In Bangkok,
there's a sense that the smells
and the tastes permeating the air
have been etched across the sky.
Even the pollution seems to know that it, too, bleeds from human voices, singing, crying out to a source unknown,
but always present.
A person needs something concrete to beat the intense heat, and save the fruit vendors,
you won't find it on Khaosan Road,
that mass of intertwining international bodies
all seeking the best t-shirt bargains.
The music is a source of continual
comical relief or annoyance,
depending on how you look at it.
One could argue its' timelessness and yet,
the phrase "No accounting for taste"
is a constant in the mind.
Truly, though, a few too many Singha's and you, too, might find yourself singing along to CCR with a bunch of Kiwi's
-nothing to be ashamed of in my book.
Getting to know oneself is not an easy thing, but being abroad is certainly
a nice way to do it.
