Chiang Mai: Feeling Lonely & At Home All at Once

“For those who know the value of and exquisite taste of solitary freedom (for one is only free when alone), the act of leaving is the bravest and most beautiful of all.”
-Isabelle Eberhardt

I stepped off the plane in Chiang Mai mid-afternoon with no idea where I was going (as usual). My taxi driver dropped me at a street corner, pointed down an alley way and muttered something like “That way,” and drove off. Here’s the scene I walked up on: more Westerners than I’d seen in days sprawled out on towels and pool chairs around a small in-ground pool. Three floors of motel-like room doors. Lil John’s “Get Low” blasting throughout the maze-like neighborhood. Think American frat house. I immediately wondered if I was still in Asia. Truth be told, I checked in, threw my backpack on my bed, and set off on foot looking for a different hostel. (Side note: This would be my routine with almost every single hostel that I checked into during my trip. Entering a new city was always strange and off-putting, and I’d come in missing the last place before I’d give the next one a fair chance).

Though I did find another hostel a short walk down the road, I ended up staying at Brick House (which I absolutely recommend to anyone staying in Chiang Mai. It’s cheap as hell — like $4 a night cheap — yet has the best beds of any hostel I stayed in across Thailand), feeling like there must be a reason I was there. I ended up talking to two women right away who quickly eased the crazy social anxiety that I felt upon entering the hostel, a social anxiety that totally had me running scared. Because I almost never experience that feeling at home, being extroverted and friendly in nature and constantly surrounded by people, when I showed up at this hostel and wanted to hide from everyone, it freaked me out. I felt like I didn’t know myself at all.

To my surprise, within hours Chiang Mai felt like home in a way that none of the other stops felt along the journey. Between the beautiful Old City, where ancient, picturesque temples sit between shops, cafes, and restaurants for blocks and blocks, and the hustling Night Market Neighborhood with miles of vendors and food and live music every single night, there was always more to see. I found hidden gem after hidden gem: a yoga studio (Freedom Yoga) where I took the best Hatha yoga class I’ve ever taken in a treehouse-like setting; phenomenal, healthy cafes; so many badass thrift shops; Instagram-worthy coffee shops… I could write blog post after blog post about this place, and I was only there for 4 and a half days. If I were ever to move to Thailand, this is where I’d go. (And actually, a little Thai man on the side of the street who I paid to read my tarot cards said that working in Chiang Mai was in my future… Ha).

I’ll spare you all of my elaborate details and give you some of the highlights:

• Grand Canyon: This is a must-go in Chiang Mai, though a lot of people I talked to had never heard of it. It’s about a 30-minute drive from Old City and I felt like I was getting kidnapped on my way there, but totally worth it. It’s a giant canyon where you can swim and jump from a platform and take gorgeous pictures. Probably my favorite thing I did while I was here.

• Baan Kang Wat: A tiny artist’s village in the outskirts of Chiang Mai that none of the four or so tuk tuk drivers I talked to had even heard of. It only takes about 20 minutes to walk through, but its adorable, with a library, restaurants and cafes, and unique little shops where you’ll find the artists actually making their work in the back. If you’re into artsy stuff, it’s definitely worth paying off a tuk tuk driver to take you.

• Doi Suthep Temple: I had seen so many temples by this point that truly, it wasn’t the actual temple that made me love this place so much. But the view of Chiang Mai from the top of the 309 stairs was breath-taking. And there’s an actual Buddhist Monk village beneath the temple that I crept into unknowingly (I’m still not sure if I was actually supposed to be there. Let’s just say I waved at a little boy in his orange saffron, and he just gave me a blank-faced stare).

• Elephant Jungle Sanctuary: So this place is known for being the best in Chiang Mai (there are multiple locations), as they rescue and protect elephants from the mistreatment that’s so rampant throughout Asia. It was obvious how much these people cared for the animals, and they seemed happy. They were playful and majestic and lovey. It was surreal. This was the most money I spent at one time during my travel (and still only about $45 USD), but absolutely worth it. We got to feed and play with the elephants, bathe them in mud, and then rinse off with them in the river. Plus, they took us to a waterfall and fed us delicious, authentic Thai food. For $45!

But when I think about my time in Chiang Mai, I don’t so much think about the days that I spent exploring the city, though some of the most amazing things I did in Thailand took place here. I remember so much more clearly the rollercoaster of emotions I experienced in such a short time, the transformation that occurred, because it wasn’t one that I expected or sought out.

I was talking with a girl from England about traveling alone as a woman and I could feel her struggling to find the words for her experience so far, as was I. I still do. I described it to her as empowering, and her eyes lit up. “Yes, empowering!” But that doesn’t quite capture it all either.

There is an undeniable exhilaration. A sensation of being certain of yourself. Of God and of the Universe. A feeling of unadulterated freedom. My days began at 6:30 or 7 every single morning, and I’d walk miles and miles each afternoon, my path planned around the sites I, alone, was excited to see and experience. I slowed down and I stopped when I wanted; I rushed when I was ready; I decided what was worth spending money on. I ate when and where I wanted to, sat alone in restaurants and on street curbs without a second thought. I answered to no one and nothing, but the pull in my gut.

But there’s no bother hiding the times when I felt a longing to share the experience with someone else. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t moments when I yearned for a companion, when I actually spoke out loud to myself because I hadn’t had a conversation in so long, when I grasped my phone in my hand for hours, snap-chatting every moment so that I could share it with you all when I found WiFi, only so I could feel like it had actually happened.

I will never forget the night in Chiang Mai when I had to drop to my knees on my hard, concrete hostel bedroom floor, hoping no one would barge in, and pray for acceptance of the feelings of loneliness that I was suddenly overcome with for the first time on my trip so far. I’ll never forget lying in my bunk with my notebook beside me, my comforter over my head, messaging people from home and wishing desperately that I wasn’t 8,369 miles away. That unmistakable longing for friendship and affection. Because though I’d sat with these feelings so many times before, this time there was absolutely no escape. I had no where to run. I was here with myself, here alone, and as I told myself over and over that night, this is what you wanted.

“I was full of a hot, powerful sadness and would have loved to burst into the comfort of tears, but tried hard not to, remembering something my Guru once said — that you should never give yourself a chance to fall apart because, when you do, it becomes a tendency and it happens over and over again. You must practice staying strong, instead.”
–Elizabeth Gilbert

But I also reminded myself that I was okay, that I was allowed to feel these things too. It didn’t make me any less strong or independent or worthy. I reminded myself and I prayed and I laid there and I felt it. And within an hour, my roommate came in and asked me if I wanted to go get ice cream with her and her friends in the Night Market, so I did. I finally let go of this strange wall I had up about meeting other people, this illusion that my trip had to be entirely in isolation — a block I hadn’t even realized I was holding onto. And thank god. All the people I met just in this city — Eliza from Germany, Britt from California, John from Canada, Quinn from New York, and so many others whose names have slipped from my memory but who’s faces I’ll never forget — changed the rest of my trip for me.

I can’t quite explain it, the automatic connection between traveler and traveler, even between traveler and local. I’m sure that you must experience it yourself to understand. You meet them and you love them because you’re dying to speak your language again — your language with all its slang and idiosyncrasies that only they will comprehend. You meet them and you are stunned by how much you don’t know about other countries, suddenly that much more aware of how self-absorbed your own is, how self-absorbed you were in middle school and high school when you learned geography and history, though certainly not enough. You meet them, and you can’t understand a word that they say, but their smiles, bright white and jagged, radiate light — and they are so thankful for your 100 baht, your 3 USD, because they’ve been making food for foreigners all day on the side of the street and their families are behind them, eating the leftovers.

A whole other part of myself opened up after this night — to locals, to fellow backpackers in the common rooms of hostels, to traveling strangers on the streets. I smiled at them instead of turning my head. I engaged in conversations instead of searching for internet connection. I said “yes” to invitations instead of hiding in my room. I realized that I was finding myself, finding God, in these people, too. I didn’t have to be alone to find what I was looking for. I didn’t have to cling to my solitude to keep what I’d found there. These people were all placed on the path. There was no dilemma between isolation and craving company.

Still, most of my greatest moments of astonishment and of immeasurable gratitude came when I was solely in my own company. Enjoying my solitude was my glory, and I spent the majority of my time here exploring solo. But I looked forward to walking into that hostel every night to all the familiar faces. It felt like I had people to come home too. I did. And there were so many other beautiful souls waiting for me in the places to come. Soon I’d realize that it was the people I met that felt like home far more than any of the places. But walking these streets only one week in, I had no idea.

♥

Originally published at to our depths .