12 November 2008, 6:06 pm
Buriram is a city where everyone can expect to see parades. Not just a few, mind you. There seem to be parades celebrating something here nearly every week. And even sometimes, more often that not, more than one parade per day.
Just imagine yourself-- you are minding your own business, heading off to work or going shopping or to the bank or post office, with pleasant thoughts drifting through your consciousness, when, all of a sudden, you notice something unexpected happening. You may have just been driving down one of the streets eyes pealed trying to avoid the rush of motorcycles darting unexpectedly in front of you from the left or right or you may just be strolling along any of the main street areas when you see curious crowds beginning to gather and people milling about in expectation of yet another parade. “What’s the cause today?” you might be thinking. "Oh look over there, on the left, on the right !!" Behold the groups of brightly dressed parade participants beginning to appear seemingly all at once and out of nowhere, overloaded pick-up trucks of kids jammed tightly into the back of the truck-beds of Toyota’s, Izuzu’s, Mitsubishis, or Mazda’s now begin piling out the back of the big blue 10 wheeled songtaos.
Children of all ages--- even some participants as young as three or four years, grandmothers, grandfathers, moms and dads, most of whom are sporting make-up, elaborate hairdo’s, or dressed in crisp school uniforms or a myriad of colorful, traditional or exotic costumes. All covered in various shades of pink, blue, red, orange and purple--- to the right or to the left or all around you now.
There they are, flanked by harried teachers or parade minders, fellow villagers and townspeople alike who can be seen running around, gathering their folds into organized units. Then it all begins to take on a life of its own--- now comes the peals of crashing cymbals, the martial beat of the drums, the tumultuous trump of the various brass instruments, trombones, trumpets and slide trombones, the recorders, the flutes, the animated characters, the dancing, the singing, the performing, or like today--- the brightly festooned Chinese dragon bobbing up and down,
Behold the school colors everywhere, emblazoned upon banners, pretty girls and handsome boys holding up carefully prepared signs to indicate their school name, cause, group, affliation, a variety of uniforms or seas of t-shirts abounding and flags blowing in the wind. Group by group, they march, line after line they come, too many to count.
Smiling faces, waving arms, umbrellas to shade themselves from the rays of the brilliant sunlight, recognized waves towards the crowds of onlookers, cameras everywhere, raised and flashing. Joviality reaching a crescendo of delights, all expressed in the sense of the moment.
Welcome to a normal day in the city of Buriram.
Share on del.icio.us
Share on digg
Share on Technorati
Share on reddit
Share on Yahoo!
Share on Furl
