The Chiang Mai Enigma: death, bliss, same-same

Chiang Mai is Thailand’s second largest city and often billed as an antidote to Bangkok (a diiiiiiiiiiistant second, with about a million versus 13 million people). One is overwhelming, hot, and garish. The other is charming, temperate, and quaint. Several people who’ve traveled in Thailand told us they didn’t care for or even disliked Bangkok but loved Chiang Mai. When we first arrived in Thailand Chiang Mai was high on our Must Do list. For a variety of reasons it fell into the Nice To Do But, You Know, Whatever… Life category and was briefly ruled out altogether. Then Spectra got one of her travel itches and used Chiang Mai as the scratching post so we finally got there last week.

While it is true that Chiang Mai plays charming and quaint against Bangkok’s overwhelming and garish, it is a damned lie that it’s temperate. Both cities are unacceptably hot. Chiang Mai is cooler at night—thanks to the thinner, drier mountain air—so the walk home from dinner is refreshing. Alas, Chiang Mai has not shifted life into the evening so things like temples are open during the day. 

Have you ever read a book or seen a movie where people need to simply keep moving to stay alive and someone decides to “take a rest” knowing that it means s/he’ll die? That’s always struck me as ridiculous. All you have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other; why wouldn’t you trudge along until you drop? After walking around Chiang Mai in the dead of day I get it. I remember looking at a temple a couple blocks away and thinking, “I’m just going to take a rest now, here, in the middle of the street, man, that sounds nice.” Still, two out three ain’t bad. 

I am not pictured because I was dead.

 True to all trips planned by Spectra, our four days there were less than leisurely. We took a night train and stayed in the heart of Chiang Mai, in the “old city” that’s surrounded by a moat and remnants of walls constructed nearly 1,000 years ago (Chiang Mai, or its full name, means “walled city”). We walked through a variety of impressive temples. We ate terrific food. Had coffee at Ristr8to, which is the best fraking coffee shop either one of us has ever been to, hands down… even without air conditioning on a 36c/97f degree day. We went to an elephant sanctuary where we fed and bathed rescued elephants, four of which had stepped on landmines while logging. The pièce de résistance: we stayed in a treehouse hotel that was so perfect in its way that we’re tempted to go back to Chiang Mai before we leave so we can stay another couple nights: Rabeang Pasak Chiangmai Treehouse Resort. 

With all that in mind, here are the four things I will forever remember about Chiang Mai: Pinn, AJ, Lisa, and Sci. That’s a Thai woman, the brother of a high school friend of mine, a Chinese woman, and a Thai man. Sure, I saw spellbinding scenery and gazed into a culture’s historical heart, but none it made me feel better about being human. None of it made me think, “Thank Solustron I lived as long as I did and that my life twisted and turned such that I found myself sitting here with you."

The AJ Experience

Before I get to the defining episode of this trip I have to quickly sing the praises of AJ. His older brother Brett and I were core friends in high school. I think I was 18 the last time I saw AJ and he was 15. Had I passed him on the street a couple weeks ago the only reason I would have noticed him is he’s 6’8” (203 cm). Even then I’m not sure I would have put together who he is because when we met for dinner I struggled to assign his face to someone from my past. The truth is I couldn’t quite do it. I mean, I knew it was him, if for no other reason he shares too many mannerisms with his brother not to be, but after a couple minutes I just accepted that the person before me was AJ even though I couldn’t transpose his face onto the person I knew a little once upon a time. 

Going to Chiang Mai and hanging out with AJ was one of those things that reflexively sounded like a good idea when Brett mentioned it five months ago on the other side of the world. Only when I was faced with the reality of making a plan with someone I don’t really know did it suddenly strike me as a less obviously great idea. What if AJ was one of the unsavory farang whom I so detest sleezing around Thailand? What if he’s something worse than that (even though I can’t imagine what that would be)? I consoled myself with the fact that we’d only committed to one meal with him and could conveniently forget to make additional plans the rest of our stay. 

AJ was lurking within. Ready to charm and produce a special rate on beer.

 We ended up having dinner with AJ twice and then hanging out with him in his home the afternoon before we returned to Bangkok. Practically speaking that means we spent every available moment we could with AJ. We even sat around his home for a few hours drinking beer, eating chips, watching TV and then looking at slideshows of his trips to Ankor Wat and Taiwan. Keep in mind, Spectra “GO GO GO Everything That Can Be Seen Must Be Seen” Myers was sitting on that couch too. That’s how fraking delightful AJ is. Without so much as a grumble or a sideways glance at me, Spectra idled away a whole afternoon when there were dozens of temples left to see. AJ could not have known it, but this is the highest compliment Spectra can pay a person. 

My mother nearly lost her feet in Kyoto thanks to the punishing drive of Travel Spectra. She would have been thunderstruck by the sight of Spectra drinking a beer at 2 in the afternoon, watching a reality TV show about how Malaysia trains their special forces, without a care in the world for the “silver temple” across the street. That is to say the easygoing power of AJ is something to behold if you’re ever in Chiang Mai. I suspect no connection to AJ would be necessary but it would make it easier get in touch with him. If you have no connection to him but fancy a visit, let me know and I’ll arrange a meeting. 

My friend AJ and me. Looking kind of giant.

Okay, so the defining Chiang Mai episode.

"My movie isn't about Chiang Mai. My movie IS Chiang Mai." ~ Pinn

Chiang Mai is “in the mountains” like Salt Lake City is. That is to say, the mountains are very close but you’re not “in” them like you are when you’re in a ski resort town like Vail. Our final night in Chiang Mai was the only one we spent outside the city, in the surrounding mountain jungle. We spent this night in a treehouse. Had we known what it would be like we would have spent more than one night there. 

We stayed here one measly night. We are fools.

On the way we stopped at the Four Seasons Resort to pick up another treehouse guest. Spectra and I were both surprised to hear someone from, perhaps, the poshest resort in all of Thailand (which is saying something) was joining us and were preemptively concerned about what kind of person this would be. It was the mirror image of the anxiety we’d feel if we were picking someone up at the Reggae Backpacker Wild Weed Hostel and Love Shack. Not that everyone who stays in either of those kinds of places is a reprehensible person, but the odds creep up that at first blush she or he will be an obvious bummer. 

Our Four Seasons addition turned out to be a Chinese woman of indeterminate age--let’s say 30, give or take 15 years--named Lisa. She sat in the front seat, we sat in the back, so there was a little initial chatter but it was difficult to maintain without her fully turning around in her seat. Since she wasn’t me that wasn’t going to happen. It was not immediately clear that she was deplorable, which was all we could really ask for, and there was even an encouraging sign. 

Lisa asked the driver how far it was to the treehouse. He answered, sixty kilometers, or something. Then I immediately asked him, “How far it is to Nirvana from here?” Lisa burst out laughing while the driver was confused. I congratulated the driver on his non-answer explaining that he was right, “Nirvana is nowhere and everywhere. The distance to Nirvana is a secret hidden in one’s heart.” She laughed again. The driver may have attained enlightenment. It was difficult to tell with certainty. 

What the driver saw in that moment.

 We arrived at Rabeang Pasak Chiangmai Treehouse and were greeted by the owner, Mr. Lee. He’s Thai, probably in the neighborhood of 70 and, we found out later, a Pratt Institute trained architect. Because where else would you get your training to build treehouses in the mountain jungle of rural Thailand but a revered, tiny school in Brooklyn. Have I mentioned life on Earth is brilliantly ridiculous and that we should stop ruining it? If not, consider it mentioned. Mr. Lee informed us that due to cancellations Spectra, Lisa, and I had the run of the place. He even insisted we check multiple treehouses to choose the one we liked most. Spectra’s dream is to live in a treehouse so she was basically out of her mind at this point. 

After we settled in it was already time for dinner. We ate on a big patio overlooking a stream and the treehouses. We tried like crazy to get Lisa to sit with us but she demurred. Mr. Lee’s daughter Pinn, who helps run the place, was less resistant to our conversational overtures. Each time she came by to check on us we detained her a little longer and by the end of the meal she pulled up a chair to talk with us. Perhaps Pinn’s inclusion was a sign to Lisa that we Americans wouldn’t get all America on her because she shortly joined our conversation too. 

This stream. One night. Again, we are fools.

The four of us took a short walk down to a marsh that looked like a planetarium projection. It was like a Milky Way of fireflies in a narrow band above the reeds extending back into the forest as far as we could see. “Like Christmas,” Pinn said. I feigned ignorance out of fear that Jesus might show up and ruin everything. He didn’t. After the fireflies we returned to the patio. Pinn excused herself to, like, work or something, but Lisa was in. We sat there for a couple hours chatting. 

It turned out Lisa was in Chiang Mai meeting with some sort of tea tasting organization. There were 400 people in town to drink tea. Tea from Thailand, we assumed. No. Lisa was in Chiang Mai, Thailand with 350 other Chinese people (according to Lisa, the remaining 50 were from random places like Canada but definitely not Japan) to drink tea from... China. Rare tea, she assured us. I asked if they were in Chiang Mai to drink it because the tea had to be smuggled out of China. She laughed, but no. 

So Lisa was a Chinese lady in Thailand to drink tea from China at the Four Seasons Resort. Do you feel a pang of envy? What if I add that she was beautiful, gregarious and sharp? Before you answer, keep in mind she was stunned and openly jealous of the fact that neither Spectra’s nor my mother would ever even casually mention that maybe it would be nice if we’d have a baby some day. She was also in awe of the frequency of our communications with our mothers: Spectra once a week; me haphazardly that probably works out to being once every 3 weeks. Lisa talks to her parents every day. Every day they poke and prod about when she’s going to get married and have children. I’m not sure how many idyllic tea parties she’d trade for Spectra’s parent communication regimen but I’d wager the answer is greater than one. 

Spectra and I went to bed knowing know we wouldn’t see Lisa again. Or at least I wouldn’t. Lisa had to leave early in the morning to catch her flight back to China. Early isn’t my thing but sometimes it’s Spectra’s. She didn’t catch her though. 

Around 9:30 we went up for breakfast. We ate and then Pinn came over and we got to talking. By the way, the “P” in her name is actually the impossible sound that’s between “p” and “b” and the double-n is to indicate the sound at the end of her name is falling. She swore I managed to say her name correctly a couple times but I doubt it. Like Lisa, Pinn is also of indeterminate age: roughly 30, give or take 15 years. At some point Spectra decided to explore the grounds and the treehouses. Pinn and I kept chatting. About an hour later Spectra returned and Pinn and I were still chatting. 

Pinn’s life story is for her share, so I’m not going to really get into it, but she lived in the United States in non-obvious immigrant places for almost a decade before returning to Thailand to help her father with the treehouses. If anyone reading this knows Wong Kar-Wai I think you should mention Pinn to him because he might want to make a movie about a Pinn-like person living a treehouse in the mountain jungle outside of Chiang Mai. If Mr. Wong isn’t available, someone please contact Werner Herzog. 

Like her Pratt educated, architect, treehouse building father; Pinn is a walking, talking, laughing, eye-rolling endorsement for the inherent ridiculous brilliance of humanity. If aliens are watching trying decide whether humans should be exterminated to let something more interesting take over, I’m sure they’ve keyed in on Pinn. One Pinn is worth many less sterling types found at the Four Seasons or Reggae Backpacker Wild Weed Hostel and Love Shack. Same goes for Lisa and AJ and Sci (whose story I won’t be touching on, I’m sorry to say, because this thing shouldn’t go on forever). 

When Spectra rejoined us Pinn looked at her and said, “He asks so many questions. Every time I think he will forget, but no. He remembers and asks again.” 

“This is normal,” Spectra assured her. “He loves doing this to people.” 

 

This moment was a mini-revelation for me. If Spectra is “everything that can be seen must be seen,” then I am “everything that a person can tell must be heard.” I’d been sitting there interrogating a next-to-stranger for approximately two hours while Spectra spent half that time exploring the treehouse valley. She was doing her thing and I was doing mine. I don’t think we’d ever so explicitly bifurcated an experience like that before. As far as revelations go this one would have to count as minor. It’s unlikely to have finally punch my enlightenment ticket, and its utility is of limited or perhaps nil value. Spectra and I were naturally inclined to give the other space to do our inherent self things anyway so this won’t resolve any issues because there weren’t any. 

So what does this mean? I don’t know. Why does this make me feel better about being alive? I’m not sure. What is my current distance to nirvana? I have no idea. Is this insight attributable to Chiang Mai? That's the most salient question here but it's no more answerable than the others. At best it's debatable but we've never seen it reported in guidebooks like, “Thanks to less hurlyburly and a more walkable environment than Bangkok, as you meander from temple to temple through the invigorating, sun dappled streets of Chiang Mai you may find yourself gaining new insights into, not only Thailand, but also into yourself.”  

 

Does this look enlightening?

What to make of Chiang Mai then? I honestly can't say. It's not exactly what it's cracked up to be, but it isn't entirely NOT what it's cracked up to be either. Perhaps this is part of its charm. That like your distance from Nirvana, Chiang Mai can only be measured by your heart. You might want to lie down and die in the street. You might find people who make you happy to be alive. These might be the same thing. I have no idea what that thing is but I'd pay to see Wong Kar-Wai (or Werner Herzog) contemplate it in a movie simply called Pinn.

How about this?