On the night of the full moon, Holi came and went with a bang, or more importantly a bhang, the Nepali/Indian version of ghanja food, aka trouble. If you arrived in Kathmandu this morning, you have to look closely to find the remnants of such lively celebrations, like the traces of brightly colored tikka powder strewn on sidewalks. Purples, oranges, blues, and pinks sprinkle the streets in a trail of memories; bright orange puddles of water trickles down from the edges of buildings; an occasional flash of bright pink remains on the shoe laces of a little boy. There is a sense of elation floating around the city as people go about their days, as Holi has become a well hidden secret revealing itself only in the child like smiles of people as they think about the day before.

Life was put on hold as the streets of Kathmandu came to life in the celebration of the Festival of Colors. Planning to stay inside for the day and enjoy a nice rooftop barbecue, I was unsure of what to expect from this Hindu holiday. I was told the festivities could get pretty rowdy, and being a single white woman, I would easily become a target for rough housing. Not very enthused by this prospect, cozying up on a sunny rooftop, away from the chaos, seemed like my best option.

I could not have been more wrong. Making a quick trip to the corner fruit market, I asked my roommate if she thought I would get hit on my way out, she said no. So I proceeded with caution out of the confines of my safe haven, and began the five minute walk around the corner. I made it inside the market, narrowly escaping a few water balloons, but felt safe when I sat down to wait for some fresh squeezed orange juice. Again, I was wrong. Two friends rounded the corner, and seeing my clean, dry outfit and freshly washed hair, I could tell by their mischievous looks that I was not safe. In the span of about two minutes, I was completely drenched and had made a mess on the small concrete floor in the juice shop. Not to mention, the brunch breakfast I was skipping out on, was replaced by a trash bag filled with bhang treats. In this case, some sort of donut hole, not even important other than being, well DELICIOUS. To quell my hunger and continue the day, naturally I started nibbling on these treats and probably lost count after at least FIVE. whoops. So the day goes on.

Ready to surrender myself to the day, we prepared our own Holi festivities to start off right; covering ourselves from head to foot in a rainbow of colored powder. We even going as far to make a mixture of gold and silver combined with hair gel to make some face paint. Clearly done with the idea of staying clean and away from the celebrations, I was already gung ho and ready to commit to the long day ahead of me. Next on the itinerary was creating our own Holi war zone, otherwise known as the “bike workshop,” where most of the people I was with work.

Armed with bags of water balloons, and the more popular clear baggies that pose as water balloons, we set up camp between the motorcycles and tools to begin our self inflicted battle. Posted up by the water spout we all took turns on duty, filling up the bags. Occasionally a rebel in the bunch would fill up an entire bucket of water searching for a victim, and then pour the entire cruddy cold contents on their head. After thoroughly drenching each other, and everyone having turned a shade of purple, green or pink, it was time for the most exciting part of the day.

But first, let me explain something else that happens during Holi. From my observations many of the older women, watch and participate in Holi from the rooftops. The men and younger rebellious boys parade the streets in large packs, like wolves hunting a fox, and roam the city looking for targets. While we were slowly filling our secret stashes of water balloons, there was a woman perched up on the high flying rooftop across the street from our little game. With a stern look and savage frown, she was full heartedly filling up her buckets of water, and flinging them as far as they would go, to drench us and any passersby. She peeked her head around the corner every once and a while, and then would return with a full bucket and look of vengeance. I could only imagine her hiding on the roof laughing with her friends. A few of the men, as manly as they think they are, tried to launch water balloons up to her rooftop, but with no such luck. We were no match for her precision and skill, something she must have been practicing every Holi for many years. In my state of bhang, I may have said "I love you!" and probably a few times, good thing she was far away.

Next comes the best part of the day. A movie like motorcycle ride around Kathmandu. There were about twenty of us in total, so that makes for a quite a scene on the streets. I have ridden a motorcycle quite a few times in my day, but needless to say, I have never ridden a motorcycle through Kathmandu, during Holi. What an experience!

Everyone already had their designated drivers at hand. I was told I could ride with one guy, but there was somebody already waiting, to say in Nepali, “seytes taken.” That’s what I imagined him saying in my head, anyway. As if racing the other guy who was strapping on a seat no bigger than a match stick (that would surely not fit my ass) with a rope, I was thinking, Lord have mercy, there is no way I am riding three to a bike on that thing! So without saying another word, they pull a double seat out of thin air and immediately begin adjusting the motorbike, to you know, just whip it on there. Well all in all, those handy boys got it worked out and in no time I was hopping on the back of the double seat.

This was the most fun I have had in ages, and I think I literally at one point yelled out "THIS IS SO AWESOME!" My cheeks were stretched wide the hole day. I felt like a puppy with it's head out the window on the freeway. Not to mention that about half way through the ride, I really did take my hair down, and I may or may not have done a few hair whips, to feel the wind against my neck, of course. I was nervous at first about getting my hair colored, but immediately on the bike I started to feel like a new person. Who knows, maybe it was those donut holes speaking.

Every single street was teeming with people. Young boys proudly marched the streets, faces painted in silver, red, and black; confidently traipsing around and shouting, “Happy Holi,” as we flitted past. Buckets of water were thrown from rooftops to greet our already died hair; people with baggies filled with colored powder poured them out hoping the wind would whip it onto our speeding motorbikes.

All through the day, hundreds of people participated; balloons and buckets of water were launched from rooftops, and pounds of powder flew through the air; on every street corner and every alley way, hordes of people wandered the streets covered head to toe in the bright colors of the eighties; there were even a few stray dogs suffering from the layer of green or orange dotting their noses.

So after skirting around town making a scene on our motorcycles, and ya it felt pretty bad ass (I won't mention that I might have ripped the guys shirt who shared his bike with me, not because I was trying to rip it off but because I was gripping it so tightly.)We had to go to a friends dinner party, who I have met one time. As you can already tell, I was in no way shape or form fit to mingle with strangers. Naturally, I camped out at the food table, and my only meal of the day having previously been bhang donuts, I probably ate ten samosa and a can of pringles.The only semi cute guy at the party, or in Nepal from my observations, walked in on me in the bathroom trying to wash my hands in the shower, which I had turned on full blast, because I couldn't turn the sink on. He said, "UH, you just have to use the bucket with water under the sink." Like, duh you dummy, anyone could figure that out. Well, apparently I couldn't.So much for putting myself out there and meeting new people in Nepal. Apparently, I really can't hang.

Holi celebrates the coming of spring and the triumph of good over evil, but it is also a time to forget the daily grind, and just play. Holi brings people together, from every caste, career, village, household, and gender, building bridges between societal and cultural gaps; everyone is welcome to join in the fun. By far one of my favorite days in Nepal, if you ever get a chance to visit a Hindu country during this time, you must do it! And there you have it my friends, my new favorite holiday of all time. I really am a big advocate for cultural immersion and all, but why not implement this in the states? Can you imagine cruising around San Francisco, or Seattle, on bicycle, throwing colored powder on everyone? One word for that; amazing. I know Holi exists in certain pockets of the United States where big Indian populations live, but I'm sure there is nothing to this scale, obviously. Ah I wish all of you could have been here for this, what an amazing day.

*this is what I wrote for work. You can see what I added on here, in color. some extra flavor.