Bangkok, setting off again for that riverside Great Golden Buddha

Remembering my second solo trip to Bangkok

The first time I came to Bangkok, it was with a tour group. The plane landed, the tour guide held up a sign, we checked in at attractions, took group photos, got on the bus to sleep, got off to take pictures— that trip felt like a lively yet chaotic dream.

We visited the Grand Palace, Wat Phra Kaew, Erawan Shrine, floating markets, Siam shopping district... every place was packed with people, and every photo had blurry tourists in the background. Bangkok was hot, the air sticky, and everywhere I looked were golden pagodas and spicy street stir-fried noodles. I remember my impression of the city then was: delicious food, noisy, and crowded.

But what truly made me fall in love with Bangkok was my second solo trip.

This time, no tour guide, no fixed itinerary, just me and a subway map. I stayed at a small guesthouse by the Chao Phraya River, waking up every morning to the sound of boats, opening the window to see the river shimmering with golden light.

I remember clearly that day I went out specifically to see the legendary Great Golden Buddha (Wat Paknam Phasi Charoen).

The riverside shock: the Great Golden Buddha, a silent gaze

The sun was shining brightly that day. I took the BTS and then a boat, walking slowly and getting a bit lost. I asked several locals, all warmly pointing me in the right direction, and one even walked with me along a riverside path. The further I walked, the quieter it became, fewer tourists appeared, and I began to hear the wind rustling through the treetops and monks ringing bells in the distance.

Then, beyond a row of rooftops, the huge golden Buddha suddenly came into view.

It was so tall, as if rising straight from the horizon, dazzlingly golden but without any gaudiness. The Buddha statue sat peacefully in the temple’s center, hands in a prayer gesture, eyes lowered, gazing at the gently flowing Chao Phraya River.

I remember that moment—I suddenly stopped speaking.

Not because I was overwhelmed by its height (though it really is about sixty or seventy meters tall), but because of the peaceful aura—it didn’t need words, incense, or smoke; just standing there calmed the heart.

I stood by the river and looked for a long time. No noisy tourists, no selfie sticks for check-ins. Just me and it, as if sharing a silent gaze.

I suddenly understood: Bangkok is not just about glittering temples, night markets, and massages. It also has a quietly flowing, deep side.

Solo travel is a way to fall in love with a city

On that solo trip, I no longer went to popular “must-see” spots but loved to explore small alleys, eat street food, and chat with vendors.

By the old market on the Chao Phraya River, I had a bowl of incredibly delicious pork leg rice. The shop owner smiled warmly, handed me iced water, and said, “You’re not a local, but you smile like us.”

One weekend night, I walked into a small music festival with no tickets. A group of young people sat on the ground playing guitar and singing Thai folk songs. The wind blew, the lights flickered, and sitting there, I actually felt like staying a little longer.

Epilogue: Bangkok, goodbye, to a slower me

On the day I left, I took a boat along the river toward the airport. When the boat passed the Great Golden Buddha, I couldn’t help but look up again—it was still there, solemn and unmoving, as if saying, “Welcome back, and safe travels.”

This city of Bangkok: the first time I came, it was lively, crowded, and guided;

The second time, it was river water, silence, and a renewed conversation with myself.

Sometimes, the meaning of travel isn’t to go to more places, but to see the same place with a different self.

Thank you, Bangkok.

Next time, I want to come alone again, walk slowly, eat slowly, and see slowly.

Maybe, I can exchange another quiet glance with that Great Golden Buddha.