For the third year running we have experienced muted Songkran celebrations, and I for one won't complain if it remains that way for a while. Of course there have been a few naughty tourists who have broken the water-throwing protocols, but maybe the heat got to them.
When I first set foot in Thailand back in pre-historic times, it happened to be the opening days of the Songkran festival although I was blissfully unaware of it. The first hint that something was going on occurred while walking in the Makkasan area with fellow overland traveller Clarence Shettlesworth. On the street we were greeted by assorted middle-aged ladies dancing the ramwong.
When they spotted us there was plenty of giggling as foreigners were not such a common sight in those days, especially funny-looking ones like us. They proceeded to pour water over us in a respectful manner and covered us in that smelly white powder which I was less keen on. It was all good-natured although we didn't have a clue what it was all about. But considering the April heat, throwing water over one another didn't seem such a bad idea really.
At least in those days there were no Rambo types with those huge plastic guns. If you got wet it was from water in plain old-fashioned buckets and bowls, admittedly also plastic. As we carried on through Pratunam the water-throwing increased with kids in the thick of things.
We were totally drenched and covered in the white stuff and must have looked ridiculous. I began to get the feeling that this country was decidedly different to any of the dozen or more nations we had passed through on our overland trip from England.
Home and dry
The water-throwing in past years had unfortunately begun to play too dominant a part in the festival, and for some people Songkran was greeted with a curious combination of pleasure and dread. It was definitely not everyone's cup of tea and there were those who would go into complete hibernation for the entire holiday, becoming virtual hermits in a bid to escape getting ambushed by the water throwers.
One positive aspect of Songkran in Bangkok has always been the lack of traffic jams. It was the only time you could keep appointments knowing you might arrive at the scheduled time. The only problem was finding someone to have an appointment with, because they had all scarpered upcountry.
Hua Hin heaven
The day after the Makkasan experience we began hitch-hiking to Malaysia, and Hua Hin turned out to be our first stop. On the outskirts of Bangkok we grabbed a lift aboard an old Shell tanker driven by a friendly Thai fellow. He didn't know a word of English and we knew even less Thai but we shared plenty of laughter on the slow journey which in those days took a circuitous route via Nakhon Pathom. The driver seemed delighted to give two foreigners a lift.
We arrived late afternoon and after finding a 20-baht a night hotel discovered the beach was crammed with Thai holidaymakers. However when the numbers had thinned out a bit we took our inaugural plunge in the Gulf of Thailand. After months of roughing it in Asia it was little short of heaven.
Delightful dip
It was the first time I had seen the sea since the uninviting English Channel several months earlier, let alone have a swim. It was sheer bliss and the water was of course much warmer than Bournemouth and the beach sandier than Brighton's uncomfortable pebbles.
It could well have been at that moment that I began to ponder that Thailand might not be such a bad place to live in for a while, although I wasn't exactly thinking in terms of the next 50 years.
Doubtful diplomacy
One of the most entertaining examples of "Songkran rage" took place in Pattaya some years ago. The incident occurred when the wife of a foreign diplomat clipped a Thai youngster around the ear after the nipper had drenched her late at night.
It briefly threatened to develop into a diplomatic incident. While her actions hardly ranked as a "human rights violation" as some claimed at the time, she could have perhaps been a bit more subtle in her reaction. After all it was Songkran and that's the sort of thing that happens at Songkran.
Considering the myriad misfortunes that could befall a foreigner in Pattaya she perhaps should have been thankful for nothing more than a splash of water, irritating though it might have been.
Saucepan shame
I experience a daily reminder of Songkran in the form of a heavily dented kitchen saucepan.
It dates back to a Songkran skirmish I willingly participated in with neighbours on Sukhumvit Soi 49 almost 40 years ago. I was using the water-filled saucepan in an unsuccessful attempt to ambush next-door's maid from an upstairs window. The saucepan slipped out of my hand and crashed to the ground, thankfully missing the maid.
Unsurprisingly with this maltreatment the pan collected many dents and a cracked handle, and though I've repeatedly tried to throw it out it always seems to reappear. So every time I boil the sprouts or carrots, I face an instant reminder of my juvenile behaviour all those years ago when I was guilty of saucepan abuse.
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