✈️ Cashew Chicken, Culture Shock, and My First Thai Adventure (Part 1 of 4) 🌍

What you’ll find in this issue:

🏖️ Thailand - True Story

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The decision to retire overseas seemed romantic when I made it from my living room in the UK.

Sun-drenched temples. Smiling locals. A chance to reinvent myself after decades of the same routines, the same grey skies, the same creeping feeling that life was something that happened to me rather than through me.

So, I booked a ticket to Chiang Mai. This would be my first visit to Thailand and to South East Asia.

But then the plane landed, and romance gave way to reality.

The heat hit me like a wall. Not the pleasant warmth of a summer's day--no, this was thick, wet, suffocating heat that made my shirt cling to my back within seconds. I dragged my suitcase through the airport, already questioning everything. What had I done? 

The taxi driver at the airport spoke broken English but it was much better than my non-existent Thai. After jumping off the highway, the taxi wove its way through countless back streets. Somehow, miraculously, I arrived at my condominium just as the sun was setting. Sweating and tired after my long flight and taxi ride, an epic voyage of sorts, I dragged my suitcase up the steps to the hotel reception & checked in.

And here, finally, was a glimmer of that romance I'd imagined…

The apartment was beautiful. Exotic paintings lined the walls--elephants in gold leaf, lotus flowers in impossible pinks and purples. The balcony overlooked a tangle of green with concrete blocks of flats obscuring the view to Ping river, and two small elephant chairs sat waiting, as if they'd been expecting me. I sank into one, exhausted but cautiously hopeful.

After a life-giving shower, hungry, I decided to venture out for dinner.

The night market sprawled before me like a fever dream. Stalls selling everything from silk scarves to fried insects. The air thick with smoke and spice and the calls of vendors. I pointed at a dish that looked safe--chicken, cashews, what appeared to be vegetables.

"Mai pet," I said carefully, practicing the phrase I'd learned. Not spicy.

The vendor smiled and nodded.

But then I took my first bite.

Fire. Absolute fire. My mouth erupted. My eyes watered. I gasped for air while the vendor calmly cooked the next dish for another customer, but I couldn’t help noticing a couple at a nearby table barely concealing their amusement. This was not spicy? I couldn't imagine what spicy actually meant here.

I ate it anyway. Pride, perhaps. Or hunger. Or the stubborn British determination not to make a fuss. I’ve identified for many years as an international man, but this test was next level!

So, I spent the next two days intimately acquainted with my toilet.

The diarrhea was spectacular. Humbling. Burning in the wrong places. I didn’t dare stray from my room between bouts. I knew I would be ok but joked with myself that this would be an amusing way to go if this was how it ended. Not with a bang but with a whimper, alone in a Thai bathroom, felled by cashew chicken.

But then, slowly, I recovered.

My stomach settled. My strength returned. And with it came a strange realization: I'd survived. I'd been knocked down by Thailand within 24 hours, and I'd gotten back up.

So, I decided to try again.

I ventured out into the blazing afternoon sun, determined to explore. The heat was still oppressive--I ducked from shaded spot to shaded spot like a vampire fleeing daylight. Mosquitoes found every exposed inch of skin. I counted seven bites on my left calf alone. The aircon in my apartment became my sanctuary, my refuge, the only thing standing between me and heat stroke.

And then the rains came.

Not a gentle drizzle. A deluge. The sky opened up and dumped what felt like an ocean onto the streets. Within minutes, the roads became rivers. I stood under an awning, watching in amazement as the water rose to ankle-depth, then shin-depth.

But then I noticed something extraordinary..

The market vendors didn't flee. They didn't panic. They simply pulled out long sticks and pushed the accumulated water off the clear plastic coverings of their stalls with practiced efficiency. Rain cascaded off in sheets. They adjusted, adapted, continued selling their beautiful creations (which included colourful wax flowers, cotton t-shirts & skirts, and elephant & monkey wood carvings) as if this was the most normal thing in the world. 

Which, I suppose, it was.

So, I took off my shoes, rolled up my trousers, and waded into the flood.

The water was warm. My sandals squelched with each step. I must have looked ridiculous--a pale, middle-aged foreigner splashing through the streets like a child in a puddle. But something shifted in that moment. Some tight knot of anxiety loosened.

I was here. I was alive. I was doing something.

The night market that evening was transformed by the rain. Everything glistened. The air smelled clean and green. I bought a mango sticky rice from a vendor who'd weathered the storm without missing a beat, and it was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted.

Walking back to my apartment, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.

Possibility.

But then I saw the dogs.

A pack of them, maybe four or five, lounging in the middle of the street between me and home. Strays. Mangy and scarred. One lifted its head and looked directly at me.

My heart hammered. I froze.

So, I stood there in the dark, too afraid to move forward, too embarrassed to turn back, wondering what on earth I'd gotten myself into.

[To be continued: Read Part 2 in next week’s newsletter ...]

-Rich

P.S. Have you ever had a moment where you questioned everything about a decision you'd made? Hit reply and tell me--I'd love to hear your story.

⭐ Featured Retirement haven

If Chiang Mai is Northern Thailand's beating heart, then Chiang Dao is its soul.

Just 90 minutes north of Chiang Mai by local bus, this mountain town offers everything you loved about Chiang Mai twenty years ago--before the digital nomads discovered it. Here, time moves differently. The air tastes cleaner. And the third-highest mountain in Thailand rises from the valley floor like a daily reminder that some things are meant to inspire awe. 

Doi Chiang Dao dominates the landscape at 2,175 meters, its limestone peak often shrouded in morning mist that burns off to reveal dramatic cliffs and jungle-covered slopes. You don't climb it--not at our age, and not without serious preparation. But you don't need to.

The magic is in living beneath it. In watching the light change across its face throughout the day. In seeing it disappear into cloud one moment and emerge golden the next. In knowing it's there when you wake up, a constant presence that somehow makes everything feel more grounded, more real.

Wat Tham Pha Plong clings to the mountainside like it grew there naturally. To reach it, you climb stone steps through bamboo groves and tropical forest, the air cooling as you ascend. It's not a difficult climb--gentle enough for daily visits if you're so inclined…

At the top, white stupas and golden spires emerge from the greenery. Monks in saffron robes move quietly through the grounds. The view stretches across the valley--rice paddies, villages, jungle, all the way to distant mountains.

But it's the feeling that stays with you. The profound quiet. The sense of being held by something larger than yourself. You don't need to be Buddhist to feel it. You just need to show up and breathe.

Forget everything you know about coffee shops. In Chiang Dao, the best coffee comes from roadside stands--a table, a stove, an elderly man or woman who's been brewing the same way for forty years.

They use beans grown on the surrounding hillsides. They brew it strong and sweet, or strong and black, depending on your preference. Steam rises into mountain air. You sit on a plastic stool. The coffee costs less than a dollar and tastes like it was made by someone who actually cares.

This is your morning ritual now. Not a corporate chain with wifi and laptop warriors. Just you, a cup of exceptional coffee, and mountains in the background. It's enough. More than enough.

The hot springs at Chiang Dao are what nature intended before spas got involved. Natural pools of mineral-rich water, heated by the earth itself, surrounded by bamboo groves and jungle canopy.

You soak. The water works on your joints, your muscles, your accumulated tension. Steam rises around you. Birds call from the trees. Other bathers come and go, mostly locals, everyone respecting the quiet.

There's something profoundly healing about water that comes from the ground hot, that hasn't been chlorinated or temperature-controlled or optimized for profit. It just is. And you just are. And for an hour or two, that's all that matters.

Chiang Dao isn't for everyone. It's smaller than Chiang Mai. Quieter. Less international. You won't find coworking spaces or vegan cafes or weekly expat meetups.

But if you're tired of the noise--if you came to Thailand to slow down, not to replicate your old life with better weather--then Chiang Dao might be exactly what you're looking for.

Imagine mornings that start with mountain views and roadside coffee. Days spent reading on your balcony, walking to the temple, soaking in hot springs. Evenings at the small night market, where vendors know your face and your usual order.

Accommodation is affordable--you can rent a simple house with a garden for a fraction of Chiang Mai prices. The local community is welcoming but not intrusive. You have space to breathe. Space to think. Space to remember who you were before life got so complicated.

The beauty of Chiang Dao is its proximity to Chiang Mai. You're not isolated. When you need a visa run, a hospital visit, a taste of city life, it's 90 minutes away by bus. You can have both--the serenity of the mountains and the convenience of the city.

But most days, you won't want to leave. Because you've found something rare: a place that lets you live simply without feeling like you're missing out. A place where nature isn't something you visit on weekends but something you live inside every day.

A place where the mountain watches over you, the coffee is perfect, and the hot springs remind you that healing doesn't have to be complicated.

Just close enough. Just far enough. Just right.

Want to explore Chiang Dao for yourself? It's an easy day trip from Chiang Mai, or consider staying a few nights to really feel the rhythm of mountain life. Local buses leave regularly from Chiang Mai's Chang Phuak Bus Station. The journey itself is half the adventure.

Get Sunlight in the Morning

Morning light regulates your circadian rhythm, improves sleep quality, boosts mood, and helps your body produce vitamin D, boosting your immune system.

Just 10-15 minutes outside after waking makes a difference.

Obviously this is yet another benefit to retiring somewhere with more sun!

You've lived decades. You've made mistakes, learned lessons, navigated career changes, raised families, survived losses, reinvented yourself more times than you can count.

All that knowledge sitting in your head? Someone needs to hear it.

And they'll pay for it.

The Secret Nobody Tells You About Writing Online

Here's what I discovered after years of trying to sound smart online: readers don't pay for your knowledge.

They pay for the part of your story that teaches them something about themselves.

I used to write articles that were well-structured, informative, perfectly formatted. They flopped.

Then one day I wrote something different—just a simple story about a moment that changed how I saw everything. No fancy framework. No expert positioning. Just me being honest about what I'd learned the hard way.

Suddenly, people commented. They shared. They wanted more.

Because facts inform, but stories transform.

And transformation is what people will actually pay for.

Why Medium Is Perfect for Mature Writers

You don't need to be a professional writer. You don't need a massive following. You don't need to understand algorithms or SEO or any of that noise.

You just need Medium—a platform where your stories can earn money from day one.

Here's why it works for people like us:

What Actually Earns Money on Medium…

Stop trying to be the expert. Start being the guide who's been there.

Write about:

When someone reads your story and thinks, "That's exactly what I'm going through," they'll follow you. They'll read everything you write. And on Medium, that reading time becomes your income.

Your Simple Plan:

You don't need years of experience as a writer. You need years of experience as a human.

That's what you're selling.

The Truth About Making Money Writing

You won't get rich. But you can absolutely earn $200, $500, even $1,000+ per month sharing what you already know.

Some Medium writers earn much more. But even a few hundred dollars a month pays for your coffee habit, your gym membership, your next flight to somewhere new.

And if you're retiring overseas? That extra income goes even further. An extra $500 a month in Thailand, Portugal, or Mexico can cover your rent, your utilities, even your healthcare. Suddenly you're not just writing for pocket money—you're funding a lifestyle that would cost three times as much back home.

And here's the real gift: writing your stories helps you make sense of your own life. You process. You reflect. You discover patterns you didn't see before.

You get paid to figure yourself out.

Start Today

You don't need a massive audience. You don't need to be the best writer in the room.

You just need to be the most relatable.

Your story—the real one, with all its detours and hard-won wisdom—is exactly what someone else needs to hear right now.

And Medium is waiting to pay you for it.

Ready to turn your experience into income? Head to medium.com and start writing. Your first story could be published by this afternoon.