A Kratom Adventure in the Thai Countryside: Culture, History and the Effects of Asia’s Notorious Leaf

“I know a magical tree,” Khun Pean announced with the air of someone about to reveal a great secret. Two minutes later I found myself clinging to the back of his motorbike as we rattled through the countryside of Chiang Mai province in Northern Thailand. Our destination? A kratom adventure — my first, slightly bewildered step into the world of a leaf that has been medicine, mischief, and mild controversy all at once.

Caption: Me (with a big smile) and the kratom leafs. Photo: Frank Hansen

It was pitch-black. The only light came from the weak beam of the headlamp, which illuminated little more than dust, potholes, and the occasional surprised chicken.

Most villagers had gone to bed long ago, but Khun Pean had insider knowledge: somewhere in a backyard stood a kratom tree. We parked the bike, tiptoed through the darkness, and lit up the garden with a shaky phone flashlight. My pulse raced. I felt like I was fifteen again, sneaking into someone’s orchard for apples, except this time the prize was an infamous Southeast Asian leaf with a reputation.

“Follow me,” Khun Pean whispered. I promptly stumbled into a metal bucket. Dogs barked furiously, and within seconds we heard them charging toward us. My heart sank, but Khun Pean, being a veteran of kratom scrumping, calmly pulled out dog treats from his pocket. Within seconds, silence. Food, after all, is a universal language.

And then, there it was: the magical tree. A real-life kratom tree, its leaves shimmering in the flashlight’s glow. I had read about kratom for years—how it had been used by farmers, healers, and lately, biohackers in the West. But seeing it standing tall in front of me felt strangely starstruck, as if I had just bumped into Mick Jagger in someone’s backyard.

Caption: the magical tree in flashligh. Such a beauty! Photo: Frank Hansen

Kratom: From Village Tradition to Global Controversy

Kratom (Mitragyna speciosa) has been part of Southeast Asian culture for centuries. In Thailand, it was traditionally chewed by farmers who needed stamina for long hours in the fields. The alkaloids in the leaves—mainly mitragynine and 7-hydroxymitragynine—interact with the body’s opioid receptors, producing a curious mix of stimulation and relaxation. Low doses are energizing; higher doses can become sedating, not unlike mild opiates.

Locals often distinguish between different “veins” of kratom, named after the color of the leaf veins. Red vein (daeng) is known for its calming, pain-relieving effects, while white vein (khao) is more stimulating. There’s also green vein(khiao), said to offer a balance of the two. Though Western vendors have popularized these categories, Thai villagers are more likely to simply call it kratom—and prepare it in practical, no-nonsense ways.

For decades, kratom was banned in Thailand, lumped together with opium and cannabis in a misguided war on “vices.” Yet people kept using it quietly, especially in the south, where it’s part of cultural identity. In 2021, Thailand finally legalized kratom again, marking a small cultural victory for common sense.

Chewing the Leaf, Thai-Style

Khun Pean snapped off a few branches and we tiptoed back out of the yard. Just as we reached the motorbike, the house lights flicked on.

“Khun Pea, is that you stealing kratom again?” a woman’s voice called out.

“Sorry, Khun Mee!” he answered politely, using the Thai honorific for “mother.” We burst out laughing like schoolkids caught red-handed with strawberries.

Back on the scooter, Khun Pean demonstrated how to do kratom Thai-style. He plucked out the tough central stem from a leaf, folded it neatly into a little green square, and handed it to me. “Now chew,” he said.

It was bitter. Not just bitter—jaw-clenchingly, eye-watering bitter. I gagged and nearly spat it out, but forced it down. After three or four leaves, something shifted. The bitterness gave way to a gentle, floating warmth, a bit like taking strong painkillers but with more clarity. My limbs felt lighter, my mood lifted. We sat there listening to Thai love songs on his phone while cicadas buzzed and dogs barked in the distance.

“This is nice,” I admitted, feeling oddly serene.

Khun Pean warned me not to overdo it. Too many leaves and the nausea sets in—nature’s way of reminding you that moderation is a virtue. But that night, I slept like a baby and woke up without a trace of a hangover, a rare luxury in the world of mood-altering substances.

The Leaf, the Legend, the Lifestyle

Kratom today straddles two worlds. In Southeast Asia, it remains part of daily life: a farmer’s pick-me-up, a healer’s tool, a neighborly gift. In the West, it has become both a wellness trend and a controversy—praised for easing pain and opioid withdrawal, condemned for its addictive potential.

But for me, that night in Chiang Mai, it was something much simpler: a leaf, a friend, and an adventure under the stars. It was the thrill of being a mischievous kid again, stealing nature’s gifts, while brushing against centuries of tradition.

And yes, it was bitter as hell. But some adventures are meant to be.

A Surprise and the Thai Warm Heart in Action

The next day, I stopped for lunch at a small roadside restaurant I’d visited once before. A cheerful woman ran the kitchen, and her food was nothing short of wonderful. When she set down my plate, she also placed a small bundle of fresh kratom branches on the table.

“I heard you like kratom,” she said with a smile. “So I brought some from my garden, just in case you came by. It’s a gift.”

I sat there blinking, momentarily speechless. It turned out she was the very same woman whose backyard we had raided the night before. When she’d confronted Khun Pean, he had explained that the visiting farang had a taste for kratom. And instead of being upset, she had thought it over and decided to bring me some leaves the next day—simply because that’s what kindness looks like here.

That small gesture left me genuinely moved. It was such a simple act, yet it spoke volumes about Thai culture: the instinct to think with the heart first, to meet mischief with generosity, and to turn strangers into friends.

I walked away that afternoon with a full stomach, a bundle of leaves, and the kind of warmth you don’t soon forget.