Ruminations on peregrinations.

I’ve been in Canada for three days now, and I’ve had time to start processing the past few months. Mum and Rob are in Vegas, so I’ve had the house to myself. I’ve fallen into a slow routine of Youtube yoga, protracted dog walks, and desultory job searches. It hasn’t quite sunk in that this is my life now. I won’t be catching a train in a couple of days to see a new place, meet new people, and try new food. On that note, having facilities to cook again has been a welcome luxury. As has tap water. But whilst it’s true that I’m very comfortable and content, there are a lot of things about Asian life that I’m missing. I never thought I’d get used to the rock-hard beds, or that I’d express a preference for squat toilets over western-style. I never thought I’d fancy dumplings or curry for breakfast, or that I’d miss rice after not eating it for two days. Canada feels aggressively quiet, clean, and peaceful. I walk the dogs past cloned houses and feel uneasy. Everyone is boxed in to geometric regularity, set behind manicured lawns and big shiny cars. There’s too much sky, air, and space, and not enough of the honest, gritty life that I’ve fallen in love with. Cars slow to let me cross the road, the pavements are flat and litter-free, no one tries to get me in a tuk-tuk; it’s easy, but empty.

Just having the dogs and cats to talk to has made me even more grateful for the hundreds of incredible people that I met on my journey. Maybe we trekked to a waterfall, or a lake, or a gorge. Maybe we cycled to see dolphins or royal tombs. Maybe we went to a temple, or the beach, or karaoke. Maybe we just caught a bus, or shared a dorm. I don’t remember all of your names, or even all of your faces, but you are all imprinted on my experience, and had a direct impact on my life, whether we met once for a few hours, or multiple times over a couple of weeks. We probably asked each other where we from, where we had been, and where we were going. Because that was what was important – that’s where we found common ground. I didn’t care where you went to school, or what your parents did, or how much you earned, or how big your house was. We didn’t have any of that. Just our backpacks, and a vague sense of where we wanted to go.

Nothing bad happened to me in seven whole months. I never got robbed, or hospitalised, or had a plane delay, or lost my passport or baggage, and I never felt like I wanted to come home. I learnt a lot of important lessons, despite the absence of any formative mistakes. Some of them were practical, like ‘Always load the Google Map before you leave,’ but my most important lessons were the direct result of the positivity of my experience. I learnt to trust in the kindness of others. I was overwhelmed by the generosity and compassion that I received from strangers, and that’s something that I’ve resolved to adopt in my own life. Before I left I was only ever warned about the dangers of other people – it never occurred to me that most residents of our world are good.

I’ve definitely become more patient – nothing you can do can make a Cambodian bus arrive on time, and with that comes a sense of calm acceptance, positivity, and confidence that everything will be fine. The universe provides; I always met the right person when I needed them, and I never went without something that was necessary. If anything I learnt that there aren’t many things that are necessary – I wished that I’d left my make-up at home, and wasn’t too distraught when I found myself trainer-less. Having less made me happier, and I now have very little desire for material possessions, or even the ownership of a home. Being reunited with my laptop has actually been a bit of a disappointment. I’m now furnished with a method of wasting time.

Because no time was wasted in Asia. A late bus meant longer to have a chat, or sit in the sun, or grab some almonds. An extra day in a town meant another temple, or a new friend. I cannot think of one occasion when I was bored, even on the twenty-two hour bus journey to China. I thought a lot. It was the first time that I’d had leisure to evaluate three years of relentless work, and think about what I’m going to do next. At first that space was scary because it was formless, but over the months my thoughts became more cogent, and I developed some self-understanding.

No, I didn’t find myself. I got lost at least three times a day. I had the opportunity to reinvent myself in every new city, and the variety of my experience demanded a variety of selves, which at times was more confusing than affirming. I thought travel was something that you did, then got out of your system but it doesn’t work like that. I’m already planning the next trip.

Missedmas.

On Christmas Eve I arrived in sweaty Siem Reap (after fulfilling my tradition of watching The Muppet Christmas Carol on the bus) and immediately regretted my choice of hostel. It was nice; clean, shiny, quiet, but a bit too quiet. I peered into the void that was the atmosphere and asked myself, “Where are the people?” Despondent, I wandered around town and got something to eat (a surefire way to elevate my spirits). On my return, I saw two guys sitting outside; Alaskan Maurice and Columbian Oscar. I eagerly thrust my company upon them. We sat outside talking for hours, until it got dark. When it got dark, it stayed dark – the hostel was suffering from a power cut. Brian, the carefree and utterly inept Aussie who owns the place, cheerfully informed us that he had no idea when the power would be back, but that last time this happened, the outage lasted ten days. The utter hopelessness of the situation was hilarious – we likened it to a reality TV show, wherein a group of strangers with ornate personalities were forced into a pressurised situation to see who would crack first. We took everything in our stride, had a couple of beers, and by the time we left for Pub Street the lights were back on – Christmas was un-cancelled. We met up with Manuel, another sassy Columbian, and Andrea, a friendly Swedish girl, and danced into the early hours – it made a change from Midnight Mass.

We got up bright and early on Christmas Day – really early – 4:50, and with three hours of sleep obfuscating our consciousness, piled into a tuk-tuk headed for Angkor Wat. We arrived just as the temple was emerging from the shadows, and watched as the milky dawn spread across the sky, gradually revealing the most famous silhouette in Cambodia. We then explored Ta Prohm, the location used in Tomb Raider. Primordial trees grasped the ancient stone, the roots falling like a web over the rocks, squeezing the temple tightly in an arboreal embrace. The early morning light created a mystical atmosphere, the sound of birds and cicadas the only thing able to penetrate the heavy hush that sat over the site.

We then separated into two groups – Maurice and Andrea went back to the hostel, Oscar and I embarked on the Grand Circuit. We spent the next nine hours flitting from temple to temple, clambering over the uneven stone in thirty two degree heat. I had a disappointing Christmas Dinner of chicken and pineapple, and we eventually crashed mid-afternoon, glad to return to the cool marble of the frosty hostel. I spent the remainder of the day Skyping family, who savoured every detail of their delicious festive preparations, and proudly showed me the gifts they’d received (none of which were from me – sorry guys, I’ll bring you back some tourist tat). It was at this point that I checked my bank account, and for the first time in four months discovered an augmentation rather than a diminishment. I thanked everyone profusely, and zealously began plotting out another month or so of travel. I went to bed pretty early, watching Love Actually as my eyes began to droop. It had been a good day, but I would have given anything to teleport home, just for twenty four hours.

Boxing Day was, conforming with another tradition, recovery day – but on this occasion it was fatigue rather than overeating that was the root of my sloth. I slept late, had a leisurely breakfast with Manuel, and just sat in a comfy chair on the terrace, watching the day pass. In the evening Maurice and I went to see an Apsara show. The gorgeous costumes and enchanting movements transported us to an ancient time. The beautiful women flexed their fingers back in elegant arches, stretched their hyper-extended elbows, and seamlessly transferred their weight as they walked across the stage, to give the impression that they were gliding. The dancers were a reification of the images we’d seen carved in the stone of the temples. Their balance and control was breathtaking, and it was only when the dance was over that our hypnosis was broken.

The following day I cycled back to the temples, accompanied by Justin, an American teaching English in Korea. We made an early start, but were disappointed to find Angkor Wat already groaning under the feet of hoards of tourists. We visited the tranquil faces of Bayon, and the Terrace of Elephants and Leper Kings, but at this point the heat got too much, and we cycled back to town.

It’s been a strange Christmas. This has been the most difficult part of my trip so far, and while I’ve had a good few days and met some fantastic, generous people (thank you), it wasn’t like being at home. I missed the build-up, the anticipation, the excitement, the joy, the gratitude, and the love of Christmas, and while I was able to speak to friends and family, I wasn’t able to feel that magical festive sensation. You never know how much you appreciate these things until they’re absent. This is a lesson learnt – I’m not going to miss another Christmas.

Home is behind, the world ahead.

I’m leaving the UK! I’m currently sat in Gatwick airport, waiting for the omniscient screen to permit me access to my all-important gate number. I’m used to flying by myself, I’ve been doing it since I was fourteen. The difference this time is that I don’t know when I’m coming back. This made packing exceptionally difficult, and I’m sure I’ve made lots of nooby mistakes, like packing too many clothes, and forgetting my passport (lol jokes, bag drop might have been a bit difficult without that), but I’ve done my best, I’ll let time be the judge of my organisational prowess.

The past week has been terrifying and sleepless, as what feels like months of planning is drawing to an inexorable and unavoidable climax. But my anticipation is complicated somewhat by the nature of my first destination. I’m flying to Calgary; somewhere I’ve been fairly frequently, to see my Mum and brother, so the beginning of my venture into the unknown is actually going to be pretty familiar. There’s also the added implication of gaining my Permanent Residency visa – something I’m not intending to ever use or need, and which will be nullified when I fail to spend 730 days of the next five years in Canada. But you never know, I guess. Choice is a wonderful thing.

I may have been a bit misleading; I’m not flying entirely by myself. I’ve got my lucky protective handmade mascot amulet, courtesy of Emily: Marvin the sloth, Marv for short, I guess, which is apt because he will be able to MARVel at all the amazing things I see. He’s pretty creepy, just like a sloth should be, and I’m very glad to have him. Thanks to all my nearest and dearest and furthest and worthiest for all their support and well-wishings for my adventure. If nothing else, this trip has made me feel very loved.

So, fast forward a few hours and I’m sitting in a freezing air cabin, eating some coagulated microwave rice and trying to suppress my sobs whilst watching ‘Saving Mr. Banks’. Nine hours is a pretty long time to have your legs crushed by the anti-soshe in front, (who, coincidentally, had the emergency exit seat, so didn’t need the extra room anyway), so I was pretty glad to land. What I didn’t know was that the next two hours of my life would be consumed by a soul-eroding crawl through security and immigration, accompanied by the prerequisite screaming child, before I could finally get my bag (the lock for which had been broken) and meet my mum.

Now, safely ensconced in her house, and happily introduced to Rob, I’m engaged in a relentless battle, struggling to conquer the exhaustion that’s been accumulating over the past twenty-three hours of my waking. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last.

Back and blue.

I’m back from Poland.

The journey itself was fairly undramatic, apart from when the fuel-gauge stopped working. We had to guess when to fill up – it was kind of like a game of petrol-chicken, that we didn’t want the bike to win.

Whilst we were fortunate with our fuel estimations, our luck with the weather had finally run out. Up until this point, I hadn’t really minded if it rained while we were riding. We had waterproofs on over our leathers, and the only real consequence was that we couldn’t go as fast. Today, however, as we reached Belgium, the overcast sky released its dismal contents. And it didn’t stop. A dull film of rain covered the road, spraying up the bike as we sped along. The flat horizon was obscured by a grey mist, the silhouettes of wind-turbines providing the only respite in the grey monotony.

To their credit, my waterproofs did their job. The only issue was my leather gloves. Leather isn’t waterproof. I could feel the rain seeping into the material, my hands getting damp and clammy as I clung on to the bike. As we reached Calais, the sun emerged. I gratefully took off my soggy gloves, only to find blue hands. I guess now I look like a hardened roughy toughy biker (which is exactly what I am). Or maybe I just look like I have some kind of mild skin discolouration.

Overall it’s been an awesome trip. It was great to spend time with my Grandad in such a beautiful country, and to meet so many of the friends that he’s made there. I’m sure I’ll be back one day. But regrettably, it’s unlikely that it’ll be on the back of his motorbike. I think we’ll take a plane next time.