"Dust and diesel rise like incense from the road..."
So sang Canadian songwriter Bruce Cockburn, speaking of Nicaragua, but referring to the heady bouquet found along any developing country's roads. I might change it to something a little less romantic, possibly regarding carbon monoxide poisoning and getting really dizzy on a ride down a winding mountain road in a open-backed bus.
"Incense" is a word I will save for the sweet smoke drifting from temples and spirit houses. Walking down the street in Chiang Mai, incense smoke mixes with sweet plumerias, spicy pork satay, passing traffic, open sewers, and strawberries from the market stands.
Climbed up Doi Suthep a few days ago, to visit the huge wat above the city and also the national park at the top. I've never seen so much gold leaf in one place.