It is strangely liberating being an Orange Tango man. It is impossible to take yourself seriously, or indeed for anyone else to, while you look for all the world like a mobile danger lamp. Out of sheer necessity you develop an immunity to the opinions of others. Of course, it helps that I haven't yet tired of telling people "Honestly, orange is my natural color."

Given sufficient exposure you can learn to appreciate almost anything. Listen to enough jazz and you cannot fail to appreciate its extraordinary subtlety and texture. Feed me a few beers, give me a nudge and I can go on for hours about railways or cricket. Given half a chance, Americans can be relied upon to wax lyrical about themselves. Admittedly all subjects that most people would consider having chopsticks stuck in their eyes rather than be subjected to.

Spend long enough in Asia and certain truths jump out at you:
Not all palm trees have coconuts.
Not all bamboo is of the edible variety.
Even the ubiquitous banana tree has its small differences. I marvel now that before this trip began I couldn't tell the difference between Japanese and Chinese features. And that I couldn't tell Beijing and Sichuan cuisine apart.

Thailand's second largest city, the moated northern metropolis of Chiang Mai (map), is a destination for travelers with a purpose. Trekking, Bamboo rafting, Elephant riding, Thai kick-boxing, massage and cookery courses number among its many attractions. I decided on trekking and cooking. My three day trek, which included elephant riding (forgettable) and bamboo rafting (not to be missed), involved visits to three different hill tribes, the Meo, Yao and Karen.

Our trekking group consisted of eleven thirty-ish yuppies from England, Australia, New Zealand, and not to mention, one slightly irresponsible South African. On the first evening of our trek, Joe, our impish trekking guide, took us on a tour of the local Yao village, conspicuous by its absence of cash crops (opium farmers). He also trouped us all into one of the villager's houses to point out the architecture and some items of livelihood. Naz, a conscientious lawyer from London shamed us all by refusing to enter the house and intrude on the family. After this no one went into any more homes.

Most of the traditional hill villages are built using wood and palm fronds (for the roofs) and are raised above the ground on stilts. The Yao tribe, with their colder Chinese origins, being the notable exception. The natural vegetation in Northern Thailand is monsoon forest. Different from rainforests in that it has less canopy and more ground cover. Pines and firs, dwarf bamboo, gladioli and touch-me-nots are among the more common species.

The Vietnamese have a folk tale about the touch-me-not plant whose leaves close up when touched. It goes about a beautiful princess who falls in love with her handsome gardener (while he was tending her bougainvillea, no doubt). However, her father, the King has promised her to an arrogant prince from a neighbouring kingdom. On the day of her proposed wedding, still unwilling to marry the posh prince, the princess throws herself rather theatrically off a cliff, dies, and is then re-incarnated as the humble touch-me-not. The Thais have a similar story about the touch-me-not, but as becomes Thai folklore, it is more erotic.

Also in Chiang Mai, I took two one-day cookery courses, where for $15 a day you will be taught to cook a sumptuous array of traditional Thai dishes including Green Curry, Som Tam (spicy papaya salad), Pad Thai (fried noodles) and the delectably diet-breaking Fried Bananas in Coconut Milk. All these courses include a visit to the local market to buy the ingredients for the day's cooking.

On my second day, having booked both days through my guest house, I was fortunate enough to be sent to Meaw, at Baan Thai, for individual tuition. Meaw is the original bleeding heart. She cried crocodile tears when we saw a lame bitch scrounging for her pups in the market. She supports nine stray cats and an entire family on her meager wages. She bought everything I showed the slightest interest in and taught me way too many dishes.

After two days of intensive culinary tuition, I feel I am now able to burn Thai food with as much efficiency as I burn everything else.

Well, I'm afraid that it has finally happened to me. I have caught that dreadful disease which afflicts all travelers sooner or later. Travel tiredness, Buddha burn-out, Temple fatigue, call it what you will. Upon my return to Bangkok, I spent two hours traipsing around the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew (along with six bus loads of tourists) and was hard pressed to find two things which I hadn't already seen in one place or another.

As troubling as this ailment is though, there are a few spectacularly successful cures. These are as follows:

1) Take a break: Travel agents in Kao San Road will sell you cheap return tickets to just about anywhere. Go home, make your friends jealous and have your washing done for you.

2) Indulge yourself: Book into a five star hotel and do not leave your air-conditioned room for a week. Watch satellite television, eat copious amounts of pizza, drink filter coffees and Heineken.

3) Kill yourself: Die spectacularly or disappear without trace. Just don't forget the mysterious suicide note.

In the end I settled on a combination of all three. I disappeared to a cheesy tourist island two hours south of Phuket and spent four days lying on a beach reading during the day, drinking to last year's club hits at night.

Ko Phi Phi consists of two islands, Phi Phi Don, which has accommodation, and Phi Phi Le, which has not. Both are equally scenic: Turquoise seas and lazy waves, tanned and topless bodies, blue skies and painted sunsets. Blah de blah. The whole tropical island thing.

Phi Phi Le was the location for the latest Leonardo Di Caprio movie, The Beach. The movie is based on Alex Garland's novel about a backpacker's quest for the ultimate retreat. The island is also where the bird's nests are collected for the notoriously exclusive Bird's Nest Soup.

Refreshed and recharged, I crossed the border into Malaysia on Wednesday. Georgetown (map), on Penang island is a surprisingly enticing mix of Western, Malay, Indian and Chinese cultures. Muslims, Buddhists and Hindus intermingle in a seamless manner not emulated in many countries I have seen.

The architecture is modern and colonial, as befits the town's auspicious history. When Captain Francis Light landed in Georgetown in 1786, he established the first outpost of the Dutch East India Company, under whose dubious banner the British went on to rule the world for more than a century.