It wasn't until I was leaving Shanghai for Bangkok that a German guy I’d just met told me I’d be in Southeast Asia for Thai New Year. He said, "Get ready to get wet." Since then, I’d discussed Songkran with a few other people; Chen in Cambodia (they celebrate their New Year in a similar fashion around the same time); Larry on my flight to Phuket (he told me he was not keen on having flour thrown in his face) and others who warned me to buy a Ziploc bag for my phone and watch out for skull-fracturing chunks of ice. Naturally, these conversations left me apprehensive about being present for the three-day celebration.
But, when in Bangkok, do as the Bangkokers do, right? (Is that what you call them? Bangkokers? Or is it Bangkokese? Or Bangkokadoodledo? I’ll have to look it up.) I decided to don my swim trunks, took my camera (in a plastic bag), a few hundred baht, and headed for Silom, the center of Songkran soaking. Within a few minutes of leaving my hostel in a tuk-tuk, I was already under attack. Local children would see me approach, yell out “Farang! Farang!” (“Foreigner”) and wait in ambush until I passed, giving me all they had. The tuk-tuk driver and I just laughed and laughed, doused before we even made it to the Skytrain station.
I rode the light rail to Silom, and when I got there, what I discovered was not a hazardous hullabaloo, but rather a playful party. Sure, I was drenched, but everything was in good fun, and as polite as a water war could be. As for the flour, it’s not thrown in your face, but rather gently slathered on your cheek by well-wishers walking by. I bought a $3 water gun and went to town. It was a blast. Also, it was the first time the oppressive heat wasn’t getting to me…for obvious reasons. I spent a few hours enjoying the festivities until my weapon was neutralized because of pressure buildup that blew a hole through my moisture magazine. After that, I felt I’d had enough fun for the day, and decided to make my way back to the hostel.
Remarkably, I was one of the few passengers on the Skytrain saturated with water and covered in flour. I got more than a smile or two from locals and tourists alike. On my way back from the station, I hired a moped driver to take me back to the hostel. As we came upon packs of revelers, he would vigorously wave his hand, signaling his disinterest in an impromptu bath. The adults always respected his wishes, but when we saw a group of kids ahead, I thought to myself, “They’re not going to listen to this guy.” Sure enough, we got smacked by a wall of water that damn near knocked us off of the motorbike. He was none too pleased, but what could he do? It’s Songkran.
Now, I’m back at my hostel, and in an “It’s a Small World After All” coincidence, my high-school friend Vineetha from North Carolina just happens to be in Bangkok for the night. (I won’t go into detail, but her and the guy I stayed with in LA used to have a little something going on when we were all teenagers) We’re not staying too far from each other, but she’s got other friends flying in, and what with the New Year, meeting up might not be doable. But if it’s possible, we’ll probably try and get together for dinner. Until then, I’ll be debating whether or not I want to head back to Silom where the party continues until midnight, check out the festivities in the neighborhood around me, or save my energy and money in order to purchase another water gun and let loose tomorrow.
