I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, although instinct told me to do both at the same time. Night had fallen, and we were standing at a bus stop in a village in Thailand; a bus stop where it was almost certain that no buses would be arriving until the next morning. There were only a few other things that I knew for sure in that moment. Firstly, that I was completely exhausted, and desperately wanted to be lying horizontal, in the extremely comfortable, extremely luxurious-feeling four-poster bed back in my hotel room in Bangkok. We’d only checked in that morning, so it was a bed that I hadn’t yet slept in. Secondly, that Bangkok was an awfully long way away, particularly at that time of night, and therefore the likelihood of us arriving back in Chinatown even within the next few hours was slim to none. It was quite the predicament we were in, with no clear solution, and the thing that had landed us there was the pursuit of the elusive Amphawa Floating Market.
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The early bird catches the noodle soup
I’d woken up at 4.30am in the attic bedroom of our Hanoi Airbnb- an old family apartment with a beautiful plant-filled roof terrace, wooden beams and a collection of illustrated postcards designed by the owner’s sister. We’d been staying there for the last couple of nights of our time in Vietnam, and it was definitely the most beautiful spot we’d stayed at in Hanoi. Even the large glossy black cockroach which often sat on the wall next to the front door didn’t change my opinion on this- in hot countries, cockroaches are just a given really, aren’t they? In fact, I could right a whole blog post on cockroaches around the world! (Here’s my birthday cockroach in Rhodes, in case you’re interested.)
Still, I always exited and entered the apartment as quickly as possible so as not to let any unwanted visitors in.
We clicked the front door shut and crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, aware that an entire family slept in the apartment next door and cautious not to wake them up. Outside, Hanoi was just starting to stir, and dawn’s hazy blue film was washing the city in its sleepy glow. Our Grab driver (that’s the Vietnamese version of Uber, pals) helped to pile our bags into the back of the car, and then we were off to the airport. We drove past a park where a group of old people in tracksuits or loose-fitting clothes were serenely flowing through their morning tai chi routine, and I was glad to be ending my time in Hanoi having seen it at every hour of the day. Call me crazy, but I don’t think you can really say you’ve seen a city properly until you’ve seen it in all its different lights.
At the airport, desperate for breakfast, we tucked into bowls of salty pho and looked forward to what waited for us in Thailand. It was over these steaming bowls of pho, whilst I was mid noodle-slurp, that Chris again floated the idea of the floating market my way.
A brief introduction to Amphawa Floating Market
When the phrase ’floating market’ was first presented to me, the image in my brain- and, possibly in your brain now, too- was an aerial shot of long canoe-like boats filled with vivid flowers, incense and, well, mostly more flowers. It was all very photogenic, and I have a feeling it was a similar vision that my two pals had as well. I was most certainly up for visiting something as glorious as that. Chris and Polis had done the research, and the best bet for us, on that particular day, was to travel to Amphawa. Amphawa is one of Thailand’s oldest floating markets, and the most authentic floating market you can find, the guidebook said.
The one real problem with Amphawa seemed to be that it’s an incredibly long way away from Bangkok, particularly when you’re relying on public transport to get you there. The journey afrom our hotel in Chinatown to the market would take us around three hours, and three different modes of transport, each way. Which is fine. But then I did some digging of my own online.
If you also had a photogenic image of colourful boats on the river in Amphawa, erase that image immediately, because this is not it. Most of the market stalls are on land, either side of the water, although boats do moor themselves alongside the river to sell to punters. (Of course, that also depends on the time of day, I’m sure.) In fact, most of what I could find online said things along the lines of “it’s great, but don’t come expecting a floating market,” and, “for a floating market, there aren’t actually many boats.” I relayed my findings to Chris and Polis, just in case they too, were expecting an actual floating market. (Which would be completely understandable; with a name like “Amphawa Floating Market,” how could you not be expecting that.)
It turned out that they were indeed expecting a floating market, and the guide book had informed them that this was indeed a floating market. Which it technically is. They trusted the guide book. I decided that maybe everyone on the internet was way too judgmental. Chris and Polis were insistent that this was a true floating market, and let’s face it- they had done basically all research for our entire trip. Who was I to declare a floating market not an actual floating market, after all?
Then I saw the final piece of information which set off alarm bells in my little teeny tiny tired brain. The market is open until 8pm each day, and the last bus back to the bus station on the outskirts of Bangkok, leaves at around the same time. This would give us, because of the timings of our flights, getting to our hotel, checking in, and then relying on the connections of the metro and buses, just less than an hour to explore Amphawa. With a six hour round trip.
I decided that if they really thought it would be worth it, and if they really wanted to see it, I was happy to go along with the plan. My only condition was that I needed to take a nap first, otherwise I might collapse from exhaustion en-route. So it was settled, and a plan was made for when we landed in Thailand. Amphawa Floating Market, here we come!
Bangkok is a beautiful place
I was surprised by how enchanted I was by Bangkok. We sped from the airport towards Chinatown in a cab driven by one of the friendliest people I’d met on the whole trip- a lovely Thai lady who declared that we were also incredibly friendly, compared to most English people she picks up from the airport. “The women are the worst, because they’re always talking with each other. They think I can’t understand them. So they talk to each other, they’re very rude and I can also hear when they’re saying things about me- not nice things. About Thai brides and things!!” I was sad to hear this, but not surprised.
Dumping our bags at the hotel, we had a couple of hours to kill before our rooms would be ready, so we headed out into the heat of the city to find some food. Vietnam, and Thailand, were both pushing the limits of heat at that particular time. It was early April and the final swell of soaring temperatures was bubbling before the rainy season started; we’d grown used to 38-40ºC at the height of the day, and this first day in Bangkok was no different. The pavement was scorching, and heatwaves bent the light like mirages from the tarmac. Chinatown was dazzling in the midday sun, the sky was completely blue over the brightly coloured signs lining the road, and tuk-tuk drivers jostled for customers, or space to park, or a lane to drive in. Stallholders sold freshly squeezed pomegranate juice, or dried fish, or buns, and although it was busy it was downright brilliant.
We wandered down a side street to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant where a man cooked fresh dishes with fragrant herbs in a big pan. All the seating was at a bench built into the opposite wall of the little alleyway, so we sat down and I ordered quite frankly the most delicious Thai dish I have ever tried in my entire life, with a can of icy cold Coke. Tofu, heaps of basil, fresh chillis and soy sauce were the key ingredients- basically the vegan version of Thai Basil Chicken– and it’s a dish I recreate at home now when I’m feeling nostalgic for far-off-lands and warmer temperatures.
Having savoured every single moment of the most delicious dish in the world, we had a second mission to complete before we set off in search of Amphawa. We’d decided that the following day we should go to see traditional Thai dancing, so why not use our time waiting to check in wisely, and buy tickets today?
On we strolled. For forty five minutes. Across to the Sala Chalermkrung Royal Theatre. Two resplendent golden creatures sat on their hind legs by the door, bejewelled with mirrors and gems, mouths open wide. The box office was closed. If there was even a box office at all. We had walked forty minutes in 40ºc heat, for nothing. And now we would have to turn around and go back.
Never mind. It had been interesting to walk through the city, and wandering through new neighbourhoods is actually my kind of travelling, so I wasn’t complaining. Although my legs were, frankly, throbbing.
When we finally checked in to the hotel, and saw how beautiful the rooms were, I was absolutely elated. Honestly, I was more excited about climbing into bed that evening, than going to the mysterious floating market. That’s how tired beyond tired I was. (Just to really put into perspective the tiredness levels, I’d just completed a six month contract working on a ship in the Caribbean, and within less than 24 hours of finishing, had flown from the UK to Vietnam to meet my friends. It was a very special, very specific brand of exhaustion, although I’d do it all again without a shadow of a doubt.)
After a 15 minute nap- literally- it was time to begin the journey to Amphawa floating market. Goodness gracious me.
How to get to Amphawa Floating Market from Bangkok
In short: the journey from Bangkok to Amphawa Floating Market went like this: metro, Grab, bus.
After a walk to the station, we got the train to Bang Wa. The station was pretty quiet, with not so many passengers getting off, and from the elevated platform it looked as if the city of Bangkok had been placed, fully constructed in a grid over a layer of fields and palm trees. Next up, we ordered a Grab taxi to take us to the bus station. The metro and the Grab app are simple to use, but the bus station took a little more navigating.
On the outskirts of the city, this bus station seemed infinite in size, although things often seem gargantuan when you’ve never stepped foot in them before and are feeling a little lost. We waddled up and down escalators looking desperately at signs, probably looking vaguely like mums running for a bus but not wanting to make a scene, until we finally asked for help at a desk. The man very kindly pointed us outside and back down to the ground floor.
Having just spent six months jumping on and off of similar Caribbean buses, I was very prepared for the van which pulled up at the bus stop in front of us. More of a minivan than the kind of bus that we might use in a city in England, we clambered into the back seat and then were off, out of Bangkok and into the flat countryside in the direction of Amphawa. I used the journey to attempt to sleep, although the bouncing of the vehicle and the bouncing of my own brain, telling me that I might miss something interesting outside, kept me from dropping off at all. After an hour, as the sun was beginning to set, the bus pulled into a little lay-by and we hopped out.
When is a floating market not a floating market? When it’s Amphawa Floating Market
The market was still fairly bustling, despite the fact that it closed in 50 minutes, with a mixture of locals and visitors. We followed the canal which was filled on both sides with permanent stalls, mostly selling food and drink, although a lot of them had just the day’s last straggling bites left. Moored at the water’s edge were a few lonely boats. My pals looked a little bit confused. “Is this it? I thought there’d be lots of boats.”
A motorised boat filled with people in weathered-looking fluorescent orange lifejackets set off further down the canal, on a tour to see the fireflies twinkling over the inky water. Overhead, lights were strung along the pathway, and stallholders washed down their stalls with water or sat chatting to each other over hot bowls of food.
We sat at a wooden bench and ordered some dinner from another person with a pan. I had a fish curry which was, admittedly, delicious, but I was starting to get nervous about the last bus. If we missed it, there would be no way to get back to the city. The same goes for if it just never showed up. (Six months of ‘island time’ in the Caribbean had also got me acclimatised to bus schedules being more of a suggestion than something you could actually rely on. In my recent experience, they also tended to leave when full.)
Stranded in Amphawa
With five minutes to spare, we made it to the bus stop to begin the journey back to Bangkok. By this point my eyes were so sore simply from being open, that the only way I could focus on anything was by staring in the style of a Barbie doll whose eyes are painted open. Slightly deranged-looking, you know? But I was glad to be sat in the little bus shelter, and looking forward to an hour of trying to sleep again. Nobody else was waiting in the bus stop, and nobody else joined us, although we sure we were in the right place. The road was fairly quiet, but occasionally a motorbike or a minibus would zip or trundle past us. Nothing stopped. At one point, what could have been a bus pulled in to the little car park behind us and sat there. Was that it? Nope. The driver got out after a while and disappeared in the direction of the market, then re-appeared and settled down in the drivers seat.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then half an hour, then almost forty five minutes. Around us, slowly but surely, mauve dusk had turned to an inky indigo night. This had become an extremely troubling turn of events, and each of us were reacting in very different ways.
Maybe we weren’t even in the right place.
Chris was not troubled in the least. “Oh well I’m sure something’ll turn up soon!”
Polis was exasperated, and pretty downright annoyed that the bus was clearly not going to turn up soon, or potentially ever.
I had become almost catatonic, with deranged wide-open Barbie eyes, and had nothing of any value to offer at all. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say!” All I really knew was that I very desperately needed to lie down. Maybe we’d be spending the night on the street.
Had I been alone in this situation, I would probably have felt very differently about it. But as tired and frustrated and on-the-edge of oblivion as I was, all I could think about was the gigantic, empty bed, waiting for me in Chinatown. Amphawa didn’t feel dangerous, and the three of us were together.
“I know we’re gonna look back on this and really laugh about it. But right now it doesn’t feel vey funny at all,” I stated, more to keep myself calm than anything else. Chris giggled, though I did not see this as a laughing matter at all.
I got out my phone and pulled up the Grab app to see if there were any drivers around. But what driver in their right mind would drive an hour outside of the city centre into the middle of nowhere, when Bangkok was full of night owls needing lifts here there and everywhere? It just wouldn’t make sense. I didn’t blame the drivers of Grab one bit for rejecting my many distress calls for a taxi from Amphawa Floating Market to Chinatown.
“There must be a hotel around here somewhere. Maybe we should walk up the road and go into the first one we find. We can ask at reception if they can order us a taxi? I don’t think there’s any other way we can get back.” (Secretly I also thought that at least we’d then know where to buy a second hotel room for the night if we truly were stranded. Always good to have a back up plan.)
Chris and Polis agreed, and off we headed. Within five minutes we were at a hotel, and Chris asked the woman behind the desk if she could help us order a taxi to Bangkok. “No taxis will drive out here from Bangkok now. It’s too far, and too late.” It made sense. I wished I’d been more persistent with my selling of Amphawa Floating Market as an almost completely land-based market, and went back to my deranged staring. For quite a while the only sound in the void was the chorus of cicadas chirruping obliviously in the darkness.
“What are we gonna do?”
“Well let’s just keep walking, it’ll be ok!” Chris set off again with a jolly spring in his step, up the empty road.
The stars twinkled down as if they knew something we didn’t.
Saved by a stranger. Again.
It was almost 10pm, and round a little bend in the road, we came to a homestay with a sign hanging above its entrance. A Thai woman was coming out of one of its little buildings, and a light was on above an outdoor seating area, attracting insects in the darkness. Chris announced that he’d go and ask the lady for help, and strode confidently up to her, using a combination of very basic English, hand gestures, and the glow of Google translate on his phone, to explain our predicament. She communicated back, using the same combination of methods, plus a pair of very kind eyes.
She pulled a number up on her phone, had a short conversation and then hung up.
“Wait here. I call my friend. Taxi driver.”
We literally cheered in utter elation; I wanted to hug her, and I’m not generally the hugging sort. What a Wonder Woman. “Thank you thank you thank you!!! You are amazing!!”
She smiled, then told us via the Google translate window on her phone that we could sit and wait for her friend at the table outside. What a lovely lady. We sat in the darkness, surrounded by brightly coloured flowers with waxy green leaves and lit by the humming electric light above the door. Exhausted but relieved.
Although as time ticked on, I started to worry again. What if we were about to be trafficked?? How did we know this friend was really a taxi driver?? How did we know we could trust him?? Of course, the answer to all these questions was actually: don’t be so ridiculous. But just in case, I put a message in my family messenger group.
“I’m just about to get into a car somewhere outside of Bangkok and I’m just letting you all know my location in case we die or get kidnapped. Safety first.”
When the car pulled up half and hour I decided even if we were about to be trafficked, I was grateful just to sit down in the darkness. And the young guy who was driving was a lovely chap indeed, who put his foot down on the gas so consistently that we actually made it back to Chinatown in 45 minutes flat.
Is Amphawa Floating Market worth visiting?
I suppose the question, really, is: is it worth visiting Amphawa Floating Market from Bangkok to spend only 50 minutes there at closing time?
The answer is: probably not.
Now pals, hear me out on this one. I am not for a second suggesting that Amphawa Floating Market is not actually worth visiting, just that you might want to time your trip better than we did. It was actually a lovely spot to visit, the atmosphere was happy, busy, but relaxed, and the food on offer is quite frankly brilliant. I also can’t say for certain as I haven’t visited any of Bangkok’s inner-city floating markets, but it’s understandable that this market would be quieter and more authentic than somewhere more central, simply because it’s harder to reach. But it’s also harder to leave, when the market is closed and you’re relying on the last bus to take you back to your glorious hotel in Chinatown.
I also, as predicted, look back on this day and can’t help but laugh. (I am also still very much the firmest of friends with Chris and Polis, who also remain happily married, FYI). Some of the most memorable trips of my life are the ones where things haven’t quite gone to plan, and more often than not the journey is what an experience, not the destination.