Returning to the Homeland

This summer, I headed back to the UK for a few weeks. I boarded the plane in Qatar where the temperature was pushing 50 degrees, and walked off in England to chilly 15 degrees or so.

Travelling alone has never bothered me in the past, and this time was no exception. I find making my way around, whether it be by car, train, plane, tube, bus, fairly easy (hence 'Navigator Phil'). So after some instruction from KatieB, I hopped on the Piccadilly line and headed east-bound.

The London Eye

My loose plan for the two-weeks was to eat an extortionate amount of Haribo Starmix, drink alcohol on some sort of public street, see a show, dip-dye my hair, and get a tattoo. I was extremely pleased (and somewhat surprised) that I managed to do all of the above. Especially the latter in the list! Although admittedly, I think the only reasons I actually went through with the last one is because (a) KatieB (b) the very nice tattooist fed me chocolate and kept me distracted by filling me in on all the local gossip (he clearly saw me coming a mile away). 

My whirlwind trip also included a trip down to sunny Bournemouth. So for one weekend only, KatieB, HT, Skywalker, Kim and I trooped down to the coast. Our aim was to visit the Student Village (potentially throw sharp items at students), visit Butlers (the land of baguette heaven), and just generally reminisce. 

Unfortunately we were unable to track any (bastard) students down and Butlers was closed for the weekend (devastated – I shall have to continue living vicariously through others)!  So instead, we spent a large amount of time at Sixty Million Postcards (a pub) doing crosswords and Sudoku, eating at some random Italian restaurant close to the Travelodge, and sitting in the park. I feel I should mention we also played an epic game of Crazy Golf, mainly because I was amazing.

Bournemouth

I was also extremely lucky to secure a couple of Olympic tickets for when I was there. The Baby and I watched some gymnastics, a diving final, and a volleyball semi-final match. It was all very exciting! We did however both get horrifically sucked in by the widespread Team GB patriotism that seemed to affect the whole country and as a result ended up buying a large amount of useless paraphernalia at each of the events.

Gymnastics, O2

Volleyball, Earls Court

Diving, Olympic Park

As is always the case with holidays, it went far too quickly and before I knew it, I was headed back to the sandpit. 

Sri Lanka

My parents were both born in Sri Lanka. And considering the time (I shall omit the exact date), the schooling options were pretty limited for English children. They were both sent to the same school (the Hill School) in Nuwara Eliya at a very young age, my mom was 8, my dad 6. They weren’t in the same year and didn’t know each other (although my dad likes to claim otherwise), even though there were only a few hundred or so kids in attendance. However, there is a school photograph of my mom standing behind my dad. By complete coincidence, twenty something years later they met in Liverpool. Considering the history, my parents decided that a “trip down memory lane” family holiday was in order, so Pete, Rach, and I could see where they grew up.  So off we went on our first family holiday in about eight years (cue face palm).

Me, Pete, and Rach and at Doha Airport

We arrived in Colombo and stayed the first night in Negombo, on the west coast of the island. We went in July, so unfortunately monsoon season for this side of the country. We immediately set off the next day cutting right across the country heading east. We stopped for a few nights outside Habarana so we could “climb” slash walk to the top of the Sigiriya Rock (“Lion’s Rock”). A large stone and ancient rock fortress and palace ruin which is surrounded by the remains of an extensive network of gardens, reservoirs, and other structures. Coated in ancient frescos, the history of the rock is painted across the surface of the stone through intricate drawings and designs. We spent an extremely interesting afternoon learning about the history of the area. From there we hit up Trincomalee. Plagued by civil war, the small town is only just starting to piece itself back together. My dad spent many a childhood here and so was adamant we went. Our resort – Chaaya Blu, Trincomalee – was situated on the outskirts of the affected area and was absolutely beautiful. Picture postcard beautiful, think golden beaches and turquoise waters.

Sigiriya Rock

Chaaya Blu, Trincomalee

Train ride to Nuwara Eliya

Filming location for 'The Bridge on the River Kwai' 

Galle

We then moved southwards and across up to the hill country, so we could be shown where my parents went to school and where my dad grew up. The further we moved inland, the colder it got. Shorts and t-shirts were quickly swapped for jeans and hoodies. We were lucky enough to see the tea plantations my grandfather managed, and were even allowed to walk around the house my dad grew up in. Remnants of the Innes family were still there in the form of a framed poster my grandfather had hung showing all the Scottish clans (including the Innes family). We had also intended to climb Adam’s Peak but upon arrival at the lodgings we were going to set off from, we were told that it was shrouded in mist and was too dangerous.

At this point, Pete headed off back to the UK and we carried on. From the hill country, we continued to move westwards and head down to Hikkaduwa. As a lot of the journey had been spent in a mini bus bouncing over very rough roads, a welcome break of three days was met with much relief. My mom grew up in Galle so we were nicely located for a day trip down south. The sun had returned, so we spent a lot of time swimming in the pool (unfortunately not the sea as the tides were too strong), exploring the area and just generally relaxing. We spent one day in Galle, sightseeing and just generally looking round my mom’s old haunts, including her old house.  

The trip went far too quickly – standard holiday’ness – and unfortunately after Galle we drove back to Colombo and headed home. Back to Doha. And the bastard summer.  

Love You Long Time

Having fallen in love with Koh Phangan last year, I was keen to return. So in April (2011) last year, KatieB and I flew out to Thailand. Now contrary to the blog’s name, I guess you could say this was more like a hop, a skip, and a jump. The whole journey process was almost too easy and within 24 hours of leaving Doha, we were walking off the ferry in Thongsala. The only hiccup to finding our wonderful resort on Leela Beach was the mini trek over rough ground in the dark each carrying a handle of KatieB’s slightly impractical, but very pretty, pink suitcase. Luckily both of us were delirious from lack of sleep and found the whole event rather amusing. 

On the boat over to Koh Phangan, Thailand

Despite having an impossible name to pronounce, Sarikantang (the resort) couldn’t have been any nicer. Especially as when we arrived, we discovered we’d been upgraded. Our room had become some sort of honeymoon deluxe suite complete with swan shaped towels, glass bathroom walls (which thankfully also had blinds), and romantic built-for-two balcony sofa. Located just a 7min walk away from the hedonistic mess that is Had Rin, we were perfectly located for any Full Moon antics. We spent the days suntanning – KatieB’s ultimate aim in life is to be permanently tanned and was determined to go back to the UK black – and the evenings in Hat Rin on the beach drinking buckets, dancing on tables, and attempting a multitude of gymnastics moves (attempting being the key word in that sentence). We also rediscovered our love for Friends (the show seemed a hit with the locals and played on a loop). We sparked up a great friendship between a bucket-seller/toilet-paper keeper, Jolie and her two-year old daughter, Bindy. Quite frankly, a win-win situation! She supplied the alcohol (plus jewellery, albeit plastic) and toilet paper all for one discounted price! We met a rather strange assortment of people – DJ Talent, Billy Elliot, Talk to Frank, Nelson (Mandela), Aston from JLS, and Eminem - who we definitely impressed with our 'brap brap brap' skills - to name just a few.

View from our room, Koh Phangan

At one point, we ventured out on a moped. I was designated driver as whilst KatieB is talented at a great many things, driving scooters and parking are not two of them. The death-defying mountains (hills really) in and out of Had Rin combined with my shaky biking skills meant we didn’t get much further than the port. We conceded to wondering around Thongsala and called it our ‘cultural’ day. I wasn’t too bothered about not gallivanting around the island as I had already done it the year previous. KatieB proved to be a great backseat passenger, entertaining me with various choruses from Rihanna and for some odd reason, 'Jingle Bell Rock'.

Painted up for Full Moon, Had Rin

We had a spectacular time and I was beyond devastated to leave. So much so that as soon as I returned home, I promptly sent my CV out to a multitude of language schools in the hope of moving. Whilst it was my desire to up and leave immediately, common sense has prevailed, so I sit writing this post from the comfort of my room in Doha. P'haps next year. 

LA

As we stepped off the plane in LA we realised we were officially entering he final leg of our trip. Bitter-sweet; as although we were both excited to head back to the UK, it did mean that our travels were officially coming to an end. Despite having literally no money left – apparently budgeting is not my forte – we wanted to make the most of it. Especially as it was my first time in the States.

The first thing we noticed about the people in LA is how friendly they were! Rocking up to a bus station from the airport, we had zero change on us. But the bus driver welcomed us aboard, waving away the fact we couldn’t pay. Had that been London, we would have had the door unceremoniously shut in our faces! Then a delightful man asked us where we were headed and proceeded to give us very explicit directions. Ah-mazing!

Very Baywatch-esque, Hermosa Beach, LA

Our first hostel – Surf City Hostel – was located right on Hermosa Beach, a stone’s throw away from the sea. Cool, but run by an old, slightly hippy, surfer dude who seemed it his life mission to make inappropriate sex comments that made for very awkward conversation!

Universal Studios, LA



Hollywood Walk of Fame, LA

Dodgers Game, LA

Tourist’ing-it-up to the max, we visited all the standard attractions: Universal Studios, a Dodgers match where we got our first taste of the anthem “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Grauman’s Chinese Theatre as well as a tour around celebrity houses (much to my disgust and HT’s joy!).
  

As we had failed to take my own advice of booking well in advance for accommodation, we had only secured two nights at our first hostel, so had to move. Hoisting on the now quite worn backpacks, we trekked across town to Venice Beach (Venice Beach Hostel). Attempting to be adventurous, we rented out bikes from the friendly English owner, which soon became known as the “Bikes of Death” (appropriately named by HT). Halfway down to the main road, heading to the beach, we realized that HT’s brakes did not work. At all. In hindsight, we realized it probably would’ve been a good idea to head back and exchange them, but obviously common sense failed us and we didn’t do that. Instead we cycled all the way up to Santa Monica pier. We had to adopt some sort of system that involved me yelling to warn her when I was stopping and her using her feet/various body parts to stop the beast. This worked well until on the way back, I unfortunately made the mistake of taking us via a highway. In the dark. Of course our lights didn’t work either. Brilliant.

Whilst snorers had plagued as throughout the trip, nothing compared to our last night at Venice Beach Hostel. I kid you not, it sounded like a train was ripping right through the room. The bastard in question’s bed was right next to mine. I started to get more annoyed at each passing noise and eventually worked up the courage to start shaking his bed. It seemed to work initially, but then he would just start up again. Even louder. At one point, HT and I burst out laughing the middle of the night out of pure desperation. Classic laughing to stop the crying. Nearing the edge of desperation, I grabbed my pillow and smacked him across the body. Hard. He woke with a jump as I ducked under the covers. The five minute respite combined with my iPod gave me enough time to finally fall asleep.

Beyond sad that we were at the end of our travels. The only silver lining was that I still had Ibiza to look forward to!

BULA!

The capital of Fiji is Nadi (pronounced Nan-di). We decided to only spend a day or two either side of island hopping on the mainland. So armed with our Bula passes, we boarded the ferry and headed off to Beachcomber, dubbed the “party” island, wet weather and a lack of funds meant we attempted to have a quiet night of cards. Obviously that is not how it ended. We joined a group that had been on the islands for a while and I was introduced to the drinking game 'F*** the Dealer'. I won’t say much more, but the one thing I learnt from that night is to steer well clear of Fijian rum.

Considering there wasn’t much to do on the island, we left the next day, hopped back on the ferry and headed north to Kuata. A very authentic island, the dorms were pretty basic. Considering the previous nights’ antics, I spent most of the day lying on the beach in the shade passing in and out of various states of consciousness. HT was far more productive and went on a village trip to a neighbouring island. That night we witnessed our first of many “Bula Experiences” which consisted of semi-naked men coated in oil dancing about in straw skirts throwing fire about. Interesting to say the least!

Poi, Fiji

The following day we made a move over to the opposite island of Wayalailai. The water was pretty choppy and the boats pretty small. Once we’d made the crossing, we had to turn back as another boat had broken down. We then had to attempt some sort of rescue mission of manoeuvering the passengers on the other boat into our rickety one. A little perilous, it was touch and go for a while.

Island Hopping, Fiji

Island Hopping, Fiji

After Wayalailai our next stop was Octopus. Considering we’d been homeless backpacking bums for the past three something months, to us, it was a vision of paradise. Luxuries included, a pool, sunbeds, proper dorms, towels … (the list was endless). That night we experienced out first Kava ceremony. We all sat round in a circle – girls with their legs to the side, boys cross-legged. A surprisingly complicated ritual as it required lots of shouting and clapping.

Skydiving, Fiji

Arriving back in Nadi after our final island, Korovou, I made a decision. After my failed attempt at skydiving in New Zealand, I massively manned up and jumped out of a plane (for a second time) at 14,000ft in Fiji. A lot higher than my first jump in Slovenia a few years ago, but quite frankly I don’t think it makes much of a difference in terms of scariness – 9,000 or 14,000, doesn’t really matter when you’re perched on the edge of a plane with your feet dangling into thin air! The most frightening part of the experience was when the pilot attempted a mini nosedive to scare us. It worked. As my butt lifted off the floor of the tiny plane, my heart dropped into my stomach. Little words can describe the feeling of freefalling through the air, so I won’t even try. What I will say is that the one regret I have from my travelling experience is that I didn’t skydive in New Zealand.

After spending two glorious weeks in Fiji, we headed off to our last and final stop in LA.