I sat in the cool stream beneath the shade of the Thai jungle, listening to the sound of a waterfall somewhere nearby. After hiking through the sunlit lemongrass fields at the Chiang Mai Elephant Sanctuary, the water felt especially good.
We were waiting for the guides to lead an elephant and her baby through the clearing.
It was my first trip overseas, and somehow I had come alone.
I remember the feeling when I booked the flight — that little skip in my chest when I realized I was really doing it. Flying to the other side of the world by myself. The unknown was scary, but I'd wanted to travel for as long as I could remember. So I went.
And now, sitting there with my feet in a stream in the middle of Thailand, I thought about everything I'd seen in the weeks since.
Ancient temples tucked into the lush, hazy green. The stillness surrounding a giant Buddha carved into stone. Orange-robed monks passing quietly through temple grounds.
The smell of green curry after a tropical rainstorm. Mango sticky rice at a crowded night market.
And the lanterns.
I don't think anything could have prepared me for the lanterns.
Thousands of them rising into the night during Yi Peng, glowing against the dark like stars dancing upwards to meet the sky. During Loi Krathong, little flower-covered baskets flickered along the river below. Light above me. Light below me. For a few moments, it felt like the entire city was drenched in magic.
Then I heard splashing.
The elephant and her baby had finally reached the stream.
The baby came barreling toward us with joyful abandon, kicking water everywhere as she went. I remember laughing and trying unsuccessfully to stay dry as she splashed alongside her mother.
And I remember thinking how strange it was that I'd been so afraid of coming here alone.
There I was, halfway around the world, soaked from an overenthusiastic baby elephant —
and happier than I could have imagined.
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