This year’s Songkran was a far cry from the foam parties and street raves of Bangkok. I spent it deep in the Isaan countryside, where the water’s just as wet, the smiles are just as wide, and the traditions run deep—including the kind you eat.
We kicked things off the classic way—playing water on the road with the neighbourhood kids, armed with buckets, bottles, and the occasional sneak-attack from a hose. The real action, though, was hopping in the back of a pick-up truck with a giant bucket of water and driving around the village like a soggy SWAT team. Every stop turned into a mini water war with strangers who somehow became instant friends. Soaked, sunburned, and smiling—10/10 would drench again.
At the temple, we balanced the chaos with a beautiful, peaceful water blessing ceremony. Locals poured scented water over elders’ hands, offered food to monks, and shared laughter under the shade of bodhi trees… until someone inevitably turned on the hose and soaked everyone in sight. Sacred but soaked—a classic Isaan vibe.
But the real cultural curveball came when we stopped by a local farm that supplies us with raw milk (the good stuff). That’s when I learned they also sell… cow placenta. Yep, you read that right.
Apparently, it’s a local delicacy and something Khun Yai (Grandma) has been enjoying for years. I’d never tried it before, and honestly, I wasn’t sure if this was going to be a “when in Rome” moment or a “smile politely and back away slowly” kind of situation. But after doing some research (and lots of internal pep talks), I gave it a go.
Cooked in a spicy Lao-style soup, it was shockingly good—rich, meaty, and full of heat. Kind of like liver’s cooler cousin who knows how to party. I’m not saying I’ll be ordering placenta pizza anytime soon, but hey, I survived and even went back for seconds.
Before we left, Khun Yai—ever generous and full of surprises—pressed a small bundle of money into our hands. “sawadee bpee mai,” she said with a smile. No matter how many times I protest, she always wins. It’s a reminder that in Isaan, love is shown through food, laughter, water buckets to the face… and quiet acts of generosity.
So there it was—a Songkran with no tourists, no big city chaos, just family, traditions, and the occasional organ meat adventure. We still wore the bright floral shirts, got epically soaked, and laughed till our sides hurt. But we also shared bowls of food, stories, and culture in a way that only a rural Thai village can offer.
I may never look at a bowl of soup the same way again… but that’s kind of the point, right?
Water fight and the abuses people festival 😆😆
Water fight and the consensual sexual abuses people festival 😆😆
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