Siam Chronicles 1 - Let's Get the Rock Out of Bangkok

We were stranded at the Golden Mountain. I cursed the tuk tuk driver silently, wondered what on earth induced him to flee without payment, and started slogging past woodworkers carving swirling teak posts on the sidewalk thick with sawdust, over the mephitic canals, in search of another of the hopped up go-carts. We didn't have to wait long before a leathery fellow with a suppurating neck wound agreed to schlep us back to our concrete bunker for a dollar. It is a Buddhist holy day today, and the reverberating chanting of the monks steeps the stinking streets in a deep puissance.
It can be argued that the most distinctive thing about Bangkok, more than the garish swirl of life or even the panorama of the crenellated wats, is the overwhelming and pertinacious odor. Those who are familiar with the miasma of a Parisian alley or New York in July would gladly flee for solace back to the more familiar and tamer reeks of simple urine and garbage when faced with the sheer eye-stinging enormity of Bangkok brand stench. It pervades everything - lurking under the spices of the food even, oiling your tongue as it lies heavy and still in your nostrils. It clots your pores and drips through your sweat, and no amount of water or militant scrubbing will keep it from waking you in waves come first bleary blink of morning. But it is not just the stink that whacks you sideways like a blunt instrument while staggering through the street - the sulphurous exhaust from the buses and traffic leave you swimming in an acidic caliginous fishbowl and woefully bereft of any bronchial cilia to speak of. And then there are all the old women with creased faces and dirty flower print dresses that barricade off the sidewalks, searing rotting shellfish in homemade woks (trays beaten concave) emitting great blasts of spicy steam that makes your eyes water and your throat retch into spasmodic coughing. The stink, the fumes, the spice - a city of tears then.
Not as I remembered it quite, but almost assuredly my perception is tainted by whatever stomach malady attacked me as soon as I hit the tarmac from Tokyo and led me to a few days of bed rest and crackers. But if you have a mania for oversized golden buddhas in copious quantities, then certainly this is the city for you.
We're leaving now to race the rainy season and take the night train to Chang Mai. It's about time to get the rock out of Bangkok.