aheli wanders

January 2025

The morning air in Bangkok is thick, fragrant, and alive with possibility. By the time we landed, the city had begun to stir—tuk-tuks rumbling like distant thunder, the golden light glinting off the lazy curve of the Chao Phraya River. We stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the cool embrace of the Chatrium Hotel Riverside, and to our great relief, they gifted us something extraordinary: early check-in. Not just early. Pre-sunrise early. The kind of early that feels indulgent, like someone pressing a freshly opened coconut into your hands on a scorching day.

The room was all riverside elegance, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing a scene that could have been painted—boats skimming the surface of the river, the water moving like liquid silk. We sank into the impossibly soft bed, the city humming just beyond the glass, and drifted off for a few stolen hours.

Day 1

Bangkok greeted us with a feast. Aunglo by Yangrak, a Thai izakaya, was our first stop, a serendipitous choice that turned out to be a Michelin Bib Gourmand gem. The plates arrived one by one, each a revelation: pork skewers smoky with char, a prawn and pomelo salad that danced between sweet and tart, pumpkin slathered in a peanuty sauce so rich it felt like velvet. The flavors were bold, unapologetic, and intoxicating.

After lunch, we wandered in search of mango sticky rice, but Bangkok had other plans for us. Instead, we stumbled upon a little sourdough café, where the smell of fresh bread mingled with the bitter notes of espresso. It was the kind of place you don’t expect to find, and when you do, you linger.

We couldn’t linger too long, though, because Chatuchak Weekend Market was waiting. It’s not a market; it’s a labyrinth. Fifteen thousand stalls spread over 35 acres—a chaotic, kaleidoscopic sprawl of everything you could ever want and a thousand things you didn’t know you needed. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meats and incense, and the rhythm of vendors selling their unique wares and chatter from the thousands of tourists blended into a strange kind of music. We bought some wooden cutlery, simple and beautiful, and marveled at our restraint—any longer, and we’d need to buy an extra suitcase.

But the real crescendo of the day was the tuk-tuk food tour. We met at Bangkok Train Station, the air buzzing with anticipation. Tuk-tuks roared to life, weaving through the city’s chaos, their drivers grinning as if to say, “Hold on tight.”

he real crescendo of the day, however, was the tuk-tuk food tour, starting at Bangkok Train Station and weaving through the heart of Chinatown, or Yaowarat Road. Bangkok’s Chinatown is one of the oldest Chinese enclaves in the world, established in 1782 when Chinese traders relocated to this area during the reign of King Rama I. The narrow streets are alive with sizzling woks, bright neon signs, and a history of blending Chinese and Thai culinary traditions. Eleven dishes awaited us: steaming bowls of Tom kha gai, soft pork bao, delicate shrimp shumai, and, of course, mango sticky rice in its many iterations. Each bite was a revelation, a lesson in the art of balance and contrast. Sweet and salty. Soft and crispy. Familiar and new.

Among the many dishes we sampled, Boat Noodles stood out. These small, intensely flavorful bowls of noodle soup are a nod to Bangkok’s past, when they were originally sold by vendors on boats along the city’s vast network of canals. The broth is rich with spices, pork, duck, or beef, and a hint of blood (yes, really), giving it an incredible depth of flavor. Each spoonful felt like a connection to the city’s riverine roots. Each bite was a revelation, a lesson in the art of balance and contrast. Sweet and salty. Soft and crispy. Familiar and new.

Though a small country we learned that the dishes vary widely by region. While the central region leans into balanced flavors like sweet and sour, the south turns up the heat with spicier versions, and the north often adds heartier, richer coconut notes. Learning about Thailand’s four distinct food regions—northern coconut-based, eastern sticky rice-focused, fiery southern flavors, and the central region’s refined balance—made every bite feel like a deeper connection to the country’s culinary diversity.

Later, we wandered through the Flower Market, where the air smelled like jasmine and roses, the petals glowing under the streetlights. We ended the night at a rooftop bar overlooking Wat Arun, its silhouette shimmering like a dream.

Khao San Road was our final stop, a cacophony of neon lights and pounding bass that left us disoriented. We walked through quickly, a little shell-shocked, and retreated to the solace of a massage parlor near our hotel. There, we let skilled hands pull and knead away the day’s exhaustion.

Day 2

Morning arrived with the smell of congee, its gentle warmth promising comfort. The hotel’s breakfast spread was dizzying, but it was the congee that stayed with me—silky, savory, and endlessly customizable.

The river was our guide again, and we boarded a 21-baht ferry to the Grand Palace, the boat cutting through the murky waters with ease. Bangkok’s ferries are a system of color-coded flags, an efficient chaos that somehow works.

The Grand Palace was as magnificent as I’d imagined, though the heat was merciless. Built in 1782 by King Rama I, it’s a dazzling testament to Thai craftsmanship and history, serving as the royal residence for generations. Each King (Rama I-X) have built their own temples, and as a result it’s a complex full of temples with wildly different designs and styles…almost time capsule for each King. G and my dad had to rent elephant pants to meet the dress code, a small comedy that broke the seriousness of the moment. Our guide, Mr. Kim, led us through the sprawling complex, weaving stories of kings and crowns, of emerald Buddhas with their different seasonal outfits and ceremonial rituals.

Lunch was Pad Thai at Mae Thum, a plate of noodles so perfectly cooked it felt like a work of art. But the highlight of the day—and maybe the trip—was the legendary mango sticky rice at J. Panich. It wasn’t just dessert; it was an experience. The mango was ripe and bursting with sweetness, the rice a delicate balance of sour and creamy. A coconut smoothie, icy and refreshing, made the wait feel like part of the ritual.

The afternoon faded into a golden haze as we napped at the hotel, waking just in time for dinner at Kurissara Thai. The dishes were light yet indulgent: a morning glory salad in garlic sauce that stole the show, and a grilled prawn so large eclipsed the size of my phone.

We ended the day as we had the night before—with another massage, the kind that leaves you loose-limbed and floating.

Day 3

Our last day in Bangkok began at Blackwood Crescent, a café that felt like it belonged in Edinburgh. The dark wood interiors and cozy atmosphere were a stark contrast to the chaos outside. My dad opted for an English breakfast, but G and I couldn’t resist diving into more Thai dishes.

After breakfast, we dropped our bags at the hotel and set out for the Siam Paragon Mall. I had underestimated it entirely. Ten floors of shops, from luxury brands to local artisans. We spent hours wandering, losing ourselves in the handicrafts section and indulging in sashimi and a crispy egg crepe at Bee Cafe.

Our final adventure took us to Talat Noi, a neighborhood that felt like a hidden gem. The streets were narrow, lined with mechanical shops and repair stations, but as we wandered deeper, we found a world of street art. A tiny chocolate shop caught our eye, its modern glass walls tucked inside a centuries-old house. Even the painted sewer drains felt intentional, like breadcrumbs leading us through the maze.

We ended the day recreating our food tour in Chinatown, tasting everything from doughnuts to durian, its smell as unforgettable as its taste. By the time we returned to the hotel to collect our bags, the sun had dipped below the horizon.

At the airport, we indulged in one last massage—a fitting end to a trip that was as much about unwinding as it was about discovery.

Final Thoughts

Bangkok is a city that seduces you with its contrasts. The chaos and the calm. The sweet and the salty. The ancient and the modern. It’s a place where you can stand in awe of a centuries-old temple one moment and lose yourself in the flavors of a street-side food cart the next. Three days wasn’t nearly enough, but it was enough to leave us enchanted, full, and dreaming of when we can return.