Songkrahn, the Thai New Year, is one of my favourite festivals on the planet. The Thais celebrate it with a gigantic nationwide waterfight; the only sane way to deal with one of the hottest days of the year. I’ve been lucky enough to be here at the right time twice now and both of them have been a riot. Almost literally. Standing in a throng of thousands slinging buckets of water and firing water-pistols is like being in the middle of a violent insurrection minus the threat of death. It’s fucking brilliant. I love it.
There’s only one way to participate in Songkrahn and that’s fully. Expect a drenching, expect to be caked in flour, expect the occasional ice-bucket to suck the breath from your lungs. And retaliate. With a vengeance. I armed myself with the best water-pistol I’ve ever seen: a double-barreled pump action monster that set me back 300 baht. It only lasted a day before it died on me but, for a minute there, I felt like Chuck Fucking Norris. Oh yes.
Lining the streets of Banglamphu are enterprising salespeople with dustbins full of ice: 5 baht gets your gun filled with water that feels like it just ran off a glacier. This has a profound impact when you blast it at someone on a 38 degree day – with a bit of luck the shock may induce cardiac arrest. It’s 5 baht well spent.
Some, however, don’t take too kindly to this. In the middle of the mêlée I noticed a seriously pissed-off Israeli couple complete with backpacks that’d obviously just got off the plane and were wondering what the hell was going on. They were soaked, their rucksacks (containing cameras, Ipods and the like, I hope) were dripping and they had looks of utter disgust on their face. I smirked. I know you shouldn’t generalise but, fuck it, I’m going to anyway - I’ve always found Israelis to be the most singularly obnoxious bunch of people I’ve ever come across. So seeing them in their natural state – one of raging fury – always fills my little heart with glee.
The girl was particularly incensed. Her face, her body language, every essence of her being was screaming ‘Don’t you dare throw any more water over me!’ but it was futile. It was Songkrahn. A Thai lad of maybe 8 or 9 got her in the face and she exploded. Hebrew isn’t one of the world’s most beautiful languages and it sounds particularly dire when spat with venom at a little kid who’s just doing the same as everyone else. The boy looked bemused, laughed, then ran off. The girl spewed another poisonous volley of abuse at him. A Thai bloke standing next to me observed this scene with a wicked grin. He was thinking along the same lines as me. There was only one rational response:
Ice water. Point blank. Both barrels. Straight down her left ear.
She went livid.
- Happy Songkrahn! the Thai bloke shouted merrily, as her boyfriend looked like he was about to thump him. For an instant there was a real threat of violence but by then the surrounding crowd had cottoned on and the balance of power shifted. They’d either picked up on the girl’s treatment of the kid or they were just feeling mischievous and they decided, communally and simultaneously, to turn on her. Oh Jesus, did they turn on her. Every water-pistol and ice-bucket within 10 yards thundered down on her, her backpack and her scowling pissy face. It was wonderful. I caught a fair bit of it myself as I was so near (‘friendly fire’, I reckon) and it was like being stabbed with an icicle: 30 degrees C to zero in milliseconds. It must have been a thousand times worse for her. It was hilarious. I sat down on the pavement gasping from the shock and practically died laughing as the pair glowered off into the distance. With any luck, their clothes, their electrical equipment, their holidays – and quite possibly their entire lives – were ruined forever. It was one of those rare moments where you feel totally satisfied, like when a bull gores a matador or, better still, a poi-twirler commits self-immolation via the medium of his own dreads.
God, I love Songkrahn.
It’s great to be back in Thailand.
