The Adventures of Brian & Julia

Before we left for this trip, I searched high and low to find the perfect “travel size” bottles of shampoo and conditioner, thinking I would appreciate the familiar scent in a far away shower, but they ran out well before homesickness even crossed my mind. I looked for the right pair of “nice but not too expensive” sunglasses to bring, and the glue holding them together melted by the time we hit Bangkok. I left for this trip thinking I was well prepared, and believing implicitly that such a thing was even possible. One month in, though, and I realize that you cannot prepare for the experience of being on the other side of the planet by obsessing about what’s in your bag.

The real challenges on this trip have been things I could not possibly have anticipated or prepared for– the looks I got in India, the smells of an overnight backpacker bus, and the general fact that travel (as opposed to vacation) is not about escaping one place, but immersing yourself in a new one (and then another new one and another after that). As my travel size items are gradually replaced with “real life” ones, it occurs to me that being a happy nomad starts with settling into yourself instead of your surroundings. Travel is rewarding for the same reason it’s difficult: it amplifies the fact that everything changes, that you can’t possibly do or see everything that’s worthwhile in a single lifetime, and that there are at least two sides to every story.

Travel is overwhelming because it’s an intensified version of life, in which you have to make 10 times as many decisions as usual and are often aided only by guidebook one liners and your own instincts. Once you acquire a taste for it though, getting overwhelmed can be delightful, and I can’t think of a better place to learn this than Chiang Mai. Because it’s Thailand’s second largest city, I can’t help but compare it to Bangkok, and although I could find lots of ways to be happy in either place, I love Chiang Mai even more. Since we arrived here by overnight bus, and because neither of us got much sleep during the ride, it took us a few days to notice just how much good stuff there was here, and another day after that to start letting it in. After a week, though, I can officially call this my favorite city so far.

It goes without saying, then, that the food is amazing, but I’ll say it anyway. In the area around our guesthouse, there is a particularly astonishing variety of international food to keep travelers happy, no matter where they’re from. Burritos, British pub standards and French baguettes are all on offer during a 3 minute stroll, as is the delicious raspberry granola I had for two mornings in a row. Best, though, is the local specialty of kao soi, or Chiang Mai noodles.

Rather than the usual rice noodles, these are flat, Chinese style egg noodles,swimming in a fiery red coconut curry cream and topped with a handful of crispy wonton strands and a generous squeeze of sweet lime juice. I had heard that Chiang Mai is THE place for cooking classes in Thailand, and I made sure to pick one where I could learn this dish. If it’s still snowing when we get home (and I bet it will be), stop by and have some. It’s delicious.

As tasty this city can be, though,the real action is in the shopping. The most famous place to do it is the market that springs up nightly in the downtown district. Multi-story banks and office buildings become the backdrop for a maze of stalls and stands selling a thousand different versions of popular Thai souvenirs: teak wood carvings, intricate silver jewelry in the “hill tribe” style, patchwork wrap skirts, funny t-shirts, and anything made of Thai silk. There are tons of other things too, but because so much of it is similar, everyone ends up circling around and around, looking for the precise items they want.

Faced with this kind of commercial abundance, you get really picky about tiny details, and become determined to hold out for just the right thing. When you do though, you can’t let on. The night market is all about haggling, so even though you spent 3 hours digging for that shirt in green, you have to act like you could live without it (which, by that point, you absolutely can’t). Asking the price is like ringing a bell at a boxing match: it signals that you’re ready for the action to begin in earnest. The vendor punches a ridiculously high number into a calculator and shows it to you, you scoff, and counter with your own offer, usually less than half of theirs. Then they scoff, and come down a tiny bit. Generally, you have to almost walk away at least twice before the final price is agreed upon, and god help you if you see anything else you like at the same place, because then you’ll have to start all over. The whole thing takes ages, and it’s an absolute blast.

If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance your christmas present was acquired in an exchange of this sort.


Chaing Mai is itself a lot like the market: burgeoning with good things to eat, do, and buy to such an extent that it can make you dizzy. I wanted to take a cooking class, and there were literally 50 to choose from. Brian was hoping to see a Muay Thai match, and it turns out they’re held every night of the week. The only trick to having a good time here is not to try too hard. We leave tomorrow, but will pass back through next week on our way to Laos. While this might not be the most efficient route, it suits us just fine. After all, you know you’re on to something good when you have to walk away twice