The other side of Chiang Mai - quirky history, hidden corners and strange tales

Queen Victoria surveys a tiny pocket of northern Thailand that is forever foreign. Through unblinking bronze eyes she contemplates a plot of land that in 1898 King Chulalongkorn of Siam bequeathed in perpetuity to foreigners who might expire in this far corner of his domain.

The Foreign Cemetery of Chiang Mai reminds me that this ancient Thailand city is more than its 300 temples and celebrated markets. Victoria oversees the repose of the cemetery's demised consuls, teak loggers and missionaries, as well as more recent departees. When locals learned that she had borne nine children she soon gained fame as a fertility goddess. According to legend, during World War II, Her Maj was boxed for protection but with two holes "drilled near her eyes so she could continue to gaze down on her devotees."

I'm on a mission to see more of these quirks, a different Chiang Mai. "So let's do it on three wheels," says Dutch-born Frans Betgem, a longtime Chiang Mai resident and history expert. He hails a couple of samlors, traditional tricycle cabs, and we're away.

Our wiry, middle-aged drivers, Chit and Boon get their legs pumping and propel us along the mercifully flat streets. I put aside my post-colonial discomforts, Frans having assured me that samlors are dying out and that visitors can help preserve the tradition by using them whenever possible. We cross the Ping Piver to reach the 600-old Wat Ket Karam temple, but this time not for its Buddhist shrines. The wat's folk museum houses a wondrous potpourri of Lanna, Siamese, Thai and European artefacts in a collection that was brought together by a history-conscious Thai local, Jarin "Jack" Bain.

For an hour, we pore over its array of spirit houses, tusks, textiles, photographs, statuary and antique household appliances, in all an eclectic core sample of northern Thailand culture. Outside, our three-wheelers are waiting, so we saddle up again for a circuit of the city's historic walls.

Chiang Mai means "New City", which it was when founded in 1296. As the capital of the evocatively-named Lanna Kingdom of the Million Rice Fields for 700 years, Chiang Mai once ruled huge swathes of neighbouring Laos, Burma and Yunnan. Only in 1892 did the by-then much diminished Lanna kingdom become part of Siam, as Thailand was then known. The city's massive brick walls and moat, measuring 1800 by 2000 metres, were constructed, it is said, in only four months by 40,000 labourers. Over time, the battlements and watchtowers have succumbed but the corner redoubts are well-preserved, along with the perimeter moat and city gates. We pedal - that is, Chit and Boon do - to the most visited gate, Tha Phae, eastern entrance to the Old Town.

The younger driver rides behind and at times gives his older companion's samlor a helping push. We farewell them with a good tip at Tha Phae Gate where the broad plaza facing the portal becomes, as the afternoon progresses, a melee of drummers, pigeon-feeders, selfie poseurs, stalls, trinket sellers and food vendors. In short, a market.

At times Chiang Mai feels like a progressive barn dance of night, day, weekend and whenever markets. Its famous Night Bazaar (currently being redeveloped as Lannatique Market) has been cloned throughout the Kingdom, along with all the toy elephants, muay thai shorts, coloured umbrellas and "copy" fashion clobber. For variety, add foot massages and fried grasshoppers. Market trawling is compulsive FOMO fun, but I'm still after something different.

"So, you want to see a truly Thai market?" says Frans the next day as we drive 25 km south through the countryside. We're heading to San Pa Tong where the Saturday morning market is the biggest in northern Thailand. "You can buy anything imaginable here," he adds. We arrive at a field of stalls where every rural need under the ancient Siamese-Thai sun is arrayed. Skip the familiar fake Louis Vuitton or Pierre Cardin stuff. Instead, I can buy a mattock, fish-trap, shovel or holy amulet, not to mention a plough, cow or water buffalo.

Farmers' kids sell bags of field strawberries that burst with flavour. At the next stall there's rich, hot cafe boran, "ancient coffee", which braces us for the trip back to town. Enroute we follow a ute with someone's Saturday shopping in the back, a large and cranky-looking buffalo. Frans overtakes before its road rage ramps up.

Continuing the alternative history theme, I book into another echo of those days of teak, tonic and clubbable chaps, the 137 Pillars House hotel. Its central mansion, 130 years old and supported by those 137 pillars, was once home to the teak wallah managers of the Borneo Company.

I'm in the spacious Jack Bain Balcony Suite, named for the founder of Wat Ket Museum, who was also a former owner of the mansion. The oasis-like grounds are shaded by huge Indian rubber trees, palms and royal poinciana. The impeccably restored house, now a fine dining restaurant, is an heirloom of filigreed teak panels, deep lounges and lantern shadows. A work of art, with a gym, pool and its own museum. To my mind, one of the most beautiful retreats in Asia.

The writer travelled at his own expense, with accommodation support from 137 Pillars House and Kantary Hills resort