The Backpacking Housewife - Janice Horton The Backpacking Housewife

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way so that I could feel purposeful.

      I did two afternoons a week in a charity shop in town. I helped out at the local hospice and at the homeless shelter and the food bank. At weekends, I worked at an animal shelter.

      It made me feel good about myself when I was helping those less fortunate.

      I sincerely hoped that I could make a difference in the world.

      Then, before we knew it, the boys had both graduated from university and left home.

      We suddenly found we were empty-nesters with our mortgage finally paid off.

      But instead of taking time out for holidays together or even mini-breaks, like other couples our age seemed to be able to do, we were still scrimping and saving every damned penny.

      What for this time, you might ask?

      Well, for our retirement and our much-promised trip around the world, of course.

      Not as backpackers as we’d always planned, but as ‘flashpackers’ according to Charles.

      He’d decided he didn’t want to ‘slum it’ at his age and he delighted in telling anyone who’d listen all about his considerable and epically adventurous bucket list. When Charles retired he wanted to see the Grand Canyon in Arizona, watch the changing colours of autumn leaves in New England, walk along the Great Wall of China, marvel at the Taj Mahal in India, see the Northern Lights from Iceland, scuba dive on the Great Barrier Reef, trek to Machu Picchu in Peru and climb Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. His list was the subject of every dinner party we attended, and I was getting sick to death of hearing about it and not actually doing it.

      My own bucket list was a little different as I really hate being cold and I’m not so keen on heights. But it was still the stuff of dreams. I wanted to walk barefoot along white sand beaches on tiny tropical islands. I wanted to laze about on a hot afternoon in a hammock with a good book. I wanted to sit in the shade of a palm tree and drink a rum cocktail from a coconut shell. I wanted to find hidden waterfalls in the midst of steamy jungles. I wanted to sit in golden temples and experience inner peace and to meditate until I had a quiet mind. I wanted to see the world’s most endangered species – not in a zoo, but thriving in the wild. I also wanted to learn to scuba dive in warm seas and to swim through a colourful coral reef garden with turtles and dolphins and whales (I draw the line at sharks) – not in a water park but in the open seas.

      And I honestly thought we’d have all the time in the world to tick every single dreamy wish off both our bucket lists, because Charles had always promised me faithfully that he would sell the business and take early retirement when he reached the age of fifty-five.

      Well, the bastard will be fifty-five this year – and now he’s leaving me!

      I scream into my pillow until my throat is sore. Then I stare out of the window again at the sprawling, hot and chaotic city beneath me and I realise that I am in the wrong place to deal with this kind of shit. I need somewhere I can pull myself together.

      I need a golden temple to meditate in until I have a quiet mind and can contemplate a future.

      I know there are plenty of places in Thailand far more laidback than Bangkok.

      I decide for my sanity that I need to go to one of these places until I’m ready to come back here.

      So I pick up my phone and book a flight to Chiang Mai in the northern part of Thailand.

      I know from all the countless trips to Thailand that I have arranged over the years for our clients, that Chiang Mai is very different to Bangkok. It’s known for its slower pace of life. It’s an ancient moated city which, thanks to its conservation laws, has mostly stayed intact with it seven-hundred-year-old walls and lack of high-rise buildings. The city is filled with beautiful old buildings, golden temples, sacred shrines, galleries, museums, restaurants and coffee shops.

      It’s a place that seems like the perfect fit for my current mood.

       Chapter 2

       Chiang Mai

      The flight from Bangkok to Chiang Mai takes a little over an hour. When I arrive, the sun is shining in a clear blue sky and, although it is still boiling hot with temperatures in the high thirties, I immediately find it less humid and polluted than claustrophobic Bangkok.

      I take in great gulps of the fresher air and feel my head clearing.

      I take a taxi from the airport to the old part of the city and watch the wonders of Chiang Mai unfold in front of my eyes. Here, at last, I can really feel the benefit of time and distance working in my favour. My thoughts this morning are heavily focussed on self-preservation.

      It has occurred to me that if I’m going to be alone in future then a positive mindset is going to be my strongest tool for survival. I don’t have to be a betrayed wife and a sad empty-nester – I realise I have a choice. I can be the old me, or I can be set free.

      It’s simply a matter of shifting my perspective.

      A small, dirty child runs to my taxi as we wait in traffic in the narrow streets. She bangs her tiny fist insistently on the window where I am sitting. The driver yells something and waves his arms dismissively to scare her away. In her hand, the girl has a small packet of tissues to sell and she waves it at me. Her pretty face is imploring me to buy from her. I wind down the window, much to my driver’s irritation, and give her a hundred baht note – the equivalent of around two pounds in sterling. In exchange, she throws me a delighted smile and the tissues and I smile back at her. I don’t need the tissues. I suppose I just wanted to do a small act of kindness in the remote hope that karma might smile back on me and provide a little compassion in return.

      I feel like I need all the help I can get.

      My accommodation of choice is a family-run homestay. It’s ridiculously inexpensive for a three-night stay when I consider what I’ve just paid for one night in Bangkok. The moment I arrive, climbing out of my taxi in a quiet shady side street just a few minutes’ walk from the old square, it’s glaringly obvious to me that I’d underestimated how long I should stay here.

      The place is simply gorgeous. The house is of a bygone age. Traditionally built in the local thick, honey-coloured stone, it has a first-floor terrace overlooking the street and its long oak balustrade is covered with twisted flowering vines. It looks so weathered by its history and by everything around it, and so reflective of what was once here in the ancient capital city of the Kingdom of Lanna, that I feel immediately enchanted.

      I’m welcomed at the kerbside as I get out of the taxi and led into the house by a barefoot old man who insists on carrying my rucksack. I’m assuming he is the grandfather of the family. I slip out of my flip flops and trot along behind him as he shuffles along a cool hallway lined and scented with incense sticks, where the floors are inlaid with beautiful mosaics and where all the doors have big, heavy, wrought iron latches, making the place feel like a safe haven.

      At the far end of the hallway, I glimpse a small shaded garden with wrought iron tables and chairs and tropical plants. At the reception area, I meet the mother of the family, whose name is Noon and who speaks very good English. I explain to her straight away how I’d initially booked for three nights but that I might now like to stay longer if that’s possible.

      She smiles and tells me no problem and just to let her know by tomorrow.

      She hands over a heavy iron key that looks like it unlocks a castle gate and bows to me graciously. ‘Yours is room seven. Breakfast is served between 7.30 and 10 a.m. in the garden. Enjoy your stay, Miss Anderson.’

      And there it is again; the assumption that I’m single and unmarried.

      My room is on the upper floor and set back on the terrace that overlooks the street. Inside, it is deliciously cool thanks to a stone tiled floor. I look around

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