Bangkok, Chiang Mai and Pai
travel romance is no longer a foreign concept
Sawatdii Kha! What an insane first week. I feel as if I have experienced an entire month here in the last nine days, they all blur into one. I have already met and said goodbye to some of the best people I may never see again and have only been to three of the thirty something places on my list.
It’s been so full-throttle, I have not stuck to my promise of writing as much as I wanted, at this rate I will not be filling out the entirety of the Elephant dung journal. Shit of me, I know. What follows is a mixture of half-entries and reflections. I am shamefully posting this two countries along. How do writers live a life and create simultaneously? Personally, I need an additional month, sat in a dark room, to process everything that is currently unfolding.
As usual this post is too long for email. I have not hesitated to include several pictures since my friends with a nine to five have decided to block me on all social media but read my newsletter in case I have slagged them off in it again.
12/06
I arrive at Suvarnabhumi 8am, Thursday morning.
A local at the pub I work in back home is married to a Thai woman and told me to absorb the air when I arrive as there is no smell or atmospheric aroma like it. So I do, and in turn, hold up the entire rear of the Singapore Air 706 flight from disembarking the aircraft.
I wish I was one of those writers so delicate and attuned with their senses and the art of selective linguistics that I could describe a smell. It is a fine thing to master, making the reader smell a scene. I will try anyway. Bangkok smells urban. A mixture of diesel, fried oil, grilled meats, hot rain, fish sauce and incense. You smell it?!
My cooking teacher in Chiang Mai would later ask me where I had come from prior and when I replied, said, ‘Ahh Bang-kok stinky, right? Like this-’ shoving Kapi (shrimp paste) into my nasal area causing me to splutter over the dish of it that all of us go on to use in our Khao Soi. We laugh because we understood it didn’t smell good or bad, it just has a pungent and aromatic smell, that other cities lack.
I am now more aware of the psychological link between scent and memory because when I travel and smell similar scents, immediately, I am first taken back to Bangkok before registering my current location.
I knew it was going to be humid. Thailand, like most of South-East Asia, has two seasons. Wet and Dry. The parching heat remains the same. There is no winter. They put on layers when it dips below 30 degrees.
I just didn’t realise 90% humidity meant the air was going to physically attempt to suffocate me on my four minute walk to arrivals. I was still wearing my hoodie since the plane was so aggressively cooled by aircon, it could have stored ice impeccably for the entire eight hour flight. I apologised profusely to passport control, when they had to peel the documents they needed from my palms.
I love when I master a foreign transport system. As a non-driver, it’s basically my olympics. From the airport, I got the S1 to Bang Lang and from there, it was a three minute walk to where I was staying, Dara Three Hostel. Took me nine minutes, because Google Maps only lets you know you are walking the wrong way once you have passed enough people to make it obvious you are a stupid, little tourist when you have to turn back on yourself.
I had booked here because it was recommended in the Lonely Planet travel guide to Bangkok. I realised too late that the edition I had downloaded to my kindle was the very first, which was published in 2004. A few things have changed since then. What Lonely Planet had been recommending was Dara Three, the restaurant, which was turned into a guest stay in 2019.
As I arrive, there is a youtube stream, James Blunt FM, playing and that remains on loop until I leave. Lewis Capaldi is also very popular here.
Me and my new travel friends joke that Thailand has a singular nationwide playlist since the all the places we have been from central to north offer us the exact repertoire of songs. Usually Beauty and the Beat, A Charli XCX song and Party In The USA. They are aware of what Westerners want to hear. If we time travelled back to 2012.
I put down my bag and was surprised to acknowledge my jet lag, considering I had just slept all in all a straight thirteen hours. I begrudgingly listened to my body and took a power nap, then went to seek out my first Pad Thai.
I was staying adjacent to Khaosan Road, which is overstimulation objectified in a mile-long strip. I was trying to be smart, scanning which places were offering a tourist-hiked up price, when it started to downpour, so my financial principles went down the drain along with a lot of plastic wrappers. I ducked into the closest tent and opted for a chicken one which was 90 Baht (~£2). It exceeded my life-long held high expectations, so so good.
I had a natter with the waiter whilst I waited for the rain to stop. The thing with wet season over here is the clouds will shit down on you so fast and hard, but only for five minutes then the skies clear and act as if the outburst never happened. They are like male manipulators in that way. I then proceeded to go to a bar that had live music. There are multiple lined up, a shoe-less man with a charming, toothless grin beckons you to come in. Sometimes grabbing your hand and leading the way, prompting you to join him in a foxtrot as you try to work out whether you’re being kidnapped or not. One place was offering comedy, another acoustic music, rap battles, I opted for soft jazz. This particular duo was very good. The Thai elongate their words, it’s very sexy. I sat myself down on the balcony as the sun was setting and ordered a Tiger. The act raised their own bottles to me and I did the same, cheer-sing the air to my first official night travelling.
I get why Bangkok has so many rooftop bars, it is such a bustling and active city but from a height, the chaos shrinks down to something small and novel. I feel at peace.
Back at the hostel I took stock of my dorm situation. I had never stayed in one before and was initially apprehensive. I quickly learned nobody gives a fuck. Hostels are very family-esque. A home away from home.
The first night it was just old men who didn’t speak any English, and I don’t know extensive Dutch or Thai, so couldn’t easily converse with anybody. Then two Scottish girls arrived, the same age as me, here as a holiday after finishing university, they had just got back from a traumatic week in hospital because they got an infection on Phi Phi Islands, but seemed on great form considering. We got to chattering away and decided to check out another night market together.
We wondered through the maze of stalls and got a coconut shake each whilst they filled me in on tales of their travels, every person I have met has lived ten lives abroad, we then headed back to D3 and I taught them how to play Shithead.
13/06
I was up at 7am for breakfast. My host had made some fried puff puff that reminded me of a Kenyan mandazi, so I took five. She told me here they use rice flour instead. There was also croissants, watermelon, bananas and a mysterious parcel wrapped inside a banana leaf. I think it contained cheese. Maybe a Brie.
I showered and dressed, already repulsed by the selection of clothes I had chosen to bring and set off for Lumphini park.
Anybody ever heard of an Asian Water Monitor? I had not and Lumphini park has several. I was reading my kindle by the lake, romanticising my existence, standard procedure, when one of these mini dinosaurs casually emerges from the water.
I had no idea if they were harmless or not but when it looks like this, one naturally flees.
From the park, I took a bus. I think I have avoided a Grab bike thus far because I love the pandemonium of Thai public transport. No signs, or route maps, the bus number changes in front of you and it’s a brush with death when the door decides to close on you. It feels natural now, although one thing I haven’t gathered is the payment standards, I don’t think I am correct in thinking it is pay what you have, but I have taken the same route three times now and each time, put different coins in a conductor’s hand until they give me a satisfied nod and walk off.
They have these huge windows and I pop my head out, fighting the urge to stick out my tongue like an ecstatic Labrador as I soaked in the huge buildings and first bit of breeze I had felt all week. I stopped when an airpod nearly fell out onto the main junction.
Met the girls from my hostel in a shopping mall, ICONISIAM, where there was a different theme each floor. It was insane.
Learned to use a cash card since Apple Pay isn’t widely accepted. I can’t do maths so at the airport panicked and basically took out all my allowance in Baht which was dumb since I will need half of it to be Kip in two weeks.
Had a crab omelette for lunch and whilst I ate watched a woman feed her Hello Kitty plush fried rice with her chopsticks. Cerys found a graduation dress on the sixth floor, I was thankful because I hurt my ankle running away from Jurassic Park earlier and don’t think I could have hacked going all the way to the tenth.
Still not used to all the smiling and waving and impromptu conversations with strangers. As a Londoner, it’s extremely unnatural. When passing by somebody on the street, I either stare at my feet or directly through them. Only in spells of deliriousness (consumed more than one BuzzBall) would I ever engage with them. Everybody here is a walking stick of sunshine. They smother you with kindness and get this, it’s genuine. Locals compliment me and try extremely hard with their English. I always get a huge ‘Hello!Welcome!’ when I enter a building. The trust everyone has in one another was also a culture shock. I am not the poster child for possession responsibility, I would have hoped that changed out here but don’t tell my parents, I have left my passport in reception and my phone in a restaurant and my tiny felt purse that does not fit all these fucking notes, lying about. But nobody cares. In London, they’re snatching phones cold out of our hands, whereas here, I leave mine unguarded charging from a street socket.
We popped to 7-11. Because that in itself is an evening plan. I never realised how obsessed westerners are with this convenience store. I met an Irish girl at the Irish bar (wherever one finds themself in the world, it almost always has an Irish bar) who got it tatted on her arm and I hope she doesn’t saw the limb off in a few years when she realises what she has done. I try to buy most things from local stores when I can. 7-11 are doing fine, but I have fallen into the lava cake and XXXL on-tap iced coffee trap.
Devoured a midnight snack of mango sticky rice for 50 Baht. The most elite of combos.
The fact I can wonder out and grab this at midnight from a singular Thai woman running a restaurant, a hostel and a cafe simultaneously from a cart beneath her window, proves once again, London is not the city that never sleeps like it claims to be.
It’s quite helpful being racially ambiguous in Asia because they're less racist than the English. They’re obviously aware I’m not Asian but from there it’s guesswork. Nobody assumes British until they hear my accent. I have had Brazilian mostly which I’ve never received in England, then it’s been Jamaican or Caribbean, they don’t see white so do not think English. Which is one way I think I have managed to avoid major scams thus far.
14/06
Today, I went to the Grand Palace, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha and a floating market. Took a bus again. Nobody is understating when they talk about the traffic in Bangkok, I think a two mile journey took me an hour.
There is apparently 400 Buddhist temples in Bangkok alone, but the Temple of the Emerald Buddha (Wat Phra Kaew) is considered the most sacred as it houses the statue of the Emerald Buddha which is considered Thailand’s palladium. You aren’t allowed to take photos, so I will insert one from google so you can comprehend the intricacy of its embellishments.
The Grand Palace lived up to its name, everything was topped with gold and we were blessed with a blue sky so the contrast between the sky and colours of the building scratched an aesthetic itch. It attracts big crowds, and I went just after lunch with my clonker backpack so kept knocking small children over every time I made a turn. I ended up lurking behind this tour group as there was so much ground to cover and the guide was telling interesting facts.
My train leaves at 8, so I went to a Thai fusion restaurant, Kro Bua, for my final supper here.
Originally I had scheduled over a week in the capital but everybody I spoke to with a similar travel path was like ARE YOU ON POT?? DON’T DO THAT. With that exact intensity and passion, so I decided against it incase they knew something I didn’t, like on your 6th consecutive day, you combust into flames.
I do feel like three days, two nights was perfect. I imagine I will be flying back to London from Bangkok, because I am cheap and these seem to be where the dodgy deals with ten layovers leave from, so anything I feel I have missed, I can come back and tick off.
I ended up getting lost, so arrive at the restaurant later than intended and by the time I had finished up, only had thirty minutes until my train so I stopped pricking about waiting for a bus and decided to Grab it for the first time. Not knowing it would spawn an addiction. Lucky for me, the drivers ride like they’re constantly involved in a police chase, so I made it on time.
I grabbed a meal box for later, a fried egg on a bed of rice, and then boarded the sleeper train from Hua Lamphong Station to Chiang Mai. It was around £7 and for cross-country travel, most backpackers book through 12GoAsia, however if your communication skills are efficient and it’s low season like it currently is, it can be cheaper getting your ticket in person.
I was on the 13 instead of the 9 because it had the latest departure time, Richard Barrow's Thai Train Guide tells me it is the less modern of the two options. I did not book a bunk. I can sleep in a handstand, didn’t think I needed to. But I underestimated the crowds of the second class carriage so remain at a 90° for the first half of the journey. The guy sat opposite me did gesture to stretch my feet out onto him but I wasn’t about to subject him to such cruelty.
At hour 7, after we had both slept, I figured he was quite lovely to chat to. There was a language barrier and neither of us had internet and, eventually, my phone died and there wasn’t a power outlet, so we couldn’t translate but did a lot of nodding and smiling and pointing. His name is Chian and he’s from the Phillipines. He is either 26 or 36. He thumbsed up both when I tried to clarify.
I want to discuss squat toilets. I will be the first to hold my hands up and say at times, I can be a class-less woman. Particularly when it comes to matters of urination. I have the tiniest, weakest crochet-purse of a bladder and often have to close my legs when I laugh to physically restrain from wetting myself. I avoid running long routes in rural places or I embody a horse come mile ten. So, I am never judgy when it comes to urinating facilities. I can’t afford to be. Then I came to Thailand. The floor toilets are the norm in public places and are one of the many things designed without women in mind.
This is what you’re working with. As a lady, you pop a squat but the one on this train did not have a gripped floor and was much larger so I risked falling through. You also have to remember it is moving at high speeds and this affects some people’s aim. There is no flush.
I have started to embrace the bum gun. I’m surprised I didn’t sooner, I have come from a household ran by an Italian and every bathroom is equipped with a bidet but the bum gum is a different type of contraction. More powerful and less hygienic. A positive is that it is more environmentally friendly than toilet roll which Southeast Asian plumbing systems do not appreciate.
It’s a good thing Thai people are one of the statistically less suicidal nations because without being too dark, there’s opportunity at every turn. To get to the toilet I had to step over the track into the separate carriage. I was half asleep with a dead leg. One wobble, I’d be on the track with all the piss and shit.
15/06
I arrived in Chiang Mai at around 8am, eleven hours after departure, a shell of a woman. I slept resembling a pretzel and not as well as I usually boast. It was cold, I am a fool to keep underestimating the air-conditioning in these circumstances and think it is responsible for the minute cold I currently have. I can’t check into where I am staying until 2pm so gobble up some morning glory at the joint across from the station and sit with a coffee in the closest park I find. The sun is beaming and I have a little nap on my human-sized backpack until the pre-programmed sprinklers wake me up and turn my top see through. My nipples wanting to say their own hello to Chiang Mai.
I have been aimlessly meandering for two hours and it’s already my favourite place ever. Every city I step in that has good coffee and hot weather, I announce that I could live there within the first 24 hours. It has the ambience of a town more so than a city, it’s very artsy and local and activity-based. It surprises me that where I am staying is the other side of a large scale airport. The entire of Chiang Mai is built around it.
I eventually check in and within three minutes of putting my stuff down, I meet Mark. Mark is American. From south Florida to be exact and ticks all of the stereotypes. Yet I take to him immediately. He integrates me into the group he has been with for the past three days.
The first day at a new social hostel vaguely reminds me of when I did NCS in year ten. Forced fun highlighting the multiple ways that westerners are crippling alcoholics. You only properly breakthrough the barriers between acquaintance and friendship by shotting spirits and consequently trauma dumping. I am not criticising this, I wouldn’t be open to befriending groups of rowdy lads if I wasn’t acting like one myself. One being Alex from Australia. I watched Aussie MAFS, Mortified and J’amie. He is what one would call a Bogan. I think. Or is that offensive? Like when British people use the word chav in a derogatory way. Then apologies Alex you’re not a Bogan. But he is the very boorish, salt of the sea, rough around the edges type. The exact man I am typically scared of. But we cheers our Singhas and find we actually have tons in common.
Bouldering also has a big culture in Sydney and he’s recommended a cave in Cat Ba to scale when I am in Vietnam. We both like to run and swear and think all the girls we have met in Thailand are unfathomably stunning. We then get chatting to three British lads. I tend to avoid the Brits out here which is like trying to dodge oxygen. I don’t like them at home, I doubt the feeling would change in unfamiliar surroundings. These boys attend Leeds university and embody the obnoxious preppy kind I left the country to escape (my exes). However, again, I too was in lad mode (without my usual cosmetic store of toiletries, I also looked the part) and Aussie Alex doesn’t know how to be in a room without talking to everyone in it and thank God because I met Harry. Harry reminds me of a guy I was lazily ‘dating’ at the beginning of the year. They have extremely similar mannerisms and sense of humour. One that bounces off my own. Which is why we got on instantly.
The all-girls school and all-girls household means I am awkward when it comes to platonic relationships with men. I don’t know how to have them and also do not see the point. My friendships here have enlightened me to the addition male friends can bring. They can be quite funny at times which I never expect from people with privilege. My anthropological take believes me and Harry only get on as well as we do because he is the youngest of 5 sisters. Because I enjoy Auzzie Alex’s company however when we go out, he makes many remarks that reminds me, oh this guy is still a man.
Harry and I have inside jokes within the first hour of knowing each other, our bunks are side to side so we stay up late whispering, we go for breakfast every morning and four days go past of us frolicking Chaing Mai, saying “this night’s gonna be a moooovie,” every time we step foot into a bar with nobody else inside. He and his other two friends are heading south and we pout as we say our goodbyes. Within such a short time, he has become like a brother.
I don’t get how people backpacked before without phones, if I couldn’t stalk and keep up with these people I met and made such great connections with, on Instagram, I would feel even more hollow.
I think my experience in Bangkok was what I had imagined solo-travelling to be like in my head but Chiang Mai changed this perspective. In Bangkok, I met girls that already knew each other and were on a holiday, so we shared a drink or a meal some evenings but mostly kept to our own thing. In Chiang Mai I started to learn travel is actually equally about the new people you meet from across the world.
A big group of us go to get dinner. About ten of us parade into Kat’s Kitchen, a Michelin listed restaurant. Like some UN committee of young adults avoiding any real responsibility. Four of us are Irish, two of us are Brits, one Germ, one Spanish, Mark the American and Aussie Alex. I order Spring Rolls and a Thai Green Curry with a large Chang. In England I am not a beer drinker but I think when it’s 90p a bottle, who isn’t?
Everybody is so interesting and forthcoming, they’re all on the last leg of their trips, whereas I am at the beginning. They’re telling me with ardent eyes, CHERISH EVERY SECOND.
Benny, the other Brit, reminds me of the Borden boys from back home. Maybe it’s the un-politically correct humour. He is nineteen and from Surrey, a 45 minute drive away, so it makes sense. I think he sounds exactly like Chris Hughes and it amuses me that, instead of Love Island, which I used to pretend I didn’t consume for intellectual superiority and then reference at every given chance to make a point, everybody now knows him as the predator dating Jojo Siwa. He is trying to force feed British Slang like Leng, Lengers, Brev down the American and European’s throats. Then Alex is throwing words like Arvo and Strewth! down his.
As we devour our food that has been acknowledge by an esteemed award, we de-classen the situation with our conversation. One topic we really mull on is carrots and the propaganda associated to them. Do they really make you see better in the dark? Benny is saying this was only said so Germans didn’t discover British plane technology that helped them attack at night in the war. Whereas the Irish are like carrots have Vitimain A, so there is some truth. On the topic of vegetables, we are all sharing a dish of beef and potatoes and I turn to them (the Irish) and say “Sorry I keep pinching all the totts …nothing new there,” and it bought the house down, from then on the girls kept calling me the wee comedian. I was like the cat that got the Baileys.
Benny then begins to really go into WW2 dynamics and it played out like a scene from The Office because after he finally finished talking, we are all silently chewing and then Cara says something in German as she side eyes him and he’s flatly like ‘Oh yeah, I completely forgot you were here,’ and they sit there with still expressions as me and Mark erupt into laughter opposite them.
After a few more beers, we go back to the hostel to join in with drinking games. The Irish don’t call ring of fire, ring of fire. They call it King’s Cup. I kept pulling tens which meant everybody had to ask me questions for an entire minute. It was a group of strangers that very quickly learned I am into vanilla sex. I did not know half of the terminology they were slinging at me. We then get tuk tuks to a bar with karaoke, pool and beer pong. SEA love karaoke. This was the first night of many where I would sing Kanye West Gold-digger and get thrown off by all the white people screaming the N-word. I get speaking to a Danish guy and he buys me a few drinks, this is an efficient budgeting tactic as a backpacker. You tend to find the ones on a four day stag are less frugal than us professional homeless without return flights.
We venture to our second stop, a bar called Lecker which German Cara tells me means delicious. Appropriate, because that’s where I meet Christian. He is 25 from Auckland, 6 foot 3 and is wearing nice shoes. He is one of those lanky guys in a club that stands completely still. At a quick glance you’d confuse him with a stripper pole. He is just straight limbs taking up space. At some point Christian, who prefers Chris, invades our circle and we (me) start chatting. Polite, irrelevant backpacker small talk that makes you want to pretend you don’t speak English. Where have you been? How long you out? Don’t you just love Pad Kra Pao? He nods and looks at me as if mentally attempting to set me alight.
Spanish Lei sees us talking and tells me ‘Ah he is gay’. She lives in San Sebastian but in her thick Basque accent it sounds like she is saying ‘best country’ so everybody just thinks she is really patriotic when they ask her where she’s from. I thought she was telling me his sexuality as a statement, some fun trivia I ought to know, not a question. The type of misinterpretation to fuel a Hollywood comedy starring Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore. Upon hearing it, my socially awkward facade, that isn’t a facade with certain demographics, heterosexual men being one, dissipated. With my barrier down, Chris mirrors my verbal diarrhoea and we are hitting it off. He is a professional coffee connoisseur (a mobile Barista), he might as well have told me he is a male-stripper. This, a chef, or a surgeon, in my humble opinion, are the hottest professions a guy can be in. He is travelling for six months before relocating to Brisbane next year. I look around to introduce him to Alex but when I spot him, he’s inside a blonde’s mouth, so I just regurgitate a bunch of Australian swear words he taught me instead. He’s moving to ‘Bris’ since he has landed a big job with Oatly. I say, ‘Fufilling the stereotype’ and he raises an eyebrow.
Our 50 nations are moving on to the next place and Chris’s mate Ned has spun out, so he asks if he could come with us for the night. I answer for the pack and say sure. We continue jabbering away, culturally NZ is quite like the UK. Just not as ugly. So we are quick at picking up on one another’s quips.
We both only have one drink, our mouths too preoccupied with conversation to remember to sip, so are sober but don’t want to leave by the time it hits 3am and the club put up their lights. The others all head back to the hostel and I wave them away. Alex winking at me as he gets on his Grab and me shaking my head, attempting to charade that’s not what’s happening, I’m not his type.
Chris has been to Chiang Mai three times so knows the spots. We go to the only place left open, Afterlight. It’s a western style club so we couldn’t enter without being robbed at the door - paying more than 100 baht for a drink. You know you’re out for too long when the only other people in the room are all getting off or crying in the bathroom.
For the first time tonight, we dance together. Before it was amongst a group. He’s a really pathetic dancer which is probably why he opts not to move. That’s fine, you should never trust a good dancer anyway. We are punching the air and that is when I noticed a shift. I think. We have gone over this since like two fifteen year old girls trying to figure out what an uninterested guys ‘Sup’ means, and neither of us are too sure. Both insistent that we went to Afterlight together, alone, because it seemed strictly friendship. It was. Until it wasn’t. I think it was the eye contact. It was held for too long and it started to feel like I was stood in the club, two-stepping, butt-naked. At some point we began to kiss. A modest way of putting it.
I am one of those people that believe a good make-out session is better than sex. He is a really good kisser. Or just one of the only guys I have kissed that doesn’t try to swallow me whole. Perhaps it is because he isn’t European. We were in sync. Kissing is like an ADHD med for me. It silences my brain, momentarily, then a bunch of thoughts funnel in at once and the fastest one leaves my mouth. In the past, mid-kiss, I have asked men their sexual health history, their star sign, one guy thought I had tourette’s because he got cut off by my realisation that I had missed rent that month. I pull back from Chris and asks if he’s okay with *this*, am I the first girl he’s been with?
He laughs and goes, “Do I kiss like a virgin? Is it the eagerness?”
“No, the gayness.”
Turns out he isn’t gay but gets that a lot. Claims it is because he can dress, has a nose piercing and is well-groomed. In a game of Guess Who but the avatars were all mugshots of my friendship group, a clue for me was, “this girl’s type is sexuality-ambiguous men”. I think I just am drawn to those who are comfortable in their sexuality enough that they don’t shy away from exerting traditionally feminine traits. We kissed until close. Then for another twenty minutes outside on his scooter.
Chris drives a yellow, beat mo-ped that has seen the entirety of Thailand. I could probably throw a large scale hen party if I gathered all the girls that have ridden on the back as a passenger. I always knew the guy I would end up with drives some form of motorcycle. Now, if I ever return to England, it’s a non-negotiable. He’s a good driver but as he is weaving in and out of cars, decides to tell me about the times (because it has occurred more than once) he’s been hospitalised after crashing in Vietnam and Laos, nearly pelting off a cliff. Being on the back of his scooter is top ten euphoric states I have ever felt. His shirt smelt of fresh linen and I squeeze the lack of fat on his waist. I feel like Lizzy McGuire in the movie. He stops at his hotel room to grab a key from his pinged out mate and I take the opportunity to facetime Coombs. The 6 hour difference is great because I’m always up at stupid times, which is now neutral times back in England.
I forget how loud my voice carries because I am talking about him and from inside he calls, ‘Yeah, I’m aware this is a weird situation.’
We drive to a viewpoint for sunrise.
We talk about what we are scared of and what we like about travelling. We dissect our past relationships, he has been in a five year one and a one year, both cheated on him. As a result, understandably, he is quite an insecure person. Also a really creative one. He has seventeen tattoos all hand-drawn by himself. His favourite artist is Mac Miller and his favourite food is Bang Cha. He has an elder sister too with the same age gap as me. But they have only met four times and she has children now. His parents aren’t in the picture, he had a complicated upbringing which is why he finds solace in travel since ‘home’ doesn’t mean the same thing for him as it does me. We continue to suck face in a hut at 500 feet. As we emerge from it, the morning cyclists wave at us and I give them my best royal wave back as Chris picks a leaf from my hair. The class I was telling you all about. He drops me back, kisses my forehead and says he will pick me up in the morning. It’s 8am, the morning is in full swing, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by being a smart-ass.
I can’t sleep for a while, too busy grinning like a quakka (an animal from the south region of Australia that Alex told me I remind him of).
I manage to have an hour and a half nap, and then shower and meet Spanish Lei in the lobby. I promised yesterday that we would do The Monk’s Trail hike together. That was before I knew that the sun would beat me home and I want to punch the earlier version of me for making plans because now I have to commit otherwise I become the bitch of the hostel. Also she is at the point of solo-travel where the admin is engulfing her and keeps threatening to ask her ex-boyfriend to fly out so she doesn’t have to think for herself anymore. So at eleven, I take charge and we set off and it was a really stunning hike.
Halfway up, Chris calls me saying we should scooter to sticky waterfalls today and Lei has an early evening dinner reservation near there, so we utilise his transportation and invite him to walk through the temples with us, as a trio.
An experience can be so different depending on your company. If I went to these temples alone like I did in Bangkok. I would have appreciated the beauty, taken some photos, marinated in my thoughts and been on my way. Chris has a huge buddhist tattoo on his back that he got a few months back in Chiang Rai, one of the only ones he didn’t draw and in the temple, whilst we are knelt (if I was alone I would have been to shy to join in with the practices) a monk spots it and starts to throw water at him. Then slaps his back with something resembling a broomstick. I think this was to bless it. He was in his element. Lee is an atheist. I am agnostic but Buddhism is the most logical as far as religion goes for me.
What I mean by an experience being dictated by your company is that at some point, Lee is questioning the extravagance of temples and pointing at the monk on his iPhone and Chris is getting visibly irritated and I proceed to take us the steep route down just as torrential rain starts so we keep falling in mud. It was my favourite type of chaotic. The ambience of a moment is always something I want to capture along with the visuals and this is mostly curated by who you’re with. I personally had a great time, considering as usual, I left my waterproofs behind.
Lei heads off and me and Chris scooter to Montha Than waterfalls instead, after discovering sticky closes at 4pm. We cool off from being already saturated by boiling rain. Then after building up an appetite, go to the night markets for some food.
I can see how people fall in love whilst travelling. In nooo way am I saying this is the case. Naurrr. I have only known him two days but everything is intensified. Tomorrow is both of our last days’ in Chiang Mai and I am sad at the prospect of never seeing each other again. He has extended an invite for me to go to Laos with him and his friends, which could work as it would just be an alternative route into Vietnam but I was planning to meet Mark, Alex, Lei and co, further north in Pai, then go back Bangkok to go Koa Tao before I went to Hanoi.
*I am laughing to myself whilst editing this post because I completely forgot this was ever the plan.*
I am also aware if I spend the next two weeks with him, it will defeat a lot of my objectives for solo-travelling. Like even today, I spent most of it with him instead of going to dinner with my new friends and this is exactly what I don’t like about romantic involvement. It always seems to cloud everything else in my life and I don’t want that for this trip.
I think we will spend one more evening together and I’ll possibly leave it to fate if I bump into him further on.
*LAUGHING AGAIN.*
‘Fate’ happened to be Instagram, where via our stories we realised we were in parallel bars to each other. META truly is a surveillance device.
I think I am just so shocked that I have obtained my first travel romance three days in, this is going to be a long couple of months and my heart is too small and freshly sealed to deal with it all.
Ultimately, against my will, I am a romantic, so nothing is ever casual. Here I am writing most of my post that is supposed to be about the cultures of Chiang Mai and Bangkok about a boy I met 48 hours ago with stupid curly hair and green eyes.
His eyes are like a snake’s and mid-make out (again), I tell him having pupils that dilated is a sign of a manic episode. He hasn’t slept in 36 hours to be fair. He suffers really bad insomnia. He assures me he is perfectly sane.
17/06
Kiwi and I had our first lover’s spat today.
We both had some laundry that needed doing before we venture onwards. For the last few days, the UV has been really high and Chris has fair skin so I have been nagging him, as I do with all the white men in my life, to just put on some fucking sunscreen because it’s embarrassing walking next to cooked crab. What is it with the palest and tallest men refusing to wear SPF, you guys are closest to the sun, it is like you are whispering in its ear, ‘Please give me melanoma’. As a temporary fix, I even volunteered some of my expensive Supergoop but forgot it was tinted so for the rest of the day it looked like he had dried shit smeared across his face.
We arrive at the self-service laundrette and I haven’t been in one since our washing machine set on fire at university. I assumed they’d have detergent there. Chris always travels, which I think is a wordy way of stating he’s a whore, but I haven’t collected enough evidence yet. So he has done this enough times that now he’s even invested in OxiClean stain remover. I was advised not to bring out white clothing, which is also guidance offered to me in England - too many white blouses gone too soon, victims to a glass of rouge. So whilst Chris spends his time massaging this stuff on various marks, I bundle my crap into the next machine, pressing random buttons because the instructions are in Thai and there’s no air-con so I’m hot and bothered, eager to leave.
We go for a Thai milk tea, a new fucking obsession, whilst we wait, and then return to our clothes. Mine are fine, never been more ecstatic to have a batch of clean knickers. Kiwi pulls out his tops and they have these random alloy-orange marks spotted where he applied the OxiClean. I bite my lip to suppress the bubbling laughter. After some furious googling, it turns out this is the result of suncream and sodium percarbonate from his stain remover, chemically combining. The suncream I forced him to wear must have sweated into his shirt. He glares over. God forbid a good woman like me cares about his skin health. He would in fact rather burn to a crisp than have to re-thrift these one-of-a-kinds in Hoi an and Ho Chi Min.
Before we both had to check out, he drove me to the Artist’s Market, Baan Kang Wat. It’s so cute there, ceramic, fabrics, crafts for everything. The intimacy of the moment and our time together called for some type of declaration. Instead I just point at crockery I like. We said goodbye and I get an urge to cry. I don’t but something unspools quietly inside as I wave the yellow scooter away.
I remind myself that I didn’t know him five days ago and inwardly smile because my trip is already rememberable and I have only just come to the close of one week, this is what it’s all about.
18/06
A myriad of factors meant I decide to stay in Chiang Mai an extra night before I meet the others in Pai.
The worst thing that could have happened has. My camera, my first born, has died. Murdered by me. I broke the SD card reader by being impatient because the toggle thing that locks it fell off inside and I thought I could retrieve it with fishing wire. I couldn’t.
I went to a camera shop and they looked at it for a duration of four seconds and said there’s nothing they could do. My heart dropped through my arse. The guy told me it was my lucky day (didn’t feel this way, I had lost both my man and child) because they had it’s sister camera in stock. I knew I couldn’t continue my trip without a camera. I can usually drive a hard bargain but I was in mourning, vulnerable and desperate. I retract my earlier statement about not being scammed. It was premature. I take pity on the sister camera because it embodies the experience of existing as a younger sibling. It can try as hard as it likes to outshine its predecessor, but in its mother’s eyes, it never will.
I book myself into my first hotel of the trip. I love the social sports of a hostel but as with all exercise, you need your rest days. Plus this place has a pool, I was kicking my feet. Literally, it was empty, so I spent an hour practising my front crawl.
I booked an afternoon cooking class with a teacher called Rainy as Chiang Mai is recommended for their culinary courses. She had a wicked sense of humour, every other sentence of hers is an innuendo. In my class is three Scottish girls and a British couple. We made spring rolls, pad thai, tom yum kung, sticky rice and mango and khao soi.
For dinner, because a six course menu wasn’t substantial enough for the bottomless pit I have become, I went to Pakarn’s Kitchen, my first dinner alone since I arrived in Chiang Mai. Peace at long last. I ordered the Number one Massaman Curry in the world, allegedly.
It is the first Massaman curry I have tried but I can attest to that.
Met Yang and Tony in the jazz bar next to the hotel, I wasn’t really up for meeting new people, I feel like fifteen in a week is a quota that I have surpassed. When they sat down I was thinking, you can say ‘Hi’ but please don’t tell me your name.
I think because they weren’t in my age bracket, it was less energy-sucking. A welcomed refresh.
Yang is Chinese from Minnesota but currently lives in Georgia. Her flight here was one of the last before the airspace was closed because of Iran and Israel. She is in her thirties and has two little girls which she showed me an album full of.
Tony is from Belgium, 55, he was one of the musicians performing and back home is in a Indie-rock band.
He’s fascinated that I studied politics, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I am going to use my degree to write YA fiction novels. He was beaming at me like a proud father, going ‘So you’re gonna just sort out the whole thing?’ I nodded.
My first lie! Half way there to becoming an MP.
The main act of the night are actually really famous in Thailand and for good reason, the lead is named Dang Fantastic (valid), and he points at me a lot in the set.
Had my first glass of red out here. It was a local wine and they serve it ice cold. My father would have an aneurysm. There’s only a large option and it’s incredibly sweet. Me and Yang had three.
Tony doesn’t drink. He thinks smoking kills your brain and doesn’t like how carbonated sodas feel on your teeth, as Yang sips her glass and pulls a drag, proceeding to blow it in his face, in her elongated American accent, she asks ‘“What’sss your viceee then?” and he gestures around , “this… new places, new people” and then hops on stage and performs an insane series of guitar riffs. Straight out of an Indie MV.
19/06
I currently have more friends in Thailand than I do, North London. One of which actually went to the school at the end of my road. Small, small world. I come down for breakfast and speak to Helena and her sisters from the Philippines, that I met at the pool yesterday and taught how to do a flip underwater, then Tony spots and corners me, chatting my ear off for a half hour, causing me to be late to check out.
Goodbye Chiang Mai!
I boarded a bus that I booked an hour ago. It was £5. Pai was never specifically on the itinerary but I am a sheep and Alex hid my wallet down his shorts until I said yes.
Some girl next to me has thrown up, I don’t blame her. The road to Pai is infamous for motion sickness. It has 762 turns, back to back and isn’t the safest route in rain.
Lucky for us, a monsoon began just as we set off on the 4 hour journey! I needed a piss for a straight two hours since I couldn’t find the bus stop so made it with two minutes to spare so didn’t have time to go toilet or grab snacks.
I was the envy of other passengers because this kind of turmoil, where we are jolted around like microwave popcorn, is extremely peaceful for me. I slept most of the way, until the girl vomitted. I felt so bad for her as she held her sick in a see-through seven-eleven bag.
Pai is a small, backpacker-adored town. It is more desolate than Chiang Mai but just as hippy-dippy. I imagine the people that like here all listen to Sticky Fingers.
I am staying at Nolo hostel, a fifteen minute trek from walking street, the other’s are in Revs, a notorious party hostel but it’s full, Nolo is much more my vibe. I think it may be my favourite hostel so far. The reception is decked out with hammocks and an overflowing bookshelf. A boy with a tattoo of the logo greets me and I understand his logic more than the seven-eleven girl’s.
I eventually befriend the boy, Trevor, an American, which again, shocks me too. I think the fact that he’s gay and also mixed-race dilutes his birth place and we become good friends. I fear I may be the Pai hole’s next victim.
I reunite with the others in the evening and we have some drinks at the bar in their hostel. Australian Alex picks me up as if it’s been years and not two days. He has enlisted a group of new aussies here and introduces me to them as koala bear. I thought I was a quakka. Starting to grow concerned that I resemble multiple Australian mammals. We check out a few other bars but get a fairly early evening in preparation for tipsy tubing tommorow.
20/06
Finally got my toes done.
The state they were in felt sacreligous when I walked barefoot in holy buildings.
Pai is so small, so everybody I met in Chiang Mai, I recognise, and I see the girls from my cooking class in the nail shop then later on, at the club.
I choose a bright teal as it compliments my tan. And just in time for tipsy tubing! Pai is renowned for tipsy tubing, one of the less culturally-stimulating activities I have been involved in thus far. You drink on a rubber dingy, floating on a dirty stream with hundreds of other tourists, stopping for more alcohol and DJ dance breaks. The video can stand alone as a description.
Another unfortunate technology mishap has occurred. I dropped my phone in the river. Ten minutes in. It teased me though because it worked for like three hours, enough to get chatted up by a Machestian, who put his Instagram in my phone, then it completely died. A warning if I have ever seen one.
We got back to the hostel at like 6pm. Obliterated since we had been drinking since twelve. It was one of the guys we met here’s birthday, so we carry on. It’s actually so nice to be without a phone. I need it to get to other places but I might start leaving it behind because I have found myself much more present - trying my hardest to not sound like a Gen X’er.
The weather has been the best here. UV 9, no rain, I am cooking in the sun. I like Pai a lot. Dare I say more than Chiang Mai. Am I going to do this with each place?
I am going for a scooter lesson tommorow. Since I can no longer rely on my chauffeur, Chris. We have only messaged like three times since departing. Granted, I don’t have a phone. I found a place to get it fixed tommorow. Not sure why I am surprised. As Emma Morley would say, I am a footnote. They say if you’re going to learn, Pai is the best place to since the streets are quieter.
Everybody claims it’s so easy, like riding a bike. Everytime I have ridden a bike, I have fallen off. So many backpackers have been involved in quite bad motorbike accidents out here. They all wear bandages on their various appendages and you never know if it’s because they got a new tattoo or a scooter wound.
21/06
Last full day in Pai.
This morning I ran three miles and then swam 1400 yards in the pool that is shaped like a dick. Me and Cara didn’t realise it was shaped like male genitalia until we were speaking to one another, both in a ball sack each. She made out with Australian Alex in the tip yesterday.
At home, I run every other day but wanted to challenge myself to do so daily here since I won’t be going to the gym but even if I run at 6am or 10pm, the humidity still harasses me. I have been most consistent in Pai because it has the routes for it, compared to Bangkok and Chiang Mai where I was constantly having to dodge oncoming traffic.
I have been inspired to do longer distances by my recent read. ‘What I talk about when I talk about running’ by Haruki Murakami, who I love as a novelist but also admire as an athlete. So I am trying to persevere, in hope that I get used to the heat, he ran a marathon in Athens and lives in Kauai, Hawaii.
After our swim, we go for breakkie at Break The Fast. The best banana pancakes, 50 Bhat ~ £1.50) that have ever hit my taste buds. Then I went to Mr. Nop for my motorbike lesson. It went surprisingly well.
We went to watch sunset at Two Huts with live music before going out. Our final hurrah. The perfect evening and send off from my CM gang!
Apparently the US dropped bombs on Iran. Ever since my phone got fixed, I have tried not to use it since it scalds my hand as water is still trapped inside and the conductors boil the molecules every time I turn on the display, so have been a bit disconnected. Plus none of us have data left with our e-sims and refuse to top them up but a girl connected to WiFi reads out the headline in a club. Then Murder on The Dance Floor plays.
22/06
I survived the Pai-hole and only stayed one day longer than planned, due to the whole not having a phone for 30 hours.
I went to lunch and over Pad kaphrao, we watched Donald Trump’s speech. It was very fever-dream/dystopian. The TV kept cutting in and out.
Said an emotional farewell to the Chiang Mai lot who have honestly made this first week for me. The aussie girls, Benny and Mark are staying on in Pai, German Cara and the Irish are headed for Laos, Alex is back to Sydney tomorrow and Spanish Lei is going to volunteer in a rural village in North Vietnam.
The bus back from Pai was less intense. We stop at a toilet hut mid-journey, and a guy hasn’t returned and our driver wants to go. He is shouting in Thai at the Irish guy sat next to me and he’s all ‘Aychee I don’t know the lad.’ We start whizzing away when the guy appears in front of the bus in one flip flop and scrambles on.
I arrive back in Chiang Mai ready for my onwards journey.
I have three options - Go to Bangkok to head to South Thailand, I could meet Harry and do Ko Tao before I have to be in Vietnam. Go to Laos, I will not message the curly haired fruit out of pride but I could do Vang Vieng - lots of scenic hikes and waterfalls. Go straight to Hanoi and spend longer there before Ha Giang.
I put the options into an online random generator as this is my default way of decision making. I book a sleeper bus to Vientiane, Laos.
I am not done with you yet Thailand, but it will be two months at least until I make my grand return.
To be continued-
First week reflections
I really love solo-travelling and I wonder if that will change deeper into my trip but I can’t imagine it will. I actually felt lonelier living in London and right now, my pot is extremely full. I like having time to think and write and gawk at Asia’s natural beauty by myself but also choosing when I want to socialise and connect. I have never had a quarm with being alone. Back home, I eat out alone, go to the gym alone, day trips alone, arrive at functions alone. I think I would find it really difficult to re-adjust life to accommodate somebody else. Many people find that sad. I look beside me at the couple bickering about exchange rates and count my blessings that I am a difficult person to love.
Everybody out here is so interesting and often has a similar outlook on life to you. Or rich parents. Either way, eye-opening to chat to. SEA is a very laid back place, so ideal for those looking to escape the urgency and capitalist ideals that the western world is so absorbed in, which is why I think many of us are in sync when we come here. I am made for a temperate climate, to be barefoot on hot stone, I like a minimalist lifestyle and eating incredible food and mirroring a culture’s practices.
Having lived in Bangkok, this was such a fun read to hear about it from a tourist point of view. I never got to be a tourist in the city because I moved there for work. Super fun to read! 💕
Girl who is Cameron?!?