There's something about being served your Phad Phet by a strapping 
6ft transvestite whilst sitting by the River Kwai that really puts an 
authetic spin on a South East Asian meal.

But I digress.

Bangkok is a culture shock. Perhaps too much of a culture shock.

We were under no pretenses that we were travelling to "find ourselves" - 
we were travelling ebcause we wanted a multi-month beach holiday and no 
responsibilities except that we had had to be in Singapore at some point 
in the future.

So landing in Bangkok at 5am and immediately hitting a wall of noise and 
humidity was a little too much for the senses. 

Sure, the floating market is cool and the street stalls abundant, cheap 
and tasty but we wanted rest. Tranquility. Laziness. We caught a bus to 
Kanchanaburi - perhaps most famous for being the village were the 
infamous "Bridge of the River Kwai" is. 

Kanchanaburi is the anti Bangkok - it's quiet (once you out of the bus
station, past the pan handlers and roasted insect stalls and up the road
towards the river) - the hostels by the Kwai often sit on poles above 
lily beds. I felt instantly at home.

Every night we'd decamp to Apple's - Apple being the aformentioned 
crossdresser who instantly became our best friend. The food, in and of 
itself was remarkably similar to the Thai food  you get in London. But 
the setting made the difference.

We lingered over our food, trying whatever Apple suggested (although I 
ended up being hopelessly addicted to Red Duck Curry and Garlic Beef), 
sipping endless bottles of Singha beer which gave us terrible 
hangovers. We later found that it has formaldehyde in - soemthign that 
accounts for both the crippling mornings it induces and also the sweet 
taste that compliments the food so well.

Sitting, listening to the water laps aginst the banks, chatting with 
Apple and sundry other travellers who drifted through, it was easy to 
get seduced into thinking that this was all there needed to be in the 
world. I felt peaceful, ready to tackle anything.

This is important when understanding my moment of foolishness.

I had worked my way through many of the dishes on the menu, sampling 
different spices and steadily increasing the spicyness - moving swiftly 
through one to four in the ubiquitous chillis-indicate-heat scale.

I had handled my self gracefully - none of yer english lager lout. I 
like hot food when it's done well and, when challenged, can quite 
cheerfully scoff a Phall or a Vindaloo just to shut someone up, although 
to be honest I prefer a nice Muurg.

So when Apple started to suggest that I might be read for "Thai hot, 
verrr nice. Ver tasty. Yumm yumm" I believed her. The four chilli dishes 
hadn't been too bad - the chilli giving a nice tingling sensation 
without the acrid burning much like a good whisky gives that glowing 
sense of warmth. If she thought I was ready then surely I must be. 

I accepted the challenge.

I disremember what the dish was - possibly beef with bell peppers or 
chicken in a nice sour sauce. 

I took a bite. And waited. And waited a bit more. All clear. A little 
hotter maybe but not noticeably. Apple seemed impressed and was nodding 
and smiling in the way that only the Thais can do. I took another 
mouthful. And another. Warm and sweet and sticky this was delicious. I 
soon finished the dish and took a long swig of Singha.

Then one of the other people round the table started to laugh.

And then everybody else did.

Then my eyes exploded.

The reaction, it seems was delayed. My face had steadily been getting 
redder and redder and then my eyes filled with tears which started 
streaming down my face so fast I couldn't mop them up. And I daren't rub 
my eyes - god knows what the capsicum that could do this would do to 
exposed membranes. 

After abotu ten minutes my eyes cleared and I didn't see Apple again 
that night or, in fact again as, due to unforseen circumstances we 
decided to leave the next morning. Despite my insistences nobdoy 
believed that I'd at no point been uncomfortable, that there was none of 
the  usual bad balti house burning.

That given half a chance I'd love another bowl of whatever it was, 
preferably sitting in a garden by the river in northern Thailand, taking 
long pulls on a bottle of Singha and with nothing but beaches and 
bumming around in my immediate future.