Soaked

"Happy New Year!" the old woman said as she dipped her hand into a milky white paste and spread it onto my face. Usually its talcum powder, but this, this was Gold Bond. "Khap kun kaa!" I said as I hurried off, my face tingling, on the edge of burning. But before I could wipe it off, I was passing the next group of kids, buckets in hand. I spread my arms wide and welcomed the gallons of water pouring down my body, into my shirt and exiting through my soaked shorts. Yes, gallons.

The water festival is no joke here. Sure some of the smaller kids have water guns and lightly squirt you as you pass, but everyone else has liters of water ready to splash on passing trucks and motorbikes. No one is immune. I was walking, so of course I was more drenched than those with motorized transport. My flops squeaked as I climbed up and down the hills, through the villages, and back to my hammock for the afternoon where I lay in bathing suit as the sun set, the driest I had been all day.