When I first arrived at Mapping, I was quite disappointed. Honestly, it was because I was fed up with city life – the noise, the jostling between people and cars. The congestion, the pollution, the heat… it was overwhelming and suffocating. I still longed deeply for life in the mountains, on farms, for those moments standing before vast expanses, watching a tiny thread far away seemingly divide the sky from the earth.
What I didn’t realize then was that the following days at Mapping would become some of the most unforgettable moments in nearly a month of wandering across Thailand. Friends, stories, cold beers under a starry November sky… these were the things I knew I would remember most when returning to ordinary life like everyone else. It’s funny… though I call myself a traveler, I sometimes refused to visit the “must-see” spots, choosing instead to wander aimlessly, collecting fragmented stories with no clear beginning or end. I once told a close friend back home that everything happens for a reason, and even people who step into our lives for only a brief moment always bring lessons and meaningful messages. I am forever grateful to them for becoming a part of the journey in which I sought myself.
Julien: I’ve mentioned Julien several times in this Chiang Mai series. He was the one who introduced me to spring rolls, brought me to the Vegetarian Society, and took me to a small temple he frequented. Julien knew I didn’t like crowded places, and indeed, the temple had no other visitors besides the two of us. He also took me to the waterfall near Chiang Mai University, to the train station to buy tickets to Bangkok, and to a postcard shop that, as he said (speaking as a photographer), had “very special” postcards, each reflecting its owner. I loved the way Julien cared for the cats at Mapping and how he genuinely helped and talked with everyone. First-time visitors might find his enthusiasm overwhelming, but for someone who trusts intuition, his sincerity was clear from the very first conversation.
Anne: Anne is a young Dutch woman, of mixed European and Asian descent. She’s four years younger than me but seems quite mature. She has long black hair and healthy, tanned skin. Although we shared a room, it took us several days to really get to know each other. Coincidentally, she had recently returned from a Vipassana retreat in Myanmar, so I had the chance to ask about it. Thanks to Anne, I learned about trekking in Inle and saved some travel expenses in Myanmar (I’ll write about Inle in a later post).
Sophie: Sophie came to Chiang Mai for a few days before returning to England after a year of research and internships in New Zealand. She’s a zoologist and spends much of her time writing for research journals. A few years ago, she stayed in Vietnam and clearly loved Saigon. She used to say Vietnamese spring rolls were the best in the world… until I brought her to the “land of spring rolls” at San Pa Koi Market. Sophie is quiet and dislikes noise, and I noticed she had The Sorrow of War by Bảo Ninh at the head of her bed – a book I often recommend to foreign friends interested in Vietnamese literature. That evening, before she flew home, we hugged for a long time.
Vitu: Like Julien, Vitu isn’t a guest at Mapping. She had been there for a while, and everyone treated her like family. I met Vitu through Julien. That evening, the group gathered at one of the huts for beer and conversation – that was also our last night together. The next day, Julien and Anne left. Julien had to return home for paperwork, and Anne continued her travels. I was sad to say goodbye. Normally, I love being alone, so I never expected to feel this way when there was no one around to talk to. Julien tried to cheer me up: “It’s okay. Everyone leaves, and new people arrive. You’ll meet more lovely people. Or talk with Chris or Vitu – they’re nice too.” As he spoke, Vitu appeared. Julien introduced us. Vitu is full of positive energy, always smiling and funny. We had some tea and conversation. After returning home and settling back into office life, I met Vitu a few times in Hanoi. This Spanish girl never failed to bring a spark of surprise with her.
Chris: I was at Mapping nearly ten days but rarely saw Chris, who, according to Julien, is quiet and prefers calm, like me. Chris is a yoga and music teacher, born in Germany, but he spent most of his youth living in different countries. He often cycled out at dawn and returned late. We spoke only briefly when we crossed paths. On my last day, after checking out and packing, I sneaked out to sit at a riverside hut for a moment before leaving for Bangkok. Chris suddenly appeared, climbed up to where I was sitting, sweaty, holding a small bunch of bananas. He seemed to have just come from a music class, the brown instrument case I occasionally saw him carrying on his bike resting on his shoulder. Coincidentally, we both loved jazz and country music. That day, Chris played some of his original compositions and familiar Frank Sinatra tunes while I sat cross-legged, humming along, letting the wind carry away all my thoughts. I no longer thought about farewell hugs or promised meetings. Just sitting there, listening to the music mingle with the soft hum of the old fan hanging on the hut wall, felt more important than anything else.
Ted: Like Chris, I met Ted briefly. A tall American photographer, we met while I struggled to load the last roll of film into my camera and he prepared to check out. Seeing my awkward film camera, he immediately started talking. It turned out he was a film enthusiast too, especially black-and-white film. We ended up talking nonstop about film and photography. When I mentioned I needed to find film, he offered to take me to a second-hand film shop he had discovered while wandering Chiang Mai. Ted is quiet and speaks mostly when something sparks his interest, like spotting old vans tucked quietly along the streets.
The Magic of the Vegetarian Society
Besides spring rolls, another place I particularly loved in Chiang Mai was the Vegetarian Society. Once again, Julien was the one who told me about it. He had learned of the spot through a Thai friend. That day, according to plan, after going with Ted to the film shop, Anne and I were supposed to catch a bus to the place Julien insisted I would fall in love with the moment I stepped inside. But because we needed to sort out a few things, taking the bus would make us late – Vegetarian Society closes at 2 pm. So Julien decided to take us there on his motorcycle. At first, I hesitated; three people on a motorcycle, no helmets, was reckless and carried a tinge of guilt. Clearly, we were breaking Thailand’s traffic laws. How embarrassing. 🙁
The first impression upon stepping through the gate was calmness. Perhaps it was because we arrived late, close to closing time, so it was pleasantly quiet. But the food and drinks were still abundant. I particularly loved the glass jars filled with fresh fruit juices – just looking at them made me taste the sweet, refreshing flavors on my tongue. At Vegetarian Society, visitors serve themselves. True to its name, everything here is plant-based, with no meat or animal-derived ingredients. You can wander through the tables of baked goods, vegetables, and fruits, pick your favorite items, and take them to the cashier. The cashier estimates the price based on what’s on your plate. The best part: a satisfying, full meal here is incredibly affordable.
I spent a long time both selecting food and admiring the enticing displays, despite my stomach growling impatiently. As Julien promised, I was almost enchanted by the place. I kept exclaiming in delight as I walked, while Anne and Julien watched and smiled, probably thinking, “We knew she’d love this place.”
The experience here is fully self-service, from choosing a plate, getting utensils, selecting your food, to washing the dishes afterward. Outside, there’s a small area where people rinse and air-dry their dishes. I’ve always loved this kind of hands-on, participatory approach.
That afternoon, after finishing our meal, Anne and Julien took me to a small corner of the Vegetarian Society that left me utterly amazed. It was a shop selling organic foods and natural products. Honestly, I wanted to take everything home. No other organic store, neither in Vietnam nor anywhere else I’ve been, had captivated me like this. Everything was charming, from the lemongrass-scented soaps to the distinctively Thai herbal teas. The only challenge was that most items had no English labels or instructions, which made it tricky for someone like me who doesn’t speak Thai.
I used to think I always liked being alone, but perhaps that’s not entirely true. People are stories. Coming to a place, meeting new friends, laughing together, wandering side by side… aren’t those the moments worth remembering, the ones that make me want to stay a little longer? The fleeting conversations, the brief encounters before really knowing each other’s lives. And for all of that, I will always be grateful.
Just be.
Excerpt from Travel Journal – Chiang Mai, November 2018
Leave a Reply