The crowds, the noise, and the scorching concrete walls… I still haven’t gotten used to them. But to speak of Chiang Mai or Mapping, that alone wouldn’t be enough…

By the Ping River
One of the things I loved most about Mapping was the garden tucked away by the Ping River. It became my little sanctuary and the place where I spent the most time during my stay in Chiang Mai. Thanks to it, I no longer focused on the noise and narrow streets outside and began to “love” Mapping more than I did on the first day. The small garden, with four quiet thatched huts tucked in each corner, offered the perfect refuge. In the mornings, I would slip away to my favorite corner hut and watch the river drift lazily before me. Occasionally, on the opposite side, someone would play an instrument or sing alone, as if the whole world belonged only to them.

Mapping is a special hostel, at least when you see it with raw, unfiltered eyes and your own intuition, without judgment or rational scrutiny. This is not a place for those seeking Instagram-worthy photos. Everything at Mapping is simple, rough, and visibly worn. But for backpackers, that’s more than enough. After all, what matters most is the stories, meeting interesting people, and having a quiet corner to reconnect with oneself.

Mapping is not noisy. The dorm room is tiny, barely enough space for four bunk beds, yet it’s rare to hear loud chatter. All guests here respect each other’s privacy and silence. Every time we entered the room, especially at night, we stepped lightly to avoid making a sound. Whenever we needed to turn on a light, we’d always check with our roommates first. I thought I was the only one noticing these small details, but it turned out my friends here saw it too and some even said, “Everyone who comes here is so sweet. That’s why I stayed so long,” or “Next time I come back to Chiang Mai, I’ll definitely stay here again…”

The Tales of Spring Rolls

Aside from Loren, the person I spent the most time talking to in Chiang Mai was Julien. Julien is a French photographer, tall and lean, with flecks of silver in his hair. He had been in Chiang Mai for a while, and this hostel felt like a second home to him. Though I call him “uncle” out of respect, we always treated each other as friends, and the age difference never affected the way we spoke. I first met Julien while standing by the reception desk. He had just returned from somewhere. We introduced ourselves, and he handed me a packet of coconut pancakes (Khanom Krok) to try. Then he led me to a local market near the hostel. He said, “The food here is cheap and delicious. Don’t bother looking elsewhere. I’ll show you once, and next time you’ll know the way.” And thus, “The Tales of Spring Rolls” was born…

It started at a small stall selling spring rolls at the entrance of San Pa Koi Market. The vendor was a young woman, perhaps in her early thirties. She couldn’t speak English, so we mostly communicated with hand gestures. The stall offered many types of spring rolls, with prices clearly displayed. I chose a veggie portion and bought a bunch of bananas before strolling back with Julien.

Honestly, the spring rolls there were far better than any I’d had in Vietnam. I particularly loved the green sauce, made from some kind of leaves, with a gentle hint of spice. That afternoon, Julien and I ate together in the garden, discussing Buddhism and meditation. It was then that he suggested I try a Vipassana course in Myanmar. I had actually planned to do a 10-day meditation retreat at a Buddhist center in Chiang Mai but my application was rejected because the November course was already full. Julien had attended a Vipassana retreat in Myanmar and clearly loved it. But I couldn’t fit a Myanmar retreat into this trip, the visa-free period was only 14 days, and the course lasted 10, leaving too little buffer. I had to postpone.

Back to the tales of spring rolls. During my days in Chiang Mai, veggie spring rolls became my go-to meal. San Pa Koi Market was also ideal for buying fruit or salads without worrying about being overcharged, unlike tourist-targeted markets. What made it even more special was that I wasn’t the only one who frequented this stall; many Mapping guests loved it too. Julien had, in a sense, “introduced” them to it, just as he did for me that first day. Of course, not every visit coincided with the stall being open. Often, we would dash there under the scorching sun only to return empty-handed. Spring rolls became a starting point for conversations, replacing ordinary greetings. If someone mentioned heading to the market, the others would immediately ask, “Are you going to get spring rolls?” And when someone returned empty-handed after a “spring roll hunt,” the group would exclaim, “Oh no, didn’t get any?” followed by long, dramatic sighs.

One of the things I’m always grateful for while wandering is the advice or suggestions from friends I meet along the way. Like Julien leading me to the market and showing me the spring rolls, or Sophie sending me the address of a café she described as “so cute, and if you have time, you must visit,” or Ted taking his few remaining hours in Thailand to show me a film store he happened to know. I realized that as long as I’m ready to listen, ready to ask questions, ready to try new things, I’ll never need a Lonely Planet guide in any city.

Just be,

Excerpt from Travel Journal – Chiang Mai, November 2018