Daniel and Sara live in Sweden. They come to Bangkok every couple of years, but they might very well know this city better than Elenka or I know Toronto. We flew up for the weekend to visit these two wonderful Swedes who'd recently returned from a tour of North Korea. They'd booked us a room next to theirs at the Siam II Guest House and then took us on a whirlwind tour. We walked from one park to another in search of paper mache pandas (see photos); took a maniacal boat trip through the city's canal system; ate at a restaurant with robot waiters; went to an elephant polo match; and wandered darkened streets where large rats scurried and white folks feared to go. Once, when returning to our hotel after dinner, we walked for ten minutes along signless streets, then dodged our way across a busy four lane road before walking into a bar laden with teak furniture. Without a word we followed Daniel and Sara up a staircase, through a billiards room, then out the back door of the place which led to a nasty looking alley. Without pause, Daniel told us to keep our eyes peeled for dog s***. And sure enough, within minutes there was a mass of dogs and their accompanying doo doo. Three, maybe four right turns, followed by a couple of lefts, and we were back at the Siam II Guest House.

Taking a taxi in Bangkok was a whole new experience for us also. First Daniel would hail one, then he'd stick his head in the window and talk with the cabbie. More often than not the driver would leave with us standing on the sidewalk. What the hell was this all about, I wondered, not wanting to disturb the procurer's concentration. I was later to learn that cab drivers like to charge foreigners a flat fare. Daniel explained that a half hour $12 flat rate journey wasn't more than $3 - $4 with the meter on. Yesterday, viciously hot pavement poundings aside, we took more cab rides than I ever have in my life. Thanks to our Swedish amigos we experienced a new and exciting Bangkok, a Bangkok that we never knew existed.

Part Deux:

For almost fifteen years I'd assumed that the spray hose attachments beside the toilets of Thailand were for cleaning the bowls, or perhaps cooling down your feet from the sweltering heat. The more practical Elenka thought these devices were for cleaning the entire bathroom. We'd always wondered why people would go to the trouble of installing such a device yet almost never provide toilet paper. Two years ago the guy who was running the live-aboard diving trip we went on here in Thailand, explained the do's and don't's about boating on the Andaman Sea. Rule #1: "There is no toilet paper on this boat. Please use the bum gun only, for cleaning up after yourselves." I almost fell over. The spray hose attachments weren't for keeping your feet cool or cleaning the toilet, they were for cleaning your bottom. 

Yesterday, I did a test run of a business plan I'm putting together. I combed my hair, put on clean shirt and tie, then sat Elenka, Daniel and Sara down and gave them my Power Point slide show. At the end of my presentation I explained that my master plan was to have bum guns installed in every bathroom in North America and Europe by the year 2025. I waited for their reactions. Sara smiled. I was thrilled, an excellent product endorsement. Then Elenka said, "That's absolutely disgusting." My mouth dropped open. I'll need to work with her a little on the concept. It was Daniel though, who inspired me the most. He'd read my recent Ian Fleming/James Bond entry and said, "You can be The Man with the Golden Bum Gun." 
 
Investor enquiries are both welcomed and encouraged.