Chiang Rai

By Pete
07-09/03/2019
The bus from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai was a jolting, three-and-a-half-hour endurance test. Each pothole eliciting muttered apologies from Pete as his elbow jabbed my ribs yet again. Through the grime-coated windows, we watched Thai road crews bravely hacking away at crumbling patches of asphalt, their “safety flip-flops” offering little protection against the hot tar or their picks. Beyond them drought-parched hills unfolded endlessly, fading into a hazy mirage.

The station was modest, a little dusty and worn, much like the town it served. As we stepped off the bus, we stretched gratefully, breathing in a hot gust of air laced with diesel fumes and the tempting scent of street food. Beyond the station,  Chiang Rai revealed itself with an easy charm, unhurried but quietly alive.
​Pete and I wandered along the side streets to the Tong Siam Hostel. Entering, we discovered its past life as an herbal pharmacy subtly preserved. Shelves of faded wood stretched ceiling-high, adorned by rows of empty glass jars that once contained mysterious cures. The gentle glow of exposed bulbs, the earthy texture of red brick walls, and the scent of lemongrass, the whole vibe felt effortlessly cool.

Nearly thirty years had passed since Pete and I last journeyed through this region. Back then, our adventure had been rugged, three unforgettable days hiking through the Golden Triangle. We’d rafted down muddy rivers, trekked winding mountain paths, and even swayed atop elephants through lush jungle. At night, gathered around smoky fires, we’d shared stories with villagers using wild gestures and references to soccer, a language understood universally. I vividly recalled one teenage boy, flushed with excitement, having trekked 20 kilometres just to catch a  match on the village’s sole television. He’d recounted every play passionately, eyes wide with pride and joy.
​Standing in Chiang Rai today, we felt hesitant to recreate those treasured memories. The tourist trails were undoubtedly smoother now, with Wi-Fi and “eco-tour” branding, but we suspected they’d lost some of their original magic. Instead, we decided to explore the city’s contemporary soul, starting with its trio of famous temples.

Wat Rong Khun, the White Temple, shone dazzlingly under the noon sun, every inch glittering like freshly polished silverware. Wandering through its labyrinth of intricate carvings and reflective tiles, we sensed the intensity of artist Chalermchai Kositpipat’s vision, even as we overheard a guide suggest its completion might stretch until 2070. Pete traced his finger along the fine detail, whispering, “Imagine the dedication to a build that wilo outlast your lifetime.”

By contrast, the Black House- Baan Dam, felt shockingly visceral by contrast. Dark, looming structures housed collections of bones, horns, and fierce-looking sculptures, their primitive energy starkly juxtaposed against clusters of tourists brandishing selfie sticks. The macabre decor seemed to disorient visitors, their hushed whispers occasionally broken by awkward laughter at the unsettling displays.

The recently constructed Blue Temple, Wat Rong Seua Ten, offered a vibrant finale to our temple tour. Rich cobalt blue walls intertwined gracefully with golden embellishments, creating a harmonious blend of spirituality and creativity. Inside, the air felt thick with reverence, broken gently by murmurs and camera clicks. The glowing Buddha’s serene gaze followed us as we drifted slowly through the vibrant sanctuary, pausing frequently to admire intricately painted murals

Outside, Chiang Rai’s streets unfolded their daily rhythms. We browsed through bustling local markets, savouring street snacks, spicy sausages, sweet mango slices dusted with chilli and stopping occasionally in quaint cafés that promised cool respite from the heat. Near the old City Hall, we stumbled upon a tiny museum filled with grainy black-and-white photographs, reminders of a simpler time when Chiang Rai was little more than a rough-hewn trading outpost on Thailand’s northern frontier.
​As evening fell, the city sprang to life. The Night Bazaar lit up in fluorescent splendour, stalls overflowing with sizzling dishes, bargain souvenirs, and enthusiastic vendors hawking everything from knock-off DVDs to neon flip-flops. An exuberant (if slightly off-key) drag show drew cheers from an amused audience, performers strutting confidently, tossing playful glances and exuberant kicks into their routines.

We wove through the carnival of stalls, charmed by the bustling energy. A large circle formed in a carpark, locals strutted, arms swaying and inviting anyone willing into their traditional dances. Pete and I watched respectfully from the sideline unwilling to inflict our ineptitude on the circling mass.
​In those carefree moments beneath strings of colourful lights, Chiang Rai revealed its playful side. Far from sleepy, this city effortlessly blended heritage and modernity, reminding us how even places once familiar could surprise and delight when approached with fresh eyes.
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