Blessings, wet and wild: Blissfully caught in the Lao New Year

Andy Hill

I arrived in Vang Vieng, Laos on a mid-morning in April to take up residence for a month at the Vang Vieng Organic Farm, in order to get away from the hustle of Hanoi, and learn a few things about tending goats.

After picking up a bottle of water and a bag of peanuts, I sauntered into the road to see about the farm’s location. I approached a woman with her back to me and said hello, watching her scoop a bucket of water out of a large drum. She then proceeded to turn around and gracefully, reverently, pour it all over my head and shoulders.

After a very confused moment, she explained to me that it was the first day of the Lao New Year. During these three days, in a blitzkrieg attack with buckets, water pistols, and hoses of water on every one, the rainy season is ritually ushered in, and a new, plentiful, prosperous year in its stead. This is celebrated in many parts of Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand by the ritual drenching of everyone in sight. 

There were many people perched in front of shops and houses with buckets and water guns. I tried to make it apparent that I had just gotten off a bus, had all my stuff on me, and that it wouldn’t be the most felicitous of gestures for me to be drenched again.

After I found the farm and dropped my things off, however, I would take part in the most outrageously fun, raucous, life-affirming public celebration I had ever seen, in a cacophonous deluge of water, cornmeal, dye, and ash.

With my wallet in a plastic bag strapped to my waist, I bounced along on a nearly shock-less motorbike on the dirt path from the farm and up onto the main road. Trucks were driving past in both directions festooned with children and teenagers wielding water guns, buckets, and balloons. 

Each one would have its own large reserve of water for refilling. They were roving gangs of Buddhist blessing, the mirth radiant in front of every business and intersection. Everyone was jubilant and laughing, usually freshly blasted and going for more water.

It would have been ideal if there were someone on the back of my bike with a high-powered water gun, in order to fend off some of the attacks. At most points I was ruthlessly outnumbered, and realized it was easier to just slow down and take the bucket of water in my face than try to dangerously dodge it on my ancient bike.

I spent the next three days cruising through the northern Laos countryside, looking for caves to explore. The evenings were spent at random parties I would inevitably find and be compulsorily drawn into by groups of Laotians eager to share with me their Beerlaos, festive spirits, and limitless hospitality. 

Needless to say, my skin was pruned and chafed at the end of the three day celebration, but my appreciation for Laos, and for humanity at large, was probably as fresh and full as it had ever been.