14.04.2025 | Water, Blessings, and a Fresh Start
Sometimes plans shift — and that’s part of the adventure
Every year between April 13–15, Thai communities across the world come together to mark Songkran, Thailand’s traditional New Year. It’s one of the most important celebrations in Thai culture — a time tied not only to astrology (when the sun enters Aries) but also to deeper values of renewal, gratitude, and spiritual cleansing.
This year, I made my way to Buddhapadipa Temple in Wimbledon, London, where thousands gathered to celebrate Songkran 2025. The temple — a serene and beautiful Thai Buddhist centre connected to the Royal Thai Embassy — opened its grounds for a full day of cultural celebration.
Attending Songkran in London wasn’t part of my original plan for that weekend. I had actually intended to watch the iconic Oxford vs. Cambridge boat race — the annual showdown between the two universities, held along a 4.25-mile stretch of the Thames between Putney and Mortlake.
But as soon as I heard about the Songkran celebration at Buddhapadipa Temple in Wimbledon, I changed course. As much as I wanted to witness the legendary rowing rivalry, the storyteller and street photographer in me was drawn to something a little less mainstream — something you don’t see as often in the usual media coverage.
A fun little twist: I was in Thailand earlier this year during TET, our Vietnamese New Year. And now here I was, celebrating Thai New Year in the UK. Life really knows how to line things up sometimes.
Thai peacock dance costume, a traditional outfit designed to evoke the regal presence of a peacock in both movement and appearance.
Shooting in a crowd isn’t easy — but that’s exactly what sharpens your eye
To my surprise, the temple grounds were absolutely packed. You could barely see more than a few metres ahead. I turned to my friend and said, “This is going to be a tough one to shoot — there’s so much happening all at once.”
The space was buzzing with energy: traditional Thai dance and music performances, stalls selling souvenirs and offering Thai massages, and an outdoor food court rich with the aroma of lemongrass, grilled meats, coconut sweets, and Thai milk tea.
Instead of stressing about getting the perfect shot, I gave myself the first 30 minutes just to soak it all in. I wandered through the space, chatted with vendors and volunteers, watched families interact, and got a feel for the rhythm of the event. I even treated myself to a warm soy milk and a bowl of fishball noodle soup — both totally worth the queue.
That pause made all the difference. I felt more grounded, more present. If you want to capture something real, you have to blend in first. Crowded events definitely push your limits — but that’s where you grow. Time to press the shutter.
One of the Thai food stalls at the festival, serving up steaming sticky rice cakes and grilled pork skewers.
A little rain doesn’t mean the moment’s any less special
By 3pm, the skies had turned heavy and grey — then came the rain. Some people ducked under vendor tarps for cover, others pulled jackets over their heads or popped open umbrellas. I won’t lie — I felt a flicker of disappointment. The sun had vanished too soon, and as photographers, we’re always chasing the light.
Gloomy weather brings its own set of challenges: overcast skies mean muted colours, low contrast, and scenes that can feel a little flat or dull without help from post-processing. Plus, shooting in the rain means you’re constantly shielding your gear from moisture, wiping down foggy viewfinders, and watching for lens condensation.
Still, days like this aren’t a total loss — they just ask for something different. Cloudy light is soft, even, and forgiving. No harsh shadows, no blown highlights. If you embrace the mood, there’s beauty in it too. Sunshine is great — but growth happens in the rain, doesn’t it?
Rain falls, but so do blessings
Beyond the food and performances, the heart of the day was spiritual. Visitors took part in Buddhist rituals, like pouring fragrant water over statues of the Buddha for blessings, and building small sand pagodas as a way of earning merit. Families and friends also took part in more personal traditions — like gently pouring water over the hands of elders while asking for their blessings.
It felt like more than just a festival — it was a collective pause. A reminder to slow down, reflect, and reconnect — with culture, with others, and even with ourselves.
