Bangkok bound

My long awaited adventures have finally started! I suppose they started yesterday with a whimper rather than a bang, when I said a very subdued goodbye to my parents at the departure gate in Heathrow. I went through the gate, found a designated smoking area and chain smoked while shitting bricks. I can't ever remember being so nervous and doubtful of my decisions in my life - I had to remind myself that not only did I choose to leave the country for a year, on my own, with virtually nothing properly planned, but that this is something that I've been desperate to do for years.

Once I'd overcome my nerves and convinced myself that getting on the plane was a good thing, I had a very pleasant flight with Qantas (hey, if it's good enough for Rain Man, it's good enough for me) with lots of free toothbrush and eye mask type things (not to mention the computer games and films) to distract me. When we arrived at 3:30 this afternoon (local time), I got through customs with a free 30 day visa in about 2 minutes, and my bag appeared on the conveyor belt about 30 seconds after I got there. I suppose that they avoid the delays I'm used to because they assume that if there were bombs or guns in the bag, Heathrow would have probably noticed, and as for anything else that's not advisable to take on planes - coals to Newcastle spring to mind.

I took the airport bus, rather than being charged the new-in-town-and-stupid tax in a taxi, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the Khao San road bus stop was just in front of my hotel, as dumping my overpacked bags was becoming a priority, superceded only by the necessity of having a shower. I ventured back out when I stank slightly less and felt generally human again. The Khao San road is the wierdest, liveliest, tackiest little hellhole I've come across yet on my travels. Imagine the market from Camden Town stuck in the middle of the neon of Vegas with a smattering of Skegness tack, and the greatest concentration in the world of white people with braids, dreads and cornrows, then you won't be miles off. Everywhere I walk I can hear James Blunt, Oasis or Tracey Chapman. I can see how hearing the music from back home could lessen the culture shock for some people, but the internet cafe I'm sitting in right now is playing fucking Celine Dion. Oh come on! Saying that, it does have it's advantages staying in a travellers hub like this one. I've just had a haircut for 3 quid and an evening meal for 25p.

My current plan is to get out of here and head to the islands in the south to brush up on my lazy bastard skills, to research different ways of lying in a hammock and, if I'm feeling active, to maybe poi and read a bit.

Lots of love to you all,

Cat XXX