The End of an Era

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Thailand- Getting here was a mission in itself and initially consisted of a six hour deafeningly loud speedboat ride up the impressive Mekong River, dodging boulders sprinkled around the muddy waters, wondering whether we would make it to Thailand alive, or at least in one piece. No fear though, I had been informed that if you needed to go into hospital anywhere in Asia-Thailand was the place. As I was about to find out first-hand.

Previous to that though, I had been continuing my hitchhiking adventure through Laos. Result: the trip from Savannakhet to Vientiane couldn't have gone smoother. We got taken halfway- to Thaket by a rich American Lao in a pick up, and then after waiting on the road for around fifteen minutes, smoking a joint to pass the time, we were picked up by another, it drove us all the way to the captial city. Marvellous.
Vientiane was a city, not a particuarly bad one, but a city nontheless and we spent only 2 nights there before heading to the backpackers mecca of Vang Vieng. I knew what to expect. A tiny town, surrounded by Karst formations explicitly reminiscent of Yangshuo, we all knew we would get stuck there for a while. 12 days as it happens.
Twelve long and lazy days of drugs, drifting, and Friends DVDs. Twelve days seems kind of significant, like the 12 days of Christmas. I suppose in some respects it has a reflection of that. On the first day in Vang Vieng, a joint in a hammock under a tree. On the second day, 2 buckets of booze and a joint in a hammock under a tree. On the third day in Vang Vieng, 3 cups of opium tea, 2 buckets of booze and a joint in a hammock under a tree... and so it goes.
Departing from Vang Vieng also lent goodbyes to the Swedes. I miss you boys. Rob's ever evocative cowboy hat (for the record, we managed to locate Rob, smoking a joint in a hammock under a tree), and my youth.
I turned the ripe old age of 21 whilst floating down a river in an inner tube. Now I can drink in America. Which could actually be useful, more on that later.
Louang Phabang was the next stop on the itinerary. A famous world-heritage town, plentiful in Wats, Temples and monks gliding around in their saffron-robes. This unique abundance of charms unfortunately also made it a place heaving in tourists and soaring in prices. So we re-met people, as seems to be the way of the road in SE Asia, and then said some goodbyes. Sarah was headed south to Bangkok, and to meet a Boy in Cambodia. Rob was heading north to the Plain of Jars, and myself and Colton West, up the meandering death machine the Mekong, to Chiang Mai, Thailand.

I would recommend it to anyone, a fancy pants room with en-suite 24 hour hot water, TV/DVD, internet access, your own phone, kitchenette, sofa, and... newspapers in the morning. Not a luxury hotel room, contrary to what you may think, but Chiang Mai Ram hospital. If I hadn't been feeling so wretched it would have been like a luxury city break. But either way it was as free as the air we breathe (courtesy of STA travel insurance- I owe you guys), and put me on the right and ready again.
Hitting the rock was the main event of Chiang Mai. Aside from re-meeting people, meeting people and of course getting stoned. Did my first lead climb, got a little stronger and booked my flight home...
What? I know. A crazy guy that goes by the name of pops convinced me to depart from my travels, albeit for a short while, to take a trip back to the real world.
A few days later, after a nightmare bus ride full of loud Israelis, a sweaty and relentless morning of rude Bangkokonian hotel owners, or maybe thats just Khao San roadians? Who knows? I boarded a jumbo jet to cross the lands of Asia and Europe, as my fellow travellers partyed the full moon away on Koh Pha Ngan.

Arriving at 6am on a Saturday morning in December, at Heathrow, in my flip flops, I was cold and eagerly anticipating the short sweet tube/train combo home to little Great Staughton. I considered how I could ease myself back into the culture that I had left behind many months ago whilst people watching the Londoners who were going about their day in the way Londoners do, with a grimace and a shuffle.
As it happens, I exited the gate laden down with gifts and well, stuff, that I ha seemed to accumulate, so I resembled a mule of sorts, to find my sister standing there, looking bleary eyed at the early morning congregation of people, anxiously scanning the sea of heads before them, searching for their loved ones. Airports are my most and least favourite places at times. The happy reunions that give you goose-pimples are such a stark contrast to the tearful goodbyes, that funnily enough, also give you goose-pimples.

Bizarrely, my brother was leaving to Moscow that very same morning, so the poor lad was accosted by his two embarassing older sisters coming up and pouncing on him in front of all his school friends and teachers, and the girl... A brief hello/goodbye then Hannah and me were on our way, gliding across the big smoke to Kings Cross. Ah the memories all came flooding back...
As the countryside rolled away into the sky, our imminent arrival at St Neots train station, and the strict instructions we had from our father, on how to shock my mother came into discussion. We worked it all out, using the inticately detailed email print out to assist us, and successfully shocked. She cried. Goose-pimples.

The next 12 days (seems to be coming something of a routine eh) was a chaotic mission of Christmas, arranging and seeing everyone I could, comforting home food, baths, country pubs, phone calls, meeting new babies, and new marrieds, driving, sleeping, conversations of varying degrees of interest, and a general reaction of shock from most people I reaquainted myself with. It's summed up perfectly with Lucy's: "What the FUCK are YOU doing HERE?"

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