See Thailand Through My Lens
I am Einar Meling, and I warmly welcome you — whether you are an old friend who has not heard from me for many years, or a new visitor who has found your way here — to My Love for Thailand.
This website is not only about places or memories — it is about life itself.
It tells how a life built through hard work and abundance can change in an instant — and how, even after loss and devastation, nature and human kindness can help us heal.
With these pages, I hope to explain the long silence that followed my move to Thailand — and to share how the years that passed, though often difficult, became a journey of renewal and gratitude.
My story happens to take place here in Thailand, but its meaning is universal.
It is about finding peace after turmoil, purpose after uncertainty, and hope after loss.
For me, Thailand became the setting for that healing — a place where I found renewal through its beauty, its people, and its quiet strength.
Following the Timeline on this Home Page, you will find moments that have shaped my 30 years here — from the first steps of discovery to the stillness of retirement.
Each chapter reflects gratitude — not only for Thailand, but for life itself, and for the enduring ability of the human spirit to begin again.
If this story can offer even a little encouragement or hope to someone facing their own difficult chapter in life, then sharing it will have been worthwhile.
And for my old friends who may visit these pages — I hope you will understand, through these memories, why Thailand became my home, and how its kindness helped me rebuild.
Here begins the timeline of my life in Thailand.
If you wish to follow the story, simply scroll down. No clicks are needed.
1994 – My First Weeks in Thailand — A Diving Vacation That Changed My Life
In 1994, after many demanding years of work in Norway, I decided to take a long break. I had planned to go diving in Mexico — but at the very last moment, I changed my ticket to Thailand.
Before coming to Thailand, I had established a small 24-hour emergency service for elderly people living alone in Oslo. The system grew over the years, and eventually the Norwegian government chose to take it over so the service could be expanded nationwide. I agreed to continue as a Special Adviser for three years during the expansion.
In early 1994, the nationwide implementation was completed. Under the terms of my contract, I was allowed to travel abroad as long as I remained on a “stand-by” basis while continuing to receive my full salary.
The friendly settlement from the sale became the financial basis for my later investments in Thailand.
From the moment I arrived in Phuket, I was met with warmth and kindness. Sam, a local dive instructor, and his wife, introduced me to their family and everyday life. Through them, I discovered both the Similan Islands and a Thailand that soon felt close to my heart.
During Songkran, I followed them north and met Ann and her little son, Koh, then only thirteen months old.
That unexpected meeting during my very first visit to Thailand would quietly change the course of my life forever.
I returned twice more that same year, stayed for long periods, immersed myself in diving, and completed my PADI instructor training.
1995 – From Caring for the Elderly to Teaching Beneath the Waves
When I returned to Norway at the end of 1994, I contacted the government and suggested that we end my advisory contract one year ahead of schedule. I explained that I had spent a wonderful year in Thailand, diving at some of the world’s most beautiful sites, and that it felt unfair to continue receiving my consultancy salary when I was no longer needed for the national project.
The government appreciated my suggestion, agreed to end the contract early, and — to my great surprise — gave me a final settlement.
So, I returned to Thailand eager to teach scuba diving to students from all over the world. Many of them were Scandinavian, and several encouraged me to start my own dive school. That was how Scandinavian Divers was born in Phuket in 1995.
During those first pioneering years, we operated from Daranee, a converted Thai fishing boat with simple cabins but a big heart. On five-day liveaboard trips to the Similan Islands, we welcomed guests from all over the world and introduced many of them to the magic of these waters.
Those were wonderful years — years of discovery, hard work, laughter, and slowly coming to know the Similan Islands in and out, above and below the surface.
Those years planted the seed for my next great dream: to build a liveaboard vessel that would reflect the best of both worlds — Thai craftsmanship, beauty, and hospitality combined with Norwegian respect for safety at sea. It was an idea that had quietly taken shape through everything I had come to admire and value in Thailand.
That vision — to create a new vessel from the keel up, designed specifically for diving expeditions in Thai waters — would soon make me very busy.
2000–2002 – Building the Viking of the Orient
After years of operating aboard converted wooden fishing boats like Daranee, I had formed very clear ideas about what an ideal vessel for our five-day liveaboard expeditions should be like — in terms of safety at sea, stability, comfort, and practical use for divers.
Based on that experience, I made my own hand-drawn design and submitted it to the Phuket Marine Authorities.
After review, the plans were approved by the Marine Department in Bangkok, allowing construction to begin at a traditional boatyard on Koh Sire, just outside Phuket.
I did not work through contracts or large companies. Instead, the vessel was built hands-on, side by side with remarkable Thai steelworkers, welders, and craftsmen — men with deep practical knowledge, skill, and pride in what they were creating.
Over two years, the 35-metre liveaboard diving ship gradually took shape entirely from steel, combining Thai shipbuilding tradition with my Norwegian respect for safety and seaworthiness.
She was designed and registered to carry up to 50 people.
When Viking of the Orient was finally launched in 2002, she was not just a new vessel —
She was a shared achievement, built through trust, cooperation, and mutual respect between cultures.
Since 2002 - My Family Takes Shape in Thailand
In 2002, life took a new direction when Ann and her two young sons, Koh (9) and Cop (4), moved into my home in Phuket some time after the tragic loss of their father in an accident. From that moment, we were no longer just friends — we became a family.
After living together as a family for several years, Ann and I formally married in 2008, a natural step that simply confirmed the life we had already built together.
Little Cop was a lively and charming boy, always playful and full of laughter. In the evenings, he would often fall asleep beside me on the sofa while I watched TV, and I would carry him to bed every night — small moments that quietly built a bond of trust and affection.
Koh, though still very young, quickly became a dependable companion. He helped me understand the Thai language and customs that were still new to me, and from those early days, our friendship grew into a lasting bond. Today, at 32, Koh and his wife, Cat, remain among my dearest friends, always ready to lend a hand whenever needed.
I am deeply proud of both Koh and Cop for the kind and thoughtful people they have become.
Those years at Phuket were filled with everyday joys — schooldays, shared meals, and laughter — and the quiet strength that comes from caring for one another.
⭐ 2002–2005 —
Five Days and Nights in Paradise: Life Aboard Viking of the Orient
With the completion of Viking of the Orient — our 35-meter liveaboard yacht built entirely in Phuket — a new and unforgettable chapter began. The Viking quickly became known among divers for her comfort, reliability, and unmistakable Thai craftsmanship: polished teak, curved woodwork, and the warm glow of handcrafted interiors.
Each week, guests from all over the world joined our five-day expeditions to the Similan Islands — nine emerald gems scattered across the Andaman Sea. Life on board followed a rhythm of its own. Mornings began with the soft hum of the engines and the first dive briefing; afternoons drifted by with laughter, stories, and the aroma of Thai dishes prepared by our talented chefs.
Between dives, we often took guests ashore to the Similans’ pristine beaches, or sailed toward the next dive site in the shimmering blue. Evenings brought golden sunsets, quiet conversations, and the kind of easy friendships that seem to form only at sea.
These were golden years — years of laughter, teamwork, new friendships, and the quiet pride of seeing our Thai crew shine. It was a time I will always carry in my heart.
When I look back today, it amazes even me to realise that, if I add up all the five-day cruises I made over the years — first with instructor Sam and his wife, then on Daranee and later on Viking of the Orient — the total time I actually lived at the Similan Islands amounts to almost three full years.
Perhaps that is why I came to know every dive site by heart, every current, every ridge, every coral head — the Similans became, in many ways, a second home.
And with that experience — nearly three years of my life spent living at the Similans — our cruises kept improving, season by season. Guests returned year after year, recommending us to friends and diving clubs in their home countries.
By December 2004, we faced a rare and almost unbelievable challenge: business was simply too good. We no longer had enough capacity for the many diving clubs from around the world who wanted to charter the Viking exclusively for their groups. Week after week, we had to turn down full-boat bookings. To meet the demand, we had already begun constructing a second ship at the same yard — with the same loyal team led by Lek and based on the same trusted design. The hull was already taking shape, promising an exciting and expanding future for our diving adventures.
Two minutes in paradise — starting on the waves, then diving below, encountering whale sharks, manta rays, turtles, and the magic of the open sea.
2003 - The Passing of My 86-Year-Old Mother - A Thai Farewell of Grace and Respect
Six months after she had blessed the Viking of the Orient as its proud godmother, my mother passed away peacefully in Phuket at the age of eighty-six.
Thai friends, hotel staff, our crew, and local monks came together to arrange a touching Buddhist farewell — simple, graceful, and filled with quiet dignity. Their warmth and compassion in that difficult moment remain among the kindest gestures I have ever experienced.
It was then that I began to understand the true depth of Thai culture — how respect and empathy are expressed not in words, but in gentle actions. In their way, they gave my mother — and me — a final gift of peace.
26 December 2004 – The Day the Tsunami Changed Our Lives
On the evening of December 25th, 2004, aboard Viking of the Orient, I told our guests that we would make only one early dive the next morning — not the usual two. The dive site was Shark Fin Reef, a dramatic underwater ridge marked by a sharp surface rock close to the mooring. The change of plan seemed simple, but it turned out to be one of the most important decisions of my life.
At about 7:30 a.m. on Boxing Day, I stood at the dive platform giving the signal for our divers to enter the water. By just before 9:00, all were safely back on board, and we began our journey toward Phuket.
Half an hour later, as guests and crew gathered in the salon to watch the week’s video, the tsunami struck the Similan Islands. The massive wave, traveling beneath us at nearly 800 kilometers per hour, passed unnoticed — the sea perfectly calm, the sky clear and blue.
Then came the call. My satellite phone rang — something that never happened on the last day at sea.
Our office in Patong reported chaos: “Water everywhere — another wave may be coming!”
I immediately assembled everyone on deck and ordered all guests and crew — nearly fifty people — to put on their red safety vests.
It was an unforgettable sight: calm seas, bright sun, and fifty people walking around in silence - wearing their safety vests - unaware of how close we had come to tragedy.
That same morning, I offered my satellite phone to guests so they could call their families. Many later said it was the most emotional moment of their lives, to hear their loved ones’ voices and say, “We’re safe.”
A few days later, Viking — the only private vessel involved — was designated the official command center in a large-scale search and evaluation operation, working side by side with the Royal Thai Navy and other government agencies. For more than a week, our decks were filled with divers, officers, and officials preparing to face unthinkable loss.
It was one of the most intense weeks of my life. Even though our business did not survive, and I lost the ship, my savings, and my car — and, since my home in Norway had been used as security for a final construction loan, I lost that as well — being able to stand with Thailand in its darkest hour remains one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.
March 2006 - Seeking Clarity at a Temple in Myanmar
In the spring of 2006, more than a year after the tsunami, I was still in Phuket — trying to hold our small family together against all odds. Tourism had collapsed, our business was gone, and the future felt deeply uncertain. Some friends advised me to return to Norway, but in my heart I knew I could never leave Ann, Koh, Cop, or the baby boy we had promised to care for. Even without any resources left, I decided to stay in Thailand — and to search for clarity, strength, and a way forward.
In that moment, I turned to a familiar place: a quiet Buddhist temple in Moulmein, Myanmar, where I had been several times before.
Over the years I had visited good Burmese friends who once worked with me in Phuket. Among them was Joe Zee Lat, a young man who had been part of our team at Scandinavian Divers.
The temple stood on a peaceful hillside overlooking the river. Days began before sunrise, with chanting, meditation, and the soft sounds of cooking in the open-air kitchen. I helped as best I could — carrying water, chopping vegetables, and tending the fire in the large clay stove where food for the monks was prepared. The simple rhythm of temple life brought calm and reflection after so much turmoil.
Then, in April, as the heat climbed above 43°C, I suddenly fell seriously ill from food poisoning — shrimps lovingly prepared by Joe’s young wife, who was devastated when she saw what had happened.
For days, the chief monk and the novices cared for me, but my condition worsened. The elderly abbot eventually told Joe he feared I would not survive.
Realizing the danger, my Burmese friends arranged for me to be taken by bus overnight — twelve hours through the dark countryside — to a large hospital in Yangon.
April 2006 - An Unexpected Battle for My Life
After a twelve-hour night on the road — a journey of which I remember nothing — I was taken straight to one of the largest hospitals in Yangon. There, I was admitted to the intensive care unit. The doctors later told me they had fought to save my life: I was suffering from acute food poisoning, severe dehydration, a kidney infection, and hepatitis.
As in most Burmese hospitals, patients depended on their families for basic care. Joe’s mother and grandmother slept on the floor beside my bed, preparing food, feeding me by spoon, and cooling my face with damp cloths. Their quiet devotion and compassion sustained me through those desperate days — and remain among the most touching acts of kindness I have ever experienced.
After a week in Yangon, when my visa could no longer be extended, a Danish friend in Chiang Mai - Lennart Holmgren, whom I had first met years earlier as a guest aboard the Viking of the Orient - arranged for my transfer to Thailand. A nurse accompanied me to the airport, and from there I flew to Chiang Mai, where an ambulance took me directly to Rajavej Hospital. It was my first visit to the city that would later become my home.
When I was finally discharged — weak but alive — the Thai doctor urged me to be extremely careful during the next six months. I had lost much of my strength and needed time to recover.
May 2006 - A Difficult New Start
A few days after my discharge from Rajavej Hospital, my stepson Koh, only thirteen years old at the time, travelled all the way from Phuket — first by night bus to Bangkok and then by train to Chiang Mai. His arrival filled me with pride and relief.
Lennart kindly arranged a small condo for us in Chiang Mai, which he generously paid for. We stayed there for a couple of months while I slowly regained my strength and began looking for a modest house to rent.
It was Pastor Suchart, to whom I had been introduced by the driver who brought my computer from Phuket, who helped us find the first house we rented outside Doi Saket, north of Chiang Mai city. The house was simple but surrounded by green rice fields and tall trees. After months of illness and uncertainty, waking up to birdsong and clean mountain air felt like a gift.
Not long after Koh and I had settled in, Ann and Cop made the long journey from Phuket to join us. She found a spot on a lorry heading north, sitting in the open with Cop, our small dogs, and what little furniture we had left.
For two days and nights, they travelled through dust and heat. When they finally arrived, covered in dirt but smiling, it was one of the happiest moments of our lives — our family was together again.
Life in the countryside was peaceful, though not easy. There were months when we barely had enough to eat. During those times, Pastor Suchart would arrive with members of his church, bringing sacks of rice so we could get through. Their kindness reminded us that even in hardship, we were never truly alone.
As the months passed, I slowly began to recover from illness and exhaustion. The quiet rhythm of life in the hills brought me strength and balance — but the hardship and uncertainty were taking their toll. I was not the same as before. Something was definitely wrong with me.
At the time, I thought it was simply the lingering effects of illness and fatigue. I did not yet understand that the real wounds were not only physical.
2006 – Friends’ Kindness That Carried Us Through
When I tried to enroll Koh in the small local school near our village, the answer was disheartening — they only accepted very young children as new students.
It felt like yet another setback, but giving up was never an option. Koh needed to continue at the school in Chiang Mai city, the same one I had earlier found for him when we stayed briefly in the condo.
The problem was the distance — more than an hour each way — and by then, I no longer had a car.
But, as so often happens in Thailand, kindness appeared in a very quiet and unexpected way.
My Danish friend Lennart simply handed me the keys to his Honda motorbike and said I could have it.
No discussion. No conditions. Just a friend who understood.
For the next two years, Koh and I rode through the countryside every weekday morning, rain or shine, to reach his school. I waited nearby until the afternoon, and then we rode home together.
It was tiring, but it gave our days rhythm, structure, and purpose.
More than that… it reminded me that even when life feels uncertain, the kindness of others can keep you moving forward.
Very few people knew how difficult life had become for us after the tsunami.
I did not speak about it. I did not ask for help.
But those who knew… came forward.
My aunt in Australia, Gudrun Meling, Pastor Suchart, my former diving students and friends Morten Parmo and his wife Jannekke Ludt, my dear friends in Norway, Kari Monsen and Eilif Holte - and my sister Lotte together with my brother-in-law John Snowden.
In later years, I was also touched by the kindness of my old friend Helge Qvigstad and our friends from Gimle Rotaract, whose support meant more than words can express.
They all came when it mattered most.
And I will always carry their kindness with me.
Since 2006 - Finding Strength through Helping Hill Tribe Children
Not long after we settled in Chiang Mai province, Pastor Suchart invited me to visit children from the hill tribes in Northern Thailand.
Many came from poor families and faced great challenges in both school and daily life.
I told the pastor honestly that I had no financial means, but that I would gladly give my time.
That was how it began — quietly, without any plan, just a wish to be useful.
Together with Thai friends, we organised simple activities: teaching English, preparing Saturday lunches, and arranging small outings for the children.
Lennart later joined in, and thanks to his generosity, we were able to provide food for the lunches and a few small treats for the children.
Those years were filled with simplicity and joy.
The children’s curiosity, their laughter, and the trust that grew between us became a lasting source of happiness — and, without realising it then, they gently began to help me regain some of my lost strength and hope.
October 2006 – From Loss to Love: The Arrival of Peter
After all we had been through — the losses in Phuket, the long illness, and the difficult move to Chiang Mai — life felt heavy and uncertain. We had found a roof over our heads in Doi Saket, but our future was unclear, and I often wondered how we would manage the months ahead.
One day, not long after Ann and Cop arrived in Doi Saket, the father of the baby boy she had once cared for in Phuket came to see us. He brought the child with him — the same little boy I had held in my arms when he was only three months old. The baby’s parents, now divorced and unable to care for him, had written and signed a simple paper giving Ann and me full responsibility for his care and upbringing.
That moment — when the baby was placed in our arms — marked the beginning of something entirely new: a bond of love that came not by birth, but by heart. The hardships, the losses, and the long months of uncertainty seemed, for a moment, to fade away. In their place came warmth, belonging, and a renewed sense of purpose.
It felt as though life itself was giving us a sign — that from everything we had lost, something deeply good had begun to grow. From the first moment I held him again, I felt an overwhelming sense of purpose return. After the losses of the tsunami and the long months of uncertainty that followed, his laughter filled our home with life once more.
2007 – Learning Stillness: Living with PTSD
Even as our days grew calmer and brighter after Peter’s arrival, I knew that something inside me was not as it had been before. The memories of loss and chaos would return without warning — sometimes in dreams, sometimes in silence. I tried to hide it, to stay strong for my family, but the sleepless nights and the quiet anxiety never quite left me.
Life in the hills was peaceful — the laughter of the children, the sound of roosters at dawn, and the scent of rain on dry soil after long days of heat. Yet beneath that calm, I carried an unease that I could not escape.
After seeking help, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The advice I received changed my life. I was told to avoid noise, confusion, and stress — and, above all, to stay away from constant online stimulation and the growing pull of new digital distractions. Instead, I was encouraged to focus on calm routines, time in nature, and quiet reflection - and more than anything else, practice meditation every day.
Yet, it was not easy. The person I once was — always active, surrounded by people, full of ideas and plans — had become someone who needed silence to heal.
At first, I felt restless, unsure what to do with the long, quiet hours of the day. That was when I began taking long morning walks through the fields and along the small country roads. The rhythm of walking helped me think more clearly and breathe more deeply.
Those walks slowly became my best medicine. The open sky, the rice fields, and the distant mountains gave me a sense of balance that no treatment could replace.
Gradually, I came to understand that my life had not ended with the tsunami — it had simply changed direction: a slower, quieter life.
November 2007 – Home in Time for Peter’s Second Birthday
If you only have time to watch one video on this website, let it be this one —
with my favourite Thai song: “Nung Natee” (One Minute).
This short video captures a deeply personal moment: my return from Norway after a brief one-week trip, just in time to celebrate Peter’s second birthday.
The first scene, though surprising to foreign viewers, shows a very typical Thai moment — me sitting in the back of an open pickup truck with Peter, Cop, Ann, and close family friends at Chiang Mai Airport. What mattered most was simply being home again for this special day.
The emotional tone of the video is carried by “Nung Natee,” a song about the preciousness of time and the small moments we share.
You’ll also see scenes from the beautiful Loi Krathong festival — flowers, lanterns, and fireworks — as Peter rides on my shoulders and Cop and Ann join the celebrations.
The next day, we sent a traditional sky lantern into the night sky to wish Peter good luck for the year ahead.
The video was filmed in November 2007 — not 2006, as the camera’s time stamp mistakenly shows.
As it turned out, that short trip to Norway was the last time I left Thailand, except for a brief two-day visit to Laos in 2013.
Since then, Thailand has truly become my only home.
2009 – One Big Shark, One Small Boy, Two Big Hearts
In 2009, Kari and Eilif met Peter for the first time at Bangkok’s Ocean World — a joyful day we all remember with warmth.
Years later, when changing currency values deeply affected my ability to support Peter’s education, they stepped in without being asked, supporting him through his years at Varee Chiangmai School and later supplementing his United World Colleges scholarship, so it became complete.
Today, Peter studies at St. Olaf College in the USA on a full scholarship — built on that foundation of quiet generosity and belief.
Some kindness cannot be explained.
It only lives in the heart.
Since 2010 - At the Foothills of the Himalayas: Our Present Home
In 2010, Ann and I, together with our three children — Koh, Cop, and Peter — moved into a simple but charming house we could rent in the countryside near Doi Saket, about 30 kilometers north of Chiang Mai city.
The kind owner, who has since become a dear friend, has allowed us to stay here ever since. Over the years, the trees we planted have grown tall, surrounding the house with shade and tranquility. This place has given us stability, peace, and a deep sense of belonging.
Our home lies at the foothills of the Himalayas, where the air is clear and the rhythm of life is gentle. Every morning and evening, I walk along quiet canals and small forest paths. The sound of birds, the light on the rice fields, and the cool air from the mountains bring a calm that words can hardly describe.
By the end of that year, my health had slowly improved, though far from fully recovered.
Our struggle, however, was not over. We were still living without any pension, and it would take two more years before I could apply for an early reduced pension at the age of sixty-four. Those were uncertain years — every month a new challenge — but we managed to keep going, one step at a time.
It is here, in this quiet corner of northern Thailand, that my strength has slowly returned — not through medicine, but through stillness, nature, and the steady kindness that surrounds us every day.
In 2010: When We Had Little, We Still Had Room for One More
Soon after we had moved into our present home - one of Cop’s classmates, a boy named Ef, came into our lives.
His school contacted us to ask if we could give him a home. His father was in prison for drug offences, and his mother was absent — leaving him without family, stability, or support.
Ef had visited us several times before as Cop’s friend, so when the school reached out, I told them it would be up to Cop to decide.
Without hesitation, Cop said yes — and that was how Ef became part of our family.
Before reading further, please spend a few minutes on this short video - though it is painful to watch:
It was filmed on the day our family went to bring Ef home from the place where he had been living.
The scenes show a small, eleven-year-old boy surrounded by filth and neglect, with no adults to care for him — but they explain everything.
At that time, our own situation was financially uncertain, and we were still struggling to rebuild our lives.
Yet when the school asked for help, we knew in our hearts that we could not turn away.
The day we brought Ef home, leaving behind the place where he had lived, and began a new chapter of hope. A short Norwegian note at the start explains that the first scenes were filmed that day. The final scenes, filmed three weeks later, show Ef in his new school uniform as we return to bring milk to his younger brother, six years old, the same age as Peter.
2012 - Meeting with His Excellency M.L. Panadda Diskul –
Governor of Chiang Mai Province
By a fortunate coincidence, I had the distinct honour of meeting His Excellency M.L. Panadda Diskul during his tenure as Governor of Chiang Mai Province.
At Chiang Mai City Hall, he received me with remarkable warmth and respect. He asked about my family and listened with genuine interest as I shared my experiences in Thailand — including the difficult years following the tsunami and my thoughts on how the country might better support foreign entrepreneurs who contribute to local communities.
Encouraged by his openness, I later submitted a written report summarizing my suggestions. To my great surprise and gratitude, the Governor kindly sent me two beautifully crafted commemorative coins issued in honour of His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej. That thoughtful gesture remains the most meaningful recognition I have received in my many years in Thailand.
Later, when M.L. Panadda Diskul served as Assistant Minister to the Prime Minister, he delivered a truly inspiring speech on the government’s dedication to integrity and good governance.
I warmly encourage you to watch this speech — it captures the same spirit of sincerity and public service that made my meeting with him so memorable. It is truly worth listening to.
2012 - A New Beginning for Peter: Changing to Varee Chiangmai School
When Peter was six years old, I began to worry about his future.
He had spent two happy years at the local kindergarten and one year at the small village school near our home. But when I met Cop’s old classmates — teenagers from that same school — I realized that none of them could speak or even understand a single English sentence.
That discovery worried me deeply.
Peter already spoke good English for his age, and I feared that if he stayed there, he would lose what he had learned. I wanted him to keep developing and to one day have the confidence to explore the wider world.
So, as soon as the school year ended in March, I took him on my old motorbike to Chiang Mai city to look for a new school. We visited one that didn’t feel right, and then — almost by chance — arrived at Varee Chiangmai School. From the moment we walked through the gate, we were welcomed with warmth and kindness.
A teacher explained that the school’s annual English Camp had just begun — a one-month program to help children learn through fun and daily practice. Without hesitation, I signed Peter up.
The next morning, Peter began his first day at Varee.
The video below captures those unforgettable moments — our early morning ride from Doi Saket, our first visit, and Peter’s very first day at English Camp. The first five minutes show everything that mattered: a father’s hope, a young boy’s curiosity, and the beginning of a new chapter.
Since 2014 - Helping Displaced Communities across the Border in Myanmar
Since 2014, Ann, Cop, Peter, Ef, and I have joined our local church in an annual humanitarian project to support internally displaced people living just across the border in Myanmar. Every year before Christmas, we collect second-hand clothes, medicines, food, and simple school supplies like notebooks and pencils.
The journey is long — several hours by car, ending on rough dirt roads that wind toward the border river. There, the Royal Thai Immigration and Border Police greet us kindly, wishing us good luck before we cross the narrow river in small longtail boats, without papers or formalities.
On the other side, we are met by smiling children who help carry our sacks of clothes and rice to their hidden village — a fragile settlement built in secret to avoid discovery by the Burmese military. The families live in deep poverty, completely cut off from the outside world. There are no roads, no shops, no cars — and crossing the river into Thailand would be far too dangerous for them.
As we unpack the clothes, the children gather around, their eyes wide with excitement. None of them has ever seen a shop before, so when they can choose freely among the donated clothes, it feels like a magical experience — as if they were in a place beyond imagination. Their parents are overjoyed for the tins of fish and sacks of rice, knowing they will help their families survive the coming months.
Perhaps the most meaningful gifts are the medicines. None of the villagers has ever seen a doctor, and few live beyond the age of fifty. Each visit reminds me how fragile life can be — and how much quiet strength these people carry in their daily struggle to endure.
For Peter, Cop, and Ef, these journeys have been eye-opening. For me, they have been healing. Seeing their gratitude and resilience has given me a renewed sense of perspective. Whatever I once lost feels small beside their courage. Each trip across that narrow river has helped me see life — and my own blessings — more clearly.
2014 – Koh’s Ordination as a Buddhist Monk
A Moment of Pride, Gratitude, and Deep Thai Tradition
In March 2014, shortly after Koh celebrated his 21st birthday, our family experienced one of the most meaningful moments of our lives: His formal ordination as a Buddhist monk.
This was not a temporary novice ordination for children.
It was the full, traditional ceremony for a young man entering monkhood with maturity, intention, and respect — a rite that carries immense significance in Thai culture. For a parent, witnessing this is one of life’s greatest honours.
The days leading up to the ordination were filled with warmth, preparation, and quiet anticipation. I will never forget seeing Koh in his beautiful white-and-gold ceremonial attire: dignified, humble, and radiating calm. In the temple, under the chanting of the monks, I sat right beside him during the central rituals. My role was important, and I felt deeply moved to be part of such a sacred moment.
The entire family gathered, proud and grateful.
It was a time of reflection, of tradition, and of unity — a moment where Thai culture’s beauty shone brightly. For Koh, it marked a transition into adulthood with grace. For me, it was a memory I will carry forever.
2014 - A Thai Court’s Wonderful Decision
The day the court approved my adoption of Peter was one of the happiest moments of my life.
He was bright-eyed, curious, and full of energy when we stood together in the quiet, sunlit courtroom. The process had taken years, but every signature, every form, and every visit had been worth it.
Before the final court hearing, I had during several years undergone the complete adoption-approval procedure required for a foreign applicant: background and financial investigations, interviews, and home visits. I was summoned to the Royal Thai Police headquarters in Bangkok, where my fingerprints and records were formally processed, and social inspectors visited our home in Chiang Mai several times to evaluate our family environment. Their reports were positive and supportive throughout.
At the same time, I also obtained a police clearance from Norway, confirming a clean record.
When the judge finally announced the decision, there was no applause, only a deep, peaceful silence — the kind that comes when something truly right has been done.
With or without that decision, we were already a family, as we had been ever since Peter came into our lives. But it felt deeply good to have it formally confirmed.
A few weeks later, Peter proudly received his new Thai ID card with his new family name: Ittipat Meling.
I can still picture him standing against the wall to measure his height for the photo, stretching a little taller, full of pride and happiness.
Looking back, I often think about how easily it might never have happened.
It was thanks to the kind support and encouragement of Tom Trommestad at the Royal Norwegian Embassy in Bangkok that I took the first steps toward the adoption of Peter.
Without his understanding and kind guidance at that early stage, this dream might never have become a reality.
2015 - Surviving a Crash – A Reminder of Life’s Fragility
It was early morning, and I was driving Cop, Ef, and little Peter to their schools.
The road was quiet, the sun just rising, when suddenly — out of nowhere — a car sped through a red light and created a crash nobody should have survived.
The sound of the impact is something I will never forget.
For a few split seconds, there was silence — and then the realization that we were all still alive, and miraculously, none of us had even a scratch.
Our Honda City, already several years old, was almost destroyed.
When I later saw the wreck at the garage, split nearly in two, I could hardly believe what I was looking at.
But, just like me, the owner, the car was repaired piece by piece.
It still bears the marks of that day, yet it continues to serve us faithfully.
Each time I take my dogs for our morning walks and see that same old car standing there, I’m reminded of how close we came to losing everything again — and how precious each ordinary day truly is.
In its quiet, steadfast way, that car tells the same story I have lived myself:
that even when life seems broken beyond repair, with time and care, we can find the strength to go on.
⭐ 2015 – Back to Our Motorbike
After the car crash, we no longer had a car to take us around Chiang Mai. So we returned to the way we had travelled for many years — on our motorbike. It was simple, practical, and, in many ways, the most enjoyable part of everyday life in Northern Thailand.
Our lives continued much as before: School runs, visits to friends, countryside trips, temple visits, and long, slow rides through rice fields, mountains, and small villages.
Life found its natural rhythm again — quiet, humble, and full of small adventures.
Looking back at the photos from these years, nothing seems dramatic — just everyday happiness, familiar routines, laughter, freedom, and the gentle beauty of life on two wheels in the Thai countryside. These moments tell their own story: that even after setbacks, the simple life often brings the greatest joy.
2021 — Peter Online at Thailand’s National Astronomy Conference
At just sixteen, Peter was invited to present in English his research on exoplanets at the 7th Thai Astronomical Conference, hosted by NARIT — the National Astronomical Research Institute of Thailand.
His project, titled “The Study of Exoplanet WASP-43b Period by Using the Transit Method,” was presented online from Varee Chiangmai School in English, and it marked a proud milestone for our family.
Soon after this presentation, Peter was invited to share his research again — this time to an international audience — and received a Certificate of Acknowledgement from NARIT in recognition of his work.
I believe that his dedication to astronomy, combined with the encouragement he received at Varee Chiangmai School, helped nurture the curiosity and confidence that later led to his nomination for a United World Colleges scholarship.
That school gave our son not only knowledge — but a place to dream, explore, and grow.
2021 – When the Children Moved Out… the Dogs Moved In
When our boys grew up and began their own lives, the house suddenly felt quiet.
But life has a way of filling empty spaces in unexpected — and joyful — ways.
One morning, Cop arrived with a young Siberian Husky in his arms.
The puppy’s owners in Chiang Mai hadn't been able to care for him in their small apartment,
so he came to stay with us instead.
We named him Cato.
Not long after, Ann came home with a beautiful Chocolate Labrador she had found wandering in our village — hungry, tired, and without a home.
She became Lexi, our gentle and loyal companion.
Cato and Lexi soon became inseparable…
And before long, they proudly presented us with eleven puppies.
We kept two sweet girls — Baby and Minni — and found loving homes with neighbors for the rest.
Our home, once filled with children’s laughter, now echoes with happy paws, wagging tails, and the joyful chaos of morning walks.
Some say life comes full circle.
In our case, it returned with four legs and wagging tails.
2022 – United World Colleges: A New Chapter Begins
In 2022, Peter received one of the greatest honours of his young life.
He was selected as one of only ten students from all of Thailand to be awarded a scholarship through the United World Colleges (UWC) program — a global network of schools dedicated to building understanding between nations and cultures.
Each of the ten Thai students was nominated to represent Thailand at one of the eighteen UWC schools around the world, to serve as young ambassadors of their country's values, kindness, and global outlook. Peter was chosen for Waterford Kamhlaba UWC in Eswatini, Southern Africa — a school with a proud history of diversity and inclusion.
At Waterford Kamhlaba, Peter completed the final two years of his high-school education, living and studying alongside students from more than eighty countries. The experience challenged and inspired him, deepening his awareness of the world and his belief in compassion across cultures.
The photos from the 2022 scholarship ceremony and his later graduation reflect not only Peter’s achievement, but also the values that UWC stands for — courage, curiosity, and service to others.
2025 - Looking back: The Joy of Watching Our Children Grow Up
Watching our children grow into kind and responsible adults has been one of life’s greatest joys.
Each of these moments — school days, celebrations, and milestones — reflects not only their achievements, but the warmth and togetherness that have shaped our family through the years.
Over time, I have come to admire many qualities that seem deeply woven into Thai culture — qualities that I have seen every day in our four boys: Koh, Cop, Peter, and Ef.
In all the years of caring for them, I have never heard raised voices, arguments, or complaints. They never speak ill of one another. When they leave the house or come home, they do so politely, always with a smile. They never demand things or ask for money. If there is something they would like, they mention it quietly — and trust that I will understand.
They dress simply, always clean and tidy, never chasing expensive fashion or brands. They are helpful, patient, and endlessly considerate toward Ann and me.
It is these gentle habits — the calmness, the humility, the respect — that I believe show the true heart of Thai upbringing.
And perhaps one of the most endearing traits of all is a phrase I hear every day:
When I ask what they want to eat, what movie to watch, or where they’d like to go, the answer is always the same —
“Up to you.”
That simple phrase captures something very special: an ease, a kindness, and a quiet harmony that I have come to love deeply in Thai life.
To have seen these qualities take root in our family has been a joy beyond words — and a reminder that the truest success in life is not measured in wealth or titles, but in the goodness and gratitude we pass on to the next generation.
2025 – At St. Olaf College in the United States
After completing his studies at Waterford Kamhlaba UWC in Eswatini, Southern Africa, Peter applied for admission to St. Olaf College in Minnesota, USA.
He was not only accepted but also awarded by St. Olaf College a full four-year scholarship toward his bachelor’s degree, where he is now pursuing three majors — Quantitative Economics, Computer Science, and Chinese.
In October 2025, Peter was one of ten St. Olaf students invited to take part in the official reception for Norway’s Crown Prince Haakon at the Minneapolis Institute of Art — a moment of quiet pride linking our two worlds in a way I could never have imagined.
To me, Peter’s path stands as proof that when a child is given love, care, and opportunity, remarkable things can happen.
As I follow his journey from afar, I am reminded that life’s most meaningful rewards are often not our own achievements, but those of the next generation.
2025 – A Quiet and Peaceful Retirement – Life Is Good Again
After years of rebuilding and finding balance, my days have settled into a peaceful rhythm.
The long journey through loss and recovery — including the quiet battle with PTSD — has slowly led me to a place of calm strength.
What once felt broken has healed in its own way.
Life did not return to what it was before, but it became something different: simpler, quieter, and deeply fulfilling.
I sleep well through the night, wake early, and walk with my dogs through the quiet lanes and fields around our home.
I often stop to watch the sunrise over the hills.
These walks remind me how fortunate I am simply to still be here.
Thanks to good physical health and an active, simple lifestyle, I have never needed any medicine beyond what nature itself provides.
Life today is simple and modest.
After losing everything in the tsunami years ago, there were no reserves to rebuild from — so I live much as many do in rural Thailand: month by month, with my pension as our steady support.
There is no luxury, but there is peace.
No safety net, but deep gratitude.
And in the everyday simplicity of this life — morning walks, nature, family, and loyal dogs — I have found a quiet sense of contentment that to me now is more valuable than comfort or wealth.
I hope this website may, in some quiet way, let old friends know that I am well — and help them understand why my life eventually found its home here in Thailand, and why I have been so silent for so many years.
In the stillness of nature, I have found what matters most to me: belonging, gratitude, and the gentle rhythm of ordinary days.
I often think of my family here and hope they will continue to find happiness and stability in their own lives.
My wish is simple — to be allowed to stay in this wonderful country for the rest of my life, where I have lived for more than thirty years, and where I have finally found peace.
And — with a smile — I also hope that my faithful old Honda will survive a few more years, to keep carrying me and my four wonderful dogs to the starting point of our daily walks!
Finally - A Message from My Heart
To the people of Thailand — with all my heart, I thank you.
Thirty years ago, I arrived in your beautiful country as a visitor. I had no idea that this land would become my home — not only in name, but in spirit. From the very beginning, I was met with kindness, generosity, and understanding.
Through years of joy and hardship, Thailand has given me more than I could ever return: a family, a sense of belonging, and the chance to rebuild my life after great loss. The compassion of ordinary people — neighbors, officials, colleagues, teachers, and friends — has shown me the true strength of this nation.
This website is my way of saying thank you — but also a message of hope for anyone facing difficult times.
It is a reminder that life can begin again, even after everything seems lost, and that peace can be found in the kindness of others and the healing power of nature.
Thank you, Thailand, for embracing me as one of your own — and for allowing me to call this country my home..
With gratitude,
Einar Meling,
Chiang Mai Province, 2025
