Exploring Chiang Mai’s Lanna textiles unveiled centuries-old traditions alive in vibrant cottons, rich silks, and intricate patterns. Visiting bustling markets, tranquil weaving villages, and hands-on workshops deepened my appreciation of this cultural legacy woven into daily life.
I’ve long been enchanted by the riot of colors and intricate patterns of northern Thai cloth, so when I arrived in Chiang Mai I set out to unravel the story of Lanna textiles. From the hush of a temple grounds to the bustle of a Sunday market, Lanna cloth was everywhere.
Materials, Dyes, and Patterns
My behind-the-scenes visits confirmed that traditional Lanna weavers start with locally grown fiber. Women still do the seed-cleaning and spinning by hand, and all the dyeing was once done with natural plants.
In Pa-Da Textile Museum (in Chom Thong, south of the city) I handled carved wooden yarn-presses and bowls of indigo-blue vats. The founder, a Thai folkcraft National Artist named Saeng-Da Bunsiddhi, had spent her life promoting mo hom indigo dyeing and local cotton.
Indeed, indigo is the legendary source of deep blue in Lanna cloth: I noticed many scarves and sarongs dyed a vivid midnight shade (“mo hom”) in shops. Other natural dyes come from plants too – turmeric for yellow, certain wood-barks and berries for reds and purples – though today some studios use brighter chemical dyes for faster results. Patterns in the cloth are a whole language of their own. As I learned, each region and hill tribe developed signature motifs. For example, the sin tin jok method from Chiang Mai province inserts extra weft threads for brocade-like designs; this labor-intensive technique creates woven embroidery that I saw in gold-and-red on formal sinh. On the simplest level, the sinh itself always has three parts – a plain 12-inch waistband (hua), a middle section (tua), and a decorative border (teen) – and each part can bear different patterns and colors.
The teen jok pattern is a classic: bright, interlocking motifs at the skirt’s hem, made by lifting select weft threads while weaving. I recognized teen jok designs on skirts in Mae Chaem village – they were originally brought by Tai Yuan migrants from Chiang Saen centuries ago. Another fancy style is jok weaving: extra colored or even metallic threads are woven into the fabric to create raised designs. In fact, the name “jok” refers to an embroidered brocade effect. A local scholar showed me a photo of a 19th-century royal sinh jok vieng, completely covered in gold and silver thread patterns.
Each ethnic group has its own visual signature too. I was told that the elaborate animals, flowers or abstract lines on a woman’s sinh can betray her village or status. For example, the long Sinhala tube skirts of the southern hilltribe women often carry a black or red ikat-weave border called mee sin, while some Tai Lue communities favor flowing-water motifs. Even before the loom is set up, the choice of colors matters: Chiang Mai weavings traditionally use off-white or natural cotton grounds, accented by bold indigo, madder-red, or golden threads. Today one sees a mix: rustic hemp-and-dye motifs alongside pieces dyed in rainbow hues. But everywhere, skillful color work is prized. I met a weaver who boasted that only she in her village could match a matching purple warp with just the right shade of violet in the weft – a small detail that took dozens of samples. Her pride reminded me how a single cloth is the culmination of months of effort, and a family’s heritage.
Textiles in Daily Life and Ritual
In Lanna culture, textiles are woven into daily life and ceremony. Even as a modern tourist I saw girls in phasin skirts in temple courtyards and old women bringing offerings on a woven pha khan. I read that Lanna girls still learn to make their sinh for merit-making ceremonies, and that families store precious cloth for religious fairs. One piece at Pa-Da was a tung – a ceremonial cotton banner used in temples – skillfully embroidered on a frame loom. The founder Saeng-Da and her team made these as sacred decorations. Today during Songkran in April, Chiang Mai floods its streets with Lanna costume: all around the moat and temples I saw people in pastel sinh and pha biang shoulder cloths, reviving the old court style (www.changpuakmagazine.com).
(One local guide explained that wearing Lanna dress at Songkran is meant to preserve Chiang Mai’s identity.) Textiles also marked social occasions. On my way to a market one morning, I passed a bride’s family preparing a dowry table of woven gifts: folded sinh, embroidered baby blankets, and intricately tied pha kaku handkerchiefs – all woven with good-luck symbols. At temple festivals I noticed monks bidding on donated cloth in silent auctions, knowing they’re as sacred as gold. In daily life, even mundane chores involve cloth: a farmer will use a sticky cotton saddle blanket on his elephant, and market vendors kneel on handwoven mats. In Lanna homes I visited, elder women often sat at small looms in the living room, and whenever we sat with them for coffee, a half-woven band lay nearby. It struck me that these fabrics are not just souvenirs – they are the very fabric of northern Thai life, everywhere around me like the threads on a loom.
Weaving and Textile Hotspots
To really understand Lanna cloth, I made a point to visit the people and places keeping it alive today. In the Old City I found the Sbunnga Textile Museum, reputedly Thailand’s oldest textile museum. This airy colonial building holds over 6,000 historic pieces from royal brocades to tribal silks.
The curator there walked me through galleries of Lai Nam Lai (flowing-water) patterns from the Tai Lue, and Thai Lue shawls embroidered with satin thread. Outside town, the Pa-Da Textile Museum in Chom Thong (once the house of a Chiang Mai princess) felt almost alive – dozens of quiet looms set up as if women had just stepped away for a break.
Pa-Da’s founder, Mrs. Bunsiddhi, had turned her home into a weaving center: I saw stacks of cotton she grew, and donated old Japanese looms used during World War II to produce uniform cloth. In suburban Chiang Mai a couple of inspiring studios blend tradition with social mission. Rada Loom (in Hang Dong District) is run by a master weaver (Khun Ong) and his artist wife. I spent an afternoon among their looms and was impressed that they teach one-on-one weaving classes for visitors, customizing patterns to the student’s taste.
The walls were lined with elegant shawls and rugs in hemp and silk, and outside was a workshop where even small wooden frame looms were on sale for new weavers to try at home. Closer to the city, Studio Naenna nestles under Suthep Mountain in a shop of indigo vats and ikat scarves.
They grow dye plants, spin their own cotton and silk, and host intensive workshops – in fact, I enrolled in a half-day sampling of their indigo vats. (Studio Naenna even offers a five-day private weaving course on Karen backstrap looms, taking a student from raw yarn to finished fabric.
Outside Chiang Mai I visited Baan Don Luang Weaving Village (about an hour southeast, near Lamphun). This cotton-weaving community of a few hundred villagers felt like walking into a living history. Everywhere I went, women perched at wooden looms fashioning sinh, bags and table runners.
Dozens of tiny family-run shops lined the village lanes, each piled high with folded pha sinh, scarves and shawls. Shopkeepers eagerly showed me how they dye yarn with tree bark and then weave on their century-old looms. I bought a handwoven table runner from a 70-year-old woman who grinned proudly as she proudly said it took her three weeks to make. Near Chiang Mai, modern design is also getting into weaving. I browsed the Museum of Makers at Kalm Village (an arts center in a renovated factory) and found exhibits on textile art.
Here and there in town I saw showrooms of small designers building on Lanna motifs – for example a boutique whose jackets use teen jok patterns in a contemporary way. These modern intersections prove that the Lanna legacy isn’t museum-bound; it’s still evolving under Chiang Mai’s blue skies.
Markets of Chiang Mai: Where to Find Lanna Cloth
Almost every Chiang Mai market offered its own array of textiles, and I soon had my favorites. The bargain hunters’ mecca is Warorot Market (Talat Lao or Kad Luang). By day it is a sprawling covered market on Chang Moi Road where stalls sell yardage by the bolt, rolls of cotton and silk in jewel tones. I watched artisans hand-dye mannequins’ clothing in a back stall, and felt dozens of fabric samples in the textile district nearby. A local guide told me that at Warorot one can find everything – clothing, baby sinhs, even raw woven cloth to buy by the meter.
Each weekend the city’s old town comes alive with walking markets. On Sunday evenings, Ratchadamnoen Road (around Tha Pae Gate) becomes the famous Sunday Walking Street. As I joined the crowds, tuk-tuks and foot-traffic throbbed with dance music and drumbeats. Along the avenue from Wat Phra Singh to Tha Pae, hundreds of artisans set up stalls. I saw indigo batik fabrics and embroidered pillows under twinkle lights – local friends reminded me this market was started over 30 years ago by Chiang Mai’s last princess to help villagers sell crafts.
The mix is eclectic: alongside elephant-art T‑shirts and silver jewelry I spotted handwoven hemp bags, snug shawls and even a Kathina robe woven in songket style. It’s a place to haggle for one-of-a-kind silk goods and dyed scarves. Saturday night has its own version at Wualai Road just outside the city moat. Called the Saturday Walking Street, it is smaller but no less local: woodcarvers, puppet-makers and ethnic weavers mingle with food vendors. I bought a narrow kendama-style pha kaku handkerchief there, woven by a Lahu Karen woman as a gift. For everyday shopping, the city’s two main night bazaars carry mass-market textiles. Chang Klan Night Bazaar (near the river) is geared to tourists, with endless rows of stalls selling similar products – replicas of Lanna skirts, cheap scarves, colorful silks. It can be overwhelming but on a weekday I found some original cloth at lesser-known shops above the main bazaar. Likewise, the Ton Payom Tai Lanna Market on Chang Klan Road (late afternoon on Thursdays and Fridays) is a newer craft market where local designers and elders sell batik and weave. In summary, a Chiang Mai visitor should not miss waroros for wholesale buys and the Sunday and Saturday street markets for unique handicrafts.
Outside the city, weekend craft fairs also pop up – for instance, on Sunday morning a Hmong hilltribe market at Mae Sapok Hot Springs often has handwoven shawls. Beyond town, several handicraft villages worth visiting specialize in textiles. San Kamphaeng Village (15 km east) is famous for silk and silver. I toured a silk farm there, watching silk cocoons being reeled by machine, and then saw rows of tailors sewing dresses from San Kamphaeng silk. Nearby Baan Tawai (a huge woodcarving colony) also has galleries with textile sections – I found a shop selling vintage Lanna weavings and modern fabric art. These villages aren’t markets in the traditional sense, but their many shops stock Lanna textiles alongside other crafts.
Learn to Weave: Chiang Mai Workshops
For those eager to try their hand at these age-old techniques, Chiang Mai offers many weaving workshops. One highlight is Rada Loom (Hang Dong), where weavers Khun Ong and his wife host visitors. I joined an afternoon class there and was handed a shuttle before I knew it. They specialize in sin tin chok patterns, and the bright open studio is full of looms in progress. The owners told me they can tailor lessons to what each person wants to learn.
A few seats later to me was an architect from Europe designing her own ikat pattern; a novice couple from India just wanted to try dyeing yarn in an indigo bath. Another option is Studio Naenna, which offers one-on-one weaving courses. I met a Japanese tourist who had booked their intensive five-day program. She was happy to show me a shawl she had woven using their traditional Karen backstrap looms and natural-dyed cotton (Studio Naenna’s is also offering indigo dyeing workshops, which they run seasonally)
The small class size and homey studio meant I got to handle yarn dyed on-site from leaves, and sit on the studio floor to try guiding a miniature loom. For a shorter workshop, Kalm Village in the old city recently teamed with Rada Loom to offer mini-loom classes. I attended one of these on a sunny Saturday: over two hours we set up a little frame loom and learned to weave a sample square with natural-dyed yarns. By the end I was proud of a roughly checkerboard cloth I had created, enough to sew into a coaster. The workshop cost about 690 baht and was a wonderful intro to how warps and wefts interlace.
Outside these, many hilltribe villages run basic weaving lessons. Through local tour operators (like Next Step Thailand or similar), travelers can visit Karen or Lahu communities in places like Mae Chaem or Ban Mae Kampong to learn backstrap weaving from tribal women. These are usually informal but genuine: I joined a Karen family in Doi Inthanon once and got to weave while drinking herbal tea. There are also cultural centers, such as the Weaving Center at Mae Jo University or even ad-hoc workshops in temples, which pop up during Loy Krathong fairs. For a more structured course, Chiang Mai University’s Handicraft Centre sometimes runs programs, and non-profits like the Lanna Knowledge Center host short craft seminars. In each case, I found that classes are conducted patiently, often in Thai with hands-on help. Even without knowing the language, a few Thai phrases and a lot of smiling assistance made it possible to thread a heddle or beat the weft. By the end of each session I had a small woven piece to take home. A good memory to take home or great gift to someone beloved.
Learnings
Exploring Lanna textiles around Chiang Mai felt like following golden threads through history into the present day. I left with not only armfuls of scarves and swingy sinhs, but also an understanding that each piece carries stories – of climate and geography, of kingdoms and culture, of mothers and daughters. The deep indigo of a Karen shawl, the sheen of a silver-threaded brocade, the softly patterned cotton of a weekend shirt: all these touched on the layers of northern Thai life. And everywhere I went, I found that Chiang Mai honors this legacy, for example in museums that preserve old cloth, in markets where villagers sell new ones, and in studios where even outsiders like me can learn to weave a bit of Lanna magic into a humble scrap of fabric. In short, the very spirit of Lanna identity is woven into the culture.
