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.