It starts with a bang.

Ok, so this isn't a roadtrip. I'm on foot. But I'm homeless, clueless, vaguely lost and without a plan, adrift in a country I've never been to and can't speak the language, with nothing more than what I've got on my back. So, I think it counts.

I'll spare you the details of my rather unremarkable flight over. Sure the airport threw me a bit, but mild bureaucratic disorganized frustrations are nothing to write home about. The authentic Thai in-flight cuisine included a ham and cheese croissant. You get the idea.

So let's fast forward to a taxi, rampaging through the tight city streets, narrowly dodging a hail of motorbikes commandeered by teens and young mothers holding their babies Britney-style. We can't find my hostel, the address is wrong, the number isn't listed and I'm starting to think its a scam. Instead, the helpful but clearly bored driver decides to give me a boot in the middle of town and wishes me will.

I look to my left, I'm next to a building colourfully labelled "Same Same". First thought - gay sauna. However, the children running around inside made me pray I was wrong. Turns out its a hostel, and they happen to have a spot for the night. Yeah, I've probably been scammed by the taxi driver who's probably working on commission, but it's been a long day and I couldn't care less. I'm tired, practically asleep.

An explosion next to my ear cures me of that.

More explosions rock the street. Are the Red Shirts back? Have I walked into a riot? No, turns out I've accidentally arrived on the most popular day of the year, the Loi Krathong Festival, a celebration of all things firey and explosive. The grenades I hear all over the city are fireworks, ranging from roman candles to illegal mortars. Paper balloons held aloft by candles float up from the streets and fill the air; I count no less than 200 glowing orbs in one corner of the darkening sky before giving up.

After checking in, the fact that I haven't eaten dinner kicks in, so I set off to visit the famous Sunday Market. I only get about 5 steps before I run into a group of 5 young German backpackers, strike up a conversation, and walk with them in the opposite direction to the markets, with no idea of where we're going or how to get back. They take me to the bridge across the city moat (yes, they have one), where the roar is nearly deafening from everybody igniting gunpowder. Children are throwing sparkler bombs into the crowd and bottle rockets straight across to the other side. We opt for the gentler celebration; we each buy a paper lantern, light them, let them slowly inflate with hot air, and lift off to join the mass celebration above our heads.

Now thirsty, we go for a drink... at a themed pub called Rasta Bar. Parched palette sated, they then go for dinner... at a sushi bar. Tasty, but depressing. We almost get a taste of authenticity when one of them excitedly points out a bar called the PornPing Hotel and rushes inside, expecting one of the world-famous Ping Pong shows (seriously). Turns out to just be an unfortunately-named bar.

Finally, my protests come to fruition - bananas specifically. Street-vendor fried banana crepe with condensed milk is truly glorious, my friends.

On a whim, the Germans decide they want to treat themselves right. We enter a massage parlour as the clock approaches midnight. I assume any massage parlour opened this late must cater to a specific need... and my euphemistic dismissal was both completely correct and entirely off-base. A specialty-shop this was, but this was Fish Therapy. You immerse your feet into a tank full of young catfish and let them eat all the dead skin and parasites.

I lasted all of 10 seconds before screeching like a little girl and yanking my feet out like they were over hot coals. Having fish scrape at the skin between your toes, while not painful, is a primordially unpleasant sensation. I leave the Germans to their paradise, and decide its time for some jet-lagged sleep.

I probably should've asked how to get back to my hostel first. Wandering the mostly-empty streets of Chiang Mai, lost and alone on my first night... sounds about right.