Khao Sorry
My partner and I had a relationship-ending fight. 48 hours later we were boarding a plane across the world.
48 hours after we came closer than we ever had to breaking up, my (now)ex partner K and I embarked on a 9-week backpacking journey across Southeast Asia. Needless to say, the energy was fraught. The strained relationship didn’t help, but we also discovered the incompatibility of our travel styles.
This all seemed to come to a head one afternoon in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Chiang Mai is a busy but lush city, with old temple walls framing the inner corridor; strong orange, marigold and turquoise accenting structures and sidewalks; tree branches and vines entangled with telephone wires and crumbling facades of buildings; and endless alleyways that wove around houses and apartments. I’d been under the weather with Thai Tummy for the first few of only five days in the city, so by the time I had energy, I wanted to dive into its soul.
In any city, I believe a bike (pedal or motor) is the best way to do this. You see the city from a different eye level, mingling with people going about their busy lives, noticing details you wouldn’t if you were walking or in a car. You can hop off and on as you please; easily pull over to look at a mural or concert poster; zip to different neighbourhoods if you want to check out the city’s best coffee and best noodles in the same afternoon…not to mention the added thrill of brazenly risking your life as you navigate new road rules and discover the city’s level of hostility towards bikers.
I had the deep yearning to wander. To not have a plan and turn down whatever alleyway caught my eye. With every random move I made, K got increasingly tense and irritated. He wanted to stick to main arteries; mixing with heavy traffic to at least have a better sense of direction and (though he wouldn’t admit it) have a better chance of coming across an electronic store where he could find a charger for his GoPro.
That plan rubbed me like sandpaper. It was the opposite of freedom, and it would be noisy, chaotic, ugly, completely devoid of character. I wanted nothing less, and I probably stated that a bit too harshly. But when I suggested we could amicably do what we each wanted and reconvene for dinner, K refused to part ways.
This is a now must-have for me in a travel partner. We need to claim what we want and be ok if the other wants to do their own thing. No hard feelings, no resentment or hostility; just doing what we each want and sharing in each others’ respective joy in the retelling of our experiences when we reunite.
After a struggle not short of a tantrum, I biked off apologetically but hurriedly, needing to not waste any more of the precious little time we had left in the city.
With K’s disgruntlement and discomfort behind me, a wave of glistening, golden excitement of the unexpected pulsed through me. My eyes widened, my mind turned on to take in my surroundings. I got lost in alleyways, taking photos of random assortments of plants, cats, spiritual relics and gold-trimmed fences. I was wandering; I was free.
I’d been told about the magic of Khao Soi by a friend in Toronto who’d lived in Thailand for a year. She warned me that life would never be the same once I’d tasted the delicacy in its homeland: that Pai’s in Toronto comes close, but of course nothing beats the real thing.
So, when I came across it in one of the twisted alleys I cruised through, a part of me knew it was wrong to experience this regional culinary delicacy without K. That’s what he loved to do most: eat what you’re supposed to eat where you’re supposed to eat it, and I loved that about him. But this place felt special, and I’d never find it again. If it weren’t for the sign — one that likely only said “Khao Soi/30 bhat” — it would have looked like a makeshift patio of someone’s home: just two plastic stools and a table below an open window. Even with the advertisement, I felt slightly voyeuristic sticking my head in and asking for a dish.
Almost instantly, I was rewarded with a big bowl of steaming hot, colourful goodness. The creamy, bright orange coconut broth drowning a tangle of soft egg noodles, pickled cabbage and tender chicken was topped with a nest of fried egg noodles, with a near-fluorescent lime and more pickled goodies on the side. I was in fucking heaven. This was exactly where I needed to be. After an emotionally aggravating afternoon and aimless wander, I’d found what I wasn’t looking for.
Later, when I shared my delicious discovery with K, he was not happy for me — I didn’t expect him to be, but hoped he would surprise me with maturity. He was angry at me for this seemingly personal affront. K, if you’re reading this, know that I didn’t eat that Khao Soi out of spite, or to hurt you. I ate it because when you stumble on a literal hole-in-the-wall Khao Soi stand down an alleyway in Chiang Mai with a Thai granny doling out the goods for $1, you don’t say no. I tasted magic that day, and I also tasted the bitterness of a codependent partnership. If you can’t be happy for my happiness, even if it doesn’t involve you, I’m gonna bike off and wander aimlessly until I find my way.