A tasty trip to Thailand and Kuala Lumpur

Well, hello again, you glorious land-dwellers. Heath here, reporting from the front lines of a life we accidentally designed to be a perpetual, wonderful obstacle course. If you remember last time, we were swanning around in Montenegro on our beloved floating patio called Sawasdeekat. But even the sea-doggiest (is that a word?) of sea dogs needs to come ashore occasionally, if only to remind our legs how walking works.

Thus, our annual pilgrimage to Bangkok is less a holiday and more a culinary and social triathlon. It’s where Pookie, (to newbie readers its my award-winning chef of a wife), returns to her native turf and I, her devoted and often linguistically bewildered plus-one, attempt to keep up (I don’t).

The rhythm of these trips is as familiar and comforting as a perfectly steamed basket of kow neow (pronounced Cow Nee- Ow! and is sticky rice for the uninitiated). Evenings blur into a delightful carousel of reunions. We meet a revolving door of Pookie’s friends from primary school, high school, university, and her television career. The conversation, once the initial hellos are over, follows a well-worn path:

“You STILL live on a boat? REALLY? Voluntarily?”

“Isn’t it dangerous? What about Pirates? What about Storms!?”

“I don't see why you just don't fly... I would, it’s so much easier!”

I’ve taken to visualising their concerns as fluffy yellow tennis balls of doubt. I just swing my racquet of blissful ignorance and send them sailing back over the net.

Thwock! "Yes! Still on a boat" Thwock “Pirates are terribly overrated!”

Thwock! “Flying is for people with budgets and a fear of bilge pumps!”

They laugh, we laugh, and then the real business begins: the food.

Since MasterChef, Pookie’s dance card is also filled rendezvous with culinary royalty (I had to search the plural of rendezvous.. it’s right). I’ve sat nodding sagely in the presence of legends like Chef Ian Kittichai (The IronChef Supreme) and Chef Gino Jitsak Lim-Pakor, absorbing precisely 0% of the rapid-fire Thai conversation but 100% of the free spring rolls. It’s a good system.

And of course, at the heart of it all, is family. The warm, wonderful, and wonderfully large family, all eager for tales of the high seas, all secretly convinced we’re several prawns short of a tom yum.

This January was no different. We landed, we inhaled the uniquely Bangkok air - a thrilling cocktail of frangipani, street food smoke and tuk-tuk exhaust - and we hit the ground eating. I’m convinced the friends, family and Bangkok keep a secret list of new, hyped-up eateries, just waiting for Pookie’s annual arrival to tick them off.

But a body cannot live on Tom Yum Goong and Pad See Ew alone. Well, it can, but it then requires elasticated waistbands. So, we shopped.

Now our condo is flanked by the dizzying, diamond-dripping Ikon Siam and the neon-drenched tourist frenzy of Asiatique. Yet, our hearts belong to the glorious, chaotic maze of MBK. This place is a temple of everything. I mean that literally. You can buy a mobile phone, a bespoke suit, a life-sized replica of a Star Wars stormtrooper, and, as I photographed for your amusement, some rather… optimistic… prosthetic anatomy. The place is a seven-story monument to consumerism and sheer, unadulterated randomness.

A cherished part of our ritual is playing tour guide. It’s never a chore; it’s a privilege to play host to this city we adore. But this year was extra special. Our guests were my daughter Paris, (Seen above riding an electric suitcase above), and her friend, Gabi. Seeing this electric city through their wide-eyed wonder was like seeing it for the first time all over again.

We weaved through the aquatic chaos of the floating market, not in a smoky, roaring long-tail boat, but in one of the new, almost silent electric ones. It was like gliding through the hustle in a Tesla—all the thrill, none of the lungful of diesel. A quiet revolution on the klongs.

We marvelled at the Temple of Dawn (Wat Arun), its porcelain spires glittering like a jagged jewel against the sky. Fun Fact: That mesmerizing, iridescent surface isn't porcelain at all, but millions of fragments of discarded Chinese sea-ware pressed into the plaster—a beautiful and ingenious form of 19th-century recycling. And at the Grand Palace, a city within a city where every surface screams with intricate, gold-leafed history. Pookie worked her magic and she arranged for the girls to be dressed in exquisite traditional Thai silks, transforming them into princesses for a day. A professional photographer captured them posing before the sacred, awe-inspiring backdrop—images they’ll treasure forever.

Lastly, we took them to an elephant sanctuary. For Gabi, who had never been up close to these magnificent, wise-eyed giants, it was a moment of pure magic. To pet their rough, hairy hides, to feed them, to take a short, swaying amble through the jungle on their backs—it was a connection to something ancient and profound.

But it was also bittersweet. The sanctuary, like many, is facing a slow decline. As global attitudes rightly shift towards animal welfare, tourist numbers have dropped. This creates a heartbreaking dilemma: how do you fund the care for these beautiful creatures for the rest of their natural lives when the primary source of income vanishes? It’s a complex question without an easy answer, hanging in the air like the scent of sugarcane and earth. Their visit was a wonderful experience captured in 1,000 photo’s and some funny videos.

Now, a quick note on Thai bureaucracy: it changes its rules about visitors the way a chef changes a menu (or if you read my last Blog, like Logan changes his Nappy) - frequently, creatively, and with little warning. Our time was up. The choice was to apply for a more complex visa or to simply… leave. We chose the latter. Why have a paperwork battle when you can have an adventure? So, we booked a holiday from our holiday. Destination: the bustling, vibrant metropolis of Kuala Lumpur.

The flight was a blink. One moment we were in the organised chaos of Bangkok, the next we were dumped into the sleek, futuristic jungle of Kuala Lumpur, craning our necks at the iconic Petronas Towers, those twin silver syringes piercing the clouds.

Our first mission, as always, is caffeine. We struck gold at a place called Bacha Coffee (1910), a hallowed hall for the bean-obsessed. I’m told they boast over 200 different varieties of coffee. I lost count after my third life-changing espresso. Finding good street food, however, proved trickier than in Bangkok. It’s there, but it hides its secrets better. So, we pivoted. When in Rome… or a gleaming Malaysian metropolis… go to Nobu. It’s a famous and, yes, painfully pricey alternative, but oh, what a delicious pivot it was.

That first evening, we sipped cocktails by a pool that framed the Petronas Towers perfectly. Below us, water fountains put on a frantic, LED-lit disco show, trying their best to compete with the main event: the sun, a blazing orb of orange, dropping with lazy, majestic indifference behind the silver towers. The fountains were trying far too hard. To me they were a pop band; the sunset was a pure symphony.

The next day, we sought out culture of the more ancient variety: the Batu Caves. A colossal, golden statue of Lord Murugan guards a flight of stairs that seems to ascend directly into heaven. Fun Fact: To be precise, it’s 272 steps into the cathedral-like cave itself. After about 150 of them, Pookie looked at the steps ahead, assessed the humidity, and made an executive chef’s decision: “I’ll hold the bags and wait here.” I, however, channelled my inner mountain goat and made the climb. The view from the top, into the vast, echoing cavern, was worth every gasping breath. (You can witness my slightly wheezy triumph on our YouTube channel in Episode 035 – A Kuala Lumpur trip, Pookie Cooking in Thailand & a Kitchen Refurbishment for Chinese New Year right here: https://youtu.be/4xYfpuTNwCE. Spoiler: The steps put up a good fight.

But we couldn’t linger. As the title of the YouTube video suggests, we had a project waiting for us back in Bangkok. A project of utmost importance. A project involving… a kitchen.

Shocker, I know.

You see, Pookie’s condo kitchen had seen better decades. The faux-beech cupboards were tired, the walls were a defeated white, and a few leaks over the years had left some doors warped and swollen like a disappointed pastry. It was time for a makeover.

I, with the confidence of a man who lives on a boat he barely understands, drafted designs. We brought in specialists who drafted actual designs that me, thinking I know best, adjusted mainly back to my own creation. The challenge was a classic Bangkok condo conundrum: a woefully small space needing to cope with the demands of a chef whose creations come from all over the world. Fun Fact: Many Thai kitchens are designed for shorter statures and simpler needs - a single burner and a rice cooker. They are not designed for award-winning chefs who consider a pasta maker, a stand mixer, and a sous-vide machine to be “essential basics.” We needed to maximise every millimetre, including planning for a future American fridge freezer, a beast that would dwarf the local appliances.

We enlisted a recommended kitchen maker, and what followed was a five-day ballet of beautiful, efficient chaos.

Day 1: The old kitchen was evicted. The white goods were unplugged, the units dismantled. The tiled floor was protected like a priceless artifact. A new skeleton of wiring and sockets was laid.

Day 2: The new units arrived, carried in like puzzle pieces and shoved, with millimetres to spare, into their new home. Plumbers and electricians performed their arcane arts, muttering incantations over pipework and circuits.

Day 3: A new team arrived with slabs of marble. Our balcony was transformed into a stone-mason’s workshop, the air thick with dust and the shriek of angle grinders cutting countertops to perfection.

Day 4: The original crew returned, slotting in the appliances, fitting stainless steel backsplashes, automatic lights and installing a new fuse board that would make a British safety inspector weep with joy.

Day 5: The painters arrived, and the final masterpiece was revealed. Gone was the beige sadness. In its place: a vibrant, sundown orange wall facing a sleek stainless steel feature. Crisp, white, full-height cupboards soared to the ceiling. It all contrasted stunningly with the black appliances and the veined marble worktops. It was a kitchen reborn. A phoenix from the ashes of warped chipboard. We were happy.

Throughout this renovation rodeo, the social carousel kept spinning. Our friends Bea and Mark (from Pookie’s tanning salon empire days and on the right in this photo below) arrived, and we played tour guides again, showing them the serene, impossibly long Sleeping Buddha at Wat Pho. Then, in a wonderful twist of fate, another couple materialised. Steve and Jo. Pookie had literally bumped into them in an airport in Montenegro months earlier.

They’d recognised her from TV, introduced themselves, and we’d stayed in touch. And now, here they were in Bangkok! We celebrated this serendipity by ascending the Mahanakorn Tower, the second tallest building in the city, and drinking in the breathtaking, smog-tinged panorama.

But no trip to Thailand is complete without answering the siren call of the coast. Pookie’s high school friends, Lin and Yong, didn’t so much invite as dictate that we join them on a food crawl to Cha-am and Hua Hin. With about 16 hours' notice, we were off.

Fun Fact: Hua Hin is the oldest beach resort in Thailand, and its royal pedigree is undeniable—it’s been the site of the King’s summer palace since the 1920s, an elegant retreat away from the capital’s heat. It’s also a haven for expats and Bangkokians seeking a weekend breeze.

The day was a masterclass in strategic gluttony. We started in Cha-am at a tiny seafood shack called Khrua Huai Sai, devouring plates of succulent prawns and spicy salads. We’d barely swallowed the last mouthful when Yong announced, “We’re late for the next place!” and we were whisked off to a restaurant called the Regent Cha-Am for afternoon tea. No time to digest! Then, the Sook Sook betwixt Cha-am and Hua Hin beckoned for more food! After dropping our bags at a beautiful beach house, we found our fourth wind (and fourth stomach) at a place called Carlo’s for an Italian Pizza that gave us lots of memories of the past year. Finally, as if stomachs couldn’t take any more (I told you food is a national sport here) was ‘The Sky Bar’. Here, my old nemesis, vertigo, awaited in the form of a glass floor panel that offered a dizzying view of the ground many, many floors below. I clung to the solid part of the bar, using a very strong cocktail as a safety harness.

The trip’s finale was pure farce. As we were leaving, Lin simply closed a bedroom door. A simple act. Too simple. The door, equipped with a spring-loaded safety bolt, jolted and locked. Solid. We pushed, we wobbled, we considered shouldering it open like a SWAT team. Pookie, the voice of reason, pointed out, “That’s Mai Daeng. Its like Ironwood, the termites from the beach can’t even eat it. Your shoulder doesn’t stand a chance.”

Defeated, we called the cavalry. An hour later, men arrived, assessed the situation, and decided the only solution was a surgical extraction of the entire bedroom window pane. They performed the operation with the care of museum curators, carefully removing the beading and glass from the colonial-era frame to preserve its integrity. Access was gained, bags were retrieved, and we finally made it back to Bangkok, where Pookie decided the only fitting end to this chapter was to get burnt orange highlights in her hair. A perfect, stylish metaphor for the entire trip.

And just like that, it was time to go. Our land-lubber interlude was over. Sailing Yacht Sawasdeekat has been sitting patiently, waiting for our return in windy Montenegro. It’s time to go home.

Well, that’s all we have time for, folks. I need to go to the gym and attempt to metabolise a continent’s worth of calories. Next week, I’ll take you back to the boat, where we have a… colourful run-in with Montenegrin customs, and then onto the sunny shores of Malta, where we have a much nicer run-in with some lovely locals.

Until then, keep your horizons broad and your wine glass full.

Probably too many photo's in this episode, but here's me Heath (and Pookie!) signing off.