Last weekend, when most of my colleagues were skiing, I flew to Bangkok for three and a half decadent days of warmth, great meals and truly restorative visits with a number of dear friends. DP stayed in Yokohama and worked on his thesis.

Here’s what I wrote in my gratitude journal after dinner on Saturday night:
There was much laughter and catching up and I am especially grateful for the big, beautiful gift of feeling totally and utterly like myself.

The sun rises over Bangkok. This was the view from my room.

Saturday night on Soi 11. In black and white.

Saturday night on Soi 11. In living colour.

I actually stayed up late enough to see some street bars open for business.

Bigger-than-life Japanese sumo wrestlers at Terminal 21, a new shopping mall in lower Sukhumvit.

My last (and favourite Thai) meal: phad thai and mango sticky rice.

My taxi driver on the ride to the airport was a seriously old guy. He was probably too old to be driving a taxi. (I thought this as soon as I got into the car and should have listened to my intuition shouting, “Get out of this car now!” But I’m Canadian and I didn’t want to be rude.) As we were leaving the hotel, he pulled into a parking spot, thinking that it was an exit. When we finally turned on to Sukhumvit Road, we drove by three guards from the hotel who looked at me with worry in their eyes. (Uh oh.) Drivers honked at us all the way to the airport as my driver drove in two lanes, sped up when he should have slowed down and vice versa. Not much driving makes me nervous after Colombia and Mexico but I must admit that I prayed during this ride. Obviously, someone was listening.

Funny how a place can sometimes feel more like home after you’ve left it.