Playing Water: Cultural Saturation in Thailand (cont.)

After I had warmed up a little, I mustered the courage to look out the window again. Whenever someone’s eyes caught my face they would yell out and toss their water at my raised window. While they did this the girls in the back of the truck blasted them.

I began baiting every person that I could.

The street was choked with vehicles and traffic quickly came to a standstill. Pedestrians ventured off the sidewalks and into the road at will. A few people walked by with white marks on their faces, shoulders, or arms. The lines dividing lanes in the road became suggestions that few choose to follow. The police stood by and watched.

A group of boys were allowed to jump onto the back of the truck in front of us and refill their water guns from the truck’s supply. Others walked between cars with bowls of moist white powder. Several times boys on the road would approach the girls riding in the back of our truck. I watched the limbs flail in the rearview mirror as the girls drenched each of these boys with quick shots of water, sending them all into rapid retreat.

Others drove by on trucks and flirted loudly. They too were shot down. The man driving the truck and I laughed. “People like this,” he said, “because Thailand hot.” My teeth continued to knock against each other lightly.

Further down the road, in long line of bumper-to-bumper traffic, the water wars slowly ceased. People passed by with white marks on their faces. A group of three girls walked by. One stopped and tapped my window. She lifted a bowl to show the watery chalky power.

I rolled the window down.

Each of the girls dipped their fingers into the bowl. They then gently patted the sides of my face. They bowed with their hands pressed together, in the “wai” gesture of respect, and went on their way. Others followed and my face was soon covered in white powder.

The driver explained that the white powder was placed onto faces that people liked. Anytime someone saw a face they enjoyed seeing they would pat or wipe the person’s face with it. For the most part, the other people were happy to receive the attention. It was an accepted and well-intentioned way of making physical contact with a person they thought was attractive. In the back of our truck, boys tried to apply powder to my friend’s face, and all were met with quick shots of water.

Gradually, we made it back to my apartment. It was getting late and the streets were mostly empty, but every so often a truck with people sitting low in the back, or a single motorcycle, would drive by. It was dark, and from our location we could blindside anyone who passed. We did this to the trucks but feared surprising motorcyclists. When a motorcycle approached, one of us would walk out into the road. The bike rider would slow down, or even stop, bow their head, and the group of us would neatly dump water on them.

Other riders would hold up a cell phone, or a folder of papers, and were allowed to pass freely. Most of the riders seemed happy to receive their soaking.

On the second day of Songkran, I was better prepared. As I walked around the town strangers tossed water at me, patted powder on my face, and offered to share their drinks. Men put out their hands to shake and put their arms on my shoulders. Women kissed my cheeks and tried to pull me onto trucks. They all bowed thanks and I responded in kind. It was all friendly and harmless.

Songkran could never work in America. We walk around with an expected sphere of isolation. We believe that anyone who violates this space must be either strange or a threat. We carry this perception of malice everywhere we go.

There is a trust at the water festival that may go against our instincts but is worth experiencing. While Americans live in isolation and distrust of each other, Thais celebrate togetherness and welcome others into their space. In the end, I learned to just smile, close my eyes, and know that whatever touched me was a part of the celebration.

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