There is also an odd tradition of people patting your cheeks with talcum powder of starch flour. Pretty girls are worth double, farangs triple. With a truck of three pretty girls and one farang, it’s like an instant combo. What was a little worrying were half naked Thai men, running up to the truck, ignoring the aforementioned pretty girls, and converging on me. Get your priorities straight. Everyone was there for one reason: to have some fun. When people mention dancing in the street, I always take it metaphorical, but this was literal dancing in the street. Everyone was soaked through, and the smiles on everyone’s face were clear. It was a typical hot Thai day, thankfully, so the water was a welcome relief.
What wasn’t welcome was the ice water. Ice water is kind of like poison gas used in the Second World War, once someone uses it, brown stuff will hit the ventilation system. We weren’t above it, God no. The normal water is above room temperature, ice water could be close to freezing. Ice was available by the sack for 50 Baht, leave it in the water for a couple of minutes, and suddenly no one can stand against you. It’s pretty hard to throw water or even breathe when you’ve gone from warm to frozen in a couple of seconds and your teeth are chattering in the sunlight. Whilst a normal bucket of water to the face leads to laughs and returned fire, ice water to the face ends in a scream and panic. What helped was Chin has maybe the most maniacal laugh I’ve ever head. If he isn’t a super villain, at least part time, I’ll be sorely disappointed. When we joined forces, and an unsuspecting Thai got two buckets of ice down the back of the neck, hearing it made me feel like a master strategist executing a perfect plan, rather than some twat on a pickup lobbing water at children. Ice was used by both sides, and for every time I scored a hit, I was battered three times.
We stayed out for roughly seven hours, we were at some point joined by Chin’s cousin, Ham, and some of her friends. So, with now six very pretty girls in the truck, you would have thought they’d get some attention. No such luck, topless men were still crowding around me. By now the Buddha statues were on parade, and traffic slowed to less than a crawl. This was when Songkran became less than great fun, when that same bloody kid has thrown at least four bloody buckets of bloody ice down the back of your neck and you can’t go anywhere because traffic is bloody gridlocked and look, he’s coming back and I still have to bloody smile. Adults would normally get you once or twice, and then look for alternative targets, kids are nothing but determined. We eventually broke free of the traffic, which was so packed it was almost pointless to go back.
I said goodbye to Chin and his family, and dripped my way home to have a long, hot shower and some dry clothes. Jira Nun fussed over me in the way only a mother can, giving me her mobile number in case I was ill and made me promise to call her if I got so much as a sniffle. I showered in a glacial waterfall in the Himalayas, I think I can survive some Thais with buckets. Though, I had been soaking wet for seven hours without fully drying, so I can see her point.
The next day was spent with Mui and her cousins. Matthias was free so we cruised around on Mui’s pickup for a few hours. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a big bucket so we only had enough water for forty minutes. The rest was spent enjoying the view, the view being Thais going mental. What seems to happen is groups of Thais band together, so the Scooter club, local motorcycle gang and youth group will all have their own little tribes, complete with matching T-shirts, hire a tent and buckets and spend the day like a social gathering. Imagine lot of people among friends, whisky flowing like the Nile and everyone in wet T-shirts. Girls start dancing, men start losing clothes and Nongkhai becomes a giant party. I saw one of my students from the college on a podium, she screamed “Toynbee!” and I turned and waved, then a topless man poured a bucket of water down her front whilst another sprayed her with a hose pipe. She’ll go far.
The farangs seem to have a great time of it too, I don’t think they could be more welcome anywhere else in the world. Many were with Thai friends, laughing and joking, some wandered the streets and made friends. Like the, I think Scandinavian, gentlemen who staggered towards me, poured some water on my head and said how much he loved Thailand. I returned the gesture, and he hugged me tight. Though, some just made me ashamed. The large fat men dancing topless and grabbing the nearest Thai girl were common place. What took the biscuit was a couple of Thai girls in bikinis dancing underneath some hosepipes, surrounded by at least five farangs literally staring at them, open mouthed. Nothing disguised and without even an ounce of class or decency. I went past the same place half an hour later, they were still gawping at these girls like they were a fucking exhibit in a shop window. Way to represent our enlightened and civilised culture.
I think what makes Songkran so mad/unbalanced/great fun is the culture. Thais are normally brought up in the Buddhist way, be polite, avoid alcohol, never lose face and keep control at all times. Whilst this is laudable, and the West could definitely use some of it, suddenly giving them water, buckets and bottles of whisky with the express permission to “go nuts” is like a volcano blowing. This coupled with the inherent Thai traits of friendliness, warm heartedness and accommodating nature leads to everyone become fast friends for two alcohol fuelled days, and everyone just walking past is immediately part of your family. As I found out when I walked down the street alone, people just wanted to have the farang dance and be part of the fun for a couple of minutes. I definitely want to come back to Songkran sometime in the future, Nongkhai blends the chaos with its trademark friendliness and open hearted nature. I had dozens of people patting my face and wishing me well, and I didn’t at once feel that one would grab my sunglasses or take my watch when I wasn’t looking. It was a feeling of safety I don’t think I’d experience anywhere else.
Though, Songkran wouldn’t be Songkran without Jira Nun’s family. I had no idea the charming lady I met nearly a month ago would lead to me eating at some of the best restaurants I’ve ever experienced, enjoying Songkran with a pickup of Thais and having some very intelligent conversations with her son. I think they embody everything I love about Thailand, their friendliness, their welcoming nature to a complete stranger, open hearted generosity, their completely unexpected appearance and above all their uniqueness. I don’t think I’d ever find people like them anywhere else.
So, in essence, Songkran has been one of the best times of my life, up there with the Taj Mahal, watching the sun rise at 4300ft from a mountain top, the view from the Empire State building and last June 28th. I don’t think it’s something I’ll forget in a hurry.
