Remorse and Gratitude

Should you one day find yourself up in the mountains of Northern Thailand, beginning your journey from Chiang Mai bearing west-northwest and following the main roadway’s gradual winding ascent up into jungle-clad mountains, some four hours into your drive you will suddenly find yourself turning down and rapidly descend until the dense foliage suddenly opens out onto an idyllic little valley. And there in that valley you will find a village called Pai.

I love Pai.

The Pai Valley is a magical place, one where the air shimmers a little differently and its spirit of place infuses and infects the people who pass through it and that all creates this little bubble within which an alternate reality governed by its own set of rules exists outside the constraints of the ordinary space and time which you and I currently inhabit. I will try to describe Pai to you but know now that no words of mine can do it justice; know that Pai is an impossible place which you will not be able to appreciate nor understand until you, too, descend the Thai mountains down through that portal into another dimension. But I will do my best to describe it to you anyway.

So. About Pai.

Pai is tiny. It’s a village of some two thousand and some odd people.. if official statistics are to be believed. Who knows how many people are really there, as I suspect Thailand’s administrative authorities also have difficulty defining that place with words and numbers.

Pai is surrounded on all sides by verdant mountains which are briskly cold and wet and lush. Those mountains provide cover to the valley which they cradle and in turn the town which inhabits that valley, and that all creates a lush and sunny and cozy and perfect little oasis within which Pai sits.

There are a few lovely points of interest scattered around the Pai Valley, points of interest which would be totally ordinary and barely worth remarking about were Pai any other place. I recall a big buddha statue to the north - although the north from my recollection might be south, as Earthly cartography means little in that place - and there’s a majestic but somewhat sparsely visited teahouse at a nice high up lookout point towards the opposite end of the valley - let’s call that direction south. The valley’s main natural attraction is the spectacularly beautiful Pai Canyon, which fills up every evening with what feels like must be all two thousand of the people of Pai - those which officials would have you believe are there - to catch that day’s sunset. The sunset viewed from this canyon is surely among the most beautiful you will ever witness, and although the canyon gets very crowded and navigating its people packed ridges can seem precarious, the entire experience actually feels quite cozy and harmonious.

The village of Pai has one main street. That open air nexus of activity for the city is barely more than two or three blocks long - there’s no way the town would be able to sustain more than that - and every night this main street is host to a bustling night market full of food and music and merriment. Pai’s night market is, in my estimation, the greatest night market in the world and, although I really couldn’t tell you with words why it should earn that accolade, I’m quite confident in my sentiment.

Now, Pai is not Thailand. Some people who know of Pai turn their nose up at it precisely because Pai is not authentically Thai. And I agree! Thai, Pai is not! But I have generally found that the people who look down on Pai have never been to Pai, for an authentically Thai experience is really not the reason that anyone seeks out and journeys to this place.

Pai is Pai, and it’s really great that this is the case.

Pai’s community is majority minority, a characteristic I have found to be integral to many of the greatest communities I’ve encountered. Most of the people in Pai are expats and they come from all over. The expats come from China and Germany and Korea and South America and Australia and also everywhere in between, I suppose. There are even a few Americans who’ve somehow found their way settling down up over there. To call Pai a hippie community would be the most expedient way to describe it - conjure for yourself the feeling that 1960s and 70s Berkeley must have had, if you will - but I don’t think “hippie community” quite does it justice. It would be more accurate to describe Pai as a community of refugees escaping the realities of the default world and the societal norms of the communities which Fate would have had them be born to so as to find spiritual solace in the Pai Valley’s magical alternate reality.

I visited Pai for the first time many years ago while I was on a solo backpacking trip through Asia. This was during my before days when I was but a young adult. I was full of adventure then, and my journey had no itinerary and no fixed return home date and my days were filled with the stuff of hostels and beers and cigarettes with strangers and fleeting connections with fellow travelers and vague word of mouth pointers as to where I should venture onward next. This is how I stumbled onto Pai in the first place. Pai was, and to this day remains, one of my favorite places on Earth. You should go sometime.

But anyway. There is a point to all of this. And the point is that I’m now about to tell you a story.

A couple years ago I went back to Pai with a buddy of mine. We had decided to travel Northern Thailand together starting in Chiang Mai, you see, and with fond recollection I told my friend about Pai, an impossible place up in the mountains. “We’ll rent a couple little motorbikes and we’ll pack down our stuff over the back of our bikes and we’ll go riding northward-ish and along the way we’ll stop over in Pai for a while and we can ride on through the region from there.” And so we decided to go for it.

On the evening that we drove down the mountain and into the valley we booked a stop at this modest little hotel which was down a narrow, hard to spot little alley mostly comprised of locals’ homes and stray alley cats, and it was there in that alley by our hotel that we parked our bikes. We went walking down towards the main street and we stopped over in an empty pub (yes, pub - I’ve already told you that Pai isn’t Thailand) and there my friend asked me with the smallest tinge of exasperation “now will you please tell me what it is we’re doing here.” And so I spun him a fanciful tale of our upcoming adventures - a tale which was verbose in my enthusiasm but sparse in detail, because truth be told I really did not know myself. My previous sojourn to this place hadn’t been so drab as to have a plan, after all.

The next morning we went scouring for a mechanic who could fix up my bike (which turned out to be a temperamental thing, and stopovers to get it tuned and fixed would be a frequent recurrence on our road trip) and with that done we got a bowl of Thai soup noodles for lunch, if you could believe it, and then finally we set off on our adventure.

We began with a detour to that empty teahouse with a nice view overlooking the valley and there we took some photos and we also reversed a curse long ago conveyed. That done we then traversed the valley once again making our way to a hippie circus commune I knew of from my time before. This commune is largely made up of expats, of course, along with some backpacking visitors who are in the know, as we were. This place is part event space, part performing arts training center, part community hall, and it has a lovely lounge and also a bar which might on occasion serve you a life rejuvenating drink. I will not speak the name of this place here so as to protect its sanctity, although I suppose you could find it easily enough if you wanted to.

But there we chose to split one refreshing drink and then we hung out for a while at the bar-bungalow-circus-open-air-porch-community-space-thing waiting for our drink to settle. And then we were off.

We were a trail blazing duo, the two of us, mario karting through paradise on the lookout for wonder and adventure. We rode our bikes up and down and across the Valley of Pai, our environs zipping and melding and morphing around us in ever shifting stylistic landscapes. The magic of Pai really came to life in that moment, in all her colors and sensations and splendors. We followed a school bus to the edge of the village and then we slingshot out of the village to a quiet little roadside smoothie bar where we ate some wonderful fruit and lounged in soothingly creaking swings.

The day’s end was approaching, and so we jumped back on our bikes heading north(?)-ward to Pai Canyon, where we parked once again and joined the throngs of people over the ridges and through the nooks and along the precarious ledges and eventually we picked out a spot to settle down which had a view looking over the jungle from which we could admire a perfect sunset. My buddy likes photos, and I dare say we got some great shots in the hour or two we basked in Pai’s splendor, and we enjoyed some fun moments of connection with some of the other backpacking transients immediately around us.

The sun had set, and something not often discussed but well known by adventurers to foreign magical places is how starkly their spirit of place can change in the transition from day to night. Scenes and roads that had already become familiar but a few hours ago were now confusing and in need of consideration and discernment - a difficult thing to do when you’re also riding a motorbike!

So I was leading us back to our modest little hotel but by golly did I have trouble recognizing which of the little alleys off the big artery road was the one we sought. So I rode down that big road, doubled back again when I knew I’d gone too far because, lo, we had reached the river, and then I turned around and rode back up all the way to the main street and… darn, there I’d missed it again! This went on and on, at least three times which I clearly recall as I peered down unlit alleys passing by while attempting to decide which one might be the path we sought. My buddy followed me wordlessly the whole time, up and down that road, unannounced U-turns from my part and all, and as our U-turns gradually grew tighter and I narrowed in on what surely must be the right alley eventually I made a choice and I took a left.

Now you might very reasonably say: Christophe, you could have simply stopped over and pulled up your destination on Google Maps, for surely that would have been much simpler and at least a little bit safer. And to that I would say: how reasonable of you indeed, and also.. no! Only in absolutely the most dire of circumstances would I have ever done such a thing. For can you only imagine how crass such an act as pulling out my phone would have been. It would have utterly soiled the magic of our day, one of adventure and serendipity and whimsy, just as our journey was coming to an end. Pa-tooey!

And in our questing and waywarding and to-ing and fro-ing and gradually narrowing in on a decision, lo!, find the correct alley I did. And so we rode down the final leg of our journey home and we parked our bikes and we doffed our helmets. And there in a moment of exhilaration at the day we’d just had, and as an act of acknowledgment of our momentary disorientation that had just passed by, as well as my eventual triumph, I grabbed my friend and gave him a great big hug and I proclaimed:

“Thank you for getting lost with me, Will.”

And, you know, my friend Will said the strangest thing back to me. “You don’t have to apologize for getting lost.”

And so I told him what I’m telling you now, the point of this whole tale I’ve spun here: “Oh I’m not apologizing. There is nothing I regret about this day. Our adventure has been wonderful, and this was the perfect way to end our day. I’m thanking you for being with me for all of that.”

I realized something in that moment, and my adventure on that day in Pai taught me something profound. Something I’m sharing with you now about the duality of our humanity.

Remorse and appreciation.

Apology and gratitude.

These are but two sides of the same expression. Although we’ve been conditioned to think of them as opposite sentiments in fact they are differing manifestations of the same action: an acknowledgement of a moment which was shared and a living connection between individuals. An apology frames that moment looking back with regret; gratitude has the power to frame that same moment with fondness. Sometimes the lens of regret is appropriate and remorse is called for. But too often, it is not. Our actions, our experiences, and we ourselves need not be perfect to be deserving of appreciation and to have touched one another richly.

Words matter, intent matters, and the intent that we convey with our words changes the quality of our connections with one another and the memory we retain of those connections.

The connections between us are beautiful and the moments that we enjoy as humans both together and also as individuals are precious. We should not be so eager to express remorse, for those moments and those connections are the fabric that makes up our experience and our lives. We ought to treasure them.

Why, to this point in life, did I apologize so readily. And why do others expect apology so reflexively as to mistake the words I have just said. Will’s reaction was quite ordinary. I am well certain you yourself might have heard my gratitude as an apology.

Since that day I make a conscious effort to apologize less, and I express my gratitude and acknowledge the people around me more enthusiastically. My relationships are richer and my connections are truer. The touch of my own soul on others is deeper, I think, and I can say with certainty that my life is brighter for the positivity that is reflected back to me in return.

Perhaps the boundary between remorse and gratitude is not as firm as our language would have us believe. Reality and perspective are tricky things. We can accept reality for what it is and, coming from a place of love, celebrate our shared experiences with one another fondly without apology for what more they might have been.

Pai is a magical place, and in that place I came to see the world a little differently. There I learned something. I tell you this story so that I may not lose its gift to the vulgarities and inconsiderations of everyday life. And if you’ve enjoyed my story, or if it’s made you pause and think, or if you might even carry a twinge of a memory of my tale into a moment in your future where that memory might strike opportune… well, then, how grateful I am for that.

And should you ever find yourself in Northern Thailand, whatever the reason, consider trekking northwest-ward from Chiang Mai on your journey and making a stop to that impossible little village in that idyllic valley nestled within those cold and wet jungle-clad mountains. I dare say you will not forget it, and I believe you will be very glad that you did.