Exilian

(https://exilian.co.uk/images/articles/travel/rbu_thailand/a.JPG)

---

A long way from here there is a city. The streets are clean and the weather is agreeable. Viewed from a distance, the city's skyline is uncluttered and pretty. This is thanks, in part, to its varied and interesting public buildings. Though some of these buildings may be the relics of a colonial past, this city has embraced them, made them its own and uses them to paint a bright future for itself. Many groups and societies meet in the city, including the Elders of Backpacking. It is they who keep an eye on world events and inform travellers of new risks or opportunities. Every year they compile bingo cards to guide the more competitive types to the most exciting destinations and experiences. There's time here for religion too: most visitors partake in yoga and mindfulness, but a few die-hards still pay homage to the Hippie movement of the twentieth century.

In the Backpacker Capital there is free WiFi on every street corner. Getting around is easy: the tuktuks carry up to five passengers, the motorbikes ten. Teleporters hover at intervals to whisk backpackers off to their next destination in a heartbeat. Drugs are readily available but technically illegal, so users can still get a kick out of breaking the rules. There are no hangovers, stomach bugs or bouts of homesickness. There are, of course, a lot of people behind the scenes keeping the place running smoothly. Visitors, however, rarely take much notice of them - except when on an organised tour to one of their quaint little villages. Did I mention that everyone speaks English? Even the crowds of drunken Brits give it a good shot.

This city, of course, does not exist. If it did, the backpackers of the world - fickle as they are - would swiftly label it as "too touristy" and drift off somewhere new. There are, however, a handful of cities worldwide which come close. Usually located where popular itineraries meet, these cities are so saturated in the travel "vibe" that it has formed a local sub-culture of its own. Examples from my own adventures include San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico and Edinburgh, Scotland. This article, meanwhile, is about Chiang Mai, Thailand. I, like many travellers, arrived by train from Bangkok. So find your berth, buckle up and wrap up warm against the vicious air conditioning: the North is calling, and I'm glad you've come along for the ride.

---

It was 3am and I couldn't get back to sleep. Dawn had yet to illuminate the misty hills through which the train rumbled, but I had my nose pressed up against the window even so. I had felt an excitement similar to this before - every time I approached a new destination, in fact. This time, however, it was personal. It was in this part of the world that I had almost had my first backpacking adventure many years previously. Due to visa issues I pivoted to India and, though I had a great time, Thailand remained lodged in my imagination. In the intervening years I had come to understand the positive impacts new places and people had on me personally. I had left some of them, Medellín, for example, so energised I felt I had been "modded". Would I have wound up a different person had those experiences not happened, had I turned right instead of left? In Chiang Mai I hoped to find the answers to some of these questions. I was expecting, to stick with the gaming analogy, to put on a new "skin" - one which had been waiting for me since I was eighteen years old.

At the station I took a songthaew into town. These are pickup trucks converted into buses by the addition of benches and an awning. The city centre was easily identifiable by the moat and impressive stone walls. These are arranged in a 1.6 kilometre square and enclose many of the city's sites. I had not booked accommodation but was fortunate to stumble across a nice family-run hostel which even did food. I was initially the only backpacker in my dorm so I essentially had my own room for the cost of £3 a night. It was the rainy (ie. low) season, which meant it was a bit too hot to do anything until the afternoon thunderstorm broke. When the storm passed I set off in search of the city's "walking streets".

Chiang Mai's centre was calm and quiet - remarkably so, considering it is Thailand's second city. Throughout the year whole chunks of it close to traffic and turn into markets. These focus on food, and I have to say Thailand lives up to its reputation in this regard. Big displays of seafood; skewers of meat; great hotplates where noodles are practically tossed around... I could go on. Let's just say I ate well without breaking the bank. In some places the markets occupy open spaces with musicians entertaining the diners. Most were lone singers on guitar and vocals doing Western songs - I think I heard three different renditions of John Denver's Take Me Home, Country Roads. On the way back to the hostel I passed bars full of westerners playing pool, and took in a furious Muay Thai boxing match.

My plan for the next few days was to visit Chiang Mai's many temples. My first stop, however, was the Lanna Folklife Museum, which is housed in a beautiful building with interiors of teak. The Lanna culture dominates the area around Chiang Mai, but it's worth noting that Northern Thailand as a whole is very diverse. The Lanna practice Theravada Buddhism and, though there were many items of interest in the museum, it was their religious art which really made an impression on me. They make Buddha statues and statuettes in just about every material imaginable. They portray him with long facial features, especially the ears, and hands in one of the mudra positions, each of which has its own meaning. Thus prepared, I headed out to see the temples. Architecturally they had various things in common, such as snake-like nagas - semi-divine beings found in various Asian cultures, sometimes with human or bestial characteristics - undulating down their staircases, and steeply-curving wooden roofs over their porches (the latter proved to be useful shelters during the sudden rainstorms). Rather than go through the temples exhaustively I thought I'd focus on one of the most important.

Wat Chedi Luang stands on one of the old city's main North-South thoroughfares. It consists of a large ruined stupa surrounded by various buildings. These include shrines, museums and accommodation for the monks. There are candles burning and gongs for visitors to sound on the paths. The most important building, situated near the entrance, is relatively small but nicely decked out in green and white. It is possibly the most sacred place in the city because it houses its pillar: the Inthakhin Vihara. It was here that I came across a discriminatory regulation which will be depressingly familiar to students of religion. Women are not allowed to enter because they menstruate. I wondered, not for the first time, if it was possible to be simultaneously angry at and sympathetic towards another culture.

One morning I took a songthaew up the hill to Wat Phra That Doi Suthep. This is another hugely important temple and pilgrimage site. It's only been accessible by road since 1935, and many visitors still choose to climb the gruelling Monk's Path instead. Considering they have to explore the temple without shoes on (and with legs covered, as usual) I was glad of my choice. The approach to the temple is a dramatic flight of naga-lined steps which cuts through the forest. I was equally impressed by the doors of the various temple buildings, which were gold in colour and adorned with mythological characters and creatures. I missed out on the famous views over the city because the mountain was shrouded in mist. After my visit I cooled off in a little wooden hut over the water on Lake Huay Tung Tao.

The highlight of my visit to Chiang Mai was my day in a cookery school. This was held in a one-storey building with several benches of cooking stations. There were about twelve of us booked onto the course and, thanks largely to the welcoming host, it was a very sociable day. I met several Americans, and an Irish couple, Callan and Cat, who had come over from Vietnam. We started in the garden where some of the ingredients are grown. I was bitten by a mosquito during the talk, so we were able to test the painkilling effect of the turmeric root in situ. Before returning to our woks we headed to the local market for more ingredients. Although we cooked a variety of dishes, with choices at each stage, there was a fairly consistent ratio to remember: one spoonful of palm sugar to two of fish sauce to three of oyster sauce. Behind the scenes, an army of staff did our washing up and, presumably, giggled at our poor - and sometimes hazardous - wok technique. I made spring rolls, Pad See Uw, Tom Yum Koong soup, Massaman Curry, Glass Noodle Salad and Mango Sticky Rice. For the latter two dishes the class thinned out dramatically: these were part of the full-day course and most attendees had only signed up for a half. I felt vindicated in my decision when someone later confided in me that their afternoon back at their hostel had consisted only of "collapsing into a food coma" - we were eating our creations as we went along. I actually took most of my food away in takeaway boxes (this is one reason a cookery class is significantly more budget-friendly than it first appears). I made some audio recordings on my phone and came away with a recipe book, which I still use.

---

I was having a great time in the Backpacker Capital, but it was clear that I couldn't leave without seeing the Backpacker Playground. Though a detour from my planned itinerary, the town of Pai held an irresistible lure. Sometimes described as a "beach town in the mountains", Pai boasts a combination of beautiful surroundings and a chilled-out vibe. The staff at my Chiang Mai hostel were kind enough to let me leave my big bag while I headed for the bus. I found, to my surprise, two minibuses instead of one large bus. The reason for this soon became apparent: the road, though good quality, was narrow in places and very steep. The journey took us around innumerable hair-pin bends which were - in the case of the unfortunate occupant of the back corner seat - literally vomit-inducing. It was with a sense of relief that I arrived in Pai and started exploring.

The town's main street wound its way past quirky bookshops and little cafes with backpackers lounging around outside. Across the river, the thickly-forested hills promised exciting motorbike adventures. Jutting above the trees was the big white Buddha of Wat Phra That Mae Yen (how are you getting on with these names, by the way?). I walked the two kilometres towards it and climbed the big white staircase. I joined the ten (ish) meter-tall statue in admiring the view of the sunset. The Buddha was portrayed seated with one hand in his lap and the other on his knee: the mudra which represents "calling the Earth to witness". I descended the steps and followed the road back; I remember the rice paddies looking very beautiful in the twilight.

I was unaware that my evening was about to get very interesting. I paused by the roadside to examine a big flying insect which was stuck on its back, and a motorbike pulled up alongside me. On it were two backpackers, both sensibly wearing helmets, who were more interested in me than the unfortunate insect. They were Callan and Cat, my friends from the cookery school! We had a brief catch up then agreed to meet at a bar. I returned to my simple hostel, smartened myself up as best I could, then headed out into the night. The bar, once located in its narrow alley, was nicely decorated with cushions and coloured lights. I joined Callan and Cat in listening to the live music, which included good covers of Darius' Colourblind and John Denver's Take Me Home, Country Roads. I drank a few Black Russians, the only cocktails on offer which weren't a huge dose of citrus and sugar. I felt a little out of place amongst the bar's uber-cool patrons, but still had a nice evening.

My alarm went off at 6am the next morning. My dry mouth and pounding head protested at getting up, but it was necessary if I was to reach Pai's canyon on foot. I set off down a long, straight road which took me past some strange religious and backpacker-esque junkyards. Broken statues and bits of shrine mingled with a flower-covered Rolls-Royce and a wrongly-proportioned red British phone box. It started to rain. The view of the canyon, when I reached it, was a bit of an anticlimax due to the tree cover, but there were some nice birds around including a spotted pigeon and a young blue rock dove. I had been reliably informed that there was a good adventure to be had in ignoring the warning signs and exploring the crumbly sandstone outcrops. I did not find this course of action appealing, so instead headed back to a cafe in the car park for some breakfast. There I was fortunate enough to meet an American who was exploring temples (partly at his employer's expense) for research purposes. He seemed a good person to ask some of my questions about Buddhism. Why, for example, was I seeing statues and paintings of the gods and goddesses I associated with the Hindu pantheon? I won't try to replicate his answer here but you could do your own research or, even better, take part in a Talk to a Monk event at your local temple.

The owner of the cafe helped me in my search for a taxi, but ended up taking me back to town himself. I paid a quick visit to some nice waterfalls then returned to the bus station. I had spent a mere 24 hours in Pai, and was aware that the aforementioned Elders would be most displeased with me. My plans, however, were taking me back to Chiang Mai for another bus north - as far north as was possible for me to go. I'm itching to tell you about it, but I can sense my editor's eyelids drooping, and maybe yours are too. Let's make this one a two-parter, shall we?

---

Editor's Note: Thanks go to John Geeson for helping with the bird identification in for this piece. Stay tuned for part two!