We woke early with the curtains drawn wide. The day was starting off a bit hazy, like our minds. We aren’t so much tired as we are disoriented in our surroundings. City rooftops and massive roadways covered the landscape like body armor. Only small patches of the natural, living planet below the armor are visible.
The hotel offered a complimentary buffet breakfast in the Sky Lounge atop the building. Um, yes please! We were extremely hungry and a multinational buffet sounded amazing.
As the building is actually managed as three hotels and a restaurant/night club, we were unsure as to the navigation of the exchanges between the sections.
What we learned is there are two independent elevator systems which only run to certain floors. It did get confusing. But wait, there’s more! Beyond the two main systems ran a third short elevator shaft up to the Sky Lounge and observatory. It took us a couple tries to find that little side trip, but we made it and the buffet was glorious!
The room was a ring of silver clad food offerings at its inner point, and tables with window seats looking out over every direction of the city-jungle that is Bangkok. We took turns scouting out culinary finds and returning to our table to share the spoils (and the view).
Jeremiah happened upon the pho station and brought back what would become my favorite dish served at Baiyoke. Who knew I would love hot, spicy soup for breakfast?
Jeremiah and I lingered at the table, sipping espressos and broadly smiling at the prospects of the day before us.
We left the restaurant and headed for the staircase to the observation deck above. The hallway was poorly lit and had a strange antiseptic smell to it. In a short amount of time we became accustomed to, and even enjoyed, the smell as it was so much more pleasant than the sewage odor out on the streets. The glow of the light at the observation deck’s door was blindingly strong against the black star-scape painted on the interior walls’ facade.
We blinked hard as we stepped out into the daylight and onto the metal grated floor of the deck. I looked toward the outer handrail and beyond to the miniaturized size of the city below. My head spun and I retreated to the safety of the inner edge, happy to hold the rail behind me and look out (and up). Jeremiah, on the other hand, was in heaven! He walked along the outer edge giddy and observant.
Eventually I decided the whole thing wasn’t going to fall out of the sky if I let go and I moved across to the outer rail for a better look. As the observation deck slowly rotated around the body of the hotel we tried to make mental note of the direction we would travel this day. We knew we would be heading toward the river but we didn’t know the exact route or duration of our journey.
Bangkok is an enormous city and we had places to see; The Siriraj Medical Museum to start! We had a vague understanding of the direction to travel for the museum, but the map was lacking. It showed temple locations as primary information and all other streets were unimportant. Bummer.
No bother, we figured we could at least point to our map, nod, smile, and be whisked away to our destination. The taxi transaction would then end in an exchange of baht (Thai currency). Right?! After all, many travel sites boast of Bangkok’s English-friendly ways. Ok. Ready, go!
Back down the exchange of elevators and out to the city streets teeming with life and activity below. We pass the tourists waiting at the hotel’s door and travel down to the next block. There we approached the back, curbside door of a hot pink taxicab and open it. Jeremiah smiles and states the name of our sightseeing destination to the driver. The driver smiles and says only, “temple” with a nod. “No. Museum. Siriraj Museum. Prannok Road.” Jeremiah said slowly and deliberately. “Look. Here. On map.” He pointed to our circled map reference. The driver glanced up, smiled and shook his head and hand in union saying “No.” We backed away befuddled and the driver drove forward. We tried upwards of 15 variations of the same exchange … all ending in the same result.
There we stood, deflated and hot, for a quarter of an hour until finally one driver nodded when we stated the museum’s name while pointing to the map. We hopped in the car with no further questions asked; and away we sped!
Down wide and narrow concrete byways, and through the hordes of people walking every which way. At no time could we make out the direction of the water or find a recognizable street name on our pathetic map. We were 100% dependent on our taxi driver to know the way to go from a glance at our tourist’s map. As the car slowed into side street parking we knew that dependence had 100% bitten us in the ass.
The driver deposited us at the Queen Sirikit Museum of Textiles. Well, at least he heard “museum,” he just missed the small detail of which museum we were aiming to tour. We decided to find a place to collect our bearings and situate ourselves with our map location. We also decided that this place needed to serve beer.
We ate lunch at a little streetside cafe offering free wi-fi and overpriced iced coffee. We ventured a try of a green curry and eggplant dish and a version of the tom yum soup with milky broth and shrimp. Both were exceptional!
It turns out we are on Ratchadamnoen Nai Road just outside the Grand Palace. Wait, what?! We had no intention on touring the Grand Palace. We had never even Googled it! It also turns out that we are several miles (and a boat ride) from our intended adventure. Oh well, time for a new plan.
We made our way back to the street and navigated around halted tour groups, street beggars, merchant tables adorned in brightly colored linens, hanging baubles, and shiny trinkets for sale. The grounds of the Grand Palace are surrounded by a formidable whitewashed wall, and every visitor enters and exits through massive, rich wooden gates flanked by guards.
Before you are granted entrance to the Palace grounds you must be dressed appropriately. My (below-knee) capris were, surprisingly, a fashion no-no, and Jeremiah was required to cover his tank top and shorts, STAT. 
Luckily, there is a service for the wayward, ignorant tourist experiencing just such a ‘costume malfunction’. You may borrow (from unkempt dressing rooms) skirts, shirts and pants to cover your own fully-functional-yet-
My brain and eyes were not ready to process the amount of stimulation I encountered that day. The temple rooms within visually stimulate so much that you can become overwhelmed. Everywhere I looked was another beautiful, opulent, intricate, offering to the Palace and the care of its grounds. 
Peaks and domes glisten golden in the early day’s sun. We couldn’t believe our eyes… So. Much. Gold. Thousands upon thousands of tiles are leafed in it and throngs of religious statues embellished richly.
Restoration efforts are noticeable and ongoing around the grounds. Of all the many throne rooms, prayer rooms, and courtyards a handful of buildings were cordoned off and surrounded by wooden scaffolding. Upon that scaffolding perched pointy-hatted workers methodically removing decayed areas. On another section workers install replica pieces that show off the original grandure of the structures. At one point we even came upon a replica of Ankgor Wat temple from Siem Reap, Cambodia. We couldn’t wait to see the temples of Cambodia! 
After a few hours of meandering about the grounds (while sweating and drinking copious amounts of water) we were physically spent. We left the Grand Palace and crossed the busy intersection in hopes of finding a taxi back to our hotel. After the morning’s mishap we were skeptical but we needed to figure this taxi thing out. 
Eventually we did flag down a taxi that safely delivered us to the only familiar place in this land, the Baiyo. The sun was just beginning its descent as we made our way into the hotel room. The view beckoned us to sit and relax while the sky put on a color and light show that we enjoyed as if we were the only two people on the planet. That night we went in search of “Thai hot” food; easier said than done. Jeremiah and I love hot food. I think Jeremiah is excessive in his zeal at times, but he loves me anyway.
This little woman ground several ghost and Thai chilis with her mortar and pestle. She added this ground hell-fire to fine pad noodles, assorted vegetables, broth, and shrimp in the wok and wove her spicy voodoo magic. Finally, we received: one bowl of steaming goodness, one fork, and one tissue to share between us.
We were directed to sit at the solitary bistro table behind the cart (which hovered precariously in the entryway of a laundry service). I can tell you that the spice that woman used was mind-blowing. I had to tap out early. My nose had long since used up our single allotted cleaning tissue and I was on fire from the inside out. Let’s just say it wasn’t my prettiest moment. Jeremiah was a glutton for punishment and ate heartily. He laughed through the tears. I assumed it was a good thing.