Experiencing the Two Extremes of Northern Thailand

I started by tipsy tubing, and ended at a wellness retreat. It wasn’t the kind of itinerary I had planned for myself when visiting Pai.

Snapshot One

I’m floating down a murky river at an alarming speed, my bikini-clad body folded and squished into a weathered, orange rubber ring. Clutching my lychee-flavoured Soju in one hand, I let the other hang limply off the side of the tube, ready and waiting to push off either the muddy reeds lining the riverbank or the fellow bodies bobbing along beside me. Legs in the air and flip-flops falling into the water, hysteria takes over, and I find myself uncontrollably cackling at everyone I pass. What am I doing here.

Snapshot Two

I’m lying down on the hot wood of a sauna with my eyes closed. Tiny beads of sweat cover every inch of my skin and drip down onto the smoking bench in succession with one another. Even after eleven hours of sleep last night, I’m physically exhausted and mentally drained. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone — hence why I’m holed up in the sauna of a wellness hotel, purging all toxins (both physical and metaphorical). I feel like a recluse; hiding in the mountains and avoiding all social interaction.

The Bridge Between These Moments

Drunkenly cascading down a river and plopping out at bars along the waterfront was nothing I’d ever experienced before. I danced crazily with people I’d just met whilst getting smothered in foam, and played volleyball in the glow of the afternoon sun for hours in a large sandpit. The music was pumping and everyone was grinning madly. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

The next day, I woke up at seven in the morning to the sound of someone else’s alarm. The high-pitched chime rang out four times, at five-minute intervals — quickening my heartbeat on each occasion. You’d think that people staying in an eight-bed hostel room would have more social awareness, but no. I got landed with an egocentric backpacker who clearly has issues with getting up in the morning.

I emerged from the cramped room and sat by the grotty pool that had a sign pitched up next to it which (peculiarly) read, “No swimming.” With my legs pulled close to my chest and forehead resting on my knees, I rocked back and forth, trying to think away the alcohol-related heart palpitations.

Two hours later, whilst I was batting away a horde of mosquitos and flicking XXL ants off the bench where I was perched, EDM music started pumping from the speakers situated in the outside common area. I was living in a nightmare, otherwise known as a North Thailand party-hostel. Without hesitating, and without thinking, I went to the reception and cancelled the rest of my stay.

I looked online and found an available room in a wellness hotel just around the corner. It was cheaper than the previous hostel (only five pounds per night!) looked clean, and had an ice bath, sauna, and yoga hut. I was sold. I rushed back to my room to pack up my stuff. My genuine excitement to get out of this party cavern forced me to pause and think, “God, I’m getting old.”

I’ve spent the last two days doing most activities lying down. I read my book in the sun, practice some slow yoga, and curled up on one of the common room sofas to watch Sex and the City on Netflix. It’s strange that a place so discordant with the other exists. Sounds of the trickling river and tweeting birds now filled the air, creating a calming and restorative atmosphere. Here, I’ve had the reset I needed to prepare me for the hubbub that awaits me at home.