Aside from my friends, there isn’t much I miss from the U.S. I’ve yet to get past my first Thai lesson, since English is spoken almost everywhere I’ve needed it. 7-Elevens permeate every city block. There’s Kentucky Fried Chicken (they love KFC over here), McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Subway, Dairy Queen, Taco Bell, Auntie Anne’s… they even have a Hard Rock Café. It’s a little bit crazy. The music of Billie Eilish, Sabrina Carpenter, Ed Sheeran, Kendrick Lamar—just to name a few—is played in Grab (our version of Uber), supermarkets, restaurants… I can find Diet Coke in almost every cooler. Pizza is as popular here as it is in the States. And while I haven’t found a Coors Light, they do have Singha—Thailand’s version of piss water.

At the night markets, local bands sing American covers. Even the TVs in Thai eateries show music videos. With my ExpressVPN, I can binge practically everything I could and did  before I left.

There are a few subtle substitutions. Meat here is pricey and usually comes from Australia. I found that out when satisfying a craving for a New York strip—no American beef to be found. Pork steaks and pork burgers are popular here. I even had an “Out-N-In” burger the other day, which cracked me up. If it was supposed to mimic our In-N-Outs, it missed the mark—but it was delicious in its own right. Unless you’re holed up in North Korea, there are probably few places that haven’t been touched by American culture.

As in Japan, I ignore anyone who isn’t Asian. Oddly enough, they do the same. White people are the minority, but I’ve been in places where—even if they’re not all American—they definitely speak English. We avoid eye contact. And God forbid if we do , we look away like we’re disgusted by us.  In my other life, I talked to everyone. Even myself.

My initial plan was to check out the expat communities in any city I might consider settling in. Chiang Mai remains very high on the list. But my desire to chat anyone up is zero.

Part of my incognito vibe has to do with the major explosion that happened in my life two days before I left. I’m still reeling from the aftershocks. I’ve lost my usual inclination to connect with people. I also want to absorb each city without outside input—to make my own assessments. And, let’s be real: I’m burnt out on shit shat. (I swear I was typing “chit chat”—talk about a Freudian. I’m taking it as mine now. hahah No more shit shat for me.)

Life, as I’ve pointed out many times, could care less how I feel. Once it became clear that rainy season here is as flaky as some humans I know , I set off to check out a small hike that involves waterfalls. I am proud of myself for leaving before the every-other-day maid service shows up. Normally their banging on the door at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m. has me scrambling to throw on shorts and a tee while I’m left to navigate the untamed streets of Chiang Mai drifting aimlessly from one 7-11 to another..  This place is about the size of my tiny house’s bathroom, so I’m curious why it takes them two hours to clean it. At any rate, I am safely out the door pumped up to  experience another aspect of this cool city.

The humidity rises. As I make the 30 minute walk to the trail head  I grab my Yeti filled with purified iced water and pull it to my lips. WTF?!?!?! I left it at the Airbnb.. At least I’m consistent. It’s a step up from leaving my debit card in a Koh Sumai ATM machine I tell myself. Upon reaching the start of the hike I pass  a cooler filled with plastic water bottles..  Much as I should buy one, I will not take the chance of forgetting it.. not in this environment.

I traverse the trail for a good 20 minutes and I reach  what I think is the top of the waterfall, I decide to head back. Now I am thirsty. I turn to go down the small trail just as some Asian dude walks up.

“Hi!” he exclaims cheerfully. “Where are you going?”

With his Harry Potter glasses, shorts, t-shirt , blue flip flops, a thin neon green back pack with a  black nylon string loosely covering his shoulders I peg him to be 19..  Asian decent extends his age range to 40.   His exuberance is charming and is entirely unexpected. If he had a tail, it would wag him right off the cliff. He’s also scratching profusely—mosquito induced no doubt.. Which reminds me where is my mosquito repellent!?

Before I get a chance to smack the hell out of myself for forgetting yet another essential hiking supply he adds, “I don’t think I came prepared for this hike,” and laughs adorably.

“I didn’t either,” I say. “I read about a pond further up, but I don’t have water or bug spray, so I’m heading back.”

“Oh, come on—it’s just a bit further up!” His enthusiasm draws me in. “Come on,” he says again, and starts up the trail. “My friend wants me to look for this herb.” He holds out his phone to show me a green leaf that looks exactly like all the other green leaves around us.

I’ve never heard of this as a method to lure unsuspecting tourists to their doom— he looks completely harmless. His incessant scratching leaves him virtually immobile.. If anything, he should be afraid of me.

A kilomile later, my new ‘friend’ has pointed out several butterflies, vine formations, and stick caterpillars. I’ve been  given  a mini history lesson about Chiang Mai, several  photo ops, and a lively invigorating hiking experience.. Had I said no I would have missed out on so much—not just the trail. This kid is a regular Encyclopedia Brown. His love of insects, hiking, and all things Chiang Mai have me completely captivated.

We catch our breath at the summit, and he points out something I should have noticed by now: the entire city is surrounded by mountains. No wonder I feel at home.

We finally reach the pond. Krist—Krist with a K, as he introduces himself, Lary like a guy I say, is wearing blue flip-flops and immediately sticks his feet in the water. I take a breather on a  rock. Memories of Wolf and I getting lost for seven hours in Acadia National Park take over. I’m at the top of the mountain, looking for the trail back down. My beautiful, blue-eyed boy. It was 110 degrees, he’s wearing a double-layered fur coat, He’s thirsty and he’s trusting me to get him to safety. As we finally descend, a hiker from below see us and  yells up to his friend, “Wow, look at that couch dog go.”

Kris jolts me back by excitedly pointing at a purple ladybug. “Look! Look at that color—isn’t it beautiful?”

I stand up just as a tear falls.

“Krist, I’m getting thirsty. I better head back.”

“No, here—I’ve got water.” He hands me an unopened bottle. “There’s still more to see.”

And off we go again. Krist perks me up by schooling me on  the 5 impressive hikes located within hours of  Chiang Mai.  Specifically Doi Inthanon National Park, the highest peak in Thailand. He rattles off centimeters, kilowatts, cataclysms and killomiles of each  mountain off the top of his head. My eyes glaze over when numbers, directions, or  unexpected flatulence occur, triggering an auto head bob response indicating complete comprehension. It’s a valuable auto immune disease I picked up in the Army.

The  Doi Inthanon National Park has been the subject of extensive entomological research and holds over 2,500 unique species. It’s a drive from Chiang Mai, Trist explains, but well worth exploring. He’d take me himself but with only one helmet and the newly enforced all riders on motor bikes must wear helmets or pay a big ass fine  it would make the hour and half drive costly if we break the law..   For once in my life I’m 100 percent OK with playing by the rules.

You  have to check out the Saturday night market—Wua Lai Walking Street Market—You can eat all sorts of insects there he continues

“Haha,” I say. “Which ones should I try?”

“Silkworms,” he says. “They’re the best. Covered in soy sauce… YUMMMM.”

“OK, I’ll try them. I promise.” And I mean it.

His engaging personality and childlike wonder pull me back into some shit shat just as the hike winds down.

“So, Krist—what do you do?”

“At the moment… I’m unemployed,” he says.

“You  should be a tour guide. You’re amazing! I’ve learned so much—this has been so fun.”

He hesitates. “Well, I actually applied for a government job at the Department of Tourism.”

“OMG, Krist—you are perfect for that. You’re a shoo-in!”

“I wish,” he says quietly. “I’m tired of being unemployed. But there are 3,000 applicants for 20 jobs.”

For the first time, I see his energy waver.

Earlier in the hike, Krist had stopped to photograph a dragonfly. He was hyper-focused, even as mosquitos swarmed us. I had to keep walking. Six minutes later I heard him yell, “I got it! I got it!” He was scratching like mad but beaming, holding up his phone.

The photo is amazing. Like National Geographic quality.

“Hey Krist, I’d love it if you’d send me that photo,” I said as we parted ways.

“OK! Send me a request on Insta.”

His whole Instagram feed is up-close-and-personal shots of the insects he loves.

I’m so glad we connected, Krist. I’ll be in touch. Good luck with the job.

I walk back ‘home’ genuinely grateful for today’s human interaction.

That was painless enough, I guess. But I’m still not ready to open that—or any—cans of worms just yet.  Tomorrow I embark on my PaPae 3 day meditation retreat..  its a mouth shut no shit shat situation..