I had
come to learn of this festival only the day before. Some folks like
to start early, as I realized when a bag of water nearly hit me in
the noggin, thrown from one of the balconies above. Initially, I was
not amused but my irritation soon turned to curiosity, intrigue, and
finally resignation. As a tourist (i.e. a high value target) you have
two options: 1) stay in your hotel all day; or 2) take up arms and
prepare yourself for battle. I could barely hear myself think over
the war drums banging incessantly in my head. They wanted a war. I
decided I would give it to them.
Clearly,
I was going to have to arm myself. After some initial inquires I made
my way around and found what I was looking for. My arsenal included
two water pistols (one large, one small), about 80 small clear
plastic bags (water bombs) manufactured specifically for this day, a
packet of red powder, a dry bag (to hold a shit ton of water for
supply purposes) and a thirst for vengeance. I was not going to be a
victim.
I
admit it. I regressed. My maturity level plummeted about 30 years in
the span of hours. The night before Holi I put on my rain gear,
filled my backpack with assorted weaponry, and went out to pick a
fight. My desire for mayhem was unrequited. The folks who earlier
thought it prudent to begin the festivities prematurely had vanished.
I was forced to wait until the next morning to satisfy my bloodlust.
That night in my hotel room I spent a good hour and a half filling up
30 to 40 small bags of water that would serve as my ammo dump. I
figured these, along with my water pistols and red powder, would
suffice to keep me in the game for at least a spell. My sleep that
night was fitful and choppy. As any soldier will tell you it is
almost impossible to sleep the night before a battle. That night was
no exception.
I
awoke the next morning, donned my battle dress (i.e. rain gear), and
began my patrol of the streets of Thamel, Kathmandu. Shops were
closed and I saw few vehicles but the tension was palpable. From my
hotel room I could see folks on rooftops gearing up for Armageddon. I
made my way towards the center and narrowly missed a few 'gifts from
the heavens'. As I approached a group of younger Nepalis at a corner
they barely noticed me….that is until I unleashed a barrage of
water bombs into their mist, scoring a few direct hits. The fact that
Johnny Tourist just ambushed them left them confused…..for a
moment.
When
the moment passed Richie received a taste of his own medicine. One of
the miscreants even got close enough to smash a bag of water on my
head. Can't stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen. I fled…but only
momentarily. I had to cross their path to continue my patrol to the
center of Thamel. So I dipped into my bag for more ammo, took a deep
breath, and hit the throttle. I think I screamed, "Chaaaaaarge!!!!"
As I
discharged my payload they ducked inside the doorway for cover. More
soldiers soon emerged with an unmistakable look of vengeance in their
eyes. I manage to avoid the worst of the onslaught as I sped past. I
had another surprise for them. As they were rearming I removed my
water gun from beneath my jacket and ran to the doorway. They did not
see it coming. Richie: 2, Random Nepali Miscreants: 1. After the
execution of my guerrilla tactics I fled the scene, running so hard I
nearly vomited. The last time I felt that I was 15 years of age and
had just thrown half a dozen eggs at a rival 'gang' on Halloween.
Glad to see I've matured.
I
moved on. The rest of the morning took on a similar theme. I was in
constant fear of being hit from above by those cowards firing from
the safety of balconies and rooftops. They were untouchable as it was
impossible in many cases to gain access to their position. Pricks.
'Come down here and fight like a man (or woman as the case may have
been)!' was my constant cry. Pussies. In addition to the rampant
aquatic warfare there were also roving bands of Nepal's youth
wandering the streets screaming, 'Happy Holi!!!!' and smearing wet
colored powder on the faces of anyone in their path.
I was
in their path and by the end of the day I had enough color in my hair
and on my face to supply Crayola for a year. The smearing of color
was not always done with the gentleness one would hope for. In fact
some reveled in smashing powder on your face, in your ears, and,
unfortunately in your eyes. It stung….a lot.
One
nefarious little shit found great amusement in packing powder in my
eye like he was trying to plug a hole in the dyke. As my vision
cleared so did my head. Mess with the bull you get the horns you
little bastard. Remember that dry bag? Dry bags are great for keeping
your gear dry in wet situations (rafting trips, trekking through the
rain forest, etc.). They are also great for holding water. I managed
to fill mine with about two gallons, which I was saving to rearm but,
hey, special circumstances call for special measures, right? I spied
that little pooperface standing next to his friends nearby. I opened
the bag, sneaked up behind him, and let loose my deluge. Gotcha!
After my ambush I did the only thing I could think of…….an Irish
jig. It was a real crowd pleaser.
Much
of my time was spent surreptitiously weaving my way through the crowd
and squirting unsuspecting locals from afar. Utility poles, corners,
slow moving cars, and other revelers all served as my camouflage. On
average it took 10 or more squirts from my gun for any one person to
figure out where the onslaught was originating. After every round I
would either duck, turn, or stare straight ahead with that Who
me? I'm just an innocent tourist' look upon my face. If only
I could use these powers for good.
As I
did this onlookers (i.e. local Nepalis) could not get enough. They
found my antics hysterical. I think they were a little surprised that
a tall lanky freak of nature with face paint could get so into their
local tradition. I am pretty sure I made the local news as more than
one Nepali reporter focused either their video camera or photo camera
in my direction. How old am I?
This
was how I spent my morning and early afternoon. The day was not
without its unsavory aspects. Females who decided to get in on the
action often found hand prints on the area of their shirts covering
their breasts. A distinct hand print on the ass was also not
uncommon. And remember the hooligans I mentioned above? As I made my
way back to the hotel I was forced to watch in horror as those same
scallywags were taking things to a whole other level.
Apparently,
having run out of water (or being cut off) from the tap they were
scooping water out of the gutter. Imagine what that water must have
looked like. There were filling buckets and plastic bags with liquid
disease. And they were merciless. If you were ignorant enough to
drive your motorcycle or bicycle through his area you were met with a
cascade of shitwater.
I've
seen some pretty foul things in my time but this stopped me in my
tracks. I just sat there for a good twenty minutes or so as
pedestrian after pedestrian (locals and tourists alike) were
inundated with some of the nasty brew imaginable. I maintained a safe
distance and made utterances like, "Ooooo, that sucks!",
"How's that taste?', "Goood lord!", "Poor
Bastard!", or "Hepatitis is yummy!".
And,
as is always the case, things got out of hand. Not everyone saw the
fun in being soaked in pooh-pooh water. One gentleman objected
fiercely and was summarily beaten for his insolence. I watched, in
shock, as this guy wallowed around on all fours in a puddle of sewage
while members of the Water Assault Squad began kicking his
ass…literally. A bucket to the head, foot to the back, fist to the
face and a few more blows ensued. Luckily for him the police showed
up quickly and put an end to the offensive. I was thankful for that.
In addition to preventing further bodily harm it also provided an
open lane to my hotel. Super.
 |
| Yours Truly |
'Blessed
is he who has learned to laugh at himself, for he shall never cease
to be entertained.'
Nepal is a great place to explore, i have been there and its great to visit this place.
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