Yi Peng in Chiang Mai

November is a busy time in Thailand. As locals prepare for one of the biggest celebrations of the year, thousands of tourists from around the world descend upon the country’s most popular attractions, from Chiang Mai to Ayutthaya. The festival, known as Loy Krathong, celebrates the full moon in the twelfth (and final) month of the Thai lunar calendar. In Northern Thailand, which encompasses the historical domains of the Lanna Kingdom, Loy Krathong also overlaps with Yi Peng, a festival that celebrates the full moon in the second month of the Lanna lunar calendar.

Walking around Chiang Mai during Yi Peng, I wondered how Europe can remain functional with everyone taking a holiday in Thailand. The tickets for the night train from Bangkok were sold out months in advance, as were most hotels. I considered myself lucky to have found relatively cheap plane tickets all the way back in August, though I did regret not having thought of reserving a bed on the night train sooner. In any case, I made it to Chiang Mai on Thursday, the evening before the full moon, and prepared to alternately telework and sightsee on the second day.

I ended up having very little work on Friday. At eight, after breakfasting on an egg toast and a cheesecake at 7-Eleven, I ordered a Grab cab to Wat Sri Suphan, which lies just outside the city’s southern moat. Known in English as the Silver Temple, Wat Sri Suphan is famous for its ordination hall, which was constructed in the city’s silversmith quarter using silver, aluminium, and nickel. This is no exaggeration: the temple is metal both inside and outside, and the panelling behind the front door bears frightful, sparkling depictions of Buddhist Hell. The ordination hall is one of several holy sites in Chiang Mai that is not accessible to women; others include the City Pillar Shrine and some areas within Wat Jed Yot.

I continued towards the walled city, walking across the moat and through the southern gate. My next destination was Wat Chedi Luang, but I found it difficult to keep myself from wandering off into the temples on the way. This is how I ended up in Wat Fon Soi and then Wat Jetlin, the latter of which is home to an impressive chedi and a large Buddha head. The temple was established in the 15^th century and was the venue for the coronation of King Mekut Sutthiwong in 1551. Its name translates to “The Temple of the Seven Channels,” in reference to its seven streams in which Lanna royalty would bathe.

I reached Wat Chedi Luang as the masses of tourists were beginning to build up. One would-be influencer had already set his phone on a tripod at a chokepoint between the temples and seemed genuinely frazzled that people and vehicles kept entering the frame. After paying the entry fee, I visited the City Pillar Shrine, which now forms part of the complex even if its history and significance are quite distinct. The colourful shrine has an elevated statue of a standing Buddha at its centre and vivid walls whose paintings follow religious themes.

Wat Chedi Luang dates to the fourteenth century, though the structure was only finished in the middle of the fifteenth. With a height of eighty-two metres, it was once the largest building in Lanna, and its original size can still be vaguely ascertained from its ruins. For almost a century, the building’s eastern niche housed the Emerald Buddha until it was taken to Luang Prabang by the Lan Xang King Setthathirath. Nowadays, the statue can be seen at the Temple of the Emerald Buddha in Bangkok’s Grand Palace.

Just north of Wat Chedi Luang and beyond the ticketed area stands the impressive Wat Phan Tao, a giant wooden structure that neighbours an expansive golden chedi with multiple peaks. The temple’s name translates to “The Temple of a Thousand Furnaces,” which refers to the vast number of implements that were once used to cast Buddha images within the complex. Interestingly, the wooden structure was moved in the nineteenth century to its current location as part of the renovation of Wat Chedi Luang. Wat Phan Tao lies just under the plaza of the Three Kings Monument. I believe the plaza is usually empty, but during Yi Peng people come to lay candles under several wooden effigies set up for the occasion. During my visit, I saw a whole school trip arrive in ordered groups, with the teachers squatting beside the students one by one to help them light their candles.

The Three Kings Monument marks one of the most important moments in Lanna history. In 1287, the Lanna King Mangrai formed a three-way alliance with two other Tai rulers, Ngam Meuang of Phayao and Ramkhamhaeng of Sukhothai. Their motive was simple yet daunting: to jointly resist Kublai Khan’s Mongol hordes, which had already fought destructive wars with Vietnam and Champa in the east of the peninsula. In 1277, the Mongols invaded Pagan in present-day Myanmar, and although they eventually retreated, they would launch three more invasions over the following two decades. For Mangrai, the resistance was personal. In 1257, Kublai Khan’s forces took Chiangrung (Jinghong), which was the hometown of Mangrai’s mother.

Popular Thai history generally attributes the failure of Mongol designs on modern-day Thailand to this three-way alliance. However, there may have been other more compelling reasons not to launch a major invasion. The hilly, forested terrain posed a formidable obstacle for horses, which formed the backbone of the Mongols’ military power. Furthermore, the Mongols were handed major defeats by the Vietnamese and lost many men during their expeditions to Pagan, which may have had an impact on their military calculus.

Be that as it may, Mang Rai is correctly credited with founding Chiang Mai around the year 1296 on the site of a fifth-century walled settlement called Wiang Nopburi by its original Lawa inhabitants. The city immediately became the capital of the newly established Lanna Kingdom, rising and falling along with this political entity. For two hundred years, Lanna thrived, but dynastic struggles led to its downfall at the hands of Ayutthaya and Burma. The latter held Lanna as a tributary state until a revolt backed by Siam drove them out in 1775. Since then, Lanna was progressively integrated into Siam, and Chiang Mai never regained its status as the capital of an independent state.

I made one more excursion to the eastern gate of Chiang Mai before joining Reese at a local café. He and his friend Linda had arrived separately a few days earlier and they were exploring Chiang Mai in a much more laid-back way. Since Linda had other plans, Reese and I ate lunch alone and continued to see more temples. We first visited Wat Phra Singh before continuing west beyond the old town walls to Wat Suan Dok. In addition to its flashy golden stupas, Wat Phra Singh houses the Phra Buddha Sihing, a legendary image supposedly cast in India and brought to Chiang Mai from the Thai coast. There are two other statues – one in Bangkok and one in Nakhon Si Thammarat – that claim to be the original artefact.

From Wat Suan Dok, Reese and I caught a Grab cab to Wat Jed Yot. This temple is unique among the temples in Chiang Mai thanks to its multiple stone towers and Buddha images sitting in niches along the outer walls. It is also known for its menacing cobra statues, which decorate the entrance and litter the space behind the main shrine. Near this temple, Reese and I stopped by another café, where we were welcomed by two fluffy samoyeds; the dogs were the sole reason why Reese had sought out this café and why he had, in fact, already visited it before. Following this break, we took a Grab cab back to the city centre to visit Wat Lok Moli and Wat Chiang Man before joining Linda for dinner.

My eyes were drooping when we finished, but tonight was the full moon and therefore the most important night of Yi Peng. We went down to the square in front of the Three Kings Monument to see if we could catch a dance performance, but we only found people putting candles on the stands of the effigies erected for the festival. The masses of tourists, however, were flowing in a single direction, many of them holding Chiang Mai’s iconic lotus floats. Following them, we eventually arrived by the bend of a road where a crowd had gathered to watch a procession. For a moment, we watched along, but it soon occurred to us that the procession was headed to the river, where the main festivities would most likely take place.

We joined the stream of people walking in the direction of the procession and by outpacing it, we saw the various groups taking part: brass bands, traditional dancers, banner-carriers, girls holding candle floats, and many more. At one point, we walked past what seemed to be a beauty pageant winner carried by a group of tall men. A few sections later, we saw a boy and girl chasing each other in an elaborate dance, the boy wearing a broad peacock-like fan on his back and the girl a yellow one. The participants seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the whole festival and often smiled and waved when they saw people taking pictures of them.

Eventually, the procession led us to the river. Walking down the steps to the platform, we saw people laying their floats on the surface of the water, and we watched as the elaborate flower arrangements floated past us. The lights on some had already gone out, but most seemed in reasonably good shape. The ladies who sold these products all around town must have made quite a bit of money tonight, but they did not skimp on their materials. We also saw the occasional and illegal lantern in the distance, but what really dominated the air were the omnipresent fireworks, which always set off much closer than one expected and received startled reactions from passersby.