Down here in Phuket, it’s Songkran today. Songkran is the Thai New Year, and my five-weeks in Asia was planned so that I would be here, today, for this. It’s the biggest party in Thailand, and (in my opinion) one of the best holidays in the world. That’s a lot of expectation to lay on one day, but I’ve never known Songkran to disappoint.
The concept is simple: you throw water on people. As an option, you may also smear baby powder on their cheeks or rub it in their hair. Drinking, while doing this, is optional but highly recommended.
That’s it. No presents to buy or religion to honor, no parades to watch on TV or solemn ceremony attend. You don’t even have to cook a turkey. Just make sure you have lots of water and a squirt gun, wear clothes that you don’t mind getting soaked; wrap your money and cell phone in a plastic bag.
I imagine the water-throwing has some symbolism, and so ask my friend Bill; he’s lived in Thailand for fifteen years.
“Why?” he asks. “You writing a blog or something?”
I wait for him to notice the laptop under my fingers.
“So,” he snaps, “do your research.”
I continue to stare at him.
“Oh!” he continues. “You are doing your research. That’s why you’re asking me.”
According to Bill, Songkran was originally a Pagan festival. Once Buddhism took root, the tradition survived as a day of cleansing; monks sprinkled water on you to wash away your worries. But in the 1960’s, old-school Songkran was revived by the Vietnam War crowd, the R&R’ing soldiers and friends-of-R&R’ing-soldiers who found themselves in the resort town of Pattaya, needing a good party like Pagans in the heat.
And that’s what it is today: a huge party taking place all day, everywhere, with everyone invited. It happens sometime in April (according to a lunar calendar), at the tail-end of the dry season when the days are punishingly hot. People pile into the backs of pickup trucks, seated around plastic garbage cans filled with ice water, and drench anyone who comes within range.
Some people, especially tourists in town for their first Songkran, may not want to participate. If so, they’d best stay in their hotel rooms. Being outside makes you fair game. Holding up your hands only encourages attack. Making the time-out sign doesn’t work either. Wearing a three-piece suit is not a good idea.
And why resist? Thais, tourists, and long-term ferangs are all welcome; the old and young, the rich and poor, stupid and smart, the ladyboys and the men who love them, your dog, your grandmother, your grandmother’s imaginary dog, the guy down the street you’ve always hated. On Songkran, you throw water at all of them.
For my friend Mike, this is his twelfth Songkran. If Christmas has a father, then Mike is Songkran’s slightly juvenile uncle. He plans for it the way fiancées plan their wedding.
Back in the mid-90’s, Mike, an entrepreneur, was liquidating the assets of a tour company he’d started, which included a pickup truck. Rather than sell it, Mike offered to give it to Doen, his driver, on one condition: that Doen agree to take Mike and his friends around Phuket, each year, for Songkran.
When I first heard of this arrangement, I was skeptical; I’m not as trusting as Mike. But ten years later, Doen and his truck are still the foundation of Mike’s Songkran operations.
The truck has a roof that covers the back, and so three can sit up top. This makes for an unusual configuration: two-levels of firepower. From above, a skirt gun’s range is unexpectedly farther than normal. People sitting in restaurants may believe themselves safely out of range until the Mike truck rolls up and three drunk ferangs on the roof unload a concentrated assault. And that’s icewater, chilled with large blocks of ice to a temperature close to that of the North Sea.
“If you’re not firing cold water,” says Colin, a Songkran veteran and key member of our posse, “why bother firing at all?”
And that summarizes the attitude within our camp. Typical Americans, we have to turn everything into a gun show, have to take things too far. Witness exhibit A: the Mike truck; a fully-rigged Songkran Assault Vehicle, two fully-stocked beer coolers; bi-directional, waterproof speakers (playing mostly 70’s funk); nine “Steam Machine” water tubes (the standard long gun, plus both snub-nosed and double-barrel models); pales for tight-quarter melees; plus the obligatory sunblock, Neosporin, and waterproof camera. But the real star of this year’s show is the Flash Flood.
“The Flash Flood gets you respect,” Mike says, handing me the weapon for the first time.
“This,” he continues, “represents the latest in squirt gun technology, assembled with a sense of cunning and an eye for the element of surprise.” I fire a few test rounds, using the shotgun-style pump to build pressure. It’s impressive. Firing range about ten meters, more than enough for most vehicle-to-vehicle combat scenarios.
“But,” Mike ads, demonstrating, “the single stream is mostly for that first shot. You lull the target into a false sense of security, thinking it’s just a run-of-the-mill squirter.”
“But when they let down their guard,” Mike ads, getting into a crouching stance, “you step in closer. Pump a few more times to re-up the pressure. Aim …” He pulls the second trigger (found on the gun’s top barrel), and the Flash Flood delivers a full-force, shotgun-style blast of water, emptying its chamber in one shock-and-awe instant, all over my front.
“Yes,” I agree, wiping my face. I feel water trickling down my shorts. He hands me the weapon, which is now empty.
“This,” I say to myself, “will get me respect.”
Whoever designed the Flash Flood has a Songkran or two under their belt.
The day was great. We had good, warm weather, not too sunny, no rain, lots of happy people everywhere. And what was fun in the morning –squirting people – was still fun in the evening. I felt like a kid all day long. Songkran is one of the reasons I’m glad the world has a Thailand.