“One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster; The bars are temples but their pearls ain't free”

Five airports and 30 hours of travel, including 120 minutes of ridiculous rush hour traffic on a Tuesday morning, and here I stand, frantically changing from comfy, yet unseasonal, leggings and fleece top to lightweight pants and a cotton t-shirt. Grabbing the small crossover purse and a wide brimmed fuchsia sun hat, I raced out the door on pure adrenaline. Time is ticking.

Twelve hours pass and I am physically exhausted, unable to comprehend the intricacies of the day, but staring out at the remarkable city passing before me, it’s all worth it. As I reflect, a well-dressed thin Thai woman belts out a hit by the Backstreet Boys followed by Britney Spears before transitioning back to a traditional Thai song. Patrons, like me, stand at the bow of the ship or walk through the buffet line piling goodies onto their plates. A group of young locals dance and fawn over the songs and I eavesdrop on conversation between three men from Montana.

The day began with a stroll down random alleyways absorbing the rising heat and with it, the unforgiving humidity. Lizards bustle about in their morning seeking damp spots in the shade, and the general population sets up for the day selling their wares or treats. We walk toward a compound of majestically-adorned temples, and throng of tourists pushing and shoving to get by despite the wide sidewalks. Languages throughout the world are spoken at once. Among the loudest are traffic cops trying to communicate “stop” and “go” to the people pushing by.

The temples are stunning. Though sturdy, they appear delicate like gingerbread houses. Statues depicting icons and warriors line the pristine grass and concrete walkways. Cubbyholes for shoes surround the entrances of temples and tourists push and shove themselves to claim one or five. With the same force, they make their way inside creating a hypocrisy around Buddhism.

Later, we buy tickets for the hop-on-hop-off ferry, a distinct and popular method of transportation across the polluted river that cuts through the bustling town. We see purple and yellow flags lining the properties, bridges, and streets in honor of the weekdays that the king and queen were respectively born.

Women, tourists and locals, are dressed in traditional garb and prance around the temples, posing. Their hair is delicately styled against the rising mugginess. Shoes are dropped outside of storefronts. Literal hole-in-the-wall restaurants pop up in every available space along the streets. We stopped at three, sharing a dish at each place. A good-sized bowl of soup at one shop costs $1.62. Beer is 90 cents.

We take a canal tour in a long boat and see electrical poles positioned in the river, graffiti swastikas marked on the sides of cement buildings, symbolizing good fortunes and auspiciousness in Buddhism, long before the Nazi political party took hold of the character.

Later, we see the Big Golden Buddha covered in scaffolding and construction material as he’s having work done. We marvel over the impressive size. At 69 (a number of good luck in Buddhism) meters tall and at cost of $2.2 million, he is another double standard to the religious practice. We also see, off in the distance, a speck of the famous gold dome that appeared in “The Hangover Part II.”

We stop at Icon Siam, an enormous and mind-boggling shopping mall filled with high-end retail storefronts, including Coach, Tiffany and Co, a Porsche showroom, and Swatch. Beneath the retail stores, is a ground-level and basement food market with the chaos of Boston’s Faneuil Hall. Outside, it’s decorated for Christmas, though it’s only mid-November. When the sun sets, crowds gather in front of the building to watch a timed light and fountain show set to music. Mesmerized, I forget where I am and am waiting for Disney characters to make their entrance.

A ferry port lined with dinner cruise boats awaits its passengers. Soon, we are there, standing tightly packed like sardines in a can or tourists in Manhattan on New Year’s Eve waiting for the ball to drop. I can still see the light show. I maneuver myself between people with portable fans, the only break in the stale, stagnant air. I eavesdrop on conversations and stare into the impeccable ear canal of an Asian man standing next to me, wondering if I'm the only one sweating profusely.

It's been a day, or three, and it’s not over. We have one more stop, but as the sites of the day pass by us from the river cruise, I can’t help but marvel at the magic within the City of Life.