bangkok

view from the hostel

"sir, yes, excuse me please" says the korean stewardess in a shrill, alarming tone. the phrase runs together and sounds like a singular potent blast from a foghorn.  i'm jarred awake, fearful something disastrous is happening. but nothing is. i'm just very tired and too out of it to be consoled by the fact i am embarking on a three month journey to southeast asia. the stewardess motions for me to return my seat to its full upright position. she twists her hands to help describe my meal choices, "we have chicken and rice" she says, pausing, interrogatively. but no more choices come. i eat the chicken and rice, my third airplane meal of the day. i'm going to bangkok, it takes twenty hours to get there.

we arrive, go through customs, find an atm and get some "baht," get in a cab, get to the hostel. my hair is greased and matted to my skull. my hair actually hurts, as if it is growing backwards into my scalp. i want to take a shower but i lay down and against my better judgement fall asleep. i had wanted to start the trip by punching jet lag in the face but it didn't happen. we wake up at four in the morning and wait for the sun to rise.

it only takes a few moments of looking off our balcony for a smile to come to my face. outside birds are chirping, it's hot and humid and in the distance are concrete tenements only half painted pink. i'm in a new land and it makes me happy.

we go and walk around bangkok. we buy a bottle of water from 7-11 for six baht. the streets are chaotic--cars and trucks, motorccyles and pedestrians. we hop and run across the streets to avoid getting smashed. the smells of a tropical, crammed, congested city are there: exhaust, garbage, sewage, fried  food, fish, gasoline, oil, metal. they all float in and out intermittently. sometimes merging, making new, more pungent aromas. 

we walked around, rode on the skytrain and the water taxi. we looked at some temples and a giant reclining buddah. the sun and heat kicked my ass and we walked around more. i haven't seen the entire city, but i'd have to estimate there are no less than 250 billion people living here with at least 50 percent of them selling food or clothing on the streets.

i enjoy eating street food. not only is it tasty and cheap, but it also gives you the thrill of potentially becoming violently ill. today i ate some "meat ball pork." which consisted of four meatball porks grilled on a skewer and drizzeled with some hot pepper sauce. they were mildly delcious and haven't yet given me any profuse sstomach pains. there are many more strange looking foods that i intend to try that i will not be able to name or aptly describe.