Temple of the dawn

Wat Arun sticks its head up from the cityscape as the river taxi rides along the waves. The eighty two metre pyramid grows out of the cluster of Buddhist buildings with a shine we’re told is pearly at the first rise of the sun.

The entire hike up the structure is covered in seashells and bits of porcelain left behind years ago from ships en route to Bangkok from China. The Buddha that presides over the temple was molded during the reign of King Rama II. His ashes are buried at the base.

Taylor has to rent two covers for her shoulders and her legs. We grip onto the banisters and pull our way up to the top. There we watch the boats float on the river, quiet little anchors oblivious to our feat.

A cat crawls along one of the closed windowsills. We slide with care down each step, without the kitten’s ease. Out the exit and onto the ferry, just before the rain.