Chilling in Chiang Mai
We’re here.
We were last here in 2010, when the kids were 10 and 12. Now they’re 18 and 20. We spent a week then and loved it, and it’s always been on our list to come back. My husband, the ever-interpid-finder-of-internet-flight-deals, found both incredibly-priced flights and an AirBnB house.
So here we are.
We have so many differences from our last trip. The biggest difference we’ve learned is the beauty of staying in one place. We’ve traveled enough to know we can’t possibly see it all, whatever it might be. So instead of trying, we decided that going deep in one place is far more satisfying than running all over. I’d rather wander, poke, and meander than rush through and not remember where I am. Chiang Mai is quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. It’s in the north, not far from the Myanmar (Burmese) border.
The old city, a picturesque square bordered by a moat and parts of the old city walls, is perfect for being on foot.

Little wandering lanes and open-air cafes. Markets selling beautiful cloth, vegetables, car parts, rubber shoes, fried rice, and stinky fish.

Wats (Buddhist temples) on every street corner. Monks in saffron robes with alms bowls.


Motorcycle food carts selling fresh roti (crepes) with Nutella. I’m in.

The house is… delightful. It’s big enough so everyone has a room of one’s own, to quote Virginia Woolf. It has wifi and enough outlets (with international plugs) for everyone to charge every electronic device (and the associated batteries) that came with us. It means that everyone has time and space to recover from jetlag without wanting to kill each other. Artistic Daughter’s room has a table for her pencils and sketchbook.
There’s no agenda. We have a guidebook, the internet, and some ideas. There are little travel agencies offering tours. We have some brochures. We might take some cooking classes. Intrepid Husband and Adventurous Son might rent motorbikes. Artistic Daughter and I might take an art class. Or two.
And we just might figure out how to relax.
This morning over breakfast, we had a discussion about casting a movie for a favorite unfinished book series. (In the Kingkiller Chronicles series by Patrick Rothfuss, who should play Elodin? The best answer so far is Benedict Cumberbatch.) I can’t think of the last time we’ve all actually talked to each other, when someone isn’t ready to run out the door for the next thing. (And the fresh baked raisin rolls were amazing.) There’s nowhere to go here. Nothing to do. Nowhere to be. And no one but each other to talk to.
What the hell is wrong with my life that it takes flying halfway around the world and going to a city where I know no one, before I can have a conversation with the three other people I love most in the world, who actually live in the same house with me? (Hint: it just might have something to do with wanting an extra week at home to finish a work project properly before we left.)
We might go to a museum tomorrow. We might wander the old city looking at temples. And I can guarantee that when we’re tired, we’ll wander back to our temporary home, with rooms of our own, and chill.
