Tuesday 1 February 2011
Catch The Wind: Reality. Number 1.
Catch The Wind: Reality. Number 1.: "R walked past me in the street tonight. I had felt this overwhelming sensation all day that I was definitely going to meet him. Sure enoug..."
Reality. Number 1.
R walked past me in the street tonight.
I had felt this overwhelming sensation all day that I was definitely going to meet him. Sure enough, there I was standing at a bus stop with my friend, J, and I caught a glimpse of him breezing past. I called to him and he chatted to us until our bus came, never once breaking that friendly barrier that kills me.
I don't know what's wrong with me. It wasn't so long ago that I was so crazily, insanely in love with B that I was planning to secretly marry him, and then all of a sudden, completely out of the blue, R comes along and ruins everything. Of course B doesn't know that R's ruining everything. B just sees me falling out of love with him and asks me why, and tries anything he can to try and keep me with him. He kisses me the exact same way that he always did, so why then do I want my hand to be on the back of R's neck, and not his?
Truthfully, the whole 'R' thing started as a means of detracting from a very boring life. I had just come back from an amazing trip where every day had meant a new city, a new beach, new people. I had collapsed into the same job. The funny thing about travelling is this: the people that you leave behind tell you that they can't wait until you're back so they can hear all your amazing stories. You begin to tell them and they are interested for about five minutes. Why is that? Is it jealousy? Or are they genuinely not interested?
When I arrived back to work with a suntan and a new tattoo, nobody wanted to hear about my trip. They wanted to tell me about new shoes that they had bought and more importantly, had I met the new boy yet?
The new boy was everything that I loathed in a man: arrogant, overly self-assured, vain, supercilious, critical, shallow. And then he asked me where I had been, and what it was like. Suddenly, during that one conversation about my trip, I could see right through him. He was kind, but he had been hurt in the past. Most likely by a girl. Isn't it always by a girl? The arrogance masked an obvious insecurity and I wondered how I hadn't picked up on it instantly as it now resonated in everything that he said. He was very good looking. Just my type: a little rough around the edges.
But back then I saw him as a reason to put on some lipstick before I went to work. I certainly wouldn't say that I fell for him right away. I saw him as a friend, and a confidante. He seemed like the right person to talk to about my relationship with B. My perfect, flawless relationship with B. I can exactly pinpoint the moment where my relationship fell apart: "where have you been travelling?" This was the moment I began to sabotage things, to pretend that things were going wrong just so that R might have thought he had a chance.
Meeting R on the street tonight was actually very sad. He walked away, smoking a cigarette and waving. My heart was pounding and I was holding back from telling him exactly what I wanted to which was that those two clumsy nights in august hadn't been a mistake, and that I would do anything to hear him say it. "Ok" he said, taking a long draw of his cigarette, his second in five minutes, "see you monday".
I had felt this overwhelming sensation all day that I was definitely going to meet him. Sure enough, there I was standing at a bus stop with my friend, J, and I caught a glimpse of him breezing past. I called to him and he chatted to us until our bus came, never once breaking that friendly barrier that kills me.
I don't know what's wrong with me. It wasn't so long ago that I was so crazily, insanely in love with B that I was planning to secretly marry him, and then all of a sudden, completely out of the blue, R comes along and ruins everything. Of course B doesn't know that R's ruining everything. B just sees me falling out of love with him and asks me why, and tries anything he can to try and keep me with him. He kisses me the exact same way that he always did, so why then do I want my hand to be on the back of R's neck, and not his?
Truthfully, the whole 'R' thing started as a means of detracting from a very boring life. I had just come back from an amazing trip where every day had meant a new city, a new beach, new people. I had collapsed into the same job. The funny thing about travelling is this: the people that you leave behind tell you that they can't wait until you're back so they can hear all your amazing stories. You begin to tell them and they are interested for about five minutes. Why is that? Is it jealousy? Or are they genuinely not interested?
When I arrived back to work with a suntan and a new tattoo, nobody wanted to hear about my trip. They wanted to tell me about new shoes that they had bought and more importantly, had I met the new boy yet?
The new boy was everything that I loathed in a man: arrogant, overly self-assured, vain, supercilious, critical, shallow. And then he asked me where I had been, and what it was like. Suddenly, during that one conversation about my trip, I could see right through him. He was kind, but he had been hurt in the past. Most likely by a girl. Isn't it always by a girl? The arrogance masked an obvious insecurity and I wondered how I hadn't picked up on it instantly as it now resonated in everything that he said. He was very good looking. Just my type: a little rough around the edges.
But back then I saw him as a reason to put on some lipstick before I went to work. I certainly wouldn't say that I fell for him right away. I saw him as a friend, and a confidante. He seemed like the right person to talk to about my relationship with B. My perfect, flawless relationship with B. I can exactly pinpoint the moment where my relationship fell apart: "where have you been travelling?" This was the moment I began to sabotage things, to pretend that things were going wrong just so that R might have thought he had a chance.
Meeting R on the street tonight was actually very sad. He walked away, smoking a cigarette and waving. My heart was pounding and I was holding back from telling him exactly what I wanted to which was that those two clumsy nights in august hadn't been a mistake, and that I would do anything to hear him say it. "Ok" he said, taking a long draw of his cigarette, his second in five minutes, "see you monday".
Koh Tao, Thailand. June 2009.
I can't believe that I'm here again.
When I left Koh Tao the last time, I made it a promise that I'd be back again and here I am, almost two years later to the day. The journey here was as complicated as I'd remembered: a bus straight from the airport in Bangkok to Hua Lamphong station. Hours spent in Hua Lamphong, buying novelty snacks from the 7/11 and laughing about the monk who had been gifted with a Dunkin Donuts.
This was followed by the famous sleeper train down to Chumphon. The last time I made this journey, the sleeper train resembled something from a 1940s film and we spent the journey drinking cans of Chang with American and Scandinavian tourists. This time round, the sleeper cabin was completely sold out and we were forced to endure an 8hour journey, sitting on highly uncomfortable recliner chairs with an arctic breeze billowing from the incessant air con. We sauntered, like zombies, onto the speedboat to take us to our final destination. The company had swapped 'Cliff Richard in concert' for a new (very new. Too new. Definitely counterfeit) Woody Allen film. Concentrating was made difficult by the waves that were englufing the speedboat every two seconds, inclining me to chant 'Hail Mary's over and over in my head.
And then that was it. Koh Tao.
A long time ago, when everyone was doing it, I read 'The Beach'. It is an excellent book and one that I would recommend to anyone who would label themselves a "backpacker". And to those who wouldn't. Koh Tao is mentioned in the book. Richard, the protagonist, is told that Koh Phangan is no longer the untouched paradise that all backpackers seek, and that Koh Tao, a small island just 45km away by boat, is the holy grail. 'The Beach' was written in 1996. When I made my first journey there in 2007, things were still relatively quiet. Yes, the beach was lined with bungalows and bars and restaurants, but Tao was practically deserted compared to its neighbours to the south, Phangan and Samui.
It's amazing what can happen in two years. Koh Tao is no longer a backpacking secret. That much became glaringly obvious as soon as I dumped my bags in my beach hut. I stayed in the exact same place that I had stayed in the last time...except that it was 300baht more expensive and there was now a giant, cement building where the little cafe used to be. The beach was littered with tourists (albeit still backpackers. Koh Tao certainly doesn't attract that many families...yet) and...well, litter.
Or maybe it's me that's changed. Maybe I'm seeing it with jaded eyes. Maybe the fact that I'm here with B rather than my friends is what has made the difference. I sat down for dinner tonight at a local restaurant overlooking the sea. (the food, of course, was unbelievable! No restaurant anywhere else in the world can replicate the flavours of a good Thai red curry) A man (older, maybe early thirties?) was sitting himself, snapping away at the landscape with an SLR. He gradually started to make conversation with B and I, and we invited him to join us. He had worked as a businessman all his life: earned his wage, bought nice things and repeat. And then one day he gave it all up and went travelling. He described his journey to me with all the enthusiasm I felt the first time I arrived in a place this foreign, and then it all came back.
I suppose that you can pretend you've done it all and seen it all, but backpacking is like a disease. It stays with you. It never goes away. Even when you're in reality.
x
When I left Koh Tao the last time, I made it a promise that I'd be back again and here I am, almost two years later to the day. The journey here was as complicated as I'd remembered: a bus straight from the airport in Bangkok to Hua Lamphong station. Hours spent in Hua Lamphong, buying novelty snacks from the 7/11 and laughing about the monk who had been gifted with a Dunkin Donuts.
This was followed by the famous sleeper train down to Chumphon. The last time I made this journey, the sleeper train resembled something from a 1940s film and we spent the journey drinking cans of Chang with American and Scandinavian tourists. This time round, the sleeper cabin was completely sold out and we were forced to endure an 8hour journey, sitting on highly uncomfortable recliner chairs with an arctic breeze billowing from the incessant air con. We sauntered, like zombies, onto the speedboat to take us to our final destination. The company had swapped 'Cliff Richard in concert' for a new (very new. Too new. Definitely counterfeit) Woody Allen film. Concentrating was made difficult by the waves that were englufing the speedboat every two seconds, inclining me to chant 'Hail Mary's over and over in my head.
And then that was it. Koh Tao.
A long time ago, when everyone was doing it, I read 'The Beach'. It is an excellent book and one that I would recommend to anyone who would label themselves a "backpacker". And to those who wouldn't. Koh Tao is mentioned in the book. Richard, the protagonist, is told that Koh Phangan is no longer the untouched paradise that all backpackers seek, and that Koh Tao, a small island just 45km away by boat, is the holy grail. 'The Beach' was written in 1996. When I made my first journey there in 2007, things were still relatively quiet. Yes, the beach was lined with bungalows and bars and restaurants, but Tao was practically deserted compared to its neighbours to the south, Phangan and Samui.
It's amazing what can happen in two years. Koh Tao is no longer a backpacking secret. That much became glaringly obvious as soon as I dumped my bags in my beach hut. I stayed in the exact same place that I had stayed in the last time...except that it was 300baht more expensive and there was now a giant, cement building where the little cafe used to be. The beach was littered with tourists (albeit still backpackers. Koh Tao certainly doesn't attract that many families...yet) and...well, litter.
Or maybe it's me that's changed. Maybe I'm seeing it with jaded eyes. Maybe the fact that I'm here with B rather than my friends is what has made the difference. I sat down for dinner tonight at a local restaurant overlooking the sea. (the food, of course, was unbelievable! No restaurant anywhere else in the world can replicate the flavours of a good Thai red curry) A man (older, maybe early thirties?) was sitting himself, snapping away at the landscape with an SLR. He gradually started to make conversation with B and I, and we invited him to join us. He had worked as a businessman all his life: earned his wage, bought nice things and repeat. And then one day he gave it all up and went travelling. He described his journey to me with all the enthusiasm I felt the first time I arrived in a place this foreign, and then it all came back.
I suppose that you can pretend you've done it all and seen it all, but backpacking is like a disease. It stays with you. It never goes away. Even when you're in reality.
x
Thursday 27 January 2011
Catch The Wind
To the real Jonathan Seagull, who lives within us all,
My identity is irrelevant. I am a vessel for everyone who has ever had an adventure, been anywhere, or even just dreamt of visiting some far off exotic place.
My story began when I was a young and overly precocious child, scouring my world atlas, memorising the names of unbelievable destinations like Ouagadougu and Zanzibar. Some years later, when I was old enough to understand my limits (or lack thereof!), I made a deal with myself: that I would have visited every continent by the time I was 30, and many other places in between.
My age is irrelevant too. Let's just say that I am far from thirty, and just two continents away from my goal.
This blog is not just about my travels (although they will feature a lot). It is about returning home and facing reality. Some days I wake up and feel the need to up and leave without telling a single soul. Other days I am so wrapped up in my own little life that I forget what it is that I love. Or who.
Currently, I am in limbo. I am stuck in between two great journeys: the one I have just completed and the one I am about to embark on in 6 weeks time - possibly the most life changing journey I have taken so far. I am in a dead-end job, earning money to make ends meet. I exchange banal gossip with my friends about people we knew at school. I am in a relationship with a perfect man who supports everything I do. I think I might be in love with someone else.
Two years ago, on an idyllic beach in Thailand, I came across a beautiful, sunkissed girl who just happened to be from the same city that I am from (my location is the most irrelevant detail of all. I live for not having one). She was settled into this amazing life where she was earning just enough to get by, and was spending her days lying on the beach and reading. She, like me, was all too aware of the oppressive existence of reality. She returned home once a year and fell into a dead-end job. She saw her old friends, and visited the places that they used to visit together. She made the money that she needed and she went travelling again as soon as she could.
"travelling".
I've heard people sneer at this word a lot. People think that it is just a synonym for laziness. My mother once told me that richness wasn't about having money - it was about experience. Experience is everything.
Come with me?
x
My identity is irrelevant. I am a vessel for everyone who has ever had an adventure, been anywhere, or even just dreamt of visiting some far off exotic place.
My story began when I was a young and overly precocious child, scouring my world atlas, memorising the names of unbelievable destinations like Ouagadougu and Zanzibar. Some years later, when I was old enough to understand my limits (or lack thereof!), I made a deal with myself: that I would have visited every continent by the time I was 30, and many other places in between.
My age is irrelevant too. Let's just say that I am far from thirty, and just two continents away from my goal.
This blog is not just about my travels (although they will feature a lot). It is about returning home and facing reality. Some days I wake up and feel the need to up and leave without telling a single soul. Other days I am so wrapped up in my own little life that I forget what it is that I love. Or who.
Currently, I am in limbo. I am stuck in between two great journeys: the one I have just completed and the one I am about to embark on in 6 weeks time - possibly the most life changing journey I have taken so far. I am in a dead-end job, earning money to make ends meet. I exchange banal gossip with my friends about people we knew at school. I am in a relationship with a perfect man who supports everything I do. I think I might be in love with someone else.
Two years ago, on an idyllic beach in Thailand, I came across a beautiful, sunkissed girl who just happened to be from the same city that I am from (my location is the most irrelevant detail of all. I live for not having one). She was settled into this amazing life where she was earning just enough to get by, and was spending her days lying on the beach and reading. She, like me, was all too aware of the oppressive existence of reality. She returned home once a year and fell into a dead-end job. She saw her old friends, and visited the places that they used to visit together. She made the money that she needed and she went travelling again as soon as she could.
"travelling".
I've heard people sneer at this word a lot. People think that it is just a synonym for laziness. My mother once told me that richness wasn't about having money - it was about experience. Experience is everything.
Come with me?
x
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