We’re staying at a boutique hostel called Lub*d. It’s not quite the romantic holiday place I imagine, but nor is it standard business hotel, beds made with hospital corners and someone paid to pick the unimaginative landscape in the corridor. In fact, whoever designed the Lub*d is nothing if not imaginative, we have the double room on top for ourselves, it’s teeny tiny, but the sink in the bedroom is scarlet. To walk down the industrial style stairs, you have to pass some wire and wooden dogs, the theatre room on the first floor has a sign that says:

PLEASE REMOVE YOUR LOVELY SHOES.

Our lovely shoes are removed before all sorts of things, even right now, writing this from a hut in Koh Lanta, my lovely shoes are in front of the door, but more about that later, now I’m still telling you about Bangkok, where you’ve been a million times, and you looked at me before I left and said, “Have you never been to Thailand?” For that reason, I thought it would be swimming with Indians, absolutely s-w-i-m-m-i-n-g, but the only other people I see are brown on white, hair even darker gold, and the locals. Thai girls have not packed for a beach holiday, so unlike me, they are modest, buttoned up all the way, but at night, on Khao San road, they shimmy in tight bandage dresses with waist cut outs or cropped t-shirts with cut off shorts or mom jeans.

But back to Lub*d, at 1500 baht a night, it’s cheaper and nicer than anywhere else that got good reviews on Tripadvisor or Lonely Planet, the staff is happy to help and it’s central enough that we can go anywhere we like. If we chose, we could also make conversation with the barefoot backpackers on the ground floor, but we’re a couple, and backpackers avoid couples, we’re too on our own to be of use to anyone else. Or so I hear.

As soon as we arrive and shower, we ask to be taken to Khao San road “Bangkok’s Pahargunj,” he explains to me, and I wonder why we have to seek that out, but by this time it’s already 4 pm, it turns to 4 pm so very fast when you’re on holiday, and so I follow suit.

I’m glad I do, because Khao San is like Bangkok Lite. We’re reading The Beach together, out loud to each other right now, and we’re already at the stage of nodding familiarity with Khao San. Anne Fadiman had a lovely essay about reading books in the places they’re set, and how it’s a completely different pleasure, and it is! Also, we switch up our voices, do accents when required, and reading aloud is so much more fun than watching TV.

It happens to be a Buddha Day when we visit, the day he was born, achieved enlightment and died, so there is no alcohol, but we do stop at a street food vendor and get a pad thai tossed up for us, right there on the street. Pad Thai! Can you imagine? It’s a silly joke: in China, do they just call Chinese food, food? In Bangkok do they call an expensive restaurant dish a street side snack? Either way, it’s delicious, and we carry it along in its disposable container, pointing out sights while I try and not gouge out my eyes with the chopsticks. Every bar is serving coffee instead, so we stop and I fall in love with a wooden frog with a removable stick which you can run up and down his spine to make frog music. I want to take it home and make frog music for myself at night when the power goes out.

PART TWO

Drawn by chanting, we leave the backpackers behind and go into a temple. It’s Buddha’s birthday after all, and we’re feeling a bit like we should note the occasion. Inside the temple, I pull my scarf around bare shoulders, signs warn us against PDA, we weren’t going to, but now the thought is in our minds. We buy incense and flowers—“In Hong Kong,” says the small Indian voice inside my head, “The incense was free.” But surely no one would rip you off on Buddha Day? – and then we walk down the rows to place the offerings in front of the sleepy eyed gold statue and I pray a little bit for a good year, love and prosperity, and I hope it works, oh Buddha, I know it’s a bit wrong asking for prosperity in front of a man who shunned it, but I’m doing the thing where you put it out in front of the universe and the universe delivers. And love. No one can deny love is.. lovely. Not even the gods.

When the evening falls, we walk through the rain towards chanting elsewhere, but get diverted by a street side market, large and maze like. It’s not in the guide book, it’s so local, that no one goes there except the Thais, and we feel like we’ve stumbled across something underground and cool. In the maze are mobile phones—fake—and contact lenses to make your eyes look bigger, and t-shirts, I buy two, one with Nutella on it and the other a little one with cats. I’m turning into a cat lady, and Thailand enables me.

Shall we take a minute to talk about the cats? A little Siamese crosses the road and flees when it sees us, but otherwise the cats are friendly, accepting all offerings as if it’s their right. A white cat called Coconut is laid across the table at a little seafood restaurant in Koh Lanta, there’s a pregnant grey one at the Seven Eleven, with fur as soft as mist. Cats wind themselves round posts and question mark tails on our ankles, the Thais like cats, and that in itself, makes this a country I identify with deeply. In Buddhism, cats are sacred creatures, and so even my own miaow miaow, who I dearly hope has not escaped again in my absence, is holy and should be treated with respect. Unfortunately, my interactions aren’t very respectful, more of the delighted “HI KITTY!” variety, but I think they get it.

In the market, the rain grumbles, and we shield our chicken soup from the falling water, trying to eat as fast as we can. All we can do is point, and pointing yields a bowl of noodles, with one chicken leg on top of it. Later that evening, we make our way back to Khao San, by which time the street is serving contraband alcohol, and we get some in paper cups, pretending like we’re drinking coffee.

The next day, we actually take guidebook recommendations and try and get our shopping out of the way. We spend (waste) an extraordinary amount of time in the search of a better price for the Samsung Galaxy S4, but once the boring business of that is over with (conclusion: it’s not that much of a price difference between Bangkok and India), we head to two more street markets at the further end of town. Chatuchak is loud and crazy, with lanes dedicated to exotic pets sweltering in the heat (that makes me sad) and several hat shops (that makes me happy—and on my head as I write this, wide and floppy brimmed lives one of them).

But then, after drifting around from one end of the market to the other, we decide to go a little more off-the-beaten track. Granted, it is a Planet recommendation, and the Planet has achieved mentor status at this point. I imagine the Planet as someone with a kindly voice, who steers us in the right direction. We’re walking down the street and the Planet says, “Why not try that restaurant? It has a great catfish salad, even though the loos are a bit grungy.” The Planet loses its touch a little bit later, but that could be our fault for misinterpreting it. For now however, the Planet is everything, and it is the Planet that suggests we stop by Talat Roi Fai.

Talat Rot Fai is an Instagrammer’s wet dream—I take as many pictures as I can on my SLR, but (I can’t believe I’m saying this) I sort of miss my cellphone camera and instant connection. We’ve dropped off from the world, but around me young Thais are photographing things and suddenly, I want to claw my way back into the world of the living, get someone to see where I am, how cool is this?

I do the next best thing: I eat a bug. In fact, we eat a cup full of bugs. 20 baht gets you a massive scoop, so with sign language we indicate that we’d like half, “For ten what get?” and so the man shrugs (foreigners, eh?) and gives us the ones I pojnt to, the least squishy looking of them all, deep fried and golden caterpillars. But it turns out in retrospect (and retrospective Googling) they weren’t caterpillars after all, but fried bamboo worms. I sort of wish I didn’t know that, worms sound so much grosser than caterpillars, but also sort of cool. Like a dare, like a sentence you would say at a party.

When I was in Bangkok, I went to a very cool underground retro street market, and walked around it eating a cup of fried bamboo worms.

Except it’s not really underground if it’s in the Planet, and it’s not really very daring if every traveller to Thailand worth their salt—at least those with adventurous palates—has tried the bugs. Maybe some even tried the scorpions the vendors offer you with an I-dare-you look on your face. Maybe that’s how they make their money, drunk foreigners going, “I dare you to eat that bug.”

Question: can vegetarians eat insects? I feel they are in the fish grey area of meat.

(Here’s a good article on what kind of insects to eat I found in my retrospective Googling. A review on my bamboo worms: “For beginners, the most ‘friendly’ insects are probably the bamboo worms, more commonly known as ‘rod duan’ or express train. Despite how crunchy they look, rod duan are rather mushy, soft and nutty, similar to the silk larvae.”)