Songkran and other strange recipes for fun
by Anne Treat

Folks in Southeast Asia are practical. They sleep during the heat of the day and are alive in the early morning and late at night, the only times when the air lends itself to mobility. During the hottest time of the year, Thailand , Laos , and Myanmar celebrate the Buddhist New Year (Songkran) in a similarly sensible fashion. They do what makes sense: they throw water at each other.

Songkran's traditional origins have been somewhat augmented. Years ago, Songkran marked a time to celebrate agricultural fertility and an opportunity to dissolve the sins of the previous year, which were believed to be washed away through a delicate sprinkling of water upon a person's neck.

Today, things look a bit different. Adorned with water guns and buckets of ice water, people have transformed Songkran into a soaking wet free-for-all. It lasts anywhere from three days to a week, depending on the enthusiasm of a given town, and anyone who is adventurous enough to wander beyond the safety of their home is bound to get doused

Songkran is interesting, in part, because it is the one time of the year Southeast Asia collectively cuts loose. Collectively, that is, with exception to traditionalists who are none too happy about the rowdy route Songkran has taken over the past few decades. But they makeup the minority. Most people are happy to shed the conservative shawl of their culture for a few days and have some fun. Businesses close and traffic declines, which is good, as most people are too drunk to be on the roads anyway. After this year's Songkran festivities came to an end, the Bangkok Post proudly reported that Thailand had succeeded in reducing the number of alcohol-related casualties this year. Only 147 people died.

Without meaning to, I spent Songkran in the small timber village of Attepeu , Laos . A few days earlier, Devin and I had hitchhiked across Laos 's fertile Boloven Plateau to Attepeu, but once Songkran began, we found ourselves without any means to leave. Buses weren't running and Attepeu's usual trickle of outgoing traffic was nonexistent.

We gave it our best shot, though. Standing by the side of the road, fruitlessly trying to thumb a ride out of town, we were great stationary targets for the local children, who delighted in cooling us off by throwing buckets of ice water on our backs. Regardless of how cold or unwelcome the water was, we did as is customary, bowing and thanking the children for washing away our sins. Eventually, we gave up trying to catch a ride, donned our water guns, and joined in their fun.

A few minutes later, a Lao man approached us and pulled us into the back of his house to join his Songkran party. It was ten a.m. and judging from the number of empty beer bottles and half-eaten plates of food, it looked the party was already well on its way. Our entrance brought another dousing of water, a hearty smear of talcum powder upon our faces, and an eruption of clapping and cheers. I was drawn to wonder what a person would think were they to arrive to Southeast Asia for their first time, knowing nothing about Songkran. I imagine they'd find the region's way of welcoming people to be a tad cruel.

Before arriving in Attepeu, I thought myself relatively privy to Songkran festivities. I knew about the water throwing, the talcum smearing, and the constant beer consumption

The aspect of Songkran that took me by surprise was its highly sexual nature. I don't know what to relate it to other than key-swapping parties, the idea being that people arrive with their spouse but leave with someone else. During Attepeu's Songkran, such sexual indiscretions seemed totally acceptable. Oddly, since Songkran has come and gone, I haven't heard of any other regions that extended a similar approach to their festivities. I'm left with the impression that the town of Attepeu may be unique in its particular interpretations of ancient agricultural fertility celebrations.