Reasons to be cheerful in Chiang Mai (part one)

• Clare's terrace... 

... where we sip Rosé on the evening of my arrival looking out at the dark shape of the local mountain, Doi Suthep. It's where I hang my washing and it dries in 20 minutes. It's where you can hear the local dogs howling at dusk and the cocks crowing at dawn. There are also regular bugle reports from the local military base. And it's where my cousin Clare throws a little terrace party for some Chiang Mai friends, and me. 

Mojitos, bruschetta, Won Ton, crispy grilled chicken, friend Yara's Syrian dips oozing olive oil, followed by Rose apples, star-shaped biscuits and sugary cinnamon cake baked that afternoon by Clare. 

A sudden thunderstorm with sheet lightening appears and the terrace is awash in minutes so we retreat indoors. The terrace is also a good place to be when the sky is suffused with glowing pinks, around 6pm every evening. 

And a good place to smoke the throat-scorching "cheroot" made from locally produced tobacco that I find a woman rolling at a market stall outside Chiang Mai. A one-off, I can assure you.

• The Centre of the Universe…

… is Clare's local salt-water swimming pool and is truly sublime, as the moniker suggests. I plug in to its healing powers on more than one occasion, when I'm worn out from gadding about and just need some action of the sun-lounger kind. There's a restaurant attached and I become rather partial to the scrambled-eggs-on-toast-and-cafe-latte combo. My only gripe is… brrr… cold showers. Even in this weather they're a shocker.

• Flower power…

… is all the rage in this lush landscape and when I hit town the Flower Festival is in full swing. Clare and I tour the displays and rate the award-winners. 

Who knew Chiang Mai had an orchid society? Or that the Dr Who writers have been here looking for inspiration? 

It's a happy scene, with schoolchildren out and about in traditional dress and stallholders picnicking by the moat that surrounds the historic old town of Chiang Mai. 

We come across a group with clipboards sniffing a row of hyacinths, moving them up the ranking, or down, according to the wow factor of the bloom's scent.

Chiang Mai is also the flower-power capital of the north – of the hippy kind – and it's a while since I've seen quite so many tie-dyed floaty trousers. And if it moves, like this VW camper van, why not crochet a cover for it?

At the Sunday Walking Street – a night market where you can shop while you walk, up one way and back the other – the sightings of crafty creations go off the scale. There's even a stall selling home-crocheted doggy wear. Here are bespoke slippers for animal lovers.

• Veggie nosh…

… is some of the best I've tasted. No surprise, given all the new age types who've made a life here. Clare takes me to her favourite, an unpromising few scattered tables around the back of a temple. She orders spring rolls, a spicy papaya salad and a yellow curry, and we kick off with fresh fruit smoothies. Deelish.

Anchan is another place we try, run by a young Belgian chap and his Thai partner. Melt-in-the-mouth pumpkin yellow curry, and a type of flower tempura. Another time, one of Clare's choir pals, Jean-Pascale, cooks up Sun Hemp flowers in an omelette. Eat your heart out Hugh Fearnly-Whittingstall.

Top of the smoothie pops for me is this mint, honey and lemon number that I order with vegetable tempura in Blue Diamond, a cafe shaded by palms, cooled with whirring fans and frequented by homesick ex-pats. 

I also enjoy a latte and creamy carrot cake in a leafy little cafe called Fern Forest, eavesdropping on a lovers' tiff at the adjacent table. She's Thai, he's English, and can't get enough of her. She's arranging to see a friend and he wants to tag along but I'm not sure she wants him to. She's not saying no, exactly… but he fails to pick up on the subtext and off they go. 

Here's a lemon soufflé I whiled away an hour over, in the Art Cafe by the Ping river. 

One of the major treats of my stay is a trip to the home of a French/Thai husband and wife who run a French bakery in Chiang Mai. Every Saturday morning they hold back a few batches of croissants and pastries and open their garden gates to friends and friends of friends. The coffee, and the French conversation, is free. The smell of Gitanes – or Thai equivalent – pervades the air, and all sorts of news and views are exchanged – close your eyes and you could be in a Parisian cafe, albeit a left-leaning one. No pics of this event. That would not have been cool...