Flowering of the Senses in Bangkok : In Thailand’s city of spicy smells and sizzling colors, even taxis stop to let elephants pass.

The golden city of Bangkok shimmers languorously in the noonday sun, a sultry light that glints from palace roofs and motorcycle helmets, from Buddhist stupas and flat rice barges that ply the murky Chao Phraya river.

Tropical heat and humidity magnify the sensual qualities of this pulsing city, where saffron-robed monks snake through fearsome traffic, and tour guides slow their patter to prostrate themselves at royal thrones.

By sensual, I don’t mean just sexy, although Bangkok certainly is that. The bars and parlors of Patpong Road amaze even veteran travelers . . . or so I am told.

I mean sensual as it relates to all the senses: to the invading sounds and smells and sights of Bangkok, which never merely tantalize. After a while you are enveloped and spirited away by the wind chimes and honking horns, the huge chrysanthemums that bedeck roadside shrines, the musky scent of cookfires that mix with exhaust fumes. You cannot stay aloof.

Sizzling blocks of slubbed Thai silk add hot magenta, turquoise, lime green and searing orange to shop windows. Twenty kinds of mangoes vie for your attention. The three-wheeled menaces called tuk-tuks scramble through mired traffic, with passengers who look unreasonably calm.

Soon you are not surprised when a taxi stops to let an elephant pass by, or a teen-age hawker offers you a live cobra. Not to keep, mind you; cobras are protected in Thailand. But, for a price, he will twine it around your neck and take your photograph.

The open markets--especially the Weekend Market that sprawls over 10 acres--are where photographers run out of film before they run out of money: Plump lemons are stacked near watermelons and heaps of sequin-and-bead pillowcases. The smell of burning charcoal blends with chile peppers, garlic and sandalwood incense. Parrots, monkeys and cats--few of them Siamese--add their cries to the clatter of bargaining and gossip. Language is not a problem. Most deals are made on palm-sized calculators.

Film also goes fast at Thai boxing matches, although the spectacle is not for those hung up on Marquess of Queensberry rules.

Kicks to the head are especially popular, as are elbows to the groin. But there is a limit to the violence: Biting is prohibited. Believe me, you’ll hardly miss it. If not tempted to join the mobs at a stadium, you can watch daily matches on television, where at least the sound can be muted.

The current King of Thailand--Bhumibol Adulyadej--is a descendant of Rama IV, a former monk who shaved his head, reigned in the 1800s and was immortalized in the West in “The King and I.” Both the play and the musical were banned in Bangkok, although the video is now available.

One muggy morning, I left noxious traffic behind and entered the magnificent grounds of the Grand Palace, hidden behind 200-year-old walls. Clusters of temples, pavilions, topiary gardens and former royal residences gleam with burnished gold and shiny ceramic tiles. A wisp of a guide named Tai led the way into a royal audience chamber, its tall mother-of-pearl throne sheltered by a nine-tiered canopy of white brocade.

“The throne is high because we must always be lower than the King,” she said. “If the King stands, we sit. If the King sits, we bow. If the King is on the floor . . . we dead.” She shrugged pleasantly.

Our visit to the lavish Chapel Royal of the Emerald Buddha was cut short because the King and Queen were due at 2 p.m. It was their 41st wedding anniversary. The Emerald Buddha--it’s actually jadeite--rests high on a massive gold pyramid, studded with garudas and demons.

Perhaps my favorite hours in Bangkok were spent at Vimanmek, the 100-room, turn-of-the-century country court built by King Rama V.

Wrapped in breezy verandas and filled with family photographs and royal collectibles, this teakwood mansion was the summer home, the hunting lodge, the play palace.

Glass-front cabinets hold carved ivory boxes, meerschaum pipes, miniature tea sets and the five-color Thai porcelain called Benjarong, as well as settings of Meissen and Limoges. Portraits and marble busts of foreign royal guests--King Umberto of Italy, Wilhelm of the Netherlands--decorate the library, where books are floor-to-ceiling behind louvered doors.

As is Thai custom, I left my shoes at the entrance and walked barefoot across the cool, polished teak floors. This simple gesture seems to put you in closer touch with the past, in touch with the summer, in touch with the sensual beauty of Thailand.