Bangkok

Or Krung Thep if your thai- the city of Angels.

We landed, a little disorientated from the little sleep we've had, and the strange hours we got it since we left our hotel in Mumbai 2 days ago (or was it now three?).
I text Becci soon as we landed, and before we knew it we were through the immigration checks, customs and standing by the taxi desk outside the shiny new airport. We sorted a metered Taxi, in an amazed daze that the driver was actually using his meter, instead of arguing over an initially 500% inflated first price.

As Mrs G and I marvelled at the immaculate modern saloon we were driving in, down a perfectly surfaced and organised highway, I actually felt like it was a little eery- no battered ambassador taxi-cars doing death races, no cows on the road, no auto-rickshaws barely cheating death (just thier passengers), and no constant beeping of horns. Even the roads were perfect, organised and clean, the police officers at the toll roads fit, disciplined and immaculately turned out, and with none of the barely contained aggression and menace of India's police.

Becci had text to say where she was, a nice new budget hotel just off the Khoa San road- the backpacker ghetto of south east Asia. We found it easy enough, and after paying the driver just under 300 Baht, we sat in the lobby and waited for her.

I felt somewhat self-conscious in my zip-off cargo trousers, hiking boots and bush shirt (all washed and dried within an hour back in Sri Lanka). Everyone else was in either the tourist uniform or traveller uniform. For tourists it comprises of silly hat, maybe advertising their hotel or coach tour, T-shirts with Singha beer picture or crude joke on the front, and loud shorts so awful they can hide vomit stains.
The difference is the travellers may actually have the vomit stains, often dressed in faded, torn old t-shirts bought in the last country they were in, big baggy shapeless trousers or combat shorts, and bags still with airline stickers attached. Some have flags sewn into their rucksacks showing the countries they were last in. Others maybe have "natural fiber" shoulder bags, sewn by a 500 year old woman in the Himalayas from the wool of 3 legged llamas. Or something cool like that.
Then you got the sex tourists, who have a habit of looking like, um, sex tourists. Mostly over 40, the teenage Thai girl holding their middle-aged sweaty hand as they stroll along kinda gives it away.
The one thing everyone will be wearing is "thongs" (Ozzy term- not the strappy briefs that hide VPL, but "flip-flops", horrible plates of rubber held to your feet by a strap that goes between your toes.) These things are far from high street fashion, but they are useful and for me that's about it. So I cant help but laugh when people spend loads on getting ones with fashion jewellery, buckles, and brand names attached. Those who do are usually the tourists.
(the "travellers" get renewable hemp ones. Or ones made by a 500 year old porpoise living in the andamans or something).

Becci came down to meet us after a quick shower- she had been having a few beers with a German couple she had met on the plane the night before, so like us was a little tired that morning.
We went to the cafe next door, looking for Indian chai as it was an Indian cafe, had breakfast, then went straight into the travel agents next door to book tours.
Our first was a visit to the war graves, bridge over the river Kwai, Jeath Museum, death railway and hellfire pass, as well as elephant trekking, elephant washing and a visit to the tiger temple to play with baby tigers. We'd be staying on a house boat on the river Kwia too.

The second tour ended up to be to Koh Chang, the two girls choosing it over my suggestion to go somewhere closer. Which was fair enough, as I would unfortunately be in the hotel room the whole time doing my forms for The Job back home. Plus I'm not really a beach-lover, getting sunburned under a fridge light.

Our week together booked, we had the day to chill out and catch up. Having not had a
nights sleep for a few nights now, we actually did pretty good to keep going until past midnight that night. Having found a room at the same hotel as Becci, we wondered up and down the Khao San, marvelling at how many white people there were, how the atmosphere was so different, and how there were no cows.

Somewhere, in one of the bars maybe, I suggested going to a Cabaret show that night in Sukumvit, the party area of the city. The cabaret performers are Kathoey or "lady-boys" in the west, heavily made up and in amazing clothing perform sing and dance routines which I've been reliably informed are great fun to watch, and a must-do. Tickets were advertised at the travel agents, so I figured it shouldn't be too seedy either, thinking of the girls respectability and all that.

The girls had other ideas though.

They dragged me to a ping-pong show.

Yep, THE ping-pong show, the one where they play pingpong without a net or paddle.

"It will be a giggle" says Mrs Grasshopper, as I shake my head in disbelief.
It will change how I see bananas.
And Candles.
Eugh!.....