I was so afraid of not loving Chiang Mai as much as I had done so two years before. But as the train tiredly approached the station and I saw the morning fog rising from the green-fluffy mountains, my heart filled with joy for her once more. The shortness of time had had me leave among tears and promises of returning.
To the same marvelous time I did not return, as only space and no time can be recovered. However, the intangible charm of Chiang Mai produced its miracles once more.
I arrived with no plans and nowhere to stay, which is the best way of asking life for the best –which oftentimes is much grander than what we can anticipate. I turned into Soi three off Thapae Road and bumped into Mi Casa, a most lovely guest house. It could be described as a boutique budget hotel. It has seventeen rooms called after colors or fruits. They gave me the Yellow room, which is tiny and has wall that is as brightly yellow as the sun and a bed with a purple comforter above which a white mosquito net tied onto a knot hangs.
The previous two days I had spent in crazy Bangkok with my friend Sam and I had been looking forward to my other friend, Nathan’s arrival into Chiang Mai on Sunday morning. During the long train ride from Bangkok I received a message from Nathan saying that he had missed the flight. He later tried to reschedule it but it was so costly that he decided to cancel his vacation.
For that reason, I found myself alone in a place where I had had the most wonderful times with the most wonderful friends. A mix of joy and loneliness invaded me.
On Monday I rented a bicycle and went around the walled city, passing by spots that brought back sweet memories: the Boonthavon Hotel; the corner where Massimo, Gunita and I waited for the bus to the massage school; the temples where I had kneeled to pray with gratefulness; Kanjana restaurant, where we had all gotten sick… I ended up in Blue Diamond, an organic restaurant with a surreal garden of orchids and a creek of gold fish. I had scrambled eggs and gluten-free bread and then spent the day on the bicycle. In the evening I met Alex, one of my classmates from the TESOL training who lives in Chiang Mai. We had dinner and then he showed me around the Night Bazaar.
On Christmas morning I did the same routine: jumped on my bicycle, rode down Thapae road, crossed the gate into the walled city, turned onto Soi One, passed by the Boonthavon, the same tailor, the same cleaners, the same coffee shops than before. I sat at Blue Diamond by the gold fish that opened their mouths trying to catch something. The server brought me a small cupcake and wished me a merry Christmas and I wanted to cry, still not knowing whether it was from being extremely happy or terribly sad. And the Ghost of Christmas appeared. It had the shape of a German man, who talked to me with most honesty than most people who know me well have ever dared to do. Life shifted.
On Thursday, before the sun raised, the Ghost took me to a wat (temple) outside of the city and taught me how to do walking meditation and the Taoist way to get rid of illness. My mental noise calmed down a bit and I started feeling the peace of my heart.
Life shifted.
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