The faces blur past you like a river in flood. Somewhere between the neon and the noise, you stop being a tourist and start being just another person moving through the night.
Bangkok’s night markets are unlike anything else on earth. The air is thick with the smell of charcoal and lemongrass, the sound of bargaining in five languages, the flash of phone screens lighting up faces in the dark.
You don’t plan to stay for three hours. You just do.