Despite all my travels around this little blue-green planet, I have to confess that I've never been to the South Island of New Zealand.

Well, technically that's not quite true; I once boarded the ferry from Wellington to Picton in a drunken stupor. When I arrived in Picton, it was 10pm and raining hard, everything was closed and the ferry was heading back sharpish, so I hopped back on and returned to Wellington. But I figure that this doesn't really count.

Over two decades later, it was nice to finally get down to the big island, in a much more sober and inquisitive state of mind. After grabbing a cheap Pacific Blue flight from Auckland to Christchurch, I touched down in the garden city around 9:30pm and within half an hour I was having a late bite and a beer with my old friends Nick and Sian at their groovy new apartment, overlooking Hagley Park.

Saturday dawned fairly bright and we headed off to a local farmers market in nearby Lyttleton, then drove back across the ridge, stopping to get a few snaps along the way (at least Nick did; like a prat, I'd left my camera at their place!). A light lunch was followed by a wander round the Canterbury museum (paying special attention to the weird and quirky Paua Shell House) and of course the famous Christchurch Cathedral.

Having done the culture thing, it was time to head to a the Holy Grail; a well-known local pub with a huge screen, to watch the 5th Tri-Nations match between the All-Blacks and the Wallabies. The match was being played in Christchurch and the town was heaving with supporters dressed in both black and the green and gold. 80 minutes later, the All-Blacks had once again emerged victorious (beating the Wallabies 20-10) and hordes of supporters spilled onto the streets and headed for the nearest bar. We headed over to the Twisted Hop for a pint or two, before rocking on to Fat Eddie's for a couple of rusty nails and a big dose of live music, courtesy of Kate Taylor and her 5-piece funk band KTO. It was getting onto after 2am by the time, we made it home.

After sleeping off the hangover, we decided to head back into town to attend the 2010 International Film Festival and see a screening of Please Give and a very enjoyable film it was too. We emerged from the cinema to find the rain pelting down and a chilly wind blowing, so we ducked into a nearby cafe for a hot cup of Chai and a chat about the film, before heading back to the apartment. Around 7pm we rounded off the evening with dinner in another local bar, followed by a pub quiz that kept us occupied until almost closing time.

Not a bad way to spend a weekend eh?

It was with some reluctance that I said my farewells on Monday morning after Nick and Sian dropped me at the airport, and headed back to Auckland. Christchurch is a fun town and is definitely on my: must-visit-again list. And many thanks to my friends there for their warmth and hospitality.

Awesome!

Well, it's been a pretty good day, all things considered.

I awoke around 7:30 to find a steady rain falling. By the time I had washed and eaten, it was pretty clear that there wasn't going to be much pruning done today. Fortunately, I have no job to go to and I already had lunch plans with an old family friend, so I headed over to Mount Maunganui to meet him for lunch at a nice Thai place, followed by a soak in the nearby mineral hot pools.

"It's the only time it's great to be up to your neck in hot water", a friend of mine once quipped, during a visit to the pools a few years ago (the group response was a long "aarrrhhhh" and a demand for the quipper to pay the everyone's entry fee by way of atonement). But he was right...it's a very satisfying feeling to be having a good soak.

...especially after a decent Pad Thai / Green curry combo, washed down with a cold Chang beer.
...especially in a warm, mineral, salt-water fed pool, while a light cooling rain falls overhead.

Bliss!

While the heat soothed aching backs and joints, my host and I talked some business, caught up on family news, discussed histories and exchanged ideas. I could almost feel the spirits of Socrates and Plato hovering nearby.

Visiting a mineral hot pool is something that - much like the Scandinavians - Kiwis do on at least a semi-regular basis. We just don't bother with all the self-flagellation stuff and the jumping into iced-over lakes. Seriously...wtf Sven? Hot pool visits were - and still are - a regular family favourite. Kids of similar ages often grow up dive-bombing each other from ever-greater heights until someone's Mum spots it and tells them off! At different times of the day, season or year, you will see a pretty reasonable cross-section of society, all using the hot pools. And why not? The health benefits are held to be widespread (even though you will find plenty of visitors who would say that's not proven, but who enjoy a soak just the same).

Arriving home, relaxed and refreshed, around 3pm, I ducked indoors, out of a squally shower for a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a minor Facebook update. Played a game or two of Warcraft, then a pal phones and suggests a pot luck feed and a DVD at his place. Choice!

A short drive in the pouring rain is followed by a couple of beers, a steaming plate of chops and veges, choco ice cream and a fresh cup of cappuccino, all consumed in front of a real log fire while "Traitors" plays on the box and the rain falls steadily outside. We watch the film, trade jokes, catch up on each others' news and generally have a laugh or three.

It's after 1am when I finally head home during a break in the rainfall. By 2am, I'm lying in bed, listening to the rain on the tin roof, letting it lull me off to the land of nod...

Yep - not a bad day at all!

I'm expecting to get quite a lot of flak from fellow Kiwi's for what I'm about to say, but I'll say it anyway...

Australia is awesome!

I haven't been to Sydney since I was 6 or 7 and I've never visited Melbourne at all. So when a rather serendipitous set of circumstances set me on a Qantas flight bound for the other Great Southern land, I jumped at the chance.

Stunning Sydney

Even arriving in the middle of a fairly massive thunderstorm did little to dampen my spirits and within an hour we were checked into the conveniently located, mid-range Park Regis hotel.

One point worth noting for those contemplating a stay in Sydney's CBD; if Auckland is the "City of sails" then Sydney seems to be the "City of sirens". In the 6 days I spent in Sydney I estimate that I saw/heard a daily average of between 15 and 20 fire-trucks go racing through the city with lights flashing and sirens screaming - quite a few of them after 2am in the morning! However, I understand from the locals that the vast bulk of these are false alarms, often triggered by office workers having a crafty smoke in some cupboard and tripping the alarm. Whatever the cause, it must be as frustrating for the firemen and women as it is for the hapless Park Regis guests, woken up at 3am for the 3rd time by squealing sirens!

Anyway, an hour after settling in, we were wandering through the Queen Victoria Building. In many ways the building represents the culmination of the Victorian architectural concepts; it's striking features include the dominant central dome, fantastic mosaics throughout and a number of eye-catching stained glass panels (one of which includes a cartwheel window depicting the arms of the City of Sydney). Two mechanical clocks, both featuring dioramas and moving figures from moments in history, can be seen from the adjacent railed walkways.

In a brass-bound case on one wall is a sealed letter from Queen Elizabeth II, "To be opened in 2085 by the future Lord Mayor of Sydney and read aloud to the People of Sydney". We can of course only speculate about what it might say, but I am willing to offer very long odds on the following:-

• Sorry, but one prefers Melbourne
• Waaaasssssssuuuuupppppppp!
• Wasn't John Howard a prat?
• Can one still get a foot-long Subway with Meatballs and cheese?
• Get orf one's land!
• As Australians, you are all shining examples of how well the British penal system used to function.

The following day dawned bright and clear, so my folks and I decided to take a stroll around Sydney's CBD. We meandered through the fig-lined avenues of Sydney's Hyde Park, through the adjoining domain and onto the rather spectacular Royal Botanical Gardens.

There are several noteworthy differences between green spaces in Aussie and those in many other parts of the world. Firstly, the grounds are spotless; not a single fag butt or chewing-gum stain marks the well-maintained paths and walkways, yet there are relatively few trash bins around the place and no shortage of people slurping on a coke or munching on a sandwich from a paper bag as they walk through the gardens. Aussies seem to care enough about their home towns to carry their trash as far as necessary to dispose of it properly (something both the Brits and kiwis could learn a lesson from).

Secondly, the grounds are obviously intended for real use by locals and visitors alike. Not once did I see a "keep off the grass" sign anywhere and throughout the park areas, people were making good use of all the space available; from physical pursuits including a couple of 5-a-side football matches, an open air kickboxing class and a frisbee-throwing rally involving about 20 people and a dozen pet dogs, to more contemplative pursuits such as lying under the shade of a tree with a book, or sketching a particular scene.

Everywhere you looked, people were interacting with the environment and each other; Families with young kids held picnics or held the hands of their kids as they toddled around the grounds or in a pool of water. Young couples sprawled on the grass, chatting, laughing and making the affectionate gestures of the newly in-love. Older folks strolled through the network of paths, pausing to admire a particular specimen of flora or to shake hands with a friend or two that they met along the way. When architects sit down to design these kind of open spaces, I'm sure that this is the kind of picture they have in mind.

Heading north down Macquarie St, we headed down to the famous Circular Quay, home of two of Sydney's most iconic landmarks; the Harbour Bridge and the Opera house.

Sydney is a coastal bay city and much of it's identity is linked with 70-plus harbour and ocean beaches that are reachable either by car or by ferry or water taxi across the harbour. Both the Circular Quay and the neighboring Darling Harbour are absolutely spectacular. Each features a wide range of shops, bars and restaurants which cater to pretty much every taste imaginable. A number of street performers add color and flavour to the daytime harbour scene. In Darling harbour I met an old friend for dinner and had the best Calamari I've ever tasted. Both harbours are at their best on a warm dry night, when the lights illuminate the bars, salsa clubs and restaurants which help make the Sydney nightlife scene well worth a visit.

Magnificent Melbourne

If Sydney has one drawback, it's that (by Australian standards at least) it's a bit hectic. There are rather too many shopping malls and department stores, packed to the gills with all that chain-store and designer-brand shit. There isn't a whole lot of individuality to be found in Sydney central, although I am reliably informed that the chain-store influence is somewhat less, the further out you venture (a brief visit to Manly beach did little to confirm or deny this assertion).

Melbourne, on the other hand seems to have found a better balance; true there are no shortage of the chain-store brands around the place, but small independent shops, cafes and bars still nestle in amongst them and seem to be flourishing. Turn down any alley in Melbourne and you are likely to wander past (or into) a great little bar, music club, cafe, bakery or any other kind of small, independently run operation. Some of the more interesting places in Melbourne are to be found just off the beaten track.

Like, London, Melbourne is a river city that is divided roughly in half by the turgid waters of the river Yarra. The north bank is the home of the vast bulk of the office buildings, shopping etc, while the south bank forms a large part of the city's leisure and entertainment facilities, including a large range of waterfront bars, restaurants and the Crown Casino. There's a bridge every couple of hundred yards and no shortage of buses, trams (the largest tram network in the world) or other modes of transport to get you around the place.

For music fans, Melbourne is major centre for contemporary and traditional Australian music and has an excellent live music scene. During my short visit, I headed up to the Royal Standard Hotel on the corner of William and Walsh streets, for their weekly blues jam (Tuesday nights) and had a great time.

But the highlight of the trip happened the following evening, when a friend of mine also took me along to the Bennetts Lane Jazz club, which has been called (with some justification) the best jazz club in the southern hemisphere. The club is located down the end of a brick-lined alleyway and is open 7 nights a week. You stroll past a nice retro neon sign and in through an archetypal red door, into a dimly lit and intimate little venue with comfortable seating, loosely arranged around a slightly-elevated stage. You could easily imagine that you were in a jazz club in New York or Paris, having stepped inside out of the rain, wrapped in a James Dean-style overcoat with the collar turned up. You might bump into Miles Davis or John Coltrane heading to the bar or tuning up; it just has that kind of atmosphere.

I'd never set foot in the place before, but the charming (and rather dishy) all-female staff greeted me warmly and treated me like an old and favoured customer, who had finally returned after a prolonged absence. Straight away I felt relaxed and comfortable. It was excellent!

Pretty soon, my pal and I were settled in at the bar with a large glass of red wine each, listening to the smooth groove of the Albare band, featuring front man and Aussie acid jazz pioneer Albare, along with Evri Evripedou, Tony Floyd, Scott Griffith, Rob Burke and Joe Chindamo, performing tracks from After the Rain. By the end of the set I felt like I was walking on air and I made a solemn vow; to never again visit Melbourne without coming along to Bennetts Lane.

Like Sydney, Melbourne is very multi-cultural and has a number of thriving ethnic eateries. There are some superb Greek and Italian eateries and Chinatown serves some reasonable Dim sum for lunch of course, but for a really great Asian dining experience with a difference, you can't beat a visit to Cookie on Swanston street, as I found out when another Melbournian friend took me there for dinner.

You won't find your archetypal sweet-and-sour or something-in-black-bean-sauce dishes at Cookies! Every dish has an interesting twist in it's flavours and presentation that make dining at Cookies a must-do when in Melbourne. It's the Bennett's lane of gastronomy. I can enthusiastically recommend the Betel bliss bombs (DIY- betel leaves, peanuts, lime, coconut, ginger, onion & dried shrimp with sticky shrimp & coconut sauce). Also the steamed tapioca dumplings with pickled turnip and peanuts as well as the stir fried pork belly with red curry, kaffir lime and beans. I'm told that it's best to visit in a group of at least 6 people, in order to sample a broad range of the restaurants' fascinating and delicious menu.

All too quickly it was time to leave and as my plane rose from Tullamarine I looked out at the Melbourne with a great deal of affection; I hadn't seen much, but I was impressed.

I'll be back...

...continued from part 1

Despite the rather full-on day I had yesterday, I was determined not to miss my planned excursion today. Even so, when the alarm woke me at 6:45am, it took some effort to drag myself out of bed. Still, it's amazing what an ice-cold shower and a decent breakfast will do, even without the coffee (no coffee, tea, coke or red wine for 10 days said the dentist) and by 8:30 I was on my way to the Chatuchak markets.

Chatuchak is the largest open-air market in the world, comprising some 5,000 stalls covering a 35-acre area; the size of a few city blocks or a good size stadium. My Dad had advised me to get there early, in order to beat the worst of the heat and the crowds which inevitably flock there and by 9am I was strolling through the gates.

Like many features of developed and westernised Asian cities, the Chatuchak markets are a curious (and sometimes ironic) mix of the ancient and the modern; Old men and women carrying large packages on poles or bicycles are tooted aside by young men in Toyota pickup trucks, loaded with brand-covered boxes and crates. Traditional Thai folk music, drifts and mixes weirdly with strains from Oasis Wonderwall and Loretta Lynn's Coal Miner's Daughter. The occasional pungent smell of plastic packaging (filled with insecticide) quickly gives way to burning Sandalwood incense or freshly cooked food.

While the market is technically "open air", much of it is covered in a corrugated iron framework and many of the permanent stalls have roller-door security. This creates a huge maze of little alleyways and it's easy to get a little disoriented. But moments after stepping out onto one of the two main roads that run the length of the market and you quickly re-acquire your bearings.

In terms of layout, the market is divided into a number of rough sections, each offering a particular range or type of goods. There are separate areas for household goods, arts and crafts, clothing (new and used), curios, souvenirs and so forth. But in the best traditions of markets everywhere, the lines are nicely blurred to a degree that it's sometimes several minutes before you realise you have wandered into a new area.

The range and variety of goods on sale was not huge, and many stalls sold pretty much identical stuff. Still, there were a few exceptions and on the whole, it was enough to remain interesting for awhile. Quite a few of the stallholders were sullen and didn't seem to want to bargain much, perhaps because of the uncertain political situation, but more likely because of the heat, which reached around 35 degrees Celsius by midday.

Just before noon, I passed a large stall offering foot massages. My aching feet took control of my brain and marched me straight to the nearest comfortable recliner under a cooling fan, where an attractive and smiling masseuse washed and then massaged my feet and calves for a glorious 30 minutes. I emerged in a blissful state, feeling like I was walking on air.

After stopping at a drinks stall to purchase an ice-cold coconut juice, I felt invigorated enough to continue the circuit, but 20 minutes later I caught a whiff of something delicious, drifting from a nearby covered walkway and my stomach directed my now-happy feet in the appropriate direction. I soon located the source; a wonderful little restaurant of hardwood tables and comfortable leather-backed chairs, set amid sprays of ferns and fresh flowers, with the mingled smells of Jasmine tea, incense and cooking.

A chilled hand towel and cold Chang beer arrived minutes after I settled into a corner table and 15 minutes later I was enjoying freshly quick-fried prawns with sticky coconut rice with fresh greens and slivers of mango, mixed with a much more reasonable level of garlic and chilli. What a find!

The Thai love of spicy food is of course well known, but less well known is their almost equal love of anything sweet. A number of their traditional desert dishes and cakes (which are often light and clear the palate very well) are delicious and well worth sampling. I particularly liked the a green cream-filled sponge cake, known locally as "Pandam".

With the body fully refuelled, I reluctantly emerged back into the now scorching heat. 15 minutes later, I decided I'd seen enough and made my way back to the hotel and a quiet night in...

While writing this blog entry in the wee hours, I picked up the news of a second grenade attack - this time targeting the house of former Thai Prime Minister Banharn Silpa-archa and injuring 11 people (including 3 policemen) in the process. Assailants who were on a motorcycle missed Bahran's residence, but injured the three police officers on guard as well as eight other people, one of whom is in critical condition.

Not such a restful night followed...

Monday dawned with a dreamy blue sky that promised another hot day. having no plans, I had a late, leisurely breakfast and then surfed the web looking for something to do. I settled on visiting the Temple of the Golden Buddha, the largest gold statue in the world.

Taking the MRT to Hua Lamphong, I walked out into the full heat of the day and after wandering around a little, eventually bumped into a couple of German tourists; they needed to know the way to the MRT and I needed to know the way to the temple of Wat Traimit - a perfect swap. 5 minutes later, I was standing at the gates.

So that's what 5 tonnes of gold looks like...pretty impressive.

On my way back to Huai Kwang, I noticed that the police were now sporting handcuffs and side arms...

Back to the hotel around 4:30 for a shower and a lite bite, before heading out into Huai Kwang for the evening. Found a great little outdoor bar with a duet of guitarists, singing underneath a huge palm tree, with tea-light lamps hanging from it's fronds, all under a balmy moonlit sky...I knew I was stopping for the night and it was 4am by the time I stumbled back into the hotel.

The following afternoon as I headed out to the airport, we passed a platoon of troops setting up roadblocks / checkpoints. All were dressed in what looked like full battle kit, though arms were not overly evident. At the airport, most of the airport concourse entrances had been sealed off and roving patrols of both police and army personnel had been increased.

As my plane took off, I pondered the slightly surreal experience of what I'd seen in the last few days; It's a bit weird, watching people trying to get on with the day-to-day business of living, when a potential disaster looms so prominently overhead.

Here's hoping they find a way to stop the trouble brewing...

Update: The day after I flew out, the red-shirts clashed with troops and two days later protesters forced their way onto the grounds of a Bangkok hospital. The situation remains tense...

My second trip to Bangkok was undertaken with some degree of trepidation.

Shortly after I booked my tickets in early March, large numbers of supporters of the ousted president Thaksin Shinawatra started to congregate around the business and government districts of Bangkok. Similar protests had occurred during my previous visit just under a year ago but I had narrowly missed the worst of them; they were reported by the international press around the time I was gratefully dropping my bags on the floor of my parents' place in New Zealand and I was a little stunned to see TV images of the police clashing with red-shirted protesters outside what appeared to be the hotel I had stayed in less that 24 hours previously!

This time around, the volcanic eruption in Iceland closed UK and Europe airspace for six days just prior to my scheduled departure and I watched my Qantas flight cancelled...and then miraculously reinstated. Even after I reached Heathrow, my nerves didn't settle until I had cleared passport control and boarded the flight and a little over 10 hours later I arrived at Suvarnabhumi airport, grateful to be through the first of the hurdles, but now facing the next challenge.

In the days leading up to my flight, protesters had clashed with government security forces, who were attempting to disband the impromptu protester camps. I decided to register the details of my stopover with both the New Zealand embassy and the Foreign Commonwealth Office, the first time in 20 years of travelling that I've ever felt the need to do so. I also made sure that this time I stayed at a hotel well away from the government and business districts, where the protester presence was strongest. Fortunately, my folks had visited Bangkok a few months earlier and were able to suggest the Palazzo hotel in Huai Khwang.

This seemed to be a smart move, because while I was en-route to Bangkok, the violence culminated with a series of explosions near the red-shirts enclave in the business district.

Up to 5 M-79 grenades were apparently fired from launchers some distance from Sala Daeng station, possibly from within the Red Shirt encampment or a nearby high-rise. One person was killed and more than 80 injured, but the incident seemed to galvanise both sides into stepping back from the impending disaster a little. By the time I checked into the hotel, reports had started to appear in the worldwide press about offers and negotiations and while the situation was far from resolved, this at least seemed to offer a small vestige of sanity and hope of a peaceful resolution to the issue.

Even so, I had taken note of the increased police presence at Suvarnabhumi airport; impassively-faced blue-clad officers in berets and combat boots worn commando-style, standing their posts right across the concourse. Occasionally, a pair of patrolling army officers in camouflage kit wandered in and out of view. None seemed to be carrying small arms though, which I took to be a positive sign. But as my taxi threaded it's way through the notorious Bangkok traffic, a convoy of pickup trucks full of protesters sporting red flags drove past at speed and in the distance, I could hear the wail of sirens. Not so positive...

As always, I spent the first evening orientating myself with the usual tasks of a budget-conscious tourist; stock a few beers and snacks from a nearby 7-11 in the mini-bar fridge, find a working ATM, locate the nearest MTR station etc. By 10pm I returned to the hotel, armed with all the necessaries and then went downstairs for one of the weirdest dining experiences I've ever had.

KaraJoke (some like it HOT!)

In a nearly-empty restaurant I ordered a cold Singha beer and a couple of dishes from the menu (the buffet was of course long since finished) and watched a trio of the worst Karaoke singers I've ever heard. Everything about them was terrible. They had no sense of rhythm. They couldn't hold a note. They sung off-key harmonies, out of time and in different (mismatched) octaves. They were accompanied by an enthusiastic but entirely untalented pianist on that most evil of instruments, the Hammond organ. They couldn't even read the lyrics off the screen.

It was enough to make my fillings buzz madly and the leaves of a nearby plant fall to the ground in a shower. Even the exclusively Thai staff winced as they busied themselves setting the tables for the following morning's breakfast, before legging it as fast as they could.

It was so bad it was almost entertaining.

When the two Thai dishes that I ordered arrived, I gratefully forked a piece of steaming pork into my mouth...and for a minute or more, I genuinely thought my head would explode! The dish was literally swimming in garlic and the infamous Thai red chillis. I confess to being a little bit of a "curry wimp" but I've fought my way through a phal-strength vindaloo a few times. This dish however made vindaloo seem like vanilla ice cream by comparison. Even lager couldn't kill it! Still, I struggled on, sweating profusely with every mouthful before eventually admitting defeat and at the earliest opportunity, I paid the bill and belchingly headed back to my room and a fitful nights' sleep...

A tale of TWO cities

Around 4am I awoke and couldn't get back to sleep. I propped my back against the headboard and picked up my copy of the excellent Zimbabwe memoir "The Last Resort" by Douglas Rogers and the next time I glanced at the clock it was 5:30.

Stepping out onto the balcony with a cup of instant coffee and a local-brand cigarette, I watched the sun rise over the rough rows of slightly ramshackle tenement blocks, nestled between Wisteria trees and the occasional coconut palm, with their laundry hanging over railings and their scattering of satellite dishes.

With no traffic noise and in a relatively cooler part of the day, Bangkok is quite a different place. The trees were full of birds swooping back and forth across the tenement carparks, plucking insects from the air and occasionally crapping on a gleaming Toyota pickup. One slightly scrawny speckled bird about the size of a small dove landed on the railing just 3 feet from me, cocked it's head sideways as it regarded me with it's beady bird-eyes, before taking to the sky again. By 7:30am the humidity and traffic had returned and the birds had vanished.

It's always a little strange walking around a place during the early part of commuter rush hour, especially when you are so obviously a foreigner. The strange quizzical looks you get from glum-faced commuters waiting at the bus stops all seem to ask the same question: You're a tourist on holiday...what the fuck are you doing up and out here at this hour? Still, every now and then you catch the eye of a street vendor or a passing pedestrian and when you smile at them and they smile back, you are reminded that some things are a little bit universal. I felt encouraged...

Bangkok is very much a drivers city and although there is a pretty good public transport infrastructure, you really do take your life in your hands, anytime you want to walk anywhere. There are few pedestrian crossings and long stretches of the arterial roads are impossible to cross due to the speed of the bumper-to-bumper traffic and a shitload of concrete crash barriers. There are walkovers about every quarter of a mile, but be prepared to climb a fair few stairs. Oh, and watch out for all the motorbikes and scooters, whose riders think nothing of mounting the pavement to get around the traffic. Only two types of pedestrian exist in Bangkok; those who look in every direction, all the time and those lying on their back with tyre marks across their chests, wondering what the hell just happened.

Surprisingly in a city as geared towards shopping as Bangkok is, there seems to be a bit of a shortfall of foreign exchange kiosks and being Saturday all the banks were closed. I had to walk a couple of miles through a heavy tropical shower, to find a wizened little bloke who could do a reasonable Quid to Baht swap. Like everywhere else, Bangkok hotels all make a killing in the FX rates they supply, so it's worth the stroll to save a few bob. At least that's what I told myself when the rain stopped...

By 10am, armed with my newly converted cash and still wringing the rainwater out of my shirt, I wandered around a couple of the large malls that dot this part of the city, in search of a cheap digital camera. Not a huge range of choice in this area (although you are totally spoilt for choice if you want to buy a new mobile phone - the bloody things were everywhere!) but I found a nice compact little Canon model that did what I needed it to do and was the right price and by 11:30am I was heading to my next destination.

Open up and say Ahhhhh...

Ask most people to do a simple word-association with the word: holiday is likely to give an entertaining (and possibly revealing) result. But the one word that virtually no-one would associate with: holiday is the word: dentist. Yet Bangkok has a thriving "dental tourist" trade, encouraging scores of Europeans to have expensive dental work done in Bangkok, at a fraction of what it costs in places like Europe and the US. Earlier this year, my folks came over for just under 2 weeks, for exactly this reason and they reckoned that even factoring in the cost of flights, accommodation, taxis, food etc, it was still cheaper than having the same work done back home. Plus they got a 2-week holiday.

The Bangkok International Dental Center was conveniently located about 200 yards down the road and on a whim, I decided to slide on in and see what they could do about the years of stains on my gnashers. A full consultation, examination, full clean and a significant degree of whitening set me back around 12,000 Baht (about 270 quid) - less than half the price demanded by any half-reasonable private dentist back in Blighty. The practice was immaculate, the staff all seemed to speak pretty good English and were very friendly and helpful. My dentist was extremely professional and hygiene standards were as good if not better than any dental surgery I've set foot in, anywhere else. What's more I was able to walk in without booking weeks in advance and a couple of hours later I was back on the streets, doing my parody of the Osmond smile.

Wrong move?

After a wash and a quick snack, I decided to head over to Siam, to have a look around the night markets and duly jumped on the MTR to Asok, before switching to the Sky train out to Siam. My first inkling that this was a mistake was when I found myself herded with lots of others through steel security gates, under the gaze of two serious-looking security personnel while nearby I can hear the voice of a determined-sounding Thai gent over a fairly large tannoy. As I rounded the corner, I found myself smack in the middle of one of the major red-shirt encampments.

Oops!

Still on the station stairwell, I was able to see the T-junction below pretty clearly. In all 3 directions, as far as the eye could see, were a seething mass of red-shirts that frankly made an Arsenal-at- home match look like a village tea party. Several people glanced in my direction, realised I was just another dipshit foreigner and ignored me, returning their attention to one of a number of large overhead screens, and to the speaker making an impassioned monologue.

I cautiously headed downstairs and with a show of casual nonchalence that I didn't feel at all, strolled about 100 yards down the main road in both directions, before realising how far the encampment seemed to extend. Minutes later, as I returned to the station, the speaker completed his speech and the applause broke out. Then he began the speech again...in English.

The gist of it was that the government had refused to accept the protesters' offer to disband the protest camps in exchange for the promise of early elections.

Oh shit!

I managed to snatch a couple of short video clips and then got my non-red-shirt-chicken-tourist-ass back onto the Sky train. Less than 10 minutes after arriving back in Asok, the Sky train was closed.

Fortunately, I could still grab the MTR and around 9pm I was back in Huai Khwang, tucking onto a a mix of stir-fried scallops and jellyfish, on a bed of steamed rice with garlic, ginger and lime, at one of the many little food stalls that are all over the place. Two Singha beers later and all was right with the world again.

Part 2 follows...