Wow. The past few days have been very wet. On no path in town are you safe from buckets of water being dumped over you, even when passing by monks.
We spent the hot afternoon watching the sand castle stupas being built by families toting picnic supplies, candles, white paper zodiac flags, flowers and incense. They turned the far side of the river into a sea of white flags and returned by boats looking happy, exhausted and white from the talcum powder the youngsters were tossing on them… and soaking wet.
Our perch was at one of the riverside cafes (pink plastic chairs and tables between the road and Mekong) and we were soon amused to realize that this tree lined location, sitting at a rickety table with a tablecloth over it, did not shield us from getting buckets of water dumped over our heads or a super-soaker aimed at us by an errant child hardly as big as the water gun he or she was carrying.
Our view away from the river was towards the guest houses across the street was at the opposite end of the ‘traditional’ scale. Complete mayhem was breaking out. The most outrageous had the street, sidewalks and tables taken over by a group of young Thai girly-boys with an overflow of affectations. The sound systems from no less than three guest houses were competing and playing everything from Laos pop to techno to traditional Thai folkmusic. And mind you, the boys had good stage presence when they got up on the tables to carry out some traditional dancing; the flowers in their hair were a nice touch, as well.
The road was hard traveling for anyone on a scooter, motorbike, feet, back of a truck or in a vehicle with unlocked doors. Everyone was out on the street stopping everyone else and dousing and hosing down the folks trying to pass. The amazing thing we noticed was that this was still done with some regard to age. The grandmothers, older tourists, some older men and most (but not all) mothers were able to pass through the streets with nary a drop on them.
We eventually found some energy to leave our table and head down the street. We did not get very far before a bunch of twenty year old local girls were handing us glasses of beer and plastic pails to join them. We spent the next three hours learning the fine art of waterfighting and drinking way too much BeerLao. We added about three or four cases of beer to the party and that was a small dent in the quantity consumed by the crowd. The owners of the guest house kept coming around and hugging and dancing with everyone and then dousing everyone with ice water (they had access to an ice chest in the kitchen).
It was a good day. We thought as the sun was setting we would be safe walking back to our guesthouse since people were settling down on the wet benches and just resorting to chatting and drinking, but we were wrong. As we neared the monastery, the monks were still out in force and we were once again soaked… ah, no, that must be… blessed.
Day 2:
Our day started by heading out onto the quiet streets and saw processions of families in beautiful clean clothes with silver and gold bowls of sticky rice heading up to the top of the Phousi hill to give an offering of rice at the wat. We joined many of them after the hill climb and checked out the Luang Prabang Museum. The morning was a serene contrast to the boisterous festivities of the day before.
In late morning we settled into a cafe and got in a mini-water fight with the little boys that were rigging up the water hose, buckets and borrowing supersoakers from the tourists. I wished them Buon Mi Pai instead of Buon Pi Mai and that sent them into a long term fit of giggles. I was a good target for extra water after that, by mom, dad and the short crowd.
At 1:30 or 2 or 2:30, who knows, it is Laos time under the palm trees here, the procession started. All the girls in town must have been participating in the parade, everyone was dressed in sparkling traditional dresses, had their hair in a formal wrap with flower and were carrying the traditional banana leaf and flower mini-stupas for altar decorations. The three traditional figures in full body hairy costumes, (grandmother, father and lion), proceeded along with drum accompianment. Monks in orange robes under black (modern) umbrellas then followed. Flowered water was splashed on the monks by women and men as they passed. A few special monks were borne along on the backs of trucks, one set of monks were on a music truck with gongs and a huge drum, and the other set were surrounding a top monk seated in a gold throne. (They were splashed with scented water, as well, regardless of instruments or thrones surrounding them.) And then the colorful highlight was Miss New Year reclining on the back of a leaping boar while she carried a trident and bow, on a bright float. Then followed in t-shirt and jeans with faces smeared with soot (probably from an early water fight in the day?), a large group of young guys pounding, dancing and being very enthusiastic about making noise on hand drums and with empty water bottles. A few smaller traditional groups were interspersed in the procession, in fine dress or playing traditional bamboo instruments, and the finale was the fire truck following behind. The end? Nope. Every mobile person in town was then joining the procession and headed down the street.
We followed along to the sounds of drums banging, people chanting, people laughing and cameras clicking. We almost became dry.
At the Wat at the far end of the procession, Miss New Year and her court were ushered into sim and had a picture session in front of the red glow of the buddha altar. Water was sluiced on the buddhas, candles were offered, incense was lit. It was absolutely beautiful.
We headed back out into the bright sun and watched as the dressed up little girls had pictures taken in front of the magical temple buildings. Found a M-150 (Red Bull equivalent) to drink under the shade of the banyan trees, and noted that many locals were drinking small boxes of soy milk.
The return to the main street after the procession revealed that all the water buckets placed to bless the monks were now turned on each other. The afternoon became another huge water fight. Roving pickup trucks filled with plastic garbage cans of water were a favorite of the teenagers. It is hard to explain just how drenched everyone was. Maybe explaining that using the loo consisted in someone hollering “It isn’t a toilet, it’s a shower!!” everytime you used it and then dumping a few buckets of water over you.. might explain the flood of water that was in the restaurant, as much as the flood of water on the street. Lots of BeerLao and huge speakers brought out onto the streets fueled this afternoon.
Our night ended with us having another serene moment as we tottered off for dinner. We walked by the temple near our guesthouse and noted that the monks were chanting. With possibly a bit of BeerLao reducing our inhibitions, we joined them when they motioned for us. The orange robes with the red lights surrounding the Buddha statues was mesmerizing. Hey, and dinner ended up being good, too.
Day 3:
Up at 9 AM and we headed over to the Wat Mai. The Pha Bhang (a gold Buddha statue about 18″ in size, reputed to be the protection of Laos) was being sluiced with water from 12 foot long dragon pipes. Traditional folk music, people dressed formally, donations for preservation, candles, flowers and incense, all rounded out the morning.
That was the event of the day.
Our morning was finished up with good coffee and a great omelet baguette. And this was accompianed by a three year old who decided that I had a reasonably good lap.
We pondered the afternoon, the bodhi trees, the dharma wheels, silver colored glass elephants, while hanging out by the river front in the afternoon. Kids were playing on a (uh-oh) recently sunk ferry boat in the river.
Our guest house had a private formal Baasli ceremony and feast in the early evening. During the day, the grandmothers had built the traditional banana leaf and flower mini-stupas with incense and strands of string to be later tied around guests wrists. The mothers and daughters had been cooking all day. In the evening the monks joined the party and blessings, chantings and symbolic string bracelets were tied on everyones wrists. It was one of those events where you tip-toed to and from your guest room, hoping not to disturb the ceremonies.
To finalize our last night, a huge thunderstorm rolled through town. The evening crafts market had just been deployed. About 100 sellers rushed to recollect and bag up their silks, quilts and crafts before the big drops turned into a downpour. They were quick and the storm was slow, so everyone was out of the street by the time the lightening was flashing and the rain arrived. A few short power outages and a reduction in the night temperature to a reasonable level and the storm moved on.
And that was the Water Festival in Luang Prabang. Complete with a final soaking from the gods. Miss New Years must have been a good choice.
