The night market in Chiang Mai smells like grilled lemongrass and burnt sugar. I weave through the crowd, drawn by the sizzle of street-side woks and the rhythmic clang of a vendor hammering fresh coconut ice cream. A grandmother waves me over to her cart, her hands stained purple from butterfly pea flowers. She doesn't speak English, but her smile says everything—try this.

The drink she pours is electric blue, sweet and floral, with a tartness that makes my cheeks pucker. She laughs, a sound like wind chimes, and adds a squeeze of lime. The color shifts to violet. Magic in a plastic cup.

I've learned that the best travel moments happen in the spaces between plans. The temple I meant to visit closed early. The cooking class I booked got canceled. So here I am, sitting on a plastic stool under string lights, eating som tam so spicy my eyes water, while a street musician plays a saw duang and stray dogs doze at my feet.

A young monk in saffron robes stops at the next stall, texting on his phone while waiting for pad thai. A toddler in a Peppa Pig shirt toddles past, clutching a bag of mango sticky rice bigger than her head. Chiang Mai is a collision of old and new, sacred and mundane, and I'm just here, letting it all wash over me.

Tomorrow I'll catch a bus north to the mountains. Tonight, I'm exactly where I need to be—lost in the best possible way.

#travel #Thailand #streetfood #wanderlust