Two New Yorkers, a hungry tour guide and a premature imploder....

One of the hallmarks of notable columnists is the ability to weave current events into a meaningful piece of prose that stimulates the mind and captures the imagination.
So, in my grandiosity and eternal optimism that this will be read by more people than just my wife, I am attempting to adopt the opening paragraph as my mantra for the week.

Hum.....bloggers block.....journos jam......composers congestion.....and my favourite.....scribes shutdown. Alliteration - the appealing little authoring assistant that helps to fill pages, which is great when you are being paid per word - which I am not - so let me get to the point.

So picture the scene, here I am persuing a dream of writing, conjuring up romantic moments of penning poems under a willow tree whilst beloved looks on. Alas dear readers, none of that today. Far more important exciting and macho things happened in Cape Town this week past.

With great fanfare and huge support from the residents of our beautiful city, the two large cooling towers that dominated our skyline for more that fifty years, were imploded on Sunday.

We awoke to a dismal rainy day, perfect for implosions, I later heard, and headed out to collect my clients for the day. Its always with a sense of trepidation and slight nervousness that one meets new clients, a bit like a blind date. Most days you score, some days you hit miss, luckily this day it turned out to be a delightful couple from my second favourite city, New York, who were in my most favourite city celebrating ten years of marriage. The plan was to hike up Table Mountain to get a birds eye view of the noon destruction.

Off we head off up the old flat top, with me dispensing sage advice on marriage (I can hear my beloved sniggering when she reads this)

Its a tough slog up Platteklip Gorge but its by far the safest and most direct route up the mountain. Now Cape Town is not dubbed the Cape of Storms for nothing as many a sturdy ship captain will attest, but we are not to be scared off, despite the ominous clouds descending the gorge.

Fortunately we had the good sense to stop and buy some disposable rain coats on the way, the over priced, super thin, modified garbage bag variety. With waterproofing donned, we continue the ascent. Now the problem with these cheapo rain coats, is that when one exerts one self the perspiration can’t escape and you get just as wet inside as you would without the damned thing. The rain comes sideways, the plastic poncho gets flapped around, the sweat condenses inside and I am starting to think to myself -  it’s Sunday morning, I could be perusing the newspaper, nibbling on an almond croissant, lying in bed......

New Yorkers are a tough breed, they’re not easily scared off, what’s a bit of rain anyway......Have you seen NYC in the winter? So they just keep going and going and I'm trying to calculate the average client bail out rate per millimeter of rain over the last 18 months - anything to get my mind off the almond croissant.

Suddenly I hear the first cracks in their resolve......" Do you think the rain will stop", so I respond with vague weathermanspeak and dodge the question. Instead I employ a mountain guide basic training tactic- the motivational reverse psychology move. A dastardly trick - "Cmon, you can do it – don’t let a bit of rain stop you....keep your eye on the prize....follow me.....let’s go" and stride off up the hill at a cracking pace. I think it’s at that moment that the client realises that he has hired a maddened sargeant major to chase him up the mountain, and they begin to doubt there own sanity, the cracks widen - I could smell the almond croissant.

It wasn’t long after that we convinced each other that this was silly plan and we gave up - I offered to provide them with fake certificates to prove to their friends that they had indeed climbed to the top but they graciously declined. We turned around and began to walk down, the mood was light, happy and relieved, the sun even came out for a few minutes. Sometimes the joy of a task is in the ending of it. A bit like the feeling one would get when you stop hitting your head against a wall.

My interesting, shortlived, somewhat relieved clients went above and beyond what most others have done in the past. It was a valuable life lesson immortalised in the words of the great Homer Simpson - " It doesn’t matter"

Don’t get me wrong dear reader, I love my job, but this day needed a restart.

Almond croissant in hand, heater humming, clients waving, I turned South and floored the accelerator. I had an implosion to attend.

For some weeks before there had been a huge hype surrounding the demolition and I got swept up in it. Rhodes Memorial above the University of Cape Town was the Facebookers, venue of choice. One conveniently forgets that Facebook is not only limited to my little group of friends, and as I sped around the corner I realised that a few thousand others had the same thought. Cars were backed up for a kilometre or more and families were walking with picnic baskets, nervously glancing skywards.
Being a native Capetonian and resourceful tour guide, I know a few things about shortcuts, and so I make a last second diversion, cutting dangerously across three lanes, returning to the middle campus of the university. There is loads of space as I park, and a few minutes later I am feeling very smug as I position myself amongst some students outside the ivy clad Botany building. Perfect view.

The anticipation builds and so do the crowds, cameras ready, videos on standby, lots of chatter, awaiting the noon deadline. It was apt that noon was chosen - Cape Town has a long tradition of firing a cannon at noon - originally to help the ship navigators to set their clocks. Despite our terrible reputation for being late, the one thing a Capey knows is that the noon gun is always on time - always. So its a given that they will get the even bigger explosion on time.

Not to be....... four minutes before noon the Athlone cooling towers are imploded. Most people miss the moment, including tv reporters - the look on the etv network reporters face is priceless, check it out on youtube. It turns out that Dan Plato, the mayor of Cape Town was commissioned to press the switch or depress the plunger, and it wasnt his fault that it was early - the passing rain squall was perfect to dampen the dust and so they said "Go Dan go......"

Within minutes the jokes were flying around about Dan being a premature imploder and it probably would have been better to get a woman to do it as they last longer. Mayors can never do anything right anyway.

Myself on the other hand had got it all wrong - my car was well and truly and thoroughly parked in by dozens of others. Forty five minutes later I made it out the carpark, just in time to restart my day, again.

Unplugged - getting lost in technology

I love technology, I love being blown away at how clever us humans are, I love being able to compose this article lying on my back tapping it into a smart cellphone that probably has more computing power than a 1960s space rocket. The fact that I can hit send and have it on someone’s desk on the other side of the planet in a few seconds’ amazes me, the fact that I can upload it onto the web for all to read is even more amazing.

But as much as I marvel at the leaps and bounds technology has come in my life, I also marvel at the way I have so easily adapted to it. It’s a bit like the frog in the hot water myth - you know the story?

Put a frog in a pot of boiling water and it will jump out, put the same frog into a pot of cold water and slowly bring it to the boil and the frog won’t register the change of heat and end up boiled.......and dead. Now, I am told with great authority by my friend that this was tried and tested by the Mythbusters team and proven to be untrue. Nevertheless for the purposes of illustration we'll pretend its true - who knows, it’s pretty certain that someone on the internet has a long protracted truth of how it is actually true and the mythbusters guys were paid by the Amphibian Anti Cruelty League to debunk the theory. I saw it on the internet......it must be true......

I digress. The reference to the frog serves to describe me and the rest of humanity.

If I operated at the same pace and time management now that I did when first began working 25 years ago, I probably would have collapsed with exhaustion in the first day.

Granted, my first job wasn’t the most taxing in the world - I was a junior trainee manager at the Lord Milner Hotel in Matjiesfontein, which was a bit of a throwback to the Boer war anyway. We had a telex machine in the office along with an adding machine and an electric typewriter. That was the sum total of our technology, and coming to grips with that took me awhile. Every Monday I would have to type out the vegetable order onto a roll of yellow ticker tape and once complete, I would dial - yes dial, the number of the veggie supply guys in Worcester. When answered one fed the tape through the machine it would miraculously transform into legible figures and letters on the receiving end. Amazing stuff. This really was amazing in a village where we still had a matronly woman manually operating the phone exchange.

One day a slim shiny box arrived with the weekly delivery on the train, the General Manager, with much fanfare and fuss, unpacked our new fax machine. Wow, I was blown away, but soon frustrated, as the only other person I knew with a fax was the veggie guy. I wanted to send rude cartoon drawings to my mates......but they still had telexes. Suddenly Monday morning had an extra hour - the fax was quick, and even quicker was the reply - the veggie guy didn’t have to retype the whole order telling us what was and wasn’t in stock. It wasn’t long before the veggie guy began to see the entertainment value of this new invention, and I got to send the rude cartoons.

Nothing has changed really; we just email the jokes and rude cartoons these days.

The other day we were playing with my wife’s new Android type phone. It’s apparently a worthy alternative to the iPhone. This little puppy can tell you what song is playing in the background by searching the internet and comparing what its "hearing" to what is on file. It’s rare that it gets it wrong. The phone also sports a spirit level, just in case you have an uncontrollable urge to install a shelf, it can tell you what stars are in the sky tonight and best of all it has a state of the art fart machine that delivers 28 different and very realistic fart sounds. Oh yes .....You can make phone calls with it as well, after studying the manual and fiddling around a bit.

My second job in life, a real job, after messing around in boats, travelling and learning how to drink beer in the army, was with a landscaping company. I got to drive a Toyota Hilux pick up that had a large whip antenna connected to a two way radio. We could communicate between the company vehicles and our office but most importantly, we could connect to a telephone line, and talk to most anybody.

Man......did I feel important.... There I was able to drive around and talk to people on the phone - no hands free kit necessary. The downside was that the conversation was one way at a time (simplex transmission as it’s known in technospeak).....come in over......if you know what I mean.....over and out. I can remember being parked outside the Pig and Whistle pub showing off to my friends and onlookers.

But that was short-lived - technology moved on a notch and all of a sudden cellphones took over our lives. I often wonder what happened to the room full of ladies who used to patch through the radio phone calls? They were nice, we used to often just shoot the breeze on the radio, I even once went to visit them at the control room unfortunately she wasn’t as pretty as her voice.

My life had begun to speed up, the days before the radio; I would cruise around making a list in my head of things I had to ask my boss when I next spoke to him. I would arrive on site and get stuck in and do the job, no interruptions. The radio telephone gadget was useful but annoying; i would always have to park the vehicle close by to where I was working so I could hear the thing. You know the way employers get miffed when they can’t reach you?? These days you don’t really have an excuse, but those days....hmmm....” Is that a one ton bakkie with a whip antennae in your pocket ?”

But yet the boss expected me to be contactable. In hindsight I suspect he was onto me and knew that I spent a lot of time parked outside the Pig and Whistle showing off.

But that’s it exactly - isn’t it ? Isn’t that what we love so much about technology ? It’s a socially acceptable way to show off. As technology improves we feel it’s necessary to enlighten our fellow humans as to the virtues of things new.

Watch people with new phones and cameras, they can’t help themselves, watch the same person when that model is outdated.

A few years ago, whilst waiting to board a plane, a kid sniggered at my old laptop...”What a brick”, he muttered to his mate, I would have kicked his shin under the table, if his mum hadn’t been watching. It made me realise that i did indeed own a brick and suddenly I wasn’t so keen to expose it to the world anymore  - shallow eh....

The same thing can be said of the internet - except that it’s a great leveler. Famous people have Facebook pages, unknown people have Facebook pages, rich and poor, beautiful and ugly, first world, third world.......we have all got them, so now how do we show off, we all have the same gear on the net - as I said it’s a great leveler. So what do we do ? We collect friends.

That’s all.....without even realising it we are in a competition, and it appears Barack Obama with his 12 and half million pals is winning, but I am not convinced he should be considered for the honour.

Check out our behaviour if you are a Facebook fan. I went through a few lists of other peoples friends and then asked them how they know so and so. " Sorry....er.... who is that....yes it rings a bell....er...maybe..."

I am friends with people I haven’t seen in 30 years - what’s the point, it hasn’t rekindled any old bond, in some cases the renewed connection hasn’t even resulted in a personal note. I suppose it’s just a type of canned community - instant...... just add friends. It makes us feel like we belong, it’s a good alternative to the village square or church and it keeps me busy…..too busy somedays.

I met a lady last week who offers her services to “update, collate and manage” social media pages for busy people, and she is doing very well.  In ordinary speak, she will run your Facebook, Twitter, Linked In, blah blah page on your behalf while you get on with answering your emails, sms, mms, Skype, landline and fax.

It reminds of the old German man I had on tour with me awhile back. driving past the new One &Only hotel in Cape Town, I mentioned that this was Africa’s first 6 star hotel. One of the other visitors asked: "What’s the difference between a 5 and 6 star hotel" and without a skipping a beat the old German, in a dry, monotone, heavy German accent voice piped up from the back....."In a zix star hotel zay haf people to eat ze food for you"

My sentiments exactly.

It’s all about the bike

Here we go again – it’s less than a month before the Argus cycle tour entries open again and my body is only just recovered from the last bout of cycling madness….. and I am having a moan.

It’s not so much the event itself, that’s a lot of fun, it’s something one has to do, and I look forward to it with masochistic relish.

It’s the damned people who enter it.........I can hear you all howling already ......

Yes, yes, yes….I know……. Of a total of 36 or 37 thousand people who enter the race every year, they can’t all be assholes......or can they?

Now, I have ridden the Argus and count myself in with rest of them. So why am I coming down so hard on the tight pants brigade.

It’s simple really. These normally sane, rational, nice, respected members of society and often captains of industry suddenly turn into fist wielding, arrogant road hogs who, for a few months of the year, think that the road is made for them exclusively. 

Give it a try, for those of you rare individuals that have never suffered abuse from a cyclist, try - just give a friendly hoot to warn the biker that you’re about to pass, and see what happens. (by the way, make sure there isn’t a stop street or traffic light up ahead otherwise the evil bastards might kick your car door or worse still, spit at you)

There is a war on our roads - and it’s open season.

That’s why I choose to rather ride my bike on the myriad of mountain trails within Cape Town. The moment I get on the road I become one of them.

I have spent the last few years trying to work it out - is it something they put in those ridiculously priced energy goo's that we deem necessary to consume every ride, or maybe it’s just the pressure on my ass.

There are social commentators who tell us that our motor cars give us this false sense of security, and that when we drive them we feel invincible. We feel protected, we feel as big and as strong as the machine we are controlling. That’s a very relevant thought - a fully loaded 6 seater is a dangerous weapon when pointed at someone, but then how does that same idea get transferred to the grey man riding a 9kg bicycle. How come he still thinks he is invincible?

Somewhere we have got it all wrong. When I was a lad ( I love using that phrase, now that I have a few grey hairs myself) I used my bike as a mode of transport and cycled most everywhere. My dads advice was simple - stay out of the way of the cars and ride in single file. I had a healthy respect for cars and they in turn kept out of my way.

Yesterday a bloke told me how he was riding with three mates and he had the audacity to suggest that they move into single file. The answer from his friends….Eff them – they can go round – I am not riding in single file.

Somewhere we have got it wrong.

Today the penny dropped, literally.

It’s all the money we throw at these simple machines that makes us think they are big and dangerous - it must be. Follow my logic here.

For about 10 grand I can buy a very fast reliable bike that, if given to the likes of Lance Armstrong, would probably finish a race in the top few percent. That same bike when given to your average middle aged cyclist will deliver exactly that ......an average result. So why does Joe Average need to spend 2 years varsity fees on a bike?

This morning on my way to work, controlling my innate urge to want to flatten the 30 strong peloton holding up the traffic, I spotted a Mail & Guardian poster on a pole reading: "Male menopause and the bicycle" hmmm......yes.....don’t think they sold too many copies with that headline. I didn’t read it - I didn’t need to, I instinctively knew what they were on about, and it cut deep.

As much as I think I run my home, I think that I am the king, I am not. If I was the king then I wouldn’t be messing around with a damned bicycle, I would have a Harley and one of those motorised paraglider thingys or maybe even a jet pack if they actually worked without burning your legs off.

But I don’t - my dad told me when I was a lad - "Son, the best way to stay happily married is to always have the same answer for your wife - the same two words for every comment, always......Yes dear"

Somehow the bicycle, however more dangerous than a Harley, is allowed and, man, do we throw money at them. Tyres R500.00 each, new improved shocks...wait for it....10 grand. It’s a joke - the joke really is that a 10 grand shock is not going to improve your life that significantly, other than the nods of approval from your mates and all you do is pedal harder to show them that your investment was worthwhile.

Fortunately for my kids who still have to go to varsity, I have a healthy dose of Scottish blood careering through my veins which automatically induces wallet cramp when it comes to spending money on bikes.

Not that I don’t spend, I do, but it’s tame in comparison, but not tame enough to make me forget that I actually do own the road.

The best job in the World

Table Mountain on Monday 02.08.10

View down Platteklip Gorge - the easy way

What a way to spend a Monday morning, guiding some visitors to Cape Town up Table Mountain - some days I have to pinch myself to remember that I am actually working.

Tour guiding can become “just another job” if one is not careful. It’s usually the unfortunate scheduled guides that fall into the trap of the worlds best job becoming a chore.

I can, however, report after seven years as a tour guide I have my off days. They are fairly rare but they do happen – that’s life – you take the good with the bad.” Life on lifes” terms as some wise sage once said.

Also quite rare are nightmare clients. So often one hears stories about clients from hell who cant be pleased – I think that problem people attract each other ( he says ,holding thumbs, so as not to jinx things, because some days I can be a problem person….just ask my beloved family !!)

Yesterday I had some delightful young people from the USA who had a great time hiking the mountain with me. We discussed history, economics, flowers, restaurants, politics and the environment amongst other things. It was a great day – beautiful weather, easy going clients and a great place.

We left Kirstenbosch Botanical gardens and climbed up Nursery Ravine – we had originally considered Skeleton Gorge for the ascent but opted for Nursery as I figured it might have been a tad wet as it sometimes gets in the Cape Winter. The truth is that the dreaded Cape winter hasn’t really lived up to its “Cape of Storms” image this year and there wasn’t much water anyway.

The North Americans visitors thought it was quite funny how us Capetonians bundle up in our snow suits when the temperature drops below 10 celsius – interesting that……… the way temperature is relative.

Temperature aside. It was a spectacular day and we made it to the Smuts track in about 1.5 hours ( despite my good intentions – I always forget to note the time) and stopped for a moment to take in the view from Breakfast Rock.  The Smuts track is the well trodden foot path from the top of Skeleton gorge to Maclears beacon, which is the highest point on the mountain. Local legend has it that General Jannie Smuts, after whom the path is named, could walk it faster when he was seventy five than most people can do when they are thirty. Smuts of course had a lifetime of training – he was active service in both world wars as well as the Boer ( South African) War.

Looking south from Smuts Track - the longer more challenging, exciting and satisfying way to the top

We were reminded of Smuts’s ilk when we came across one of Cape Towns wizened old age hikers. They are a breed apart – some of them in their eighties and still walk the mountain with their 40 year old backpacks, polished boots and the calf muscles of a rugby player. The likes of the late Alf Morris who taught me geography in the eighties and Clem Barker who retired 20 years ago !! - these old guys and gals keep the spirit of the mountain walker alive.

Much to my dismay and embarrassment, I took a wrong turn just after we encountered the old mountain hiker with his polished boots. We greeted each other with a cheery good morning and continued along our respective ways – me with my group of young people, him with an equally wrinkled hiking partner. 

In my typical inattentive way, I missed the turn. A few minutes later I realised my mistake and we turned around, me with my tail between my legs and slunk back in the right direction.

Now a tour guide has got to always be up beat, and as the old timers in the game say: “ If you cant dazzle them with brilliance , then baffle them with bullshit”…….so here we are walking back and as we come around the corner, to my horror, the old man of the mountain is sitting on a rock having lunch.

Baffle baffle baffle I am thinking…what can I say…..

I shout ahead to them : “ Hope you’ve got a cup of tea for us….. ha ha”

And his reply……: “ No……but I have a map” he smiled, a tooth missing - offering the map to me

Demolished……no where to hide.......I mumbled something and walked on.

Despite the bullshit mantra mentioned earlier, I also believe in the saying: If there is an elephant in the room, don’t pretend it’s not there”

Along with my good natured clients we had a chuckle at my expense as we continued the walk. We saw the old boy a bit later at the upper cable station. I was having an overpriced coffee, he was drinking out his dented aluminium water bottle – I’ve got a long way to go and a lot to learn.

Love you long time – my experiences of Thailand

Before you start......this article is long - about 9500 words , it was written on a Nokia E90 ( full of mistakes) on my travels in Thailand in March/April 2010.

LOVE YOU LONG TIME - Craig Dunlop – May 2010

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One of the benefits of reaching "middle age" ( perish the thought)  is that by that time, one usually has access to cash which was meant for ones golden years.

Raiding our retirement piggy bank with responsibility of a teenage rock star, my wife and I decided, against the advice of the finance gurus to re invest in a new policy, to rather invest in our kids lives and take them on a three week adventure that involved a bit more traveling than simply jumping in the bakkie and heading for the hills….what the hell - you only live once!

With a bunch of cash at our disposal, we set about matching the budget to the location. Admittedly the odd guilt pang was felt when we thought about our swollen mortgage, but this was quickly displaced by the palpable excitement in our home.

Clearly seen by our financial planning misgivings, we are fatalistic people and where better in the world to travel to, than Thailand, the land of smiles, where nothing matters - Mai pen rai as they say - never mind.

Of course the devalued Thai currency also makes for a wise budget decision. Thailand is one of the few places in the world that South Africans can call cheap. It really is - with careful planning you can get a huge amount of bang for your baht.

In any long distance trip the biggest cost is usually the airline tickets. We did the usual shop around and found the best deals online with Qatar Airways, but thought it prudent to book through a local agent as we are still a little reticent to do large online transactions, although I am sure it’s safe. In the end we booked through Flight Centre who ended up having to discount the tickets in order to satisfy their price guarantee - much to our delight. With our flights confirmed and paid for we began the task of planning our route in Thailand. I am a firm believer in the adage that there is as much fun is in the journey as there is in the destination and that the journey begins with planning.  

We can firmly say that without the use of internet resources and booking services such as www.tripadvisor.com and www.sawadee.com we would have been as ineffective as a can of Doom in a Bangkok street market. This is the only way to get a true reflection of what a prospective hotel is like. reports are submitted by past guests which generates a score - a consumer democracy, if you like. Having trawled through pages of comments and reviews we settled on the islands of Koh Samui and Koh Panghan followed by a few days of retail therapy in Bangkok or Bangers as we came to call it (the word Bangkok would evoke howls of laughter from our almost twelve year old daughter)

Over the months before our departure we spent many hours looking at potential accommodation spots. By this time I was sufficiently au fait with internet transactions and all of our accommodation was booked through Sawadee - a Thailand based internet booking service. They were a pleasure to deal with even when we wanted to change our location after paying a deposit. We can recommend their services highly - good prices, prompt service and easy going. The only other item was to arrange transport from Bangkok to our first stop on Koh Samui.

Koh (means Island) Samui and Koh Panghan are with in view of each other located in the Gulf of Thailand - on the Eastern side of the Malaysian peninsula. This is the opposite side to where the devastating tsunami of 2001 struck the coast around Phuket and Pi Pi Island.

Samui has a small but busy airport, but we decided to rather brave an overnight train trip. This way we could kill a few birds - it’s cheaper than flying, you save a hotel night, and thirdly, this was to be an adventure. The booking of the train turned out be an adventure in its self until we were lead to the services of a fantastic agent in Thailand called Traveller 2000. For a small fee they book the complex combination of train, bus and ferry required to make the trip from Bangers to Samui. By this time I was so relaxed with internet transacting that I attempted to pay them up front only to be told that I can only book and pay on a certain date........hmmm.....I hoped that I would be able to hold out that long, hoping that I wouldn’t come down with a serious attack of wallet cramp as all this high speed money evacuating our bank account felt quite strange.

Fortunately the wallet cramp was mild and on the designated day I sent off the request and payment again - all well.

We chose the end of March, early April to visit Thailand primarily for the weather - It’s not as hot and wet as July or overrun by Europeans in December. Best add here that it seems that Thailand is permanently hot and it’s not for the faint hearted. On more than one occasion we saw visitors collapsed from the heat and in all honesty – don’t be brave and try and do it without air con, although I am told that the winters are bearable.

We flew via Doha in the Middle East, which is a bit of a long way (read cheapest) round, changing planes and eventually landing in Bangkok....oops...Bangers...late the following afternoon. Having fought our way past the taxi touts and made it through the airport doors and into the heat; we found the legit taxi rank and within minutes were driving off to our hotel. My clever wife had printed a Thai version of the hotel card which made life a whole lot simpler than having to speak loudly.

The Suvarnabhumi Airport is a new building, it’s efficient, huge, and well designed. It seems to me that most of the new airports across the planet are designed by the same architects. Almost a generic pattern…… global village stuff. The Thais however have incorporated a bit of their own traditional architecture making for a striking building. Like most new airports it takes almost as long to drive there as it does to fly, bank on about an hour by taxi. There is a skytrain line to the airport but everyone seems very vague as to whether it actually runs, even the maps show it as "proposed". We didn’t bother - the taxis are good value at about 500 B ( a little over R100.00) for the airport to the city trip for 4 people.

Our first night in Thailand was spent in a little hotel with a big name- "Grand Watergate Hotel" just off Petchaburi Street in downtown Bangers. Petchaburi Street is a well known shopping area - especially for clothing. The Grand Watergate was comfortable and clean but in retrospect we could have done better. It was only for a night and the excitement of a foreign city was joyfully overwhelming for our kids, so nothing mattered anyway.

The plan was one night in Bangkok...( the rest of the words of the 80's song still evade me and it is still driving me mad. My son has a remedy for removing recurring songs in the head, but that’s another subject......) and then to catch an overnight train to the south the following evening. We spent the day in Bangers poking around the markets and satisfying our kids desires to visit the global fast food chains they have only ever seen on TV. I must admit, contrary to my self image of health and coolness, that Dunkin Doughnuts are really good. Late that afternoon we made our way to the main train station by taxi. Our driver appeared to be a fan of some or other inane Thai TV programme which involved a competition of semi clad girls gyrating their hips to the same tune....over and over and over and........( Now I had recurring images in the head as well)

Hualomphung Station is a grand old building adjacent to Chinatown - yes even Bangkok has a Chinatown - it was easy to find our way round and we settled down to wait for the departure of our train. People watching is one of my favourite pastimes, and where better to do it than in the departure hall of a station. That is where one sees life - real people. Conversations with orange robed Buddhist monks, nervous young tourists, wily old ones, locals on the way home and then suddenly the Kings anthem is played over the public address system and everyone ( except the monks) jump to their feet, hand on the heart. We figured to just do what everyone else was doing which was the right thing we later heard.

The King H.M. Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand is the longest reigning monarch in the world, a few years more than Queen Elizabeth 2nd, and he is loved dearly by the nation, he is the embodiment of national unity. All over the country his portrait is displayed in homes and business as well as on all the currency. it’s prudent to mention here that the Thais take great offence to any affront to the Royal family and it would be a disgrace to point your feet or stand on his image (as with any Thai), this is relevant as one would not want to stand on a lost coin in the street. Likewise Thai people (Buddhists) do not like having their heads touched. They won’t say anything but will quietly seethe. Be aware of this, especially with Thai kids, as we westerners love to ruffle kid’s hair.

Back to the king - the King of Swing it seems. His Majesty is a very accomplished jazz musician and they are not just saying that cos he is the king. Over the years he has played sax and clarinet with the likes of Benny Goodman and Louis Armstrong as well as composing and selling thousands of albums. When doing his kingly duties he seems to that very well as well with numerous welfare and environmental projects that he has initiated.

It was a pleasure to stand for the kings anthem once we had learnt all that.

If you consider doing the overnight trip from Bangkok to Surithani and then onto the islands, then listen carefully here.........

The train comes in three classes, seat only, communal sleeping and private sleeper. Be sure to book a private sleeper, as it’s the only carriage with air con, unless you want do the real thing and share your bunk with some sweaty chickens and a family of Burmese immigrants ( who will be very nice I am sure). We booked two compartments interleading. It was great - simple and basic. The bedding is delivered at bedtime and the bunks are pulled out and made up with freshly laundered crisp sheets and a towel like blanket which was a perfect weight for the Thai heat.

The best Fried Rice we tasted - on the overnight train from Bangkok to Surithani

With the air con humming, we played cards and ate delicious fried rice bought at the station. The food on board the train is hardly worth mentioning. We had been warned to rather stock up before which we did. The restaurant upstairs at the station does some of the best Thai food we had on the whole journey. Armed with that, a few Singha beers and a packet of ice to chill the drinks in the sink we were set.

Arriving at Surithani at sparrows the following morning, we were woken by the train conductor who walked up an down the corridor singing a kind of ditty which became our early morning mantra for the rest of the trip

"Goooood morning tooot toot tooot." Quite what this meant is beyond me, but it made for a good laugh. A few minutes later the coffee guy comes round and you’re all set for the day. Save your morning ablutions for later as even the first class toilets are dodgy.

Surithani ( pronounced Soo rit hani, with the accent on the rit) is the jumping off point for the islands. From the station, buses leave in dozens of different directions to meet the ferries. In my minds eye i saw Surithani as a little village next to a harbour - my vision was blown - it’s a sprawling grey industrial metropolis with no real centre. The coach journey to the ferry took close to an hour, and in typical Thai style, no information is given - just a smile and a don’t worry mutter.

As westerners we tend to voice our opinions, especially if we are angry or disgruntled. The Thai philosophy with regards to temper is jai yen - literally "cool heart" as opposed to jai rawn or "hot heart". Always display a cool heart, it’s useless to get upset, the average Thai will giggle with embarrassment, which can infuriate the uninitiated even more. It’s not as if the Thais don’t lose their tempers - it does happen and when it does they have been known to be quite cruel. Generally a jai yen philosophy will open doors and take you a lot further than an attitude of arrogance.

Koh Samui is a little under an hour by ferry from the mainland, the sea changes dramatically from a brown grey colour to a tropical blue as you approach the palm fringed island. It’s a developed island, a little too developed for my liking, but still has a great feel. In our opinion the choice is between Chaweng, Lamai or Bo Phut beaches. We chose the busiest - Chaweng - not sure why, but there is something in the frenetic buzz that we were after.

We had booked rooms at Montien House on Chaweng beach, it rated well on both Trip advisor and Sawadee. most of the properties on Chaweng beach are long narrow strips stretching from the Main street to the beach, typically each establishment has two rows of bungalows or huts as they call them, facing each other running the length of the property. Montien House is one of the older places and has a stunning jungle of a garden between the bungalows, leading down to a large pool and terrace overlooking the beach.

Days were idled away at the pool with the occasional bursts of energy spent playing on the beach or on one occasion scooting around on a jet ski.

The most refreshing thing for us was to be able buy such wholesome tasty food from the vendors on the beach - everyday was a surprise of spring rolls or chicken satay or a whole pineapple so cleverly and attractively peeled.

On the other hand, we were somewhat overun by vendors selling anything from fake Raybans to beautiful sarongs.

At the end of each day the transformation would happen - I watched with intrigue most evenings whilst enjoying a sundowner. The day time stuff - umbrellas, loungers etc would be packed away and the tables, chairs, carpets and lanterns would be brought out and the beach would evolve into a fairyland, complete with a new set of vendors now selling fireworks, laser pointers and luck balloons. I just love the entrepreneurial spirit of the Asian people - you just can’t stop them, if there is a gap, they will fill it.

It’s a long night on Chaweng beach - every night - the beach bars take turns in having party nights. It’s worthwhile to note that if your room is too close to the beach, which is usually the most desirable option, you might battle to sleep. If you can’t sleep, you can always get tanked up on strange Thai energy drinks and join them.

Most nights we would head up to the main street and browse the shops before having dinner at one of the many restaurants - nothing to rave about especially if you are wanting to eat western food. As avid Asian food addicts we ate local most of the time - the best food we found was from the many little roadside kiosks or vendors. I can hear many readers wailing about the cleanliness of these places........the truth is that the higher the turnover of food, the less likelihood of it carrying any nasties. Your average hotel breakfast buffet is probably more deadly, with food lurking for a few hours. No chance of that in a Thai street kitchen. The proof is in the pudding I suppose.

Meanwhile back at the beach the party would develop most evenings and would be in full swing by the time we got back from dinner - we somehow never managed to do an upmarket beach restaurant evening and ate in town. Fortunately we had lots of beach evenings later on the trip.

After a few days of getting sun burnt we decided to see the island a bit and hired a little Suzuki jeep for the day. It’s about R200.00 for the day and that’s probably all you need as you can drive around the island in about 40 minutes.

There are a bunch of tourist traps like crocodile farms, elephant rides and buffalo fighting ( not really sure what that was all about) which we chose to avoid. The only two attractions we visited were the waterfall and the Big Buddha. The waterfall was disappointing as the rains hadn’t come yet and we almost got ripped off by a silver tongued salesman. As we turned into the road leading to the waterfall area we get pulled off by an official looking bloke who instructs us to park the jeep and step into the office to pay the entrance fee to the waterfall. The entrance fee turned out to be a ticket for an elephant safari and in fact the waterfall was free. He seemed a bit miffed but kept a cool heart and waved us on.

It was a really stinker of a day - at least 40 Celsius. Our vision of frolicking under a cool waterfall in the jungle was dashed and we waved to silver tongue as we sped past his office in a rush to get back to the beach and ditch the jeep.

It was a relief to get back to my lounger and umbrella, attempting to read a novel between the people watching. Thailand attracts so many different nationalities and our favourite game was guess the country. The other game we played was spot the un tattooed person - now which was intriguing - I have never come across so many tattooed bodies in one place. We thought perhaps it was just because more flesh was exposed on a beach, but then thinking about beaches back home, there was no comparison. We even entertained the idea that we had found ourselves in the middle of a World Tattoo convention, but that wasn’t it either. It seems, in the end, that Thailand has a history of skin art and the serious collectors make it a mission to get work done in Thailand - especially by the traditional bamboo method. Many Thai men adorn their bodies with spiritual markings- amulets for power and luck. I heard a story of two Thai men with very hot hearts about to beat the crap out of each other for some or other reason. Fighter 1 whips off his shirt exposing his tattoos and fighter 2 eyes pop out of his head with fear, he turns tail and flees. In his opinion he had no chance against this guy who had such powerful spirits with him. We saw so many tattooed bodies (both Thai and Western) that the clear skinned people became rare. There are so many tattoo artists around, every street has a tattoo studio next to a bar, next to a teeth whitening clinic, next to a fake watch shop next to a scooter rental shop which is next to another bar etc etc. Any longer in Thailand and I think I would have got inked myself, it’s just so Thailand. 

Another very Thai sideshow, is the sport of Muay thai, or kickboxing as it also known. I do battle to understand how a nation of people who are so peaceful, gentle and calm can partake in such a violent sport, all this polite gentleness probably gets a bit much after a while I suppose. I saw the same thing in China some years back - a small fender bender turned into a streetfight of arbitrary seemingly un involved people. It must be all that chilli.

The kickboxing spectacle is almost comically advertised throughout the preceding days. pickup trucks with huge billboards and blaring PA systems drive up and down the streets advertising the upcoming big fight. The funny part is the classic mis translation that one so often sees when east meets west. The audio went something like this : Tonight...one night only, muay thai boxing at the so and so stadium. Great violence for the whole family. Be there or we will kick your ass"......... all of this narrated with dramatic echos over the Rocky theme. We had to see this and so my son and I decided to go and do a boys night.

I found the pre bloodletting ceremony quite fascinating. Before each bout, the boxers do an elaborate dance around the ring, moving from corner to corner thanking the spirits. The dance can last awhile before they finally move to their corners and strip off the ceremonial head gear in preparation for the fight. It seems anything goes - elbows, fists, feet, knees, all make good weapons, it did seem however that the old cajones were out of bounds which is probably a good thing, otherwise the fight would be over after the first kick between the legs - the spectators have to get their money’s worth after all. It was a lot of fun and we walked back to the hotel doing flying kicks and air punches with the relevant sound effects - it was good to be 15 years old again.

The female side of our family were less enthralled with our account of the boxing but smiled convincingly and then quickly changed the subject, besides shopping is way more interesting than kickboxing.

I am kind of inclined to agree with the last statement - the shopping is fantastic even for me, with a typical male shopping attention span of 45 minutes, enjoyed it. In all honesty it was the idea of getting things so much cheaper than home that appealed to my Scottish roots.

My darling wife, on the other hand, comes from a family of salesman and she drives a hard bargain when negotiating. Between us we made a good shopping team, although on one occasion the male shop assistant stepped back half way through a bargaining session and brought in the big guns - a tiny Thai lady who was a match for my dearest. In the heat of the moment the deal almost collapsed over a few baht as it had become a matter of principal as to who would win. Eventually, with a few gentle words in Afrikaans, I brought my wife back to reality and she backed down.

Most people relate Thailand and shopping to cheap copies of designer brands. Although this is true, there is the other side, where some beautiful locally designed furniture and clothing is emerging. This is not kitsch tourist stuff, but sophisticated, well designed gear that is up there with the world’s best. There is definitely a culture of Thai cool out there and it’s worth discovering.

The fake market is booming though, and it’s in your face unlike my experiences in China where it’s underground. According to shopkeepers we spoke to, they pay the cops off, 10 000 baht a month ( about R2500.00) for a pirate DVD kiosk. Its rife - latest movies, music and software are all available. It’s so bad that some of the licensed distributors heavily discounted the originals to try and get people rather spend a few baht more and get the real thing.

Koh Panghan was our next port of call. It was a simple affair to cross from one island to the next, but a bit scary. The Thais have scant regard for safety, it’s all Mai pen rai - never mind , don’t worry, giggle,giggle - its fatalism in its true sense and you are reminded of this as you board the ferry with probably a 100 more people than its registered for. We ended up sitting on deck sweating on the luggage - at least if it sank you wouldn’t die of hyperthermia.

We arrived on Panghan and got a pickup truck taxi to the hotel. Much like our mini bus taxis, the islands have converted bakkies as taxis. You pay per person and they drop you off en route - and it’s as scary as home.

We arrived in one piece at Haad Salaad ( Salaad Beach) on the north west side of Phanghan and checked into Salad Hut - which was absolutely fantastic in every way.

Haad Salaad is small - only about 15 hotel choices across the bay. Salad hut has a great position. (also found on Trip Advisor and booked through Sawadee) Our room had a wrap around balcony and we could literally throw a stone into the sea from the bed or from the pool for that matter. If I was looking for a moan, it could only be the fantail boat engines firing up at 6.00 am, which was actually cool - as that is life.

The fantailed boats have a traditional hull design onto which they mount a hugely overpowered truck engine connected to a long driveshaft and prop. It’s so different to any marine power design I have encountered - necessity is the mother of invention. The result of mounting a 6 cylinder 4 liter turbo diesel onto a hull design that hasn’t evolved in hundreds of years is interesting. These little vessels achieve break neck speeds, fortunately the water is usually as smooth as glass as it was day we took one of these from Haad Salaad to the next bay of An Mae Haad for a spot of snorkeling around the small island on its doorstep called Koh Ma which you can wade through the surf to get to it at low tide. There is some great diving around Koh Ma with loads of dive operators offering gear hire. I was amused by the way one can hire a motor bike or high powered jet ski without a license or travel on a rusted, lifejacket less ferry but scuba gear requires the whole shebang of courses and licenses as anywhere else in the world. That’s the power of a very well organised industry.

Nevertheless, our intention was just to snorkel anyway and we had a fantastic time viewing the cast of Finding Nemo in their natural habitat. The diving is superb but many of the sites have been ruined - Koh Ma is one of the best I am told. Take a packet of cooked rice with you and you will have zillions of little fish eating out your hands. I loved being underwater listening to the cracking sounds that the coral makes, seeing the riot of colour and feeling the sun on my back

Once again my son and I in a testosterone frenzy, figured we could swim around the small island in the bay, we managed to pull it of, but seriously misjudged the distance. Thank goodness for the high salt content that made it easier to float - it was an epic swim. I suppose we are the reason that they won’t just hire scuba gear to anybody. We slept very well that night.

Panghan is perhaps most well known for its full moon parties - these happen once a month on the south east of the island at a beach town called Haad Rin. The full moon party has become world famous and its very well attended, so much so it is an industry on its own now to the point that they also have half moon parties and black moon parties, only leaving one week off a month to recover. Haad Rin is a beautiful beach but now very over run with tacky bars, crappy restaurants and dodgy crash pads. I would give it very wide berth unless you are into getting wasted and passing out on the beach with a few thousand like minded people. The drinking at the Full moon parties is dangerous, never mind the drug taking which could land you in the Bangkok Hilton aka Klong Prem prison, eating a fish head a day for the rest of your life.

Drinking however is quite permissible. The popular tipple at the parties is the "bucket" - there are many variations of that but essentially it’s a typical kids beach bucket sold with a Thai Red Bull ( much sweeter than the western version) a half liter of Coke and a half bottle of Mekhong whiskey ( which isn’t really whiskey - it’s a rice concoction) or Saengthip rum which isn’t really rum - it’s a rice concoction) in fact most brown coloured spirits are called whiskey despite the fact that Thailand is one of the world’s biggest consumers of Johnny Walker Black, be sure it’s not fake though..

The buckets are sold everywhere in Haad Rin, all you have to do is find some ice and mix it up ......instant party or instant headache ?

I am sure that in its day, Haad Rin must have been great, and sure it must still be fun for many, but it’s just so fake. The hippies who have nothing to protest about, the ganga smokers with fake dreadlocks bought in Khaosan rd, Bangkok before the island trip and the aloof so called travelers who wouldn’t dare call themselves tourists. They all have something in common - they all have a copy of Lonely Planet stashed in the back pack and like sheep they follow each other from place to place. I suppose they are no different to me - just a different guidebook. Probably what I am really bitching about is the mindless ticking of boxes mentality that so many of us have, the been there got the tee shirt mentality, just so I can say to my mates that I was there.......God help us - let’s try something different for a change.

Judging by my ranting in the previous paragraph, it’s clear that Haad Rin is missable, despite a great swim in the surf that we had there. It was another stinker on the day we passed through, the day before the Full moon party and it was already happening with before before before parties as we navigated our way through the little streets on a pair of scooters before heading back to the relative calm and originality of Salad Beach for a cold Singha.

Beer is popular - it so damned hot that cold beer is a no brainer. The two major local brands are Chang and Singha and there is no love lost between the brewers, in fact the Thai beer war of the last few decades was quite fierce. In short Singha had the only license to brew beer for the past 60 years when an upstart entrepreneur who was the son of a street vendor, convinced the government to allow him to distill the Thai whiskey mentioned previously.

With his whiskey sales going through the roof ( it was cheaper to drink whiskey than Singha) he approached Carlsberg in Denmark to brew and sell the international beer in Thailand. The originally recipe was changed for the Thai taste, but still was more expensive than Singha. All the upstart did was rule that any vendor selling his whiskies would only be allowed to do so if Carlsberg was sold alongside it. Singha hit back and warned the vendors that they would pull their brew from the shelves if the vendor dared to stock Carlsberg. Somewhere along the line Carlsberg evolved into Chang, the price was slashed below cost, whiskey price was doubled and the vendors were forced to buy both in a bundle - the result was Singha was left only 11 % of the market.

Chang is kick ass beer, weighing in at 6.4%, many farangs don’t understand the associated morning after headaches after a night on Chang. Singha on the other hand is a little lighter, and less sweet and more suited to the South African taste.

We had a great time at Salad Hut but our plans had us moving on to the eastern, less developed side of the island. We had booked at place on Thaan Sadet beach. We knew that this was going to be a little rustic with limited electricity, no glass in the windows, no air con and mozzie nets over the beds. It had been recommended to us by friends, but what we didn’t factor in was that they had visited in the winter, when it’s ok to sleep without AC.

Us brave adventurers hmm........we lasted one night, bailing out the following morning seen off by the mozzies and fierce heat. The north west of Panghan is quite wild - very rough roads through thick jungle and so we had to hire a 4x4 pick up to drive us to the next villages of An Thong nai pan noi and An Thong nai pan Yai, which are next to each other separated by a small headland.

Both villages are on the expensive end of the island - most of the upmarket resorts are in this area with rates similar to what is charged in Malaysia or Seychelles. The punters who frequent theses expensive places don’t arrive by 4x4 bakkie like us, either they drop in via helicopter or slide in by flashy speedboat.

We stayed at Central Cottage Resort on the Yai side, it was all we could find within our beer budget and champagne taste. All four of us managed to fit into one room that had a fierce air con - we slept mozzie free and cool. Days were spent beside the pool overlooking the beach and generally doing what we had set out to do - nothing.

My daughter and I did venture out on a kayak for an hour to explore the coast and also ventured into the jungle for a hike - I think my son was scared of me after our island swim and elected to rather read his book after a massage.

Books, incidentally, are big business in Thailand. Most little shops or guesthouses will have 2nd hand book section which tend to be a little on the pricey side for used books, but still worth it. The real value is to be found in the new bookshops where you can buy a top 10 book for about 40 % less than home. Being a family of readers, we quickly blew the luggage weight limit.

There is nothing better than to get a massage on a beach, on many occasions we went for the full body Thai massage at around R 70.00 for the hour its very good value, and don’t worry, it’s all above board. The love you long time, happy endings have to be looked for, it’s not in your face as I was led to believe. The beach massages are done on a raised platform under a thatched roof by groups of woman who chat away to each other as they pummel the stress out your body. It’s a serious business and offered everywhere, some excellent, some chancers but the best masseurs/ses come from a training school at a monastery called Wat Pho.

One could easily understand why An Thong nai pan Yai / Rai are more expensive than other parts of the island, it’s really beautiful, chilled out and remote. Three nights felt like a week and we left there feeling revitalised, but not without a meeting with Mr Handsome.

The night before our departure we decided to take a walk to the Rai side to have dinner at Luna Lounge which is a very trendy and highly recommended restaurant. Freshly showered, we head off on foot, once again misjudging the distance and arrive a while later shiny with sweat. The Thais have the answer for that - most little shops sell frozen towels that come in sealed packages. There are different sizes from facecloth size to hand towel size and it less than R 7.00 for a big one. Crack one of those open and a quick wipe down and you’re ready for a curry.

We were each handed one of these as we entered the Luna Lounge where we enjoyed a great meal.

There was some definite resistance from my tribe when I suggested a walk back and so I was dispatched to find a taxi. Enter Mr Handsome.

It appeared that every little business on the Rai side had some connection to Mr Hansom - Hansom Cabs, Hansom sandwiches, hansom bar, fruit juice, gasoline, vehicle and scooter hire, laundry, motor repairs - pretty much had An Thong nai pan rai sewn up - yes he had the clothing repair as well.

All Mr Handsomes little divisions had signs proclaiming the difference between a handsome experience as opposed to the opposition experience - Handsome laundry - good clean smell for 10 years......handsome Bar - bloody cold beer etc.

I took one look at this and decided that perhaps I will rather give the old ladies taxi service across the road  she looked like she needed the business - besides Mr Handsome would surely be far too busy.

Yes she would certainly be able to help us, follow me she says. We amble down the lane and get told to wait next to very fancy SUV to wait for the driver who appears minutes later. I thought he was drunk at first - giggling at his own jokes. Friendly guy - "Whats your name", I ask. He turns to look at me and says " "why ?? it’s Mr Hansom of course" as if to say don’t you know me ??

He drove us back in fits of laughter - him and us, repeating his catchphrases – “Bloody cold beer you know ha ha ha ha ha........bloody clean smell for 10 years ha ha ha”, hooting at all his friends as we made our way back to the Yai side. Turns out that a certain Dutch lady found that he was indeed Mr Handsome and married him some years ago, together they have a daughter who is very handsome as well he tells us. No visit to An Thong nai pan Yai would be complete without an audience with Mr Handsome.

The following morning we began the road back to Bangkok. By this time we considered ourselves old hands and managed the ferry, coach and train trip with ease except this time we almost froze as we couldn’t adjust the ac in the train compartment.

Arriving in back in Bangers at 06h00 the following morning we immediately caught a taxi to the Indra Regent hotel to attempt an early check in. We were pleasantly surprised and by 07h00 we were having a hot shower.

The Indra Regent is a very popular but somewhat dated old dame situated slap bang ( excuse the pun) in the middle of the shopping district of Bangkok. It’s very affordable at about R500.00 per night for a double room with breakfast. The rooms are spacious and breakfast is very good. There is a big pool on the fourth floor with a basic gym - really good value and that’s evident as they appeared to be almost full.

In chatting to an elderly Aussie visitor ( Thailand is hugely popular with the Aussies as it’s only a short flight) who told me he has been using the Indra Regent " for thurty fiiive yeeeears mate" and nothing has changed.

The Indra Regent seems to attract the hardcore shoppers due to its proximity, but some of them put my wife to shame. Every day they would venture out and return with huge bags of goods, some of them make their living this way especially when they come from countries that aren’t too concerned about import controls.

We gave it a good bash though and returned in the evenings to soak our weary feet in the pool.

Bangkok has got a lot to offer visitors other than retail therapy and we did at least one "cultural" activity everyday between the materialism addiction fixes.

A boat trip down the Klongs ( canals ) is a must. The city was constructed around the Royal palace which had been cleverly surrounded by canals fed by the Chao Praya river, effectively making it an island. The canals proved to be an effective method of transport that the network kept growing. There are canals criss crossing the city and they are still widely used for public transport. There is a network of flood gates at the entrance from the river into the canals, which are in place to protect the city when the river floods. The big concern at the moment is the city appears to be sinking, much like Venice, and one can see many places where the canal level is higher than the shore.

We did a canal trip on an over powered fantail boat and went flying through the canals seeing life from a different angle stopping to barter with a floating souvenir sales lady who conveniently forgot to give our change. That’s the level of dishonesty in Thailand, that’s as bad as it gets, they would never mug you in the street, but to keep your change or overcharge you is fair game. Likewise there are many scams that involve overpaying or paying for something when it wasn’t really necessary - like the landing fee when the boatman drops you off at the jetty near the royal palace. It’s pointless moaning, just keep a cool heart pay the 20 baht and move on, there are definitely two different laws - one for Thais and one for farangs - Get used to it quickly or you won’t enjoy your trip. You see it everywhere from the Royal palace where a dress code is enforced on the foreigners to the cops who catch all the farangs driving scooters without helmets whilst a local whizzes past with his whole helmetless family on board.

The royal palace is a spectacle not to be missed, it is an architectural marvel, I only wish it had been cooler when we visited. On arrival at the palace you have to pay a deposit to borrow, free of charge, long trousers/skirts and a shirt that covers your shoulders. Recently they relented on the sandal with a back strap only rule, and slops are now permissible. Ladies must remember that a shawl or sarong over the shoulders won’t work, unless you are Thai of course.

I think the long pants rule is just a conspiracy to get the people to move through quicker. By the time you are at the entrance you are already overheating and ready to go mad and strip naked whilst running for the gate. The fact that all the buildings are adorned in reflective gold mosaic doesn’t help the radiation factor - tempers are strained and its hot hearts all round.

Fortunately my family were in the same mindset and we ticked it off the list  hailed a cab and headed for cooler climes.

Later that evening, we headed south to the Suan Lum Night market, not to be confused with the Silom market which is in the red light area and a common taxi driver scam to get one closer to the flesh pots. Suan Lum is huge, loads of places to eat and be entertained and hundreds of stalls selling everything from Thai designer clothes to fake designer luggage.

The fake business deserves a bit of a mention here. The Thais are the kings of copy, anything is copied, not just watches and sunglasses. Pharmaceuticals, make up, liquor, tools, car tyres and there is often no way of telling unless you are an expert. In fact so much of the copied stuff is so well made that an urban legend abounds over the Rolex engineers who incorporated a design innovation they found on a copied watch onto one of their new watch designs. The irony is that the Thai government was incensed when the west cloned the Thai jasmine rice and when an English company trademarked the word tuk tuk.

There have been numerous strategies and incentives put in place to try and curb the counterfeit market, but it seems to me that it’s just too big. The best way to detect a fake is to see where it’s made. If for instance your new Tommy Hilfiger shirt says it’s made in the USA then its fake – all the legit big brands are made in the east.

We laughed at the thought that so much is fake that one could have a great spoof catch phrase for Thai tourism - picture the scene, a farang sitting on a deck chair, sipping a drink with a cute Thai babe next to him and the voice over goes : Come to Thailand where the whiskey is not whiskey, a Rolex is not a Rolex, your ray bans are fake and even the woman you are with is not a woman. Come to Thailand it’s the real thing.

Yes, not even the woman are real. Currently Thailand is a world leader in gender re assignment. For some or other reason there is an inexplicable high amount of male transexualism in Thailand. We encountered many in everyday life, shop assistants, waitrons, some were dead easy to spot others much more difficult. Bangkok has many clinics that specialise in the process of changing ones sex or feminization surgery as it’s also known. They supply a full service from tracheal shaving to reduce the Adams apple ( that’s the dead giveaway) to vagina construction to even supplying one with size 12 stilettos and classes to teach you how a lady should behave. On top of that you can pay it off over a few years. Talk about a niche market.

The ladyboys or katoeys as they are known, are a bit of a legend in Bangkok, so many stories are told of men picking up beautiful girls in a bar only to discover halfway through the intimate act that they still have their boy bits fully intact.

Some will never do the whole surgical procedure, some are in the process, some are woman. Interesting phenomena, likewise are the strange sexual acrobatic shows that Bangkok is known for.

The area of Patpong is where all that happens - that’s the sleaze side to the city and one we never got to see, despite my "you’re only in Bangkok once" argument. Not that Patpong is a place for an evening of family entertainment.

I am quietly relieved that we didn’t see it, as my memories of Bangers are all good.

The reality of the sex industry is one of economic survival. Most of the young people involved in the industry are migrants from Isaan, the poor rice growing region in the north west of the country. The lure of ready cash in Patpong is obvious and no different to anywhere else in the world, but what is scary is that many young people are sold into the sex trade by their families. It seems the sex trade grew to its current proportions during the Vietnam war to service the US defence force members on R&R. Interesting though, is that these days more of the services used are by Thai men who are quite used to having concubines and so called minor wives - it seems Thailand is still very much a man’s world.

Traditional Thai values are still very much in place despite the obvious double standards, which is no different to any other culture I suppose. It’s intriguing to see how they have mixed Buddhism with animism and have amulets, charms and spirits for every malady. Every building has a spirit house somewhere - it’s usually a set of two very ornate little house on a raised stand. Every day the shrine is cleaned and fresh offerings are made, flowers, fruit, incense and so very often - little bottles of red soda pop complete with a straw. Many vendors make their livings by selling various good luck offerings to devotees to place at the spirit houses. the Thais are very superstious and ascribe many events to ghosts and spirits. Big trees for instance are scary for Thais as the spirit of that tree would be powerful and so many trees are festooned with garlands of flowers and ribbon with offerings laid at its base to placate the spirit. The tree fear is exacerbated when some unlucky person has a motor accident near one and for a country that has one of the highest road fatality rates in the world that’s a lot of decorated trees.

That was the last thing on our minds when we found ourselves late one night tearing down Rama 1 rd in the back of a tuk tuk with a manic driver who had just popped a wheelie causing my wife to shriek in terror thinking the whole machine was going to tip over backwards - think positive thoughts is what I was saying in my mind - forget about the decorated trees.

The tuk tuk is another uniquely Thai invention. A simple but usually highly decorated three wheeler scooter with a bench seat at the back for the passengers. It’s a very effective but sometimes terrifying way to get through traffic. The tuk tuk drivers pride themselves on their machines and pimp them out with all sorts of bling and go fast accessories. Our manic driver was mortified when we were overtaken by another tuk tuk, he quickly explained at the next traffic lights that it was due to the fact that the overtaker had a new  1200 cc engine and also that we were a heavy load. With much revving and smoke he proceeded to wheelie the machine and tear off in hot pursuit with us hanging on for dear life. We eventually managed to get him to slow down a bit, much to his consternation - for him, the only speed was flat out   

We weaved through the evening traffic, narrowly missing cars, ducking through cobbled lanes, darting down one ways in the wrong direction, to come screeching up to the entrance of our hotel.

Tuk tuks can also be a menace, they constantly hassle you when you walk and won’t leave you alone even if you say you are just walking. The drivers tout business for restaurants, tailors, jewelers, well pretty much everything and the favourite trick is to offer you a flat rate of 20 baht but then you accept the fact that a 5 minute trip will take 2 hours and a few stops at shops and restaurants where the driver makes his commission on sales. In the end it’s pretty much the same price to get a taxi with air con and a meter, but if you really want to get across town quickly you can always hire a motorcycle taxi - be very afraid.

On our last night in the City of Wild Plums as Bangkok is translated, we took a trip over to the legendary Kaosan road to see what all the hype was about. In the seventies, when Asia became popular as an alternative ( read: shoo wow hippie back packer) travel destination, Kaosan road was the spot in Bangkok where the cheapest doss houses were. In time, small travel agencies sprung up and very soon it became the jumping off point for the rest of South east Asia. 

Immortilised in the opening pages of Alex Garland’s novel, The Beach, Kaosan road is still the entry and exit point to Thailand for backpackers. although it’s been gentrified somewhat and the quality of pubs and hotels have improved, it still seems the best place to get a travel deal or anything else you need including second hand books, teeth whitening and massage . After awhile things do become a tad predictable. I did however buy some great tee shirts in Kaosan road that I hadn’t seen anywhere else and also saw a kiosk selling fake student cards and driver’s licenses, which didn’t seem to bother the cops who were strolling through.

It’s worth a visit though, we got ourselves a table at one of the bars, and watched life go by - it was relaxed, fun, happy moment - the Thais have a word for that - sanuk - it was just that.

Later that evening we blew the last of our baht at the Baiyoke Sky hotel, first stop was the golf driving range a number of floors up to hit a few balls while overlooking the city. As if that wasn’t enough we got the lift to the top and admired the city from the 83rd floor revolving deck. It gives you a good idea of the size of the city- its big, and it seems only fitting that it has the Guinness record for having the longest name of any city in the world -  167 letters. The shortened form of the original name is Krungthep Mahanakhon which means city of angels amongst other things. The name Bangkok is a relatively new addition.

We had our drink that is included in the price of the ticket and soaked in the view - next time I will rather go at sunset time just to see the city in a bit of day light as well. My wife summed it up nicely by saying that if she was a young Thai man - this would be the place to take a girl on a first date. I agreed, romantic and sanuk in one place.

We slept well that night, it had been a long day and I think our bodies were preparing for the long way home. I woke to the sound of drumming and shouting vaguely penetrating the double glazing and block out curtains of the hotel room.

It was a bright Bangkok day when I pulled back the curtains and the streets were red. The pro-Thaksin Shinwatra supporters were marching. They are known as the red shirts for obvious reasons and they seem to be well supported in their cause to free Thailand from what they perceive as a corrupt government. (Thaksin Shinwatra was the prime minister who was ousted in 2006) On the other hand you have the yellow shirts who are the so called elite who support the current government.

It was chaos in Bangkok - there was a tangible sense of excitement, nervousness and fear in the streets when I went down a bit later to buy some hand squeezed orange juice from the vendor near the hotel ( its gotta be the sweetest I have ever tasted)

In a nutshell, the red shirts had occupied The Siam Square area demanding a change of government or at least a fair election. They had come out in droves, thousands of red shirts everywhere, just the numbers alone were intimidating. The yellow shirts and their government cronies had got an eviction notice ordering them to disperse but of course the red shirts had refused. Red 1 Yellow 1

What I liked about the whole conflict was that the enterprising Thai spirit wasn’t to be cooled by this and stalls sprang up flogging red shirt gear, banners, scarves, tee shirts. The yellow shirts were nowhere to be seen - all hiding in their air conditioned palaces as one redshirt told me.

The yellow shirts weren’t to be messed with and the night that we were safely on the plane back home the government troops hit back killing a few people. Red 1 yellow 2 - game definitely not over.

Later that morning the hotel guests were all asking the same questions about safety - one corpulent South Africa tannie was overheard: as long as they don’t disturb my shopping they can toyi toyi as much as they want -  isn’t that just so nimby.

I decided that if you can’t beat em join em, and so we trekked through the sea of redshirts doing our last minute shopping and getting photos printed at a third of the price back home. It was all a bit much in the end and we chose to spend the rest of the day hanging at the pool, listening to rantings of the redshirt loudhailers in the distance.

Table mountain on a warm autumn day was a welcome sight. The Cape Town air cooled our scorched, polluted Bangkok lungs as we drove home. The flight back on the Bangkok Doha Joburg Cape Town routing was longer than the way out. Trapped inside the Doha airport with a 7 hour layover in the middle of the night was a test for all of us, but all part of the journey.

We are already dreaming of the next trip, perhaps to the Northern highlands, Chang Mai and Cambodia - now let’s really get adventurous !!

Thailand is addictive, but hey what else can you say about a country that gave the world Red Bull.