This is Not a Guide to Mae Chaem (But You Don't Need One Anyway)

A wat set at the endge of rice fields in Mae Chaem

Mae Chaem is a small town in northern Thailand.

When we visited in 2015, it was just starting to show up in guidebooks—one of those places that travel writers mention with a slightly conspiratorial tone, as if they’re not entirely sure whether they should be telling you about it yet. Even Travelfish, which usually has something to say about everywhere, only had a short blurb.

Travelfish still mostly ignores Mae Chaem.

If you go looking, you might find a passing reference to it while researching the Mae Hong Son Loop. You might even stumble across my wife’s blog post. But beyond that, there’s not much out there.

Which is part of the point.

Before we went, the most interesting question we came across was whether Mae Chaem would become “the next Pai.” At the time, that didn’t mean much to us—we hadn’t been to either place.

Now that we’ve been to both?

Please, please, please do not make Mae Chaem into the next Pai.

We did not like Pai.

Not even a little bit.

To us, Pai felt like what happens when a small mountain town gets completely overtaken by tourism and decides to lean all the way into it. It’s less a town and more an outpost of Khao San Road—party-till-you-drop travelers, mushroom milkshake bars, and a general sense that the locals are no longer the main characters in their own town.

We had one great experience there (at an elephant camp) and one very bad one (salmonella from some street chicken, which I do not recommend as a cultural experience). But more than anything, it was the atmosphere that turned us off. It felt crowded, chaotic, and just a little too eager to be what tourists expected it to be.

A lot of people love Pai.

We didn’t.

But we loved Mae Chaem.

We loved the quiet streets, where nothing seemed to be trying too hard. We loved the locals, who were genuinely excited to interact with us—and who, to our great surprise, reacted with wild enthusiasm when we attempted even the most basic Thai. Say a few words, badly, and suddenly you have fans.

We loved the tiny, hole-in-the-wall lunch spot where we kept coming back for khao man gai and noodle soup, not because we had carefully researched it, but because it was there and it was good.

We loved the kids who played with us.

We loved the green rice fields stretching out just beyond town, like a quiet reminder that life here wasn’t built for visitors—it just happened to include us for a little while.

Mae Chaem has many wats set in the rice fields

The kind of place where you don’t need a plan. You just walk, look, point, and hope for the best—and somehow it always works out.

Daughter 2 dancing the stick dance

We loved the festivals we happened to stumble into.

We were there on Mother’s Day, which, in Thailand, apparently doubles as “Bike for Mom” day. I’m still not entirely sure how biking helps mom, but there were a lot of people doing it, so clearly someone understands the assignment.

We loved visiting the local schools—both in town and up in the hills.

And we especially loved one rural school that invited us in and decided, for reasons that are still unclear, that what we really needed was a dance lesson.

They taught us a traditional bamboo stick dance—jumping and weaving as long poles snapped together on the ground in a rhythm that seemed specifically designed to test both coordination and dignity. My students handled it effortlessly.

Learning the Electric Slide dance

We did… less so.

And we really, really loved that in return for teaching us the bamboo stick dance, the kids let us teach them the Electric Slide.

I’m not saying we improved the cultural experience.

But I am saying there is now a small corner of northern Thailand that can confidently line dance.

And don’t even get me started on how much we loved the little place on the edge of town that served surprisingly good cake. Because nothing says “remote mountain village” like casually excellent dessert.

Why This is Not a Guide to Mae Chaem

We spent several weeks in Mae Chaem and got to know the area fairly well. My original plan was to write a detailed guide—where to stay, what to eat, how to arrange transportation, what to see.

But I’m not going to do that.

Instead, I’ll just say this: go to Mae Chaem.

Spend some time there. There are homestays and small hotels. There are places to eat. There are hikes and bike rides and quiet roads that lead to places you didn’t know you were looking for. And there are people—kind, welcoming people—who will make the experience what it is.

You’ll figure everything else out when you get there.

Just go.

And if that feels a little too open-ended—if you prefer everything mapped out, booked in advance, and carefully curated—then maybe go to Pai. You’ll probably love it. A lot of people do.

But if you’re the kind of traveler who wants to explore rather than just consume, go to Mae Chaem.

And go soon.

Because places like this don’t stay like this forever.

I know why I travel to places like Mae Chaem. I know that I learned something there, that I grew a little, and that I had a genuinely wonderful time.

Because travel.

I have no idea why I went to Pai.

And I kind of wish I hadn’t.

Because salmonella.

We met individuals from the local government that trained us to look for mosquito larvae in standing water. So we helped scour the area, checking for larvae, and killing them when we found them. This program has significantly reduced incidence of dengue fever in the area.

We met individuals from the local government that trained us to look for mosquito larvae in standing water. So we helped scour the area, checking for larvae, and killing them when we found them. This program has significantly reduced incidence of dengue fever in the area.