Almost noon and the air is close to still, punctuated by birdsong. The banana plants wave slightly, so do the cattails down by the river, but the orchids, in the trees, not at all. From where the sun is shining, the standing marble Buddha, hand on heart, eyes downcast, is not yet translucent. That is yet to come.
The river is always changing and a constant enchantment.
From the instant we walk through the 300 year old indian door the bliss started.
A flock of great blue herons wheels overhead, then flies towards the nearby temple. In the morning, still in bed, the reflections from the long pool, outside my room, dance on the ceiling.
The villa itself is modern, industrial-almost, in the best sort of way; grey walls set off the shining beauty of the black tiles lining the bathroom, the black slate on the bathroom floor, the enormous wooden tables in the public spaces (interior and exterior), the green plants and the flowers and the statues and the pink stone table and chairs which overlook the Ping, and the mysterious depths of the fishpond.
The staff is ready to provide anything—from professional-quality cappuccinos to wstern-style omelets to coconut-chicken soup. They are friendly and like family.
Here, we are close to everything in Chiang Mai, without being engulfed by any of it. If you go straight up the road for 15 minutes you are in the heart of the Night Bazaar, which shopping addicts ought to avoid or make sure, after one or two trips, to find a Shopper’s Anonymous meeting (if these have yet been developed). The spectacular Buddhist temple on the mountain top is a $10 (round-trip) cab-ride away. Here is a jumping off point for adventures to Chang Rai, to the noir border-town of Mae Sai, to the territiories of the hill tribes, to everything that is like nothing with which you’re familiar.