15° 47' 00.2" N 104° 09' 13.2" E
Rockets for the gods:
Thailand celebrates with a bang!
Shortly before the monsoon starts, people in Isan turn their eyes to the sky, hoping the heavens will send rain to northern Thailand. To increase the odds and ensure a good harvest, they fire rockets up to the gods.
A week before the rockets shoot up to the gods, people in Isan decorate the streets and adorn the launch ramps with lotus blossoms. The men take time off work, stay home, drink whisky. A high event is underway, and everybody knows it.
Pick-up trucks drive through the villages transporting blue PVC pipes, oil canisters, banana trees and six-metre-long bamboo poles. In garages and sheds, men saw and stir, shape and secure – from six in the morning until late into the hot, tropical night. Everywhere, they’re now busy building giant rockets. Beyond the houses, water buffalo stand in dusty rice fields and the hot sun blazes down onto Yasothon, the provincial capital.
Soon, in June, the monsoon season will begin. The rains will replenish the fields and turn Thailand’s breadbasket into a fertile landscape. But this requires a little bit of human help, which in Isan has been offered for centuries. It involves gunpowder, long fuses and home-made projectiles. Bun Bang Fai is the name of the spectacle that precedes the rainy season. In north-eastern Thailand, people traditionally shoot rockets high into the sky in an appeal to the mighty ones in their mystical worlds for an abundant harvest.
The Rocket Men of Isan proceed with the utmost care. It's a matter of luck or misfortune, rain or drought.
Everyone in Isan is a firm believer in the ritual, but the rockets are hardly playthings. They weigh up to 120 kilos and tear through the sky so fast and so high you expect them to go into orbit.
Twenty-metre-high launch ramps stand ready in a field not far from the temples of Yasothon. The event begins this Sunday, a huge party with elephants and food stalls, dancing and loud music. Every few minutes, a rocket, stuffed to the gills with gunpowder, will shoot up into the sky, engulfing half the site in thunder and smoke.
Dr Saichon Posri leads one of the rocket building teams and is currently hard at work in the small village of Baan Klong, half an hour’s drive from Yasothon. He constructs his projectiles by hand and perfected down to the last detail: trim, weight, explosive density. The connection between the hull and the bamboo tail is impeccably plaited, the ends of the giant, heaven-bound grenade are turned in hot oil.
As a boy, Dr Saichon was a fervent follower of the local rocket tradition. Today he is 62, holds a doctorate in philosophy and political science and runs a successful electronics business in Bangkok. But what he really burns for is rockets!
He reveals very little in the way of technical details: ‘Our rockets fly very high, very far and very fast.’ And where do they land? ‘Our rockets have no parachute, we don’t know where they’ll come down. They’ll come down somewhere.’
His nearly ten-metre-long monster lies on trestles in front of him, a long blue shell. He attaches the bamboo pole that will stabilize the rocket’s flight trajectory, functioning as a six-metre-long tail fin in the raging airstream. In essence, celestial torpedoes of this kind are much like standard New Year’s Eve rockets. Just far bigger and more powerful: with a diameter of up to 20 centimetres and weighing as much as 120 kilos, they can cost up to 60,000 baht apiece, or about 1,500 euros. Some say these rockets can fly dozens of kilometres, reach flight altitudes of 6,000 metres and shoot through the sky at speeds of close to 700 kilometres an hour.
Each team has its own rocket-building recipe. The highly explosive fuel mix has to be just right, the angle of climb as well. And each rocket is beautifully adorned with orchids, jasmine blossoms and colourful silk scarves.
His nearly ten-metre-long monster lies on trestles in front of him, a long blue shell. He attaches the bamboo pole that will stabilize the rocket’s flight trajectory, functioning as a six-metre-long tail fin in the raging airstream. In essence, celestial torpedoes of this kind are much like standard New Year’s Eve rockets. Just far bigger and more powerful: with a diameter of up to 20 centimetres and weighing as much as 120 kilos, they can cost up to 60,000 baht apiece, or about 1,500 euros. Some say these rockets can fly dozens of kilometres, reach flight altitudes of 6,000 metres and shoot through the sky at speeds of close to 700 kilometres an hour.
Each team has its own rocket-building recipe. The highly explosive fuel mix has to be just right, the angle of climb as well. And each rocket is beautifully adorned with orchids, jasmine blossoms and colourful silk scarves.
‘The rockets fly very high, very far and very fast. Where do they land? Oh, they’ll come down somewhere.’
With the aid of a hydraulic pump the men fill the rocket with fuel – potassium nitrate, enriched with ground charcoal. They dump sack after sack of the black rocket powder into the empty hull. Thumping and hissing sounds fill the tropical hangar. The rocket men of Isan carry out their work with utmost care. It’s a matter of luck or bad luck, rain or drought.
‘We’re definitely in the running’, says Dr Saichon. There’s packaged rice and fish to eat, cold Thai beer, and spirits in the fridge. ‘We’ll be finished by Sunday; our time slot is 11.25.’ A fan shovels hot air into the hangar. Outside, crickets screech.
Friday. Two days until showdown. Several pick-ups drive onto the still deserted launching site in Yasothon. The mayor, a Hindu priest and a few rocket builders pray together at the foot of a ramp. In front of them, a folding table holds all manner of offerings: coconuts, bananas, marigolds, two cooked river fish, several bottles of beer, a plucked chicken and a large pig’s head, which stares up at the launch ramp.
Incense burns, candles are lit. A quiet moment of contemplation before the rockets set off for the realm of the gods.
Saturday. One day until showdown. There are parades in Yasothon. Golden carts roll down Chaeng Sanit Road, dancers twirl beside performing bands. Thousands of people arrive for the festival, visitors from the villages, from around the country. The music reaches hurricane pitch.
In his workshop, Dr Saichon writes final messages on the blue plastic pipe with a permanent marker: ‘Fly high! Good luck!’ What a beautiful rocket. A real masterpiece.
Sunday. People flock from all directions to the large field behind the temple. Some 30,000 spectators are expected. Emerging from their tents, the first teams carry their rockets toward the ramps. They climb up barefoot, secure the rocket, adjust its long bamboo tail. The air crackles. With heat, with anticipation.
Saturday. One day until showdown. There are parades in Yasothon. Golden carts roll down Chaeng Sanit Road, dancers twirl beside performing bands. Thousands of people arrive for the festival, visitors from the villages, from around the country. The music reaches hurricane pitch.
In his workshop, Dr Saichon writes final messages on the blue plastic pipe with a permanent marker: ‘Fly high! Good luck!’ What a beautiful rocket. A real masterpiece.
Sunday. People flock from all directions to the large field behind the temple. Some 30,000 spectators are expected. Emerging from their tents, the first teams carry their rockets toward the ramps. They climb up barefoot, secure the rocket, adjust its long bamboo tail. The air crackles. With heat, with anticipation.
Elephants, food stalls, dancing and infernal noise: every few minutes a rocket stuffed to the gills with gunpowder shoots into the sky.
The MC’s whistle sounds. The spectators stand back to watch the launch from a safe distance – if you can call it that. There have been incidents of rockets shooting into the crowd and even reports of deaths.
And then it’s time for take-off: the first rocket leaves the ground with an infernal hiss that flashes across the entire square. Up by the ramp, only 30 metres away, a giant cloud of smoke billows upward, spreads sideways and engulfs the crowd. The rocket is barely visible. Suddenly, it rips loose, shooting up into the sky at breakneck speed, piercing the clouds and soaring higher and higher until it almost disappears.
A murmur passes through the throng. Everyone stares heavenward, already partly deafened from the first thunderous report. The next rockets are fired around ten. There’s a powerful thunderclap, a hissing sound and then a fiery tail shoots into the sky, creating a giant column of smoke. Shortly afterwards, another rocket goes off. It races heavenward at several hundred kilometres per hour before its trajectory flattens and it begins to spin, spiralling westward until it disappears over the horizon.
The crowd roars, screams with excitement. A referee follows the flight path and jots down the times. But even masters of ceremony can lose sight of the thunderbirds. They simply fly too far, too high, too fast.
Dr Saichon and his team arrive. It’s shortly after twelve: high noon. Three men shoulder the rocket and a Thai cheerleader in a Day-Glo wig dances in front. There’s singing and drumming. The heat is merciless. The last climber removes the sacred decorations from the rocket’s tip. On the ground, everyone moves into a half circle. A quick prayer is said, a final intercession. Then the whistle blows.
The rocket ignites, lifts off. It tears through the air with almighty speed, races into the clear sky. Two, three seconds pass and then it’s gone. Just a streak against the blue, trailing a thunder cloud several hundred metres long that spreads like an outsized fantasy.
The crowd roars, screams with excitement. A referee follows the flight path and jots down the times. But even masters of ceremony can lose sight of the thunderbirds. They simply fly too far, too high, too fast.
Dr Saichon and his team arrive. It’s shortly after twelve: high noon. Three men shoulder the rocket and a Thai cheerleader in a Day-Glo wig dances in front. There’s singing and drumming. The heat is merciless. The last climber removes the sacred decorations from the rocket’s tip. On the ground, everyone moves into a half circle. A quick prayer is said, a final intercession. Then the whistle blows.
The rocket ignites, lifts off. It tears through the air with almighty speed, races into the clear sky. Two, three seconds pass and then it’s gone. Just a streak against the blue, trailing a thunder cloud several hundred metres long that spreads like an outsized fantasy.
The rocket climbs beautifully. Its trajectory is fantastic. It soars very far and very high with indescribable grace. Down on the ground, Dr Saichon gazes upwards for several minutes, then says: ‘Booooom! Very high, very good!’
This is how it should be. It was all worth it: the labour, the decoration, the music, the dancing. The following weeks will bring rain, a shower of good fortune and in the end, a rich harvest. Just how the business with the the rockets and the rain gods really works is never actually revealed. But it’s not really important.
This is rocket science made in Thailand. It’s a sacred matter, which for foreigners means only one thing: it’s way over their heads.
Marc Bielefeld
Author
From a balloon to the desert, out to sea, into the ice: in twelve captivating reports and podcasts, the author describes fascinating places around the world and encounters with remarkable people.
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Great moments, peaceful bliss, poignant scenes: the photographer from Frankfurt always has his camera ready to capture what words can’t express.
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Lufthansa
Aluminium Collection
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In Thailand, our case demonstrated its toughness by leaping off the tuk-tuk, swallowing dust each time a rocket went off and rolling across the field to the launch site. Its motto: Stay cool and look smart!
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