Just grin and look stupid and you’ll be OK

When I was first in Thailand I used to think Songkran was great fun. Throwing water and getting soaking wet seemed a very sensible diversion from the overwhelming April heat. I was even a little disappointed if I didn’t get a good drenching from grinning urchins. Everyone seemed so happy. It was definitely sanook.

It will come as no surprise that four decades later I am of a somewhat different persuasion. I think they call it “getting old”.

But when you see the madness that is going on in the rest of the world, there are a lot worse things that can happen than getting drenched by some kids. You basically have a choice of accepting it and staying cool, or losing your temper and being a misery guts. It’s not a bad idea to at least look like you are enjoying it even if you aren’t. Just grin and look stupid and you’ll be fine, if a little on the damp side.

And if you are in Bangkok, just enjoy the empty streets. If only it could be like this for the whole year. You could even be on time for appointments if you could find anyone to have an appointment with. One suspects many of those people who headed out of town for a “long weekend” won’t be seen for weeks.

The promise

It was about 10 years ago in a Northeastern village that I finally accepted I was too ancient to enjoy the delights of Songkran.

I knew I was in trouble from the moment my wife presented me with hideous bright yellow Songkran shorts with garish multicoloured blobs on them. In the early afternoon I was awoken from a pleasant postprandial nap by my Thai nephew who informed me it was time to “play with the water”. He saw my grimace and added “you promised”. And indeed I had, oh foolish Crutch.

It was incredibly hot as I clambered aboard the back of the pickup with assorted village kids and giant-sized buckets of water. I was under the impression we would just do a couple of circuits of the village, chuck some water at the locals and then retire back to the house for an afternoon of sublime somnolence. Wrong again.

The reality

After a couple of warm-up raids in the village, to my alarm we were suddenly pointing towards Udon Thani town. We soon found ourselves at Nong Prajak, the park which was the centre of Songkran activities. It was total mayhem, but in a nice sort of way.

The road that circles the park was packed with pickups and water throwers. There was plenty of music too, and the atmosphere was terrific. Everyone was having fun in a grand celebration of letting off steam on a bloody hot day.

Being soaking wet made total sense. I couldn’t imagine anything remotely like this happening in England. It would all end in a massive punch-up.

It took us an hour to negotiate one kilometre and I must admit to being somewhat relieved when our pickup sneaked into a quiet soi where we found welcome dryness. I had experienced a great time behaving like an 11-year-old for a while, but now it was back to grim reality — burning red face, creaking joints, a totally numb backside and feeling very much like an old wrinkly again.

The back seat

One Songkran horror trip I won’t forget was aboard an Orange Crush bus from Chumphon to Bangkok in the mid-1970s.

It was a sweltering hot day and a Post colleague and I found ourselves at the chaotic Chumphon bus terminal as hundreds of people indulged in a free-for-all trying to cram onto each bus. It was in the days before air-conditioned transport and we had no choice but to use the old Orange Crush.

We eventually squeezed onto the back seat of a bus with about eight other people. This was unpleasant enough in itself, but there was an added complication. The back seat had somehow detached itself from the rest of the bus, so that every time the driver braked the seat carried on its forward momentum, dumping us all on the floor. We laughed the first time it happened, but the joke wore thin pretty quickly.

The discomfort was not helped by the fact that because it was stiflingly hot, the bus windows were all open, allowing kids lining the highway to lob in water bombs at regular intervals.

We had to endure this for about 10 hours and I can safely say that by journey’s end we were not in a festive spirit.

Saucepan abuse

Although Songkran is thankfully just once a year, I have a daily reminder of it in our kitchen in the form of a dented saucepan.

About 30 years ago, during a Songkran battle with neighbours, I used the saucepan in an unsuccessful bid to bomb next-door’s maid from an upstairs window. The waterfilled saucepan slipped out of my hand and crashed to the ground, thankfully missing the maid.

The saucepan collected a number of dents and a cracked handle and although I’ve repeatedly thrown it out, it keeps reappearing.

So every time I boil the carrots or peas it acts a reminder of my juvenile behaviour all those years ago when I was guilty of severe saucepan abuse.