Skyscrapers, Markets, Ice Cubes, Tourism, and Waterfalls... Thailand's Excesses

Hey, there’s a discount for older folks like us—like half price at certain times.

Did you manage to walk on the glass floor? It’s pretty wild seeing the bottom of the building right under your feet, like 58 floors down…

Hello, there’s a discount for oldies like us—like half price at certain times.

Hi, yeah, I’ve taken advantage of it from time to time. What I loved is that in Thailand, all seniors are treated equally. In India, the discount only applies to Indians!

Did you manage to walk on the glass floor? It’s pretty mind-blowing seeing the bottom of the building under your feet—like 58 floors down…

I wanted to try, but there were too many people, so you had to wait your turn, put on special slippers, and cameras weren’t allowed—even though that’s what I would’ve enjoyed most… Plus, I get vertigo… I would’ve been capable of sitting right in the middle and not being able to move! 🤦 But it wasn’t 58 floors—it was 81!!!

Unfortunately, there’s more than one national park in Thailand where the price board shows multiple rates for Thais—including a low or even free entry for those over 60—but right next to it, a single flat rate for foreigners.

Today, January 28th, I’m getting ready to head out at 7:30 AM. I didn’t sleep enough—I woke up at 3:30 AM and couldn’t fall back asleep. So instead of tossing and turning in bed, I got up and did laundry before planning my day. No risk of waking the neighbors since the machines are on the rooftop terrace.

One of the great things about having an apartment is the independence. I really recommend travelers who stay more than 3 or 4 days in a city to choose an apartment. It’s not more expensive than a hotel room, and it’s more spacious, better equipped, and—most importantly—you’re more independent and free.

Since I didn’t manage to see everything I wanted in Thonburi last time, I’m going back to try and find San Chao Kian An Keng, that little Chinese temple I couldn’t locate the other day. It’s unique because it’s close to two Buddhist temples, the Santa Cruz church, and the Bang Luang mosque. I really need to pinpoint its location because I read online that there’s an interesting activity happening there tomorrow for Chinese New Year.

I love heading out early, around 7 AM. The metro isn’t crowded yet—same with the river shuttles. Tourists are still asleep, and as for the Thais, I don’t know why they’re nowhere to be seen. Maybe they don’t start work that early? Or maybe they visit their local temple before facing the day, like Hindus do? Either way, this morning, the boat was almost empty again. And once more, it didn’t drop me off at the right pier. It ignored the one I asked for—maybe because I was the only one who wanted to get off there? It left me a bit further away, so I had to walk. I crossed the river on a big bridge, the Memorial Bridge.



I really like this Eiffel-style architecture.



I’m relaxed, feeling great both physically and mentally.

After crossing the bridge, I still couldn’t locate that little Chinese temple I’ve been searching for over two days. Three GPS apps ignored it… So, like I did in my first days near the Museum of Siam, I decided to ditch the GPS and follow my intuition, wandering around aimlessly. I didn’t find it, but as I walked along the fences lining the wide sidewalk, I spotted a stunning garden with lush vegetation, rock formations, caves, stone staircases, and steep paths climbing a “mountain.” Temples stood at the top.



This little park looked amazing, but it seemed well-guarded by tall, sturdy fences. I didn’t see anyone inside… It must be private property. Then, suddenly, I spotted a young couple looking for a discreet spot to hide. That meant it was accessible! They told me to keep following the fence, go around the enclosure, and the entrance was at the back. I was amazed by this garden. So many tropical trees and plants!



It felt like a jungle—an orderly, tamed one. Was this a garden inside a temple or a temple inside a garden? The center was almost entirely taken up by a large pond with a “mountain” in the middle, topped by an elegant white chedi. Other smaller but equally delicate chapels and chedis were built on the rocks. Many turtles were swimming in the “lake,” including softshell species I’d only seen in photos before. I even crossed paths with one on the path around the pond, letting me observe it up close. It was another species I’d never seen before. It seemed just as curious about me as I was about it, then, reassured by my stillness, it continued its slow, wobbly walk, ignoring me. In Buddhism, turtles are sacred. They symbolize creation, endurance, strength, and longevity.

This place was a haven of peace and serenity, perfect for my calm state of mind on this bright morning. Later, I learned it’s called Khao Mo and that the mountain represents Mount Meru. Khao Mo or Khao Mor is a traditional Thai gardening technique.



But I wasn’t done with surprises. As I left this magical space, I realized it was inside the grounds of Wat Prayurawongsawat Worawihan—a temple I didn’t even know existed or where it was located. I’d stumbled upon it completely by accident while searching for that elusive Chinese sanctuary. When I entered the temple, a ceremony was underway. Beautiful paintings adorned the walls and columns.



In this golden, luminous setting, the monks’ robes took on a whole new dimension.



I was surprised to see rows of neatly aligned chairs, like in a church, occupied by schoolgirls in uniform—white blouses, navy skirts, black shoes, and white socks. They looked like they’d stepped right out of the *Couvent des Oiseaux*. The presence of these chairs made it feel like a Christian religious service. I’d never seen chairs arranged like that in the temples I’d visited before, even during ceremonies, and I wouldn’t see it again during the rest of my trip.



Another curiosity of this temple is a massive, immaculate chedi housing Buddha relics. A large sign you can’t miss informs visitors that this monument received the UNESCO Award of Excellence for Heritage Conservation in 2013.



When you enter, you’re struck by the impressive framework supporting it.



Next to the chedi is the Phra Prayu Phantakhan, a museum of Buddha statues containing relics from Sri Lanka.

And as I go about searching for what I want to see but can’t find, I stumble upon all sorts of curiosities throughout the day. Some I’d love to track down but never manage to locate, while others are completely unexpected.

I wander off again into ignored alleyways that serve the shacks along the khlongs. I call them shacks because, to me, they’re not houses. Most are half wooden planks, half bricks, while others are entirely made of planks.

I stubbornly keep looking for San Chao Kian An Keng, so I dive deeper into the maze-like alleys of this neighborhood until I end up in front of a restaurant just opening. The owner’s welcoming smile reminds me that if I don’t want my legs to give out again, I need to eat. It’s already 11 AM—I lost track of time—so I treat myself to brunch instead of breakfast.

As is often the case in working-class neighborhoods, a large poster serves as the menu, showcasing photos of all sorts of dishes. One image in particular catches my eye: a kind of soup with shrimp and rice.

The dish turns out to be absolutely delicious. I’d even say that since I’ve been eating at the restaurant near my accommodation—recommended by my landlord and supposedly excellent—I haven’t really enjoyed it. Here, I’m licking my lips. This dish is truly delightful, hearty, and much cheaper than the other place. 140 baht.

I usually hate soup—a bad childhood memory?—but what’s in front of me is a broth filled with all sorts of vegetables, flavored with aromatic herbs I don’t recognize, incredibly fragrant, and—finally!—properly spicy.

Restaurateurs in tourist areas have gotten into the bad habit of omitting chili to cater to Western palates with delicate tastes.

What I wanted to find was the famous Portuguese quarter, descendants of Vasco de Gama. There’s a community here. I’d searched for it for so long without success, and now I stumble upon it by accident. First, the Santa Cruz Church, whose bell tower I’d seen but couldn’t find my way to in this maze. From there, I take a lovely alley that leads to a small Portuguese museum at the end.



I receive a warm welcome and am blown away by the quality of this small museum and its layout, which traces the entire history and journey of the Portuguese starting with Vasco de Gama, on large explanatory panels at ground level. Then a staircase leads upstairs, where it stands out from a typical museum by the absence of display cases. It’s set up like a reconstruction of the interior of a house from another time. No barriers, no ropes, no separations. You walk through the rooms as if you were a guest in this family from a distant era, among the antique furniture with everyday objects on display. It’s really unique and moving. You almost feel transported back in time. You’d almost expect to meet someone who’d invite you in for coffee. I’m surprised because this risky setup (theft, damage) is clearly respected by visitors, who don’t touch anything. Maybe because so few people make it here. And then the cultural self-selection of the audience does its job... I can’t help but think that if this were in India, visitors would be touching everything...

Another exit leads to a sort of balcony-terrace where you can take in a 360° view of the surrounding landscape, especially the picturesque rooftops of the old houses in this neighborhood.



On the ground floor, there’s what I’d call a “tea salon” where you can enjoy different kinds of coffee, chocolate, tea, and, of course, a whole range of must-have smoothies. The space opens onto a small but particularly well-maintained garden.



An entire section of the wall is replaced by a pretty lattice, from which numerous orchids and other lush plants hang, watered intermittently by an ingenious automatic misting system and special lighting that gives the illusion of being in a tropical forest at sunrise.

I order a coffee and ask for a “biscuit” to go with it, since I can’t remember the name of the specialty from this neighborhood, *khanom farang*. It’s a biscuit specific to this part of Thailand—and Bangkok itself. You won’t find it anywhere else. This pastry, dating back to the Ayutthaya era, is derived from Portuguese recipes but without yeast—hard to come by at the time—and made with duck eggs instead of chicken eggs. Only three bakeries still make it, one of which has been doing so for five generations. They say this little cake is divine.

So I want to try it, and I think this is my chance. The lady doesn’t quite understand the word *biscuit*. So I say “cake” to go with my coffee. - Ah, but we don’t have any. But I’ll go get some from my house. - No, no, please, that’s not necessary, it’s very kind... But she’s already gone, ignoring my response.

This lady, in her fifties, is very distinguished, with great sartorial elegance. I’d say she has a *French chic*. Her face has a very slight Thai look, with barely slanted eyes, but if I’d met her in another context, I would’ve thought she was French, Italian, or Spanish. She must have been very beautiful. And she still is.

I’m sure she’s going to bring back those little supermarket biscuits you find in every 7/11. But I was wrong—she offers me excellent little cakes. Biscuits, sure, but very refined ones she must have had at home to serve to visitors. So, to do her honor, I enjoy them with a smooth mint chocolate.

After wandering for a long time through these alleys lined with charming, flower-filled houses, I decide to head back to my den, passing through Talat Noi, whose visit I’d only just started. But first, I plan to stop by the Santa Cruz Church, which, unfortunately, is closed. There’s a small (re)seller of the bakery that makes the famous *khanom farang*. What a joy! I can finally give in to my sin of gluttony. It turns out the cake is excellent—crispy on the outside, melting in the mouth, with a flavor very close to the ladyfingers of my childhood, which triggers a *madeleine de Proust* moment that completes my happiness. I then take a sort of cemented path that runs along the river to the Memorial Bridge, which I’d crossed this morning. This almost solitary stroll by the river caps off my wonderful day in Thonburi.

I reach Talat Noi after crossing the Samphanthawong neighborhood,



where I witness some very charming local scenes that excite me, like this group of young men and women probably rehearsing a ballet (for Chinese New Year celebrations?). An older lady joins them and tries to follow all the movements, but she’s completely off-beat, waving her arms and legs in total opposition to the other dancers, who don’t seem to mind. But for me, this spectacle is particularly hilarious. It’s too bad you can’t download a video here for a travel journal.

The first time I heard about Talat Noi was almost a year ago. My landlord, knowing my taste for little-known or even unusual places, had warmly recommended it. I learned that it *had* been like that about ten years ago... But after constantly talking it up and promoting it, this forgotten neighborhood has now become very touristy. Sure, it’s not as crowded as the Grand Palace or Wat Arun, but it’s still a very popular spot, especially with young people and, above all, Asian tourists—probably even Thai tourists. The most unbearable are the girls who put on airs, creating ridiculous scenarios among themselves that take forever. When it’s couples, the man is stuck playing photographer and has to take the same shot over and over. They check each photo without moving. And you wait, wait, wait... If you signal that you’d like to take a photo too, but without them in the shot, they’re offended by your request and look around for the person who’s *supposed* to be photographed. They seem surprised not to find anyone. And for good reason—I’m alone! But what does he want? So they ask if I want to be photographed in front of the monument or the “background” object. No, I don’t want to photograph *myself*; I want to photograph what’s serving as *your* background. They’re stunned that I want to photograph a flower bed, a house facade, an old door, a statue, a wall covered in paintings... They look at each other, dumbfounded, burst out laughing... openly mocking me...

As I continue on my way, I admire old abandoned machinery at the foot of a tree while a miniature shrine nestles among its branches.



I stumble upon a magnificent old 19th-century Chinese house by complete chance: the So Heng Tai Mansion. The place is beautiful, but in my opinion, it’s ruined by an elevated pool that takes up almost the entire courtyard, which must have once been charming.



Then, they go wild with an orgy of photos and videos... By the pool, in front of the flower beds, in front of the trees, from the wooden lace gallery. They’re everywhere at once... I wait for them to leave. Oh, no! They settle in, lie down around the pool, strike lascivious poses on the gallery mattresses...



More arrive... It’s a never-ending, intrusive ballet. What am I saying? It’s like a train station with people coming and going in a continuous flow. I’m disgusted. I realize I’ve missed all my shots of this magnificent house...

Now I’m in front of the famous “Turtle Car,” a 1960s Fiat 500, the emblem of Talat Noi... The photo shoot starts all over again... It’s the Eiffel Tower of Talat Noi. People come here to see it in real life. It’s featured in photos everywhere online and in magazines and tourist brochures.



After such a beautiful day, I feel stress and irritation creeping in. I go into a “chocolate bar” nearby to calm down, but here too, it’s a tourist trap. It’s a whole production to get the famous drink at a wildly inflated price (200 baht, I think, but I should check), served in a... cardboard cup, which you drink in a cramped, dingy corner. The chocolate isn’t even hot! And it’s not great either, especially after the fabulous one I’d enjoyed a few hours earlier at the Portuguese Museum...

I move away from the crowd, wandering aimlessly, and come across some old buildings



that interest no one. Phew! Finally alone! The alley isn’t very inviting, with its dilapidated facades and barbed wire in front of the windows... But over here, the wall paintings are fresh and bright

and don’t attract visitors. The locals go about their business, no tourists in sight. I regain my footing.

The day is coming to an end. I head to the pier to go home, reflecting on the best moments of this wonderful day of wandering and trying to forget Talat Noi...

Thanks for introducing us to Khao Mor—I hadn’t heard of it and I’ll definitely check it out next time! 😊

Thanks for introducing us to Khao Mor—I’d never heard of it and I’ll definitely check it out next time!

You’re very welcome! Happy to be of help here… Not me, but what I write…

Hi Marien,

I really loved this latest detailed report—off the beaten (and re-beaten) path, factual, straight to the point, and beautifully illustrated. A “travelogue” just the way I like them.

Thanks!

Calaf

Hi Marien,

I really enjoyed this latest detailed report—off the beaten path, factual, straight to the point, and beautifully illustrated. A “feature” just the way I like them.

Thanks.

Calaf

Thanks so much, Alain—it really encourages me to keep going...

Today is Chinese New Year. I’d read online and in guidebooks that there would be extraordinary celebrations for the occasion. I was really looking forward to taking some great photos and videos.

I asked the owner of my residence where I should go to get the best view of the festivities. My question seemed to throw him off. He didn’t know what to say. He told me he’d look into it. After much thought, I figured the best spot had to be Yaowarat Road in Chinatown.

A little later, he confirmed that I should go to Yaowarat Road—everything would be happening there. But he couldn’t tell me anything about the schedule. So, I looked online and found lots of info, all saying the same thing: there’d be a dragon dance and a parade through the streets of Chinatown, starting at the Chinatown Gate, with the route going down Yaowarat Road. Every source promised a spectacular celebration. One site even listed the schedule—the parade would start at 9 AM from the Chinatown Gate.

I woke up super early this morning, at 6:30, planning to leave by 7:30 to avoid the metro crowds. But I didn’t manage to leave before 8, and I got to the Chinatown Gate at 8:30.

Before that, I’d walked down wide streets beautifully decorated with red lanterns, but completely empty of cars and pedestrians. The lack of crowds let me stumble upon a hidden courtyard of a small shrine that had been hidden from me every other time I’d been in this neighborhood. Its "sky" of red lanterns was definitely photo-worthy…



But I didn’t see anything special. There weren’t many people in the metro, and now, passersby were few and far between. I noticed lots of food stalls being set up. I saw a stage where about ten people were testing the sound system.

As I was looking around, a woman approached me and said there’d be an event at 4 PM. I didn’t quite catch what she was saying, and I didn’t ask for details because I was sure she was talking about the famous parade. But at 9 AM, still nothing was happening…

9:30 AM, still nothing. I wandered around the area to see if I could spot any signs of festive activity. But all I saw were food stalls being set up. The place was almost deserted. Just a few men seemed to be heading to work, and some women were going to or coming from the market.

Before I knew it, my feet had taken me to the Thian Fah Foundation Hospital. Here, there was a buzz of intense activity, a stark contrast to the empty streets I’d just walked through.



The reason? In the entrance courtyard stood a shrine with a magnificent statue of the bodhisattva Guanyin, dating back to the Song Dynasty—about 800-900 years old. Carved from sandalwood and gilded, it was "loaned" by China in 1958 and has been kept here ever since. The shrine, open 24/7, is very popular with Thais and Chinese who come to pray for good health, especially during Chinese New Year.



Once again, I didn’t feel very steady on my feet, and I was relieved to see some chairs lined up in front of the shrine entrance. Unfortunately, they were all taken. But seeing my disappointed face—or maybe the fatigue and my age showing—a woman gave me her seat, and I practically collapsed into it. I was still waiting for the dragon dance and parade, but I realized I wasn’t in any shape to handle the crowds and festivities.

I stayed a while, watching the devotees and taking some photos,



then decided to grab a bite to try to fix my low blood pressure. And since it was Chinese New Year, I figured I’d celebrate in my own way—with brunch, since it was only 10:30 AM. But not just any brunch—I was going to try the restaurant Joel had recommended.

The menu was impressive, spanning several pages with mouthwatering photos. I couldn’t decide what to order, so I went for roast duck with Hong Kong-style stir-fried noodles.

For the duck, there were three portion sizes: small, medium, and large. Not knowing what to expect, I chose medium, worried that "small" wouldn’t be enough and "large" would be too much. Too much is too much.

When the dishes finally arrived—after a pretty long wait—I was stunned! The medium-sized duck would’ve been more than enough for two people. I’d ordered the noodles to go with the duck, but it turned out to be a dish packed with all sorts of meats: pork, shrimp, squid, and another "meat" I couldn’t identify, even after tasting it.



The whole meal was absolutely massive. Both dishes were delicious but not salty enough and not spicy at all. I had to ask for salt and chili to liven up the flavors.

I paid 600 baht, about 17 €. Basically, I’d just stuffed myself with the equivalent of three generous portions. Quick math: in a restaurant like this in France, I would’ve paid 25 or 30 € for just one of those dishes.

I won’t be eating like this every day, but I was hungry, wanted to try a "real" restaurant for a change from the street stalls, and needed to see if eating more would help with my low blood pressure…

But I hadn’t accounted for post-meal hypotension, which I’ve had for the past two years. I could barely stand. Walking was tough. I felt like I was going to collapse…

It was past noon, and there was still no sign of any parade. Traffic on Yaowarat Road had gotten much heavier. At this point, it was either too late or too early for a parade.

- That woman who told you this morning was right. The dragon parade will be at 4 PM, maybe even a little later. We’re in Thailand. You can’t stand up—you need to rest, lie down. Go back to your room.

I listened to my inner voice without arguing and headed straight for the metro.

But what a shock! A flood, a torrent of people was pouring out of the metro entrance. The crowd was so thick I couldn’t move forward—I was even swept along in the opposite direction, away from the platform. The color of Chinese New Year is bright red, poppy red. Every Thai was wearing something scarlet, from simple T-shirts to elaborate, refined dresses and tunics. You could tell they were all wearing something new for the occasion…

I tried to push my way into the corridor leading to the platforms, but it kept spewing out a sea of people. No one was going in, but thousands were coming out. Finally, I spotted a man fighting his way through the crowd, trying to get in. Without hesitation, I grabbed onto his jacket and waist, and he elbowed his way through, opening a path for us.

As soon as I lay down, I fell into a deep sleep. Luckily, I’d set an alarm. It woke me up after more than two hours of napping. I felt completely refreshed, ready to face the crowds—this time in the right direction.

I left my room a little before 4 PM. The metro was crowded, but not as bad as at noon.

But getting out was still chaotic. Everyone wanted to be first—pushing, shoving, stepping on each other. A repeat of the midday scene. This time, I let the crowd carry me along, and I emerged onto Yaowarat Road.

Here, it was a full-on fair—stalls everywhere, covering the sidewalks. Lots of food, but also vendors selling red items in every form: clothes, caps, shoes,



toys for kids…



Pedestrians were walking in the street.

I started walking in the middle of the road too, when I suddenly noticed sturdy metal barriers set up along the sidewalk, right at the edge of the street. Lots of onlookers were already leaning against them—I realized these were the smart ones, reserving the best spots for the parade. Since I wanted to be in the front row for photos, I joined them on the sidewalk and claimed a good spot so I wouldn’t be blocked.

It was a little past 4:30 PM.

Soon after, a French couple took the spot next to me. I heard them talking but didn’t let on—I didn’t feel like making small talk, answering the same old questions: Where are you from? Where are you going? Where are you staying? First time in Thailand?

They asked a Dutch guy—who seemed to know a lot about Chinese New Year customs—for info, since they were also there for the parade. More French and English people joined us, and my space shrank like a drying puddle.

Everyone was waiting for the parade, and questions were flying. Everyone was just as clueless as their neighbor. When would the fantastic dragon procession start? Joel had warned me: Watch out—the dragon might jump on you!

An hour later, the crowd was still waiting. The barriers were packed on both sides of the street.

Suddenly, a noise spread and grew louder: "It’s starting! It’s about to begin!"

Sure enough, the security team was clearing the street…

Then, a line of about ten men and women marched forward, perfectly aligned, like they were charging into battle, armed with huge coconut brooms. They started sweeping the street.



I noticed it was almost unnecessary—the street wasn’t really dirty. Here, the crowd was respectful. You didn’t see plastic cups, cardboard plates, or food wrappers like you would in India, where public spaces often look like landfills…

Following the broom brigade, other staff came with big shovels to pick up the few bits of trash the brooms had gathered. I was both puzzled and amused to see onlookers pointing out tiny scraps of paper—no bigger than cigarette butts—to the cleaners. Cigarette butts? There weren’t any—it’s illegal to throw them on the street in Thailand.

In no time, the street was spotless…

I figured it had to be "pure" for the dragon’s arrival as a divine being…

From that moment on, we waited… and waited… and waited.

I took the opportunity to adjust my camera and phone settings. Every half hour, then every fifteen minutes, I had to tweak them as the light faded into early evening. Finally, night fell, and still nothing. More than two hours had passed since I’d been standing there.



I realized my Gargantuan meal had done its job—I no longer felt like my legs were made of rubber; they were holding me up firmly. But standing still for so long, I felt like they were sinking into my torso…

Everyone around me was wondering when the dragon would arrive…

When I say everyone, I mean the tourists… The Thais weren’t showing the same impatience. They must be used to waiting, I thought.

At one point, more irritated than impatient questions started flying in English… A security guard answered: "In ten minutes."

Another hour passed… I felt a pain in my chest. There it was—my femur was practically hitting my ribcage from standing in one spot for so long.

Finally, just before 8 PM, a procession appeared… Old-fashioned but brand-new, bright red buses, packed with men and women sitting inside, all wearing scarlet shirts and T-shirts.



My neighbors and I had no idea who they were or what they were doing, but the Thai crowd cheered and applauded wildly. The passengers waved back just as enthusiastically.

Who were these people? I still don’t know…

I heard comments in French, English, Spanish… Everyone thought this was the "advance guard." Personally, I was surprised there wasn’t a marching band announcing the famous dragon and its procession…

A procession? Yes—a procession of about ten huge Mercedes followed the buses.

The first car had tinted windows—you couldn’t see anything inside. Rumor had it that the king’s daughter was inside. She wasn’t veiled, but she was hidden from the crowd by the tinted (maybe bulletproof?) windows. Who knows?

You don’t see the king much in Thailand. It’s said he prefers to live it up in Switzerland. He can afford it—his fortune is colossal. He’s often represented by his sister or daughter… But that’s just hearsay. I’m not stating anything as fact…

Behind this first car with its dark windows were about ten or twelve huge Mercedes, each driven by a single chauffeur—no one else inside. No tinted windows. What were these Mercedes for? Why so many… and empty? The king’s garage?… It was a mystery to me. Once these cars passed, we waited to hear a marching band and… finally, the parade.

But the Thais started dispersing like nothing had happened, and the security team began removing the barriers. In the blink of an eye, the crowd rushed onto the street, and it was all over.

And us tourists? We were left looking like idiots. There’s no other word for it. Then we burst out laughing. My neighbors naturally started talking to me in French. But how on earth did they know I was French? I hadn’t said a single word to them during those three and a half hours of waiting. I’d only communicated with smiles…

Three and a half hours to see an invisible princess, "veiled" behind her tinted windows…

I was disgusted. I went back to my room, frustrated—there wasn’t any other activity in sight. What was the point of the massive speakers I’d seen that morning, supposedly blasting music a kilometer away?

The euphoric crowd kept moving in a continuous flow. They were happy.

To wrap up the evening, I noticed a long line in front of a stall. What were they selling? I got closer and saw little pastel-colored cakes that looked delicious. Yellow, purple, pink, orange—each color had a flavor listed on the label: pineapple, redcurrant, rose, orange, blackcurrant. They were rolled in powdered sugar and looked incredibly tasty and creamy. I hadn’t seen them anywhere else in Bangkok, so I was ready to buy ten of each color—they weren’t expensive. But my inner voice chimed in: - You’re not going to buy that many without knowing if they’re as good as they look… - Oh, right. I’ll just take one to try.

But seeing the long line and how fast the cakes were selling, I bought five—one of each color. I tore into the bag right away. As soon as I bought them, I ate them. Unfortunately, they were bland! The supposed powdered sugar was just tasteless rice flour. The one I had in my mouth—supposed to be pineapple-flavored (pineapples are so sweet and fragrant in Thailand)—was a sticky ball, like gelatin, unsweetened, with some kind of undefined jelly inside that tasted just as vague and didn’t match the flavor on the label.

As soon as I took a bite, the jelly started dripping onto my fingers. So I shoved the whole thing into my mouth, which instantly filled with this disgusting mush that didn’t melt or dissolve with my saliva. It just sat there between my palate and lower jaw, and I had no choice but to swallow it whole after chewing it a bit—with no improvement in taste.

I put the rest in my bag. I’d deal with it in my room…

At that moment, I noticed a woman on the sidewalk… - A woman? - Yes, a woman—but a monstrous one. Her legs were terribly atrophied, almost nonexistent, and so were her arms. At the end of those stumps, no hands—just two fingers. In India, she would’ve been perfect for one of those bastard pimps who exploit beggars. Maybe it’s the same here?

She wasn’t asking for anything, just looking. A look that didn’t ask for anything. A look that didn’t seek pity. Just a look, like any other. I wish hers hadn’t met mine. I felt ashamed to feel so well, to be who I am at my age… and to complain about my own condition.

I awkwardly offered her the bag of cakes, which she grabbed between her two fingers, like a pair of tweezers.

In India, once, I’d offered food to a beggar like this. He almost threw it back in my face. His pimp probably wanted money, not chapatis… This woman thanked me warmly and blessed me with the tips of her stumps.

And that’s how my Chinese New Year day in Bangkok came to an end.

Maybe my biggest disappointment of this trip…

To date, 121 openings of this previous message... Surprising... thanks for being interested in what I’m sharing...

A truly beautiful walk today, once again guided by my Guardian Angel, Providence, my Lucky Star, Chance—whatever name you prefer to call it. I’d planned to visit the temples I missed last time in Thonburi. I hadn’t managed to find them—or more precisely, some were too far from where I was. Others were way down south while I was up north in Thonburi. Plus, the names I’d noted online from blogs or been given by kind souls were misspelled, so the GPS didn’t recognize them.



This morning, I spotted them clearly and grouped them into one area (within a two-to-four-kilometer radius) based on the nearest metro station and how easy it’d be to get back to my accommodation at the end of the day, since by then, I’m pretty exhausted. So I make sure there’s an accessible metro or bus to take me back to my room. From these temples as my landmarks, I deliberately wander into small streets whenever I spot something interesting. Today, I don’t get lost—I *choose* to venture off through little alleys. The modest houses are still decorated with flowers, plants, and even pretty fountains filled with goldfish.



Sometimes it takes me off course, adding extra kilometers... At this early hour, I have no idea I’ll end up walking 15km.

I stumble upon temples that weren’t on my list at all.



Every time I spot one in the distance, I take a detour. Same goes for old, picturesque houses. I barely run into any tourists, but plenty of Thais making their devotions in the temples. They act like I don’t exist. They see me taking photos, don’t seem bothered, but don’t try to make it easier for me either. They come and go as if I’m not there... So sometimes it’s hard to get a good shot without a head or arm suddenly popping into the frame. But it’s fine—I stay patient and watch their movements. I wait for them to leave. Though sometimes it takes *forever*. It’s understandable—we tourists disrupt their religious practice. They have priority. It’s their home, so I let them be. But it can be *really* long. They bring offerings...



They do this, they do that, arrange flowers, then pray, chat, and always end up taking photos of the temple, what they’ve placed there, what they’ve done.

Often, someone points out a particularly revered chapel or statue. This one, with its red eyes and pointy ears, reminds me more of the Devil, Satan, Beelzebub, or Lucifer than Buddha...



For example, today I arrive at a large temple with many buildings. Everything seems closed. The place is deserted and eerie. Since I don’t see an exit, I’m about to leave... But a woman—who doesn’t seem like an employee but rather a nun or devotee taking care of the place—approaches me. She speaks to me in English, but I don’t understand a word because of her accent. I catch bits and pieces where she explains in great detail: - If you want to take photos, you have to go *there*, *there*, *there*, and *there*... You can enter here, then go that way... Start with this spot first. You’ll see a reclining Buddha... Cross over, and then you’ll reach another chapel... I find her advice really interesting and kind because I was about to leave—and sure enough, these are unique features not mentioned in guidebooks or talked about by tourists, things they don’t visit or care about... And I *love* discovering these unusual, off-the-beaten-path aspects.



As I leave, hunger hits me hard... - Oh right, you haven’t eaten anything since this morning. You’ve only had a liter of tea in your stomach... Or rather, in your bladder... That’s silly—you should’ve taken advantage of being in that temple... Actually, all temples have spotlessly clean restrooms. Super practical and comfortable. Need to pee? Find a temple! You’ll never wait long—there’s one *everywhere*.

At first, I don’t find any food stalls. I spot a tiny place that passes for a restaurant, run by two guys with two tables on the sidewalk, but they only offer one or two dishes. Not very tempting, and the place doesn’t look inviting. Plus, no customers. When it’s empty, I get suspicious. *Very* suspicious. As I keep walking, I come across a huge hall—really tall, like a market hall—but it’s not one, or maybe it’s closed that day or at that hour. Inside, I see a total mess of clutter. Right at the entrance of this chaos, there’s a food stall! I check the photos. They don’t speak to me. Everything’s written in Thai. The owner comes over and tries to explain, but I don’t understand a word.



Luckily, my phone works miracles. The camera does instant translations line by line. Just point it at the text, and the translation appears on the screen. Magic! Nothing tempts me—I’m about to leave when *She* intervenes. - You HAVE to eat! You’ve been up since 5 AM and haven’t had anything solid—YOU NEED to fuel up.

I take a closer look. There are lots of tables—sign of a busy spot. A quick scan reveals a table where three Thais are stuffing their faces, and two others occupied by a big local family. The place must be popular.



I order chicken rice and curry and some “crunchy” cabbage. When the dishes arrive, the “chicken” curry also has pork, shrimp, and *something else* I can’t identify—plus a ton of veggies. Either way, it’s absolutely delicious. The “crunchy” cabbage isn’t very crunchy but tastes divine with its pork and subtle seasonings. I feast for a total of 150 baht. The cost of this meal makes up for yesterday’s 600-baht one. I hear that little voice again: - You need to eat like this every day. Your weak legs? That’s because you’re not eating enough.

For two or three years now, I’ve been doing intermittent fasting—one meal a day. But when you only eat once, it has to be *big*, and mine’s just normal or even small. - Yeah, and you’re messing up completely. You need to eat more at lunch and see how you feel when you get back—whether you’ve gained weight or not. Too bad if you put on a few pounds, but you *really* need to eat more. And if you do gain weight, it won’t necessarily be fat. You’ll see if your leg weakness goes away.

After this excellent lunch, I continue my temple circuit. I’d given up on visiting temples, thinking: *Oh, temples are all the same, they look alike.* But it’s like churches. Yeah, they’re all similar in their religious aspect, but they’re all different. Here, the Buddhas are always unique, in different settings.





I visit five or six, then head back, exhausted, after a wonderful day that makes up for yesterday’s Chinese New Year disappointment.

I get home at 6:30 PM, thinking about going to the night market near me. But after long days like this, once I’m back, I shower and don’t feel like going out again. I look at my day’s photos, send a couple of messages, and before I know it, it’s bedtime—not time to go wandering, even if I’ve rested a bit. Plus, yesterday I went to bed at midnight and woke up at 5:30 AM, but I took my time lounging and planning my route. I didn’t leave before 9:30 AM. Today, my legs held up much better. I think I wasn’t eating enough. I’ve noticed that over the past two or three days, since I’ve been eating more, I’m starting to feel good. Today, I walked normally. Occasionally, my foot would catch or I’d stumble a little, but it wasn’t as debilitating as it’s been since the start of this trip.

I read you when I can, sometimes a bit disjointedly and other times just skimming, and even though Thailand doesn’t particularly catch my eye, I always love your incredibly subjective and vivid stories. Through them, I discover this country, so different from other travel journals. But it could be in Georgia, Chile, Zambia, or New Zealand—this unique travel perspective wouldn’t change. We’re reading Marien; the place is secondary. I love it.

I read you when I can, sometimes a bit scattered and other times just skimming, and even though Thailand doesn’t particularly catch my eye, I always love your incredibly subjective and vivid stories. Through them, I discover this country, so different from other travel journals. But it could be Georgia, Chile, Zambia, or New Zealand—your unique travel perspective wouldn’t change. We’re reading Marien; the place is secondary. I love that.

😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂

January 31st and February 1st mark the end of my stay in Bangkok.

I’m back to square one today. I’m exhausted, my legs are wobbly, and once again I feel like I’m on a boat, even though I ate well yesterday and just slept for 11 hours straight. I’ll spend these two days picking up a few essentials before heading off to more bucolic skies.

Before leaving the Big City, my fortune-teller friend—who’s a bit of a "witch"—has tasked me with finding her some hard-to-come-by stones and crystals at a good price for her shop and her lithotherapy practice. I also need to track down the main Sony dealer. There must be one in this Asian Megacity. The internal battery in my camera is dead and needs replacing. Only a Sony technician can do it, as the camera has to be opened. So, I need to find this dealer. Google points me to "Central World." Located just three BTS stations (the elevated metro, also known as the "sky train") from my accommodation, I decide to walk there.

I’d sworn I wouldn’t set foot in any of Bangkok’s big shopping malls. I had too many preconceptions: - I didn’t come to Thailand to visit shopping malls where the luxury is obscene. - Yeah, but when you’re in Chiang Mai, you’ll regret not having the guts to change your battery... - Fair point. I really need this battery, as the failure forces me to reset everything every time I switch to an external one. And when it happens in the middle of scenes that can’t wait or can’t be interrupted for long—like a parade, a show, or a spectacular theyyam—it’s pretty annoying.

Wat Pathum Wanaram Rachaworawihan is on my way and very close to Central World. Even though I claim to be templed-out, it’d be silly not to pop in for a quick visit.



And I don’t regret it—I’m amazed by the magnificence of the sanctuary.



When I step inside Central World, I’m blown away by the sheer size and opulence of the place. I’ve been avoiding cities—whether in Europe or India—for the past six or eight years, especially big shopping malls. In both my countries, I live happily (sometimes unhappily) in a quiet village. So, this poor, naive provincial had never imagined such luxury and scale.



Surely, I’ll find a Sony dealer here who can fix my internal battery issue. Alas! After endless bows and obsequious smiles, and after searching the entire store for someone who speaks English, I’m told they don’t have the part and that I need to go to the official dealer at "Siam Paragon"—Bangkok’s most megalomaniacal shopping mall—where they’ll definitely be able to repair it.

Fate, Providence, my Guardian Angel, my Lucky Star, or... Ganesh must’ve been at work, because the biggest wholesale dealer of therapeutic, "energetic," "magical," or decorative stones and crystals is also in this area. My three GPS apps pinpoint it, but once I’m there, I can’t find it. All I see is another shopping mall—this one ordinary, even a bit shabby, clearly catering to a "broke" clientele. After searching in vain for a long time, I’m about to leave when a shopkeeper, who must’ve noticed my comings and goings, asks what I’m looking for. Once I explain, he tells me I need to go to the basement. I hadn’t even noticed there *was* a basement—the stairs and escalators leading down are so well hidden in a dark, out-of-the-way corner, devoid of shops. You’d have to know it’s there! Not many customers must venture down there.

The entire floor is packed with Indian and Afghan lapidary shops. No Thais. The one I’m looking for has an absolutely incredible selection. I step into Ali Baba’s Cave. Unfortunately, the salesman is glued to his phone and doesn’t even look up at me. I walk around all the display cases and huge baskets overflowing with treasures, but the guy doesn’t spare me a minute. I’m so shocked by his behavior that I leave without saying a word either. Once outside, I realize this is a wholesale shop, and the guy must’ve taken me for a tourist (which I am) and wasn’t interested in selling just one or two stones.

I’ve spent too long here and don’t feel like going to Siam Paragon now. So, I wander around this lively neighborhood before heading "home." I shoot some surprising videos for my potential travel journal that perfectly capture the atmosphere here. (Little did I know it’d be IMPOSSIBLE to upload them to VF.) It’s on my way back that I make a pretty astonishing discovery: a street... elevated... and covered—even, I’d say, "indoor." The elevated exit from the BTS leads to a long, wide covered gallery, high above the road and sidewalks.



This walkway leads to what’s called a "walk" (a "promenade"?). It’s a long, lavish path lined with luxury shops—again!—somehow embedded in a new, elongated shopping mall stretching for hundreds of meters across multiple levels. But from what I can see, only the floor I’m on serves as a "street" for the many pedestrians, while the equally opulent lower levels remain almost deserted.



Then this "walk" opens up into another long covered alley, dozens of meters above the real street. That must add up to at least two kilometers of some kind of "indoor promenade" towering over the actual avenue. (I didn’t count or calculate.) Again, I’m stunned by this new excess.

The next day wraps up my stay in Bangkok, since I’m not counting the following day, which will be spent leaving for Chiang Mai—I won’t have the mind or time to plan any visits.

I head to Siam Paragon to find my battery. When I step inside, I’m dumbfounded. Today’s excess surpasses yesterday’s—and even surpasses anything I could’ve imagined about the excess of a shopping mall.



I rush to find the Sony dealer lost in this mercantile Babylon. Unfortunately, here too, I’m told they don’t have the part on-site, that the camera has to be sent to a special repair service, and that it won’t be done in less than eight to ten days. I can’t go without my camera for that long. - Too bad for you—you should’ve thought of that in France and sent it in for repair when you didn’t need it.

I then venture into this labyrinth of galleries and levels.



I spend no less than three hours exploring every nook and cranny of this demonic lair with hundreds of shops competing in luxury, light, and visual eccentricity. I rub my eyes, thinking I’m dreaming, when I see "car dealerships." Here, they sell cars like they’d sell a pair of shoes. Oh, this morning I went shopping at Siam Paragon and bought myself a big TV, a gorgeous red dress, and... a beautiful car. Of course, I’ve seen cars displayed in malls before, but only one or two, for advertising, and in the lobby—not in a shop between a clothing store and a cosmetics one.



What interests me here isn’t the shops or what’s in their windows, but their signs, their lights, their ultra-modern design—it’s being able to indulge my passion for photography. The subjects for shots present themselves endlessly: lines, triangles, rectangles, parallelepipeds cut by circles, spheres, and ellipses. The wildest curves intertwine harmoniously with each other, as well as with parallels, perpendiculars, horizontals, verticals, and diagonals. As for the colors, they explode in a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting forms.



I alternate between hundreds of photos and videos—not to film the shops, but for the extravagance of the architecture, the lights, and the most psychedelic colors. It’s a nice change from temples!!!

Now that’s what I call having an eye for things… and definitely a good nose for them too! 🙂

Oh yeah, shopping malls have become the new temples of consumer society…

And you haven’t even been to Icon Siam yet!

Hi Denis

And you haven’t even been to Icon Siam yet....

I had no idea there was something even bigger... I just looked it up online... : “over 7,000 shops, 100 restaurants, and even a floating market.” Thailand’s sheer scale... I wasn’t wrong with my title... I had no clue it existed. And to think I wandered so much around Thonburi...

“The best way to get to IconSiam is by taking the free boats that leave from Sathorn Pier, which is connected to the BTS Saphan Taksin station. These boats run every 10 minutes between 9:00 AM and 11:00 PM and only take 5 minutes to cross the river.”

My favorite pier for boarding/disembarking, often used for my trips... So close to where I stayed... Maybe I’ll go next time... If I return to Thailand... Just for the photos... I love modern architecture and its boldness, despite its madness and extravagance.

I can’t stop thinking that even after 2 weeks in Bangkok, I must’ve missed so many places...

Today is my last day in Bangkok. I have to check out of my room by 11 AM. That’s a good time for me—it gives me enough time to pack up all my things. I was thinking of leaving my luggage at the hotel and taking one last stroll not too far away until around 4:30 PM, since my bus leaves at 7:30 PM. But I’ve changed my mind because I don’t want to miss my bus to Chiang Mai because of traffic. I’ll leave as soon as I’m ready. I’ll drop my bags at the bus station’s left-luggage office and head to Chatuchak Market, which I skipped last weekend.

It’s my last day in Bangkok, and I want to make the most of it, even though it’s time to move on to new horizons—even if I really loved Bangkok.

Here I am at the bus station. No one explained anything to me. I don’t know what I need to do to find my bus. I think I need to look for the company’s office to find out the platform number. Used to the chaos in India, I’m a little nervous... I imagine I’ll have to search for my bus in the mess of all the ones leaving in every direction... But to my surprise, I discover a remarkable level of organization. It feels like an airport, where everything is well-planned.

After showing my ticket at the general information desk, I’m told I need to "check in" at counter number 14. I widen my eyes and rack my brain, but I have to face the facts—there’s no counter 14. They go straight from 13 to 15. If we were in Europe, I’d understand there’s no counter 13, just like there’s never a room 13 in hotels...

I praised the organization too soon. It was too good to be true... The disappearance of counter 14 is a problem because neither 13 nor 15 handles my company or my destination. So now, I think: *Well, this is just like India!* - *Just go to 15, you’ll see what they tell you...*

- *It’s not here!* the girl snaps at me like a prison guard with a whip in hand. The Land of Smiles, they told me! I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been snapped at. - *I know, but I was told to go to 14, and I don’t see a counter 14.*

She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m lost and don’t know what to do. I’ve noticed several times during my stay that Thais, especially in tourist areas, are so used to travelers who know the country and its customs like they were born there that they never imagine someone could be visiting for the first time and not understand how things work. The shrew finally gives me a sort of "boarding pass" with the platform number where I need to go. Why did this monkey make such a fuss when she was perfectly capable of handling my case herself? With this "boarding pass" in hand, I feel reassured. Like at an airport, all I have to do now is go to the indicated platform.

Another mutual misunderstanding at the left-luggage office. The employee only takes my suitcase and refuses the small insulated backpack containing all my photo gear and other electronic accessories. (It’s small but heavy, and I don’t feel like wandering around Chatuchak Market with that weight on my back.) - *Only one bag!* - *Oh, really? Isn’t it possible to leave more than one bag?* I point out that the woman before me left three! So why am I limited to just one? The misunderstanding drags on for a while before she finally explains that the fee—*a bit high*, she thinks—applies to each bag. And she had decided I wouldn’t want to pay that excessive price for a simple little backpack on top of my suitcase...

Finally unburdened, I can head to Chatuchak Market while I wait for my bus. It’s barely noon. Not a square centimeter of shade! Tourists never cease to amaze me. They constantly complain about the heat, yet here they are—hundreds, no, thousands—parading in the midday sun without seeming the least bit bothered. Meanwhile, I’m used to the heat—I love it and usually handle it well—but I feel scorched by this sun at its zenith.

I both love and hate this place. It’s true that everything you can find here amazes me, especially the clothes. There’s even too much choice. If I had to buy something, I’d be unable to decide in this flood of clothing. I stop in my tracks in front of a patchwork shorts in shades of green. But if I ask the price, I’m done for. I’ll have to buy them after a long haggling session. And I don’t have the energy to negotiate, try them on, or even reopen my suitcase to make room for them. I had told myself I’d do my shopping in the last two days, unless I found something special in Chiang Mai. Unfortunately, I’ll be back on March 4th and 5th, and it won’t be a weekend... As I write this and look at the photo of the shorts, I really regret my moment of laziness. I’d love to be wearing those shorts in this heatwave, which is just as intense as the ones in India and Thailand.

The heat is overwhelming. Once again, I feel like I’m on a boat in rough seas. For the first time since I arrived in Thailand and walked 15 km every day, I’m dripping with sweat. I’m not just dripping—I’m streaming! And I’ve only walked 4 or 5 km. My shirt is absolutely soaked, especially on the back. And as a result, my backpack is also completely wet. This never happened during my entire stay in Bangkok, even though I walked much more... But it’s true that the market is in full sun. I try to stay in the shade of the shops and stalls. To find some relief, I treat myself to a proper meal in a real restaurant, knowing that with this crowd, I might be disappointed... Indeed, the young woman advises me: - *This dish isn’t very spicy, sir...* - *On the contrary, I want something VERY spicy, very hot...*

After my excellent meal, as usual, my balance issues get worse. I stagger with every step. I feel like my head weighs a hundred kilos and my legs are made of rubber, barely holding me up. I still can’t figure out the cause to try to fix this discomfort. I’ll see this trip through to the end—I won’t let my guard down. I think it’s also a dehydration issue, even though I drink a lot. But I also sweat a lot... From time to time, guided by my inner voice, I make wise decisions. So I head back to the bus station.

I arrive very early. I have more than two hours to wait. But I couldn’t take the noise and the crowd at the market anymore, not to mention my balance problems.

To keep myself busy, I do some mental math. I saved 20,000 baht from my planned budget for Bangkok. That gives me a good margin to rent a car and go for a drive. But I’m a little worried because everything costs about double—or even more than double—compared to the cost of living in India, especially food... In India, when I go to a nice restaurant, I pay at most the equivalent of three euros. Here, in an average restaurant, I have to count on five or six euros each time, which can even go up to seven. So I’ve stuck to street food or small eateries. But even that is relatively expensive compared to my "Indian" budget. They told me you could get a meal for 70 to 80 baht, but restaurants all align their prices, and you have to count on about 120, 150, or even 200 baht for a basic dish. And if you want something other than pork or chicken, it’s immediately 250 or even 350 baht. A good point of comparison is coconut water. 70 to 80 baht for a coconut—more often 80 than 70—that’s two euros. In India, it’s 50 rupees, which is barely a little over 0.50 euro. The difference is the same for almost all products. I couldn’t stay six months in Thailand like I do in India—I wouldn’t have the budget. Anyway, I realize it’s getting harder to travel at my age. Especially alone. I’m afraid this might be my last trip outside India. In India, it’s different because I have my own place year-round. I stay six months, and I manage my budget very well, even while paying the rent for my apartment in France...

Unable to stand the fatigue, heat, and boredom any longer, I go to platform 53 (I don’t remember the exact number anymore) where my bus to Chiang Mai is supposed to leave. Then a Sombat company vehicle arrives, clearly marked CHIANG MAI. I’m surprised because I still have an hour before departure... But since I’m still under the impression that it’s not the chaos and last-minute rush like in India, I prefer to board the vehicle and wait inside rather than standing on the platform. I approach and show my "boarding pass." - *This isn’t the one—you’re very early. Go sit over there and watch the big screen to see when your bus will be at the platform.*

No sooner said than done. I sit facing the screen, and to distract myself, I watch the incredible number of buses coming and going throughout the bus station and on platform 53. I love these bus station, airport, and train station atmospheres—I love watching people. You see all kinds... I imagine who they are, what their lives are like... And my wait becomes less painful... At the speed and frequency of departures from different companies and destinations, I revise my judgment. The vehicles arrive and leave very quickly after filling up with passengers. So I don’t take my eyes off the screen. I’m too afraid of missing my departure. More than ever, I feel like I’m in an airport. I see the schedules, destinations, company names, and platform numbers appear as time goes on... but there’s never a Sombat vehicle for Chiang Mai at platform 53.

I’m not going to play the worried old man and go complain again. It’s well-organized—everything is clear on the board, which keeps updating. If the bus isn’t displayed yet, it must be late or will arrive at the last minute. - *Yes, but*, my little voice remarks, *all the other buses are announced 10 to 15 minutes before the scheduled departure. Yours is in 10 minutes—go wait at platform 53 instead of sitting here...* She’s right again, my little voice... So I grab my suitcase and bags and return to platform 53. No bus, and few passengers waiting. I notice at platform 52, right next to it, a Sombat bus filling up with passengers. Most of them are European tourists. Where are all these *farangs* going? I check its destination in case they changed the platform number at the last minute... It’s not Chiang Mai at all. Now I’m starting to worry. A Thai woman who’s been watching me fidget and constantly check my watch or "boarding pass" approaches me: - *Where are you going?* - *Chiang Mai* - *Sombat?* - *Yes!* - *Hurry, that’s the one—it’s leaving...* she says, pointing to the one that was parked at platform 52 and just started moving. She shouts, calls out, and says I’m going to Chiang Mai. The bus stops abruptly. And the idiot who told me I was too early grabs my suitcase and practically shoves me into the bus. He couldn’t have missed seeing me waiting at platform 53. He never thought to ask which bus I was waiting for. He, the driver, and the hostess were too busy joking and laughing like whales and hunchbacks. As soon as my butt hits the seat, the bus takes off and whisks us away to Chiang Mai. Spending the morning at the bus station, then several hours this afternoon after my brief trip to Chatuchak Market, and finally an hour before departure at the platform—and still almost missing the bus—would have been the last straw!

It’s a luxury bus with only 20 seats, featuring a reclining seat, a screen like on a plane, a toilet, and other amenities... As long as you stay seated, the seat—very wide, like a real living room armchair—is really comfortable, but the reclining part is ridiculously short. There isn’t enough room to stretch out my legs, and yet I’m not very tall. I’m forced to sleep in the fetal position... That’s usually how I fall asleep at home, but afterward, I have room to move during my sleep and change positions. Here, I’m stuck, stuck, stuck... And it’s a real freezer. And yet I had planned ahead—I wore my ski jacket. In the end, it was a very long and very uncomfortable trip that I won’t repeat if I ever have to do the Bangkok-Chiang Mai route again.

No kidding, those are routes for young people, and even then, because they don’t have the budget to do it any other way. Since we plan our trips a year in advance, we used to do the same for our domestic flight bookings. For two people, we’ve always paid less than 100 € for that kind of trip on AirAsia. Some say it’s the same when you factor in the transfer and waiting time at the airport. But when your flight is barely an hour long, you feel like you’ve landed right after takeoff—you really notice what you’ve gained and the fatigue you’ve saved yourself.

Otherwise, reading your post, it sounds like your trip was one long ordeal. I hope you didn’t actually feel that way!

No kidding, those are routes for young people, and even then, because they don’t have the budget to do otherwise. Planning our trips a year in advance, we did the same for our domestic flight bookings. For two people, we’ve always paid less than 100 € for that kind of trip on AirAsia. Some say it’s the same when you factor in the transfer and waiting time at the airport. But when your flight is barely an hour long, you feel like you’ve just landed right after takeoff—you realize what you’ve gained and the fatigue you’ve saved yourself.

You seem to think I took this bus to save money (stinginess?), which isn’t the case at all. I had other reasons—personal ones—for choosing to do this trip on a luxury bus instead of flying. Your way of traveling is different from mine.

Otherwise, from what I read, it feels like your trip was a real ordeal. You didn’t actually feel that way, I hope?

My dear friend, another one of your interpretations! This travel journal is a testimony. A sincere account of how it unfolded. I’m not complaining, I’m just sharing what I experienced, how I handled certain unexpected situations, and the conditions under which I did it. If, for you, my trip was a real ordeal, that’s purely your very personal take. IT WASN’T FOR ME! Again, we all travel differently... I’m pretty sure that in the same health conditions, you would’ve contacted your insurance and asked for a repatriation too. I preferred to carry on and make the best of it...

We shouldn’t constantly attribute ideas and intentions to others that they don’t have. After a while, it starts to look like a pathology—one that requires treatment unless the brain is affected, in which case there’s nothing to be done. And if you wanted to seriously annoy your neighbor, you couldn’t go about it any better.

From now on, before each of my posts, I’ll send you the text I plan to share, and you can correct, adjust, or censor it as needed.

Several times during my stay, I noticed that Thais, especially in tourist areas, are so used to all these travelers who know the country and its customs as if they were born there, that they never imagine someone could be visiting for the first time and not understand anything about how things work.

So it’s kind of the opposite of India, where they tend to think it’s always your first time visiting 😄 In the end, I’m not too surprised this is a common attitude in Thailand. From a distance, it feels like the sheer volume of tourists in certain places—especially those made up of regulars, residents, or quasi-residents—makes Thais view their presence as practically native.

Anyway, I’m still reading this travel journal, which I really enjoy because it’s so lively. The impressions are spontaneous, contrasting, and don’t try to paint a purely positive or negative image of the country. It just shows how the author subjectively experienced it. And it still hasn’t made me want to try Thailand!

I also really enjoy reading this so-vivid account—it feels so "in the moment"! Can’t wait for the next part…

There’s everything here. Many Thais started explaining the country or life to us, assuming we knew nothing about either. They’re taught in school that their country is "the land of the free," that they’ve never been invaded, and that they’re the best. In tourist areas, foreigners are treated a bit like cattle—herded, dispatched, transported, and controlled.

Every now and then, though, some will speak to us in Thai because they think we look like we know the country and its language. Always surprising. Still, don’t forget that tens of thousands of Westerners live in Thailand, and some of them can communicate with the locals.

Maybe Thais have also learned that their country has one of the highest tourist return rates...

The most telling experience was with the front desk staff at the biggest hotel in town, in a province that doesn’t see many tourists. Several of them fled when we arrived, convinced they wouldn’t understand what we were about to ask and terrified of losing face—Thais’ ultimate fear. 🙂

I also really enjoy reading this so-lively account, so "in the moment"! Can’t wait for the next part...

Hi Anne, Thanks so much for your interest in reading this travel journal. But I’m afraid I don’t have much else to share about the rest of my trip. Just photos—only photos... And while we all love showing our pictures, that’s not the point of a travel journal. Photos are there in reasonable numbers—and limited—to illustrate a text. For me, a travel journal—or rather, a travel story—isn’t just a photo gallery with generic, often pointless captions like "here’s a potter," "this is a market..." When you can clearly see what the photo shows...

My memory’s failing me, and I didn’t take any notes. So far, I’ve been relying on the messages I sent to loved ones. That’s actually how I’m discovering my physical struggles, because I’d completely forgotten about them, remembering only a beautiful and very enjoyable trip.

Well, I still read this travel journal that I really enjoy because it’s lively—the feelings in it are spontaneous, contrasting, it doesn’t try to paint a positive or negative image of the country, but simply shows how this experience was subjectively lived by its author.

Thanks, Pagal—you totally get it. And I’m sorry if I sometimes go completely against the grain of what’s usually said in travel journals about Thailand.

And it still doesn’t make me want to try Thailand!

Well, I’m really sorry that what I write has that effect on you. I don’t agree with you because, as you said, this journal is very subjective, and you—or someone else—could have a completely different view of the country...

Plus, so far I’ve only talked about my stay in Bangkok. Bangkok isn’t Thailand, just like Paris isn’t France—though Parisians, especially the media, tend to think so and forget about us poor little provincials.

I’m relieved now. I don’t know why, but I really wanted your trip to be enjoyable.

Oh no? Well, I know exactly why... 🤗

I knew when you were there, but I had no idea about most of your misadventures, adventures, and setbacks... Your story reminds me that over time, I’ve romanticized most of my trips, even though they included plenty of boring, exhausting, frustrating, and exasperating moments.

And I’m sorry if I sometimes go completely against the grain of what’s usually said in travel journals about Thailand.

It’s great to go against the grain too, as long as the experience feels authentic. It’d be a shame if every travel journal about Thailand said the same thing and was full of nothing but praise.

I’m really bothered that what I write has that effect on you. I don’t agree with you because, as you say, this journal is very subjective, and you—or someone else—could have a completely different view of the country…

It’s not your writing at all—I actually enjoy following it. Through what I read, whether positive, negative, or neither, I just think Thailand isn’t giving me the urge to visit. And I know this is only about Bangkok, and I’d probably see things differently if I traveled there myself, but for now, it’s just not a destination that speaks to me much. Maybe it’s a terrible preconception on my part.

Bangkok—you’ve gotta love megacities… Personally, I adore it, but this city only represents one part of the country…

I also love megacities, and I know Bangkok is just one facet of the country, but for some reason I can’t quite explain, Thailand doesn’t really appeal to me. It has the kind of landscapes, temples, history, and culture that usually make me want to travel. I think it’s the overtourism in certain places and the vibe of some of the tourists who go there that doesn’t do much for me...

I’ve been following your incredible adventures in the City of Angels… and I really hope you’ll recover your memories so you can share your Chiang Mai stories with us. Thanks in advance!

My arrival in Chiang Mai reminds me of some tough bus arrivals during my travels in India. When I got off the bus at 4:45 AM, I found myself in a deserted bus station. I was expecting a swarm of tuk-tuk or songthaew drivers, each pouncing on the freshly arrived tourists to offer their services, but I was surprised to see not a single one. Everything was closed. No taxis, no means of transport of any kind, no food or drink stands... Within minutes, the other passengers had melted into the darkness. I was left alone, wandering through these old, grimy, and dirty buildings. The pay-to-use toilets were closed due to the absence of an employee to collect the fee from passing users. Despite having frequently used the bus’s comfortable toilets during this long journey, I still needed to relieve myself. I searched all the corridors in vain. I ended up going outside to relieve myself against a wall, as is often done in India... I’m not proud of it, but I had no choice...

In a corner, I could make out three coin-operated massage chairs in the dim light. One was occupied by a rather uninviting poor soul. I couldn’t tell if he was a Westerner down on his luck or a vagrant—he looked so dirty. Discouragement suddenly hit me like poverty hits the poor, and I slumped into one of the other two chairs since there was no one in sight. I dozed off for a while, staying alert in the hope of seeing some vehicle that could take me to my hotel. Overcome by fatigue, I fell asleep like a log, only to wake up with a start at the metallic rumble of a heavy rolling shutter being opened by a young woman. Great, it was a drink and snack stand. She, too, matched the place—unkempt, not fresh, wearing more than questionable clothes... She pulled out a shopping bag and took out some kind of doughnuts, arranging them on a glass shelf in the display case, which must have been transparent once but was now caked with grease and dust. Was I really in Thailand? A glance at my watch told me I had slept longer than I thought. It was almost 7 AM. Finally, maybe life was about to begin...

I called the hotel to ask how to get there since there were still no taxis or rickshaws in sight. But of course, at this early hour, there was no answer. I wasn’t worried, but I needed to relax, take a shower, change, and have a good tea or coffee...

Suddenly, a taxi arrived. I rushed over, but he quoted me 300 baht and refused to use the meter. I had no idea what the fare should be, but from his expression, I guessed he had doubled or tripled the price. If he saw my face, he must have realized I wasn’t falling for it because he pointed to a songthaew parked a little further away that I could hire privately. This one asked for 150 baht. But since I had no reference for the distance or the exact fare, I didn’t know if he was overcharging me. On a whim, I offered 100 baht. He countered with 140. I really didn’t feel like arguing over what amounted to one euro, so I accepted without further complaint.

Of course, my room wasn’t ready. The receptionist, who seemed to be the owner of this small "boutique hotel," wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but she wasn’t the friendliest either—rather curt, in fact. - Check-in isn’t until noon, she grumbled. - Is there somewhere, a chair, a lounge where I could sit while I wait? I’m exhausted—I’ve been on a 12-hour bus ride... I need a shower and to lie down... - You can wait there and have a coffee... She pointed to two or three small tables with metal chairs... I headed toward the spot she indicated, pulling a face and muttering that I had warned them of my early arrival and wanted the room ready when I got here. Before I had even taken three steps, she spoke up again: - A room just became available. If you agree to pay 200 baht, we can get it ready urgently, as a priority. - Her offer made me laugh—she hadn’t received any calls, no one had come in, and suddenly a room had freed up. Half the price of the room just to check in four hours early... But of course, I accepted.

Not even five minutes passed before I was told the room was ready. Less than five minutes to clean, scrub the bathroom, and make the bed... Clearly, the room had been empty and unoccupied, and she charged me for half a day. Not very customer-friendly for someone staying 21 days! The room isn’t very big, but it’s spotlessly clean. A minimalist room, like one in an airport hotel in France... at 70 € a night when it’s on promotion... and here, it’s 15 €. The deal works for me. Plus, there’s an electric kettle and a small fridge. I discovered the next day that the coffee—excellent—is free in the morning along with some biscuits, which isn’t the case in the hotels I’m talking about in France. Two 50cl bottles of water every day, shampoo, shower gel too, every morning... Even if you don’t use the water or the toiletries. Once I’d unpacked my suitcase and bag—yes, it’s a bit minimalist for storing your things, especially for three weeks, and there’s no chair. It’s nice, clean, and comfortable, but for a long stay, it’s not very convenient...

I just got back to the room after eating really well at a friendly little eatery near the hotel. I took the opportunity to wander through the neighborhood’s alleys. I’m delighted by this almost village-like atmosphere with its simple little houses. I hadn’t finished my walk and would have liked to continue, but my legs wouldn’t carry me anymore. It’s really worrying. As soon as I sit down, I feel completely normal, but as soon as I stand up, my legs give out—I don’t know how to describe it. I have no strength in my legs. It makes me stagger, my feet catch at times, I feel like I’m going to fall forward, carried away by my own weight—I don’t know what to think. Others in my position would take the first flight back to France. Me, I don’t want to ruin this trip, but I don’t know what to decide...

I went out again around 2 PM, sticking only to the area near my hotel.



I almost turned back right away, but I forced myself to keep going. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the big loop I wanted to. I barely managed 7 km.



I visited two or three magnificent temples... But I couldn’t stop inwardly cursing this flood of tourists. On one hand, I like Chiang Mai as a small city, but I also hate it. There are more Westerners than Asians. I get the impression the locals stay at home and don’t venture out into the streets. It feels like I’m in Fort Cochin, India, during peak season. Bangkok was a noisy, difficult city, but it was a lively city, teeming with local life, teeming with Thais. Here, it’s teeming with tourists, like an invasion of Colorado potato beetles. Tourist shops and travel agencies—all offering the same things—everywhere. I can’t spot a single local restaurant. It’s just tourist restaurants filled with tourists, whereas in Bangkok, the restaurants were packed with Thais. It’s really "Tourist City." Young people, old people, fat people, ugly people, some—and even many—half-naked... And then, for photos, hats off! Between the devotees and all those taking selfies in front of a Buddha, it’s extremely difficult to take nice photos of the temples. I didn’t have this problem to this extent in Bangkok. I need to go to bed early and go out mainly in the morning between 7 and 11 AM when all these people are still sleeping or having breakfast.

I wanted to go out at night since I had slept until 2 PM, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. I’m struggling to stay on my feet. People will probably tell me my trip is a via dolorosa. But hiding these difficulties would be lying about how my trip is going. I’m afraid it’s not just fatigue—I’m really worried there might be some health issue, neurological or cardiac or who knows what. Barely awake from a long nap, I still couldn’t stand on my legs. And on top of that, I’m as hot now as I was cold this morning when I arrived. I won’t see a doctor, not here and not in India either. Either I push through, or I go back to France. There’s no question of contacting my insurance. I forgot one of my important medications in India—the one that counters the side effects of the others. But in Thailand, medications are exorbitantly priced. I found it here for almost double the price of France. Of course, I didn’t buy it. We’ll see. If it gets too hard, I’ll spend the money. I’ll see what my body says to my mind.

Maybe I didn’t drink enough today, and it was very, very hot. I looked everywhere for a shop to buy an umbrella to shield myself from the sun but didn’t find one. I wanted to drink coconut water instead of plain water, and I walked and walked and walked but didn’t find any coconut vendors, even though they were everywhere in Bangkok. On the other hand, ice cream vendors are "shoulder to shoulder"...

the vibe of some of the tourists who go there that doesn’t really appeal to me...

That’s exactly what bothered me. But I quickly figured out how to avoid letting them get to me. It’s like mosquitoes. The first day, you get eaten alive, but by the next day, you come up with—you invent—ways to protect yourself since you can’t exactly make them disappear… And you’re not gonna let them ruin your trip!

I really hope you’ll recover your memories to share those from Chiang Mai with us. Thanks in advance!

You’re putting me in a tough spot, Noëlle. I’m a bit lost in my trip because I didn’t take any notes during my days, thinking I’d remember everything just by looking at the photos. That might’ve worked after a few days, or even a few weeks, but after six months, it’s a whole different story. My memory’s pretty much shot. I’ve got thousands of photos with no written notes. Even after a really selective sort, there are still so many beautiful ones—I’m getting a big head here—that I’d love to share, but we’re limited to 10 per post anyway... And I’m struggling to pick the ones that best capture my enthusiasm. Bits of memories come back when I see certain images...

As I think I mentioned before, I wasn’t into the architecture or history of all those temples. I couldn’t even remember their names right after seeing them, let alone reading about them in guides or online. I was only drawn to the aesthetic, artistic, and photogenic side of things.

Getting older and having cheated death a few times, I’ve come to realize how vain so much of what we hold dear really is. I’ve settled more and more into a kind of protective bubble, almost like I’m outside of life, in peace, solitude, and serenity, waiting for the next journey into another new life... And I don’t want to clutter my mind with all those everyday concerns anymore. I’ve reached a point where I couldn’t care less about who built a temple, why, how, what style it was, or what the "trend" was at the time. What matters to me is the sight of a building and the emotion I felt when I saw it—the visual, aesthetic, artistic side...

I went to Thailand to relax, enjoy life, "be on vacation," to forget about France, India, and all my worries. And in that sense, my trip was a total success because I felt completely disconnected and totally happy for those 45 days. This time, I didn’t bother trying to cram in cultural, historical, archaeological, or religious knowledge. I came to Thailand to feed my passion for photography, as an "image hunter," to see landscapes and monuments—including temples—and try to capture beautiful shots that I could enjoy later, when I can’t travel anymore. I want them to be beautiful for me, but also to share. I’d find it indecent to offer or share ugly, sloppy, characterless, unemotional, or unartistic photos. I’m just trying to do my best according to my tastes and standards.

For example, I see that the first photos from my second day in Chiang Mai, February 4th, start with Wat Lok Molee. It’s strange that I didn’t start with Wat Chiang Mun (or Chiang Man), since all I had to do was cross the street from my hotel to get there. Don’t ask me why it wasn’t the first one I visited. Maybe I saved it for a lazy day when I wouldn’t feel like walking too far...

I’m feeling much better today It was just a dehydration issue. I’m drinking a lot now: juice, coffee, tea, and all sorts of good things to drink, about every 90 minutes. I’m eating more too. I think I wasn’t eating enough for all the physical activity I was doing during the day. I’ve almost got my energy back. Looking at the order of my photos, I remember that I turned right as soon as I left the hotel, the "Chiang Mun Boutique Hotel" https://www.google.com/maps/place/Chiangmun+Boutique/@18.7928644,98.9846671,17.38z/data=!4m9!3m8!1s0x30da3bcfde5e8151:0x714d18b3f0b53f6b!5m2!4m1!1i2!8m2!3d18.7938568!4d98.9901917!16s%2Fg%2F11fj36r_w9?entry=ttu&g_ep=EgoyMDI1MDYzMC4wIKXMDSoASAFQAw%3D%3D, across from Wat Chiang Mun. I just set Wat Lok Molee as my first stop for the day. I’ll improvise from there based on what I discover along the way. I head straight to the canal that circles the "Historic Square," marking the boundary of the old city. It’s too early for the tourist crowd—they’re either still sleeping or nursing their hangovers from the alcohol and hashish that brought them here. But I can’t help bursting out laughing when I spot a little street stall selling... French crêpes!!!—Almost as expensive as in France!)



It’s not surprising—I noticed yesterday that the French are everywhere in Chiang Mai. You hear French spoken in the streets, restaurants, temples, shops... I wondered if I was really in Asia or if I’d ended up back in that little seaside town where I used to live...

I keep wandering, nose in the wind, with no real set itinerary. Wat Lok Molee isn’t talked about much in travel guides or websites. The Michelin Green Guide doesn’t even mention it. I’m still wondering today why I wanted to start my city tour with it and how I even found it. As soon as I arrive, I’m charmed by the lovely entrance gate, topped with a kind of chedi reaching toward the sky, flanked by two monumental guardians—one red, one green, both decked out in gold. A short sandy path leads to the entrance of the sanctuary, whose access stairs are, as usual, adorned with two magnificent immaculate Nagas https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nāga.



The place is deserted, and I’m really enjoying being there before the crowds. Though maybe it’s never crowded here... - Don’t be so sure, my friend, just look behind you...

After adjusting my camera for the right lighting, framing, and composition... they arrived—three chatty Asian women whose nonstop chatter didn’t let up for a second. Of course, they didn’t care at all that I was there taking photos. Even though I was right in front of them, they didn’t hesitate to plant themselves right in front of me—or rather, in front of the temple. And then came an endless series of ridiculous poses... I didn’t want to get annoyed... I waited patiently and took the opportunity to observe them. Not once did they admire the stone lacework or the temple’s splendor inside. No, it was selfie, selfie, selfie... Realizing they thought they were the only ones on earth and weren’t about to leave, I took my shots, hoping I could edit them out later in post-processing, because the building—and especially the ceiling—was absolutely stunning.





To shake off these ladies, whose company was becoming a bit too much, I wandered into a charming little garden where, at this early hour, a clever misting system was providing the moisture the plants needed to thrive.



Under the amused gaze of a cheerful Buddha, sitting in a rather unorthodox position, who seemed to be mocking us poor humans.



Walking around the temple, I discovered another path lined with terracotta animals, revealing the majesty of the sanctuary with its roofs nested inside one another, in the style of Thai temples.



This passage led me into a kind of courtyard, all decorated with vibrant banners glowing under the morning sun,

at the end of which stood an old, picturesque chedi made of simple bricks.



I have to stop telling this day’s story here because the post would be too long, and I’ve used up my photo limit.

Thanks for this visit to a temple I didn’t know about—it’s stunning! I’ve stayed in Chiang Mai several times, preferably in "the square." Sure, there are lots of tourists and agencies in that area, but there are also about forty temples that locals frequent, with many ceremonies taking place. I attended a festival at a temple whose name I don’t remember: young boys were about to become monks for a while, as is the custom in this religion. There was a joyful parade in the street, with orchestras, singing, and gift packages—I thought it was a wedding! I was invited to follow the group and was quite surprised when I entered the temple courtyard, where the future monks and their masters were gathered, along with all the families presenting their gifts. Among them, and especially, were banknotes fanned out for everyone to see, proving the generosity of the donors...

In that neighborhood, I was close to the moat and a market where Thais would pass by early in the morning on their way to work, grabbing a snack without even getting off their motorbikes.

Since you’re passionate about photography, post your favorite shots even if you don’t remember the names of the places. Photos tell a story too... even if they can be misleading!

And congratulations on the kilometers you’ve covered despite the heat, dangerous sidewalks, and health issues!

Since my last visit here, I’ve read and seen everything, and... what can I say that hasn’t already been said?

So, in no particular order: I love Bangkok’s shopping malls for their psychedelic lights in swirling colors that dazzle you—it’s way more interesting than just showing shops and more shops like we see everywhere else.

I love the markets where you don’t know what to choose, I love the streets where you get lost, I’m tired of temples (though I’ve already said that), and I love the beautiful portraits you’ve shared.

I don’t get that awful long bus ride (but I read you had your reasons, so...). I would’ve taken the train. Back when I experienced it, about ten years ago, it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was fun. Now, train travel might be more comfortable, but maybe less fun—I don’t know.

Oops, I’m rambling—let’s get back to your travel journal. We’re just at the start of Chiang Mai; I’m waiting to read more. Did you stay there, or did you go somewhere else? Chiang Rai, for example, which is my favorite?

You say you loved this trip—great, that’s kind of the point! Yet there’s so much struggle in your words. It’s strange how different your feelings are from what you write (fascinating to analyze ).

Even if your day-to-day memory plays tricks on you, you *have* to keep telling the story. Snippets of memories out of order and gorgeous photos will be enough for us readers. And who cares about the names of temples or the locations of markets? For me, I just want to keep reading your thoughts and emotions—it’s way more captivating than anything else 🙂.

Thanks for this visit to a temple I didn’t know about—it’s stunning. I’ve stayed in Chiang Mai several times, preferably in "the square." Sure, there are lots of tourists and agencies in that area, but there are also about forty temples that locals frequent, with many ceremonies taking place. I attended a celebration at a temple whose name I don’t know: young boys were becoming monks for a short time, as is the custom in this religion.

It’s Khao Phansa, the start of Buddhist Lent. It takes place in July and marks the beginning of the monks’ three-month retreat. Three months later, it’s Ok Phansa, which celebrates the end of this period.

I don’t get this awful long bus ride (but I read you had your reasons so...).

I think I understand Marien’s reasons—like him, I’m a bus enthusiast when I travel, and I even feel it’s part of the journey itself. I’m not sure how it is in Thailand, but I know Marien would agree, since we both share this love for buses in India.

Thanks for this visit to a temple I didn’t know about—it’s stunning.

I love it and find it amusing when I get to show regulars of a country, region, or city something they’ve never seen before...

despite the heat, the dangerous sidewalks, and the health issues!

For me, heat is something I was basically born with—it followed me through my entire childhood and adolescence, and those scorching summers with 40°C temps were pure bliss. When I encounter that same heat in India or Thailand, it’s like a wonderful dive back into my carefree, happy past...

I found the sidewalks in Bangkok and Chiang Mai perfectly fine once you’re used to the ones in India 😉

I mention the health issues because they did happen, but I managed them pretty well considering how many kilometers I still covered in a day. Long boat trips are also some of my best childhood memories—I never got seasick 😉

« It’s unwise to record one’s first impressions as they are, but since we have them, why not jot them down? A traveler should treat themselves like a thermometer, and whether right or wrong, that’s what I’ll do tomorrow as I did today. » (Hippolyte Taine, *Voyage in Italy*)

I don’t understand this horrible long bus ride (but I read you had your reasons, so...). I would’ve taken the train.

When I travel, I savor every moment as much as possible. Getting from one place to another by plane would feel frustrating to me, like I’m missing part of the journey. And then there’s the awful chore of going through security with all my tech gear, the camera and its accessories. Going from south to north in an hour—from bustling Bangkok to Chiang Mai, which I imagined so peaceful—with no transition at all... Plus, I really enjoy traveling by train and bus. The bus ride is one of my ingredients to spice up a trip that would be too "tame" by plane. I’d planned to take the overnight train in first-class sleeper, private cabin (another throwback to my childhood boat trips)! But it was FULL. By train or bus, it’s long, bumpy, and you sleep poorly, but you can reflect, live in the moment, and savor (I’m repeating myself) your trip instead of rushing through it like a bland Thai dish without spices...

We’re just at the beginning of Chiang Mai—looking forward to reading more. Did you stay there, or did you go somewhere else? Chiang Rai, for example, which I prefer?

A little patience... When a book has passages that don’t interest me—too much filler, too many descriptions that don’t matter—I skip pages. And sometimes I realize I should’ve read them to understand what comes next.

And yet so much suffering in your words—it’s strange this gap between your feelings and your words.

Ah, you too! The Stations of the Cross! Very subjective feeling. I don’t think I’m describing suffering, but okay, if you see it that way... Should I have lied and pretended I was skipping around like a young man? Or worse, glossed over these difficult conditions—which aren’t necessarily suffering—as if they never happened? Does a person with a disability, whatever it may be, travel in suffering? Don’t they also feel pleasure and joy in traveling because of their disability? See Taine’s quote above...

Reading your thoughts and emotions is so much more fascinating than everything else.

That remark really touches my heart. Thank you so much. But isn’t that what we should share most in a travel story—rather than images you see everywhere, clichés piled up, or uninteresting tourist guide plagiarism?

I don’t get this awful long bus ride (but I read you had your reasons, so…).

I think I understand Marien’s reasons—like him, I’m a bus aficionado when I travel, and I even feel it’s part of the journey itself. I’m not sure how it is in Thailand, but I know Marien will agree with me, since we share this passion for buses in India.

Thanks, my friend, that’s exactly it…

Maybe one day I’ll start a travel journal to show you just how much I loved traveling by bus and train in Thailand 🙂

Maybe one day I’ll start a travel journal to show you how much I loved traveling by bus and train in Thailand 🙂

😏 😏 😏

I paused my story in the last message because it would have been too long, and I’d hit my photo limit. But my day was far from over after visiting Wat Lok Molee, so I’m wrapping it up today... When I leave Wat Lok Molee, after crossing the “canal” surrounding the old city, I discover, almost directly opposite, Wat Rajamontean—completely overlooked by visitors but not without interest, both inside and out. To avoid wearing out my loyal readers, though, I’ll spare you the stunning photos I took. Though I’d love to share them, I can’t resist adding two that seem particularly telling.





I continue my walk along the canal (the moat) encircling the old city, catching glimpses of the golden horses at Wat Khuan Khama along the way. Again, I’ll go against the grain. People say “moat,” but to me, these aren’t true moats. Real moats were dug right at the foot of castles, fortresses, or citadels. In Chiang Mai, it’s more of a canal situated well within the city walls. A vast stretch of road and sidewalks separates it from the ramparts. Maybe in the distant past, it served as a proper moat protecting the city. But for now, it’s just a canal circling the old city—not a moat, and the term feels off.

I turn into small perpendicular streets with no real goal other than to escape the crowds. Frankly, I can’t stand the general vibe in Chiang Mai. If it weren’t for the temples on every corner, you wouldn’t think you were in Thailand—it feels more like Europe! Guys walking around shirtless in the middle of the city, showing off their “pecs” and “guns,” and girls with their butts hanging out of tiny shorts and tops barely covering their chests. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not some prudish old owl, and I’m not jealous (I’ve had my time in the sun). One of my naturist friends used to say, “If you’ve got nice things, don’t keep them to yourself—show them off.” Sure, but there’s a time and place for that. Beaches, for example. But strolling around half-naked in the streets and shops? I find that totally disrespectful to the local population, in a country where young (and not-so-young) monks are bound to chastity and abstinence. If I invited you to dinner and you showed up in a swimsuit instead of dressing up in a nice dress or a sharp shirt, I’d take it the wrong way...

As for Asian tourists, that’s a whole other story... Even if I don’t fully appreciate the Westerners’ attire, I’ll give them this: they show a lot of respect toward other tourists taking photos. Meanwhile, (almost) all Asian tourists are absolutely awful in their behavior. They act like they’re the only ones in the world—just like (almost) all Indians... Before coming to Thailand, I used to complain about Indians because I hadn’t seen others so uncivil. I thought it was part of their culture: every man for himself, no regard for others. But here, I see it’s a broader Asian trait, even more pronounced in Southeast Asia. Yet they’ll still go through all the bowing, preaching, and praying to Buddha in temples... just like those awful, selfish, racist, mean Catholics who go to mass every Sunday and make pilgrimages to Lourdes to pray and process.

I couldn’t tell you how I ended up on the east side of the old city at Tha Phae Gate, on the esplanade (The Multi Function Ground), where a particularly picturesque market was taking place, featuring stalls with specialties from different regions of Thailand.



There were so many choices, but with so few details or explanations, I didn’t dare pick a dish at random—not knowing what the ingredients were. What if it was frogs or some other culinary abomination?



I try to stick to my usual eating habits. Lots—*really* lots—of tea from dawn until around 10:30/11:00 AM, when I have a hearty meal that serves as both breakfast and lunch. A “brunch,” but a *generous* one. It should be gargantuan since I don’t eat dinner. But it’s never quite enough, so I make up for it with a snack around 4:00/4:30 PM. Then nothing until the next day... Though here in Thailand, I’m cheating a little. The snack has way too many salty and sweet temptations. On February 4th, I opt for a Chinese restaurant that seems to be calling my name along the way. Few customers at that hour, but my inner voice tells me to go in—I’ve already walked many kilometers since leaving my room on an empty stomach. The menu is on the wall!



Once again, my references are Indian: - Are all the dishes available? Because in India, the longer and more varied the menu, the more likely you’ll hear that idiotic, syrupy smile saying: - Sorry, sir, not available... Leaving you with just two or three basic dishes you could find in any *dhaba* for half the price...

Here, the owner answers with a big, surprised smile in very rough English—I don’t understand a word except that I should look at the photos on the wall and point to what I want. Ah, right... I see... No captions. Not in English, Thai, or Chinese. Customers are supposed to know what it is just by looking at the photo... Scratching my head and squinting, I study the pictures carefully... There, I think I see stir-fried noodles and big grilled prawns... This year, for some reason, I’ve been craving big prawns back home in Kannur. I love them! I know how to cook them every which way and savor them. But this year... nothing! So, stir-fried noodles and big grilled prawns it is. Alas! The photo was misleading. Stir-fried noodles, yes! Lots of them! But only three prawns, no bigger than my index finger... Still, the dish was perfectly seasoned, and I enjoyed it.

After that, a long walk through the neighborhood, visiting several beautiful temples: Wat Phra Singh, Wat Chedi Luang, Chiang Mai City Pillar, Wat Umong Mahathera Chan... I’ll spare you the photos, except for this stunning red and gold at Wat Phra Singh.







And its monks, ascended masters, more lifelike than life itself.



At the entrance of the last one, I catch a funny rehearsal by a young student marching band, seriously practicing their parade, even if their discipline isn’t quite there yet.



I imagine they’re training for the upcoming Flower Festival parade in a few days...

But what moves me most is the tailor’s workshop-home near my hotel. I’d noticed that one of my most-worn pants had a seam that had split during my wanderings in Bangkok. Before tossing them, I hoped to get them repaired cheaply. As always, chance (my lucky star, providence, my guardian angel) led me to a sign in Thai and English in a back alley: “We do all sewing repairs.” - Isn’t this exactly what you were looking for? Navigating through a maze of narrow, winding alleys, past bushes and potted plants that barely leave room to step, I arrive at the “tailor’s” humble home. A single room serving as bedroom, kitchen, living room, dining room, and sewing workshop, incredibly cluttered with a thousand odds and ends and mismatched clothes. A real flea market, revealing another side of Thailand: extreme poverty. The old woman makes room for me on the bed, which is phenomenally piled with overflowing boxes of used clothes, shoes, fabrics, bags, suitcases... Is there even a chair in this mess, besides the stool in front of the sewing machine? Or is it buried under heaps of rags, fabrics, and plastic bags? I think this bed is her entire storage closet (or dumping ground), where all her possessions are stacked. I imagine this poor woman clearing all this clutter every night before bed, then putting it all back in the morning to barely move around her domestic universe... Again, I feel a pang of shame for intruding on the privacy of someone so poor. In one corner, though, sits a large, sleek, modern flat-screen TV, broadcasting images of daily life in Thailand. I watch the poor old woman hunched over her work, fumbling with needles and thread, trying to match the color closest to my pants. I’m ready to get up and tell her to forget it, but I think this tourist dropped from the sky might be her only customer of the day... Over half an hour for two measly seams—5 and 8 centimeters, respectively.

- Is it okay? Does it work for you? She finally asks, looking unconvinced by her own work. - Yes, yes, it’s great, thank you so much. 30 or 40 baht. I don’t remember exactly today, but it was next to nothing. Aesthetically, it’s a disaster, but it’s perfect for using the pocket to store my phone or camera on my next jungle treks. And I don’t care about the light gray stitching on my dark gray pants.

I’m tired after my day—I’ve walked a lot—but I’m still steady on my feet. And I didn’t stumble once all day. 14 km without a problem, though I took a break in my room between 2:30 and 4:30 PM. Not sleeping, just resting and relaxing. Watching the images scroll by...

I’m baffled by the luxury of all these temples and all these gold or gilded Buddhas—they have nothing to do with Buddhist doctrine or the Buddha’s teachings. The essence of Buddhism isn’t a religion but a way of life. Buddhism rejects the caste system and promotes egalitarianism, compassion, and the uplifting of marginalized communities. The core of Buddhism explores the path to liberation and inner transformation. It highlights the importance of introspection, mindfulness, and developing wisdom and ethical conduct for a fairer, more compassionate society. https://www-amazon-in.translate.goog/Essance-Buddhism-Dr-Babasaheb-Ambedkar-ebook/dp/B083Y2YR2R?_x_tr_sl=en&_x_tr_tl=fr&_x_tr_hl=fr&_x_tr_pto=rq It’s not about a “Buddha-God” to worship or revere... They’re completely going against the Buddha’s teachings. The monks are also very unpleasant, very distant. I’d even say dismissive. They clearly give us (Western tourists) the cold shoulder, whereas in India, at all Buddhist sites like Ladakh, for example, the monks are always smiling, friendly, welcoming, and not at all dismissive or unpleasant like here.

I have to admit that each of your posts is a concentrate of little or big stories, sensations, info, and emotions—not to mention all those beautiful photos. One of your days alone packs more content than entire travel journals, and that’s quite an achievement. If I’m not mistaken, Jean-Marie, you can pride yourself on impressing even those who know the country well—I’m convinced of it. From time to time, I don’t agree with some of your feelings or observations, but by doing so, I’ve realized over time that I don’t always agree with myself either. A travel journal captures a specific experience at a specific moment. Things wouldn’t have been the same two months earlier or three months later, for example, and I’ve often wondered how a second trip might change—or not—some of your impressions.

I’d also love to see more readers chime in.

Oh yeah, count me in too!!!

The monks were also really unpleasant, very distant. I’d even say condescending.

So, one day, maybe I’ll write a few words to show you there are also nice monks in Thailand 🙂 Anyway, after buses and monks ?

Gotta run, not much time to write, but I’m reading !

I’ve got to admit that every one of your posts is packed with little or big stories, sensations, info, and emotions—never mind all those gorgeous photos. A single one of your days easily outdoes entire travel journals in terms of content, and that’s no small feat. If I’m not mistaken, Jean-Marie, you can proudly say you impress even the regulars in the country, I’m convinced of it. Every now and then, I don’t agree with some of your feelings or takes, but then again, I’ve found myself disagreeing with my own opinions over time. A travel journal captures a specific experience at a specific moment. Things wouldn’t have been the same two months earlier or three months later, for example, and I’ve often wondered how much a second trip might change—or not—some of your impressions.

I’d also love to see more readers chime in.

Hi Joël, and thanks for joining in on this journal. I don’t quite know what to say, but if I stay silent, you might think I’m sulking…