Hi there, I just spent a lot of time rereading and correcting my text, selecting and resizing photos, and when I tried to post the message, I couldn’t open this thread at first—the page that kept opening was for a different thread, and no matter how many times I tried, it was always the same page.
After some unknown workaround, I finally managed to open the right page. And now, as always in the evening, I can’t upload any photos.
I think they disable this feature in the evening because of the traffic.
These bugs have become a real problem on VF.
Preamble
In my previous post, I kind of put the cart before the horse—it was the end of a very busy day that started at 6 AM, and I was worried I wouldn’t have time to write a long post about the outing.
I’ll start by saying that I was so put off by the invasion of tourists everywhere in Chiang Mai and the surrounding areas, and seeing the songthaews going to or coming from Doi Suthep, packed to the brim in both directions, that I quickly gave up on visiting Doi Suthep, the local Mont Saint-Michel.
I relied heavily on Thailandee.com to plan my trip, as it features many interesting sites “off the beaten path.” But as nice as Mike, the guy who runs it, is, by constantly promoting these lesser-known spots with glowing reviews and lots of photos and videos—old ones!!!—they’ve lost all their charm and have even become incredibly crowded.
Mike strongly recommended visiting Wat Phra That Doi Suthep at 6 AM and another temple, Wat Pha Lat, hidden deep in the forest, not far from the “must-see” Doi Suthep.
The day of the unforgettable dragon parade during Chinese New Year in Bangkok, I met a very friendly French couple whom I ran into completely by chance in Chiang Mai a few days after my arrival. They told me that Wat Phra That being deserted at 6 AM was a thing of the past—it had been so hyped, written about, recommended word of mouth, and shown in photos and videos that visiting at sunrise was now a must... However, they confirmed that Wat Pha Lat, accessible via the “monks’ trail,” better known as the Monk’s Trail, was still a hidden gem.
So, on the morning of Saturday, February 15, I decided to wake up at the crack of dawn to leave no later than 5:30 AM. I had checked the route on my hiking app. It was 6 km from my hotel, so 12 km round trip, and I understood that the actual trail through the mountain to the temple wasn’t very long, so I thought it would be about 8 km total, or 16 km round trip, and I planned to come back down with a red songthaew.
Even though I woke up at 4:40 AM, I didn’t manage to leave my room before 6:30 AM. The street was deserted. No songthaews in sight. I had a feeling that would happen. And off I went, feeling strong on my legs that morning. Did I go to bed and wake up too early? Either way, I had to make several detours to go to temples... Not to pray or meditate, but to relieve my bladder, which never fully empties and fills right back up. As a result, I added quite a bit of distance to my route.
I passed by several bakeries or small eateries selling breakfast food. Even though I never eat anything solid before 11 AM or noon, I found myself hungry from all the delicious smells and appetizing dishes. My eyes were drawn to a display case with long, twisted doughnuts that had clearly just been fried. Three for 60 baht. They looked very tempting. They reminded me of French bakery doughnuts. I’d never seen this kind of doughnut anywhere before, nor did I see them again during my trip in Thailand. It seemed like a specialty of this bakery. I bought a pack of three and later regretted not taking two.
Next to the bakery, there was a small kiosk on the sidewalk that seemed to serve great coffee. I gave it a try, and it was a good call! The cappuccino I ordered was excellent and beautifully decorated with brown cane sugar, plus a glass of Thai tea, served by a very friendly and smiley young girl.
I really appreciated this warm morning welcome because I’d noticed that in the historic center of the city, in restaurants or shops, most owners or servers weren’t very smiley or friendly. In fact, if you asked too many questions, they’d brush you off (I was about to use a stronger word to describe their behavior).
Since I was running late and wanted to arrive before it was fully daylight—to save myself the long walk—I flagged down a songthaew that asked for a flat 200 baht instead of 50. I refused. After walking a bit more, another one stopped and offered 100 baht. I refused again but soon regretted it because I kept walking and walking, feeling like I’d already covered way more kilometers than what I’d seen on my app. I hadn’t slept enough, and I was already feeling tired even though I hadn’t reached the trail that climbs through the mountain yet.
When I finally got there, I found a steep, rocky slope. Very picturesque but tough. It was cluttered with large rocks buried in the dirt, and sometimes there were high steps carved into the rock or clay. Still, I enjoyed walking through bamboo forest sections.
I wanted to get there around 6:30–7:00 AM to enjoy the peace and serenity of the place, just like I’d seen in Mike’s video here. And since I knew few people went to this forest temple, I wasn’t worried about being delayed on the way. I thought I’d arrive around 8:30 AM. But now that I was on the trail, I was surprised—and even annoyed—to see so many people going up and down the temple without anyone saying hello. People passed by as if I were invisible, whether they were coming down or catching up from behind and overtaking me because I was climbing slowly, at my own pace, compared to all these young people rushing.
In Bangkok, at the residence where I was staying, I met maybe three people in two weeks. But here in Chiang Mai, the hotel is always full of young men and women, most of them under 30. And never—not once—did any of them greet me. Sign of the times? Over the past 6 or 8 years since I stopped my nomadic travels, people have really changed. Or is it just “the tourist vibe in Thailand”? Because I’m used to small signs of friendliness in India, brief exchanges between guests, and at least a hello when you cross paths in the hallways or lobby. Here, they’d step on your feet without even saying hi. Even in the morning, in the hotel lobby where coffee is available. They see you sitting at the next table sipping your coffee. They pour theirs and sit right next to you or walk by to go out, but no, it would hurt their stomach to say hello.
And here, on this trail, not even a sympathetic smile or a kind word for the old guy who already looks exhausted from the tough terrain. The French couple I’d met in Bangkok and then in Chiang Mai had warned me: There are still some tough and sporty sections... But, as usual, I underestimated my abilities, which aren’t what they were just a year or two ago... It’s hard to admit that the years are passing and that my heart attack—due to the COVID vaccine, I’ll say it again—has left some lasting effects.
As I climbed, groups of 4, 6, 8, or 10 people started catching up and passing me. Not a good sign... I figured the trail—and probably the temple—was very crowded, and I regretted not leaving the hotel at 5:30 AM to be up there by 7:00–7:30 AM with no one around.
When I finally arrived, I saw people everywhere. Hundreds of them. I was disgusted. I wondered how and when they’d all gotten there. The magical place was ruined, even outright violated, because they respected nothing—not the place, the temples, or the statues.
The waterfall, almost dry this season, was taken over by all these “pilgrims” sitting or lying in its bed. I could say goodbye to my photos.
At one point, a monk who noticed my disapproving look as a young woman in borderline-provocative clothing had her arm around a sacred statue, let out his anger:
- This is a holy place, but they think it’s a beach!
Even itinerant stalls had set up in the alleys to sell drinks, coconuts, and food at much higher prices than in the city.
I wasn’t going to let this disappointment ruin my day and my enjoyment... So I took my time wandering through the crowd to find corners they’d overlooked, and I managed to take some stunning photos for my own pleasure, with the added challenge of not having a single arm, foot, leg, or face in any of them.
While I was climbing, I’d seen a sign pointing to another path on the left, mentioning a temple 500 m away. On my way down, I thought:
- Hmm, I’ll go check it out... 500 m isn’t far... I’ll take a detour. Maybe no one goes to that temple. Everyone keeps going straight up, and no one goes that way, so with any luck, this temple will be lost in the mountains, in the forest—I’ll go.
And I’m glad I did because I quickly found myself in the heart of a wild jungle with no one around. Despite my fatigue, I surprised myself by scrambling around as if I were 40 or 50 years old. Of course, I ran into some difficulties because I didn’t have a walking stick. Even though I had very good and reliable hiking shoes, the terrain was steep, slippery, rugged, and even dangerous. I clung to branches, roots, and rocks and kept moving forward. Sometimes I had to crouch, kneel, or step over obstacles like tree trunks or boulders blocking the path, but I was overjoyed by the beauty of the landscape and the challenge of the physical effort.
I felt good, tired but in shape. Forgotten were the wobbly legs, forgotten was the feeling of walking on a boat...
I didn’t know where this trail would take me, but surely somewhere magical, and that motivated me and gave me strength and courage to face the tough terrain.
Then, at one point, it started going downhill. There was nothing to hold onto, and without a stick, I slipped several times, afraid of falling at any moment, especially worried about damaging my phone or camera, which I was holding. It got really, really tough... The terrain was so steep, with narrow steps carved into the clay, completely vertical, that I felt dizzy—a condition I’m prone to. There was nothing to hold onto, and a walking stick became crucial. My little voice finally spoke up:
- You’re being an idiot! Showing off like a kid, you’re gonna fall and break something. What’ll you do if you break a foot or a leg, or even just sprain something?
I shot back:
- Yeah, sure, but the sign said 500 m—it can’t be much farther. It’d be stupid to give up so close to the goal.
I glanced at my app. I’d already walked 12 kilometers... I kept going...
I came to a bamboo-lined section. I tried to grab a broken one to make a walking stick. The bamboo wouldn’t cooperate. So I clung to the well-rooted ones instead. I grabbed them one by one... But then, there was nothing on the sides for about 30 or 40 m, and it dropped straight down into the ravine. It was really treacherous. I thought back to similar adventures during my solo hikes in the Himalayas, where I nearly lost my life because no one knew where I was. No one would’ve come looking... And now, 10 years later, here I was again, craving risk and adventure. So I considered turning back. Suddenly, I saw a man coming up. An Asian guy who looked exhausted. A “young man” of 40. I asked him:
- Is the temple still far?
- Oh yes!
- Oh, damn!
He looked really tired, exhausted even. Maybe the distance seemed long because of his fatigue?
So I decided to sit down and rest for a moment while waiting for someone else to pass...
At the start of the hike, I was happy to be alone on the trail, but now it was like this morning on the other path. Little by little, people behind me caught up and passed me. Without seeing me... Without speaking to me... Without asking if I was okay or needed help... I was invisible. Two or three people... Then more arrived... Same thing. I watched them go. I had confirmation of how tough the terrain was: A woman who must’ve been in her fifties nearly fell... My little voice started again:
- You shouldn’t keep going, it’s too risky, be careful...
- Okay, I’ll turn back.
At that moment, some people came up... Young ones... They looked exhausted too. But they said hello and asked if the temple was still far...
I was surprised. I thought: Oh, they’re going to Wat Pha Lat, but they’re coming from a different route. I scanned the path ahead as far as I could. It kept going down, down into the ravine... I didn’t quite understand what I’d done. I finally concluded that I must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere without realizing it...
I finally decided to go back up. It was much safer—I really risked falling. And there, climbing back up, I found myself on an extremely steep, almost vertical path, with very narrow steps carved into the clay, super treacherous, but this time, I saw ropes firmly attached to the bamboo lining the trail. The terrain was extremely tough, even dangerous, but you could hold onto the ropes to climb easily. But I needed both hands to play Tarzan, clinging to those ropes like vines. I decided to put my phone and camera in my backpack and launched myself at the mountain... Sure, it took a lot of legwork, but there was no risk of falling. Just had to hold onto the ropes tight.
And I had to climb, climb, and climb some more. And this time, no one in sight in either direction. The more I thought about it, the more I realized: I hadn’t seen those ropes on the way down, and I didn’t remember descending that much. I must’ve taken another wrong turn. Oh well! I kept climbing, climbing like a monkey. I’d get somewhere eventually. And when I finally reached the top, I saw a crumbling, somewhat shaky wall in front of me, which I still had to climb over, with vegetation taking over, including the end of the path I’d just come up. It was a boundary wall marking the space of an abandoned temple. Then I understood I’d taken the wrong path twice. The temple I saw before me must’ve been the one indicated 500 m away. And after descending so much, which didn’t make geographical sense, and deciding to turn back, I’d taken another wrong turn on the way up.
In the end, it was a good thing because if I hadn’t made that second mistake, I would’ve gone back to the sign where I started, whereas now, via a completely original and quirky detour, very sporty, I’d arrived at the lost temple I wanted to see.
I took a moment to sit down and checked my app. Instead of the 500 m indicated on the sign, I’d just covered 2 km on that treacherous terrain. In total, I’d already walked 16 km.
I got up and inspected the temple, which was clearly abandoned and desecrated.
I didn’t regret my adventure and was thrilled to discover this sanctuary in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by lush vegetation. After walking around the temple and its surroundings, I kept going and came to a spot where a sign indicated the place: Anakamee Buddhist Park.
I looked it up on my three GPS apps, and it didn’t appear on any of them. I think it’s because the place is completely abandoned and forgotten.
I walked a bit further and discovered a kind of makeshift shack-café-kiosk (as rich as the French language is, I can’t think of the right term) with pretty bamboo chairs and beautiful exotic wood tables, where I received a very friendly and warm welcome and could finally rest for a long time and drink my fill, since I hadn’t brought a single bottle of water with me, not imagining this adventure.
But I wasn’t out of the woods yet...
I asked how to get back down to Chiang Mai. The charming young women running the café replied:
- On foot or by car?
- On foot!
They pointed me in the direction I’d just come from. I thought:
- Well, they must not have taken that path often!!!
- I’m tough and rested, but no, I’m not going back that way! So the young woman said:
- You can also go down by the road, but it’ll be longer!
I chose the road.
- Longer, I don’t care—at this point... As long as I don’t have to scramble through the jungle anymore!
But what I hadn’t anticipated, what I didn’t know, was that on the road, there’s no space for walking. I was right on the pavement, right at the edge—it was pretty dangerous for a pedestrian.
I started going down, down, down, and I walked and walked and walked, and it never ended. I was really starting to get tired. I checked my app. I’d already walked 20 km that morning. I still had 10 km to go to the hotel. I’d flag down a songthaew...
But no matter how much I waved, none stopped. They were packed with tourists coming back from Wat Phra That.
- Poor old guy, my little voice said, you’re screwed—you’ll have to walk the whole way.
And I walked and walked some more. Finally, a songthaew stopped... He asked for 100 baht. I didn’t know if that was a fair price. Out of principle, but mostly for fun, I gave him my best smile and tried:
- 50!
- Oh, no, no, no, it’s far—100 baht...
His vehicle was empty—he was heading back with no hope of picking up any customers on that road, in that spot. You’d have to be as crazy or reckless as I was to walk down that busy road with no shoulder. So I insisted, not out of stinginess, but just for fun:
- I don’t have much money left, I’m really tired, I’ve already walked 25 km... (I’d just checked again)
- Okay, fine! 80!
- Deal—80.
Actually, it wasn’t excessive at all because the road for cars was infinitely longer than the route I’d taken that morning through the mountain. Thank goodness I didn’t keep walking because it kept going down, down, and winding, and it never ended... I got back to my room at 3:30 PM, absolutely exhausted, and the songthaew driver, who hadn’t found any other customers on the way, was happy to have earned 80 baht...
This outing remains one of the most beautiful I’ve done in Chiang Mai. And looking at my photos today, they’re among the most beautiful and successful. Unfortunately, with only 10 allowed, it’s hard to choose because they’re all different and all stunning for my wallpapers and memories.
Some are already in the shade… I can already hear people saying my photos are too dark and you can’t see anything. ;) I don’t care—I think my photos of the Silver Temple at the end of the day are beautiful. 😊
A little sneak peek?
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
