| Water, water everywhere Posted Sunday, 16 April 2006 | ||
 | ||
| Happy Easter from Thailand and a very Happy New Year. According to the Buddhist calendar it's now the year 2550 (or possibly 2549).The New Year festival is called Songkran and, traditionally, young people gently sprinkle flower scented water over the hands of elders - both to show respect and to hasten the coming of the rains as a break from the oppressive heat. However, all festivals evolve, and Songkran is now a week long orgy of water throwing. I have never been wetter for such extended periods of time as this week. The water fun began last Monday. We were beginning a trek and as such were being driven into the jungly mountains on an open backed lorry. As we entered villages the driver would slow down allowing children plenty of time to chuck buckets full of water at us. As they did they screamed with delight. Wising up we bought our own buckets, super soaker guns and, like a crack aqua guerrilla force, would empty volleys of water over the would be assassins. Again they would scream in delight and then give us the thumbs up - appreciating the good soaking we gave them. drenched, the alternative being they got knocked off their bikes by a hoseful of water. Chiang Mai, where we are now camped, is a centre for Songkran. Surrounded by a moat it makes it particularly easy to restock on water. From early on until dusk an estimated 100,000 people throw water at each other. You either get with it or don't leave your room. So, with the assistance of Kris and Magda - two adoptive Londoners on honeymoon - we hired a tuk tuk with a suitably large dustbin to hold gallons of water and bought a 2ft high block of solid ice. Immediately we were fair game and were drenched. At one point a truck full of ladyboys and homos jumped on our tuk tuk, flirted with us and everyone else around. It's quite a sight seeing a ladyboy in a dripping red ball gown and sash. Her tiara, admirably, was still in place. Meanwhile teenagers would run up to us and give us cans of beer to demonstrate their happiness. Now, after several days of water, I am waning a little but I can honestly say I have never seen so many people have so much good natured fun. And while Bangkok may not be a good advert for the fabled 'Land of Smiles', Chiang Mai certainly is. A happier bunch of people I have rarely met. Talking of ladyboys I fve met loads this week. My first was when I went to see Thai boxing (a fab thing to watch but, in the end, a massive English guy slaughtered the tiny Thai opponents). We ended up at a ringside ladyboy bar, as you do, and 'loobia' or "labio", I forget the name, entertained us all night. We bought her a drink and all was fine until we realised we were 15 baht short on the bill (all those bloody peanuts they charge for). It was only 20p but loobyloo was not budging. Suddenly I saw that streak of malice only gay men have behind the eyes - we were going to pay that 20p or she was going to bitch fight us till dawn. A passing pissed Australian saved our bacon. My second lady boy was Rooney - out trekking tour guide. Actually I think Rooney is just a common or garden fruit but at one point s/he mentioned why we needed to rest on our long trek: "Because women are small boned and need to rest more than men who have big bones." "What size bones do you have?" I enquired, "My bones are medium," so the jury's out then. But a fellow trekker said he saw Rooney peeing standing up so there's a big clue. Anyway, so we going on this lovely long trek and Rooney is flirting with all the men using all his stockpile of catchphrases: "I am Rooney - sexy, naughty, bitchy", "Rooney may not be beautiful but she has sex appeal", and my favourite "Come to room zero. No lock. No key." This continued right into the hill tribe village we went to where the locals spoke little Thai and didn't hang out in cities. "What are they saying Rooney?" I ask, "They ask which is my boyfriend today? h The villagers fall about laughing. Here's the thing about hill tribe villages - if you go to one with woman wearing 14 rings around their neck and sporting traditional costume they've probably put it all on 10 minutes before you turned up. In our village there were no such pretensions - the teenagers wore England soccer T-shirts and many huts had solar powered energy and TV. Not that it's Central London - they have their own language, liberally mix up Buddhism and Catholicism, build their own homes and are refugees from Burmese oppression - but they still like a bit of telly. I didn't speak their language so instead spoke the lingua franca in Thailand of English football. I spent my time drinking moonshine whisky and Coke with two teenagers - our only method of communication was football: "Arsenal. Thierry Henry. Highbury." I would say. "Yes, yes, yes." They would reply. "Chelsea. Lampard. Stamford Bridge." And I thought how odd it is that several thousand miles away and a three hour trek from the main road halfway up a mountain I could mention the name of my local tube station - Highbury - to a dispossessed tribal teenager and be completely understood. "Thank you for coming," the teenager said to me, Kris, Magda and Wendy, "Thanks for coming to see my people." Do you know what - a tear almost, almost, came to my eye. Luckily I'm way too cynical for that: "Yer, night." I said. (Not really, I said something equally gushing and fell into a stupor). . What I saw a monk doing this week: Sitting on a wooden ox on a float being pelted with water. The sounds on the streets of Chiang Mai: It appears to be the law that 'My Lovely Lady Bumps" is every third song on the radio and must be played every hour in night clubs. A Thai clubber gave me an insight into the song though - "My humps" sounds very much like the Thai version of "bow-wow" so as well as being a song about breasts and bums it's also about barking dogs too. Luckily we appear to have left Jack Johnson and James Blunt where they belong - down a side street in Bangkok Ben's squit-o-meter: I have passed the squit baton to Wendy. In fact, I have even learnt how to do the entire restroom process without toilet paper as is often the case hear. Well, I think I have. | ||
| Comment on this entry | ||
| ||
| Diary engine © pineapplecharm.com, 2005-2025 I want one! | ||
