“This way for drinking!” A rousing cheer went up from the surrounding seats of our hire coach. Nomadic Matt led the party stumbling down the steps as we landed, one by one, in the pools of light that fell onto Porto’s main square. Behind him, Budget Traveller, Vicki Flipflop and The Time Travelling Turtle rallied the stragglers, pointing out the direction of our chosen bar. Me and The Blonde Abroad crossed the street, catching up with Heather’s Harmony. Beside us,…
Blogger Relay: My Top Three Travel Experiences
Posted on September 3, 2012The last six months have been rather eye opening for me. I’ve gone from blogging to an audience consisting mainly of my friends, to blogging with a growing awareness that a lot of people I’ve never met could (and hopefully do) read what I write. I’ve gleaned most of this awareness from Twitter, where I’ve realised that a whole network of bloggers are busy writing guest posts, promoting each other’s blogs, and generally being all kind and supportive. Who would’ve thought?…
“Volete più vino da bere?” The man with the wine gestured to my glass. I looked up. Blearily. “He wants to know why we aren’t drinking,” my friend said, half-heartedly, from across the table. Seeing as the man was also her uncle, she was automatically on translation duty. She didn’t exactly seem keen on the job. I surveyed the two bottles of wine that stood before me. From my slightly slumped position, sliding half way down the leather-backed chair, they…
Capture The Colour
Posted on August 28, 2012If you’ve ever been anywhere with me, whether its all the way to India or just on a night out in Norwich, you’ll know I normally have a camera somewhere on my person. It’s a trait I’ve successfully inherited from my mother, a woman who filled boxes with undeveloped camera films while she was waiting to get her year old ones back from the chemist. It’s not like I’m a wonderful photographer or anything, but I really like trying to capture…
I’ve been back at home in London for almost two weeks now. It’s been a definite shock to the system: after six months and fifty different beds, I’m back on my comfortable but creaky single mattress at my dad’s house, which, despite the welcome addition of my cat, just isn’t the same as the Asian guesthouses I’ve been used to. I feel a bit empty, and constantly confused; instead of filling a backpack with passport, camera and suncream, it’s suddenly…
A Dramatic Day in BKK Airport: Can You Transit Through India Without A Visa?
Posted on August 13, 2012Those of you who’ve read my blog for a while may have been slightly disappointed at the lack of weird adventures of late. I’m sorry, guys – I’ve been trying, honest! Truth be told, I was a bit bummed that the end of my travels were fast approaching and nothing celebrity-like or wedding shaped had appeared to provide me with one last travelling hurrah. I had such a good record, after all.. But as luck (or fate) would have it, I…
Eyes bright. Fingers tensed. Adrenaline surging through a myriad of veins. “NO! Go away! Get out of here!” I swung my bag violently in mid air, my breathing thick and fast, squinting through the drizzling rain. It was 6.30am. The streets of Pai had only just seen the dawn. And I was locked in a face off with a pack of very angry dogs. But ask me how I got myself there, and I really wouldn’t know what to tell…
“Look at your legs!” The impeccably dressed Thai woman looked up at me with sheer incredulity. She had her hand up my trousers, which were pretty damp around the cuffs. Cheers, rain. Outside, the bedraggled tourists shuffled past in flip flops and oversized see-through plastic poncho macs, slowly getting soaked by the downpour. The Chiang Mai touts were doing in a roaring trade in umbrellas and waterproofs, and I’d decided that today was a perfect time to get my legs…
One day, we go to visit Grandma. Grandma is 98, small as a child, and sits on a woven daybed covered by a tin roof, knees pulled up to her chest. She is Nong’s mother’s mother; a farmer her whole life, who raised seven daughters in this village. I realise how easy it is for Nong to point out so many of her neighbours and call them ‘cousin’. Grandma’s eyes are bad: she thinks we’re Chinese because of our pale…
Mama is watching the hole for red ants, chewing on a lump of betel nut. She bends down to try a lift a log, buried upright, deep in the ground. She is 67, worn to the colour of mahogany, and the log, only 17 years her junior, used to be a buffalo’s yoke. She and Papa worked the rice fields with water buffalo forty years back; half of their old equipment is still scattered around the Thai village farm at…