We ride on the ultra modern passenger transit - a monorail suspended well above the bustling streets which covers distances at remarkable speed.
At the National Stadium stop, we visit Jim Thompson's house. Now, Jim was a chap from the UK who established himself as the rejuvenator of the Thai Silk industry. With his guidance the locals soon became World-wide masters of weaving this glorious fabric.
His house was built in a traditional Thai style, blessed, and he moved in on an auspicious date at an auspicious time - this should have brought him 'big luck'. Unfortunately, it did not - he disappeared without a trace while visiting Malaysia a few years later.
His 'pad' is however a fantastic place to visit. Beautiful works of art from around the country adorn the rooms which are made of solid Mahogany.
We get caught in their exquisite gift shop... and spend a fortune.
Our next stop is Wat Pho - our token temple visit.
Strolling though the riverside gates, a couple ahead of us are stopped by an irksome security guard and asked if they are resident - they answer 'no' and are ushered away... naturally, I say 'yes' when asked and sidestep him as he begins to ask which room... another guard (porter) pops up and asks if we are resident - he gets an irate look and and a louder 'YES' and steps sheepishly aside.
So, we're penetrated the Oriental - a grand, but frankly overtly American 'could be anywhere in the world' establishment.
We wander out for cocktails but, just before we sit, a waiter appears and in a hushed voice asks if I'm aware of the dress code after 6pm. Apparently, T-shirts and shorts with sandals must be replaced with a collar, trousers and closed shoes at this time - he looks pained when I tell him we'll have a cocktail before going to our room to change - 'Sorry Sir, I cannot serve you'. I look around suspiciously, looking for some other 'normal' travellers... Alas, the gardens are infested with jumped up, plaid clad old-gimmers spouting off about baseball in excessively loud voices.
All we wanted was a couple of frozen daiquiri's and a packet of nuts, but they are not forthcoming. So, after deliberately flaunting our lack of respect for their dress code around their posh riverside restaurant, we make off into the sunset, haughtily muttering "We've been thrown out of better places than this" to the puzzled guard as we depart.
A day later, we shop until we drop, walk around a dodgy shanty town in the the heart of the city and make our way to the airport to catch a flight to Phnom Penh.
The taxi and airport are a nightmare...
Naturally we're late to leave. And sensing this our cabbie takes the slow, traffic crammed crawler road. Luckily we spy a turn of for the expressway and browbeat him into taking it - probably saving an hour of our 1h 50m available. We check in, walk through customs, pay our departure tax and head for foreign exchange...
Here, we tackle two seemingly uninterested (and slightly malevolent) clerks who tell us that not one, but all of our credit cards are being refused... so we cannot have any money. We're practically broke, with $20 to spare in hand and, knowing that Cambodia does not have ATMs, we ask if there is one nearby so we can get cash to convert. Yes - its the other side of customs... After a mad dash back through to land side, I withdraw a shed-load of cash and waltz (unchallenged) back through to the airside - nice security.
However, by now we have only 7 minutes to spare before our plane leaves so we think better of tackling our forex friends and run for the gate. We're last on the bus - which heads across the tarmac at breakneck speed - but we make it onboard. All that we need now is some luck at the other end to convert our baht into riels... Cambodia here we come!