Sweating, Strolling, and Surviving Nong Nooch Garden Pattaya

When I look back at our Nong Nooch Garden adventure in Pattaya, Thailand, one word comes to mind: sweat. Buckets of it. Let me start with a confession—I never wanted to roam around this massive, beautiful, and jungle-like garden. My original plan was simple: admire a few flowers, snap one or two photos, maybe grab a coconut juice, and then retreat gracefully to the comfort of shade.

But fate, or should I say my wallet, had other plans. Since I had already paid for the entrance ticket—times two, in full—there was no way I could just sit down and waste it. You can’t exactly tell yourself, “It’s okay, I’ll skip this, the money’s gone anyway.” No, my brain was like, “You will march through this garden, admire every leaf, and smile at every flower. You already paid for it!”

So off I went, dragging my tired legs under the sizzling Thai sun, with Lao happily strolling beside me like it was a walk in the park (literally). He seemed to be enjoying the endless rows of orchids, bonsai trees, dinosaur statues, and manicured landscapes, while I was negotiating with my knees and lungs to cooperate just a little longer.

Picture this: a sprawling paradise filled with perfectly arranged gardens, topiaries shaped like animals, elephants wandering about, and cultural shows happening here and there. It was so beautiful, I almost forgot my legs were staging a protest. Almost. Every step felt like an accomplishment, and every shady spot became my personal sanctuary.

The heat was no joke—think of being slowly roasted while walking on a catwalk made entirely of concrete. My sweat could have watered half of Nong Nooch’s plants by the time we reached the second garden. Still, I kept telling myself: “Smile for the photos, Addy. You paid double for this experience, don’t let it go to waste.”

And honestly? Despite the exhaustion, I couldn’t help but admire the sheer beauty of it all. The garden was alive with colors, from bright orchids to golden temples peeking out between the greenery. At some point, even I stopped complaining (for a few minutes, at least) and let myself enjoy the scenery.

Of course, Lao was my partner-in-sweat through it all. Sharing this kind of experience—the good, the tiring, the funny moments of “Oh no, not another garden section!”—made it worthwhile. We laughed, we snapped silly photos, and we survived the sun.

Somewhere between the laughter, the silly selfies, and my dramatic complaints about walking, I realized I was actually glad I did it. Glad that Lao was there with me, glad that we shared the experience—even if I was half-melting along the way.

By the end of the day, I was dehydrated, sun-kissed, and convinced I had burned at least 5,000 calories. But you know what? It was worth it. Not because I paid for it (though, yes, that played a huge role), but because it turned into one of those unforgettable travel memories that you laugh about later.

So here’s my advice: if you visit Nong Nooch Garden, wear comfortable shoes, bring water, and prepare yourself for a lot of walking. And most importantly, bring someone with you—because every sweaty, tiring, and unexpectedly beautiful adventure is better when shared.

Wat Arun: A Memory Wrapped in Light

There are places that feel less like destinations and more like chapters in the story of our lives. For me, one of those chapters was written at Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn, during our journey in Bangkok.

The temple rose before us like a dream—its spires glistening under the sun, every porcelain mosaic shimmering as if the light itself had chosen to rest there. Standing at the gates, I felt both small and infinite at the same time, as though we were stepping not just into history, but into something timeless.

We dressed in traditional Thai costumes that day. The silk flowed against my skin, the colors catching the light with every step. Lao, in his costume, looked every bit as dignified and striking as the temple itself. For a moment, I forgot we were travelers—we belonged, as though the temple had been waiting for us all along.

To honor the day, we had an official photographer capture our journey. It was one of the best decisions we made. Freed from holding cameras, we allowed ourselves to simply live the moment—walking hand in hand through courtyards, laughing at little things, standing still in quiet awe before the towering prang. Each photo is more than just an image; it is a mirror of the joy, the bond, and the wonder we felt.

Inside the temple grounds, I paused often. There was a hush beneath the chatter of tourists, a rhythm of faith in the air. I found myself looking at the river, its waters carrying boats and sunlight alike, and felt deeply grateful. For this place, for this moment, for Lao beside me.

Travel has always been about discovery, but Wat Arun taught me it can also be about belonging. We weren’t just passing through—we were becoming part of the story, even if only for a day.

As the sun lowered, the temple turned golden, its spires bathed in fire and light. They call it the Temple of Dawn, but I found its magic at dusk too—when day and night embrace and everything glows softly, tenderly, like a memory being sealed.

Looking back now, the photos make me smile, but more than that, they remind me of what truly matters. It’s not only about the grandeur of the temple, but the quiet joy of being there with Lao—sharing laughter, silence, and wonder in equal measure.

Some journeys end when the plane lands home. Others, like this one, live forever in the heart. Wat Arun is no longer just a place on a map—it is part of me, a memory wrapped in light.

“วัดอรุณทำให้หัวใจของฉันสว่างไสว เหมือนรุ่งอรุณที่ไม่มีวันสิ้นสุด”

“Wat Arun made my heart shine, like a dawn that never ends.”