……“That smells like Bangkok”

Now, let’s see….where did I leave off? Ah, yes, that’s right.  I was recouping from 4 days of gastrointestinal hell just in time to make an all-day flight from Kathmandu to Bangkok.  It’s best to test a finicky stomach with questionable airport food and a solitary in-flight bathroom.  Ha!. But alas, I was actually feeling much better on the day of our flight to the Land of the Smiles, as Thailand is known.  The Kathmandu airport (as I’ve previously described in the Everest trek blog) did not fail us in providing a comical façade of “order” and “security”.  The short story is that I was groped in security checks no less that 3 or 4 separate times, could not find the gate (because the flights are not posted at specific gates), and then made a mad dash with a hundred other people when finally our flight was randomly called to proceed to the plane.  Following another grope sesh- literally on the tarmac- we finally boarded our Indigo flight to Delhi, for a short layover and then on the Bangkok.
Now, I had many expectations (actually, just preparing myself for a very uncomfortable experience) about the New Delhi airport.  But, you know what? That place was a friggin’ palace.  I had just come from Kathmandu, and really, that changes everything.  But, the airport was…CLEAN, and Air-conditioned.  It had REAL BATHROOMS.  And McDonalds!  Which Jordan and I decided to feast on, since A) its probably been about 1 year since that we’d last had Mackies D’s, and B) you can order a Chicken Maharaja Mac.  That’s the next best thing to a good ol’ Big Mac since Hindus do not eat beef.  Special sauce and all.  I had a Spicy McChicken, which in hindsight was a terrible choice considering my very delicate constitution.  But, as it turned out, I held it down (and up, hehe) just fine, and my very dehydrated self really relished the 5 million grams of sodium.
Anyways, we boarded our flight a short time later to Bangkok, which landed at a convenient time, midnight.  Walking through the BKK airport was yet again an exercise in appreciating things, that I , as very spoilt American, have always taken for granted.  “Oh its so clean and modern!” “The bathrooms aren’t squat!” It was heaven in a terminal.
After a quick and ridiculously hassle-free experience with Thai immigration, we stepped out into the hot, sticky, humid Thailand night to find a taxi.  Immediately, J and I both zeroed in on a guy hanging out near his scuffed-up Nissan Centra taxi, several hundred yards away from the airport exit, where yelling and screaming taxi drivers tried to drum up our business.  Having done our research, we knew to ask for the meter rate (instead of negotiating a price beforehand) , but our new taxi driver, simply said “Nope, no meter. No have”.  Ok.  So I guess, we negotiate.  Its was late. He was nice.  Neither of us felt like shopping around.  So we settled on a 300 Baht fare from the airport to our hotel, assuming our new taxi friend knew where that was, which was questionable.
This is when the scariest car ride of my life took place.  Our taxi driver decided to be as efficient as possible whisking us from the airport to our hotel, driving around 160km/hr on the relatively traffic-free Bangkok interstate.  “This is how I’m going to die”, I thought.  In a head-on collision at 1 o’clock in the morning in Bangkok.  To the soundtrack of “Gangam Style”.  It doesn’t seem like a noble death.  (Now as I remember that night, I have “Gangam Style” stuck in my head.  Perfect.)
By some divine Providence, we made it to our hotel, which happened to be down a quiet and pleasant soi (small street), close to the main tourist area.  Again by some karmic fluke (acquired in Hindu Nepal), we were upgraded for the night into a VERY nice room.  Keep in mind that this expensive room was valued at $50/per night.  A big soft bed!  Complimentary bottled water! A TV (haven’t seen one of those in 6 weeks)! AIR CONDITIONED!  Compliementary breakfast!  Truly the high life.
The next morning, after a delightfully clean hot shower, breakfast, and a room-switch (you can’t live in a castle forever, I suppose), we set off to explore the strange, strong, revolting, and delightful city of Bangkok.  The first thing I noticed about Bangkok, apart from the oppressive heat and humidity that my mountain body was not at all used to, was the smell.  Or, smells, rather. First, the delicious, smoky scent of barbeque pork-on-a-stick, such a staple of Bangkok street foods. Its place in the culinary hierarchy is akin to Snickers or Pringles in the States.  Just a tasty little treat to grab and eat on the run.  Then, I noticed the coalescing fragrances of  motor oil and mud that emanated from the nearby river.  It reminded me of the Gulf Coast, and my childhood days spent bent over looking for hermit crabs on the lagoon of Gulf Shores.  But it was the next smell that I will, for as long as I live, always associate with Bangkok, and really with all of Southeast Asia.  The stuff that weird sayings are made of.  The “that smells like Bangkok” smell.  It’s sweet, deceptively, but also rancid.  It smells likes sewage and pastries mixed together.  Like day-old fried chicken and rotten candy.  Ubiquitously, Bangkok.  It hits me like a ton of rotten eggs.  One minute, I’m walking down the street, the air fresh and clean or maybe faintly sweetened by bougainvilleas or papaya trees.  I step cautiously over an open grate in the sidewalk and BAM! “That smells like Bangkok!” My nose crinkles and my stomach rolls over, a gag rises to my throat.  And then it passes. To be replaced once again by barbequed pork or river mud or beauganvilleas.  That’s Bangkok for you.
But I smell it everywhere.  In Bangkok, of course, but also on the southern Thai islands, and in the more rural northern Thailand.  And even now, here, in Laos.  I say it at least five times a day, as I stroll through new places….”blek, that smells like Bangkok..”  But its already so ingrained in my mind, so entrenched in my olfactory memory, this simultaneously pleasant and disgusting aroma conjurs up vivid recollections.  Khao San Road, the Bourbon street of Bangkok--all douche-y frat t-shirts and bucket drinks.  20 Baht Phad Thai.  Finding the perfectly nasty street stall with broken plastic stools and sticky tabletops,  and putting WAY too much red chili flakes in my Tom Yum soup.  And then having to drink 2 big Chang beers to douse the inferno in my mouth.
That’s what I remember when I come by a place that smells like Bangkok.  And I hope it will always be like that.