Tico is stalking his victim, a couple of five year olds splashing water on their papa's car. As they laugh at their game one looks over his shoulder and screams as the bucket full of water crashes over their bodies. Vardevar has begun in Yerevan.

The tradition of Vardevar dates back to Armenia's pagan era, when its Vishaps (stone monuments of water dragons) were worshipped for bringing life-giving water to the land. Some date the tradition of Vardevar to the early Bronze Age (5000-3500 BC), others detect its origins in stone carvings on the Geghama Lehr (the largest mountain chain in Armenia) going back more then 10,000 years. Vishaps were placed throughout Armenia at springs and sources of rivers. They were guardians of life, and as Armenia began losing its forests in the Bronze Age, increasingly important for irrigation and survival.

Other origins come from Greek legends, especially that of Jason and the Argonauts. Jason and his cohorts came in search of the golden fleece, and when shipwrecked in a massive storm that tossed them out of their ship, washed upon the shores of present day Armenia and Georgia, washed clean by the gods.

Still others trace the origin to the great flood. Noah's ark is believed to have landed on Mt. Ararat, at approx. 15,000 feet the largest mountain in the area, which can be seen from much of Armenia. The flood cleansed the world of the greedy and selfish, and Vardevar's ritual splashing symbolizes the washing of one's sins and the renewal of life. In more ancient times baptism symbolized life itself, since nothing can live without water.

Whatever the origins, Vardevar continued into the Christian era, when the church usurped the pagan tradition and created a Holy Day associated with it. When it became a water free for all, no one knows, but hints for this can be found in Europe’s Mardi Gras or Fools Day, when the peasants were allowed one day in a year to run amuck and make fun of the ruling class.

Armenia does it with water.

The rules are simple:

1. Get water. Vardevar is the first Saturday of the first full week in July. Several days beforehand, start collecting water into any containers you can find, and plot your strategy.

Now getting water is not so easy as it is in the states: turning on the tape might get you air as much as water Armenia has been forced to ration water. Our neighborhood has running tap water two times a day: from 6-9 a.m. and from 6:30-8:30 p.m. The water rations date back to the Soviet period, where water pipes were installed slip-shod, so poorly constructed they leak as much as they deliver the goods. Water rich, the country is semi-desert, so most of its water resources lies below ground, and the tremendous cost of fixing the system with new water systems remains for the future.

Ever creative, Armenians have adapted to the situation, with every apartment having a "bak" or water tank hanging from the wall. We also have thermos and water jugs standing by--no one is thirsty, and I doubt the rationing does much good, since everyone stockpiles more then they could possibly use in a single day. Such is Armenian life.

Our neighborhood was blessed with a family who had bought a junior size inflatable pool for their kids in Dubai and set it up outside our building. We face a park with smooth sidewalks, so it was set up next to the water pump, insuring ample ammunition for the days events.

2. Wait until it gets hot.

There are still limits to water tossing here, you can't just go out and start splashing people at dawn, as much as I wanted. For years I have been alternatively drenched off-guard or dry en-guard with no one around. This year I was going to beat the odds, and I had to be forced back as I tried to storm the neighborhood at 6 am. No it has to be good and hot, around mid morning in Yerevan, before you start the water battles.

Kids wait anxiously, in physical pain as they spy unsuspecting prey dressed to the nines walking by them, it is a visceral sensation to watch kids in anguish, water bottles and buckets at heel, ready to splash but unable to commence attack.

Then the high sign begins, a neighboring streets erupts into squeals of laughter and adult "No-no-no...ahh!" as the water war begins.

3. Splash at will.

Anything goes. Kids have stocked away water into the most unlikely of receptacles, one kid innocently using a condom full of water ("Look what I have! A Pershing!") and running away from his red-faced father frantically grabbing after the huge balloon-like bomb. "It's mine, it's mine!" the kid screams as he evades his father's grasp. "Let him be," neighbors yell, laughing at the unexpected joke. Father grabs son. Son grabs back. They both tug at the priceless water bomb. The bomb explodes, water cascading over father and son, and adults on balconies laugh. Then water comes splashing from the top balcony, drenching all underneath. Kids run amuck soaking everything and everyone in site. Pots and pails come out of kitchens, plastic coke bottles are particularly prized since they send out steady reliable streams of water and last longest. One 3 year old delighted in shooting water out of his water pistol on people below him. The most lethal of attacks is the bucket toss, gallons of water tossed over the victim, insuring full drench and a required change of clothes.

No one is immune from attack, this is democracy in action. If you were stupid enough to dress in your best clothes on Vardevar, you deserve to get drenched. You had better have a second change of clothes handy. Cars are drenched, drivers uselessly honking their horns and frantically rolling up their windows as groups converge on them and splash away. Kids are more reluctant to go after the Mercedes and government cars, but eventually duty to equality and a good bath overweighs ruling class privilege. Just because you are in a car does not mean you are safe: splashers will open doors and drench riders at crosswalks or as they stop.

Adults are first reluctant to join in, carefully watching their children while fighting the urge to join in. In all this anarchy, it is amazing just how careful everyone is: older kids are careful of the youngest and always looking out for their safety. The youngest know their limits, testing the waters, so to speak, but eluding the worst barrages. Then water starts tossing off of all the balconies, and everyone stops, kids counting their numbers to be sure none of them snuck up stairs for a sneak attack. No, everyone is accounted for, but the water is still pouring off the balconies, at times across balconies.

Adults have joined in! Kids stare in disbelief as their parents suddenly lose 20 years and start playing. One after another starts joining in and the games have officially begun!

4. Try not to get wet.

Good luck. Of course this is impossible, but adults still talk tactics, and threaten certain death to their kids as they stalk them with water. Kids of course know better, this is the one day they can get away with teasing their betters, and they love to torture their them with drops of water that evolve into full scale drenching.

Vardevar lasts until dusk, or until your water runs out. Like I said, we were blessed this year with a junior size swimming pool, easily holding 500 gallons, so our neighborhood became a magnet for rival groups of kids running out of water. Squaring off, our kids assumed battle positions again and again, repulsing attacks with makeshift water cannons and bucket brigades.

And me? Well I half-succeeded in my battle plans. Foiled at 6 am I restlessly waited like the kids in our neighborhood for the first sounds of splashing, laughter and "I'm going to murder you!". Finally around 10 a.m. it started and I rushed out the door with my water pails.

I paused to spot a victim--fatal mistake! Just as I caught my error and was about to walk out from under the balconies, an ocean of water from THREE balconies came crashing upon me, temporarily turning me into a fountain fixture, Neptune of the neighborhood. Yerevan's water is incredibly cold, coming directly from mountain springs. Shivering, I threatened certain death to those above and frantically tried to toss water up to them. Kids know better, of course, skilled at the tactics of survival, so another cascade of water replied my futile attack.

I managed to toss water on some of our kids, and a few passing cars, but I was drenched seven times by ice-cold water before I finally gave up. Heartbroken to have lost so soon, I limped back home, battle weary and a little wiser (next time, use the coke bottles, they last longer). I felt like one of Jason’s cohorts washed upon the shores of ancient Armenia, nursing my wounds and singing the songs of my ancestors around a camp fire, plotting revenge and water tactics, swearing to fight another day. . .