7-Eleven on Wua Lai
Sanctuary on the Back Steps
It’s not glamorous. It never is. A few warped tiles, the clink of a spoon against plastic, a faint whiff of fish sauce riding the humid air. I’m sitting on the back steps of a 7-Eleven in Chiang Mai — bare-assed honesty, that’s what this place offers. No curated cafe playlist, no hand-poured third-wave roast. Just a squat spot on tile steps and a hot drink in a cup, made by an 18-year-old kid too polite to be bored.
The Thais call it Sewen, which sounds more like a friend than a store. And maybe it is. Open all night. Rain. Smoke. Quake. Holiday. The lights stay on, the aircon hums, and the barista behind the counter doesn’t burn the beans like they do in half the overpriced joints back in the States. Here, the cappuccino’s made with care. It’s handed over with something we lost somewhere back home: kindness without agenda.
I come here to think. Not the kind of clean, linear thinking the self-help books promise. More like murky, unfiltered unraveling. I think about the projects I’m juggling, the ones I pretend I’ve shelved, and the ones I’m too scared to start. I try to stay present — but the future keeps clawing at the edge of my mind, reminding me of its shadowy to-do list.
And yet, this little spot — the cracked steps behind the most reliable convenience store in Southeast Asia — somehow becomes a sacred space. My altar of tile and concrete. A place to sit, sip, and let the noise of passing scooters stitch the frayed edges of my thoughts back together.
Locals nod as they pass, sometimes a “sawasdee krup”, sometimes just a smile. It’s the kind of gentle human contact that doesn’t ask much but offers everything.
On Saturday nights, the street out front transforms. The air thickens with hot fryers, grilled meat, and incense. Lanterns flicker. Wua Lai becomes a current of people, food, and noise — an artery of the city pulsing with life. You can find trinkets, amulets, knockoff Crocs, and mango sticky rice that’ll ruin you for every dessert that came before it.
Because sometimes peace doesn’t come from silence. It comes from finding your place in the hum. And sometimes healing doesn’t look like a meditation retreat in the jungle — it looks like sitting on the back steps of a Thai 7-Eleven with a warm drink and the quiet, brave act of staying still.
Read the latest article:
Erik Blair walked away from the American Dream and into something far less predictable. Former soldier, ex-cop, occasional philosopher — he now writes from the back alleys and quiet cafes of Chiang Mai, Thailand.
His stories aren’t about luxury escapes or filtered fantasies. They’re about reinvention, solitude, karaoke bars that don’t close, and the strange beauty of starting over at 59 with nothing but curiosity and a one-way ticket. He’s not an influencer. He’s a man who traded certainty for freedom — and lived to write about it.
