And so the adventure continues .............

UGetting to the airport in Bangkok is relatively straight forward providing you're going from the main international airport and not the provincial one at Don Muang which is to BKK what Stansted or Luton are to London Heathrow. You even manage to get a seat on the rail link as it starts at the interchange where you get on so happy days.

I had been concerned that I had no actual proof of a ticket but when I got to the check in desk my passport was checked and I was then asked if I wanted a window seat so they obviously had a note of my reservation, in fact they seemed happy to see me, I'll explain why later.

Bangkok International Airport is HUGE with everything happening in the same building so think all 5 Heathrow terminals in one place and that gives you some idea of the size.  It's obvious to me now of course knowing what a major hub it is for the whole region.  Most people who are doing Indochina and the Far East use Bangkok as their main junction and the city has built its reputation on being cheaper for flights than other cities in this part of the world. But you do see some strange sights:

And is this someone's idea of carry on baggage?

After strolling around for a while I thought I might as well start going through security.  It's just as well I moved when I did as the queue for security is vast and slow, then once you've navigated your way through that you've got the even longer and slower queue for Passports. Having thought I had all the time in the world it suddenly occurred to me that I had ended up cutting things a bit fine.  Needless to say the gate I was heading for was the furthest in the building, so far in fact that I wondered at one stage if I was still in the same building. But I got there and settled in, to discover that there were 18 passengers and 5 crew, no wonder they were pleased to see me at check in.  Good heavens I thought, there can't be many intrepid travellers going to Burma.

Landing in Yangon I worked out where all the intrepid travellers were, they were all in the arrivals hall having flown on AirAsia for less than half the price I'd paid, there seemed to be hundreds of them, all with their huge backpacks (and many with their tattoos and dreadlocks and huge pierced holes in their ears, no, not the women, the men!). I discovered that AirAsia is the Ryanair of flights in that region and Myanmar Airways, my carrier, is the BA.  Still, at least I got a drink and a snack (no wine sadly but it was a bit early even by my standards!) whereas they probably had to pay for the 'hot bacon and cheese melt' or whatever rubbish it was that was on offer.

The first thing you have to do when you land is change some money, and it was at this point that I found out that, despite what all the clever informative and up to date websites tell you, you do not need small unblemished $ bills you need large ones. The dreadlock crowd were getting a much better rate with their $100 and $50 bills than I was getting with my $20s and $10s, interesting. That's the system.

When you eventually get to the front of the queue and hand over your initial $190 you get given over 200,000 kyats, talk about feeling an instant millionaire. But it's all notes, they have no coins so the smallest denomination note you get is virtually worthless but it does pad out your wallet and make it difficult to close.

Then there was the scrum of the transport to the centre of the city. I was originally going to be clever and find the local bus just to prove how much research I'd done (note to self: remember what happened in Sukhothai when you were trying to be a smart.....) but it was so hot and the thought of wandering around the area looking for a bus stop at least 15 minutes away suddenly lost its appeal and I joined the taxi queue, good decision. A slow journey - Yangon traffic is horrendous - but $8 later I was dropped on the opposite side of the road from my next resting place.

And this is where you need nerves of steel.  Trying to cross the road in Yangon, at any time of the day or night, requires a level of death wish that I was unaware I possessed. I have since discovered that the only way to survive without being left for hours on the wrong side of the road from the one you want to be on is to sidle up next to a local, ignore his suspicious sideways glances at you, and shadow his every move until you're on the side you want to be, there is no other way. I can assure you, you do not wish to be end up as a casualty because I've seen the ambulances and they don't inspire confidence:

Time for dinner: that was inevitable wasn't it? It's Chinese New Year at present so it's obvious which cuisine will be my choice tonight.

In my next blog: the joys of being in Yangon, and the not-so-joys.