Chaweng, Koh Samui

To paraphrase charmless, tone-deaf pop chancers, 'East 17', 'bin around the world...but I've never been to Thailand. My reasoning was simple enough; to me it was a place where stoned backpackers swapped stories of, like, serious adventures and identikit dirty old men leered at girls, boys or katoeys (look it up) in dingy bars. Neither was my demographic and though I like the food, you can get that in Brighton. However over the years more and more acquaintances raved about it, and consequently I was quietly excited as we left Cambodia and headed west overnight across the Andaman sea.

Our first taste of the most rhapsodised place this side of Utopia is yet another bleedin' container port (I swear I've subconsciously absorbed all the skills to operate a crane by now) called Laem Chabang. It's the closest port to Bangkok but independent travel to the capital has been vetoed due to the perceived danger from the ongoing protests. No matter, as Bangkok and I will be reunited soon enough, and anyway, a short ride away is Pattaya, now one of the largest resort towns in Thailand.

Pattaya is not the place to go if you crave secluded beaches. The seafront is a resort like many others, populated as it is by the same global hotel brands you see the world over. It also has a certain notoriety for attracting sex tourists, and even at 10am I quickly realise that the girls standing on the promenade by the beach are not waiting for a bus. However Thailand is quickly winning me over; everyone, and I mean everyone, smiles. They are hugely polite, spotlessly clean and the food is fantastic. We were taken by a Western friend to a restaurant inland, literally off the beaten track, down a dirt road where we encountered no traffic. The restaurant consisted of collections of thatched gazebos with sturdy wooden tables and chairs. A group of locals sat in the corner and waved as we entered. There was no menu, instead we were presented with a range of dishes to share- a huge bowl of fish soup with lemongrass, chicken with red chillis, whole fried fish, fried rice with prawns. It was beautiful. The chilli, lemongrass and coriander flavours danced in your mouth. I would have paid anything within reason for food that good, as it was the bill for three was eleven pounds.

After the mainstream attractions of Pattaya, the ship drops anchor off the coast of Koh Samui, one of the largest and best known islands in Thailand. Huge tender boats pull up alongside to take us to the harbour of Nathon where teams of crew are boarding bright coloured fishing boats. There are loads of people touting transport of various kinds and four of us settle for John (yes, another John, not his real name I think) and his air-conditioned car, essential on a day which has already hit the mid-eighties by early morning.

We head south east to Chaweng, where the best beaches are to be found. These days it is also a sizeable town, with the difference that the beach is not overlooked by huge hotels and so it retains a natural beauty missing in Pattaya. There is some low-rise development along some of the beach, which is discreet and tasteful. After a swim in warm clear waters we decamp to an outdoor bar of a hotel and slump on big sofas. We have also all managed to step in an oil-based goo that gets on everything. Once removed we have a sly beer and have a look around town before John pulls up and beeps his horn. We head south again, continuing a clockwise loop of the island, and drive though Lamai which actually looked a better bet for a beach holiday, more secluded with enticing beachside cafes and restaurants.

Now the last thing I would ever wish to do is poke fun at Buddhism as it's a peaceable, dignified faith that doesn't need me or deserve me taking the mick. That said I am bound to report that I had to stifle a chuckle when our driver stopped off to show us a temple dedicated to the mummified monk. The monk, Loung Pordaeng, died twenty years ago sitting in the meditation position, and that is how he has been preserved. The monk was encased in glass, and, presumably because of some form of decay, had sunglasses on. Sunglasses. This does not enhance the otherwise very dignified scene. 'Why is the monk wearing Ray Bans?', whispered one of our number in a stage whisper. I looked and they were indeed Ray Bans, although we couldn't get close enough to tell if they were genuine or not.

Returning to the car we made for the elephant reserve on the west of the island, where riding an elephant was actually the least enjoyable thing we did there. It's a less than comfy ride on a beast that would probably be happier with us being alongside rather than sat on top, and it's more of a commercial operation than some altruistic venture. Thankfully the animals seemed in good shape and well treated, and the highlight was helping to wash down a baby elephant who seemed to have as much fun as we did. The elephants are owned by their guides, who effectively rent a pitch in the reserve by carving up the fee for the ride between themselves and the reserve. The animals costs around £40k each, an absolute fortune in these parts, so there is an incentive to look after them.

After that we complete a loop of the island to return to Nathon, where we again had a (late) lunch fit for a king. An open-air restaurant by the sea served up spicy squid salad, pad thai noodles and chicken with rice for less than the cost of a big mac meal. We eat our food watching kids fish in the reef, and then walk slowly back to the pier past mystifying stalls all selling reams of coloured cloth. Believe me when I say the market for reams of brightly coloured cloth is well and truly saturated across Asia as a whole, and you won't get anywhere on Dragons' Den if this is your idea (incidentally an Asian version of Dragons' Den does exist).

In other news the most bizarre episode ever, ever, ever bar none occurred the other day as we walked along the beach. South-east Asia is known for it's mild obsession with the larger gentleman, to them an indication of prosperity, and James had already nodded good-humouredly at Buddha comparisons from various locals. However nothing really prepared him - or indeed me - for the attentions of this particular little Vietnamese man. Walking with his shirt open, James was greeted from a distance of about twenty yards with the cry, 'You so beeeeg' before the little fella ran open-armed towards him saying, 'I want to kiss it'. 'It' transpired to mean James's chest, which was embraced by the advancing Asian with his entire being. Never has the word 'surreal' been more appropriate. We looked around for hidden cameras, laughed nervously and went on our way. Was it the first time he had felt the need to do this, or did he habitually hang around the beach waiting for amply-proportioned tourists? We may never know.

From Thailand we head south once more to Singapore, where I will leave you with the closest thing you will get on this blog to a cliffhanger. For in Singapore, for reasons I will later reveal, we did not get back on the ship.