EVA FEJOS

I LOVE YOU,
BANGKOK

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Copyright © Éva Fejős, 2012, 2026

First published in Hungarian in 2012

ISBN 978 615 6269 96 6

Published in 2026 by Erawan Publishing.

All rights reserved.

To Dad.
I’ll never get used to your absence.

Thank you for my love for supporting the idea of the big journey that made this book happen. Thank you for standing by me and being my support – even during difficult times.

I dedicate this book to my mom, so she can at least travel the distance between Budapest and Bangkok in her imagination… and of course, thank you…

I’m grateful to Balázs, Andi, Gabika, and to all my friends, cousins, and aunts – for everything.

Thank you to my readers, both on and off Facebook, for the daily encouragement and support as I reached the finish line with this book. It came together so quickly because I felt the anticipation and strength radiating from you.

These few lines were part of the foreword to the first edition. Since then, a lot of water has flowed down the Chao Phraya River - and my life has changed almost completely. Ten years have passed since my first and longest winter spent in Bangkok, and those who’ve followed my journey know it’s been full of turning points. But for those who are only getting to know the story of my great journey now - both physical and emotional - I’ll save the rest for the epilogue: how my life has changed, how that winter in Bangkok stayed with me, how this incredible city still echoes in my heart, and all I owe it even now.

So let the great adventure begin!

Part 1
Deep breath and run to Bangkok

"Aren’t you afraid this will cost you your job?" Countless people asked me that in the week before I left. I answered dutifully: I’d been granted unpaid leave, used up my remaining vacation days, and from November through the end of March, I was going to "run away."

Was I afraid? Funny enough – no. What worried me more was how to tell my bosses (or make them understand) that I had to go. Mostly because the reporter in me needed assignments. Honestly, I was bored to death writing magazine-style fluff – those “6 tips to feel better in your skin” kind of articles. The journalist in me – the one who comes alive in reporting situations – was gasping for air. That side of me had been sidelined for years. In Hungary, it’s not really acceptable to take time off for the sake of "recharging," even when the job demands constant renewal and creativity. But once I asked for time off, the fear in me vanished. Back then, I didn’t even know what it meant not to be afraid. Now I do – but let’s not get ahead of the story.

"Aren’t you afraid this will cost your relationship?"

I wasn’t. I was sure we’d be fine. I knew he supported me. I believed that being apart, missing each other, and the rare reunions would only deepen our relationship.

I wasn’t afraid that it wouldn’t survive the distance. We’d already weathered so much together. I knew how vital trust and support were – even across oceans. I wasn’t worried. I had my fictional heroines in mind: if they could be brave enough to take big leaps, then their author couldn’t afford to cower at a stray comment or even a sly remark.

The flight was Budapest to Bangkok, with a layover. I’d taken it many times before – but never like this. Never with the intention of staying away for months, spending an entire winter under palm trees, in the warmth. I’d dreamed of it since I was a kid.

Deep breath. Inhale. Hold. The air isn’t exactly floral – but it’s hot, humid, exotic. As soon as we get off the plane, I was hit by the scent of Bangkok: a complex blend of incense, tom yum soup bubbling away in street pots, tropical flowers, passion, love, the sweet perfume of sex workers, the sour sweat of pudgy sex tourists, and a whisper of tropical rain. This cocktail of smells conjures up stories for me – Asian tales I’ve heard, and many more I still want to hear. I inhale deeply, hold it in my lungs, and think: wouldn’t it be amazing to have a perfume that tells a story the way Bangkok’s scent does? (Okay, maybe minus one or two of the elements.) Something that evokes a place, a feeling, even a novel. A scent I could spray on at home and – poof – I’m in Bankok.

One hundred and fifty days ahead of me. For me – and for Balázs too, who’s a colleague and good friend. I promise I’ll tell you more about him soon. For now, just know he’s in on the adventure. We’ll be living on the same street in Bangkok, just across from each other… One hundred and fifty days! Unreal. I get chills. I think this scent – this feeling – is freedom. No meetings. I set my own schedule. I don’t plan every minute. I’ll just let the days carry me.

Sitnoy is waiting at the airport. Such a kind gesture. We hug, then he ushers me quickly into his taxi – no lingering allowed here. I think back to how we met. Almost five years ago. I had arrived alone in this city I already knew quite well – I was planning a report series on plastic surgery and elephant sanctuaries. My boss didn’t mind, but I had to cover all the expenses myself. In return, I didn’t have to use holiday allowance. I arrived on my own, though a few days later, my friend Kata joined me from Budapest.

That first time, I got into Sitnoy’s taxi at the airport. He tried to haggle, but we quickly settled on 350 baht, and I guided him on where to go. Strangely, I always find my way around chaotic Bangkok. Maybe because abroad I feel like I have no choice but to memorize routes – for my own safety. Otherwise I’d get lost and never be found.

Sitnoy wanted to learn English. He was in his early twenties, and I can say now: he’s a true gentleman. He respects his job and his passengers. That’s rare among Bangkok taxi drivers – and it’s why I stayed loyal to him. Back then, he came with me to orphanages. He barely spoke English, but he drove me to the addresses I’d written down. After a while, I think he felt sorry for me. He didn’t realize I was a journalist doing stories – he thought I was trying to adopt a Thai child. Eventually, he started giving me tips – where to go, who might help, which ministry to write to. I couldn’t make him understand that I was writing articles, not filing petitions.

Over the years, Sitnoy and I traveled a lot through Thailand. And now he’s here, waiting at the airport…

The skyscrapers start to appear along the highway. Bangkok pulses, alive, electric. Despite the sandbags piled up against flooding, and the supposed drinking water shortage. Street vendors line the sidewalks with their carts. Crowds gather at the Erawan Shrine. Vendors selling incense and flower garlands stand outside. Opposite them, a beggar squats beside a glittering Louis Vuitton boutique. The scent of grilled meat fills the air. A pineapple seller peels fruit right on the sidewalk, wearing rubber gloves (which he also uses to take cash). And me? I feel like I’ve come home.

Strange, but true: Bangkok feels like home. It wasn’t always this way. The first time, the city felt unfamiliar. I smelled odors, not scents. I saw shadows, not light. The traffic was maddening. Skinny stray dogs. Suspicious, unidentifiable food. Cockroaches. Rats scurrying in the dark. For three days, I walked in the shadows. Then, suddenly, the sun broke through – and the picture I’d painted in my mind changed.

It took three days to open up to this city, and to fall in love with it.

Now I’m here. And a whole new adventure awaits.

Part 2
Arrival and First Impressions

"Floods?"

"Not here," says Sitnoy.

"Drinking water?"

"You can get bottled water everywhere. You might have to walk two hundred meters for it instead of thirty. Or maybe five hundred."

"Epidemic?"

"What kind of epidemic?"

That’s how my first conversation with Sitnoy goes. Before leaving, a lot of people were worried – terrifying news stories back home talked about floods in Thailand and even about chaos in the capital. No drinking water. Crocodiles roaming the streets. The city center on the verge of being drowned in dirty water. Epidemics on the horizon…

So those first few days were spent figuring out what was true.

Bangkok, as it turns out, is exactly the same as always – except for the sandbags piled around buildings and the occasional store that runs out of bottled water. And yes, sometimes smelly, brown water comes out of the tap, but honestly, you should be careful with tap water in Thailand anyway. Every guidebook recommends bottled water. Also – no crocodiles parading down the street. Of course, not everything was exaggerated: unfortunately, the floods did claim victims – mainly in rural areas – and many Thai homes were washed away. But telling tourists to stay away felt an unnecessary precaution. Especially when visiting actually helps – the country mainly runs on tourism.

The first night always feels like stepping into a dream. I walk out of the cool lobby into the hot, humid air. Strangers on the street greet you like they know you – as if you've just arrived in a village. And yet, this “village” is a megacity of fifteen million.

I remember when I first came alone for that reporting trip. I sat down to eat at a street food stall. Small plastic tables with waxy tablecloths covered the pavement. Fish grilled right there by the curb, stuffed with fragrant herbs. A pot of spicy tom yum soup simmered, and beside it, crabs sizzled over a fire. Each table was full. Waiters and pedestrians slalomed between them.

In Thailand, night falls fast. Diners could barely see what was on their plates, only the flickering candlelight at their tables. The sidewalk hugged a six-lane road, where run-down buses belched smoke, tuk-tuks tried to muscle through traffic, scooters zipped past with two riders each doing wild lane changes, and luxury car drivers sat bored in gridlock. And me? I grabbed an empty table.

Only two other foreigners were in the “restaurant” when I ordered. By the time my bright red grilled crabs arrived, the group at the next table had joined me – literally. They pushed their table next to mine. Suddenly I found myself telling them about the Danube and snow – things they’d only ever seen on TV.

They were adorable. One university girl explained why they’d joined me:

"It’s no good to eat alone. Be happy when you have dinner! Eating is a celebration. Talking is a celebration."

I laughed then. But later, I realized: for Thais, every meal is a celebration. Not a drunken party – but a chance to be together. To talk. To laugh. To let the stress of the day melt away.

Eating alone – especially dinner – just doesn’t feel right here.

That famous Thai smile finds you on day one. The city pulses. It’s November. I’m crossing a little bridge over the Chao Phraya in beach sandals and a summer dress. I smile back at the people smiling at me. I’m just happy. Happy to be back in the place where so many meaningful things in my life began.

Part 3
Sitnoy’s Family, and a Bangkok Evening

Sitnoy and I traveled through many parts of Thailand a few years ago. He’s that young Bangkok taxi driver who once gave me discounted countryside rides – not because I asked, but simply so he could practice his English and keep himself occupied.

Bangkok changes by the minute – you can see it in the way brand new skyscrapers pop up in a single year. But I also feel that the city never changes at all. Maybe that’s because of people like Sitnoy.

Before I left, I called to check in with him. He told me everything was fine, that he was still driving a taxi. Then he asked, "Can you hear? My English is better now, right?" He was excited. Then came the inevitable: "Are we going to the orphanages again? The elephant sanctuary? The gender-reassignment surgeons? Sacred places and all that?" I said maybe. But this time, we’d likely be going elsewhere.

Sure enough, on the road into the city, Sitnoy suddenly announces he wants to introduce me to his brother’s newborn daughter. So instead of Ayutthaya, my first outing is to a family home in Bangkok.

They say Thailand is the land of smiles – but many people warn that the smile is usually just for show: for the money, for the foreigner, for the tourist. I’ve seen that kind of smile before. But I’ve seen real ones too. Many more, actually.

Sitnoy’s sister, brother-in-law, and parents welcome me like a long-lost friend, though we’ve never met. Their apartment is tiny, way out in a suburban district, so they invite me to sit outside. Street vendors set up with little carts, mobile stoves, plastic chairs, and fold-out garden tables covered in waxed cloth. Dishwashing happens in a plastic tub that’s better left unexamined. And yet, the entire setup has a beautiful atmosphere.

The scent of charcoal-grilled meat fills the air. Even at night, the temperature doesn’t dip below thirty degrees. Neighbors gather around the garden tables, buy food – (cheaply, a meat skewer costs just 6 baht, about 48 forints) – and eat right there on the street. Since this isn’t the city center, there aren’t any tourists around.

Sitnoy’s brother-in-law tells me that last week he helped animal rescue teams retrieve dogs by boat from flooded regions. In many places, families handed over their pets to be cared for until the water recedes – then they’ll come get them. Even when water reached half a meter in their homes, people didn’t want to leave, afraid that by the time they returned, their belongings would be gone.

Sitnoy’s sister gently places her sleepy two-month-old daughter into my arms. Bangkok is sweating. The air is thick and humid. A warm breeze sways the palm trees and bird-of-paradise flowers along the sidewalk. We eat grilled fish with rice, and the family eagerly listens to stories about Hungary.

“People live better there, don’t they?” they ask, smiling.

Six people live in their 30-square-meter apartment. Sitnoy’s parents – well into their sixties – still haven’t been able to retire. His father works on a construction site. His mother sells vegetables. Their neighbors moved to a faraway village recently; they had no pension and couldn’t survive in the capital on social aid.

It’s still a big issue in Thailand. Sitnoy’s mother tells me that those without a pension – relying only on minimal state assistance – can barely get by. That’s why many elderly people leave the city.

Still, Sitnoy’s parents smile. And it’s not a smile for the farang – the foreigners. It’s a smile for themselves. For me. Even for the coming Christmas, which technically isn’t their holiday at all. They’re Buddhists, like most Thais. But in just a few weeks, thanks to a local shopkeeper, a big artificial Christmas tree will stand on their street. And they’re genuinely glad to have “adopted” a celebration from another culture – just for the joy of it.

We sit outside late into the night. Talking. Eating. Always eating, yet never feeling too full. Sitnoy watches with amusement as I ladle more and more chili fish sauce onto my plate.

“You’re one of us now,” he says. “You’re an honorary Thai. Part of the family.”

I say goodbye with a promise: we’ll see each other again soon. Maybe even in Ayutthaya – if he’s in the mood.

About the Author

Éva Fejős is a bestselling Hungarian author whose novels have sold nearly one million copies. Known for her emotionally rich storytelling and strong, relatable female characters, she writes about love, change, and the courage to start over.

A former journalist, Éva spent five transformative months in Bangkok—an experience that inspired Love You, Bangkok. She is also the founder of her own publishing house and continues to write novels, memoirs, and stories that take readers around the world while bringing them closer to themselves.

She lives in Hungary with her family.

Table of Contents

Part 1 – Deep breath and run to Bangkok

Part 2 – Arrival and First Impressions

Part 3 – Sitnoy’s Family, and a Bangkok Evening

Part 4 – The Day of Brooms and Blessings

Part 5 – Stillness in the Ruins

Part 6 – Bangkok, Between Palms and Questions

Part 7 – The Race and the Words

Part 8 – Nightlife Confessions

Part 9 – A New Friendship, Pad Thai and Second Chances

Part 10 – Farang Encounters and Bangkok Realities

Part 11 – Palm Trees in Winter

Part 12 – White Skin, Dark Truths

Part 13 – Why Bangkok?

Part 14 – Pratunam: Layers of Labor

Part 15 – Threads and Currents

Part 16 – Arrival by River, Stories by the Shore

Part 17 – After the Flood

Part 18 – Soi Dogs and Silent Suffering

Part 19 – A Twist in the Caribbean Summer

Part 20 – Who Heals the Healers?

Part 21 – Sacred Carvings and Secret Wishes

Part 22 – Long Live the King

Part 23 – My Book Arrives in Bangkok

Part 24 – Sanuk

Part 25 – Girls' Night on Bangkok's Forehead

Part 26 – Chiang Mai Detour

Part 27 – Village Roads and Sacred Elephants

Part 28 – Christmas Heat and Coastal Breezes

Part 29 – Conversations with Characters

Part 30 – Christmas Lights on Khao San

Part 31 – Letting Go

Part 32 – Little Hands, Big Questions

Part 33 – Coming Home, for Now

Part 34 – New Year's Eve in Bangkok

Part 35 – Into the Blue

Part 36 – Waking the Journalist

Part 37 – The Island and the Crooked Horizon

Part 38 – Shadows and Neon

Part 39 – Behind the Curtains

Part 40 – Under the Knife, Over the Line

Part 41 – Healing Hands, Healing Heart

Part 42 – The Reply

Part 43 – The Elephants of Thailand

Part 44 – The Farang and the Fortune Teller

Part 45 – Goodbye, Bangkok

Epilogue

Another Epilogue – Later

About the Author

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