Thailand: Koks a Banging

Well, what d'ya know? My blog posts are like London buses. None come for ages, and just when you give up on believing one ever will, three turn up at once. What can I say? Life's taken over since we got back and other things took priority. But a few days of sitting at the dining table and not allowing myself to do my new most favourite thing - pumping iron - until I'd written at least two posts - was all it took to crank out the final few instalments of our travels. 

So, in the last post, I told you all about how Imran nearly got us arrested in Malaysia, right? You can only imagine my apprehension about us going to Thailand, especially the capital city. There's a reason why the Hangover films are set in Vegas and Bangkok: they're the two seediest, most hedonistic, sex-fuelled places I can imagine on earth. The nicest thing you can say about them is they're dodgy as hell; at worst, you don't even want to think about the exploitation and abuse that goes on as part of the sex trade. In Thailand, it's not secretive. It's so out in the open that it makes you feel sick to your stomach sometimes. Western guys are everywhere looking for a good time, be they paedophiles proudly walking the streets with little Thai boys, 20-somethings unsure of their sexuality falling literally into the hands of ladyboys but pretending they were honestly searching for women, or just the good ol' desperate lads who can't get laid back home and can't afford to pay for it in pounds or dollars. I don't know what it is about Thailand that makes the debasement of its people and culture so acceptable and why this country itself created and heavily promote this scene; I've read loads, watched many documentaries and talked to locals - even monks - to figure it out but it's complicated and long winded. Therefore, rather than subject you to my internal debate and ponderings this time, I've decided I'm going to take the piss instead, but just in case it sounds like my light-hearted musings show a lack of principles and abhoration for a world I despise, let it be known I think sometimes life's too short to get deep and upset about a situation you're not going to contribute to changing yourself.

Fun Fact time! Thailand is the world's largest consumer of ping pong balls. (I made that up so can't attest to its validity.) For the blissfully unaware among you, it's not really known where these balls go; everyone just knows where they come from. Or should I say, where they shoot out from. Who knew you could make a living from being excellent at your pelvic floor muscle exercises? If the ping pong shows aren't crazy enough, walking the streets of Bangkok means you'll be stopped every twenty metres with a MENU of tricks you can see women perform. Our minds boggled at the thought of some of them: smoking cigarettes, blowing out candles, blowing horns and whistles, shooting darts at balloons. I mean, seriously? I wonder if the girls put that on their CVs in the Skills section: "My nether region has deadly accurate aim and makes my kids' birthday parties so much more entertaining for the other childrens' dads. Tan Som Junior, on the other hand, is usually very upset that his cake has been ruined." Hobbies and Interests? "When I'm stressed, my vagina has a fag." We were kind of in awe and sickened at the same time. "No, thank you," we told the men trying to entice us into going to one of these shows. "Unless you've got a chick who can cook us dinner and deal the hands in a game of poker with her bits, we're not really interested."

Transvestites are as common as flip flops in Thailand. In fact, 'ladyboys' are inherently part of the Thai identity. Why it's so common, so routine and so tolerated is difficult to figure out and I guess there are both positive and negative reasons behind it. It's just a bit strange to get your head around. Thailand, despite the seedy sex trade, is at heart a conservative country but young lads often leave villages as men and return as women, and not even their grandads bat an eyelid. I guess whatever brings home the money is ok by them. So many Thai guys become chicks that if you count them as girls, surely over 90% of the population is now female. (I plucked that number out of thin air, by the way.) Crazy, considering sex changes aren't actually legally recognised here but performed more an anywhere else in the world. Who are the other 10%? Probably ex-pats from our side of the world looking for a wife with a working penis. ("Aww, its just one of those cute little things she has, like the mole on her elbow and the beard.") There's no better way of showing how well you're going up in the world than telling your Mama in Gloucestershire you've got an exotic STD courtesy of your missus with the hairy balls.

There's a saying that 'the most beautiful women in Thailand, aren't.' And by golly, let me tell you, I think it's true! For some reason, I had an incredibly attuned 'tradar' in Bangkok - my transvestite radar. I could spot 'chicks with dicks' from a mile away and got into some hot and heavy debates with Imran and our friend Sally about their gender status. Some were just unbelievably stunning; so beautiful that I wished I looked like them (and I'd probably tolerate having a penis to do so.) If you've not seen the documentary about the Thai Miss Tiffany beauty pageants, just google it and try to convince me you'd automatically know the contestants had chest fluff. And guys, check out Nok Yollada and tell me you wouldn't give Thailand's most famous transsexual a second glance on the street.

It's a great place for women, especially married women (providing their husbands don't go off alone, of course.) It's the one country where you can tell your man to happily perv on any fit girls he sees as much as he wants and you won't care because the likelihood of them having a shlong is very high. For some reason, that seems to put straight dudes right off. And so it was with us, as we toured around Chiang Mai, Bangkok, Krabi, Koh Phi Phi and Phuket, with Imran looking worried every time a female with a slightly deep voice started ruffling his fro and telling him how much she enjoyed playing with his head. We went to Chiang Mai right after Laos so that we could fit in a trip to the Elephant Nature Park but then headed to Borneo and didn't come back to Thailand again until the end of our trip. We enjoyed the bright lights and city buzz of Bangkok before lazing on Thailand's famous beaches ready for our detox fortnight in Phuket to finish.


Chiang Mai: mosquito central. There were plagues of mosquitos here; the worst on our entire trip. We really loathe those little gits. Chiang Mai is located in the far north of Thailand and is a cultural hothouse; there are over 300 temples here. The vibe of the place really reflects this; it's chilled out to the extreme, peaceful and serene. We hung out at the temples where there were hardly any tourists and prayed, meditated and just chatted until the sun started to set outside. Our best day in this city - and one of the most memorable times of our travels as a whole - was when we talked to a couple of young Buddhist monks for hours. They wanted to practice their English and give information about their faith to those interested in hearing it and we wanted to discuss the meaning of life. Fair trade, surely? No question was off limits. We discussed everything from Facebook to languages to how they deal with sexual urges when they pass a pretty woman (hoping she is actually a woman, of course) and, leading on from that, the Buddhist ideas on sex and gender. Up to this point in time, I was the one leading Imran in any kind of meditation practice; he generally did it if he could be bothered or if he just happened to be in the room when I was starting one. But those monks gave him a 'penny drop' moment. "It is so simple," they said. "When you have physical hunger, you feed yourself with food and that hunger goes. When you are stressed or angry or sad or simply feeling 'not quite right', you are mentally and emotionally hungry. Meditation is just the 'food' to stop that hunger. If you do not give yourself mental and emotional food regularly, as if you are on a diet, you will not be as healthy as you can be. And you will always be a little bit hungry all the time; that is, you will always have a little bit of stress or unhappiness." Beautifully expressed. So true and simple common sense. They're a wise bunch, those monks. It took twenty seconds for them to explain that to Imran and yet the shift in his thinking has been vast. Nowadays he's the one who suggests a quickie to me when he's got a free twenty minutes (steady!!) Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'food for thought', eh? As we said our goodbyes and left the monks sitting in the sunshine with the bright rays reflecting off their saffron-coloured robes and emphasising their heavenly luminosity, I wondered if they had any idea of the amount of people they must touch deeply with their words. They've probably changed many lives, in small and large ways, and they don't even know it.

A couple of months later we were back in Thailand and, despite our experiences since Chiang Mai continuing to make us think deeply about the hippie side of life, we were now in Bangkok and there's no way we could be deep and meaningful here. This city chews you up and spits you out so the best thing to do is just make the experience as quick as possible and enjoy the ride. We wanted street food and martial arts: Pad Thai and Muay Thai. Partying would've also been a welcome activity but every lively scene was marred by sleaze and a lot of REALLY stupid tourists. Ladyboy encounters are the norm here, to the extent that we saw t-shirts in the markets with a picture of a Western bloke snogging a Thai lady who's suddenly gotten an erection. You've got to think there's a bit more to the reason guys come here on lads' holidays than mere fun. Either they just come for the smut and strippers based on reputation and simply hope to avoid the 'she males' (which just makes them very, very sad) or they're kinda hoping for some alternative experience of their own. Come on, it's all in the name! 'Bangkok' tells you every thing you need to know about this city because that's EXACTLY what happens here on a daily basis! A more apt and perfect name? I don't think so. Maybe the very first tourists in the 60s told the locals what the name sounded like in English and the Thais thought it sounded like a rather grand idea.

Anyway, we learned that you can ignore all of this if you're with the right person and we certainly were. Enter: Sally Robinson. Sally was one of the other volunteers at Grace House in Cambodia with us; more specifically, she was Imran's fellow teacher in their particular class. She's a jolly, lively, fun and sociable Scouser who hates it when people say: "they do though, don't they though" in a Liverpudlian accent - something which, as you can imagine, Imran loves to do. He only did it once, though; he claimed it was because he liked Sally too much to annoy her but I think he was a bit afraid she might punch him. We've been very blessed on our trip to meet some fantastic people and there are a small handful who have become really good friends. Sally is right up there. She was going to be in Bangkok already by the time we arrived so we arranged to meet up on our second night. We went to Pattpong Road, a market area where we were accosted over and over again by men showing us ping pong menus. They just didn't know how to take no for an answer and wanted us to pledge allegiance to their particular club if we changed our minds. For a reason that I still don't understand, Imran and Sally found it absolutely hysterical when I became frustrated and yelled: "No! I'm not committing to you. I'm playing the p**sy field tonight." It was a fun night and, had things gone the way we had intended after that night, we might not be as great pals with Sally as we are today. We'd had our one evening of fun; we'd done the obligatory meet up that all travellers do when they end up in the same city and were going on our merry separate ways, planning to stay in touch through the obvious social media. But Bangkok had other plans for us and there's no arguing with that bitch. A couple of nights later, Imran and I were coming out of a shopping centre looking for a taxi but it turned out the taxi rank was at another part of the mall. Luckily for us, a random cab pulled up and as we ran to grab it, Sally jumped out of it. 'Ok,' we thought. 'What are the chances in a city of approximately 12 million people? Random coincidence and pretty cool." We had a hug and a chuckle, said goodbye again, and trundled off to a Thai boxing event thinking that was it.

Muay Thai is quite possibly my most favourite martial art - to do, anyway; not necessarily to just watch. The event we went to was great but most definitely for die hard martial arts fans who can understand what's going on. There were quite a few tourists there who had only come because it's one of those things that's always on the 'must do things in Thailand' lists and were obviously bored because it just looked like the guys were hugging a lot. The clinching rules were a bit difficult for even us to follow but the skill, athleticism and weapon-grade knees and elbows the guys had were phenomenal. It was nice to be in the native environment of the sport, seeing how passionate the locals are about their national sport. Men everywhere stood around yelling and making hand gestures; unlike the actions of football supporters in the UK, these were betting gestures and not rude ones to opposition fans. Sportsmanship and politeness is the backbone of all Asian martial arts.


Buzzing and energised from our dose of bone crushing kicks and knockout blows, we decided we weren't ready to go back to our hotel and hit the hay just yet. We must've been in a very good mood because we randomly decided to go to Khaosan Road, the most touristy area in the city. This is where all the eighteen year olds on their gap years hang out. Thumping beats coming out from the clubs met us as we got out of the cab; smoky street food carts were busy with trade as drunk youngsters tried desperately to soak up some alcohol and there was a mind boggling array of transvestites parading themselves. I left Imran on a little plastic table eating his noodles to rummage through some souvenir t-shirts on a market stall when I suddenly heard him laugh and shout: "Are you frickin' kidding me?!" Yep, it was Sally again. Another random coincidence? We didn't think so. 
"It's a sign!" we all cried.
"A sign of what?" someone asked.
"A sign to drink!" someone else yelled (I'm pretty sure it was Sally.)

And so we began the craziest night out on our entire trip, filled with buckets of booze, stumbling out of clubs and dancing on the street with a dwarf, a fruitless search for a karaoke bar and getting together a mini choir outside instead, receiving death stares from scary chicks as we debated very loudly and obviously if they were really men, making friends with odd people who kept disapperaing and reappearing with corn cobs, cracking up at the Thai 'girl' who gave us a thumbs up as she left with a hammered Aussie bloke who hadn't noticed she had her hand over her crotch, and finally finishing with our own little table planted right in the middle of the road next to a hi-fi playing welcome old skool RnB while people swerved their bikes around us. We laughed and chatted until the sun was coming up and that was it; our friendship was well and truly cemented. Ain't nothing that brings people together like buckets of unidentified cheap liquor, shemale prostitutes and starting a dance craze with dwarves.

Lack of sleep was not in our best interests that morning as we had a flight to Krabi to catch. Krabi is a town on the coast in southern Thailand and at the time we went there, the monsoon season was literally just starting. Grey clouds met us as we went to the harbour to take a boat to our hotel. The weather might have been in stark contrast to Bangkok but there was fresh air and an invigorating ocean breeze to fill our lungs. The best thing for party-fuelled tiredness but not for a boat trip. The waves were majorly choppy and a tad nerve-wracking at times as we watched them coming towards us, bigger than the boat we were in. It took ages to get to our secluded hotel but we were just thankful we could go: had the waves been just a touch bigger, we wouldn't have been allowed to sail. Hilariously, there was no harbour or docking area for the boat at the hotel. Instead, the staff had made a makeshift bridge about 30m from the beach which basically looked like buoyant, plastic jigsaw pieces joined together with hope and a prayer. Every wave of the sea curled under this walkway and raised and dropped it like a snake. Once we got the technique of stopping and running between waves right, it was actually good fun trying to get to the beach. There was, however, a very real threat of falling in the sea which made me quite apprehensive - I really didn't want to fall in because there was no way I could cope with that current and it would be highly embarrassing to have someone jump in and save me. I don't do the weak, helpless little girl thing well. Luckily, we got to the hotel fine and, while not exactly dry thanks to the rain, a great deal drier than we could've been. You should've seen the hotel staff: tiny Thai women who could fit into my pocket, carrying everyone's suitcases and holding people double their size up at the same time on this balance-busting bridge.

Sadly we were only in Krabi for one night as a stopover since we'd originally decided we wanted more time in Koh Phi Phi. The town of Krabi had nothing to offer us because we were only interested in lazing on a beach at this late stage of our trip. When we got to our hotel in Krabi though, we found it was a million times more beautiful than we'd expected and we really wanted to stay longer. It was secluded, surrounded by white sand and a raging ocean on one side and huge, imposing limestone formations covered with jungle greenery on the other. The air smelt of the heady, salty brine that only a mixture of pure seawater and rain can create, invigorating all of our senses. Due to the weather conditions, we'd arrived there at 6pm and were being made to leave at 8am to ensure boats could travel so we only had fourteen hours to make the most of this gorgeous place. Of course, most of that time was spent catching up on sleep but we did see an amazing fire show at dinner and record a rap video (our version of 50 Cent's In Da Club) as a Happy Birthday message for our two year old niece. We are so politically incorrect, y'know. As our mate Nik said recently, if these kids say "I'm a mother f**king hustler" in front of the grandparents, we'll be 100% to blame.

And so on to Koh Phi Phi and another stunning beach resort. Yep, we were going for all out luxury in the whole of Thailand to detract from the pain of our trip ending soon. Our beach hut opened out directly on to the velvet sand and we slept peacefully to the sound of crashing waves each night. I loved this place and had a great time doing very little except writing. Imran was a bit more frustrated because of the rain. Even though it was still hot, the monsoon season meant boat rides out to different beaches were cancelled and Imran had desperately wanted to take pictures at the beach where Leonardo DiCaprio filmed the movie 'The Beach.' Look, I would've loved to go there too. If the scrumptious little dumpling Leo had rested his sexy topless self on any tiny patch of sand on that island, I would've rolled around on it butt naked just to get my own little piece of him until I got arrested and banned from ever entering Koh Phi Phi again. But it wasn't to be, so why let it ruin our holiday? Sod's Law, the sun was shining (blazing, in fact) on the morning of the day we were leaving and all the taxi boats were open for business. If we hadn't booked something important, we would've stayed there an extra day but it wasn't to be: bring on the Phuket detox.

It's no secret I love detoxes. Love, love, love them. I especially like the ones where the world falls out of your backside and, if it doesn't, you can shove a pipe up there to get the same result. Imran, on the other hand, is not up for such shenanigans. "I can't allow myself to be violated, even in the name of intestinal health," he explains. So here was our compromise. We found an awesome place called Phuket Cleanse where the skin was the organ of choice for elimination, not the bum, so we just had to sweat as much as possible. This meant exercise... and bucket loads of it. We love this kind of stuff so were well up for it. Early mornings were Muay Thai sessions with some of the best trainers in Phuket. In the afternoon we'd have some kind of resistance workout, either a weights bootcamp or a TRX drill or something similar. Finally, evenings had us sweating double even after the sun went down at a hot yoga class. Ever tried being in 40 degree sauna conditions inside when it's over 30 degrees and madly humid outside? Frickin' amazing. Think it sounds bad? To us it wasn't at all but we met many during this fortnight who couldn't hack the intensity. We don't buy lame excuses and could barely muster a sympathetic smile for those who did only one training session a day, if that. "I think the heat has gotten to me and I feel a bit dizzy. I need to go and sunbathe." Oh, bore off, eejit! Why choose to come here if you won't throw yourself fully into it? It's a waste of your own money. The endurance levels of the body are incredible; it's only the mind that quits. But, as a consolation/reward for all of us, there were some amazing mediations to look forward to each evening as well as nightly massages in our bedroom.

The massages were incredible. We could opt to have regular soothing, relaxing ones but, like crazy people, we almost always went for the Thai option. We figured it was better to go with what the locals do best and felt damn good after the hour was up, but for sixty minutes prior it was painful. This was one of those times when my high pain threshold really came in handy. By each evening, my legs were covered in bruises from the constant kicks we threw in the Muay Thai classes. I'd tell the masseurs to be gentle with my shins or avoid them all together but they'd completely forget and start kneading those buggers like they were making dough. I'd scream into the pillow and they'd giggle, then go gentle for two minutes before they forgot again. In the end I just let it be because the girls would laugh at the state of my limbs and take the piss to each other in Thai about how I was suffering as a result of doing something only men are supposed to do. (It took me a fortnight to realise that, after I asked the staff to translate a same few words I'd been constantly hearing. It made me laugh a lot!) And so, yes, it made me feel like a hard nut, but the agony was what I imagine slowly wedging burning sticks into your ears when an aunt starts talking about sex would feel like.


Incredibly, however, those bruises were GONE every morning without fail. Vanished. From purple and green to original brown in six hours. This was because of the detox plan I was doing: nothing but green juices. The healing elixirs with magical results comparative to the Hogwarts' incantation of 'Reparo.' I'd always planned to do the green juice detox because it was the most rejuvenating and effective but had prepared myself for some disgusting drinks; Imran was content to forgo a tiny bit of effectiveness for taste, so had chosen the green fruit smoothies plan. But, when we got there and Mr 'I Eat Like There's No Tomorrow But Nobody Knows Where It Goes' Lakha was given a meal, he decided he wanted to eat and changed to the raw food detox instead, leaving me all alone to sip my juices while he ate so much it had the staff in hysterics. I'll talk more about the food at the Phuket Cleanse in my next post but suffice to say, everyone there was at first shocked at how much my metabolic man could put away but, after a while, started using him as their guinea pig to test out new experimental dishes on and made extra meals just for him. I was perfectly happy and motivated enough to be on my juice plan, especially as most of them were far tastier than I had banked on and the jug - yes, jug - of wheatgrass each day was clearing up my bruises at the speed of light. We were so full of energy it was ridiculous; we'd sleep for five hours and wake up buzzing, hyper and ready for 90 minutes of Muay Thai as an easy start to the day. There was just one drink I couldn't stand: I don't remember the name but it was made from a local herb or leaf. It tasted like vomit - like actual vomit, I'm not even kidding. A couple of times I just held my nose and downed it but, despite my usual iron stomach, this was the first time ever I can remember gagging. I was truly horrified at the thought of having to taste that stuff on its way back up again so on the nights we'd get back from a hot yoga class and I'd have that waiting for me and nothing else, I'd very politely tell the poor staff to go screw themselves and eat a plate of fruit or a bowl of soup instead. 

The fortnight sped by; it was too quick for us and I wanted desperately to stay for another couple of weeks. The Muay Thai trainers didn't seem to share my sentiment. They're used to Westerners coming and going, and seeing women in their classes is normal. But, as the Asian attitude goes, that's white chicks for you - they're always doing stuff that's meant for men. The trainers thought I was a 'good girl' (obviously white chicks aren't; they're promiscuous hussies, the lot of them) and they believed I should go home to have babies. "Come back next time with children and your husband will train with us!" they ordered. I will go back. I'll go back with a pair of sprogs cradled in my arms and get Imran to look after them while I kick the pads instead. That would really give them a heart attack. Asian mentality, eh?

I really wanted to carry on travelling. The Philippines was next on my list but Imran was now missing home a bit too much and was ready to go back. Gutted. But hey, I'd gotten seven months out of the man and had encouraged him to give up his job and all the security he knew for us to make this trip a reality so I was appreciative enough to let him go home to his mum - er, his life! In the meantime, we made the most of the phenomenal calibre of the trainers kicking our arses into shape, as well as the beautiful accommodation and the company of a large variety of fascinating people we met. It was truly a brilliant couple of weeks. Imran was already fit as a fiddle when we got there so he started getting ripped almost immediately. The staff at Phuket Cleanse would joke he was made of iron and had to stay away from metal detectors. I used to sigh glumly and think, "Yeah, yeah, I'm married to Benjy Button" but now I was thinking, "Hell, yeah, I'm married to Benjy Button! When I'm 40 it's gonna look like I got myself a toyboy!"

Thailand was definitely a place of contrasts for us; in fact, to be more specific, I'd say the contrast lies between Bangkok and the rest of the country. Bangkok really is one of a kind. I used to think London was quite unique compared to other parts of England but, next to Bangkok, it's positively same-same. Bangkok is in your face, loud, brash and a metaphorical punch in the stomach. There are other places in Thailand that give you a slap around the face a bit but nothing compares to the capital's oomph. Looking down onto the main road from our hotel room high in the sky, we saw miles of traffic dotted with the striking rainbow colours of the taxis. This reminded us of the thing about Bangkok that well and truly pissed us off the most: the taxi drivers. I don't like to generalise about people and stick everyone in one group under the same umbrella but I'm going to this time: they are all F**KING. DOUCHE. BAGS. I can't even begin to tell you how many arguments we got into with the cabbies. They refused to put the meter on. They refused to take us if we didn't agree to all the stops they insisted on making. "We don't give a shit how much commission they pay you; we've got no interest in going to a clay pot-making factory or a daytime porn show." Even when they smiled and agreed to take us to our chosen destination, they were just lying and took us somewhere else completely - somewhere that totally ripped us off for the service we needed and gave some of that cash as a backhander to the prats. We got well and truly screwed over on our first day in the city but learned VERY quickly. We hated them with a passion... and it takes a lot for us to feel that strongly.

But cab drivers aside, Bangkok is welcoming and inclusive. Whether this is for the right reasons or not comes down to individual preference; the city just loves tourists. It's arrogant, mixed-up, messed up, colourful and, well, funny. Occasionally it didn't matter what our principles were here because we still laughed about everything we saw a million times a day. There will always be something in Bangkok that makes you gasp in shock and I can't see that ending anytime soon.

The rest of Thailand is a little calmer, although places like Phuket aren't far off, at least in the tourist areas. Everywhere else we met terrific people; happy, friendly, open human beings brimming with cultural identity and a sense of positivity that comes from being one of the most developed countries in South East Asia. The difference in Thailand, compared to Cambodia, Laos and even Vietnam at times, in terms of the infrastructure and ability to speak English by the general population was stark. They have Tescos here, for goodness sake. That really wound me up. The devil and destroyer of all that is good and holy is even getting into Asia. I worry for my sanity when I pass a Tesco because it makes me feel quite accepting of arson. But I digress.

We had a wonderful time in Thailand and would certainly go to Chiang Mai again. We'd go to Phuket Cleanse again, for sure! Thai food is out of this world - one of our favourite cuisines - and the country is definitely an excellent place for ex-pats. We wouldn't be averse to living there if we were given the opportunity (although if we're choosing somewhere of our own accord, there are several other countries which we'd choose ahead of Thailand.) What's weird is that the seedy scene is such a big part of the culture but that isn't what would put us off; away from the tourist areas and closer to the local people, it's actually full of wonderful communities to be part of. 

And then there's the incredible nature: the breathtaking beaches, especially. The greens, blues and yellows that make up the environment; the perfumed air; the kaleidoscope colours of plants and flowers.

Of course, you do wonder why the vulgarity is so rife here; how on earth the country manages to continue to come up with crazier and more bizarre ideas to sexualise, exploit and demean its own people when it's such a proud nation. It's a testament to how great the overall culture is when you can still really like this place despite the fact there's something truly fucked up in the Thai psyche that has created this side to its identity.

The best thing about travelling to different countries is that the locals give the tourists everything they want. The worst thing about travelling to different countries is that the locals give the tourists everything they want. Thailand, in my opinion, is ruining itself by offering what they BELIEVE tourists want and, as a result, get a lot of visitors who don't appreciate the real beauty of this land - losers, I call them (and I'm sure they'd consider me a total snob, which is fine with me too.) But hey, that's just my opinion. There are millions of guys who'll tell you the offerings are the best thing about Thailand. There's something for everyone... and I guess overall that's a good thing.

Copping a Feel of Malaysia

You hear a lot of stories in the news about tourists getting busted by cops abroad. Terrible things happen to them at the hands of corrupt policemen wielding guns and batons and anything else handy enough to beat them over the head with. These people end up spending years behind foreign bars, regretting the day that a local named 'Tareq' convinced them it was a nice, wholesome, cultural tradition to wedge unidentified wrapped objects into their orifices. It's because of stories like this that Imran has always drummed into me to remain calm and use my head in a sticky situation. Never panic, never let your emotions get the better of you, use common sense and most importantly, keep your pants on. Even in London, he becomes very irate with me when I get into squabbles with butch women in Lewisham who push in front of others in a queue or let their bratty kids run around kicking people's ankles while they gossip over a doner kebab in the middle of Boots. Admittedly, life IS better with peace, joy and everybody showing love and respect to all fellow beings. You can happily skip down the street with a tuneful ditty playing in your head. But occasionally people push my buttons and that dreadful trait of pride kicks in. It doesn't help when the chicks are about fifteen stones heavier than the average lady and a Muay Thai kick to the ribs would probably just bounce off and a Krav Maga arm lock would result in them sitting on me (while the kids keep kicking my ankles.) "You birds are just too irrational and you always open your traps before you think," Imran says to me. Someone give me another uni degree because I'm always getting a lecture.

Anyway, as usual, I completely digress. The point is, Imran tells me off for arguing with the wrong people; he says we should always walk away from any situation, no matter how much we think we can handle it. I'll concede it's a pretty good guide for a trouble-free life. So imagine my shock then, when in Malaysia, we got ourselves into a sticky situation with a local policeman who was threatening to arrest us and Mr 'You Women Don't Think Before You Speak' Lakha started getting lippy with him. And effectively telling the cop that England is 'better' than Malaysia and so he had no right to be having a go at us. And that his requests were unreasonably inconveniencing us and if he wanted us to comply then he should put himself out instead. "That's it," said the boy in blue. "You're in big trouble now." Holy moly! Forget the scary women in Lewisham; I nearly kicked my hubby in the ribs that night. And he says girls have big gobs. "Hello, kettle? This is Imran, the pot. You're black."

Luckily for all you avid followers of this blog, we lived to tell the tale without any batons in rectums or 'soap in the shower' experiences and you'll hear all about it later in this post.

There was one main reason we went to Malaysia and that was to EAT. Just lie back with our mouths wide open and our hands gesturing for more food to be poured in. This well-developed country has lots more to offer besides food but come on, we're talking about one of the greatest cuisines in the world and a city view from the top of a tower wasn't going to appeal to us as much as a noodle soup from a cart in a back alley. However, our Malaysian food adventures require a post all of their own so I'll save that for another day.

We went to Malaysia at one of the hottest times of the year. It was thirty five degrees minimum with 90%-plus humidity levels. (No, we're not entirely sure what that means either.) For about fifteen minutes each day there'd be a tropical downpour giving us the outdoor equivalent of a hot shower and warning us that the monsoon season would soon be hitting the country; for the other 23 hours and 45 minutes, we just had to sweat it out in the baking heat. We started out in the capital city of Kuala Lumpur before going to Melaka in the south-west of the country. After that we enjoyed the beaches on the scenic island of Langkawi and finally finished in the 'food capital' of Malaysia, Penang.

In KL we stayed in an area called Bukit Bintang. Although extremely touristy and home to loads of big shopping centres, the buzz and vibe here were great and the people were amazingly friendly. We were surprised to find dozens of Middle Eastern restaurants on practically every street but it's understandable there are many immigrants from that part of the world here as Malaysia is a predominantly Muslim country. However, unlike other Muslim countries we've visited, Malaysia is extremely easy-going. The women happily chatted to Imran without fear of judgement and even shook his hand (shocking!) In addition, we didn't suffer the usual raised eyebrows as a local looked at the beer in Imran's hand and my bare legs, commenting: "You're Muslim? Really?" What a pleasant change for us and good on the Malaysians for showing that a Muslim country can be relaxed and still run without everything descending into chaos.

On the disappointing side, however, we thought we'd get to see some grand mosques in KL, similar to the beautiful temples and monasteries we'd seen along our travels so far. But no such luck. Masjid Jamek is the biggest religious attraction in KL but it didn't rock our world in any way. Neither did the Little India and Chinatown areas which were - to put it bluntly - dives. KL Tower looked great lit up at night amongst the rest of the city's impressive skyline but the views from the actual tower were nothing special. We should've learned our lesson from being in Tokyo Tower in Japan that views from tourist towers are overrated and pretty bland. Much better to go to a bar or restaurant at the top of a tall hotel and get better views that way.

But hey, we're not 'city sights' kinda people, we know that. Peaceful temples and nature, yes, but aside from that, our liking of a city is based predominantly on our experience of the people, cultural traits, food and markets, atmosphere and entertainment. The first few were top-notch; the latter was always going to be a winner when we went to a karaoke bar after dinner one night. We thought we'd just go and have an hour's jolly, perhaps sing some cheesy romantic songs to one another seeing as it was just the two of us. If you know us at all well you'll imagine how things really panned out: we stayed there until 3am and spent the entire time rapping to gangster hip-hop. Just call us hot-tongued (or better yet, don't.) I reckon Fiddy would've been super proud of our version of Jeremiah's 'Put It Down On Me' (choooon!) because we rocked that one, accompanied by the customary bounce that goes so well with all rap songs. As Imran would say, 'We killed it, yeah.'

Mainland Malaysia is the country that probably invented fusion. I'm not just talking about the food - although that is the best example of fusion cuisine anywhere on the planet I reckon - but of the merging of cultures to create a unique identity. It's multi-cultural on a grand scale yet distinctly 'Malaysian.' There are three main groups: the Malays, the Chinese and the Indians. Respectively, this also means the main religions here are Islam, Bhuddism and Hinduism. Give me one example of anywhere else in the world, with such a large population and similar development, and percentage of followers of each faith within one population, that has these different belief systems living side by side in genuine peace. And these are just the main groups and faiths; there are more ethnic groups and several other religions that play a part in society here. Of course, there are small tensions that occasionally surface, but these are often to do with the government promoting Malay culture, language and interests ahead of the others causing resentments over policy rather than lack of integration by the people.


Proud of this harmony, KL boasts the creation of the pavilion crystal fountain which signifies this unity between the three main groups. Shucks, how sweet. That's what I call loving thy neighbour. They should be proud; the people here are really friendly and it's a testament to their tolerance and easy-going nature.

On the outskirts of KL in Kepong is the Forest Research Institute of Malaysia, or FRIM. It's a conservation project promoting sustainability in the way tropical forests are used and managed. This kind of thing is essential in Malaysia as it's had one of the highest global deforestation rates in current times, and people need to be made aware of the importance of forests and their biodiversity in our environment. FRIM has created over 600 hectares of tropical plantations at the research site. It's a beautiful place.

One of the highlights is a 'canopy walk': a bridge high above the trees from which you can look down right into the thick forest. Sadly, thanks to our passionate warbling in the karaoke bar the night before, we missed the last admission. We were not happy. It had been long-winded to get there and find the place, it was swelteringly hot and the security guards and local taxi drivers were an exception to the rule of nice people. We both became commuters at Bad Mood Central Station. Hey, sometimes even we forget the bigger picture and have to stop and take stock, so God came along to give us a helping hand. Imran was standing under our umbrella (bought for the rains but very handy for doing the whole Asian thing of avoiding the sun) and was suddenly illuminated with a heavenly glow. He boomed: "The sun's too bright and you can't walk on a bridge. Life must be terrible. Why oh why would you want to be out in nature in Malaysia in the middle of a seven-month travelling trip across two continents? Get over yourselves. Life is perfect." We changed our tune pretty fast after that. Now, I know the cynics out there might think the 'message from above' was our own logic explained by Imran, and the heavenly light was a bad camera setting conflicting with the sunlight. I beg to differ - I think Imran might have a voice of omniscience; he always seems to know best, after all. We did some lovely, scenic walking trails after that and hugged a few majestic trees, and returned to KL very chirpy. Chirpy enough to entertain ourselves with some indoor archery - super fun. It's nice to pretend the target is the shoulder of someone you dislike!

A two-hour bus ride out of KL takes you to Melaka City. We were excited to go there and experience the character of this 'old school' town so we turned onto the main street in the vibrant Chinatown, Jonker Street, and found... everything was closed. Shut. Not open for business. Melaka no en casa. "Why is this place a ghost town?" we asked a local. "It's Monday," she replied, as if that explained everything. "What happens on a Monday?" we probed.
"Nothing."
"Oh, ok, so what happens on a Tuesday?"
"Nothing." We could be here a long time.

A few more days of the week later and we asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question: "What happens on a weekend?"

Her face lit up. "Ooh, it's when all the tourists are here and all the locals are here, and there's a big market and lots of wonderful things. It's really great fun. You should come here on a Saturday."

That, my pals, is what you call a rookie tourist error. How selfish of people to not tell us exactly when to go to places and expect us to do more thorough research ourselves. Nevertheless, all was not lost as there were two shops open and it seemed like our guardian angels had once again intervened and made things perfect just for us: a gourmet chocolate shop and a cafe claiming to sell the greatest curry laksa (noodle broth) in Malaysia. We spent ages in the chocolate shop (it happens when I've chained myself to the counter and refuse to leave) chatting to the owner who wanted to feed us lots of super dark treats. Imran kept telling him no, leading me to question whether or not I'd married the right man. They get a bad rep, these feeders. What's so wrong with a feeder who conducts his business using only 85% cocoa? That sounds more like love than abuse to me. As for the laksa cafe, we were pleased to find it was indeed the nicest one we'd had so far. I like my laksa very spicy and this one had the chilli tempered down for tourist palates, but nevertheless, it was still the first one where every element had quite obviously been made fresh and from scratch. But enough about that - Imran just reminded me the food post is separate. Can't help myself. In summary, our time in Melaka was spent wandering around, eating laksa and chocolate, and getting foot massages in the shopping centres. Terrible waste of time, wasn't it?

Our next stop was Langkawi, the island where it was 30 degrees C at midnight. We weren't too sure how hot it was during the day but it did reinforce our vegetarian ideals by giving us an understanding of how roasting chickens feel. We stayed in the south west of the island, right on the beach and away from the busy hub. Our area was quaint with lots of shops, markets and restaurants, but with a very peaceful feel. The perfect place to relax. As luck would have it, our hotel was also right next door to an Indian restaurant which served some of the tastiest Indian food we've ever had, bar none.

After our shenanigans in Cambodia, we love a bit of motorbike riding. There's only one way to see the whole of Langkawi in style and speeding along the coastline with the wind in your hair is it. We bounded into the hire shop like happy Labradors, all revved up - boom boom! - for our day and expecting the process to be simple. However, the locals like to do things properly and according to the rule books - how inconsiderate. The young lass behind the counter told us to hire manual bikes but we were adamant we wanted automatics. She claimed automatics were very powerful for inexperienced riders and tourists had come in before, making the same demands, and then proceeded to crash into a wall the second they touched the accelerator. Picture the scene: this young girl, trying to do her job correctly, worried about careless Brits who aren't admitting to having had very little experience but who aren't saying anything knowledgeable on the subject to fill her with confidence to the contrary, and Imran, in his er... 'energetic' manner, shouting at her with the argument: "We rode in the jungles of Cambodia so we can ride anywhere!" She put up a good fight but as anyone who is on the receiving end of Imran's displeasure knows, it's time to back off when he puts up such a valid argument.

We each took a form and looked at the questions. 'Is your driving licence valid for motorbikes?' We turned to one another with raised eyebrows. We weren't sure. Best to err on the side of optimism. Tick - yes! 'Do you have riding experience?' You didn't hear what Imran said? Tick - yes! 'Do you understand it is illegal to knowingly give any misinformation on this form and doing so will render your insurance invalid in the event of an emergency?' We figured it's not deliberate misinformation if you're simply not sure. Tick - yes! Fantastic; now get us on those bikes! For some incomprehensible reason the girl behind the counter looked quite relieved to see the back of us.

As expected, we were fine. We spent the whole day cruising around the entire island, from the bustling streets of Kuah town to serene roads alongside beaches and forests. We stopped for lunch at a shack hidden away down a silent road in the north east of the island, only to be greeted unexpectedly with a stunning, secluded beach called Tanjung Rhu. The usual stuff: soft white sands, shimmering sapphire sea, emerald green trees... we've seen it all before but it still takes our breath away every single time. Never take nature and its infinite beauty for granted, that's our motto. In Western Langkawi we took a ride on the cable cars to view this lovely island from up high. What a fabulous, fun day.

That evening, Imran and I went for dinner at a cliff-top restaurant that overlooked ocean waves crashing against the rocks. We'd only taken Imran's bike out that night so after our meal I sat on the back while he cruised us down the local streets. There was chatter and life all around as the people gathered at the markets; we could smell different aromas as we passed all the many restaurants, there was a fresh sea breeze taking the edge off the heat and we felt damn good. This is what life's all about, I thought. Enjoying my surroundings with my arms wrapped around the love of my life and feeling superbly content and at peace. Appreciate every second while it lasts.

Now, when I said 'while it lasts', I was thinking of our trip as a whole. At a push, I could have meant for the duration of our time in Langkawi. Little did I know that it would all come to complete halt a few minutes later.

We were approaching our hotel when we noticed drivers being stopped by police. Imran slowed down, no doubt hoping to be permitted to drive the measly fifty metres past them to where our hotel entrance was. A baton held out in our way soon killed that idea.

"Licence, please," said the slightly plump cop. Despite the 'please' it was definitely an order and not a request so I didn't think this was a good time to joke that policemen obviously ate doughnuts here, too. It occurred to us there was a slim chance our UK licences weren't valid for bike riding so, hesitantly, Imran pulled it out...  His licence, I mean - wash your mind out with soap, you filthy animal! It seemed as if the cop was having trouble deciphering the piece of pink plastic. Great, so we could just go then? Of course not.

"Passport." Damn, not even a 'please' this time. Again, I bit my lip thinking that singing, "say pretty please with a cherry on top first!" would neither be wise nor well received. Here's the thing: I THOUGHT that. I was THINKING. I was being smart about what was and wasn't appropriate in that situation, just like Imran's always telling me to do. Does the man listen to his own advice? I was about to find out.

"My passport?" cried Imran incredulously. "What do you want that for? I ain't giving you my passport! Show me the law that says I should carry my passport around with me everywhere!"

Oh.

That certainly got the policeman's attention and he locked his gaze squarely on Imran's face. Time seemed to stand still. Slowly he asked, "What did you say?" His voice was deep, low, authoritative and just plain poo-your-pants-worthy. Now was the time for Imran to reply: "I said my passport's in my room but our hotel is right there and my wife will run and get it, and you're amazing and I bow down to your power, authority and infinite wisdom. Would you like me to buy you some doughnuts?" But did he say that? You all know the answer to that one.

"I said I don't have it 'cause nobody told me I have to have it on me all the time! Who would do something stupid like that for? That ain't the law. I don't know how you do things in Malaysia but in MY country, in England, a driving licence is good enough ID. You don't even need it! If you want to see my passport then YOU come to my hotel and get it."

I was sweating by now. Was it the humidity? Nope, definitely cold sweats. Probably the kind everyone gets when they realise they're about to be given a tin can and a stripy outfit. We were about to feel the long, chubby arm of the law. The policeman exploded.

"Right, that's it, I can CATCH you now!" he bellowed. Sadly he wasn't suggesting a fun, night time game of Tag but was threatening to arrest us. "You think you can argue with me and give me this nonsense and not do whatever I tell you? I can CATCH you!" He yelled, he fumed, he had smoke coming out of his ears, he made all sorts of threats and yet Imran continued to get arsey with him. I know I should've jumped in sooner but I was simply so dumbfounded I couldn't lift my jaw off the ground.

Just as the policeman reached into his pocket  - for handcuffs? a gun? Krispy Kremes? - I threw myself between the boys. Time to let the better person handle this: a woman.

"Officer, sir, your majesty, I am so, so sorry." Cue nervous laughter. "This is just a big misunderstanding! My, you look like you work out a lot and - ooh - that definitely feels like a tricep and - oh! - no need to look so angry; I'll just put my hand back down by my side now. Sir, please, my husband just doesn't understand what you're saying." I was tempted to say: "Il est en peu retarde," but Imran has seen that episode of Friends and would know exactly what I meant. Instead, I beamed at the man with our lives in his hands and said, "If you'd like me to get our passports for you, I will. I'll go right now." I was contemplating making a dash for it and not coming back; I'd wait in the safe haven of the Caribbean for Imran to serve his sentence. "But I promise that from now on we'll carry them everywhere with us. We'll carry copies too and give you our first born and do anything else you've told us to because you're ABSOLUTELY right about everything and God is so proud that you're one of his greatest creations. I'm SO sorry."

Wow, I can grovel really well. The policeman thought so too because his expression began to soften. I glanced over at Imran and gave him a look that quite clearly said: 'You best grovel with me. In fact, if you have to pay a huge bribe or bend over for the whole of tonight to get us out of this mess then you're bloody well doing it.' He didn't look happy at all at the prospect of bending over; he's not flexible enough to touch his toes.

Luckily, that LSE education finally kicked in and he realised what he had to do. "Ohhhh, you mean we should carry our passports with us? I get it now! I just didn't understand you before. I thought you were saying we should carry our passports with us not carry our passports with us!" (Answers on a postcard if you understand the logic behind that one.) "That makes perfect sense, thank you, thank you so much for telling us this. You are most wise and awesome."

You know how they say a man will agree to anything as long as he's complimented? Well, this cop sure showed that to be true. He began to mellow even further and looked like he was pondering his next move. Eventually he let us go, but ordered us to leave Langkawi the following day. "Of course," we agreed hastily. "Whatever you say." We didn't tell him we had already booked our ferry out of there the next day anyway - let the man stay on his little power trip. Without even a bribe or any more grovelling, we were permitted to leave and boy, did we get the hell away from him as quickly as possible! I spent the whole night laughing so hard I was in tears while Imran looked genuinely perplexed and kept saying, "What the hell was I ON?!"

You would think that the next morning we'd be responsible enough to take the bikes straight back to the hire shop and not ride around the island any more, right? You thought wrong, dude. There is one priority we have above all others: we just had to risk being caught again in order to ride to the juice/smoothie bar in town for breakfast. Hey, if we're going to jail we're gonna make sure we go in healthy - it's the only way you can plot an escape! Luckily, it was too early in the morning for the policemen who were probably still comatose in their dough and sugar stupors, so everything turned out ok. No thanks to Imran, of course! And with that, we boarded the ferry and set off for Penang.

It's not easy to talk about Penang if you don't mention food. It's what Penang's all about. I can tell you that the coastline is spectacular, and as I sat in the back of a cab on my way to the other side of the island for a private cooking class in the jungle valley, I was in awe of the gorgeous scenery as we drove up the hills overlooking the ocean.

Most of Penang is very busy and bustling, however. Georgetown is noisy, chaotic and loud, but not necessarily in a bad way. Kek Lok Si temple is surrounded by mountains and lush green trees; it's the largest Buddhist temple in south east Asia apparently. It's quite high up so we had to climb the many steps through the indoor market to get to the lower sections of this large temple, and then take an incline lift to the top level. Here sat an enormous statue of Kuan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy; seriously massive. There are views over a large part of the city here too but to be perfectly honest, they're not really views worth getting excited about. The tops of many grey, concrete buildings didn't do it for us. Kek Lok Si itself though, is grand. The influence is Chinese and the multitude of bright colours reflect this. It was a surprise to see a lot of beggars inside the temple grounds; but then, it had been a surprise to see more beggars in KL and Penang as a whole than we expected anyway. Inside one of the sacred buildings of Kek Lok Si was a souvenir stall which I found a bit tacky, but hey, the entire complex was heavily commercialised so you certainly can't accuse the people of not being entrepreneurial!

As in Japan, there were 'wishes' for sale here too, this time in the form of ribbons tied to a wonderfully colorful 'ribbon tree.' There was a huge variety to choose from, including wealth, acknowldegement, good fertility and, bizarrely, good singing voice. Perhaps that's the one I should have chosen but I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my screeching cat impersonation for a bit longer. Imran and I chose the wishes that are most important to us for long-term happiness: bodily health, world peace and being together forever. We tied the last one to the tree together. All together now: puke!! How uncharactistically romantic of us.

And now, because I can't talk about the food, there's little else to say about Malaysia. It was a great place and we'd definitely go there again, for the lovely people more than anything. There's just so much fun to be had here if you know where to look, and to find it all you have to do is go out amongst the locals and chat. By this point, we were so content with life that we were loving every single place we went to regardless but we can't take anything away from the chirpy people who were incredibly welcoming. We couldn't believe it; the time had come for us to go to the last country of our trip. How could the months have passed so quickly? As I checked our schedule to see where we were off to next, I figured that being in our final country meant there were far less opportunities for Imran to get himself into any trouble or shenanigans. So, where were we headed? Bangkok.

Uh-oh.

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Maid in Japan

It's hard to have good sex if you live with your parents. For a start, you can't sweep everything off the dining table and throw your partner onto it while your folks are busy slurping their starter of vegetable soup. That would just be a waste of perfectly good vegetables. And the bedroom isn't any easier. What if the bed's creaky, your partner's a grunter or your nifty moves shake the downstairs chandeliers? In a conservative Asian society, people just don't want their mums walking in on them asking why it sounds like there's an epileptic donkey in their bedroom.

Well, fear not, my horny pals, for the Japanese have come up with an answer: Love Hotels. A 'love hotel' is exactly what you think it is: a hotel designed specifically for makin' lurve; for a good old session of animal bonding when there's not enough privacy at home. Sea views, room service quality and free slippers don't matter. 

Head down specific streets in the big cities of Japan and you'll find a range of hotels dedicated to rumpy pumpy. There are pictures of the rooms on screens outside so you can choose beforehand if the decor you desire is either understated elegance (for the classy devils) or black satin sheets and disco balls (if Austin Powers is your hero.) A different ambience for whatever moves you have the energy to pull off that day, I guess. The streets are quiet and you never make eye contact with the other couples walking around checking out the price lists because respect for others' privacy is paramount. Prices vary according to the length of time you have available or the number of little blue pills you managed to buy: sixty minutes, three to five hours or overnight, and because this is Japan where everyone is unbelievably polite, nobody will laugh at you for only needing an hour. 'Do Not Disturb' signs aren't necessary.

Inside the hotels, receptionists sit behind steel shutters raised just high enough to see a pair of hands. Anonymity is of utmost importance, obviously. They're only there for emergencies. To actually get a room, you pick one from the 'vending machine' - it's a veritable pick 'n' mix of sexy, snazzy surroundings. Just like when you fill a bag of sweets at the cinema, you peruse at your leisure and choose the stuff that looks nice but you do so efficiently because you don't want to hold up anyone behind you who might be in a hurry to get into the dark room and begin the entertainment. Love hotels in Tokyo are generally quite plush and swanky but head over to Osaka and you can find kinky rooms with a mini-bar stocked full of handy toys, gadgets and accessories (or so I've heard - don't think I'm talking from experience!)

And there it is: the answer to the prickly problem of needing to get away from your family in order to get your groove on. It's what they do in Japan. They have an issue to deal with and they find a solution. No whingeing or messing about. They create what they need to and move on. There's a set time and place for every activity: an office to work, a bar to drink, a hotel for hanky-panky and a restaurant to eat. Stick to the rules, don't blur the boundaries of what's done where, keep the system going and everything will be just fine. The whole caboodle runs smoothly, with order and calm, and life is good. But here's the thing: when the order you talk about includes Love Hotels and other such quirky stuff, you start to feel a bit confused. How can such a conventional and moralistic society come up with Love Hotels? How can a place so self-consciously conservative that public toilets have a 'sound effects button' to mask the sound of a person peeing also be home to men walking the streets in dolls' dresses? Because it's Japan, and that's the only answer I can give you. It's a country of two extremes: absolute orthodoxy on one side and bizarre eccentricity on the other. That's what makes the country interesting and impossible to figure out; its just the way it is and, thankfully, 'the way it is' makes for one of the most unique, random and fascinating places in the world. Japan: it's the place where the mind boggles.

We took a detour from south east Asia to spend a couple of weeks in Japan primarily to see our fabulous friends Lex and Suzanne who've lived in Tokyo for a while now. They were kind enough to put us up - or should I say, put up with us - in their home for a week, after which Imran and I visited Kyoto and Koyasan for a while. Suzanne was our Superwife for the week, cooking for us and doing our laundry while she was eight months' pregnant and a belly like the front of a bullet train on her tiny frame (Lex's description, not mine!) Due to it being Golden Week when we went to Tokyo, Lex had a few precious days off from work and the poor guy spent them all with us. 

Tokyo is exactly as you imagine it to be. It's full of lights and a literal electrical buzz. You need to look up to see everything as the buildings are built tall. A bright, neon sign tells you what's on each floor of a building but don't expect to have a clue unless you can read Japanese. This is not a country interested in making life easy for foreigners. And why should it? It's proud of its self-sufficiency. Japan has always been a relatively closed society and outsiders moving here hasn't been actively encouraged. The majority of foreigners living here are actually Brazilians of Japanese origin. People like Lex and Suzanne can make a life in Tokyo because they've made a concerted effort to learn the language and wholeheartedly embrace the culture... although I didn't see any dolls' dresses in Lex's wardrobe.

Despite the city being huge and with a sea of people on every main street, Tokyo feels very calm and organised. No surprise there. Different districts of Tokyo 'specialise' in certain things or have a particular characteristic. For example, Akihabara is home to electronics, computer games and iconic Manga images. Shibuya is happy and cheesy like Leicester Square, whereas Shinjuku is more like the Japanese Soho: edgy with lots of bars and dodgy places (such as male escort clubs that have giant photos outside of the pretty young men up for grabs inside.) But every area has that unique Japanese vibe - we've never been anywhere in the world that feels so distinctive that you're permanently reminded of which country you're in and that you're an outsider in it.

Of course, we may have felt that way because of Imran's fro. I know I mention it a lot lately but by this point in our trip it was attracting a lot of attention! Such a traditional society could not handle Imran au natural - Jimi Hendrix didn't penetrate the mainstream popularity here - so one day of too many wide eyes was enough to make Imran gel that mop down for the rest of the trip! The people were obviously far too polite to stare openly (at least until Imran had passed) but I doubt they were very impressed; after all, this is the culture where surveyed youngsters recently claimed 'individualism' is the biggest modern-day threat to society.

It was the little things that defined Tokyo and made it so original and identifiably Japanese: the automatic taxi doors, the giant apples and the most lovely trees in the world. I know it's totally random to mention the trees but I'm serious, they really are the coolest trees ever! There are stunning parks and elegant temples, greatly sophisticated in their natural beauty, and yet there are pulsing strobe lights publicising karaoke bars and electronic darts halls. We obviously enjoyed every single one of these things - a leisurely stroll around a pretty park and a peaceful temple by day, and fun games and sing-a-longs by night. Electronic darts is simply more fun than people ought to have with a pregnant lady in their group, but luckily Suzi kept the water seal intact. Perhaps our fantastic group effort during karaoke at Eminem's 'Stan' scared Baby Papa into hiding. We did rock it, though! Who knew we all had a knack for angry rapping?

Aside from the trees, there were three other things we loved about Tokyo. One was obviously the amazing Japanese food. Enough said. Another was the 'mass wishes.' In all temples and other sacred sites, people could buy wishes written on ribbons or write their own on the material of choice at that particular place. They were all hung up together to create beautiful displays. This wasn't actually specific to Tokyo and could be found all over Japan but the display at the Meiji Shrine was our favourite. The other thing was the tiny alleyways. It seemed like the smaller the street, the more interesting it was and the more goodies it housed for us to discover. Whether they were alleys dedicated to tiny bars where only a few people could drink at any given time, or yakitori (barbecue) bars serving fresh food straight off the grill to a mere handful of diners, the fun in frequenting these places lay in the lack of space. Go with a few mates and you could while away the hours by being the only people in the establishment.

Each day in Tokyo it felt like we went from one extreme to the other. The maps in the city were impossible to decipher yet the locals were the kind of people who would walk miles to take you to your destination if you asked for directions. The women were so well-groomed here; granted, they all looked exactly the same in their girly dresses, rosy cheeks and Bambi-eyed make-up, but their ability to walk everywhere in high heels that made even me break into a sweat was impressive. I certainly spent most of my time in Tokyo feeling like a total scruff bag in my unladylike jeans and trainers! On the other hand, I've never been so glad to dress like I do as I did on the day we went to a Maid cafe.

Maid cafes. Oh, my word. Where do I even begin describing these places to you? How do I justify even going to one?! Actually, the answer to that is easy: Imran made us go. As the name suggests, these are cafes where you're served by girls dressed as maids. It's not supposed to be sexy in the same sense as we would consider it in the West, but, coming from that point of view, you still can't help but think it's a bit inappropriate. To the Japanese, it's meant to be a very cute thing and the 'maids' play up to that by talking in shrill and piercing voices whilst singing and fluttering their eyelashes at you. They purr - literally like cats - and giggle, and want you to make heart shapes or kitty paws with your hands. It's just so bizarre! And yet they're everywhere in Tokyo because people love it. We saw all manner of people here, from strange old men sitting alone, to teenage guys having a 'cool' afternoon out, to mixed groups of twenty-somethings enjoying a beer. Like I said, the locals don't bat an eyelid but it was far too strange for us to understand why young girls dressed in provocative, frilly knickers, sidling up to customers and wanting to be stroked and patted, could be the latest trendy fad. Especially when the lights dimmed and one of them would dance like a lunatic and sing in a voice so high-pitched that dogs would gather outside. Especially when the cafe we went to was called MaiDreamin' and they didn't know how terribly wrong this innocent play-on-words could be when they wrote it a certain way in chocolate sauce. Cute? Perhaps to the Japanese. To us it was simply comical and peculiar. There are some things that just don't cross the cultural borders.

But there are some things that do! Time for some stereotypical fun. You can't go to Japan and not see Mount Fuji, some sumo wrestling and ninjas, can you?

Lex, Imran and I went for a day trip to see Mount Fuji and the area of Hakone. The entire place is beautiful and the volcano is every bit as spectacular as you'd think. It seemed to float around the clouds, almost as if displaying its might and magnitude as one of the world's most well-known imposing mountains. The Fujisan viewing point we went to was close to some active volcanic sulphur vents and hot springs. Woo hoo, that sulphur smelt funky! Not pleasant at all. But people go there to see eggs being boiled in the springs: kuro tamago or 'black egg' which describes the colour of the shell when cooked in the sulphur. Eating one of these boiled eggs apparently adds between 3-7 years to your life. We decided we'd try to do the same by exercising and eating our greens forever more instead. Egg flavored ice cream didn't entice us much, either. Good job, as we sailed on rocky waters in a pirate ship/galleon hybrid and throwing up eggs over the side would not have been pleasant. It was a lovely day, marred only by the fact that Liverpool lost the FA Cup final and Lex was not best pleased. How to cheer him up, I wonder? I know, naked men! Well, that works for me. I've no idea why it doesn't work on straight men.

There's something very appealing about men fighting in a controlled environment. It makes it so much more acceptable when they've trained for it and do it sober. Hence why a ruckus in a pub on a Friday night will make me shake my head in disgust but a cage fight in an arena that we've paid to see tickles my fancy. Athletic men using skillful techniques to hurt each other just gets me excited and it's quite disturbing to realise I feel the same way about fat men in nappies with in-built wedgies. If anyone has a name for this issue and the number of a good therapist, I'd greatly appreciate it.

There was a big sumo wrestling tournament going on in Tokyo during our visit so the four of us went along to enjoy the show. These guys are HUGE. I mean, they're unexpectedly tall as well as wide. They're obese but they're also athletic as hell. How on earth does that work?! Underneath the flab, they're made of solid muscle and some of them had legs and arses that could double as building scaffolding. Surprisingly sprightly limbs. That kind of flexibility on a big dude is rather sexy, I have to say. (Seriously, the number of that therapist, PLEASE!) Their balance and ability to squat on tiptoes was staggering and you don't get that from just being a blob. Make no mistake about it, these guys train hard and sumo wrestling is an art form. Nevertheless, it's still totally random to make a sport out of fat guys trying to push each other out of a ring! We really enjoyed the brutal contests, where one guy would smack his hand into his opponent's face and push him out of the ring by his neck. One wrestler from Europe was quite possibly the largest person we've ever seen in our lives and as the saying goes, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. He was so large that he didn't even have a bum - his entire body just blended into one massive, shapeless lump. When he took a nose dive - stomach first - to the ground, the entire stadium shook and reverberated and we had to hold onto our seats while we rode out the mini earthquake. I prayed that Suzanne wouldn't go into labour, primarily because I still wanted to watch the fights. There were loads of bouts at the show we went to; they barely last twenty seconds as there's always one dominant guy who easily dispatches of his opponent, so everyone gets really excited on the odd occasion when they're more evenly matched. In between the clashes, there's the usual pomp and circumstance of waving flags and clearing the ring, but done so with the elegant ceremonial flair only the Japanese can pull off. 

The final match was the one everyone had been waiting for: last year's champion defending his title. Although the sumo wrestlers would all compete more times throughout the tournament before a champion was announced, the reigning champ had a lot to prove in his first challenge. But an upset was pulled off and he lost! What would you consider the characteristic Japanese response to be? A polite clapping to commiserate? A lack of loud celebration from the guy who beat him, who humbly accepted his victory with a nod of the head? Nope. The audience members grabbed their cushions from underneath their tushies and flung them into the ring - a sea of red flying through the air all over the stadium. Fun, yes. A cool tradition, yes. Once again, an odd, unexpected trait of the Japanese? Most definitely. What a fantastic afternoon.

Dinner on our final night in Tokyo was just as much fun but centered on a whole different icon of Japanese culture: the ninja. Time to go from the big, bold, in-your-face presence of sumo wrestlers to the evasive stealth of these mysterious assassins. We went to a 'ninja village' (a restaurant) and furtively peeped round corners as we made our way down dark passageways to our cave (private dining room.) Our ninja guide (waitress) appeared from behind a magic door. Seeing as other diners got themselves a ninja guide that swung down from the ceiling and leaped in front of them, I'm going to give our guide the benefit of the doubt and say that the door really was magic, and not that she just couldn't jump around in a similar fashion perhaps. 

We had a great dinner at the ninja village. Some of the food was a bit of an amateurish attempt at Heston-style molecular gastronomy but it was all very tasty and creative nonetheless. One of Suzanne's dishes came with a Samurai sword pierced through a melon and when she pulled it out, dry ice floated about everywhere. Why anybody thought it was a good idea to give a pregnant woman a sword I'll never understand but luckily Suzi wasn't hormonal. The theme and ambience was a bit of good-natured fun and we even had a magician! Apparently, normal magic tricks differ from 'ninja magic tricks' if you precede every magic-related word with 'ninja.' We thoroughly enjoyed watching him do some super cool stuff with his ninja cards before he disappeared into the ninja night. Ninja magic rocks!

Onwards then, to Kyoto. Once again, so very Japanese but completely different to Tokyo. This is the home of geishas, the famous tea houses and supposedly the "prettiest street in Japan, if not Asia."  The central hub of Kyoto is commercial, busy and bustling but distinctly lacking in brash lighting and skyscrapers. We stayed in the serene area of Gion, mostly because we wanted to spot a geisha and this is the main place where they entertain their clients. There are also some unbelievably pretty streets here that look like paintings when lit up at night. Buildings are lower here and all you see when you look up in the regular streets are masses of electricity cables criss-crossing each other. 

One of the things we loved about the quieter parts of Gion, which other people might actually dislike, is that you don't know what any of the buildings are because there aren't any windows. The front of each restaurant or tea house or shop is just a plain frame covered with either a curtain or a sliding door, so it was an exciting mystery as to what lay behind those closed entrances. You can see dim lights behind the doors but don't know which establishments are off-limits to you and which will welcome you with open arms. But what's the worst that could happen if you walked in? You could be (politely) sent out again. No big deal. We were willing to take the chance and hopefully find a place where we could have a really cool experience, rather than go to the main streets and the open and obvious shops or restaurants. One evening we did an eenie-meenie-miny-moe pointing thing at a row of these secret hangouts and stumbled upon a restaurant where, to our shock and delight, the chef could understand a tiny handful of English words and gave us his full attention all night as we were the only customers in there. We managed to explain that we only wanted vegetarian fare with a little bit of fish thrown in and then simply waited to see what we would get. NINE courses of intricate and beautifully prepared and presented dishes later, we were stuffed but didn't have a clue what we had eaten. Through sheer determination I managed to find out the dessert was non-dairy black sesame ice cream with a grapefruit jelly-mousse type thing. It was SUBLIME. Yuu-uuu-uuummmm.

We stayed in a traditional inn or 'ryokan' which is similar to a hotel but with very few lodgings and a homely feel. The rooms are minimal to an extreme; the most you'll find is a low table and seats which are moved aside when your futon is rolled out on the tatami mat floor each night. Ryokans are generally ridiculously expensive but you stay at one for the dining experience above all else. Breakfast and dinner are ceremonial: lovely ladies dressed in traditional outfits serving you course after course of various foods. You choose a time to eat and the food will be brought to your room exactly on time; certain dishes need to be served at the optimum temperature so your punctuality for meals is vital. Remember the Japanese are sticklers for perfection. Everything is 'just so': the way food is presented, the way the people who serve you are presented, the manner in which every traditional act is done.. it's simply, well, luxurious. We're not the kind of people who are comfortable with people literally bowing down to us and tending to our every whim but hey, for the prices you pay in these places, you may as well make the most of the indulgent extravagance for a night!

The sights in Kyoto consisted of temples, markets, castles and shrines. They were all very picturesque but I'm someone who gets more excited about the smaller details, and the Gion version of a taxi made me smile (you can just about see it in the first picture below.) The best sight, however, was a real-life geisha. How cool?! Actually, she wasn't a geisha but a maiko, a geisha-in-training, who needs to learn the geisha arts for five years. It's not easy to tell the difference and it doesn't really matter either; we were just embracing the pedantic Japanese attention to detail! It was the maiko's tiny strip of bare skin directly underneath the hairline that showed the distinction between her and a geisha. The poor girl looked highly embarrassed to have her picture taken. I'm not surprised, seeing as there were hoards of tourists who were hanging around that specific street at that specific time for the sole purpose of catching a glimpse of one of these iconic women walking to a tea house. Imran was obviously one of them - I was off buying giant fruit in a grocers because I honestly didn't believe we'd get to see one. The jammy bugger! At least this ravenous pack of camera-carrying wildcats just hungrily took their pictures and then left satisfied. There are many stories of people actually hounding and touching and grabbing the ladies. I mean, seriously? What kind of an idiot does that? A moron with no respect or common sense, that's for sure. No wonder the geishas/maikos dislike tourists. It's almost a shame the Japanese are so polite and peaceful because with their background in martial arts, I'd love it if the women learnt how to get those pesky touchy-feely tourists into a headlock!

The 'wishes' I mentioned earlier were available in ready-made form at the temples in Kyoto and these ones made us laugh. Lex and Suzanne had obviously already had one of them come true so we bought Suzanne the one for easy delivery and hung it on the tree. We weren't quite sure how the benefit of the wish could be transferred onto another person. Did we tell the salesman behind the counter? Did we have to pray in the temple and hold up the wish while we explained to God that it was for someone else? In the end we just hummed and chanted "For Suziiiii, Suzi, Suzi, Suuuuuziiii" as we hung it up. Not only must we have looked strange to the people around us but we must've looked incredibly odd to the Almighty too. 

Kyoto seemed tranquil but it was positively raucous compared to Mount Koya (or Koyasan.) Koyasan is Japan's Buddhist heart and the location was specifically chosen by the founding monk Kukai because the mountain has eight peaks surrounding the valley town which look like the petals of a lotus flower. It is such a beautiful town. Really, incredibly beautiful. The trees here are spectacular, even more so than in Tokyo. We do love trees. We're aware of how hippy we may sound to comment on their beauty but appreciating nature is just a sure-fire quick route to instant gratification, gratitude and contentment.  Why would anyone not wanna do it? Anyway, I digress. When we went to Koyasan, the cherry blossom season was at its end so we caught the last of the candy floss flowers and the start of the rusty colored leaves alongside all the green lushness. 

Getting there meant taking a series of trains, a cable car and a bus. Perhaps too much effort for many people and there is a tiny chance that had Imran and I been in Japan alone, we may not have gone to all that trouble either (shame on us), especially with the language barrier being more of an issue here than any other 'off the beaten track' place we'd ever been to. Thankfully, Lex and Suzanne told us exactly what to do along our journey. For that reason, getting there was effortless. In fact, it was rather entertaining! At one train station we met a lady who could speak some very basic English. And like all Japanese people who can speak those few vital foreign words, they really want to talk to you. This lovely lady was absolutely barmy and kept shaking our hands, laughing madly at nothing, telling us how happy she was to meet us and welcoming us to her country. She was so nice! Hilarious, but delightful. Her train arrived before ours and she was almost falling over in her carriage in her energetic enthusiasm to wave at us until we were out of sight. We cracked up for a good ten minutes after that but she did make us love the people even more. The trains took us through spectacular mountainside scenery; one moment we'd be going through a dark tunnel and the next we'd come out alongside grand, emerald hillsides.

We stayed here in temple lodgings known as shukubo. It's very common for pilgrims to stay in the temples and the rooms are the same as in ryokans. While we weren't technically Buddhist pilgrims, we do consider Buddhist beliefs to encompass a lot of our own spiritual beliefs and we like to meet as many Buddhists as we can in life to learn more about living mindfully. So what's in a name, eh? I was very excited about the 'otsutome' - the morning ceremony where monks and the chief priest chant Buddhist sutras. Imran wasn't quite as fired-up seeing as the wake-up call for the prayers was at 5.15am. He only gets excited at that time if he's off to photograph a sunrise.

The room in which the otsutome took place was cold. We wrapped our arms around ourselves hoping a self-hug would warm up the thin material of the traditional yukata robe. A quick rub of the eyes, a big yawn and a full stretch would've woken me up completely but I wanted to stay slightly tired so that getting into a meditative state was easier. I kept cracking one eye open to take in the details of the room and the ceremony and carve them into my memory but, after a little while, the fire grew to magnificent proportions so I just stared at the flames instead. Mesmerising.

The room was dark. The walls, mats and low seats upon which the monks sat were in shades of brown, mahogany and coffee. There was a large chestnut-colored drum, a massive gold gong next to the fire and twinkling candles everywhere. The centrepiece was a gigantic, bronze Buddha statue. Smoke from the embers mingled with the intense scent of incense and filled our noses. At first all we could hear was the spit, hiss and pop of the crackling fire. Then came the low, hypnotic hum of the chants. One of the monks had a voice so deep it sounded like he was growling. It must have been the chief priest. He continued to growl while the other chanters became faster and louder. Faster and louder, faster and louder, and then the 'boom boom' echo of the drum beat. Suddenly it all stopped and little bells started tinkling. The best way to describe it to you in a way you can picture is that it sounded like a scene in a film where a human sacrifice is about to take place. The head of the ritual is reciting the main incantation while his servants murmur in the background, and then the dramatic movie drumbeats build up to a crescendo just as the hero charges into the room and everything stops. Of course here, there were no human sacrifices and villains and nimble heroes! Just trying to give you an idea of what the place sounded like rather than what it looked like. The flickering candles cast a glow over the altar and gave a rusty, golden tinge to the monks' orange robes. It was all very beautiful and affecting. After the prayers, the head monk talked for a very long time about... er, we don't know what. It was all in Japanese. But the other pilgrims nodded along and occasionally lifted their arms up so we copied them.

Food in the temple was Buddhist vegan cuisine or 'shojin ryori.' As usual, there were many dishes and courses and we didn't know what 99% of the stuff was, but it was vegan and healthy so we wolfed it down. Most importantly, it tasted amazing and was by far my most favourite meal in Asia so far. The shojin ryori meals are very complex as this type of cuisine requires five different flavours, cooking methods and colours to be used at every meal. Goma-dofu, a sesame tofu, was a seriously tasty revelation. Man, no wonder the Japanese are the healthiest people on the planet and actually enjoy their food too!

We visited several temples, pagodas, museums and the main 'gate' of Koyasan, where statues of deities protect the town. They looked like scary baddies to us until we found out what they represented. Kukai's mausoleum is known as Okunoin and devotees believe that Kukai has not died but entered eternal meditation. Surrounding the mausoleum is the most amazing cemetery we've ever seen. We walked around gawping, our mouths open in awe. We didn't know there could be such a stunning cemetery in existence. It's huge, for a start. There are nearly a quarter of a million moss-covered gravestones and memorial pagodas, and some of them - usually for members of rich families - are ridiculously extravagant and occasionally crazy. Lining the paths and towering over our heads like large guards looking down on us were thousands of ancient cedar trees.

What an incredible place. Not just the cemetery but Koyasan as a whole. It's one of the best places we've ever been to and at this point in our trip, our favourite place in Asia. It was simply breathtaking. We were sad to leave. But on the plus side, we were heading back to Tokyo for one last dinner with Lex and Suzanne before our flight to Malaysia. A perfect way to end this leg of our journey.

People tell you Japan is unique. They tell you it's one of a kind. You expect it. But nothing prepares you for just how unique it really is until you're there. You catch glimpses of it when you have to wait at a designated junction to cross the road because doing it anywhere else is illegal. You start to feel it (literally) when you're sitting on a heated toilet seat with buttons all around you that cause lovely things to happen your bottom. You well and truly grasp it when you come out of the elevators in Lex and Suzanne's building to see someone taking their tiny pet dog into one with false eyelashes and pink hair clips. Yes, you read that right!

You see the crazy things these people do but then you engage with them on a personal level. What happens then is that one of them will offer to buy you a drink just because he's buying himself one and thinks it would be impolite to not ask you. Another one gives you her seat in a plane when you're sitting far away from your hubby just to be nice. (Either that or we looked like a couple who couldn't bear to be apart... Or perhaps she wanted to get away from the fro.) They offer you nothing but kindness and sometimes with bewildering enthusiasm. They're so calm, they chill you out and make you smile.

One minute you're having an elegant and cultured tea ceremony in a park and the next you're walking into a random shop laughing at the super cute little puppy that looks just like Imran. One minute you're marveling at how clean a country can be and how flawlessly everything is presented, from the people to the food to the store displays, and the next you're seeing sex shops advertising pornographic magazines that have more animated images in them than real women.

One minute you're arriving in Tokyo and seeing your buddies and the next you're being waved off by (a relieved-looking) Lex. All good things have to come to an end, I guess. Sigh.

Thanks guys for your wonderful hospitality and the non-stop fun. Spending time with you was definitely one of the highlights of our trip. We wish you were still in England... but if you had to be anywhere else in the world, we're glad it was in a place as brilliant as Japan.

Arigatou gozaimasu!

* As I'm taking my sweet time to write the last few blog posts, let it be known that Baby Papa has since been born. Mamma and Papas are happy, proud and sleep-deprived. We've seen Baby on Skype and she's gorgeous. Luckily, she was asleep at the time - I fear that she may cry for hours on end when she hears our voices fully-conscious, as it will probably bring back horrific memories of our rapping in the karaoke bar. If her first words are "F**k Marshall!" blame Lex and Imran. *