In a quirk of local terminology, both Chiang Mai and Bangkok refer to themselves by their airport codes, CNX and BKK. I can’t think of another place that does that. I mean, if a business is right by the airport, maybe, but there aren’t any SFO-branded stores in San Francisco proper or LAX-branded stores in Los Angeles. Just a local thing, I guess.

My luck continues to hold on neighborhoods, as I’m once again in a great spot. I wanted to stay right in the Old City, but I also insisted on a pool. So, close to the Old City also works.

I’m on the edge of the Nimmanhaemin neighborhood, or Nimman for short. It’s the artsy, boutiquey part of town, so there’s plenty to see strolling of a sultry evening. Which is all of them. I have the best of both worlds.

It’s certainly nice to have access to culture and some of the big city amenities that weren’t available in Krabi. Of course, the trade is that there’s no ocean here. But there is a water feature! The perimeter of the Old City is delineated by a perfectly rectilinear moat, making it very easy to tell if you’re in the Old City’s one square mile or not.

The moat and fortifications date all the way back to 1296, so they truly mean Old City. Although I’m sure that name made no sense in 1296, when Chiang Mai was founded. “Don’t worry, someday…”

The Apartment

I’ve definitely noticed that Airbnbs seem less quaint since we’ve set up a home base in Chicago. It was one thing when we were unhomed, but now that we have a sanctuary I’m acutely aware of its absence. Our apartment is comfortable and delightful, and Chicago, on the last leg back, started to feel like home.

So my Airbnb is fine. I’ve just had to accept that Southeast Asian residences only have hot water in the shower. At least in this apartment there’s a faucet. My last couple of apartments have only had hot water out of the shower head, which is awkward. I’m pretty sure this is not an Airbnb trick for farangs, but how Southeast Asians live. I don’t let dishes sit and I’ve mastered the art of the cold water shave. We adapt.

Here’s another Southeast Asian oddity. What’s up with duvets instead of top sheets? Who fucking sleeps under a duvet in this heat? I’ve shopped for sheet sets in every country we’ve been to here and top sheets just don’t exist. I stooped to buying an empty duvet cover at the Ikea in Bangkok and pretending it’s a top sheet.

This would be easy to solve by cranking the AC up to ten, except for this notice left sitting on a bureau:

I reached out to the host to help me decode this cryptic message. 600 units per… what interval? Day, week, month? Month. OK, where can I monitor usage? Not possible. She has to come to the unit and read the meter after I’ve left and tell me if I’ve gone over. So, you want me to manage consumption of a resource without giving me any information as to how much of it I’m using? Well, as long as you don’t run the AC 24/7 you should be fine.

So I’m living like a monk, running the AC about ten minutes a day. Which should be fine? I’m certainly not going to run it while I sleep so I can warm up under their fucking duvet. That’s crazy.

Other than that, it’s well appointed and clean, with enough hangers (!) and a full complement of cookware and dishes. There’s plenty of cabinets and drawers, so I’m moved in nicely for my month in Chiang Mai. And there’s that pool…

The Hood

The area around my apartment is chock full. There’s shopping, dining, entertainment. I’m a fifteen minute walk from a mall with a hypermarché in the basement. It’s not like the Bangkok malls, which all seem to feature a host of small vendors doing interesting things. This mall, the Maya, is strictly chain stores, like American malls. But mighty convenient to have the hypermarché walking distance. It makes everything easy.

One lovely thing about the neighborhood is that the closest laundry service only charges 30฿/kg, which is about 94¢. Bangkok was 100฿/kg and even the hinterlands in Krabi was 50฿. It’s good to be king.

I’ve also been able to get back into my weekly massage protocol. My bout of food poisoning in Krabi left me unwilling to be operated like a bellows, the hallmark of traditional Thai massage, so I stepped away. Under the best of circumstances I struggle to avoid farting during a Thai massage, and those were hardly the best of circumstances.

Among other wonders, Chiang Mai offered my first massage by a ladyboy masseuse. She was unusually tall for a Thai woman, and was also in possession of unusually large hands and an unusually deep, gravelly voice. To top it off, she was the only one on staff at the spa wearing a mask, which conveniently hid her Adam’s apple.

All signs point to, but short of dispositive. The actual tell was hysterical, though. At one point she was manipulating my legs and told me to relax the muscle, that she didn’t want me to help. A little later this admonition was apparently necessary again, when she lightly slapped my thigh and said, “Don’t help! I don’t need your help.” No further questions, your honor.

As to whether the large, strong hands were a net benefit, I’d say yes in a regular massage and no for a Thai massage. Thai massage is like someone using you as a Yoga prop. “Hold still and I’ll put you in Downward Dog.” It’s about leverage more than pressure. In this case, I think she leaned on her strong hands too much, as there was more kneading and less stretching than I associate with Thai massage. What with me being an expert and all.

Night Markets

I think Chiang Mai might be Thai for Night Market. You can’t throw a lemur in this town without hitting a night market. Don’t ask how I know that.

For just one example, the Weekend Night Market butts right up against the Every-Day-Of-The-Week Night Market in an Ouroboros of trinkets and street food. Ubiquitous doesn’t begin to cover it.

And no visit to a new locale is complete without enjoying local packaging and design.