All Pretty Like

I have pretty feet. Well, they have black soles, which you can't seem to avoid in this city, but they are still quite lovely.

I think most other effortlessly gorgeous female travellers probably have the secret to non-black feet down pat, but they don't care to share it with me and therefore, I am destined to walk this world with dirty soles. And a dirty soul.

Ha.

The reason I have such pretty feet? Cheap pedicures on the Khaosan Road! While Rocker succumbs to another painful foot massage I sit back and think of (anything but) England while my hands and feet are buffed to perfection.

Then I walked out into the street and demanding a wonderful henna tattoo to Pimp My Feet. So pretty. When Blogger decides I am worthy again to share my photographic life, I will show you just how pretty my new feet are. Until then you will have to imagine it by yourselves.

I know, but do at least try...

I am still flirting with the idea of having my hair braided and especially on my last night in Bangkok, but as someone wise once said (recently), all travellers have braids or dreadlocks. Thank you Susie Sailor!

At least my hair is unique and while I might be working a rather Miss Piggy look lately, at least she's hot.

In other news, I got quite fiesty with a crook taxi driver earlier who refused to turn on his meter and instead said he'd charge us 100 Baht to China Town. Now while this is not a lot of money to us, it's the principle, it's like three times what it should be and he's taking us for idiots.

So I stood my ground and said, "If you don't put your meter on we will get out right now, we're not tourists you know, we know how this works!". I won the argument, I think I was quite something to behold actually.

Of course, Rocker's rendition of events are slightly more damning:

"No sooner had we got into the taxi when the taxi driver started to play that all too familiar game turn the meter off. This erupted into a very heated discussion between Christa and the taxi driver while I cowered in the back seat for fear of razor sharp meat cleavers hidden in the glove compartment or being dropped off in a ropey part of town. I was just about to hide under my copy of the Times then the taxi driver surrendered the meter was turned on the storm clouds parted and the sabre rattling that threatened a conflict so devastating that even the UN would have been powerless to stop it ceased."

Hmpf.