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With a squeal of elderly brakes, the taxi disgorged me jetlagged and perplexed at the open mouth of the tourist trap. Immediately I was beset by more cab drivers, who just wouldn't take the hint that having just got out of one I didn't need another. I was here. Bangkok's notorious Khao Sanh Road. The KSR.

Fenced off to traffic, the neon-clad street pulsated with locals hawking everything from hookey T-shirts to knock-off Rolexes. The smell of a thousand satays and banana pancakes floated from the food stalls, mingling with the sound of disco music booming from bars and restaurants. Soft-featured Thais of indeterminate gender stalked the pavement like cats marking out their territory. And everywhere there were 'travellers' shuffling under the burdens of backpacks and dreadlocks, the final ingredient in The Road's colourful mix. My short-back-and-sides haircut, Timberland walking boots and Top Man shirt were as out of place here as an Old Etonian in Albert Square.

If Bangkok is the hub of South East Asia's notorious backpacker trail, then the Khao Sanh Road is the bolt that fastens it to the axle. No longer supported by the cushion of a London salary, as advised by my guidebook I had ventured here for its promise of budget accommodation. Need a cheap spot to lodge with home comforts like cold beer, hip music and hundreds of fellow Brits but don't want to sell out on your adventurer's credentials? Come to the KSR.

Its problem is too much choice. Countless misspelled handwritten signs and fervent proprietors entice you to investigate one guesthouse after another. Disorientated, bewildered and completely knackered, after an hour of aimless dithering through Bangkok's steaming heat, I settled on Ranee's, a diminutive hostel tucked into an alley backed up against the KSR's main strip.

The convivial South African landlord, 'Roo', escorted me to the cheapest room, a sweltering120 Baht (£2) corrugated iron box not dissimilar to Alec Guinness's punishment cell in The Bridge on the River Kwai. I had clearly overdone it on the budgeting thing. Yet, having recently walked out of my well-paid London job in search of a bolder, more global experience, I had arrived. I was a 'traveller'. Now I just needed a hot shower, a pint of Best and the Ten O'Clock News.

Disappointed on all three counts, I soon considered myself lucky to be within ten paces of the outdoor squat toilet. At least everyone spoke English.

Ranee's adjoining restaurant was frequented by a cosmopolitan clientele. As I settled down with a dish so piquant it made my nose run, I was invited to join a middle-aged couple who exported handicrafts for a Brighton gift shop. Old hands at this game, they were eager to dispense their wisdom. How much, for example, did I pay for my taxi from the airport?

"About 300 Baht [£5]," I announced. "I haggled the driver down from 400."
"Oh dear. We never pay more than 30."
So much for my bartering skills. I clearly had a lot to learn.

Typical of the KSR's easy-going manner, at Ranee's you can help yourself to drinks from the fridge and a watchful waiter will note them on your tab. Departing a few days later I disputed the bill. Surely I couldn't have drunk that much. The South African smiled. Surely I had. Totting up the bill again, I realised he was right. I must have been having fun.

Immortalised in Alex Garland's novel The Beach, the KSR is as vibrant as it is seedy, as atmospheric as it is commercial. It encapsulates everything that is Asia and everything that is not. Every inch of its half-mile stretch is devoted to that formless breed, the 'traveller': not only does it teem with cut-price accommodation, internet cafes, souvenir shops and no-nonsense eateries but its abundance of tour agencies provide countless choices for their next steps.

From Chiang Mai to Saigon, then to Jakarta, Sydney and back, again and again I found myself transiting via the Khao Sanh Road with all its artifice and commercialism. I discovered the New J and Joe's guesthouse, a better class of KSR dive. Four walls, a bed, a fan, a cold shower and a real toilet for just 300 Baht (£5) a night. Luxury.

I settled into the Bangkok routine. Pitch up at the KSR, find a room, get something to eat, go for a drink, meet somebody new. A few you come across have clearly been there for some time. These leathery and wizened permanent residents are one of KSR's many clichés, though nothing to be scared of. Approached with caution and a beer or two, even the most hardened crusties can be a valuable source of travel advice.

Another cliché is the earnest gap-year student. A popular KSR pastime is spotting the difference between the ones just starting out and the ones on their way back. The former, fresh-faced and eager, clutch pristine Lonely Planet guidebooks while having their hair braided in 'traveller' style. The latter slope around with battered, dirty rucksacks and battered, dirty faces.

My last day in Thailand was spent thus, as a seasoned and longer-haired barfly quietly absorbing the fusion of Asian and European cultures in the KSR's melting pot. But just as the evening party cycle commenced, the airport minibus was already sweeping me back towards England and reality. As I glanced behind me I couldn't help feeling a tinge of regret. The Khao Sanh Road is an essential part of the Asia travel experience. Love it or hate it, it's hard to avoid it.

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