The Bruised Silence of Ayutthaya

Once a bustling capital and a global crossroads for diplomacy and commerce, Ayutthaya stands today as a famous UNESCO World Heritage site home to the ruins of the Kingdom of Siam after being scorched to the ground in 1767 by the invading Burmese army.

Given its rich and vibrant history, I braced myself for a cacophony of static from portable speakers and mic-ed-up tour guides, which are inevitably common in places like this. Instead, I was greeted by the cool gust of wind, left behind by an earlier rain, and the bruised silence of the ruins.

Stepping out of the car, I carefully navigated through the muddy brick floor of the temple—intentional with my every step so as to not ruin my all white ensemble. When I finally reached dry land and lifted my head, I was stunned by the gallery of headless bodies that welcomed me. The once gentle embrace of the wind suddenly felt heavy, as if filled with remorse.

As I stood on the shattered brick pavement studying the area, indistinguishable scrambling broke me out of my focus. I was in such awe of the grandiose and tragic image in front of me that I had completely tuned out. I turned around and finally saw the reason for all that noise: the iconic Buddha head in the Bodhi tree. 

After being faced by multiple headless torsos, this calm and faintly smiling face of the Buddha directed a reassuring presence. Despite the chaotic growth of the roots around it, the Buddha looks to have found absolute contentment in its current state.

Continuing my walk through the complex, I discovered a wide and empty hallway lined with more headless figures. As one of the most important monasteries of its time, it is quite melancholic to think that the now-empty corridor, a place of ruined structures and ancient Buddha statues that have outlived their own faces, was once pulsing with life.

Also, my careful threading through the mud earlier proved futile as I accidentally stepped on broken bricks, pooled with mud, and soaked my now no-longer-white shoes as I captured these photos.

On my way back to the car, I saw a complete Buddha statue. It had visible rugged lines across its surface, suggesting it might have been painstakingly completed by restoration efforts. It feels like a perfect, full-circle moment—from being greeted by headless statues to ending it in front of a piece made whole again.

Towering over the void that once housed the marvels of the former Royal Palace, three great chedis still command the attention of those visiting. Though long stripped of its gilded walls and pavilions, the cool air continued to engulf the grounds with its regal presence. 

There was practically no crowd when I visited. Paired with the hushed ambiance and heavy skies, meandering across the manicured green grass with the after-rain mist felt almost meditative. Despite its emptiness, the site still held such an immense presence that the absence was filled with charisma—much like the kings who once ruled this empire.

Taking the same steps as those who have lived through the grandeur of this empire, I felt a strong sense of safety and serenity that the holiest temple of the old Royal Palace must have brought upon its people. It was like walking under the divine protection of the spirits of the royal guards.

Even in deep thought, the motif of absence remained evident in the temple's skeletal remains. The distinctive contrast between the oxidized reds of the bricks and the soft, sprawling greens of the grass was impossible to ignore. The ancient ruins and the vibrant lawn have found harmony in their current state, illustrating a relationship between man and nature that I reckon is the ideal balance, where neither overpowers the other.

With its iconic bell-shaped chedis and expansive royal courtyards, it’s no surprise that the architectural design of this temple served as the blueprint for the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew in Bangkok.

While the towering reliquary Chedis of Wat Phra Si Sanphet lead your sight up to the heavens above, as if honoring the kings whose ashes were once enshrined within, the Phra Buddha Sai Yat warmly brings you back down to the soil where you stand—grounding you in the present. 

Unfortunately, I was unable to capture the whole of it due to its scale, and my camera gear was not right for the task.

Walking past the magnificent reclining Buddha, a solitary Khmer-style Prang rises above what was left of the brick foundations. Much like the Buddha itself, this tower has been stripped of its outer layer, slowly surrendering to the elements.

Coming from Wat Phra Si Sanphet, where the greens of the grass and the reds of the bricks were as deep and saturated as the history of the empire itself, the tones that surround Wat Lokaya Sutha were noticeably less so. The grounds have undergone extensive restoration and I found the contrast between the central Prang and the foundation it stands on quite discernible; with the tower having more character and looking beautifully weathered as opposed to the seemingly uniform bricks below it.

At the last two temples, I kept tripping on random brick debris and running into uneven ground, so my experience here was quite surprising and notable.

As the cool, dry air began to draw moisture from an approaching rain, I knew I had to quicken my pace if I wanted to circle the area. I tucked my camera safely in my shirt—determined not to break another camera (RIP Canon 6D)—and walked briskly to the other end. Dodging broken steps and puddles of water that were slowly forming, I finally exited near the foot of the Buddha, where the car was waiting to bring us to our last stop.

The weight of the clouds has finally broken, and thin droplets of water began to fall. Armed with my bright, crumpled teal raincoat and a flimsy, black umbrella, I stepped out of the car into the cool air, making sure to avoid the pool of murky water directly in my path. As I lifted my gaze to ready myself for the next adventure, I was immediately greeted by the most dramatic sight I had seen that day.

The deep oxidized reds of the bricks and the vibrant greens of the lawn had returned, now joined by the spires of the Prangs that anchored this monastery. Even with my questionable and colorful outfit—not to mention my golden hair—I definitely wasn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb, because nothing could possibly distract from the magnificence we were graced with that day. Filled with newfound excitement, I hurriedly made my way to the temple and began to explore.

As I was pelted by splashes of rain and my shoes drowned in random little ponds, the striking central Prang beneath the overcast of the rainy weather wholly captured my attention away from any of the disconcerting elements I was faced with. I marched toward it and found the stairs leading up to the gallery, where I gaited through a dark, wet alleyway flooded with rainwater by the entrance. In the dark, my senses heightened, prompting me to look to my right—startling me and injecting a cool, sharp rush down my spine.

There, anchored in the shadows, was a headless Buddha seemingly staring back at me. Ironic. After steadying myself in my little island of brick, I moved toward the light, making little splashes of water along the way, where a wave of déjà vu washed over me. A row of headless statues mirrored the scene from Wat Maha That—and I was once again flooded with those complicated feelings of awe and melancholy.

After allowing myself a few moments of silence and reflection, I made my way back through the dark alleyway and out the other end, where I first entered. This time, however, I paused to properly acknowledge the seated Buddha.

As I made my way out of the complex, the rain had stopped, and a flock of birds started flying toward the space behind me. Unlike the previous temples, where the grass and the trees were the only ones calling them home, birds had found sanctuary in this vast area.

This temple felt like a culmination of everything I found interesting in the previous stops. Each one possessed its own unique allure, making it remarkable in its own right. I left this ancient capital feeling grateful for the experience—carrying with me a profound sense of history and leaving nothing but the tracks of my muddy, beaten pair of shoes.