Where the nation’s beloved king, who rules from billboards and calendars across the country, is a people's chameleon: in the working city, the welcome sign depicts the king in a hardhat; in the artsy town, the king looks out from behind his camera; and at the local bank, where the decor is TD green, the king reclines with his wife and children in emerald clothing on a lush summer lawn.

Where bike brakes squeak at painful pitches until they are worn enough to be replaced by the sandpaper sound of shoes dragging on pavement. Where bikers prefer to make their own “beep beep” sounds instead of using bells.

Where the national soundtrack is a fifty-fifty split between Hotel California and Dido, and the national icon is a fifty-fifty split between the bespectacled Thai king and Bob Marley.

Where, in the islands, cut-off jean shorts and lace shirts are the trend of (tourist) girls, and patchwork pastel shorts beckon the boys. And if those won’t do, perhaps the single pair emblazoned with the faces of Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Bob Marley, and Che Guevara (apparently also a rock icon) will.

Where three-year-old boys and girls already play guesthouse receptionist: “hello…yes….400 baht…today full.”

Where tourists love to rent motorbikes. Where, judging by the masses of leg bandages, scrapes and burns, they also tend not to actually know how to ride them.

Where a four square foot power station, with hundreds of tangled lines reaching out like tentacles, houses a bucket bar by night. And buckets (literally beach pails filled with your choice of local spirits, mixer,and “free ice”) cost 4 dollars Canadian.

Where Ko Phi Phi, an impossibly turquoise island paradise, sees its maze of pedestrian alleys swarming with a juxtaposition of bare bikini bods – from the fit and fab, to the midlife midriff – and local men and women dressed head-to-toe in Muslim garb.

Where rat-looking squirrels are kept on leashes, often just feet from you’ve decided to lunch, and songbirds in cages hang like ornaments above every doorstep.

Where people are generally stylish – in a Forever XXI kind of way.

Where the smell of hot garbage and rotting fish juices emanates from forgotten heaps of trash, and from stains on curbs and sidewalks.

here the massive and spiky durian – the king of fruits – is as often banned from buildings for its rotten smell as it is hawked to expectant customers in the street.

Where, in a country that all-but-prohibits ladyboys – transgender men turned women (to various degrees) – from being gainfully employed, the street corners come alive with high-heeled divas caking on the makeup to make a sell, and a living.

Where it’s difficult to find body or face lotion that does not contain a special skin whitening ingredient.

Where, in Bangkok, Tuk Tuk drivers reel in tourists at rates four times the meter taxi. Where, from the backpacker district, flagging down a taxi that will drive you on the meter (instead of on a made up price, again, four times the meter rate) is a fifteen minute commitment.

Where delicious Pad Thai costs a dollar and can be fried up in less than five minutes in a street-cart wok. Where papaya salad, though now rid of the dried shrimps it was made with five years ago, is still the best side dish. (And an eye-opener in the ways of cooking with unripe fruit.)

Where the Angry Birds franchise thrives on T-shirts, towels, and cell phone ornaments. Where at least one little girl was heard singing “Angry Birds day to you!” to the tune of Happy Birthday.

Where every single stall sells tourist shirts (a variety of tank tops) and pants (multi-patterned and rather unflattering pyjama or harem pants, with the crotch of the latter hanging low enough to nearly touch the ground and make the legs look like a pre-evolutionary sack with tiny protruding appendages.) Where every tourist is seen wearing these “Thai” pants, while hardly a Thai person goes near them.

Where the cutest cats in the world reside, meowing at bedroom doors and coming in for a Rabies-free cuddle. And, where once you’ve seen an entire family of them living peacefully in your guesthouse, even rats aren’t so bad.

Where the prices have notably increased in the last five years, and the abundance of foot massage parlors, street restos, expensive beer joints, and car and motor traffic has taken over the once quieter and charming Rambutri road.

Where, to the delight of at least one Calgarian tourist, the Bangkok weekend market is packed with incredible cowboy vintage: plaid shirts, jean shorts and Navajo dresses that could have originated nowhere other than Texas, 1980s.

Where Bangkok's Chao Phraya river, dotted with long water taxis and larger mineral and sand transport barges, weaves between modern skyscrapers, stoic stilt houses, and the crumbling but colourful tenements of Chinatown. Where upscale meets downscale via a network of metros, skytrains, and bright two-toned taxi cabs.

Where live music has taken over Bangkok side streets with hipster locals enjoying crooning guitar duos, jazz-metal, and seven-piece rock bands in small converted cafes.

Where, on Ko Phi Phi, “the liver is evil and must be punished,” and “alcohol won't solve your problems but neither will juice or water.”

Where one particular Muay Thai bar on this same island urges patrons to step into the ring and fight each other for a free bucket of booze, and easy onlooker entertainment. This, however, gets ugly when you see (and hear) the moves some guys and girls are willing to pull out for their buckets.

Where if you're not careful whatever shows you're looking for – be it a drag fashion launch, an arts display, or a cultural soirée – may turn into an unsavoury night at one of the infamous Ping Pong shows (“sure…yes…it's a fashion show…come right in”).

Where the 7-11 franchise is thriving, but cashiers can't understand why you'd want to use a bigger cup for your powdered coffee, even though the smaller cup is half full of powder by the time you're done pouring it in.

Where twenty times three is difficult to multiply and store and hotel owners pull out calculators for even the most basic addition and multiplication.

Where young peasant girls can be sent by their families to seek work as prostitutes so they can will money home. Where all sorts of old and young, good looking and not, white men take advantage.

Where five-motor boats take loads of Chinese tourists to see Maya Bay – Leonardo's famous white sand beach – but where the actual view is so clogged by boats and peace-sign-making, photo-taking tourists that little semblance of a beach, let alone the movie version, remains.

Where specialty Chinese stores offer Bird's Nest and Shark Fin soups, as well as intricate carvings made in two meter long elephant tusks.

Where, if three inch grasshoppers and squirmy white grubs don't appeal for a late night snack, then perhaps roasted black scorpions will.

Where shopping malls have Canadian prices – not that you checked, or cringed when you couldn't afford things.