Songkhran, at last

Traipsing through the pasty streets, overrun with smears of white faces and bodies, buckets of water, super-soakers, music and yells from vendors and participants alike, I am taken aback. This is inconsistent with the info I gained from my cursory glances at the tourist propaganda and my friend's passing mention of "Songkhran". After a few swipes of paste on the cheek and a thorough soaking, I realize that my detour to the dentist is going to take longer than expected.
I don't travel like this. Usually, research, a little language study, reading up on history and the like are half of my travel experience. This time, however, I have just finished a stint in Seoul, South Korea, my teeth are rotting out of my head (not to mention the pain) and I am late for a deadline. My research ended about 5 minutes after I booked my flight from Seoul.
Songkran is the Thai New Year, celebrated by parading through the streets applying paste to people's faces and bodies andthen washing it away with water. As I am told, this symbolizes the washing away of sins for the New Year. Fear not, the Buddha gets his fair washing from passers-by in tiny stalls set next to the road.
By looking at the tourist brochures, I see reserved Thais in traditional dress, whisking water onto each other out of small pails in idyllic village settings. Comforting and quaint as that may be, the Thais have a more interesting way of celebrating it, at least in Bangkok.
A six-block square swath of Bangkok is crammed with souls from around noon until two in the morning ensuring that no one stay dry or paste free. Many a small entrepreneur has endeavored to facilitate this goal by setting up roadside paste and water vending tables. At around 5 baht a pop, who can miss out on the fun? The government even chips in on the effort by providing large tanks of water, in case you happen to not see or not have money for the thousands of vendors.
This being my third time ringing in the New Year, I feel thoroughly entrenched in 2006. This fact does not deter me from joining the moistened, plastered masses in celebration.
What in most Western countries would be extremely restricted in time and scope and cause widespread chaos, flows freely in Thailand. Bodies cramming and rubbing up against each other cause no emotional friction. WHile some participants seem slgihtly traumatized by the event, the vast majority smile warmly and continur pasting, dousing and repasting the absolute strangers among them.
Only at one point do I see anything violent: gleefully squished between thousands of people, a board flies in the air, smacking its intended recipient. A brawl of sorts ensues and the crowd tries, unsuccessfully, to shuffle off the street. Sticks and fists hurle through the damp air. Suddenly they cease. In the distance, I see the police. Commotion. Yelling. A few figures just in sight are on the ground in handcuffs. Cheers. Applause. The proud Thai people continue marching through the mist.
After three days of this, I have chafed thighs, a rebruised foot and a residual alcohol hangover energized by adrenaline. I took a day, Sunday, to rest and get ready for my 6 AM train to Chiang Mai.
Finally dry, if still partially covered in crusty white paste, I head out to the train street toward the train station. A few partyers from the night before linger quietly drinking on mats on the sidewalks. Swirls of creamy pink float slowly toward the gutters, ushering some of the trash with them. Buildings that had been invisible through the hoards became visible for the first time. Then, it started to rain, drenching me once more, Mother Nature's final touch on the festival.