Somewhere: My Favorite Place in Thailand

Imagine getting on a bus, sitting next to your newly made friend who thinks and breathes your same hilarious thoughts. Imagine driving by green rice fields and on the edge of mountain cliffs. You hop off the bus to start walking in the wrong direction where a complete stranger offers you a ride. And y’all arrive to a beautiful resort with valley views, opening the door to the rest of your tribe asleep. There is jumping on beds and kisses of embrace.

In this cool land, a true paradise of scenery overload, a conscious community lives full of organic farms and roadside avocados. This level of compassion and human connection has never been felt, even though you’ve been living the land of smiles for four months. Although this place is developing, it’s still intact, untouched by foreign tourism.

So you’re taken aback by the beauty of this region; a region that some compare to Switzerland, but you can only compare to Costa Rica and New Zealand. You didn’t know something like this could exist in Thailand. But, at the same time, this is exactly what you’ve been looking for. Mindful vibes, waterfalls, mountains. And? 

And a temple on the glass cliff. You don’t believe a destination could get more magical. As you and your friends wind around in your private songthaew you see it. And as the clouds open, you really see it. A jaw-dropping temple complex designed with orbs, mosaics, domes, and statues.

It’s like Candy Land for adults.

You spend your day admiring, snapping countless photos before you’ve even reached the second level of the first temple. There is laughter and smiles. There is constant disbelief of how incredibly legendary this site is. And you get to spend all day in scenery sensory overload with your very best spirits. You get to take it in for yourself, see how it makes your friends feel, and then you get to really feel it.

A storm rolls through, and you dodge to take cover in a dome, moments later realizing its roof is slotted. You’ve lost your friends so you quietly sit, watching the rain, smiling at the surrounding Thai families. And all you do is send thankful intentions and wait for the rain to pass. And since you are a person that craves moments of silence, you yet again realize this is the best day possible. Everything is exactly the way it could be, and more.

There are more viewpoints to gawk from. There are backbends and headstands and moments of prayer, because that’s how y’all live it. There are more comments like, “this is unbelievable!” The visit ends as you and your tribe try to duplicate the gargantuan Buddha statue. A peacock crosses your path, and yet again life blows you away.

       

You pack back in your Thai limo. When your driver asks where to go, you say, “somewhere beautiful.” You trust him and the stunning landscapes he has driven you through. And honestly, you don’t mind hours on end jamming with your gypsy sisters to instrumental melodies while you drive away from King Kandy’s Castle.

You arrive at the Candy Cane Forest and really wonder if this is a game. Following the Thai’s actions, you take a photo-shoot peeping out the maze of aligned trees. You go to the popular viewing point, as your friends lag behind in confidence it’s covered. As suspected, you eat clouds and turn around huffing and puffing up the hill.

When Sunday arrives, you land on rainbow to end the game. Your friends and you deflate on the grass of a beautiful flower garden overlooking the valley. Another weekend ends too quickly with the people you vibe best with. As you sip on a delicious coco-caramel drink, breathing the cool mountain air, you decide to say something profound.

If I pinched myself right now . . . I think it would just hurt.

 

Chiang Khan: A Riverside Charm

With only five months to live in Thailand, I feel the urge to travel and explore every crevice possible. This curiosity for adventure is cured every weekend when I get a chance to get outside of my city, on a bus, and off to somewhere new.

I really enjoyed the calm and peace from a past trip to Nong Khai, a town along the Mekong River overlooking Laos. So when I had the opportunity for another solo weekend away, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the Thai-Laos riverside again. I had been advised from my Thai friend that Chiang Khan had a similar landscape and a nice change in architecture, with its main city center lined with beautiful dark wooden houses.

A ride I expected to take just over three hours, turned into five and a half. And I could have been annoyed. But the moment the feeling of annoyance entered my system, I looked out the window and my draw dropped. Limestone cliffs. 

And the thing is, we can get pissed and let it soak our skin. We can. But we can just as easily notice the negative feeling, sit with it for a moment. And let it go. Because there are too many amazing feelings around to piss ourselves with the few negative ones.

I could tell you about trusting the process on my journey. About getting off a pickup truck in the middle-of-nowhere and letting my intuition lead me to the only reference point I knew- the river. I could tell you about my guesthouse that upgraded me to a bigger room gratis, just because. About a bike ride during a downpour that had Thais laughing at me, and me laughing at myself. I could tell you how Chiang Khan has the quietest, most peaceful night market I’ve visited in Thailand yet. I could tell you many things about this place. But I really just want to tell you one thing. About this one part of the day as the sun was setting on the lookout edge.

I was facilitating my daily headstand pose, as I like to invert in each new place I visit so I can get perspective from the upside down. And shortly thereafter two Vietnamese girls offered to help me take a photo. While the blood rushed back to my head, I had a great conversation with these girls as the sky turned orange in the setting sun. They were here on school break vacation, and insisted they’d be my ultimate tour guide in Ho Chi Minh whenever I come visit.

I felt so content with my life. Breathing in the beauty of the river and the sunset against the water. And as they left, I snapped photos of a group of school children while they laughed and chased each other. I was on my way back to the guesthouse, as I locked eyes with a monk.

And I’m never sure if I’m allowed to look them in the eyes. I know for certain I’m not allowed to touch them, as a female that is. But I couldn’t help but stay eye locked, even though I often dodge away awkwardly looking down or around, or anywhere besides eye to eye. This monk was with a couple, and I shortly started talking with the woman. Surprisingly, her and her husband lived in Northern Virginia, about a 20-minute drive from where I grew up. She knew my high school by name. I went to kindergarten around the corner from her house. Our connection was full of all familiar landmarks and locations.

She got to talking about how her husband, a professor at George Washington University, brought a group to study under the monk for a week. And that’s when the monk joined the conversation. He was full of spirit and constantly asked her to translate for him. Very interested in the work I was doing in Thailand, teaching English for his country, he smiled and maintained eye contact. I showed a lot of interest in their yoga and meditation practice. And as the monk told me more about his life, I was awe-inspired by the monthly walking meditation he and his following complete from one village to the main city. A distance that takes a full day. A distance they conquer barefoot.

Our conversation was not bound by time, and there was no, “pardon me, I have to get going.” We were all present there in our questions and exchange of experiences. At one point, the woman asked me if I was in a relationship. I was quick to respond that I’m currently working on a relationship with myself. And the monk chuckled cheerfully. I’m certain if we could touch, he would have reached out to my hand in exaltation. The monk reassured the couple that I was a rare soul, as they translated to me. He told me I emit an amazing light and energy. In that moment, I let myself be vulnerable enough to shed a tear of contentment.

And as we parted ways, I didn’t hug the monk, but I did hug the woman. I hugged her so tight and she told me to take the monk’s invitation to his temple. She shared that it’s not often he reaches out like that. That it’s not often a single woman gets invited to practice under this monk, who is considered one of the most revered abbots in northeast Thailand.

I left the riverside that night feeling brilliant. There are some days when I’m abroad that I begin to question what I’ve gotten myself into. When I question what I’m really trying to accomplish. But that night, all of the qualms I have about my life disappeared.

I don’t think you need a monk to reaffirm your soul. But there is something so powerful about being lifted up by a spiritual being that is worshiped for living his life in contemplation.

It was one of those moments in Thailand where I air high-fived the universe for landing me on the most amazing journey possible.

Chiang Mai: What’s All the Jazz About?

When people travel to Thailand there are a few places that they are going to visit. Chiang Mai is one of these well-toured locations. So I stuffed my backpack full of expectations on my five-day weekend up north.

My friend and I took the 12-hour night bus from the northeast to the north, a windy drive through jungles and mountains that has been deemed the most dangerous route in Thailand. Some of the older teachers at my school highly discouraged this trek, telling me that if my parents knew about my horror ride they would buy me a flight in a heartbeat. But talk, is talk, and sometimes you just have to do what you put your mind (and bank account) to. And besides the slight tossing and turning, we arrived safely.

Our first day in Chiang Mai and I was quickly reminded why I love backpackers. Backpackers are a select type of budget traveler that pack lightly but carry tons of adventure stories. Walking into a hostel is very different than entering a hotel or resort, because as you enter you automatically become friends with everyone. Everyone is very open with sharing where they’re from, why they’re here, and where they’re going . . . and there is no judgment. Most specifically no judgment for asking their name again. And again. And again.  

We all understand that travel friends are infinite but travel memory retention is poor.

With newly made friends in tote, we hitched a ride to the infamous temple on the mountain, Doi Suthep. As the travel blogs noted Doi Suthep is nothing too amazing, especially if you have visited temples in Thailand before. But it’s completely worth it for the view. It sits high on a mountain overlooking the greater city of Chiang Mai. It’s a magical viewpoint where you really recognize that mountains surround this walking city; it’s natural surroundings become evermore obvious. Our day was followed by slurping down some khao soi, the city’s signature dish of flat egg noodles in a coconut milk-based red curry soup. That night I worked on checking off my Thai travel list while I watched my first Muay Thai kickboxing fight. I never imagined they’d go at each other so hard, but the hard hits were still heard over the cacophony of audience jumble and live music. When this one guy was socked in the eye and dropped to the floor, I had to look away. It was a strange mix of an avid interest in what was going down and covering my eyes in terror.

On our second day we decided to partake in a tour. Chiang Mai is a very well organized tourism machine, and because of this many activities are expensive. But all the activities are also very cool, so we swallowed our thrifty attitude and spent some cash. If you know me well, you know I am an agriculture aficionado. My idea of continuing my education does not look like getting my Masters degree; it looks like me knee-deep in mud working in the drizzling rain planting and understanding nature’s tendencies.  So a cooking class on a farm seemed like the most perfect day ever. And it was. We woke up early, joined two strangers traveling from the US, and drove off to the market. Our Thai friend pointed out ingredients we would need that day and let us try things we had yet to savor. As we drove onto his farm, I couldn’t help but smile, exchanging stories with a professor and her friend who had made a conference trip into a longer vacation. Once at his property, we took a tour smelling and tasting and asking lots and lots of questions around his garden. With rice paddies as our backdrop, we got to work preparing four courses. I decided on green curry, tom kha gai soup, pad thai, and spring rolls . . . all concocted with love from yours truly. Since I live in an apartment that is essentially a bed, a bathroom, and a balcony, I have missed my kitchen space. Making food that I’ve seen go from simple ingredient to the plate makes me feel connected to my food source. There was something so satisfying in putting together my own meal, and how much more special that it was situated on a Thai farm.

The amazing day continued as I returned back to the hostel, joining a fleet of newly made friends who were hanging out. My friend, Helen, from the Cambodia yoga retreat had been living in Chiang Mai for a few weeks and she headed on over for a long overdue embrace. And it’s always interesting when my friends meet someone I’ve been talking about. I share what an amazing time we’ve had together but I often don’t include the trivial details like our age difference. So when my friend arrives simultaneously with a pair of 20-somethings, they ask, “which one is she?” And I just walk right on past them to my beaming friend who I haven’t seen in over a month. Age isn’t one of those things I see as a person’s defining characteristics. I more importantly describe my friend as someone who is forthcoming, interesting, mature, and intelligent. So I find myself laughing inside when people later comment, “I hope I’m just like Helen when I’m older.”

Because for me, I think, why not be just like Helen right now?

After a night filled with laughter and shuffling sticky cards, we woke up early the next morning for an adventure filled day. I had been let in on a local secret from a Canadian expat of the best adrenaline activity in Chiang Mai: cliff jumping at the rock quarry. And I was super excited. So, the crew from Khon Kaen, Helen and I grabbed a songthaew, our own private pickup truck. But as we drove up to the canyon, it was taped off, and a police officer immediately played paparazzi snapping endless photos of us. We soon discovered that the large group of Thais surrounding the complex weren’t there to watch us jump, but were waiting for a body to rise. The previous day, a young Korean man had jumped to his death and never surfaced. It was a very eerie scene and I felt myself highly discomforted. I couldn’t help but selfishly think that if I was in that water, hundreds of people would be diving looking for me, my friends mourning by the scene. But that wasn’t the case; Thais were laughing and casually enjoying their afternoon by the quarry. It seemed like they were playing a game to see who would see the body surface first. Common decency and respect were completely absent.

We soon decided to take a more mellow approach to the day, because when something like that happens you can’t help but be shaken up. A calm and relaxing afternoon by a local Thai lake lined with straw-hut restaurants absolved all worries. Filling up on papaya salad and Leo beer while we let the day just be. We had no activities. No to-do list. We were able to converse and kick it by water and mountains, all gracious for the beautiful gift of life.

The rest of the days were spent upgrading to a nicer hotel, with a pool and vegetarian restaurant. A guesthouse that had an interesting mix between backpacker and family with only a few dorm rooms. The best $12 a night I’ve ever spent. Helen and I practiced yoga in a beautiful studio tucked in town; I connected with the teacher and the class was so uplifting. I remembered how special it is to have a community to practice with, something I miss with my home practice.

But getting flexible in the studio did not compare to the flexibility seen in the Lady Boy show that night. The cabaret show came right out of The Birdcage- the outfits were outrageous and the dance moves were scandalous. I couldn’t help but keep laughing at this girl seated front row, jaw-dropped the whole time, looking very confused as she decided if she was looking at a female or a male.

The rest of our vacation was spent wandering temples and walking streets. The night market scene was vast and very popular. But it is really geared towards tourists. Don’t get me wrong, some of the items are cute and different, there are handmade blankets and lotus flower shaped soap. There are elephant sculptures and the ever-so popular parachute pants.

                                                               

But I can’t accumulate all these little gifts.

If there is one thing I learned on this trip, it’s that I’m not a tourist.

I’m not here to pack up my backpack and head to the next destination on my trail.

Unlike all those tourists, I’m not off to Vietnam or Cambodia or Laos.

I’m here to pack up my backpack and head home.

Home to my little corner of Thailand: Isaan, the Northeast.