I couldn't help but capture a snap of these bright blue cafe chairs at a taverna on the waterfront at Chania, Crete, yesterday. How often have you seen similar images on Greece Tourism television ads, in travel guidebooks, or on postcards? This is one of those quintessential scenes that creators of travel images and architects of representations have reproduced innumerable times in the media to feed our desire for postcard-perfect pictures of those destinations we dream of going to for that ideal vacation. This is how we imagine Greece thanks to clever branding, strategic marketing, unimaginative picture-editing, and our willingness to accept the perpetuation of myths. But, Greece's blue chairs aren't entirely a myth... we've seen them all over, from Santorini to Samos, and today in a small town on the south coast of Crete we saw taverna owners taking advantage of the off-season to paint their chairs - Mediterranean blue! And when you travel in Greece you can't not love the blue chairs. They just make those holiday snaps so pretty. But the reality can sometimes be very different to the perception. Visits to tavernas aren't always the idyllic dining experiences you imagine. There are the annoying touts who try to get you in. The menus in four different languages. The menus with pictures. The 'traditional' Greek menus that feature hamburgers and schnitzel. The poor and disinterested service once they've sat you down. The extras added to the bill (and not the kind we like). And I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. As we wandered by this taverna in Chania yesterday the female owner was making her small son lunch. As soon as she saw us she stood and started to call us in. Her voice was desperate. She was pleading almost. But the place was empty. Locals were heading to the tavernas on either side of hers. Tavernas with plain wooden chairs. I felt sorry for her and wanted to go in. But as a travel writer I knew there was a reason for the lack of local patronage (always the best indicator of where to eat) and it had nothing to do with her seating. A couple of hours later when we strolled by after eating an excellent meal at a nearby restaurant that was crowded with locals we saw that her taverna was closed. Sadly, I regretted not giving it a go. But in the end, it takes more than blue chairs to entice.

So, do you want to come to Thailand? I'm travelling on Sunday for a month of work, writing hotel and restaurant reviews and a spas spread for DK, and stories for magazines. You're welcome to join me on my journey. I'm busy planning the trip now and as tedious as elements of organizing trips can be (I must have planned hundreds of these), it's still a little exciting. Trawling through the Thai tourism websites, hotel sites, online airline schedules, comparing reviews, considering trekking itineraries, and calculating road distances, are all working together to create a sense of anticipation. Already I'm imagining tucking into some spicy Thai food at a table within splashing distance of the sea, climbing endless steps to see a colossal reclining gold Buddha, learning to 'drive' and ride an enormous elephant, and feeling the sand squeak beneath my feet on a pristine white sand beach. Alain de Botton writes in The Art of Travel of the anticipation created from seeing a tourist brochure that: "... displayed a row of palm trees, many of them growing at an angle, on a sandy beach fringed by a turquoise sea, set against a backdrop of hills where I imagined there to be waterfalls and relief from the heat in the shade of sweet-smelling fruit trees." The longing provoked by the brochure is evidence of the power and influence of "simple images of happiness", he writes, "how a lengthy and ruinously expensive journey might be set into motion by nothing more than the sight of a photograph of a palm tree gently reclining in a tropical breeze." de Botton immediately resolved to travel to Barbados. It was there that he explored the anticipation of travel and the actual reality. I'm going to do the same in Thailand. So, do you want to join me?

What is it about those memorable travel moments, like mine with the Moroccan cat, that are so enduring? Is it because it's a moment that could never have been anticipated? No amount of information in the guidebook, on travelocity or in the glossy travel magazines could have prepared me for that unexpected stop at a coffee shop on a cold day in a remote Moroccan town. And yet these chance encounters and those elements of surprise are exactly what we hope for and expect from the experience of travel. We covet serendipitous moments, intoxicating experiences and potent images that we can take home and cherish and unconsciously compress into a compelling narrative. We want travel stories we can tell. Don't we? Did I ever tell you about the time we came across a cute Pekingese on a walk through Beijing? Now, there should have been nothing unexpected about that.