I had a mission in Chiang Mai. Many years ago I bought a reclining black lacquer Burmese Buddha there. It had been gilded but much of the gold had been worn off, probably by the hands of the faithful seeking some special blessing. It has a remarkable face. It changes expression as the viewer moves even as little as a few inches, with the body, too, appearing to readjust its position.

It is small wonder, then, that comparing the figure when it arrived several months later with the photo I took at the shop, I felt that somehow I had received a very similar, but still very different Buddha. Many -- more expert in Buddhist arts than I -- agreed, and I wrote to the woman who sold it to me asking how one so similar and yet so different could have been sent. I was assured there had never been but one; she could offer no explanation. Later, after I had taken more photos, I realized my mistake. I wanted to go back, show the pictures and explain why I had originally doubted the authenticity of the artwork.

I had heard people talking recently about a wonderful resort hotel outside of Chiang Mai, an incredible dream world of pointy-roofed, Thai-style villas with lavish use of teak; wandering paths leading to health and sports facilities past tropical greenery and all kinds of blooming things; and even rice paddies with farmers and water buffalo (the harvest is given to needy hill tribes). For the eager kind, there are bicycles, exercise rooms, tennis courts, pools and nearby golf courses.