The train creaks and rolls out of Ayutthaya station, and just like that, Bangkok feels like a memory. Forty minutes north, the conductor calls out Lopburi, and I step onto a platform where the rain is bouncing off the corrugated roof with a sound like a drumroll. This is the old royal city of Lavo, the frontier outpost of the Khmer empire, and today it's my new home. The air smells of wet concrete, diesel, and something green and growing. I love it already.
I'm Ploy, by the way. This is the Thailand Travel Podcast. Two days ago I was navigating the sky trains of Bangkok, and now I'm here, in the provincial heart of Thailand, where the pace is slower and the monkeys are supposedly the biggest celebrities. Lopburi station itself is a beautiful old building, all yellow paint and wooden shutters, looking like it hasn't changed in a hundred years. The rain was coming down so hard I could barely see the prangs across the street, but the air was thick with that wet-earth smell you only get in the monsoon.
I've got one small backpack. In Bangkok, I was carrying a suitcase full of paperwork and city clothes. Here, I just have a few things and a toothbrush. I step out of the station and onto the main road, and the first thing I notice is the lack of chaos. A few tuk-tuks waiting under a tree, a songthaew with its windows fogged up, and a lot of open sky. I'm staying in the old town, so I just walk. My flip-flops are immediately soaked, but that's part of the deal. The rain is warm. It's like showering in tea.
My guesthouse is on a little soi off the main road. A modest room with a fan and a cold shower. About 400 baht a night, which is around twelve bucks since the baht is sitting at about 35 to the dollar. I'm told you can find spots for less, down to 350, but this one has a balcony overlooking the street, and I can hear the geckos already. After I drop my bag, I'm back out. You can't wait out the monsoon in Lopburi; you have to walk into it. The rain is the city's pulse.
Lopburi is an ancient city. It was a Dvaravati trading post, then a Khmer stronghold, long before Bangkok was even a swamp. The evidence is everywhere. My first stop is Phra Prang Sam Yot, the city's symbol. Three laterite towers, built in the Bayon style under Jayavarman VII back in the 13th century. The ticket is about 50 baht for foreigners, and you have to be careful with your stuff. For decades, this was the heart of the monkey empire. A thousand macaques would patrol these steps, stealing sunglasses and snatching plastic bags.
But here's the thing they don't tell you in the guidebooks. The monkeys are gone. Lopburi's famous troops have been relocated and sterilized in a huge operation since 2023. The old town is quieter. I walked right up to the prangs, and just a few dozen macaques sat on the fence. They were younger, skinnier, less confident. One stole a mango from a vendor and ran up the tower, but it was a solo act, not a gang. The drama has been dialed down. For the city it's probably a relief. For the visitors who came to see a monkey circus, I'm sure it's a letdown.
The stone is damp, and the moss is reclaiming the carvings. To be honest, I preferred it. You can actually read the sandstone – the lintels, the naga serpents, the picture of Vishnu sleeping on the ocean. Right across the street is San Phra Kan Shrine, the other big monkey spot. This one's a bit more alive. A few monkeys were huddled under the roof, waiting out the rain. The shrine itself is a weird, beautiful mix – a modern pagoda built around an ancient Khmer lintel, holding a four-armed Vishnu. People leave garlands of marigolds and bottles of Fanta as offerings. It's a living place, not a ruin.
I ducked into the Wat Phra Si Rattana Mahathat, which is basically in the train station's front yard. It's a royal temple that's been ruined and rebuilt a dozen times. The big prang is a mix of Khmer and Ayutthaya styles, covered in broken stucco. The ticket is 50 baht. The best part is there was no one else there but a couple of monks sweeping water off the walkway. The rain made the red laterite stone turn a deep, dark crimson. It felt less like a tourist site and more like an old ruin that just happens to be in a town where people live.
I was getting hungry, so I walked back towards my guesthouse and found a folding-table shop on the main road serving at the time. Not a sit-down place, just a wok and a mountain of vegetables. I had som tam – the green papaya salad – with sticky rice. The papaya shredded fresh, the chilli, the lime, the fish sauce. It was about 40 baht. A dollar and change. Eating that on a plastic stool while the rain hammered down on the awning above me, I felt a long way from the riverside restaurants of Bangkok. And I mean that as a compliment.
Lopburi is famous for boat noodles, kuaitiao rua. Little bowls of pork broth with noodles and a squeeze of lime. I'm told you can get them for 15 to 20 baht a bowl. I haven't found the right shop yet, but it's on the list. The plan is to eat four or five bowls in one sitting, the classic Lopburi lunch, and for a filling meal, you're looking at about 100 baht in total – that's just under three dollars. You can't beat that math anywhere.
The rain eased off in the early evening, so I walked over to King Narai's Palace. This is where the city gets its second name, the 'city of King Narai'. He made Lopburi his second capital during the Ayutthaya period. The palace is a big brick compound, half restored, half open to the sky. It was built to be a summer retreat from the chaos of the capital. But it's one of the few places in Thailand with proper European-style rooms, because King Narai was obsessed with foreign trade. He had Greek, French, and Persian emissaries living here.
That's what makes Lopburi so fascinating. It's not just monkey battles and Khmer ruins. This town was at the center of a global trade network. The palace grounds now house the Somdet Phra Narai National Museum. I had a quick look at the old artifacts – from Dvaravati period Buddhas to Ayutthaya ceramics. It's a quiet, dusty place, but the pieces are magnificent. You could spend an hour in there, and it doesn't cost much more than a sandwich.
A short walk from the palace is Ban Vichayen, or the Faulcon House. The remains of the home of Constantine Phaulkon. The guy was a Greek adventurer who became the de facto prime minister of Siam. He lived like a European king in the middle of a jungle city. The house is just ruined walls now, but you can see the layout of the old rooms and the chapel. It's a strange, sad place. He was executed for his ambitions, and the grass is thick and green over his memory.
Dinner was at a place near the Sa Kaeo night market. Actually, I stopped at a local curry shop that was still open. A plate of khao gaeng – rice with a couple of curries – for about 50 baht. The food here is provincial, which means simple and deeply flavored. No fusion, no aioli. Just good coconut curry and fried egg with crispy edges. I sat with the locals, watching a fan spin lazily overhead and listening to the news on a crackly TV.
There was an odd story on the local news channel – a man from Chiang Mai who came to Lopburi by train to meet a woman he'd met online, and she took his money and disappeared near the Phra Kan Shrine. The poor guy ended up in a bad state. It's the kind of story that makes you feel for people, but it's also a reminder that this town is a real place with real problems, not just a backdrop for a travel video.
The other big news is the water. The irrigation office has warned that the Chao Phraya Dam is going to increase its discharge over the next couple of days, so riverside spots can expect the level to rise a meter and a half. It's worth checking if you're planning to stay anywhere right on the water. The town is fine, but the canals are swelling. I can see them from the street, running fast and brown.
The sky turned a deep charcoal, and the thunder started rolling around the old city. I decided to check out a local cafe. I found one called H CRAFT Slow Bar & Specialty Coffee. A real find, with good music and espresso. I got a cold brew, which set me back about 80 baht. I sat by the window and watched the storm roll in from across the rice fields. The lightning looked like a camera flash going off over the prangs. For a moment, everything was purple and blue and wet.
On my walk back to the guesthouse, the streets were basically rivers. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the drains couldn't keep up. A tuk-tuk splashed past me and soaked my legs. I just laughed. There's a Thai word – sanuk – which means fun. It's about finding joy in what you're doing. And getting drenched in a Lopburi monsoon is exactly that if you let it be.
Back in my room, I sat on the balcony and listened to the cacophony: geckos chirping, the rain on the roof, and dogs barking from a nearby yard. The city felt ancient and utterly present at the same time. The fan clicked on in the corner, over the bed. I checked the map for tomorrow. I want to catch the morning wet market before it gets too hot, then head out to the countryside. There are other Khmer sites further out, and the famous sunflowers at Phatthana Nikhom, though those bloom in winter, so I'll have to skip the yellow hills.
But the real plan is to be slow. To not chase anything. In Bangkok, the city is a machine that pushes you forward. Here, the monsoon forces you to stop. You wait for the rain to pass, and in the waiting, you actually see the place. The macaques huddled under the carvings, the monk sweeping water with a twig broom, the old ladies selling grilled bananas under an umbrella. The Khmer stones are hundreds of years old. The monkeys are thinner. The rice is green. I'm just getting here. And I've got time.
So the first night in Lopburi is done. It cost me about 550 baht for a room and a day of food and coffee. That's around fifteen bucks. The town is sleepy, the monsoon is loud, and I'm happy. Tomorrow, I'm diving into the wet market and the boat noodles. Until then, from the old royal city of Lavo, sawasdee. I'll talk to you soon.