The three-wheel túk-túk taxis screeched and the motorcycle taxis caterwauled as they swerved between cars like skiers in a downhill race. “See how much better it is,” Kan, my guide, said, “now that we have the Skytrain.”

Better? What was it like before the elevated rail “relieved” traffic?
This was my first visit to Bangkok. It was, in fact, my first view of the city.

Sixteen years ago, my friend Ron vacationed here. Fifteen years ago, he quit his job in California, sold his house and moved to Bangkok, and despite our close friendship and constant correspondence, I never quite understood why. We hadn’t seen each other since. And yet, the years melted away with our first hello. He would show me Bangkok and, he said, “We’ll start by leaving it.”

In the long-tail boat he rented, we glided along the Chao Phraya, the magnificent river that is the bloodline of Thailand and the spine of Bangkok, leaving the modern world behind. Here were houses built on stilts in the river. Here were women paddling about in boats barely big enough to hold them and the foods they were selling. And on both sides of the river were wats, Buddhist temples — large, small, elaborate and simple.

Not surprising since 95 percent of Thais are Buddhists. In fact, Kan later told me, there are 31,000 wats in the country, more than 400 in Bangkok. For most visitors, a stop at only one usually means Wat Phra Kaew, gloriously gilded and famous for the Emerald Buddha. But just because so many tourists flock there, as beautiful as it is, it felt oddly commercial. As for the venerated Emerald Buddha, it is rather small, about 30 inches tall, placed high above an ornate altar and made of jade.

For me, Wat Pho offered a far more contemplative experience and with its Reclining Buddha, an imposing one as well. Stretching more than 150 feet, it is a gleaming golden wonder, the largest image of Buddha in Thailand. In fact, the entire wat was a wonder to me, housing more than one thousand images of Buddha as well as the ashes of three kings. But perhaps the greatest wonder was the profound stillness and calm that wafted through the splendor.

Perhaps it was this Buddhist influence that explained the night of fireworks, held on the outskirts of town, in honor of the king. Having said a final goodbye to Kan, Ron and I left my hotel by limo, easily passing taxis and túk-túks until we pulled onto the multi-lane highway, where cars filled every lane, packed hood to trunk. We moved more and more slowly until, finally, we didn’t move at all. No one moved. As we sat in this monumental traffic jam, I thought how my hometown of New York would handle it. Horns blasting; drivers shouting, swearing, threatening and, as frustration grew, fighting. What happened here was — nothing. People simply left their cars, smiling, some climbing on the roofs, hoping to catch a glimpse of the faraway fireworks. We never did see them. But, as Ron said, “We can see fireworks anywhere. I doubt we’ll ever again a scene like this.” Serenity in the midst of disappointment.

Only then did it occur to me that the din I heard during my first view of Bangkok came from those cacophonous túk-túks and motorcycle motors, not from the drivers; they remained quiet, calm. Serenity in the midst of chaos.

And once again I witnessed serenity, when we went to Chatuchak, the weekend market where more than 15,000 shops and stalls crowd together along a maze of narrow aisles. Thousands of visitors fill those aisles daily. Yet, no vendors called to passersby, begging them to stop, inveigling them to buy. Instead, they waited patiently as people looked over their wares — handicrafts, animals, books, shoes, clothes, snakes, plants, household goods, religious artifacts, art, jewelry, fabric and just about everything else. One word of caution: Most of the “antiques” for sale are not antiques. And that’s where Robert McCarthy comes into the picture.

An American who came to Thailand with the Peace Corps in 1963 to teach English, McCarthy stayed on, now teaching at two universities. In his 34 years here, he has become a leading expert on the antiquities of the region. With his guidance, I bought small, ancient objects from Burma, Cambodia and Thailand, but only after Robert, a quiet and modest man, vetted them. He also took me to a unique shop run by a young Afghan named Chuffie whose father is a dealer in Kabul; it was a tiny bazaar of necklaces, bracelets and head pieces handmade in northern Afghanistan. My necklace cost about $17, and nothing I’ve ever worn has elicited as many oohs and aahs. Robert told me that for a fee of $100, he takes small groups, limited to six, through the market (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)

). Next to my necklace, it is the best bargain in Bangkok.

From Chatuchak, Robert, Ron and I went to lunch at Rim Nam, which floats at the river’s edge in the Nontaburi neighborhood. Just over the side of this restaurant-on-a-raft, men with nets were diving for fish, destined to be on Rim Nam’s menu that evening.

We did not stay for the fresh fish. Instead, Ron and I had dinner at the upscale Celadon, dining on crisp river prawns with three-flavored chili sauce and red curry of roasted duck. Everywhere in Bangkok, the food was light in texture, tingling with spice and bright with lemon grass, lime juice and fresh turmeric. I still remember delectable crispy rice noodles with sweet and sour sauce, chicken wrapped in herb leaves and still more rice noodles wrapped in banana flowers. Along the way, I had a lesson in Thai table manners: Do not lift a fork to bring food to the mouth. Instead, eat with a spoon; use a fork only to push the food onto it.

My last evening in Bangkok, before dinner and my midnight flight to New York, I sat on a balcony with Ron sipping Dom Perignon. Below, the darkening Chao Phraya glittered with a million diamonds, reflections of lights draped across passing boats. The sultry afternoon heat was easing. After toasting each other, we fell silent. I knew I was no longer merely observing timeless calm and tranquility and peace, I was feeling it. I understood why Ron was here.