To know Bangkok is to smell Bangkok

There is really nothing quite like the aroma of this place: a heady haze of charcoal fires, fish sauce and laboring humanity all pressed up close. It's not a dirty smell, exactly -- funky for sure, but not the putrid reek you'd expect in a city of food carts and feral cats. And then you notice: dang, these streets are ... clean!

Venture out at break of day and you understand why: Shopkeepers and random citizens all across town are sweeping and scrubbing their sidewalks, piling litter into neat little parcels for the daily collection. Everything still has that sooty, gritty aspect -- thanks, air pollution -- but nary a cigarette butt or paper scrap in sight.

The lone exception: Kao San Road, the white backpacker ghetto, a short strip of sleazy watering holes, guest houses and amusements for, as the Brits would call the clientele, "yobs and slappers." Kao San Road is where party dudes come to take a dump on Thailand ... and where their smiling hosts feed it back to them as chicken satay for 30 baht a stick.

Speaking of which: in a decidedly NON-white part of town, I try to order a mysterious but enticing treat from a food cart vendor who speaks no English. Her sign is in Thai and I have no idea what I'm ordering or how much it costs. After enduring my clumsy, spastic hand gestures, she digs into her money bag and shows me exactly how much to pay. Everyone is giving me The Look. And then they all start to point and laugh. I laugh, too, wearing my dorkitude with ... o.k., not pride.

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What is wrong with this picture?

A big, hairy, panting St. Bernard. In Bangkok, where the daytime temperature rarely dips below 80 degrees. WTF???

My heart goes out to this poor wretch, who must sense in his dim doggie brain that he is in a really, really wrong place.

Please, lady, walk him up to Kao San Road. No, you won't need the bag.