A time when Bangkok smiled

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And then the moment I'd been awaiting since it was first mooted almost two years previously: Enda, sensible head on and backpack in tow, walked through the arrival gates at Bangkok airport and our Asian adventure began in earnest. Half of me thought it would be good for him to experience the notorious carnage of the taxi-key rattling hoards vying for business as soon as you enter the 'No Man's Land' of the arrival lounge, but, in truth, I couldn't wait to see him and he'd be acquainted with the bedlam soon enough. For the festival of Songkran was upon us.

Dunno about you, but I hadn't a clue of what this Buddist New Year celebration involved. Scotland gets a fair old write-up but I've always felt it was more one for the tourists: Auld Lang Syne, a wee dram of whisky, first-footing and all that malarkey. I think I just associate New Year with anti-climax, either standing freezing cold for hours waiting for a taxi that's never gonna come or getting myself so sozzled that I wake up the next day and the whole thing is a blurry non-event. But, that's not the way of it out here in the Buddist quarter of the world, not on your nelly. For me they've got the whole thing down to a tee. Allow me to elaborate.

In the absence of any sort of Christmas-esque festival on the Buddist religious calendar, gifts are exchanged at New Year or Songkran. According to what ever doctrine it is that they follow (I'm far from an expert on such matters), water is the greatest gift that can be shared. So for 3 days on the spin each year, every man, woman and child in Bangkok arms themselves with either an oversize flourescent supersoaker or a bucket of water. Imagine it for a second: a city of 9 million people all engaged in one big, non-stop waterfight. Your options are to soak or be soaked - there is absolutely nowhere to hide. Of course, the dry stick out like Huns in a beauty contest and become an immediate target. And remember not to lose your cool - this is a gift people are sharing with you - although it can be difficult to see the funny side of it while sitting in a tuk tuk (taxi, no doors) with all your worldly goods when a group of adrenalin-fuelled Thais turn an icy cold hose down your neck as you stop at a red light. Talk about a sitting-duck? Ah, I suppose we only had a 12 hour bus ride to Ko Tao ahead of us...

But amid the mayhem - and believe me, it is sheer pandemonium - there is one consistent feature and that is the smiles. There's nothing quite as infectious as a smile. For me this is the magic of Songkran. Victor Meldrew himself couldn't stifle a smirk in a carnival where every face in the crowd is grinning, every voice laughing. And there's an underlying mischief that adds to the spectacle, a friendly mischief of course, as nobody gets upset during Songkran. Don't get me wrong, it's a natural reaction to scream and curse when you feel a bucket of dirty water being emptied over your head from a 2nd-floor balcony, but when you turn back and see the triumphant, black-toothed grin of a Mother Teresa lookalike who's got one over on a foreigner it's easy to concede the victory.

It's completely unneccessary to be drunk amid such natural highs, but it didn't do us any harm. That said, by the end of the night we'd traded in our crappy waterpistols for big Ghostbusters-esque annihilation packs, we'd resorted to throwing eggs into large groups of people from a distance of 15 metres (a very under-rated pastime in my opinion) and even drenching street vendors in puddle water. But, in hindsight, this was a festival that we should never have tried to Glasgow-ise. The biggest kicks were to be found sober, sitting on the grass, and having toddlers sneak up behind you and pour a little bucket of gunk over your head. Sounds crazy? It was.

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Photos

Target Practice
Japanese tourists

My arch-enemy for the afternoon
And check the guy in the background, bucket full, poised to strike!