7am pick-up, three colours of temples and the Mekong at three borders.

The day starts at 7am, which is basically the hour when a normal holiday person is still negotiating with the pillow. Today, though, the road goes far north towards Chiang Rai and all the way to the Golden Triangle: Thailand, Laos and Myanmar, on the Mekong. A day trip quickly becomes a small geographical washing machine: mountains, villages, temples, art, border river, then back to Chiang Mai sometime after 9pm.

The first strong stop is a hill village with several communities: Kayan/Long Neck, Akha, Hmong, Lisu, Yao and other names already appear on the entrance sign. This is not a museum village without history. Many families in this region have roots in Myanmar or the border mountains; migration, stateless situations and tourism are tangled together here. Still, the encounter does not feel heavy so much as warm: women at looms, children between textiles, jewellery, smiles, handwork and daily life.

The famous brass coils of the Kayan women do not magically stretch the neck like a fairy tale. Over years they visually press the shoulders and collarbone down, creating the long silhouette. But the better fact is almost slower: one scarf can mean two days of work. Suddenly “souvenir” feels like a tiny word. It is time, patience, pattern knowledge and household income turned into colour. Cannabis plants stand around as if somebody interpreted “village decoration” very relaxedly, and a small spirit distillery adds one practical detail: the place is indeed well equipped.

After that, Chiang Rai takes over in three temple colour modes. First gold: roofs, dragon-fish creatures, koi, water, everything shining a little too confidently. Then white: Wat Rong Khun, the White Temple, not an ancient temple in the normal sense but a modern artwork by Chalermchai Kositpipat. White stands for purity, mirror glass for light and wisdom, and before the bridge hundreds of hands reach upward: desire, suffering, the whole Buddhist escape room, only extremely photogenic.

The Blue Temple, Wat Rong Suea Ten, then turns the dial to night-blue and gold. Inside sits a white Buddha in an almost cosmic cave of ornaments; outside, blue naga stairways guard the spectacle. And then comes Baan Dam, the Black House Museum by Thawan Duchanee: dark wooden houses, lanterns, animal forms, folk imagination and suddenly very direct fertility sculptures. After all the heavenly stuff, northern Thailand briefly says: do not worry, we also understand body humour.

Late in the day the Mekong lies in front of the boat. At the Golden Triangle, the Ruak and the Mekong meet nearby; from Thai Sop Ruak you look across to Laos and Myanmar. The landscape is calm, almost politely beautiful, but the name carries weight. “Golden Triangle” became famous for a region long tied to opium, heroin routes and border economics. Today the Thai side is mostly tourism, museums, viewpoints and boat rides, but history rides along visibly, especially when a board with opium poppy flowers is held up on the boat.

The strange thing is the contrast: brown water, sun, wind, three countries in one view, and along the banks buildings, temples, casinos or hotel blocks that ask more questions than they answer. You ride a boat, take photos, learn a little geopolitical botany and realise: the Mekong looks slow, but it carries history very efficiently. Back in Chiang Mai it is after 9pm. Technically enough. Emotionally not: last night in Chiang Mai, so of course a small final outing still happens. Tomorrow at noon it continues to Pai, no fixed plan yet, which in Thailand usually means: one will appear.