North to the islands,
the long way down.
Mountains first,
then the open water.
We begin in the cool green north — temple courtyards before the heat, markets that smell of charcoal and lime — and end with the wind off the Andaman and an anchor dropped where there is no road in. Between the two, the country softens by the day. You move by private car, slow longtail, and a sailboat that becomes your address for the last stretch, always with a guide who knows which monk to greet and which beach the day boats never reach.
Not a schedule.
A set of mornings worth waking for.
Chiang Mai, before the heat
An alms walk at first light, coffee where the growers themselves sit, and a long, slow afternoon in the old city with nowhere you have to be.
A hill-tribe lunch
Up into the terraced hills to a family who farm the slope. You’ll be invited to stay long past the meal — and you should.
Bangkok, after dark
The canals by private boat as the city cools, a table of ten dishes you didn’t order, and the old quarter when the day crowds thin to nothing.
Onto the Andaman
A sailboat that becomes home for the rest of the week. You’ll swim off the back, eat what the crew brought up, and anchor where no other hull finds you.
Beaches with no road in
Limestone rising straight from glass-green water, a cove reached only by tender, and an evening so quiet you hear the rigging settle.
Ending soft
A final morning to do nothing at all — a swim, a long breakfast, the sea going on without you — before the slow run back to shore.