The Hill(s) around Sapa

Yesterday I spent the day trying to avoid people who were trying to sell me stuff. Today I figured the best way to do that was to get out of town on a motorbike.

US$3 and a borrowed helmet later, I was on the road out of Sapa on a brand new Honda 110 scooter, to a place called Silver Waterfall, further up the mountain.

This is beautiful country! Green, lush, rice fields, rural families driving oxen, as I wind my way up the mountain.

Both Lee and Lisa will love hearing that I rode past a snake crossing the road at one point - I didn't realise what it was until I was pretty much next to it - passing within about 2 metres of my foot. I have no idea what sort it was, but it's head was the wrong shape for a python. Sorry I wasn't able to get a photo for you...

I could see the waterfall before I got there, falling down a sheer mountainside next to the road. The scenery was beautiful. The roadside hawkers and sellers were everywhere, and I even had to pay 10,000 dong to park my bike on the side of the road. Presumably, this was protection money, as everyone was trying to flag me into their spot. Not sure what would have happened to my bike if I didn't pay the 50 cents...

After walking halfway up the waterfall on a set of concrete stairs with a handrail that was falling apart in places, I went further up the road to see Tram Ton Pass, or "The Gateway to Heaven". Described as breath-taking in the guide book, I didn't want to miss it. Instead I almost ride straight into it.

As I headed on from the falls, it had started to rain - just drizzle really - but as I got to the top of the pass, there was so much fog and cloud that I could only see about 10-12 metres in front of me. When you're scuba diving, that's annoying. When you're riding a motor scooter on a wet and windy mountain road in North Vietnam, it's just plain scary!

Knowing the regard truck drivers took for sticking to the right side of the road, I decided no view - if there was a view in this fog - was worth the risk, so I turned around and went back.

Instead, I rode to the other side of Sapa and saw more rice fields, planting, and glorious views down the valley.

If you can put up with being hassled to buy things every 5 metres, Sapa is a beautiful place.

D.

Ho Chi Minh in Ha Noi

OK, so I got to Ha Noi — albeit a little later than I had originally planned — and now I am in Sa Pa (or Sapa).

Apart fom berating myself and feeling stupid, I spent my down time between flights thinking up an awesome blog post about missing flights. Then I landed in Vietnam and suddenly I didn't care any more.

What an amazing place. So much history, nationalistic fervour, and so much traffic!

Ha Noi isn't as big as Bangkok, but it feels like it is. Every square centimetre of space is covered by something: people, motor scooters, chickens, people trying to sell you chickens or rides on motor scooters, and posters of Ho Chi Minh.

I've been fascinated with communist states since my socialist teens back in the 80s. That's right kids, while your parents or big brothers and sisters were out teasing up their hair or buying Bon Jovi tapes to play on their Sony Walkmans, I was dreaming of running away to Moscow or Beijing.

I never thought that the fist communist country I would visit would be Vietnam almost 30 years later.

It's all here — stylised propaganda posters, the hammer and sickle along side the yellow star, and statues of Lenin only outnumbered by those of Uncle Ho.

I went to see Uncle Ho. Perfectly preserved (in appearance anyway) behind glass and six armed guards. A two minute shuffling glimpse fom about ten feet away, after queueing in the Ha Noi morning sun for an hour and a half.

Good experience, but I didn't walk out and run around to join the line again...

Now I'm in Sa Pa. The far North of Vietnam, near the border with China. A sleepy mountain town where tourism is the main trade.

And I do mean trade!

More to come ...

D.

Missing you ...

I have a new tag line for AirAsia:
It's only cheap if you catch the flight!

More on this later. Must go — can't afford to miss another flight.

D.

Tonight is my last in Bangkok. I knew three months would go fast, but it really does seem as though I've just settled in and now it's time to go.

People keep asking if I'm coming back — I hope so. At least for a holiday if not to take that job that Expedia offered me — oops! [backspace]

Of course, I still have a whole month of travelling to do through Vietnam and Cambodia! But I have been weighing up the things I'll miss about Bangkok, and the things I have begun to miss about home.

Brisbane — things I miss

1. My family (including Roxy, the dog), and especially my boys. We raised our kids to be independent, but that doesn't mean I don't miss having them around!
2. My friends at the Brisbane office. This is the first time in seven years that I've worked anywhere apart from the Brisbane Wotif office.
3. Being able to give someone a hug. I never know what the protocol is here, so I just resist the urge.
4. Being able to drink water from the tap.
5. Being able to hold a conversation with strangers that consists of more than "hello", "how are you", and "goodbye" (which is the same as hello).
6. Being able to order a meal in English, and know what I'm getting.
7. Blue sky.
8. Footpaths.
9. Being able to cross at a pedestrian crossing without checking for traffic.
10. Rubbish bins.

Brisbane — things I don't miss

1. Roxy's hair on every surface of my house.
2. Taxi fares.
3. The lousy public transport.
4. Boring food.
5. The Valley.
6. Shops that close at 9pm, or even 5.30pm!
7. Actually having your bag checked when you go through customs.
8. No daylight savings.
9. Not having my own pool and gym.
10. Today Tonight.

Bangkok — things I won't miss

1. The heat.
2. The smell of khlongs and drains.
3. Worrying that I don't have enough money on me to bribe a policeman if I need to.
4. Wondering which part of the animal that crunchy bit in my mouth was.
5. Dog poo down every soi.
6. Begging.
7. Saying "not want" to every second person as I walk down a street full of tuk-tuks and bars.
8. Dividing every price I see by 30.
9. Copping an eye- and throat-full of chilli vapour as you walk past a street vendor.
10. Having to go to Starbucks to get a decent coffee.

Bangkok — things I will miss

1. My new friends. Wherever I go in this company, I meet warm, welcoming, and generous individuals.
2. Being able to smile at almost anyone without starting a fight. A beautiful country with (mostly) beautiful, friendly people.
3. Being able to fly to the other end of the country, or even overseas, for $50.
4. Eating lunch for a dollar.
5. Catching a moto-taxi to work every day.
6. Living five minutes' walk from anything you need.
7. Shopping at 7 Elevens.
8. Soi dogs.
9. Markets.
10. Cool bars and restaurants.

Sawasdee khup, Krung Thep. Thanks for having me.

D.

The white stuff

I've mentioned here before that while we in the West busy ourselves with tanning on the beach, in the salon, and from the supermarket aisle, here in Asia it's all about getting pale.

A conversation with a friend here who was heading away to a beach destination for the weekend revealed that she was worried about coming back with her skin darker than it currently was. For one of the only white members of a family of five brothers and sisters (most of them have a lovely olive complexion, as opposed to my pale, pinkish blue aura) this was hard to fathom.

I've spent most of my life envying my sister's beautiful complexion, which despite now living in England, turns a lovely shade of brown whenever she spends more than ten minutes in the sun. My skin turns several shades of bright pink through magenta, dies, and then peels off leaving a freckly, blotchy shade of white.

Freckle-faced and ranga kids of Australia, this is the complexion we were beaten up for and taught to despise all our school years. Over here it's almost a prized possession!

If the aspirations set by billboards and TV ads are anything to go by (and lets hope they're not), the perfect Asian face is one that is barely recognisable as Asian, with a pale, white complexion. Faces all along the highway into Bangkok, Phuket, Chiang Mai, and Kuala Lumpur all stare down through eyes with the faintest hint of Asian.


Does this guy look Thai?

But why? With farangs coming from all over the world to find the loves of their lives, why aren't there posters of beautiful dark skinned Asian faces advertising everything from shoes to Ovaltine?

Look how beautiful these everyday people are!

Buy any sort of cosmetic product that you apply to your skin over here (deodorant, after shave balm, moisturiser, skin whitener) and it will claim to turn you whiter. Like this one:

This one comes with sheep placenta! Mmmm...

In fact, a recent deodorant purchase saw me score a free face wash product, which had the added bonus of whitening. So naturally, I decided to do undertake a scientifically robust experiment to see what effect, if any, it would have on skin that is already melanin-challenged.

The Experiment

I took a before photo, used the face wash every day for the past 25 days, and present to you now the results of this experiment for your own edification.

Before

After

Thanks to www.yearbookyourself.com for the pics.

D.

Taking care of business in Asia

I'm going to touch on a touchy subject, and mention some unmentionables. There, I warned you.

Nobody tells you about the toilets before you go to Asia. I mean, you hear rumours and stories as you catch up with friends who have been there and, well, done it, so to speak. But surely there should be some sort of government warning issued with your passport.

You know the brochure you get telling you how you can be imprisoned for drug trafficking and that some places aren't safe to travel? Well when you turn over to the next page there should be a diagram of what you'll find in a typical Thai or Malaysian toilet, and what you're meant to do with all the things that are in there.

I mean, most people have been going to the toilet by themselves since they were about two or three, so you know the business you're involved in and how to get the job done. But when you walk into the workshop and all the tools have changed, you can hardly be expected to perform to the same standards, can you? Even if the tools are just as effective, or even better, without the proper training, you're bound to at least fail, if not hurt yourself in the attempt.

Now, as a public service to readers of this blog, I provide for you what the Australian Government has failed to provide all these years. Here are three different toilet types you'll find in Asia, and how to negotiate their use.

While this looks like a normal toilet, and is in fact called a "Western toilet" in parts of Asia, looks can be deceiving. "Thank God!" you think (or even say out loud) as you sit on the familiar comfort of a porcelain throne with plastic seat. "I'd heard so many stories about toilets in this country..." But then, probably as your shift is drawing to a close, you notice one of two things: either a total lack of toilet paper, or a sign instructing you not to put toilet paper into the toilet.

I'll deal with the second scenario first. Naturally, your first thought is, "Then where am I supposed to put it?" The answer lies (or at least will if your aim is good) in what you thought was simply a run-of-the-mill waste paper basket. Hm! What an appropriate name. This bin is not for your toenail clippings or Mars bar wrappers, it is for your used toilet paper.

Koalas - the perfect mascot for toilet paper bins.

Like many parts of Europe, sewage systems in Asia are not up to the task of flushing away every item you think you can shove down the toilet — toilet paper, your flat-mate's stash, or the pet python you bought at Chutachuck markets. Therefore, while it may be true that "the job is not over until the paperwork is done", in this case, the paperwork is filed separately.

Now let's go back to scenario one on the Western toilet — no toilet paper at all. As you look around your tiny prison in a rising state of panic, you spot what looks like a tiny hose hanging on the wall behind you. No, this is not a handy mini-shower for those times when you've worked up a sweat, it's a case of wash, not wipe.

There are two things I will say here about the hose — watch your aim (slow and steady with the tap is the best approach as water pressure can vary), and remember that this is cold water (guys, be ready and try not to squeal like a girl).

Next is a hybrid toilet/bidet, with high-tech washing devices for front and back bottoms.

Note that while the instructional icon for the first control can be taken literally, the second cannot.

There's little explanation involved here, but again, don't be too hasty to spin the dial all the way to full until you've tested the pressure it's going to deliver, and see the above note on water temperature.

Now we come to the one that I, personally, dread the most — let's call it "the squatting hole".

The first time I saw one of these was in Korea about 11 years ago, and I thought someone, in a fit of rage, had torn a urinal off the wall and thrown it against the floor so hard that it was embedded there for eternity. You know, someone like Korean Hulk, or Su Per Man. It looked like a sideways, wrong way up toilet on the floor. I thought I had walked into the wee-wees only stall, so I went to the one next door. Same-same.

I don't recall how I reconnoitered my first squatting hole, but I probably held on until I got back to the airport.

Being a lot older and ... older, I now know that you crouch or squat over this hole. This is difficult enough when you don't have old basketball knee injuries and the poise of a hippo on yaa-baa to deal with — add to this the fact that in public toilets, the floor will invariably be "damp", if not soaking wet, with liquids of various colours, consistencies, and cough-inducement-factors. If you are wearing a dress or kilt, I imagine that this poses less of a problem; however in denim shorts, it beats the hell out of me how you're supposed to drop your dacks, balance over the hole while you're at your business, clean up when the task is done, and then leave the cubicle, without walking out looking like the kid from Slumdog Millionaire (you know the part I'm talking about).

To make matters even more challenging, the new piece of toilet hardware that you'd already become used to using in example one (a hose) has now been traded for a 40 litre drum of water, with a small bucket inside. Resist the urge to take the small bucket out, and dangle yourself in the drum of water.

---

Apart from these toilet types, it's also common to have toilets that aren't all that private. Stop on the side of the road at a rest stop with a make-shift eatery, and you're likely to be squatting in a toilet with little or no door, and perhaps a screen between you and the main dining area. I've been to more than one restaurant in rural Thailand where I could wave to restaurant patrons (if I so desired) from the comfort of the men's room. Speaking of which, you may also encounter women cleaning the men's room while you are making use of the facilities.

This toilet is for men and ballet dancers
with short arms and one leg.

Be further warned, gentle reader, that in some shopping centres you may also need to pay a nominal fee to use the facilities — THB2-5, or in Malaysia about RM2. The upside of this is that it usually means you won't have to use a squatting hole, and toilet paper will be provided.

If not, demand a refund and take your business elsewhere!

D.

Taking only memories

Remember the post about Bangkok milk?
The honey featured in the making breakfast post?
What about the toilet paper one?
And who could forget Mr Hill in the shower?

Well here's your chance to grab your very own piece of My Mekong Trip history...



Place your bid now!

... or not.

Spit, don't swallow!

Thailand, I know that when you put something in your mouth over here, it is all about including all the tastebuds - sweet, sour, spicy, and savoury (or salty).

But surely that doesn't have to extend to toothpaste!!

Apparently, that big white word written in Thai is "Salt"! Yes, salt flavoured toothpaste. I put it in my mouth expecting spearmint, peppermint, even beef mince would have been OK - but no, it was salt flavoured.

I used to think bubblegum flavoured toothpaste was weird.

D.

Finding India in Malaysia

Tonight, in an unassuming Indian diner behind Sentral Stassen (Central Railway Station), I had one of the tastiest Indian meals I have ever had.

The menu was mostly North Indian, and I chose the Tandoori Platter — fish, chicken kofta and mutton (aka "goat") — served on a sizzling plate with a spicy salad, mint yoghurt and naan bread.

I've had most of these dishes before in Australia, so I'm familiar with the flavours and spices. But here they were, somehow tastier, more alive in the mouth, more voluminous. It was actually like someone had turned the flavour dial on these spices and aromas, all the way up to 11.

I couldn't finish the whole platter by myself. I had to leave a couple of pieces of the fish, free to swim again another day. And all of this for the equivalent of about AU$10.

A platter like this at any decent Indian Restaurant in Australia would be three times the price. Admittedly, it was served with all the hospitality of an ill-fitting nappy, but I could not fault the food, which was the purpose of my trade.

I don't think for a moment that this little non-descript diner and sweet shop was some hidden gem that I stumbled across — the best kept secret since the Queen of England's lingerie supplier. I think it was simply an example of good Indian cooking, which no doubt abounds in this city.

The streets of "Little India"

As a plus, they also sold handmade sweets and confectionery at the front of the store. I picked up a bag of mixed lollies on my way out — something I haven't done since I was about 7. Thanks Little India!

D.

In KL's palm

As you fly into KL you see what all the fuss is about. Palm oil plantations, next to freshly bulldozed fields waiting for more palm oil, almost as far as you can see.

Palm plantations on the way from the airport

KL seems a lot more structured than my short-term home in Bangkok. The streets and highways are wide and well-serviced, traffic flows, even when congested, and they have a new "smart tunnel" — helping to relieve traffic congestion into the city, but when the heavy rains come, they stop the traffic and the tunnel doubles as a way to drain water out of the city so it doesn't flood. Smart tunnel indeed!

An almost empty street?

There seems to be more money here — I could be wrong, but the impression I get here is that people are a little better off than their neighbours north of the border. Things cost a little more — or if you go to the mall at the KLCC towers, they cost a *lot* more.

KLCC Towers

But I guess that slice of wealth, or piece of prosperity has to come from somewhere. For Malaysia, some of it has come from saying no to rainforest, and yes to pulp mills, and paper and palm oil plantations.

I fully support the work of groups like the Australian Orangutan Project, who are fighting to stop the loss of native habitat for orangutans in Malaysia and Indonesia. However I am also aware of the hypocrisy of people from Western, developed countries, who live lives of relative ease and luxury, telling these nations what to do with their natural resources.

They just want what we've got, and what we've been selling them for the past hundred years or so. Work hard for us, and you can have a house and a fancy car too. Build our transistors and electronics and one day you could have an iPhone.

After all, we sold off all our natural resources to get what we wanted didn't we? In Australia, we still are. Why shouldn't they be able to do the same?

Of course, there are very good arguments as to why they shouldn't, but until we come up with an alternative — a better answer than simply do as I say, not as I do — then I'm certain that Malaysia and other countries will continue to sell off what they can't replace to buy what we tell them they haven't got.

D.

On a roll

The first thing you notice about dining with Thai people is not the delicious aromas of ... OK, so the second thing you notice about dining at a street food venue or even an office function, is not the unknown hygiene factors of the food's preparation, or even the abundance of sticks (more on this in another post), but the fact that all these people are using toilet paper as serviettes.

When you first walk through the office and spot rolls of toilet paper on people's desks, your first thought (as an Australian) is that they've had a big night out on the lagers and curries the night before.

Or maybe those unknown hygiene factors have caught up with their seemingly indestructible Thai stomach after all! If I'd known the language better when I first arrived, people would have become fed up with me asking them every morning if they were feeling all right.

As I say, it jars a little at first, but when you think about it, it makes sense. Toilet paper is a lot cheaper than tissue paper or serviettes, so why not use it for all your wiping needs?

Of course, in a lot of Asian countries, toilet paper often isn't used in the toilet - more on this in another blog too - so it's more correctly a roll of tissue paper.

I think that when the first farangs turned up with their fancy sit down toilets and rolls of "toilet" paper, Thais thought: "Hey, what a cool idea! Tissues that come in a roll! That's so convenient, and easy to use. I wonder why they keep them next to the dunny though? No wonder they're all so fat if they're hoeing down on fried chicken even when they're on the can!"

I'm pretty sure that's how it happened. In fact, I'm going to go and setup an article for it on Wikipedia now.

D.

PS. If you Westerners are still grossed out by this, just remember, the rolls of toilet paper didn't come out of the toilet, they came from a factory where they make all the other types of tissue paper too.

Seeing the sea life

Last weekend I learnt how to scuba dive. In Pattaya.

For those who have never been, Pattaya is not a beach resort. There are beaches, and lovely islands here, but it is not Phuket, or Phi Phi. Leonardo di Caprio was never there with his shirt off, running from Asian drug lords or wrestling sharks.

There is some reef around the islands near Pattaya, but when you've grown up with the Great Barrier Reef in your backyard, it's hard to call it reef at all.

In fact, before I left on the first morning, I was chatting to one of the hotel staff about learning to dive. He asked me where I was from, and when I told him Australia, he was dumbfounded that I had come to Pattaya to scuba dive. It would have been like him turning up to the food court at the Logan Hyperdome to learn how to cook Thai food.

But even so, the experience of scuba was spectacular. As someone who has only ever snorkelled before, being free to breathe underwater and explore so much more was exhilarating.

The visibility and range of sea life on the second day was worse than the first - you could only see about 4 metres in front of you. The reef was damaged and half-eaten by urchins, where it hadn't been used for target practice by the Thai and US navies.

Even so, there was a story to be read at the sea floor about what had caused the destruction, the refuse it left behind, and the resilience of the sea creatures who survived regardless. Broken bottles and pieces of rubbish, now home to barnacles and small critters. The skeletons of coral. Unexploded shells, half-buried in sand. A discarded shirt (which I resisted the urge to pick up and bring home) nibbled at by fish. And overhead, the sound of a dozen speedboats and dive boats coming and going at once.

Like the people living in this beautiful land, the sea creatures of Thailand are survivors.

D.

Bangkok wildlife

Please note that this post is not about Soi Cowboy, Nana Plaza or Patpong Road. I didn't want anyone jumping in with false expectations.

Growing up in Australia, you forget how surprising it is to see native animals and wildlife in the city. When you're so used to watching the kangaroos hop down George Street (Brisbane or Sydney) and tossing the koalas a eucalyptus lolly on the way to work, you forget that there's something special about seeing the country's fauna where you expect only people.

I've been surprised, and sometimes gob-smacked, at the variety of animals I've seen in Bangkok.

It was hard to tell whether this guy was friendly or not, with teeth poking out like Agrajag
(go read Hitchhiker's Guide)

The most noticeable are the soi dogs, or what Aussies would call strays. There are a lot more of them per square metre than you would see in Australia. And some are well looked after, even though they're homeless. They sleep out the front of disused buildings with their own food dishes and water bowls that people fill up for them.

There are also plenty of stray cats around, but as with cats anywhere, it's hard to tell which ones are actually strays and which ones are just out for a wander and would happily come home with you for a free feed and a bit of lap time.

I've also encountered the soi bats as I walk home some nights - they swoop down in a pale, translucent blur over your head, like an ugly magpie in nesting season. Or maybe their radar just aren't used to farang shapes yet.

I encountered one Bangkok local long before I ever saw it. I heard a noise that I assumed was the noise the traffic lights make before it's safe for pedestrians to cross, only it seemed to be coming from odd places (trees, bushes, drains). I have discovered that it's a frog call, and not a traffic aid for the visually impaired (I actually have no idea how a blind person would cross the road safely in Bangkok - my guess is by taxi).

There are squirrels a-plenty in Bangkok - you see them in much the same places as you'd spot possums in Australia - walking down the powerlines to get to another tree, or jumping on roofs. I'm not sure if they also live in your roof and wake you up at 2am when they come home and find another bloke with their girlfriend.

One animal that I didn't expect to find here was a sugar glider, but apparently they are also native to New Guinea and Indonesia. I spotted one in it's native habitat here in Krung Thep - sitting in the hand of a street vendor near Khao San Road. Here's my friend Holly modelling the beasty for us:

Holly was so impressed that she did a web search and found a site claiming the sugar glider as the number one pet to have in an apartment. It seems the glider likes nothing better than hanging out with people. In their apartments. The people's that is, not the sugar glider's.

Alphonse, who lives at the end of my Soi

Another animal I didn't expect to find strutting around the end of my street was a rooster - I have at least two. This one - let's call him Alphonse, or Fonzie for short - has his own little wicker basket that he sits in sometimes, but most of the time he's just scratching around the footpath as I walk by on my way home. I've tried saying hello, but so far we haven't really connected. Some nights I walk past, Fonzie isn't there, and the people who hang around on the street near Fonzie are enjoying a hearty meal with the local moto-taxi drivers, and I get worried for the Fonze's well-being. But the next day he's back, cock of the walk again.

I've also heard that, just like Australia, there are snakes to be found in backyards and bushes, though only the spitting cobra - nothing really dangerous like the taipan, yellow belly black, or king brown.

Bath time at elephant world

Thailand is of course well-known for monkeys and elephants, and while I have seen these in the "wild" during my time here in Thailand, I have yet to see either monkeys or elephants wandering the streets of Bangkok sniffing around for stray peanuts. Although, I have read that there is a famous elephant who often frequents Soi Cowboy.

Ha! Tricked you! I did talk about Soi Cowboy after all.

D.

My dairy diary

Here's two ways to buy milk in Bangkok. You choose.



D.

Bye, bye Miss American Thai

I went to a 1950s-style American Diner tonight. It had juke boxes, padded booths to sit in, and Elvis playing in the background.

If I were to use deductive logic, I should not have ordered from the Thai section of the menu. If you're at a Thai-themed restaurant in Bangkok and you order a cheeseburger with chilli fries, chances are it may not be the best you've eaten.

So by deduction, I could say that ordering Thai food at an American-themed restaurant touting large burgers and thick shakes would be a mistake.

Except that all the kitchen staff were Thai. I had a very nice chicken massaman curry.

I do need to learn some more essential Thai phrases though. For the second time in a week, I asked to look at the dessert menu and was brought the bill instead.

Or maybe I should stop wearing such tight-fitting shirts.

D.

PS. If I was running a 50s American joint, I probably wouldn't have the Asian Soccer League playing on the big screen. Just saying.

Shower Power 2

I don't want you to get the impression that I'm a shower snob, but once again, a hotel — actually, a five-star resort — in Phuket has got my dander up with it's lack of shower prowess.

This time, the Evason (a beautiful place with lovely staff) has left the great unwashed just that little bit more unwashed.

My expectations were so high too — I walked into the room to find not one, but two showers in a bathroom big enough to host an Amway party. All my hopes and dreams were dashed the first time I tried to step beneath their cleansing waters.

Not a bathroom for tall people

The first thing you'll notice is the the ceiling is very low — I could place my hand flat on the ceiling. This didn't particularly bother me, but I immediately thought of some taller colleagues who would run into trouble here. I mean, I'd hate to see Craig Dawson trying to shower in here. Well, there are many reasons why I'd hate to see Craig showering in my hotel room (no offense Craig), but that's for a different blog.

The next problem was the lack of pressure produced by the shower head. Instead of the "shower-like spray" you would expect from a shower, five trickling streams fell directly to the floor, like some toothless old man dribbling out of the side of his mouth.

The dribbler setting

I did my best to rinse and lather, but it was like punching some holes in the bottom of a styrofoam cup and using that as a shower. Hopeless.

Luckily for me (or so I thought) there was also a bathtub with a hand-held shower attached to the tap. I'll use it instead. However, I was now back with my former shower problem of shower heads mounted to the wall by people who obviously don't know what showers are for.

This one was mounted directly beside the bath taps, about level with my kneecaps, and pointing out across the bathtub — not down the bathtub lengthwise — and out the bathroom door. This meant that I could either have very clean thighs, or an Atlantis themed room.

I checked out a friend's shower who was also staying at the time (not Craig) and discovered the same design challenges.

While most people come back from a holiday looking forward to their own bed, I slept fitfully on the flight home dreaming of my shower.

Home sweet home!

D.

The song of the sausage

Today I had my very first case of "Tourist Tummy", also known as Thai Belly or Bali Belly if you're in that part of Indonesia. Now I feel like a real tourist! All of my friends were getting it from our Chiang Mai trip, and I was beginning to feel a bit left out. Not any more.

It was the sausages that did it. In my defence, they had been taunting me ever since I arrived in Thailand, and like a sailor strapped to the mast while listening to the call of the sirens, I've resisted their charms for two whole months.

Last night I was out wandering around the Phuket Indie Markets (a great little local haunt with none of the usual tourist fare for sale) working up an appetite. There were several food options around, but most of them involved the arduous task of sitting at a table and ordering from a menu, and then having to wait while they cooked the food! Boring.

I opted for the street vendor with the charcoal grilled sausages instead. It's like home-cooked McDonald's - fast food, but tasty. Lovingly prepared by a very friendly chap, who had formed the sausages by hand earlier that day. Rustic. And I'm pretty sure organic. As it turns out, there was a lot more organic material than I had bargained for.

I don't think it was just the sausage that had me feeling a little green (and not very environmentally friendly) the next morning; it was probably more the quantity that I ate. I ordered two of his finest what I think were beef, cased sausages. While he sliced them up for me (all part of the service), I spied a little bundle of uncased pork sausages - hand-rolled, just like I do with sheftalia back home (almost).

When he started bagging up my original order with my very own eating stick, and I saw that it came with a fresh cut salad, I ordered one of these juicy looking boys that had been calling to me everyday on my way home from work. "Mr Hii-iiiw!", they called. "Don't we look tasty?" Their songs wafted on the breeze as I walked through night markets: "Dawi-iiid, we smell delicious, nah?"

I ate half of them on the way back to my hotel. They were aromatic, spicy, with good texture, and not at all like the greasy, fatty things you get outside Bunnings on a Saturday morning in Brisbane. And the raw sliced cabbage served with it was sweet and crunchy - the perfect accompaniment. The flavour was not unlike a pepperoni, though without the greasy film left on tongue and finger.

I finished them off at the hotel, felt full and slept well.

The next morning, the sausage was kind enough to let me wake up, get out of bed, and get a drink of water before it started to ring the alarm bells in my stomach. Actually, it felt more like Rolph Harris playing his wobble board while jumping on a trampoline.

That's when my stomach decided to kick Rolph, his wobble board, sausages, and trampoline out.

I have had what I can only describe as a "no passing wind day". I couldn't take that risk. I won't go into all the gory details, but let me just say that I didn't eat a lot today, and what I did eat was very bland. Bottles of water, Coke Light, and black tea ruled my gastro-intestinal world today.

So I'm now sitting at a five-star resort on the Southern tip of Phuket, which has four or five gourmet restaurants and its own private island. I'm hoping that by tomorrow my stomach will have sorted itself out, because I was really looking forward to sampling most of what they have on offer here.

I'll probably give the gourmet sausage a miss though.

D.

Walk the talk

As any first year communication student knows, there's more to communicating than just words.

There are cultural differences I'm uncovering here that go beyond language and the way we talk. It's in the expressions, the attitudes, the non-verbal sounds, and even in the way we walk.

For example, it took me a little while to realise that my Thai friends weren't making fun of each other in a conversation when they responded with "Errrrrr. Ehr, ehr." They were agreeing with what was said. Similarly, anyone who who has socialised with a group of Thai people will recognise that "Oiiiiiii!" has nothing to do with 80s punk music, or that annoying "Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!" anthem.

In Australia there's a look, combined with a posture and a defiant walk, which you adopt when a car fails to stop at a green "Walk" signal or pedestrian crossing. It's a look of righteous indignation; a purposeful "how dare you!" to the driver of a one tonne vehicle who should know better, and is clearly in the wrong.

Now take exactly the same look and posture, in exactly the same situation, but on the streets of Bangkok, and its meaning is completely different. It means "I'm a stupid farang." Repeat the non-verbal communication a few times in quick succession, and it can come to mean "I will be availing myself of your wonderful healthcare system shortly".

These non-verbal messages can work to your advantage. I think I've become fairly good at not looking like a tourist. Those who are familiar with my loud shirt collection may disagree, however there's definitely certain non-verbal cues you can adopt if you don't want to look like a sucker, and I am willing to share my insights with you here, gentle reader.

A work colleague recently mentioned standing in public looking at an open map as a dead giveaway. This, along with the loud Hawai'ian shirt and camera around the neck, are obvious clues - so obvious I'm not going to mention them. Whoops, too late.

Of course there are times when you want to be a tourist and enjoy the new experience, but if you'd like to be able to walk down the tourist strip (or out of the airport) without being accosted by tuk-tuk drivers and people expounding the joys of table tennis exhibitions, there is a walk and an attitude that you can adopt.

Start with a lack of eye contact and don't look at your surroundings. Even if you've never been to this place before, look down at the ground where you going, or better still, straight ahead. Pretend you're walking home after a long day at work, and all you want to do is get home.

You can comfortably glance at the things around you as you walk, but your walk is purposeful. You're not browsing at the Sunday markets (even if you are actually browsing at the Sunday markets), you're headed somewhere.

There's no need to be rude or aggressive, it's more an attitude of boredom. Act like you've been here a thousand times before, and are just on your way through once again on your way somewhere, so not really looking to buy any Viagra or Sponge Bob Square Pants items today. The non-verbal message you're sending is that anyone wanting to sell something is better off approaching the couple behind you arguing about whether it really was Tiffany at that last stall, and that even if it was Tiffany, you still could have talked him down a bit more.

I have survived many forays into markets, airports, shopping centres, and unlit alleyways with this method, and have lived to tell the tale.

Unfortunately, it doesn't stop me from buying a lot of crap though.

D.

Walking tour

I came up with a great new business idea last night, and my faithful blog followers are the first to hear about it. Send letters of interest and investment proposals to my Bangkok office.

Mr Hill's walking tour of Krung Thep

A completely different way of seeing Bangkok

Pick a destination that you haven't been to before, and would like to see

It doesn't really matter what the destination is, because you're not going to get there anyway, so pick anything.

Go at a different time of day - preferably night

Not only will you avoid the crowds by going when everyone else is eating dinner or enjoying a night out with friends talking about the professional tour they went on and what they saw during the day, but some transport services will have stopped running, forcing you to find different options. You'll also get to see the locals who live in these other areas, and who would otherwise be at work serving you coffee, or selling you Calvin Klein knock-offs.

Maps make you look like a tourist

It's not enough just to leave the map at home, you should also not familiarise yourself with the area beforehand. Take a quick glance at the map of train stations online to give you a general idea of where you are getting off, but no real idea of where you are once you walk down stairs from the train station.

You could also browse Google maps to give you a general perspective on the major arterial roads (and have you believing that you will remember the name of that 14 syllable highway) so you have a vague idea of whether you are walking into or out of a particular area. Remember though that Krung Thep looks very different when you're standing on the back sois and highway underpasses than it does from the satellite.

Follow the locals

When you're at a ferry terminal, assume that, even though the last tourist service has run for the day, any other boat you step on will probably take you somewhere near where you originally thought you might like to go. When you discover that all these people are simply crossing to the other side of the river (probably going home after a long day putting up with tourists), and that you could stay on the boat if you like, but it will only take you back where you've just been, resign yourself to discovering this new part of Bangkok across the river.

Rejoice even more when you discover that the ride cost you all of 3 Baht (aout 10 cents). Rejoice, yay, rejoice thrice good people, that you have thought to bring coins, and not just a 1000 Baht note.

Follow the locals again...

Your ferry crossing will inevitably deposit you in one of those areas where "what will tourists want" was not on the town planners' agenda. Note the total lack of tuk-tuk drivers, replaced instead by a handful of moto-taxis taking the locals away from the ferry terminal to their homes. Note also the large, unlit park where local youths gather to pump iron like the Krung Thep version of Venice Beach. Keep following the locals away from the terminal, and wherever you go, keep the river on your right, so you can always get back to the ferry if you need to.

Wander

Again, it's not really important which streets you walk up, and which sois you walk down - it's all about the experience of being off the tourist radar, and seeing local life in a different area. Accept the fact that you won't see another Western face for at least an hour and a half. That's OK. You may get puzzled looks, but they're probably just wondering if you're lost. There's nothing hostile going on.

Keep coming back to the river

It's good to have at least one anchor point. The river is a good one, because sooner or later, you will come to another crossing - ferry terminal, bridge, tuk-tuk driver, etc. Your heart-rate may quicken, and your excitement even peak when you see signs of tourist activity again. Resist the urge to run up and hug the first policeman or other uniformed individual you see. This is frowned upon.

Know your limits

After walking for two hours (did I say not to wear high heels?) you may be ready for some bright lights and a light refreshment or two. Knowing when to wave down a cab and head for the closest tourist haunt is a skill it may take several walking adventures to master. You need to leave a bit in reserve so you can still actually walk down the tourist strip when you get there, and that you can sit upright in the chair, rather than lying on the footpath outside the bar (again, frowned upon).

Reflect on your journey

Finally, as you sit and enjoy a wood-fired pizza topped with a cheese of unknown classification, you can reflect on the tiny piece of Krung Thep that you have just witnessed, the different attitude and outlook of locals when they're not surrounded by farang looking for a bargain, and the incredibly vast place that this city must really be.

---

After my walking tour, I can no longer think of Bangkok as an "East meets West" city. The West may have dropped in here for a visit, but it's well and truly confined to one or two rooms of this vast sprawling Eastern mansion, which has a life and an energy all of its own, quite apart from anything we may think we may have imparted from the confines of our small quarter.

D.

Wash this space

There's so much I'd like to tell you all about, but so little time to spend bloggerating (some guy in the office expects me to do other work while I'm here as well). Here's a little sample of the topics that are congealing in my head, and that I plan to put into pixels when I have exactly the right mix of time and inclination:

• Grocery shopping
• Taxi drivers
• Water usage
• Why I hate tipping
• Disposing of rubbish
• Religions of the world
• The origins of language
• And of course - the dreaded hose

But for now, here's a little treat for you - a video I put together to show you what a typical washing day looks like for me in Bangkok.

Songkran in Chiang Mai

What can I say about Songkran - how can I describe this festival to you?

The phrase I've read most often to describe Songkran - and Songkran in Chiang Mai in particular - is the world's biggest water fight. It is that - warring factions standing in bars on opposite sides of the street; roaming gangs with everything from THB800 (AU$26) mega water pistols to mini-mouse backpacks and miniature Winnie the Pooh squirters; trucks, tuk tuks and minibuses piled with people filling small buckets with ice water from a 40 gallon drum to hurl at people as they drive by (or sit stationary in traffic); and the most dangerous of all, people standing next to the khlongs (moats or canals), hauling up buckets of smelly brown water containing who-knows what visible and invisible nasties to hurl at you.

And while all of that is a lot of fun, especially when you're with a posse of like-minded water wielders - Songkran is so much more than just a three day water fight.

It's the national holiday for the people of Thailand. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday are public holidays, and people travel back home to be with family, or go away with friends, or simply take time off from work to relax and escape the usual working grind.

The equivalent holiday for us would be Christmas in the West - the excitement, anticipation, and participation. But it seems to have none of the commercial hype we so often bemoan in Australia. Apart from street vendors selling water pistols to willing visitors, there are no over-decorated, over-priced and over-hyped stores trying to sell you the latest and greatest of anything under the thin consumer veil of some greater holiday principle such as "the Spirit of Songkran".

Thai New Year is celebrated both as a religious communal holiday, and as personal
time out. The local wat (temple) plays a part in the Songkran activities, with parades, events, and individuals visits to receive blessings from the monks.

You could draw a parallel with Christmas here too, when every year we see at least one news story touting full church services as the once-a-year faithful return to their religious roots for a reminder of the Christmas message.

Songkran is inclusive. In Chiang Mai - famous as one of the best places to celebrate Songkran in Thailand - people come from all over the world to experience the way Thais celebrate New Year.

I met fellow Australians, Americans, Chinese, Israelis, French, Saudis, Japanese and of course Thais from the South, all converging on this place for three days of fun.

For the local people, family is a big part of Songkran. The first day is dedicated to respect for elders, when older people, monks and others are particiularly honoured. The next day is then family day, when families gather and re-unite for the new year.

It was heart-warming to see the number of kids - from toddlers to teens - standing with their parents, buckets, water-pistols and hoses in hand to join in the fun. Small children grappling with water pistols as big as themselves, or trying to lug small buckets of water high enough to get water further than their own feet were sights that always had you reaching for a camera, or willingly sacrificing yourself to their dousing efforts.

Unfortunately, Songkran is also a time when a lot people get hurt. This year, 29 people died in road fatalities on the first day of Songkran alone. The majority of these were due to drunk driving or speeding, and most involve motobikes. We witnessed one group of four people (three of them tourists) trying to get on to one moped and ride off stylishly down the street when they could hardly stand up themselves.

Luckily there were no serious injuries (though the moped hurtled off alone into a pole). Our offers of assistance were unwanted, but we did strongly suggest that maybe they should get a cab instead.

As I sat in my own cab this morning heading to the airport to leave Chiang Mai and Songkran behind me, I thought that this must also be a huge economic boon to this region.

For a town that reminds me of Cairns - regional, surrounded by farming districts, removed from the capital - the influx of local and overseas visitors must bring a goldmine of investment, spending, and international attention to their economy. Metropolitan Chiang Mai has a population of around 1 million people.

Consider the fact that of our group of eight friends who got together in Chiang Mai, six of us stayed longer than the festival, took small trips to surrounding towns for a few days either side of Songkran, purchased at least two meals per day outside of our hotels, went on tours, shopped, bought ancilliary festival items (such as water pistols, hats, water-proof wallet holders, sunscreen, water-proof cameras, etc), caught tuk tuks and cabs, tipped everyone from restaurant staff to elephant handlers, and had one or two drinks here and there, and you begin to get some small idea of the amount of money that must be spent in this regional city over the week of Songkran.

Predictions by the Tourism Authority of Thailand before Songkran said there'd be THB5 Billion spent across the country by tourists in 2011, and THB1.2 Billion of that in Chiang Mai.

But the beautiful thing about Songkran is that it hasn't become all about the money - at least not to my eyes. I'm sure there are those locals who plan and possibly even scheme up ways to separate tourists from their baht while they have them in Chiang Mai for three solid days of exchanging water - but it's not the focus, and I for one - khlong water aside - have certainly not walked away with a bad taste in my mouth.

Sawasdee pee mai, khup.

D.

Map not to scale

If I can pass on any advice to would be world travellers, it would be this: never trust a map - even if it's on a reputable website (that you also happen to work for).

If you've never been somewhere before, ask someone who has, or find a description of the route, distance, conditions, etc.

I arrived in Chiang Mai a few days before the big Songkran festivities, so a friend and I - on the recommendation of another friend - decided to go up into the mountain to Pai for two nights. The place we booked looked beautiful.

The Phu Pai Art Resort - surrounded by little streams and rivers, mountains as a backdrop, a peaceful stay in traditional style Thai villas. What's more, it wasn't that far from town. According to the map. The stylised map, showing a meandering river in thick blue brush strokes, lovely ochre brown roads criss-crossing the small rural Northern-Thai town of Pai.

We stepped out of our minibus in the centre of Pai, ready to find a place to dump our backpacks and start exploring. It was this enthusiasm that was to be our downfall.

Supporting the previous claims of the website map, the free map handed to us by our VIP transfer driver showed pretty much the same story - and even had our the Phu Pai Art Resort marked on the map.

Shall we walk up or find a taxi? Nah, let's walk it. The simple map was easy to navigate, with plenty of landmarks to reassure us we were going the right way. 45 litre backpacks on, extra bags in our hands, wearing shorts and at least one of us in Aussie thongs (I'm not sure how many of us were wearing American thongs) we wandered off to find our perfect Pai place.

The song that came to mind after a while was "The road is long, with many a winding road, that leads us to who knows where..." There was no carrying of brothers or sisters involved though, let me assure you.

I was struggling with my backpack as it was, even being in my physical middle-aged prime. By the time we got to the airport - casually marked on our map as though you could throw a rock at it from the main street, we figured that we were halfway there.

Did I mention we arrive at midday? And the sun was shining? We stopped at a roadside stall and bought cowboy hats made out of old hessian bags to stop the sun from cooking our brains. B120 well spent in my books (tax deduction? Without that hat my brain would never work again?)

We were spurred on by a sign with the name of our Resort emblazoned across it: 3km. Really? *Still* 3km?

I was fairly certain by this time that the 98% water I was supposed to be made up of was slowly collecting in my shoes. I'd be able to ring it out of my socks later. We had water with us, which by now had passed Luke warm, and had reached Han Solo hot instead. I still drank it.

We passed some interesting places on our trek to the Phu Pai Resort: A military base with the name written in 3 feet high letters against a large cut-out of a bayonette "Queen of the Battle". I couldn't be bothered to stop and take a photo.

A small cafe on a hillside outside of town called the detox cafe, selling hemp items and organic food and coffee. And rolling hill after rolling hill. We kept walking - in my case, plodding really. My friend has much longer legs than I do, and while she strode up hills like a daddy long legs, I stumbled behind like a two-legged cockroach. With 14kg backpack.

We finally reached a sign pointing off the main road telling us the Resort was a mere 800 metres down the road. While this buoyed our spirits, the consensus was that we had already walked more than 3km.

Surely by now, we should be able to see the Resort. But surely that's not it on the hill just there... with views of... the main road out of town?

It wasn't. A mixture of relief, and exasperation as we had to keep walking, up another hill, past more signs telling us how close (or far really) the Resort was. We arrived in a small village, more signs, more arrows, more metres.

People stared at us from their homes, and chickens ran in fright before the two sweaty, overloaded straw hat cowboys, no doubt from America, stumbling through their streets.

We got the front gate of the Resort. Information, 150m. Clearly, the 800m meant to the next sign, not to the actual resort.

We finally stood, dripping, in front of the reception desk, and a wide-eyed staff member asked us. "You walk? From town? Oii!" "You call us, we pick you up."

Now why didn't I think of that?

As compensation for our arduous journey through the midday Thai sun to their establishment in the Pai Valley, they upgraded us to the Honeymoon Suite.

Neither of us had the energy to explain that we weren't a couple, and had requested separate beds for the reason. We were too exhausted to do anything but go to our room so we could drink several litres of water, shower, change, and find something to eat. It was almost 2pm and we hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Eventually, we were to discover that the Phu Pai Art Resort is a beautiful place, with friendly and helpful staff (who laugh out loud every time you tell them that you walked from town to the resort), set on a large rice farm on the outskirts of Pai.

I would recommend it, and their shuttle service, to anyone.

Language update

I make a living out of the English language. Correcting, suggesting, creating - so it's very frustrating to feel so out of my depth with this new language, and to be powerless as a communicator. I have gone back to square one and had to start from scratch with this language that is so different from my own.

The different tones are the problem - not the tones themselves, but the innate cultural barrier to using alternating tones when you speak. It's very hard for an Australian male to use expressive tones at all, let alone varying tones from word to word. About the most you get is something at the end of a sentence such as: "Bloody 'ot, eh?" We don't naturally raise and lower our pitch in the one word - and certainly not several times in the one sentence.

When I was staying in Phuket, I would tell people I was staying at the Phu-ke-ta hotel. Thai people couldn't understand what I was saying. I would point to the name - and they would say "Ohh, Phu-ke-taar!" That's what I said.

If you order a Coke, you have to say "Cooooohhc" with a rising intonation and a very slight "c" sound on the end - not a hard "k" as we know it. Even Singha beer I'm told by the locals, is pronounced "Singh" - presumably it has a silent "a". Well it's your beer - why did you put the "a" there if you're not going to pronounce it?

Still, who am I to talk about language rules. We have: where, wear, and we're; Canowindra; gaol; though, through, and thought; and a few hundred other weird and wonderful English names and words.

But it's not just the tones, it's also the grammar. When you listen to ex-pats who have been here for a while - and they tell me this themselves - you can hear them talking in Thai grammar, even when they're talking English.

To try it out yourself, just stop using pronouns, and forget all about past and future tense, to say nothing of future continuous, past perfect, etc ("yippee, when do I start" I hear some of you shout). Here's an example of what it may sound like.

If your English friend were to offer you a drink, and you were to decline, it would go something like this:
"I say old chap, care for a spot of Pimms?"
"Oh, thanks awfully old bean, but perhaps later, what?"

In Thai, the same conversation - translated literally into English - goes something like this:
"Drink, yes?"
"Not want, thanks."

And the thanks on the end is the ever present "khup" for men and "kha" for women. It's like a swiss army knife - 1000 uses in one word. If in doubt, pull out khup/kha and it's bound to work.

Khup for listening khup.

D.

2011, a space for oddity

From my Sunday journey to the shops on the BTS (train) today, here are a few more Bangkok oddities I noticed.

1. Whitening cream

While fake tans and brown skin is all the rage with the ladies back home, here it's all about looking white. Corrective eye surgery I'd heard about, but there were several ads on the train today for whitening cream, to make your skin look paler. Seems the grass is always whiter on the other side.

2. Coconut

You can get coconut in many different forms here in Thailand. Coconut oil, coconut milk, coconut cream, coconut paste, fresh coconut, green coconut milk still in the coconut served with a straw...

The one thing I haven't been able to find is dessicated coconut. From as far back as I can remember, we have always had a packet of dessicated coconut in the cupboard. How else do you make slices, biscuits, cakes, etc? Sadly, the little kiddies of Bangkok may never know the joy of coconut ice.

3. Bananas

Bananas are very cheap here - you can buy them from a lot of street vendors either chopped up, roasted over coals, cooked into pancakes, or served with sticky rice. But when you buy them from the super market, they not only come like Laura Palmer - wrapped in plastic - but they also come like Lady Gaga - wrapped in tape.

4. Mr Broomy

Every kid in Australia knows about Mr Whippy or the ice cream man - a dude who cruises around the streets on hot afternoons or weekends ringing a bell or playing Green sleeves (or some other song he doesn't have to pay royalties for) and all the kiddies come running out clutching their pocket money or dragging the parents in tow, to get an ice cream.

In Bangkok they have Mr Broomy. A dude riding something that's part bicycle, part shopping trolley filled with brooms, brushes, dust pans, and other manual sweeping implements. He cruised the streets around my soi on a hot Bangkok morning, honking a little bike horn with a tyre pump attached to it, to let everyone know Mr Broomy was there.

I didn't see any kids chasing him down the soi, but maybe they were all still finding their pocket money.

5. Coffee

Many things labelled "coffee", and even "best coffee in Bangkok" don't necessarily taste like coffee, and may in fact taste like "worst coffee in world".

D.

Dinner with the locals

Dining out with a group of Thai locals is a very different experience from what I've had so far in Thailand.

Here you eat out a lot more than you cook at home. In fact, I know Westerners who lived here for a year and never owned a single plate or cooking implement (you know who I'm talking to). It's just so cheap! In fact, having cooked for myself a few times, I doubt I paid less cooking my crummy pasta and sauce at home than I would have paid going to a restaurant or street vendor.

My lunch today cost me THB25 - not even a dollar. By comparison, a packet of instant noodles and some thinly sliced beef from the supermarket (mixed with a little left-over chilli sauce) cost me about THB80.

So all of that is just to say that I've been eating out a lot, but up until tonight, always with other farang, and maybe one or two Thai people.

Tonight, I went out with the locals to a local eating place - a place where you sat on plastic stools, at plastic tables, on the footpath, next to the road, and you were surrounded by the kitchen. Several vendors cooking salted fish, chicken, seafood, stir fries ... I've been to places like this before at lunch time, but again, always with ex-pats showing me their favourite spots.

On the way there tonight, my hosts were kind enough to ask me what my favourite Thai dishes were. These are what they ordered first. And then they ordered a bunch of stuff I've never eaten, seen, heard of, or even thought about eating before.

I was handed a menu when I sat down, but instead of ordering, I was too busy taking photos of the Thinglish to try to decipher what I may want to eat.

What I did eat was the usual som tam (green paw paw salad), tom yum gai, and gai yang (grilled chicken). But then I also impressed them with my willingness to try the gung chae nam-pla (raw prawn salad), deep-fried pig intestines (for which I cannot remember the Thai name), and boiled (or possibly raw) miniature seashell creatures, which I told them were called pippies. This brought much amusement, possibly because I either sounded like I was saying "Phi Phi" or sounded like the Road Runner.

There was much concern for my weak gastro-intestinal system, and at the first sign of my breaking into a sweat at the extra level of spiciness served up to and by the locals, I was handed copious amounts of fluid, bland fried chicken, and toilet paper (more on this in another post).

My hosts were most gracious, and I felt honoured to have been invited out with them for a meal. While most of the conversation I didn't understand, they did go out of their way to interpret the funny and meaningful parts, and some parts which I still do not understand.

After dinner we retired to the air conditioned shopping centre, where I discovered that the phenomenon of women going to the toilet in packs knows no cultural boundaries. And neither does men standing around outside the toilets, trying to look purposeful and suave.

We went to an ice cream house for dessert. I was informed that they have a contest, where you have to put an entire scoop of ice cream in your mouth, and see who can finish it first. I now believe that this game was actually invented for my benefit, and was not, as I originally thought, a regular Friday night event.

Needless to say, the westerner with the big mouth won, but only just. O gave me a run for my money.

We wandered the shopping centre looking at make-up and trying to figure out what the Thai word for Balmain Bugs is (also known in some backwaters as Moreton Bay Bugs). Eventually there was agreement on the name, and I discovered that the English translation of the Thai name means "back-stroke crab". Our Balmain girl, Dawn Fraser, would be proud.

Dining with my Thai friends tonight has given me a new appreciation of several things.

Firstly, of my work colleagues. Even though we work for the same company, these are people who were complete strangers until about three weeks ago. They are hard workers, they love life, and they enjoy socialising together. And they're welcoming enough to allow an outsider to join them.

Secondly, of what it's like being the only person who doesn't speak the language. I've only experienced this once before while travelling in Seoul. Here I was lucky enough to have some friendly faces to interpret and make sure I didn't eat too many of the "toxic" shellfish.

Those of you from Australia will know that there is a section of the community at home with the attitude "if you want to live in our country, learn the language". Here I am, living and working in their country, with only the faintest spattering of Thai to get me through, and these beautiful people go out of their way to make me feel at home.

Finally, I have a new appreciation of my favourite food group - ice cream. It's good to know that wherever you are in the world, you can still get a scoop of something called "chocolate fudge brownie".

D.

Phuket, let's drive!

In the words of Winnie the Pooh, this is a long story, and even longer when I tell it.

Driving in Phuket seemed like such a good idea. It's not Bangkok, the traffic isn't crazy, crazy, crazy (just one level of crazy) and my hotel was only about 1km down the road from work.

There's a work vehicle, so if I crash it, the worst that can happen is that Robbie keeps my salary for the rest of my life, and I get a job cooking muffins in the Brisbane office full-time.

As it turned out, the driving to-and-from work bit was fine - it was on Sunday when I decided to head to the shopping centre I'd read so much about on Phuket.com - Phuket Central Festival - that I got myself into trouble.

It looked pretty straight forward on the map - head down the main road the hotel is on, turn right at some street I can't pronounce, which runs into the street where the giant shopping centre is. I'd been past it before as a passenger, so once I got my bearings I'd be fine.

I did get to the shopping centre without any serious drama, although I ended up driving in through the service entrance at the back, rather than the main entrance like a normal tourist. I still don't know how that happened.

I wandered, I shopped, I had a latté (can someone please tell Thailand what a flat white is?) and I decided at 12pm that it was time to make a move back to the office to drop the car off, so I'd be back at my hotel in time for my 1pm airport transfer.

What I hadn't noticed on the way to the shopping centre was that some of the streets were one way (it's hard to tell over here OK?!). This meant that I couldn't simply follow the same route I'd taken to get there. I had to deviate.

No biggy - I figured that I'd just follow the signs to Phuket Town (where the office and hotel are located) and I'd recognise some roads, and David wouldn't have to sit in this little car for over an hour hurling abuse at the town planners of Phuket.

That's where I was wrong.

Every street I drove down, I would come to a point where I thought, "oh, I know where I am", and dutifully take the direction my brain told me was correct. Wrong. After 35 minutes, I ended up back at the shopping centre. So I followed the same route again, only this time taking care to drive what I envisaged would be parallel to my original route. Wrong.

At one stage, I even got back onto the road that the office is on! There was much joyous singing and celebrating in the confines of that little car (Jazz never sounded so good!) as I drove down Thepkasatri Road. But alas, the party was short-lived, as Thepkasatri Road turned into Phuket Road and I drove down the same street I had been in three times already.

At last, after dodging left where I had previously veered right, I found myself a mere 20-30 metres from the office, and at about 1.30pm I locked the car and raced to the office foyer to return the keys to the weekend CS staff.

Naturally, being a Sunday, the elevator was away visiting relatives down the coast, so I had to run up four floors to get to the front door. My Phuket swipe card would not let me into the office, because this was a secure workplace on the weekend, and I had no business there.

By this stage, my nerves were a little frazzled. I couldn't help thinking about my driver who may, or may not, be waiting for me at the hotel 1km down the road.

I rang the doorbell which summoned one of our champion Phuket Customer Service staff, whom I have never met before, and who no doubt was wondering why this farang was ringing her doorbell on a Sunday when she had work to do.

I reached into my pocket and grabbed the keys and handed them to her with my swipe card saying - in my best Thinglish - "For Khun Tasnee". She nodded and repeated "Khun Tasnee". I thanked her in Thai, and exited the building as fast as I could.

This was about the time that I discovered that the proliferation of taxis and moped taxis in Thailand is unique to Bangkok. I walked (very quickly) all the way to the hotel without seeing a single taxi, or person who might be cajoled into giving me a ride.

I got to the hotel, asked if a driver had been for me and they said no. The desk staff offered to call me a taxi for the airport, to which I heartily agreed.

As it turned out, taxi here referred I think to a friend or family member who owned a car. When he arrived at 1.50pm, the driver asked me what time my flight left, and when I told him 3pm, he gave me a look and said "you not much time". I couldn't have said it better myself.

He was very nice, and we chatted all the way to the airport about his family and my family and what it was like living in Bangkok, which is where he was born.

At one point he asked me "OK I speed?", and used the internationally recognised hand signal for pushing the accelerator flat to the floor. "Sure, if you like." I'm not sure if that word choice would get me off on a technicality in court or not. Sean?

To cut this long story short:

• I arrived at the airport and stood in line to check in - my flight was delayed by almost an hour so there was no real rush after all;
• traffic from the airport in Bangkok was terrible so I sat in a taxi for about an hour and a half listening to Thai talkback radio;
• I arrived back at my apartment only to find that I couldn't get in because I had given the wrong set of keys to the smiling CS staff member in Phuket;
• I had to mime leaving keys in Phuket and not being able to get into my apartment to the security guard;
• I had to explain leaving keys in Phuket and not being able to get into my apartment over the phone to the building manager who speaks no English;
• I had to wait for the caretaker to let me in with a master key;
• I then went to bed wondering how I was going to lock my front door when I left in the morning.

And all because I decided to drive in Phuket. Next time I'll walk.

D.

PS. I received a very nice email on Monday morning from the airport transfer company apologising for not being there to pick me up at 1pm, as they thought my pick-up time (and not my flight time) was 3pm. I told them, no harm done - don't worry about it.