A dream day of snorkeling in paradise quickly turned into a heart-pounding encounter — face to face with death. I was on a snorkeling trip off the coast of Phuket, one of those classic island-hopping adventures. After lunch, one of the guides offered to take anyone brave enough a bit further out to spot reef sharks. Naturally, I joined.

Building a home in Thailand is not only about design and construction—it is also about tradition. For generations, Thai families have followed spiritual rituals to ensure their houses are filled with good fortune and protected from misfortune. One of the most significant is the Main and Secondary Pillar Ceremony, known as Piti Sao Ehk Sao Toe.

“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.

In the middle of the flat, green landscape of Northeast Thailand (Isaan), Wat Phu Tok rises dramatically as a solitary sandstone cliff. Travel with me to this hidden gem where nature and spirituality form one of the most fascinating places to visit in Isaan.

Thailand is a country that refuses to be neatly pinned down. Most travelers dash between the same greatest hits — Bangkok’s temples, Chiang Mai’s elephants, Phuket’s beach bars — without scratching the country’s itchier, weirder spots.

I was drawn into a world of Thai-boxing monks riding horses through the golden hills near the Myanmar border—rescuing orphans, teaching dharma, and helps build healthy communities in a region deeply affected by drug trafficking.

If the gods of gastronomy were to throw a dinner party, I’m fairly sure the Thai kitchen would be responsible for the menu—a fever dream of lime leaves, chili heat, fermented funk, and coconut calm. Eating in Thailand isn’t just a way to refuel. It’s a full-contact sport, a ritual, a social glue, and occasionally a dare.

I woke to the sound of Kong’s voice outside my window. Kong is my neighbor and one of the few people in the village who speaks a bit of English. He’s also taken it upon himself to be my unofficial cultural translator. (You’ll hear more about him. Think of him as my spiritual guide through mud and chili sauce.)