After visiting temples around the historical and slightly dampAyutthaya Complex—where my all-white ensemble slowly morphed into a dirty, muddy white—and snacking on an unexpectedly hefty mango sticky rice, I found myself feeling pretty darn proud of my newly broadened cultural horizon. Much like a typical tourist, I was intent on riding this high for the rest of the day. So I decided to seek out the most authentic Thai food for dinner—Pad Thai. Not just any ordinary Pad Thai, the Michelin recommended Pad Thai on Dinsor Road by Michelin-starred Chef Andy Yang: Pad Thai Fai Ta Lu.
I know, I know. If you want the real Pad Thai, you eat where the locals eat (aka the side of the road). However, I was traveling alone and am deathly allergic to chicken, so street foods and random establishments are a gamble I was not willing to risk for the sake of a “true, local experience.” I’m a sucker for good food—from the snobby and pretentious restaurants that serve elevated fusion cuisines to the shabby-looking joints with bright-colored plastic chairs and wonky tables. And, of course, the ones that feature the face of a chef wearing a backward cap as its logo.
A row of empty tables highlighted by the moody lighting inside the restaurant.
It was a little past 8 p.m. when I arrived. The place was dimly lit, quiet, and empty. As the only person there, I took a seat a few tables away from the stairs leading to the upper level. The girl managing the place flashed me that warm Thai-smile before handing me the menu. After rustling through the thick and somewhat overtly descriptive pages, I settled on the Iberian Smoked BBQ Pork Jowl Pad Thai.
“Grilled to perfection over a symphony of Binchotan and hickory wood, then expertly sliced on a sacred Tamarind wood butcher block.”
I don’t know what made that Tamarind wood butcher block sacred, or what on earth Binchotan is, but that first bite was deeply satisfying. I swear I heard the choir of the heavens sing—either that or a group of chatty Europeans walked in speaking a language that sounded like gibberish to me. Either way, that first bite was excellent. The noodles were chewy and had a layered complexity—a mix of savory, slightly sweet, and punchy sourness. The flavors were definitely a bit toned down, but that Wok Hei really slapped me with that rich, smoke-infused goodness that coated my mouth and left me feeling like I could suddenly speak fluent Thai.
A plate of the Iberian Smoked BBQ Pork Jowl Pad Thai served atop a banana leaf with a side of garnishes.
Feeling the most Thai I’d felt since the day I bought elephant pants at Siam Paragon and ate a red curry so spicy my ears rang like an ambulance siren, the egotistical “I’m better than you” traveler inside of me decided that we were going to wander the streets of Bangkok and walk back to the hotel—against the better judgment of the killjoy “this is a terrible idea” tourist within me.
It was around 9 p.m. when I left the restaurant. It was still pretty early, but the sky was already painted in deep darkness and the streets were for some reason void of people. I started to think that the killjoy tourist might have a point—the energy was giving less “Midnight in Paris” and more like “Ready or Not”. But determined not to ruin my ultimate Thai day, I pushed forward. The further I walked, the darker it got. The damp road from the rain earlier cooled the air and filled the streets with that familiar petrichor scent. I was feeling very conflicted at this point, but the egotistical traveler refused to back down.
The safety of the car that I chose to leave that night.
I continued forward, still processing, while quickening my pace by the second. So much for a relaxing night walk in Bangkok. Alarm bells were starting to ring in my head—this feels so wrong. My vision was practically seeing red everywhere, until a quaintly lit 7/11 and a few street vendors came into view. The saturated red faded, but didn’t leave. It lingered and so did my anxiety. As I was about to cross the wide, empty street, I caught sight of a man looming over by the bridge. He wasn’t doing much, but his presence was so intense that all my senses heightened by the mere sight of him. I hesitantly walked towards the 7/11, where I hovered at the entrance, debating whether or not to cross the bridge. After a few minutes of awkward loitering, I dragged my feet forward to cross. The moment my foot left the safety of the sidewalk to make the attempt, the sketchy guy on the other side ran.
Not away. Not down to the other road. But straight toward me.
A visual of what my vision was like that night—constant motion blur in heavy darkness with a dash of red.
So I ran. Backwards. Not leaving my eyes off him. There was no way in hell I was letting him out of my sight. By this point, both the egotistical traveler and killjoy tourist vanished. They morphed into a stressed little girl fueled by nothing but raw adrenaline and the sheer will to live.
I couldn’t die. Not yet. I still have to watch the elephants run wild in Botswana. I still have to chase the surreal dancing southern lights in Antarctica. I still have to get drunk on the amber wines of Georgia. I still have to walk across the whole country of Liechtenstein. I still have to make use of the damn engineering degree that I literally just finished a month ago and bask in the societal praise that seems to come with it. So, no. I knew for sure I was not gonna die that night. I wouldn’t allow it.
So I ran—ran like a madman determined to be crazier than the person chasing me.
With my eyes still locked on him, I scrambled back to the intersection. Fortunately, a few people had appeared. With my heart pounding like the thunderous drums on a game day, I inserted myself into the liminal space between two teenagers on a video call with their friends. Naturally, they were startled by my sudden presence, so I flashed them that awkward apologetic smile that screams “please help me”. Thankfully, they smiled back.
By then, the crazed man had left. I tried talking to the teenagers, but they didn’t speak English, so I resorted to showing them the map to my hotel instead. They were completely oblivious to the potentially dangerous encounter that took place. I think they just saw a lost tourist and helped without hesitation. They watched me cross the street to my hotel. Before heading inside, I waved, they waved back, and we parted ways.
From quietly wandering around Ayutthaya in the morning to getting pulled into an anxiety-driven chase at night, I’ve come to realize that this might be the most authentic Thai experience that could have happened to me. Thailand is beautiful, peaceful, and deeply cultural, but it is also high-energy, unpredictable, and wild. I met both sides that day: the two teenagers who gave me comfort and safety despite the language barrier, and the crazed man who showed me the electric, volatile side of the city. Both have their place, and both are what makes Thailand, Thailand.
