'The magic of Loy Krathong, a ritual of light and remembrance'
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Night falls over Chiang Mai and the first soft light of the full moon rises. The streets fill with a steady stream of people, local families, travellers, children in traditional dress, a soft tension hangs in the air. Loy Krathong is approaching, the festival of water and fire, of old sins and new promises. But as with many traditions in this part of the world, its origins are shrouded in mystery. Whether it has a spiritual, practical or even political origin, it is inextricably linked to this place at this time of year.
Along the banks of the Ping River, a bustle of activity continues well into the evening. Small stalls sell delicate krathongs, floating offerings constructed from banana leaves, flowers, a candle, and incense. Hands work silently, intently on these artful rafts, just as they have done for centuries in search of a certain perfection worthy of the water. It is not just hands working together here, but a story that stretches across generations, across continents, and across the hearts of many a passerby.
The krathongs will take to the water, just as they did centuries ago when, so the legend goes, Nang Nopphamat created her first offering. There is something untouchable about this legend, a melancholy that casts the past like a shimmering veil over the present. According to the old stories, Nang Nopphamat was a devotional figure, a court maiden who thanked the water for abundant rain and fruitful harvests. But in the distance behind this story, doubt also glimmers. The chronicles do not mention her, she remains a shadow, a silhouette that appears and disappears.
As the evening darkens, the first lanterns appear in the sky. The khom loi rise, carried by hot air, floating towards the firmament like lost souls searching for a home. This part of the festival, Yee Peng, is intertwined with Loy Krathong, but is nevertheless something of its own, something northern, something that stems from ancient beliefs about heaven and earth. The air is filled with soft, almost elusive dreams. A brief flight into the unknown, as fleeting as the thought of sin that is sent up the river with the krathongs.
The stories and rituals are interwoven as they are everywhere in Southeast Asia. In Laos the festival is called Boun That Luang, in Cambodia Bon Om Touk, in Myanmar Tazaungdaing. A web of memories and meanings spans borders that are only approximate. The lanterns rise like a rippling stream, as fleeting as the promises and desires entrusted to the water. The night is silent, broken only by the rustling of the leaves in the lanterns, an ethereal whisper as if the air itself reminds us of the finitude of all things.
And like so many stories, the legend of Nang Nopphamat continues to dance on the edge of reality and fiction. It was Rama IV who connected Nang Nopphamat to Loy Krathong in the nineteenth century. As if he was looking for a way to give a folk tradition a deeper, historical value in the eyes of the colonial powers. By encouraging an old legend, Siam showed itself to be a country with its own heritage, its own myths, its own rites that would defy the centuries.
As the festivities continue and the river fills with the soft light of hundreds of krathongs, you feel the world in motion. The festival is a reminder of transience, of wanderlust, of the unstoppable urge of people to seek meaning in rituals, in stories that we pass on to those who come after us. The lanterns disappear into the distance, the krathongs are swept away by the water, but in memory Loy Krathong remains a dot on the horizon, a moment that repeats itself eternally, a light that always rises into the sky.
About this blogger
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My age officially falls into the category of 'elderly'. I've been living in Thailand for 28 years - try to do that. The Netherlands used to be paradise, but it fell into disrepair. So I went looking for a new paradise and found Siam. Or was it the other way around and Siam found me? Either way, we were good-natured.
ICT provided a regular income, something you call 'work', but for me it was mainly a pastime. Writing, that's the real hobby. For Thailandblog I'm picking up that old love again, because after 15 years of hard work you deserve some reading material.
I started in Phuket, moved to Ubon Ratchathani, and after a stopover in Pattaya I now live somewhere in the north, in the middle of nature. Rest never rusts, I always say, and that turns out to be true. Here, surrounded by greenery, time seems to stand still, but fortunately life doesn't.
Eating, especially lots of it – that’s my passion. And what makes an evening complete? A good glass of whisky and a cigar. That’s about it, I think. Cheers!
Photos, I don't do that. I always look ugly in them, even though I know Brad Pitt pales in comparison. It must be the photographer, I think.
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