Many years ago, I traveled with the famed Lonely Planet book, South East Asia on a Shoestring, the storied ‘Yellow Bible’ of discount travelers, my prize possession.  I remember traveling around Thailand in those days, taking colorful 3 wheeled Tuk-Tuks, eating simple Pad Thai street food, and staying at the cheapest guest house hostels I could find.  I remember watching a truck filled with children stop at the end of a touristy street, unload two dozen street urchins, and drive to the other end of the street to pick them up after they had collected their begging money.  The temples in Bangkok were covered with gold, the entertainers passed by in elaborate costumes and fine restaurants smelled of food and flowers, but I felt stupid, standing outside the grand palace, knowing that I couldn’t afford to pay the entrance fee.  I was almost out of money, and I could no longer afford to stay in the city.  I had an onward plane ticket, and enough money to get to their airport, but I had time to kill and no money to enjoy it.  

So, I got the cheapest ticket to Ayutthaya station, arriving with little more than my guidebook, and I tried to find my way to the ruins.  I got lost, and I had arrived too late in the day without a plan.  Frustrated, I sat down and read that the ancient city once held perhaps 1 million, but had collapsed following an invasion about 10 years before the American Revolution.  Somehow I got into a simple conversation with some Thai guys my own age at a street food stand, and they told me they were going to hang out at the ruins like they usually did late in the day and asked if I wanted to come along.  One had room on the back of his moped, and we scooted out there.  Despite the language barrier, they gave me a tour of sorts, but most of them were far more interested in snacking out of the plastic bags and drinking beer than talking with me.  The guy who gave me a ride spent more time trying to explain things, as he was a vocational school student, trying to improve his English.  We may have been poor at that time, but they knew the place and its legends, and I had both studied East Asia at a fancy university and had already traveled widely.  So, we had fun trying to breach the language barrier to share our excitement about the place.  

Eventually, we climbed one of the highest towers and looked over the ruined Wats.  I recognized the influences of Japan and China, appreciated the Buddhist imagery, and used my imagination to fill in the gaps as to how spectacular the city once was.  Similar to some Silk Road era cities in China, Ayutthaya once had a network of canals with strong walls, and the temples would have gleamed with gold, before the jungle tried to reclaim the site.  We talked of wars and lost kingdoms, travelers and pilgrims, incense and gifts.  The rest of the group had already left impatiently, having finished their snacks and beer.  The sun began to set, and the golden hour light and shadows revealed both the mystery and grandeur of the site.  

When my new friend dropped me back at the station, I wished I could buy him a dinner, but the restaurant tout looked singularly unimpressed with us, as if she could tell that we couldn’t afford it.  Saying “thank you”, just wasn’t enough for one of my most treasured memories.  I noticed my friend staring at my guide book, and my first thought was ‘how could I part with it’?  But then I realized that I had been invited into the golden temples, seen elaborate processions in my mind, looked behind the palace walls and dined on fine food amid the fragrance of flowers, despite not having the money to do so.  And I smiled, pressed the Yellow Bible into his hands, and wished him luck with his studies.