Photojournal: Flooded Fields

Rain. Lots of rain. So much it rather leaned into the deluge category. When the ominous clouds parted late yesterday, we ventured forth into the world to investigate and to buy bread. Our surrounding fields were definitely looking very different. 

Instead of individual paddies, a rather substantial lake had appeared. Sadly, I did not have my Canon, so these were snapped on Zach's phone as I rode merrily on the back of the motobike. 

A lot of machinery stood submerged throughout the fields. The random umbrella spotted here and there was comical. 

What I was not expecting was the number of locals quickly walking to the flooded bits armed with fishing rods or these hanging square nets. I was unaware that flooded fields turned into prime fishing spots, especially since most of them are not tied to nearby streams. Nonetheless, the gatherings fueled by hopes of catching something made me smile.   

 

Chiang Mai: Wat Umong

During the past seven weeks, we have been able to move beyond the Chiang Rai borders thanks to the end of the school year and holiday. The break was very much needed, as was the movement. One of our goals for the time off was a jaunt to Chiang Mai. Our previous trip had been mere weeks before the pandemic age, so we wanted another visit to experience the nearly-post-pandemic age. If anything, we were curious as to what Chiang Mai was like sans Chinese tourists (for it had very much become THE place for our adopted motherland's citizens to flock.) 

Since it was our third visit, we had the luxury of not scrambling to visit all the things. Instead, we were able to meander well and visit a couple of we-would-like-to-see-that highlights, one being Wat Umong. 

Nestled on the western hilly edge of the city, this wat is unique in that a massive chedi resides on a platform built over a series of tunnels. This under-chedi labyrinth was fascinating in that every hall led to a different spot of veneration before a Buddha. Small. Big. Shiny. Dusty. One statue. Three statues. It felt a bit like a hide and seek game, with the bonus that along the way bits and pieces of bygone murals could be spotted.

Our explorations were watched by the winged residents, who were not overly thrilled to have their daytime slumbers interrupted by a handful of tourists oohing and ahhing within the maze. Their presence did send a couple of people into a tizzy, who quickly exited upon sighting the bats hanging overhead. 

Returning to the outside world, we perused the bits and pieces of statues scattered around the grounds. One sign stated that monks had gone on expeditions to recover these forgotten statues and deities in abandoned wats around the country. I found it interesting that their noble quest ended with these fragments reglected to the outside courtyard in a tossed-aside manner. However, it did result in an Indiana Jones-esque exhibit, with crawling creatures milling about and tropical vegetation reclaiming the stone. 

We also encountered our first Ahsoka column on the grounds. Of course, it caught my eye due to our love of a Star Wars character by that name; I later learned it is a column of a long history beginning in India. 

Beyond the immediate area of the chedi is primarily lodging and gathering halls for the meetings, conventions, and retreats that seem to occur frequently. We went on the hunt for a couple of ruins that were marked on the map, but we were not successful in finding the right path. We did find some squabbling squirrels and a lot of inspirational quotes that had us giggling. Every race and religion in the world loves a quirky phrase. 

Steps of Songkran

 

Sentence of pure honesty: Thai holidays baffle me.

It has been a year-long quest to figure them out and I am not sure we are any closer to an understanding of them. Perhaps it is my western roots of consumerism where we plaster any holiday and its designated colors on any tangible surface two months in advance. Or perhaps it is my China-training where spotting bright, new lanterns rather than the dusty, faded lanterns meant a holiday was approaching. Either way, my impression of Thai holidays is they are perpetually sneaking up on citizens. I envision a glance at the calendar by some unsuspecting soul, bleary-eyed with wild bedhead, that results in a shout to the household, "oh golly tomorrow is....." which induces a scramble of sorts. 

For Loy Krathong, we asked everyone in our office and even a number of students. The responses were fascinating: "do it online", "oh, somewhere along the river", and "maybe over there somewhere" were the most mentioned. Even the friend we met that evening, appeared late because he was playing volleyball, which was hysterical to me. Thus, we faced Songkran with the same trepidation. What would happen? Granted, the higher powers and their amazing ability of wishy-washy decisions made it a tad harder to suss out what could be. Yet, once again, our inquiries were met with a lot of "something, somewhere but I do not know." Many bemoaned the lack of water throwing, but when prompted to tell what else there was to the supposedly biggest holiday of the calendar, most would shrug their shoulders and say "not much." Thus, when we stopped at our favorite tea and buns cafe and one of the workers mentioned some festivities in front of their shop, we clung to the information. I attempted a couple of clarifying questions, but the sum of what was said was the time and hand motions depicting something like an arch. 

Based on our street intelligence, we roused ourselves at the ungodly hour of 5:30am to venture downtown. We congratulated ourselves on seeing our first Chiang Rai sunrise as we zoomed along the empty streets. Streets so devoid of traffic on the holiday seemed a little suss, but we were committed and soothed our distrust with declarations that a great breakfast nook can always be found.

To our delight, we did find a bit of a festive flair on main street. Streamer-strewn coconut arches lined the road alongside the very traditional neon orange construction cone. There were a few people milling about, but it was rather quiet. It gave us ample time to mosey our way down the street, taking pictures and investigating the arches. Some seemed to be the standard, but others were rather elaborate creations encompassing tables and goods.

Our tea and buns shop had added to their display, decorating their shop a bit with traditional banners. Actually, their setup had the makings of a party and it was to be in the following hours. After our ramblings, we actually perched on the sidewalk next to them because we loved their festive vibe and celebratory mood. It was infectious. 

From this perch, we began to see the steps of Songkran emerge. The first phase I termed the gathering - the influx of people and the milling about in preparation. Some observations within this phase are as follows:  

As people ambled in, we noticed an immediate dress code - women in traditional skirts as the men sauntered in vibrant, flowery shirts. We had noticed a great increase of Hawaiian shirts in the local shops, but had in no way associated them with the upcoming holiday. I was fascinated that such a shirt had become the traditional wear for a Thai holiday (and after a big of digging, thanks to a Bangkok Post article), the trend began with a respected luk thong (Thai country music) artist and DJ, Jenpob Jobkrabuanwan who wore the loud and vibrant shirts at his gigs. Ahh, it is remarkable what gets transported about the world. 

I personally liked the gentleman's shirt who sat next two us with two girls. Not the traditional floral, but rather a lovely elephant pattern. They were all matchy-matchy in their festive-ware coordination.

I was not the only one snapping pictures, for it was the thing to do as the sun rose. 

This poor group had a time getting the photo, for as soon as a picture would be snapped someone else would show up and the entire process would begin again. I think a disgruntled auntie who had been there from the beginning finally put a stop to the debacle - she needed a morning cuppa from the tea/coffee nook across the street. 

For those not taking pictures, they bought flowers. Myself included. 

At this point, we did not know why flowers were needed; we had a suspicion. However, I always buy flowers because they are cheap, beautiful, and I love a little bouquet on the table (plus in Thailand they always come with incense sticks which are delightful to use in the bathroom to ward off mosquitos.)

Everyone who entered carried hampers or bags filled with an assortment of goods. Merit making is key to the celebrations (thanks, Google!), so ramen noodles, boxed milks, sweet treats, rice bags, and so many other prepackaged goods were being toted in these containers. 

The day before, Zach had popped over to Big C for a few items and I asked him to pick up some packaged juice boxes just in case it was like the merit-making I had experienced in December with the students. When he returned home he said the shelves were bare, but he was able to snag some forgotten juice boxes. Hooray for stashed goods! 

By this point, the street was well lined, the MCs had been droning on and on and on in the main staging area, and it was obvious all were waiting for the beginning to happen. Which of course meant the leaders were late. They soon came sauntering down the side, the entire entourage wai-ing to those they passed. Their surprise to encounter two farang on their stroll was very evident (we spotted only one other foreigner the entire morning.) They even paused an extra moment to wish us well in English and welcome us to Thailand. 

There was a lot more speeching, then the chanting began. The crowd calmed. 

Thus began phase two of the festivities - the parade. 

The mighty spear handlers guarded the truck-size stereo system. 

The banner handlers were well versed in patience and tiny steps, because, in Asia, getting in front of a moving parade seems to be one of the regions top sporting events. 

The chime clanger rocked awesome blue hair for the occasion, but definitely was not thrilled with his position. It was early and his enthusiasm for making noise was minimal.  

The diety ride was next. Unlike China where this ride would have been filled with track-suit clad lads with spears through cheeks/lips/ears, the Thai version was very calm and less poke-y.

King Mengrai rolled by next; his float already heaped with flowers and offerings. The lad chosen to hold the umbrella over the (long deceased) king's statue appeared concerned that his perch was quickly becoming a flower mound.  

The finality of the parade was the merit making. Two lines of monks, on either side of the street, shuffled their way along as bystanders plied their bowls with goodies. As soon as something went in a bowl, the monk handlers quickly emptied the bowls into grain sacks.

The soi dogs eagerly followed just in case something yummy fell to their paws. 

 

I was grateful we had a few juice boxes to give; to be able to participate is one of the greatest pleasures of living somewhere. The monks were stunned to see foreigners in the line-up and they seemed to enjoy receiving our offering of pomegranate juice. 

As soon as the last orange-robed monk passed by us, it was done. A handful of designated workers tore down the coconut arches and tossed them into the dump trucks that drove alongside them. It was such an abrupt ending; one minute celebration, the next destruction. Which is really why Thai holidays still hold mystery for me. For on its biggest holiday, within in ten minutes the street was cleared, cars resumed their parking spots, and business went on as any other day. Nonetheless, I am truly grateful for those couple of hours where it was festive, people laughed and connected, and something enchanting occured.     

Rice Fields: Second Sowing

 

Last week was Royal Ploughing Festival, an ancient royal holiday involving pageantry and oxen. It is an age-old tradition which seems to be the live-action version of the American Old Farmers Alamac with a twinge of Groundhog's Day. This seemed so after reading the Bangkok Post article about the ceremony; snippet below:

This year, the Lord of the Plough picked out a sarong, which means abundant water resources with chances of flood damage in low-lying farmland. Two sacred oxen later chose to feed on water, grass, and beans, which indicates an abundance of water and food. They also drank liquor, which predicts a more robust international trade and a prospering economy.

It is said that this ceremony is keenly followed by farmers around the country, who then go to the fields and plant rice on this day or the days following. Which was rather fascinating to me considering the fields around us are currently being harvested. It seems the farmers worked hard to sneak in a bonus planting this year.

In late January, the fields near us were being flooded and the rice seedlings being coddled in one paddy before their dispersion. 

Over the months, we again loved watching rice do its thing on our walks around the village or our treks into the countryside. 

Nonetheless, there were enough fallow fields for the farmers to putter about around the Royal Ploughing day. If anything, I like to imagine such a day gives a farmer permission to yell to the household, "I am going out to piddle on the tractor."

I know this neighbor loves a good round of plowing on his Kubota every couple of days (and he laughs every time I stop to snap a photo of him doing so.)