And then there was starch.

Hearing that Luang Prabang was the pulse of Laos at the three (or sometimes five) day New Year's celebration, I decided to make a return visit.

Today, is day three of the festivities. Each has been marked with massive processions, as a migration of cheerful and many drunken Lao people make their way to a single place. On day one, that was an island on the far side of the Mekong.

I watched as at about 2:00 in the afternoon, hordes loaded tiny boats that rocked with the excited passengers. After they finished loading, they then overloaded before *put-putting* across the river. From my spot on the shore, looking to the island opposite, all I could see was a mass of bodies without room to move, while full boats continued to offload and sit in a traffic jam on the water, amid cheers and splashes.

I missed my ride across the river with To, but it worked out fine since I actually ended up bumping into my friend Nick, from the bus ride. He invited me to "enjoy" with his friends and family, so of course, I sat with them. Together, we shared a meal of a unique delicacy.

The blood of a duck had been drained into several small bowls and mixed with green onions and other various innards. Peanuts were strewn across the top and as this pure red substance slowly hardened into a jello-like consistency, I spooned a runny piece out and with a gulp to push down my weak stomach, I took a bite. It wasn't that bad. My eyes triggered my stomach into a brief fight, but I resisted and ended up having several more bites, before retiring from my bowl of duck blood.

After finishing dinner, we placed the head of the duck in a bowl and covered it with a plate. In our circle of celebration, we took turns shaking this makeshift container all about, until setting it down on the table we lifted the plate and revealed the direction of the pointing beak. Like an arrow, the beak pointed at people in our circle and whoever was at the receiving end of this point, had to drink a glass of beer.

As the sun began to disappear into cloudy skies, we danced in the streets rubbing ash from burnt, crusted kettles on the faces of passing motorbikes and anyone else within our reach. I have quickly learned that this is another custom of the Lao New Year. With an ashen face, and a full belly, I happily returned to my room, on the evening of the first day.

Day two, the masses went to a waterfall, Kuangsi, about 30km from here before returning for a parade with the new Miss Lao New Year, in the midday heat of a Lao summer.

In the midst of all this heat and bustle, in the middle of Lao river migrations and parades in traditional wear, there is a central element I have not yet mentioned -- water. Two elements -- water and flour; three, if you count the black ash of crusted kettles.

For the duration of this festival, the entire country participates in a water fight and no one is safe. Small children run around with supersoakers, pickup trucks with 15 in the bed cruise the streets, with the 16th passenger being a rubber garbage bin full of water, and then a few scoops in the hands of gleeful Lao teenagers; just to make sure everyone gets a good dousing on the driveby. It doesn't matter if you are wearing a suit, or riding with your girlfriend on a motorbike. You will get wet.

And then there was starch. Out of the center of crowds you can sometimes see a puff of white, an explosion of fluffy dust -- the aftermath of a random handful to the face.

Now, take these two small mentioned instances, and multiply them from one side of the city to the other. From the mountains in the north, to the plains in the south. The entire country is wet.

Today, day three, the parade will continue in a direction opposite to which it waltzed yesterday. And today, I expect much of the same.

(Correction 4/16 - starch, not flour)