One Night In Bangkok

30 days, 30 pounds - including evening dress

There's so much I forget about Bangkok from visit to visit: Plonkers! Elephants! Gekkos! All Jack Johnson, all the time! Always a freshly remembered delight. (OK, not the plonkers and the Jack Johnson.)

My first clue was when I boarded at Narita. "Why," I wondered to myself, "do there seem to be no good-looking Western men on this plane? At least none over the age of 25?" Ah, but of course. It is because we are winging our way to Bangkok, where the homely and awkward can achieve 70 virgins (or a close approximation) without the messy necessity of strapping on a suicide vest. Welcome back to the wonderful world of F.W.P.'s.

The ugly side of paradise, though, is pretty sweet for a farang female uninterested in, shall we say, involvements. My charmless comrades are not going to waste their time on an uppity and acerbic blonde when the company of the easiest girls in Asia is theirs for the picking.

The taxi booth inside Don Muang promises safe arrival to my hotel for a mere 700 baht. The stall outside serves up a metered taxi that delivers me there for 270 ... elephant sighting included. I love to catch a glimpse of the great creatures moving slowly down the shadowy lanes, and tonight does not disappoint.

Fortunately, neither does Suk 11, recommended by the inestimable Joe Ehrlich. The hostel is spartan but sparkling and the bar next door pours a large Heineken for 95 baht while I reacquaint with sweet, sticky humidity. For the first time in weeks, I'm warm, and able to discard the scarf that's concealed my, um, thermometers. A smooth-talking gekko climbs next to my shoulder. The Barry White of his breed, he informs everyone within earshot that he is ready and willing to treat a lady gekko right. I drain the drink and retire. Clean sheets, serviceable air-con and half an Ambien ensure seven hours' peace.


room sweet room

Morning brings a warm shower and the horror that is Nescafe. "Espresso?" I ask hopefully. "Down the street." Breakfast is free with my room but hello, it's Nescafe, so I find myself a few steps away at the Serendipity Café. It's well named. A lovely girl pulls a perfect strong cup and then makes one for the spirit house in the corner, praying silently as she arranges incense below the idols. The spirits have also been offered a copy of today's paper. When I must die, let it be here. I'll be a happy little spirit, caffeinated and content.