Sixteen hooky DVD’s, a handful of new release CD’s, an entire business attire collection for our return to London, and the best Rolex copy watch a handful of Baht can buy and our list of tasks was complete in Bangkok.

Well, sort of anyway. Six nights in the infamous SAS crew hotel, The Rembrandt, passed in a flash. The daily trip to the tailor took up most of each morning. The penny dropped in the nick of time that we required a Chinese visa and we beat the clock by some 30 seconds. Yep we secured our permit to enter China by a cats whisker. Had we missed the deadline, we would be delayed in Singapore, at the end of February, for as much as a week. This is the first visa we have been obliged to obtain in advance since Mozambique. If you take a look at the inside cover of your passport, wonderful words of the secretary of state insist that we are allowed to pass freely without let or hindrance. Ringing proudly in our ears, the reality is they carried precious little weight in the flourescent light filled waiting area of the Chinese Emabssy.  

The pollution and general traffic chaos makes Bangkok a tiring place, at least if you intend on spending any length of time here. The attractions are spread out over a vast city, with little in the way of convenient public transport. Each taxi journey brings with it the inevitable insistence of an inflated fixed price. Of course, we decline such offers and insist on the use of the meter. We get our own way each time, but its the fight that gets to you. The inevitability of this discussion before it even happens. The assumption is that as a farang (yep, no longer considered gringo's nor mazungus) you are treated as an idiot. That said, you do feel a little pity, as an hour’s ride across the chaotic cityscape only earns them a little over two quid.

From the travellers view point, this place comes into its own after dark. The Night Bazaar was really quite an attraction with its decent goods, fine restaurants and buzz all of its own. We ventured to the rooftop restaurant atop the Banyan Tree hotel. 60 floors up, Phill was lent some trousers and shoes by reception, which ensured the dress code was met.

No trip to Bangkok would be complete without or peeky boo at the seedier side of life. With Pat Pong basking in the naivety of green tourists, and Nana a little too weird, we settled for Soi Cowboy. A red light district catering more for expats than first timer visitors, scams are few and far between. Sue demonstrated her ability to handle, with gusto, any situation this trip may throw at her. Sitting  cooly at the end of a cat walk thronging with girating, naked women, Sue waited expectantly as Phill disappeared to the latrine. He was gone for less than a minute, though to Sue, it was an hour.   

We are now on the island of Ko Samui. Phill backpacked here 14 years ago and dare we say, he was gob smacked when returning to Chewang Beach. ‘This was all fields when I was last here’ Phill blasted. Now a huge town, there was nothing left that resembled the laid back beach hut ambience that went before. Frightening.

We are in extremely comfortable accommodation in Lamai, laying to the south of Chewang. Cable TV, eternity pool right on the beach, wifi and hot water. We are moving to the owners beach front house on Thursday, as they are otherwise full. Its high season, like everywhere else we end up! Lamai is now also a large town with hotel after hotel, tattoo after tattoo, English chav after English chav sporting a solumn faced Thai girl. Its fun to watch. The men all sit there at breakfast whafting down a full English breakfast while their 'girlfriends' either sit silently, or at best munch on fried rice.

We have two weeks here building plans for our final assult. A wintery North East Asia looms, with its dark enevitability. Blimey. 

PaSx