The Buddha’s borrowing my tailor this week. Teo is a mature, gracious lady in the village, an excellent machinist who’s made fine things for me before. This year she asked me to wait, groaning, “So busy! Please after the 20th.”

The 20th is a big local event. Masses of shiny blue satin swamped her room, bags of it piled high. She sighed, “Sleep – no sleep, only little. After 20th, OK.”

The event in question is next weekend, one of their “Big Buddha” days that are only a few per year. It’s Wan Awk Phansa, or Day of Leaving Phansa. Phansa is Thai for Vassa, an annual 3-month retreat for monks (Theravadan branch).

It’s also called The Water Retreat because it’s during soggy monsoon season (about July to September), when you may as well stay in and pray for three months. Monks disappear into deeply disciplined days, and devoted types give up smoking, eating meat, alcohol or other goodies. Some people call it Buddhist Lent.

The Day of Leaving Phansa is when the monks finally emerge. There will be parades, boat races and gifts. People will make a happy, welcome-back fuss, unlike the going-in ceremony which is a quieter affair.

Saturday there was a rehearsal for the dancing procession. Our little village pier isn’t usually so busy, with at most half a dozen small boats, a handful of people with fishing poles plus some strollers and gossipers. Here was a much larger crowd than usual, nearly 100 people, chattering and excited.

A pickup truck arrived with a loudspeaker, blaring out music for “ram wong” style dancing, traditional, graceful yet animated folk dances. The dancers stretched the whole length of the pier, doing delicate steps with classic arm movements, one hand as a lotus opening, the other closing, fluid as water. Leaders were there to demonstrate the moves, but most people clearly have done this for years.

Next Sunday morning, this dancing procession will go from one end of the village to the other, and then to the temple. The dancers will be in matching costumes, many made by tired, diligent, kindly Teo.

Traditions vary across the regions. There is buffalo racing, a special parade where everyone dresses as angels, and communal foot-washing of the monks is another way to pay respect. Everywhere there are gifts and almsgiving.

The Fireball Festival in Nong Khai is the most unusual. At this time of year, the Mekong unexplainably explodes with so-called fireballs that leap spectacularly into the sky. Myth says that Nagas – partly human, partly serpentine water creatures – chuck these fireballs up there to pay respect to the Buddha. Science says this time of year provide conditions where underground methane gas floats to the surface and burns up in the air. Either way, huge crowds gather every year.

Many places do night-time illuminated boat processions, and these are truly beautiful, I can tell you.

Here down south, they’ll do a daytime parade through the main port town (from police station down the one main street, to their main pier).

This is with the big “boat floats”, meaning excellent, detailed reconstructions of their most beautiful ancient boats from history, mounted on trucks to drive along the parade route, all decorated with gorgeous people in gorgeous traditional costumes. There are also floral floats constructed like giant mythical creatures.

I hope it doesn’t rain, but in fact it probably will.

All the boat and water symbolism is to do with washing away unneeded negative emotions.

Just wash it away, and turn over a new leaf, that’s the spirit.

Meanwhile, on Monday night on our little village pier, the music-blaring truck was back with no crowd but a few teenagers dancing for fun.

Tuesday through Thursday, Boy Racer was the theme. Two teams practiced for the boat races. They all matched their shirts to the boat colour, team brown and team sky blue, 6-8 boys to each boat.

The pier was absolutely crawling with little and large boys – on the deck, below amongst the barnacles, and leaping wildly into the water.
Motorbike engines and testosterone were revving everywhere.

It’s sweet this happens during low season. Beachy tourism is good business, but has a price. Their village is swamped with visitors. Many locals disappear from the beach and the pier, during those months.

Here, today, it’s their village again. They can emerge, like monks from retreat.

I wish I could have helped Teo with the costumes.

I’ll wait a week and let her catch her breath.

May all impatience wash downstream.