Fado, Festival, Farewell.

The overcast sky wasn’t quite enough to keep us from our habitual cultural exploits. We had lunch in a snug ‘Tibetan’ restaurant before visiting the Museu Nacional de História Natural e da Ciência. Our disappointment at the closure of the Botanical Gardens (for the purposes of renovation) was quickly subsumed by our surprise at the variety of the science museum. We gawped at huge blocks of crystal, meandered through the history of the universe, and were unsettled by the (un)convincing taxidermy of lynx, bears and wolverines. However, the best part was the interactive experiments in which we could participate. We were bemused by the suspension of a beach ball in a jet of air, incredulous at the demonstration of centripetal force, and utterly befuddled as to why Mariana is a much stronger conductor of electricity than myself. At 17:00 we were gruffly told by the security guard that the Museum was closing, and after failing to come up with a plan for evading him and seeing more of the museum, we decided that it was probably best to leave.

We walked back to the centre of the city along the leafy Avenida da Liberdade, and wound our way up to the castle. The terracotta roofs of the city tesselated like the scales of an enormous serpent, crouching by the Rio Tejo to quench it’s thirst. We navigated the battlements, grateful for the cool breeze that our vantage point afforded us, and watched as the sun began to dip behind the bridge. We then followed the cobbled streets into the Alfama, and chose a restaurant in which the spend the evening.

The restaurant we chose was empty, which is usually something I try to avoid, but the cracked white tiles were clean, and the fire in the open kitchen was crackling contentedly. We had just taken our first sip of wine, when the lights dimmed, and a shimmering fadista in a black shawl appeared in the middle of the floor. Slowly she began to sing, the melancholy of her soul erupting from the depths of her powerful frame. Her voice engulfed us, the room, the street, filling every particle of the space. The twanging melody of the guitars took feverish steps, moving contrapuntally across unresolved minor chords that hung heavily in the air like velvet. As the fadista began to build to a yearning crescendo, I felt the vibration of her voice in my chest, the hairs on my arms prickle, and three salty tears coat my eyelashes. And then, abruptly, in a superficial perfect cadence, the ballad was over. The lights came up, and I saw that imperceptibly the restaurant had filled; hypnotised patrons sat at every table, forgetting their fish and wine. We spent almost three hours in this trance, before floating back to the apartment with the swell of the fadista’s laments echoing in our ears.

The next day was spent mostly in the apartment; it was our aim to conserve as much energy as possible for our nocturnal exploits. As the sun dipped we took the metro, and then a second train to Algés. We were swallowed by a tide of people moving towards a huge multicoloured archway, and were greeted by the groans of distorted guitars and the raspy slur of a cover band. We were swept along into a tarmacked plaza, bordered by the flashing lights of various sponsors and food stalls. Just as we arrived, ghostly riffs announced the arrival of Alt-J. We swooned to the ephemeral melodies and were captivated by the psychedelic detachment of  ghostly voices. When the set finished, we did a circuit of the park before settling in to watch Royal Blood, The XX and The Weeknd. We also had time to try out a flight simulator, which involved being strapped to a frame and navigating through hoops on a virtual reality headset, using our core strength to tilt our bodies left and right. Much to Mariana’s chagrin I seemed to get the knack of it quite quickly, securing third place on the leaderboard. In the early hours we made our way back home.

On Friday morning I received the results for exams that I had been sure would render me jobless, homeless and destitute. None of these things happened, so we celebrated by going to the beach. We took the train to Cascais and followed the gentle trickle of people heading towards the sea. We dutifully set up camp and prepared to plunge in to the cool blue water. Unfortunately, the blue water was a bit too cool, so instead we read our books, listening to the inconsequential chatter of children as they played in the sand. After a couple of hours we remembered that neither of us like the beach very much, so we went to get an ice cream. We then followed the jagged coastline to the Boca do Inferno; a small cave in the dark cliff face. Moody clouds swept across the horizon, framing a distant lighthouse. The waves sparkled as the sun dropped, whispering secrets to the cawing gulls. We then turned back towards the town, and had dinner in a tiny restaurant that clung precariously to the rock. Pastel strokes of grey and blue swept across the horizon, slowly dimming until the bright eye of the lighthouse began to blink in to consciousness. We finished our meal and took the train home, leaving a trail of sand behind us.

We spent our final day in Lisbon cleaning the flat and packing our bags. After our final meal in a small restaurant full of locals, we sauntered down to Nos Alive to listen to Kodaline, Cage the Elephant, Fleet Foxes and Imagine Dragons. We lay on the fake grass entirely consumed by gratitude for our friendship, and started to make plans for our next trip.

My time in Portugal was intense, immersive, and unforgettable. I valued every second of spending time with a close friend, and being able to fleetingly forget the vagaries of adult life. Mariana helps me see causality in everything I do, feel, and am, and after spending some time in that mindset, I’m leaving Lisbon with a sense of power over my own destiny, and a subversive determination to live as the person I want to be. Every time I see Mariana she manages to teach me more French, make me laugh until I cry, and restore me back to my true self, and for all of these reasons she’ll be a friend for life.

Ne me quitte pas.

We got up at 7:00, and were met by our first minibus forty minutes later. We caught two spluttering ferries and eventually made it to the mainland. When we arrived in Krabi we were told to change minibus, but we had an hour before our next one would arrive. We grabbed a saccharine bubble tea, and then settled into our second bus. The journey lasted about five minutes – the minibus had just taken us to another bus station, where we were told that we needed to take a big bus, but again, it wouldn’t be there for another hour. It was at this point that Mariana began to understand the vagaries of Asian bus rides. I never expect a bus to be on time, and I always expect to arrive about three hours later than the time specified – I’m rarely disappointed, but occasionally pleasantly surprised – my cynicism is self-preserving, and helps to keep me patient. And sane. The big bus arrived, and drove us towards Surat Thani. It then stopped at a random point on a motorway, and a third minibus drove us into the city. At this point it was 16:00. We thought we’d have time to see a bit of the town, but alas, it wasn’t to be. By a blinding stroke of luck we stumbled upon the airport shuttle bus, and made the forty-five minute journey without any problems. Our flight departed, and arrived, and after a further taxi ride into a very residential area of Bangkok, we arrived at our destination, fifteen hours after setting off. Sometimes there are days when it takes a long time to get somewhere.

In light of the horrifically drawn out and boring day of travel that preceded it, we decided to squeeze every last drop out of Mariana’s last day in Bangkok. We got up and took the Skytrain into Siam; the pulsing heart of Bangkok’s shopping scene. Hemmed in by malls, we gaped at the impossibly expensive luxury brands at Paragon, and laughed at the naff crap on sale at MBK. To its credit, however, MBK does have an exceptional foodhall, where we made up for our missed breakfast with a huge plate of vegetable curry.

We then caught the Skytrain to Thonburi, where we believed there would be some floating markets. No such markets appeared to exist, and we didn’t fancy paying an extortionate price to see ‘five or six’ boats that made up the weekday contingent. Instead we made the decision to walk to Wat Arun. Mariana and I both enjoy walking, so initially this seemed like a brilliant idea. About forty minutes later, the stifling humidity and burning heat lead us to reevaluate our choice. We were determined, however, and pressed on until we were resting in the shade of the temple. We admired the kooky mosaic of the prang, which was being painstakingly rennovated, then took the ferry across the river and caught a tuk-tuk to the Golden Mount. The view was stunning, and despite the blare of traffic below, the deep chanting of the monks created an oasis of calm in the middle of a city that never stops.

As New Year was approaching, we decided to walk to Chinatown. It didn’t take nearly as long as our first attempt, and if anything the bustling streets were even busier, as people bought food and red envelopes for the celebration. We were jostled down Yaowarat, and caught another tuk-tuk, which, on account of the traffic, only succeeded in taking us most of the way to the Sirocco Sky Bar.

We nervously entered the towering complex, conscious of our sticky dresses and makeup-free faces. Regardless of this, we were relieved of our backpacks and were put in a lift which zoomed up to the 64th floor. We stepped out onto the deck, and the city sprawled out before us. We were dumbstruck. The twinkling lights were serene and peaceful, the noise of the city deadened by the sheets of wind, which blew away the humidity that had plagued us all day. We ordered horrendously expensive cocktails (maybe they hiked the prices up after The Hangover 2), and then gazed at the city that we’d only just begun to understand. It was a perfect way to end our time together, and I don’t think it’s something either of us will ever forget.

We reluctantly descended back into the grime of the city, caught the Skytrain back to our hotel, and parted ways, Mariana bound for the airport, myself bound for another hostel.

Mariana and I are perfect travel buddies. Ever since we met five years ago, in a musty school hall ready for our first language exchange, we’ve known that we’re effectively the same person. My excitement at seeing her at the airport, bearing gifts of cheese (what else would a Swiss person bring) and unquenchable enthusiasm, refused to wane for the entire time we spent together. Our mp3 players are interchangeable, our thoughts and opinions run parallel, and our tastebuds find very little to disagree on (the exceptions being mushrooms and olives, which is only advantageous to me). It’s going to be strange to readjust to being alone again. We definitely didn’t have enough time. But fortunately, I don’t think this will be the last occasion on which we travel together. We’re already planning the next trip.

That time we got nine piercings.

We arrived at Krabi and walked in the sweltering heat to our hostel. We dropped our bags then did a circuit of the town, which isn’t very big. We found ourselves in a night-market, where Mariana involuntarily doubled her wardrobe. I bought a revolting tie-dye number (that awkward moment when it stops being ironic), and then we returned to the hostel to Skype those left behind.

The following morning we were driven to the pier, where we caught a boat to Ko Phi Phi. We were at the back of the line, so were forced to sit on the bottom deck with the rumbling engine, but it meant that we were first to disembark. We found our guesthouse and then grabbed some lunch, trying to believe that the paradise in which we found ourselves was real.

We thought that this would be a fantastic time to get some piercings. I’ve been thinking about it for a while – I’ve had one in each ear since I was five, and thought it was about time to get something more interesting. Mariana wanted some more too, so we made the decision one evening to get them together. On our third attempt we found a tattoo parlour which also did piercings. I’m not scared of needles – I give blood at home, so I went first in order for Mariana to make an informed decision about the level of pain involved. I watched as Che carefully sterilised the equipment, and snapped on some fresh surgical gloves. He put a clamp on my right ear lobe, and after a brief shot of pain, it was done. He then repeated the process four times on my left ear. I happily preened in front of the mirror, indulging my vanity. Then it was Mariana’s turn. Her face was white, her eyes were wide. She had the first two in quick succession, then after a little hesitation had the third in her cartilage. It looked great, and we left the parlour very content with the results, trying not to brush against our tender ears.

Dear family,
Some of you might not be too happy with this life decision, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s partly aesthetic, and partly a preventative measure, so I don’t become too boring and corporate when I start working in tax. I hope you understand, and if not, I’ll just hide them when I come and visit.

Kind Regards,
K.

In the afternoon we walked over to Long Beach. I couldn’t have been happier, bobbing in the turquoise water. We then trekked (the hard way) up to the Viewpoint, and watched the sun set behind some mountains. We returned to the hostel, showered, and made ourselves beautiful before heading out. We went to Hippies Bar, where a skinny Thai guy with a long moustache was playing beautifully unique covers. Just after we finished eating, the fire show started. We watched in awe as three guys writhed across the stage with lighted batons and numchucks, tossing them in the air and creating elegant shapes with the flame. The deafening soundtrack (comprising solely of Linking Park) added to the drama, and covered up those frequent moments when a baton was dropped. We were disappointed when the show was over, but to make up for it we headed over to the other side of the island, to check out the clubs on the beach. We had only had a mojito each, but Mariana is one of the few people I know who, like me, doesn’t need alcohol to dance. We chose a club, then wildly flailed about, dancing like no one was watching. Well, if you could call it dancing. We leaped around, throwing in a few slow motion interpretive moves and yoga poses for variety. Despite our best efforts, our efforts to repulse grubby men were unsuccessful. We were continually interrupted, to be asked where we were from, after which the men would stand there awkwardly as we continued to boogie. After a couple of hours the interruptions became annoying, so we went back to the hostel.

We slept late the next morning, for a change. We went back to Che and I got another piercing (which explains the extra one in the photo – that’s the last one, I promise), before heading to the beach with two dreadlocked Thai guys we met there. We hung out for two hours, then Mariana and I came back into town for our cooking class. It was my fourth class, but Thai food is so delicious that I was just as excited as Mariana to see how to make it. We spent the next three hours learning how to balance flavours, frying in the heat, and sharing our creations.

Mariana got her exam results (she smashed them), so we celebrated by going to a bar and watching drunk guys beat each other up in a Muay Thai boxing ring. What could be more appropriate?

One night in Bangkok and the world is our oyster.

We spent more than one night in the capital, but that’s not how the song goes. We got up at 08:00, which was pretty impressive considering our journeys the day before; Mariana slept for one hour in the previous thirty-eight. The sun was already beating down, and it felt utterly ludicrous to know that the hat, scarf and gloves that have been saving me from frostbite for the past two weeks are now redundant. We followed the line of the river, passing countless wats with their cool white walls and flaming gold roofs, and squeezed through a market selling small metal amulets and buddhas, inching between elderly monks who peered over their glasses at the intricate craftsmanship. We then joined the hoards of tourist groups visiting the Grand Palace, but were put off by the price. Instead, we walked around the back of the grounds to Wat Pho, which houses a forty-six metre reclining Buddha, and is the oldest wat in the country.

We then made our way up to Wat Mahahat, to do a bit of casual meditation. If any of you have ever tried to sit perfectly still for a prolonged amount of time, you’ll know that it’s one of the most painful things imaginable. We started the session with some mindful walking, before sitting in half-lotus until we lost the feeling in our legs. We repeated these exercises with the monk leading the session for three hours, and somewhere in the depths of my discomfort, I found a brief stillness.

We quickly eradicated the effects of our serene self-awareness by delving into the chaos of Chinatown. After a few misguided attempts we found the neon lights and the steaming street stalls. We grabbed some food, then took a tuk-tuk back to the hostel, exhausted after our exertions.

The following morning we checked out and caught the local bus to the bus station. It took ages, partly because we had to wait for three trains to pass at a hugely impractical crossing. We arrived, and fifteen minutes later we were sat in a minivan on the way to Ayutthaya. We arrived just over an hour later, and walked in the sweltering heat to the hotel. We had to book a private room because there were no dorms available, but this wasn’t a problem now that I’m no longer a solo traveller. Our room wasn’t ready, so we hired some bikes and went to see the temples. They were similar to those at Angkor Wat, but refreshingly there weren’t many tourists; the sites were steeped in an atmosphere that was more calm, serene and reflective. We saw the famous Buddha head which is mysteriously trapped in a tree trunk, and wandered past the various chedis and walls which have fallen into disrepair.

We got some lunch at a random shed, and then cycled down to the river and chartered a boat. We circled around the whole island, past huge lizards that leered at us as they gnawed on fresh fish. We passed beautiful houses and more wats, and were surprised to find that we were one of the only boats on the water – perhaps that’s why the locals were so happy to see us, young and old alike waving as they saw the boat approach. We disembarked and then cycled over to the ‘floating market’, which is really just a load of tourist shops set on a wooden walkway around a lake. It was a little disappointing, but maybe we’ll get a chance to see the one in Bangkok. By this point it was getting dark. We returned our bikes, had some dinner, before planning our next move.

We’ve been ridiculously busy since we arrived in Thailand. Mariana and I are very similar in that we want to do everything, but I think we might be forced to slow down a bit before too long. It’s great to have someone to make decisions with, to laugh at bizzare things with (we cycled past a shop today which dealt solely in statues of cockerels), and to share experiences with. We’re having lot of fun.

A reluctant goodbye and an ecstatic hello.

I spent my last day in Chengdu doing a bit of admin. I posted a box full of tea, textiles, and my China guidebook home, trying to cut down on the weight of my bag and make a bit more room. For more tea. I then walked down to Jinli Street, next to Wuhou Temple, and squeezed through the crowds queuing at the snack stalls to purchase meat on a stick, noodles, and sweet pineapple rice. I got back to the hostel at about 14:00 and embarked on a cookery class with the chef. It was one-on-one, bar the receptionist who acted as translator – Mrs. Wu didn’t speak English. She showed me how to make two local specialties; Gunbao Chicken and Mapo Tofu. Our resulting dishes weren’t too dissimilar, although I did opt to leave out the MSG, making the polite excuse that it’s a bit hard to find in England. I scoffed down my creations, jotted down the recipes while they were still in my head, then reluctantly started to pack my things.

For the second time I’m forcibly prising myself away from China. This visit has done nothing but confirm that at some point in the future, there’ll be a third. I could easily have spent another few weeks here, despite the bitter cold, the shuddering damp, and the heavy clouds. Yunnan and Sichuan were just as beautiful as promised, and it was worth coming back just to visit Tiger Leaping Gorge – which I highly recommend to anyone who finds themself in this part of the world. This time around, the little things that made my first visit mildly uncomfortable, or slightly inconvenient, were absent; at least to my consciousness. Spitting doesn’t make me flinch, I don’t groan when I’m confronted with a squat toilet, I happily point at a menu with no idea what I’m ordering, I don’t get disgruntled when a little old man elbows into me – if anything, lack of personal space is quite liberating; I’m not constantly apologising to every rock or table leg I bash in to. I enjoy my linguistic ignorance, and have found myself subconsciously learning much more vocabulary than was necessary in the other countries I’ve visited. Once again I’ve been the recipient of exaggerated generosity, and have met some fantastic people – one of the key reasons why I came back. Before this visit, my relationship with China was love-hate, but I’m now firmly reconciled to the fact that this has been my favourite country so far.

I got up at 06:30 after a night bereft of sleep: one of my dorm mates had an unfortunate bout of food poisoning, and my poor earplugs couldn’t stifle his violent retches. I caught the shuttle bus to the airport, and sailed through security, ready to take my first flight in three months. Interesting fact; my past four flights have all originated in China. It will be five as of this evening. I landed in Guangzhou on time, and was met by an electric buggy which soundlessly zoomed me down to the international departures terminal. I haven’t been in such a contraption since I was an unaccompanied minor visiting Canada for the first time, and I felt a childish grin sprawl across my face as we hurtled towards our destination. I recognised the security area, made my way through, and with a heavy heart got stamped out of the country. By some fluke I found myself waiting at the same gate where I met my flight to Hanoi. I boarded.

In what felt like minutes later (I guess everything feels short after a twenty-two hour bus journey), I arrived in Bangkok. I was met by a sea of western faces as I passed through security and waited anxiously for my bag. Fortunately, she’d followed me from Chengdu and we were blissfully reunited. I then came out of the arrivals hall, sat on my backpack, and waited. After an hour or so, a familiar face, framed by henna-dyed hair and plastered with a broad grin bobbed through the crowd. I gave Mariana a huge hug. We’ve been friends for over five years, ever since we met through a language exchange at college. She’d flown from Geneva to meet me in Bangkok. For the time being, I have a travel companion.

We caught a taxi to the hostel, dropped our bags and grabbed some pad thai. The main source of excitement was a cockroach crawling up my back as I was nibbling on a prawn. We then wandered down Koh San Road, mildly horrified by the wall of tourists, blaring music and dazzling lights. We turned off to a quieter street, walked back to the hostel, and slumped after our respective long days.

A friendly face.

A two-hour bus ride and a discombobulated taxi driver finally managed to bring me to Nantong, and Hannah – a friend from university who’s teaching Economics here for the next year. The relief and elation at seeing a friendly face, after three-and-a-half weeks of solitary wandering, smothered me like a chocolate fountain smothers a strawberry. We spent a blissful (and expertly-prescribed) evening with her friend Huyen, eating fajitas and drinking wine, curled up on the sofa watching ‘The Apprentice’, with the added indulgence of Lindt chocolate.

Refreshed after a night in my own room, in a double bed that didn’t have someone else sleeping below or above it, we spent a wonderfully lazy morning basking on Hannah’s sundrenched balcony, initiated by a decadent breakfast of bacon and egg sandwiches. In the afternoon we explored Nantong, visiting the museum (which has a bizarre exhibition on whales) and sitting in a beautiful park next to the moat that encircles the old centre of the city.

In the evening Hannah had been invited to dinner by the parents of one of her students (Martin), along with some other teachers from the school. In an unexpected turn of events, the invite was extended to me, so after two taxi rides (the first of which was as unsuccessful as my attempt to get to Hannah’s appartment) we found the restaurant, and were ushered into a private room on the fifth floor. Wearing our politest smiles, we sat down around the vast circular table that dominated the room. When the other guests arrived, Nick (a friend of Martin’s father) translated a series of generous sentiments on behalf of our hosts, and the meal began. Dishes were brought out heaped with pork, beef, fish, vegetables, dumplings, salad, nuts, soup and uncountable other unknowns. In addition, we were each presented with a hairy crab (a delicacy I had determined to forgo after my previous experience, but under the circumstances I was forced to rescind my intention). As the hours passed by, more and more food was forced upon us (the grand total of crabs went up to three – not that I finished them), and feeling uncomfortably bloated, we graciously thanked our host but professed the utter impossibility of consuming more. By this point, the proceedings had become rather raucous, courtesy of the freely pouring báijiǔ and the frequent calls of “gānbēi” (down it). Nick’s translations became more slurred and circuitous, and we ended up supporting him in the group photo that concluded the banquet.

The night was still young (the meal having started at 18:00) so some of the younger attendees decided to go out. We descended into the aptly named ‘Void’ bar – a sticky, smoky room blasting out nineties hip-hop to a sea of snapbacks. Slightly bemused, and apprehensive of the drinks that appeared out of nowhere, we played dice, jigged around a bit, and then admitted defeat, heading home when we could do so without causing offence.

It was so great to visit Hannah. I appreciated not having to worry about where my stuff was all the time, having my own room, eating a Western breakfast, and, most importantly, having a friend to talk to. I’m so proud of the bravery and enthusiasm with which she’s thrown herself into life here – she already has so many friends, and her Chinese is amazing considering how few lessons she’s had! I know she’s going to have an incredible year, and I’m so grateful to have witnessed a small part of it.