If there’s one thing my girlfriend Mairéad and I have in common, it’s the way we get emotional over buskers and their guitar-strummed covers. While everyone else sees it as background music and continues their conversations without so much as a glance, we’ll both become enchanted by singers pouring their hearts out on the streets. In Chiang Mai, it became a regular occurrence to visit our favourite musicians performing live in the night markets. They know that we clap, cheer, smile a stupid amount, and most importantly, tip them. So as we sat down to watch a duo we’d come to know – who waved eagerly when we arrived for their set – the moment caught me whole. It’s not easy for me to get completely, entirely wrapped up in a moment, and when it happens, I treasure it.
I turned to Mairéad and, suddenly in tears, told her that I felt truly in love with life. I’ve loved life many times – little moments of infatuation as well as genuine, secure love. But right then, I realised I felt in love with life in a way I don’t know if I’d experienced before – I can only compare it to how I fell in love with Mairéad.
I looked around at the beautiful, full-of-life city, thinking about the smiley locals who recognise us. I thought about how much I’ve been writing lately, and how much I adore the food, and what a joy and privilege it is to walk through these streets – with sounds of TukTuks and singing and sizzling pans. I knew leaving would feel like parting ways with a close friend, and gratitude soaked me head-to-toe. All this love for life as I was getting to know it – love for the apartment that felt so homely; for how much more relaxed I felt day-to-day; for all the cats purring. The buskers started singing “Birds of a Feather” – the lyrics I don’t know what I’m crying for, I don’t think I could love you more couldn’t have felt more appropriate, as if they heard me or read my mind.
We went to visit our absolute favourite musician next, and made sure to stay for his hour-long set. We got front-row seats as I ate my sensational Pad Krapow dish, telling Mairéad over and over again how good it was. He smiled widely when he saw us in the crowd. He remembered we love “Love Story”. My most cherished moment was when he started playing “Safe & Sound” – as soon as I heard that intro, I knew it, and told Mairéad so. She said “it can’t be” which was valid, because it’s not one I’d ever expect to hear either – but it was. I gasped as he sung the first lyrics and he grinned at me. I teared up all over again.
What a life, I thought.
And that’s what I love about travelling. I’m not someone with a big itinerary of things to tick off. I just appreciate the opportunity to explore, stumble on smiley buskers, stay for an hour and tip generously – my paper plate completely clean from enjoyment. How special, to have this in my core memories, to have spices sliding across my tongue. Heavenly coffee culture spoiling me, and another small souvenir purchase for my mum. Hands dug into my shoulders, and an unexpected karaoke break in the booth we found by the cinema. Shoes off at entrances; the “Moshi Moshi” jingle inside the store; a saxophonist playing while sat next to me, jazz skipping through my ears and veins. I could live here, I could live here, I could live here. I could.
And then we pack everything up, to wander on. But I’ll never forget. As Mairéad said, waiting for her regular burrito from the lady who knows her order – in sticky heat, surrounded by Thai smiles – moments like this… they’re the whole point.
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I think this is my favourite of all your posts so far (and that’s tough competition!)
This encapsulated it all, the whole point, so perfectly. I absolutely loved this
i love this so much. you and your girlfriend are adorable 🥹🥹