The Sound Hits You First
Firecrackers. Not the polite kind you hear at New Year’s — the kind that rattle your chest and make you flinch. Then the drums, uneven and insistent, coming from somewhere down the main road. You step out of the guesthouse and there they are: a river of ghosts pouring through Dan Sai’s single paved street, masks bobbing above the crowd like strange oversized puppets.
Phi Ta Khon runs June 20-22, 2026, in a town most Thais outside Isan have barely heard of. It’s the kind of festival that sounds made up when you describe it — a three-day ghost parade rooted in a Buddhist origin myth, performed in masks built from sticky rice steamers and coconut husks. But it’s very real, and it’s one of the few Thai festivals that hasn’t been smoothed over for tourist consumption.
How a Prince Brought the Ghosts Out
The backstory involves Prince Vessantara, who in Buddhist cosmology is the Buddha’s penultimate incarnation. After a long exile in the forest, his return to the city was so celebrated that the spirits of the woods couldn’t resist tagging along. The ghosts joined the party.
That’s the version you’ll hear most often, anyway. The actual origins are probably muddier — some combination of animist spirit worship, agricultural rain-calling ritual, and Theravada Buddhist ceremony that got layered together over centuries. The Bun Luang merit-making festival, which Phi Ta Khon is technically a part of, predates any tidy narrative. But the ghost-parade element is what everyone comes for, and the locals have leaned into it with enthusiasm.
The masks themselves are worth the trip even if you skip the parade (though you shouldn’t). Each one is handmade from a huad — the cylindrical bamboo basket used for steaming sticky rice — topped with coconut tree husks, then painted in whatever wild design the maker dreams up. Some are grotesque. Some are funny. A few reference pop culture in ways that feel delightfully irreverent for a religious festival. The carved wooden noses, often comically oversized, are a signature touch.
Day One: Controlled Chaos on the Main Road
The first day is the main event. Hundreds of masked figures dance, stumble, and swagger through town in a procession that has the energy of a block party crossed with a religious rite. There’s traditional northeastern Thai music — mor lam and phin — but also modern speakers blasting whatever the DJ feels like. The ghosts are playful and loud. Some carry carved wooden phalluses (yes, really), a fertility symbol that shocks first-time visitors but barely registers with the locals.
You will get bumped into. Your shirt might get dusted with colored powder. Someone in a mask will probably try to startle you, and it’ll probably work. The atmosphere is chaotic in the best possible way, though if you’re not great with crowds and noise, it can be genuinely overwhelming by mid-afternoon.
Day Two and the Quiet Third Day
Day two is more of the same, with additional performances and a Bun Bang Fai (rocket launching) competition. The rockets are homemade, the success rate is variable, and the crowd cheers regardless. Craft stalls sell miniature Phi Ta Khon masks — they range from ฿100 for a keychain-sized one to a few thousand baht for a wall-hanging replica. The quality varies a lot. Look at several before buying.
Day three is a sharp tonal shift. The festival moves to Wat Phon Chai for Dharma sermons, and the atmosphere goes from carnival to contemplative. If you’ve never sat through a Thai Buddhist ceremony, it’s worth staying for — though be prepared for it to run long and to understand almost nothing if you don’t speak Thai. Dress modestly. Shoulders and knees covered.
The transition from days one and two to day three is part of what makes Phi Ta Khon distinctive. It’s not just a party. The structure — wild release followed by solemn reflection — mirrors the Buddhist cycle it’s built around.
Getting There Is Half the Adventure
Dan Sai is in Loei Province, northeastern Thailand, about 520 kilometers from Bangkok. It is not convenient to reach. That’s part of the charm, but also something to plan around.
The most practical route: fly Bangkok (Don Mueang) to Loei Airport on AirAsia — there are two daily flights, about 50 minutes each. From Loei city, it’s roughly 80 km to Dan Sai by road. Minivans run between the two, or you can arrange a car. During festival time, shared songthaews are sometimes available from the bus terminal, but don’t count on a fixed schedule.
Alternatively, you can take a bus from Bangkok’s Mo Chit terminal directly to Dan Sai — it’s an overnight ride, around 8-9 hours, but it drops you in town. For flights and hotel bundles, Trip.com is decent for the Loei area, though options in Dan Sai itself are slim.
Where to Sleep (Book Now, Not Later)
This is the part where most people get caught out. Dan Sai is a small district town. There are maybe a dozen guesthouses and homestays, and they fill up within days of the dates being announced — sometimes within hours. Phunacome Resort is one of the better-known options, centrally located on the main road. But if you’re reading this less than two months before the festival, you may already be too late for Dan Sai accommodation.
Loei city is the fallback — more hotels, including chains, but you’ll need to drive or arrange transport each day. Lom Sak, about an hour south, also fills up. For hotel comparisons in the broader Loei area, Agoda tends to have more regional Thai listings than the international platforms.
Some visitors camp or stay with locals through informal homestay arrangements. This is Thailand, so things work out more often than not, but it’s not something I’d rely on during peak festival days.
What to Eat (and What to Expect)
Dan Sai is Isan, and Isan food is arguably the best regional cuisine in Thailand. During the festival, food stalls line the main road. Look for som tam (papaya salad — the Loei version often skips fish sauce), gai yang (grilled chicken), larb (minced pork salad), and khao jee (grilled sticky rice cakes). The night market sets up near the center of town and runs late during festival days.
One thing to note: this isn’t Bangkok. Vegetarian options are limited, English menus are rare to nonexistent, and card payments are essentially unavailable. Bring cash. ATMs exist in town but can run dry during the festival when visitor numbers spike.
The Honest Downsides
It’s late June. That means hot — regularly above 35°C — and humid, with afternoon rain showers that can be heavy. You will sweat through your clothes by noon. Pack light, breathable fabrics, sunscreen, and a packable rain jacket.
The town’s infrastructure is not built for the influx of visitors. Mobile signal gets patchy when thousands of people converge on one small area. Toilets are limited. The parade route is dusty when dry and muddy when wet. If you have mobility issues, the uneven terrain and dense crowds will be challenging.
Also: the dates are technically subject to confirmation by a local spirit medium, usually announced a month or two before. June 20-22 is the expected window for 2026, but check closer to the date — things can shift.
For day trips and activities around Loei beyond the festival — Phu Kradueng National Park, the Chiang Khan walking street — KLOOK has some curated options, though coverage for Loei Province specifically isn’t huge. Worth checking what’s available.
After the Masks Come Off
The Phi Ta Khon Museum, inside Wat Phon Chai’s compound, is open daily (roughly 9am-5pm, free entry). It’s small but well done — displays of old masks, costumes, and explanations of the Bun Luang tradition. If you arrive a day early or stay a day after, it’s the best way to get context for what you’re about to see, or process what you just experienced.
I keep coming back to the fact that Dan Sai is just a regular small town for 362 days of the year. There’s a 7-Eleven, a gas station, a couple of modest restaurants. Then for three days it becomes something else entirely. On the morning after day three, when the sermons are done and the masks are packed away, it goes quiet again fast. The food stalls fold up, the out-of-town visitors load into minivans, and the main road is just a main road.
I bought a small mask at a stall near the temple — badly painted, one ear already loose. It’s sitting on a shelf now. Every time I notice it, I think about the noise.