Post from Tim:
Walking through the 13th century ruins of Sukhothai would normally fill me with a sense of historical awe. I'd marvel at the ancient capitol of Thailand, at its Buddhist temples, crumbling pillars, pottery kilns, and 700 year old man-made lakes. But we arrived to Sukhothai during the Loi Kathrong Festival, and the historical park was filled with the energy of the present.
Thousands of people from all over Thailand participate in Sukhothai's Loi Kathrong festival. During its eight day life span, this "festival of lights" feels like the American Fourth of July. Families spend time together, eat lots of food, and watch fireworks. The festival climaxes on the night of November's full moon, where participants float little banana leaf boats (krathongs) covered in flowers, candles, and incense across the waters of the old city.
We arrived four days into the festival and watched it grow larger with each passing day, so that by the last day the number of visitors was reaching critical mass.
So many people! We shuffled through the food stalls with the masses, passing by endless supplies of noodle soup, cut fruit, balls of meat, green oranges, exotic drinks, pressed squid, and roasted insects. The vendors were doing a brisk business - especially the ones selling skewered meat that had covered the park with a blanket of fog-like barbecue smoke that smelled like chicken. And the noise! The large crowd competed for my ears with loudspeakers blasting music, a Muay Thai boxing match, and a beauty pagent.
We found a quiet place with a spectacular view to watch the fireworks. We were in front of a ruin surrounded by the water of a man-made lake. The lake reflected the action of the festival, doubling the silhouettes of people walking through smoke on the other side.
Nearby our staked claim, a jovial group people drank Thai whisky and laughed. One of them asked where Michelle was from and refused to believe her answer. The women whispered and giggled and the men continued to speak to her in Thai. They were a friendly group, offering me a big glass of whisky over and over again until Michelle poked me in the ribs and I finally accepted. Every time I made the mistake of drinking more from my glass, it was promptly refilled. Michelle and I chatted with them in broken English and Thai until the fireworks started. By the end of the night, I'd been offered lots of whisky, seltzer water, fried fishballs, noodles, a better place to sit, and I'd launched my kathrong with a couple of the women in a makeshift ceremony with a large crowd watching.
The fireworks were supposed to be the climax of the festival, but for me it was the ride home. The historic park was a 12 km ride home on a songthaew (a flatbed or pickup truck with rows of seats in the back). In this busy hour, most of the vehicles were packed. The owner of one songthaew motioned for Michelle and I to hang on the back of her truck. I smiled, Michelle grimaced, and we both hopped on.
The crowds also left the park by bus, pickup truck, tuk-tuk, and motorcycle. You wouldn't have guessed there were lines painted on the road by the way drivers zig zagged their way towards home. As our songthaew flew down the road at 50 km/hour, we stood on the edge of the bumper hanging on for dear life. I felt like an extra from the Road Warrior - and let me tell you, the Thai whisky went a long way in fostering my mood. Headlights from the menagerie of speeding vehicles cut through the smoky air like spotlights in an air raid. I swung back and forth on the back as we arced around motorcycles and accidents. Wahoo! I was at one with the moment as a little boy in an amusement park.
(Thankfully, we arrived safely!)
Thousands of people from all over Thailand participate in Sukhothai's Loi Kathrong festival. During its eight day life span, this "festival of lights" feels like the American Fourth of July. Families spend time together, eat lots of food, and watch fireworks. The festival climaxes on the night of November's full moon, where participants float little banana leaf boats (krathongs) covered in flowers, candles, and incense across the waters of the old city.
We arrived four days into the festival and watched it grow larger with each passing day, so that by the last day the number of visitors was reaching critical mass.
So many people! We shuffled through the food stalls with the masses, passing by endless supplies of noodle soup, cut fruit, balls of meat, green oranges, exotic drinks, pressed squid, and roasted insects. The vendors were doing a brisk business - especially the ones selling skewered meat that had covered the park with a blanket of fog-like barbecue smoke that smelled like chicken. And the noise! The large crowd competed for my ears with loudspeakers blasting music, a Muay Thai boxing match, and a beauty pagent.
We found a quiet place with a spectacular view to watch the fireworks. We were in front of a ruin surrounded by the water of a man-made lake. The lake reflected the action of the festival, doubling the silhouettes of people walking through smoke on the other side.
Nearby our staked claim, a jovial group people drank Thai whisky and laughed. One of them asked where Michelle was from and refused to believe her answer. The women whispered and giggled and the men continued to speak to her in Thai. They were a friendly group, offering me a big glass of whisky over and over again until Michelle poked me in the ribs and I finally accepted. Every time I made the mistake of drinking more from my glass, it was promptly refilled. Michelle and I chatted with them in broken English and Thai until the fireworks started. By the end of the night, I'd been offered lots of whisky, seltzer water, fried fishballs, noodles, a better place to sit, and I'd launched my kathrong with a couple of the women in a makeshift ceremony with a large crowd watching.
The fireworks were supposed to be the climax of the festival, but for me it was the ride home. The historic park was a 12 km ride home on a songthaew (a flatbed or pickup truck with rows of seats in the back). In this busy hour, most of the vehicles were packed. The owner of one songthaew motioned for Michelle and I to hang on the back of her truck. I smiled, Michelle grimaced, and we both hopped on.
The crowds also left the park by bus, pickup truck, tuk-tuk, and motorcycle. You wouldn't have guessed there were lines painted on the road by the way drivers zig zagged their way towards home. As our songthaew flew down the road at 50 km/hour, we stood on the edge of the bumper hanging on for dear life. I felt like an extra from the Road Warrior - and let me tell you, the Thai whisky went a long way in fostering my mood. Headlights from the menagerie of speeding vehicles cut through the smoky air like spotlights in an air raid. I swung back and forth on the back as we arced around motorcycles and accidents. Wahoo! I was at one with the moment as a little boy in an amusement park.
(Thankfully, we arrived safely!)
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