Bangkok is easy.

If you want it to be. Everyone speaks at least a little English, everything is cheap, anything is available. You can stay in the backpacker neighborhood of Banglamphu and never have to leave: Wander around and eat pineapple or mango or satay on a stick (30 cents), pad thai (45 cents), or a plate of green curry on rice (60 cents) from a street vendor. For a little bit more money, sit down in a restaurant and have Indian, falafel, Korean. Get your hair braided. Hit the open-air bars, filled with hardwood benches and tables and friendly, sunburned people from Europe & Australia. Used books, clothes, CDs, laundry, and massages–they’re all at your fingertips. It’s way easier than living in New York or going to Paris for a vacation. And when you do want to leave for the beach on Koh Samui or for an elephant ride in Pai, all that is arranged for you too.

Yes, it’s antithetical to the spirit of travel as “travail,” a journey filled with peril and discovery and hard-won perspective. The biggest danger in this part of town seems to be getting scammed or being hit by a tuk-tuk or a bus. (I have only seen one pedestrian traffic light in Bangkok so far, and it didn’t work; you just go Frogger-style across the street. ) It is relaxing, escapist, responsibility-free. And, you know, sitting and reading in the courtyard downstairs from my guest house this morning, slightly jetlagged and with no particular place I had to be . . . I had to admit to myself that I could see the appeal.

But don’t get me wrong. I still freaking hate hippies.