One tuk tuk after another fly by us. Street vendors push their carts of mangoes and pomegranates. The aroma and song of chestnuts being roasted in a large wok. A canopy of cables above our heads. Some shops sell gold, others shark’s fin.
It’s nothing we are interested in.
But to be part of the masses, the throng flowing like river sludge, well, there is a steady rhythm to this. Started more than a century ago, Yaowarat — Bangkok’s Chinatown — is home to the capital’s Thai-Chinese community. There is life here.
We are forced to slow down and when we do, we see more of what surrounds us. Mangoes and pomegranates. Chestnuts and tuk tuks. Shiny metal and dull cartilage.
For a brief moment, we are part of a greater world. How humbling, how sacred this is.
We continue walking, our rhythm matching that of the streets, the stalls, the sights and the sounds.