The Unusal Wat Near Bangkok

“You must first walk through the open jaws of a tiger. Next you will enter a subterranean place of special Buddhist images directly under the main temple.” Monk at Wat Ta Khian

A visit to a rural Thai temple proved very surprising for traveller Earl Cooper. When visiting Wat Ta Khian he was greeted by a colourful menagerie and selfie-taking deities! Here he describes his unusual journey to a temple of tigers and dragons.

Disclaimer: Traveller stories published on this website do not necessarily reflect the opinion of South East Asia Backpacker.

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Extreme curiosity originally pulled me to visit this temple, located in Nonthaburi Province just north of Bangkok. It had been known for the weird collection of 10-foot-tall replicas of Transformers (made from scrap auto parts) which were placed around the temple grounds. Sadly, I would discover on arrival, all those spacey Transformer robots had since been transformed — er, replaced — by outlandish sculptures of tigers, dragons and ogres, as well as an other-worldly rock band.

In any case it was still well worth the visit. Predictably, half the adventure was getting there and back. Even as the crow flies, I knew it was going to be a long haul from my guesthouse deep in the city. I could tell this from the online maps I’d been studying, those that actually showed the whereabouts of a remote temple named Wat Ta Khian (also spelled Wat Takhian).

As that crow flew, it would have to spread its wings across the full span of Bangkok, flying above high-rise hotels, over parks, shopping malls, and eventually swoop over a major river marking the city’s westernmost edge. Then it would further have to flap its way across miles of sprawling suburbs and paddy fields into far-flung Nonthaburi on the far side of the river. 

That crow would end up very tired. I flew its route in my imagination several times, following the grid lines on mass transit websites. Even though I figured I had a fair mental map of the temple’s location, the true challenge would be actually getting there. Mostly because my intent was to travel the full distance by public transport, like a pilgrim, finding my way on foot if it came to that. 

Along the way, I would get a very good introduction to Bangkok’s mass transit systems, which are surprisingly modern and efficient. The elevated BTS Skytrain (12 metres above street level) starts running at 5.15 am. When I got on board at 6.28 am, although the true ‘rush hour’ crunch was yet to come, it was crowded. Virtually every passenger, whether standing or sitting, had a web device activated and was adrift somewhere in cyberspace. 

Our airborne bullet train whizzed above the clogged streets of the city. Ten minutes later we were at a key transfer point and my brief Skytrain ride was over. Time to switch from riding three floors above ground to three floors below. I took a series of escalators, first down to street level, then underground into Bangkok’s new MRT subway system. Very hi-tech, it efficiently weaves its long course beneath the city.

I boarded a train on the Purple Line, one that runs underground for 32 minutes, through long dark tunnels, stopping at a half-dozen stations. Passengers got off, very few got on, then fewer and fewer, until the train arrived nearly empty at Tao Poon station. Welcome to the end of the subway line; the city was now far behind. Time to head up to the surface, once again.

I followed the handful of local folk as they rode a steep escalator up to street level. Then, surprise! They got onto yet another steep escalator. Up, up and away! Finally, they stepped off onto a very elevated platform. The wide span of the horizon stretched for miles beyond crumbling old apartment houses, fields of rice, junk yards, and an occasional sub-division of new homes carved out of farm plots. We were above it all now. The subway had transformed itself into another Skytrain!

A few minutes later a Purple Line ghost train pulled up to the platform. It was completely empty of passengers. I got aboard with five other riders, the doors hissed closed, and we spread out over the length of four train carriages. Three fellow riders immediately became absorbed with their phones, the two others seemed focused on some place beyond the windows. Or within themselves.

I looked out over the landscape, this semi-rural countryside that was, for better or for worse, due for or doomed for change. I imagined the inner city expanding outward, encouraged by this new train line. I was traveling now above a countryside in transformation. Just then I thought I saw a crow fly by.

Twenty-eight minutes later the Purple Line ghost train reached its very last station (Khlong Bang Phai). I was its only rider. Once on the platform, I asked the stationmaster about the best way to go to the temple. He pointed down to street level, to the bus center. “You, go number 166. Go to Wat Ta Khian. Okay.” 

That was good news. I’d convinced myself that taking a taxi there would mean it wasn’t a genuine pilgrimage. So, that’s how I eventually ended up bouncing along on rural Bus #166 where even the on-board ticket seller did not know the location of Wat Ta Khian. That’s how I was let off beside a motorway near auto repair shops, used-car graveyards, and acres of rice fields. “You ask at beer shop,” had been the ticket seller’s advice. And so, I did.

The ‘beer shop’ was actually a tiny office and retail outlet attached to the front of a huge warehouse and trucking facility. I stepped inside out of the heat. It held a small sales counter, a row of glass-door coolers, and had cases of beer piled everywhere you looked. A smiling lady with a clipboard offered me a seat on a short stack of Tiger Beer crates. Then she drew me a map. “Can walk. Not so far. You see canal bridge, you know,” she explained with another smile. “After, you come back. I give you discount.”

She was right about the distance. Not thirty minutes later I was standing on the colorful, arched bridge that spanned a canal. In front of me, covering several acres, were the vast grounds (with a parking lot big enough for tour buses) of Wat Ta Khian. 

Aside from the bright, pastel pink of the temple walls, what caught my eye were the colorful awnings strung along the canal that rang alongside the temple – the Wat Takhian Floating Market.

As I watched, a woman in a sarong and straw hat perched in a gondola came paddling into view along the canal. She maneuvered to the docking area and was helped to tie up beside other boats. Other grannies, whose vegetables and fruits were already arranged along the low dock, helped her offload her bags and baskets. 

This was the wonderfully communal ‘farming ladies temple market’ that the bus-ticket seller had happily mentioned to me. I went there first, got a plastic baggie of sliced pineapple, plus a chilled coconut with one end lopped off and a straw stuck in it, and decided to sit for a while in the shade, shoot photos and chit chat with the grannies.

“You be sure, come back Valentine Day. Get ohhh plenty flower for you!” Truth be told, it was down-home nice to be charmed by these energetic temple grannies. I promised I’d try to come back to buy some bananas after exploring the temple.

Alas, that never happened. Instead, I became totally blown away by the outrageous sculptures. The first was right there at the front gate to the temple. A whimsical ogre. A bigger-than-life-size would-be fierce guardian of the temple, but in a relaxed pose. The whole temple seemed to transmit a spirit-lifting vibe, a playful sense of humor. 

“A tiger allows you entry, a dragon sees you out.” Earl Cooper, South East Asia Backpacker Contributor

A young monk I spoke with showed me a news clipping that stated the temple leaders had “purposely added ‘happy-heart-feel’ sculptures to the temple grounds because they wanted to have something refreshing and Instagram-worthy to draw new visitors.” (As if having an authentic, old-style, floating market adjoining the temple was not enough of an attraction.)

This way of thinking seemed to be working, he said. Whole families came to visit the farm-ladies’ market and also to make offerings and prayers in the temple. Moreover, they came to see (and take photos with) the numerous tiger and dragon sculptures and the goofy figures of guardian deities gone round the bend. One is of a huge, bare-chested ogre wearing Raybans and a Rolex taking a selfie with his Apple device. Who says monks don’t have a sense of humor!

It was then that the monk further suggested I go into the sacred chamber under the main temple. “You must first walk through the open jaws of a tiger. Next you will enter a subterranean place of special Buddhist images directly under the main temple. Oh, mind those beams overhead, please.”

And so, I did. I bowed down to enter the mouth of the tiger, then stepped down into a strange underground realm. It was vast. With a series of board walkways that made a circuit of 12 sacred displays, each with an animal image one could pray to for a certain outcome. Each had its own wooden offering box.

As I made my circuit, I learned that bowing down was a useful ritual. I got my head bumped. I got my mind bumped. I lingered. I watched as a monk in dark saffron swept an open space before an altar, then put cushions in place for a group of meditators to kneel on. As they began to make their way in, I quietly made my way out.

A tiger allows you entry, a dragon sees you out. I climbed a set of steep steps that led out directly through the wide-open jaws of a dragon! Time to make one last bow (to avoid those dragon teeth) and step outside to stand up straight under the open sky. Even with the heat of the mid-afternoon sun, it felt good to walk across the temple grounds. My last view before I turned away was a set of surreal sculptures of other-worldly musicians — drummer, sax man, electric guitarist — grooving to their own cosmic harmonics. 

This was a temple visit I would not soon forget. Realistically, it was a pilgrimage I would probably never repeat. I waved off the sleepy taxi driver in the parking area. I didn’t mind a short walk. Then, just as I was crossing over the arched bridge outside the temple gates, I heard the distinct caw of crow. A confirmation to take it slow.

I smiled. From here on I knew the way. I could take my time. I might even pause to buy a Tiger Beer from the smiling lady in the beer shop. The big city could wait.