The Comedown and Its Resulting Reflections

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Well folks, I have returned. I am writing from my parents computer in Fleet, a contender for the Crap Towns trophy, marooned penniless, jobless and mobile phoneless in the centre of a huge, sprawling modern housing estate with its own church, school and Morrisons from which once should never need to leave except if they should wish to taste the sweet nectar of freedom from the shackles of crushing white bread lawnmowing middle classness. You get the distinct feeling that everyone living here only has a wank with silk gloves on. Its that sort of life draining, rancidly bleached safehouse for the emotionally bereft and creatively dead whose hearts can only stop palpitating with fear once they are hidden behind a large plasma screen from Dixons. There are loads of teenagers growing up in this dystopia, yet Morrisons closes at 8 every night, leaving the ASBO-decorated bumfluff bearded types without a place to spend their parents' pocket change on alcopops and cheap vodka for merry mixes, or post smoke munchy attacks. Truly, if Morrisons' financial perfonance does not suffer from its association with disgusting foodstuffs, surely it loses quarter by quarter from this flagrant neglect of tomorrows leaders in a place where there is little else for them to do.

But enough bullshit. Ive been "home", as I will term it though I in no way see this place as home(I dont even know what home really means, the nearest I got is the flat in Brixton), for about five hours. My parents, after a discussion about whether they should knock the kitchen wall tbhrough and join it to the living room, and about the new kitchen fixtures they are ordering, left to go shopping in Farnham. My sister is bored. My brother is doing an impression of a crab with its claws on backwards. Not that long after the high of familial reunion, when my dad and my sister spotted me coming out of departures at Heathrow, bleary eyed, scooping me up to take me home - my sister shedding some tears - I was fed the breakfast of black pudding, potato cakes, beans and brown sauce that Id been dreaming about, asked how it all went, and then settled down to watch the Hollyoaks omnibus. Shortly after that life returned to ground zero normal. I am keeping both eyes on the screen so that I will not dwell too long on my suburban prison and become so used to its cream coloured furnishings and cups of tea that I stop trying to get back to London and return to the life I love - the life of responsibility and freedom. What the fuck? You ask. How do those two go together? Well, when I have a job, I can get a flat, in London, move back and start living again. Stuck in the home counties I cant do anything. Dont get me wrong. I love my fam. But the comedown of ten months on the road across eight countries and four languages is bearing its full weighty arse upon my chest and I can only succumb to it. Tomorrow I start the job hunt.

I am so used to moving on every few days, so used to hunkering down with my sleeping bad and iPod on 15 hour bus rides, so used to change, that it might be weird not to have it now. Not least, getting used to putting toilet paper in the toilet, not in a bin next to it, is weird: even on my BA flight I was scared to put it in the toilet and doing it for the first time here at home felt bad and wrong... but I am sure I will get over it when I lie in a boiling hot bath tonight and go out for a curry.

I have to give a suitably public big up to Alexis at this point, for making my last seven weeks and last few days of my trip extra special. Typically, I bumped into this lovely, funny, kind, honest, sexy boy at what was probably my most content, free, happy time in several years, feeling totally happy about my situation as a single chick and touching the edges of that freedom. I did not want to meet anyone. I wanted to keep on wafting through situations, places, experiences, having turned my previously crushing loneliness into a new feeling of excitement about being alone. And then this dude comes along and I do my classic Mel thing of throwing all caution to the wind because I prefer to know than to not know. I dont recall how this travelling together thing came to pass really, but I think I may have suggested him coming with me as a sort of half joke (you know, where you in no way believe there would be any genuine interest from the askee in the asker's proposal, though if they were to respond positively, that is the ideal response) when we were coming to the end of our time in the Jungle. He must have decided that was the way forward and that was it. I think Ive mentioned that travelling with a boy of special importance to me has long been a dream of mine. And suddenly I was doing it. At first it was very scary to suddenly have to share all my time, my space, myself with someone else on a constant basis. But somehow, perhaps because of the unique circumstances of being on the road, having the luxury of doing stuff in our own time not fitting it round work and usual stresses, and perhaps because I finally took some lessons from my past relationship experiences, and possibly also due to Alexis being a very laid back and open type of person, that soon gave way to just being a really nice experience. We didnt exactly get off to the best start since I fell ill with an infection just before we were due to go from Cochabamba to Santa Cruz, and he had to come to town early from his placement in the jungle to be around for me while I tore my hair out waiting round the clinic for my tests and results, and my treatment, but then our first attempt to leave went tits up. We met our mate Jonny for dinner before making a mad dash to the bus station to catch what we thought was the last bus to SC, found oddly that on this of all days all but two companies selling those had stopped selling them for some reason I dont recall, managed to buy cheap tickets from some dodgy dude in our panic stricken mood and handed over the cash without really knowing what was going on... then being shunted out into the road to wait from 11.30 until 4 am when we had specifically asked for one going right then... then when I argued with the seller for refunds, he point blank told me to fuck right off, gave me half the cash back, took both tickets and tore them up in front of me... then when I demanded receipts for the money he kept (as we thought we would find a place to hang out and come back at 4) was told to fuck off again... then when I asked a nearby military man for help he said it wasnt his business... and when I asked a local cop he said it wasnt his problem.... then we had to pay another 100 odd Bolivianos for another night in the same place we just checked out of where I had been recovering and wanted desperately to leave.... then the next day there were no buses until late that night due to a massive festival, forcing us to take a Surubi 5 hours back to Chapare to get a sweaty, stifled colectivo with three army dudes to SC (with a change in some random jungle outpost inbetween this seven hour journey in which Alexis and I were squished together in the front seat the whole way, all four feet dead from lack of circulation... then when we finally arrived in the Cruz, the hostels were all full and we ran out of change to make calls to more (change is impossible to find in Bolivia - shops give you handfuls of sweets instead) so Alexis had to go roaming the streets alone and locate a room, which after about an hour we finally passed out in. That was mental and at first deflating, a sort of shit omen. But luckily that was the sole nadir and it was uphill from there. Since then we saw so many things together, did so many things together, developed many in jokes that curiously seem to pretty much all refer to food, bought some cool mini speakers to have a soundtrack to our trip, stood in for each other when one of us was a few guineas short of a Bob's milkshake or a bus fare, and kissed quite a lot. Oh, and Alexis got a fair few double takes for his reputed resemblance to Harry Potter, which I find preposterous but amusing. Alexis' presence certainly made waiting in bus terminals and checking into windowless hell holes bearable, even fun. Im a lucky girl to have had that experience and saying goodbye for a few months at Rio airport yesterday was weird.

Anyhow, I am back and I have missed my friends so much, I cant wait to see them. I will be back in London Town next weekend for a friend's daughters christening, and that will be a brilliant opportunity to catch up with a couple of my close mates. I have some friends I made on the road who I will catch up with as soon as I have the financial means.

Highlights:
There are many, and I will obviously forget some here.

* Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo
* Cape Tribulation, Far North Queensland
*Breaking and entering a private pool to skinnydip while drunk on home brew, New Farm, Brisbane
*Creating a mini rave/guitar session on a small jetty floating behind the Opera House with my Sydney crew
*Drinking beer with old Croation opal miners amond red dust and being given a gift of a prehistoric, opalised cockle cockle shell when I left/Joining the mail run across the desert and the dingo fence, Coober Pedy, Australia
*Watching the Milky Way reveal itself as wild camels went to sleep, Broken Hill, Australia
*Meeting Sonia and Rosie in Melbourne, Australia
*Flying past the Andes on the descent into Santiago de Chile
*Learning basic Spanish with a teached called Jesus
*Surviving a night hiding in a hellhole room built from stacked breeze blocks and plastic sheeting with a bit of plasterboard between me and an extremely violent crackhead, pissed up, fighting couple in the next room who kicked a hole through to my bed and were surely hoping to kill me, Coquimbo, Chile
*The bus ride from Coquimbo to the Atacama Desert, crossing endless hallucinogenic pink plains of prehistoric land and snow capped volcanoes
*Entering Bolivia from Argentina and clapping eyes on Campesino ladies for the first time, admiring their traditional finery, their longplaits, and the wonem's extraordinary strength carrying several bags of cement in colourful papooses on their bowed back atop buckling knees, running at a pace past immigration officers
*Meeting Johanna and Dal in Uyuni and travelling with them from there to Potosi and Sucre
*The convents and religious art in Sucre
*Clambering round totally unsafe, sufficating mine shafts in Cerro Rico to see what made Potosi the centre of the silver trade in the time of the conquistadors - then making and detonating explosives
*Discovering saltenas in Bolivia
*Discovering that not only are there different types of hats worn by campesino ladies in every city in Bolivia, but also in provinces, social strata, married, single or widowed women, and that original Cochabambina one was covered in plaster to keep it stiff and make it last
*Working for Los Tiempos as a newspaper journalist for two months, learning about the country as I worked, comparing journalism styles and publishing styles, learning more spanish as I went, feeling that I might in a tiny way be contributing to the country, not just taking from it
*Living with Angelica, Andrea, and Maria Jose in the Garrido family home for two months in Cochabamba while working: endless brilliant times
*Chapare, every time, especially sitting under The Ricola's tin roof drinking beer during a rainforest peltdown
*Bumping into some bloke with a stupid name and an Alan Partridge dependency, and seeing three countries with him
*Buenos Aires, generally
*Loafing on Ihla do Mel, Brazil
Samurai Sushi, Sao Paolo
*Discovering Bob's
*Surviving the original Inca steps carved out the side of a massive mountain, while some workers were blowing up said mountain from the bottom with TNT to make a road
*Meeting Gali and Libby and having a briliant time hanging with them in Cuzco and on the Inca Jungle Trail


My mum asked me about half an hour after I arrived home: Have you changed then, d'you think?

How can I be sure? I am too close to my own head to see. You'll have to observe and let me know. I'd be interested to know if I have. I have the feeling that I may have in some ways:

*I've become more irritatingly trite with my much expanded knowledge of other countries and cultures, even more than before, and you can feel free to chide me for it. My dad asked me if I'd played any piano since I left, and I could only laugh and say with a wiltingly patronising tone: "dad, they dont even have washing machines in most houses in Bolivia. Theyre not going to have pianos, are they." As if that should be elementary.

*I'd wager that my skills in getting on with people, whoever they are, making friends and all that, have improved. I still posess spleen splitting venom for layabout students, but I have made good friends with some of their kind in various countries, particularly Australia, and I wouldnt go back. They were some of the most intelligent, thoughtful, interesting, open people I know. And they taught me how to drink goon like a proper bogan.

*I can live without the finery of a cosy media wage and lifestyle: the clothes, the shoes, the bags, the cocktails, the poncy retaurants. That said, I enjoy it nonetheless and wont apologise for it. Generally, after seeing the length and breadth of poverty and disenfranchisement in places like Bolivia, things that would piss me off normally wont make much of a dent now.

*I can survive for extended periods without news, information, tickers, headlines.

* Incredulously, I believe I have obtained a fair chunk of self worth and confidence from something unconnected to work: just the experience of travelling around on my own for ages, making friends, keeping myslef out of trouble, and not getting robbes or stabbed up in supposedly dangerous countries like Brazil.

*I now have even more tiresome and self worthy tales of my own brilliance and tenacity with which to pen protracted monologues about myself. So relax. There will always be more where this came from.

Quick reflections on the countries Ive seen

Japan
*Japan is as beautiful and seductive as it is fucking weird.
*Tokyo chicks are the best turned out, coiffed ladies I have ever seen in my life.

Australia
*Is quite a bit more latently racist than it realises, sadly
*Is more diverse and interesting than it is ever given credit for
*Is stupid cold in the South
*Needs desalination plants and the collective social will to pay more taxes for this

Chile
*Is the most boring country I saw in South America
*Santiago is thoroughly dull and depressing

Argentina
*Is the most sophisticated and self aware country of those I visitied in SA
*Has a good balance of history and contemporary development/culture
*Has the tallest boys on the continent - Maria Jose was right. Of course

Bolivia
*Is my favourite country of those I went to in SA
*The people are shy and feel embarrasment at their lot compared to the outside world, but friendly and eager to help and eager to learn
*Bolivia has the most staunchly preserved traditions and cultural heritage of any Ive seen anywhere I have been in the world, but has suffered catastrophic economic and developmental stunting and the suffering of its own people as a result of clinging to its past. Its a catch 22 situation: a rich man in terms of personality, and a poor one in every other sense.
*Bolivian food gets a bad rap when it is, in fact, frequently well tasty. Saltenas, empanadas, yuca, mangoes, plantains, sillpancho, fried fish, cakes, amazing yoghurt, dirt cheap food stalls in markets and roadsides that you can usually trust
*Anywhere you go in Bolivia you can hear music: traditional or modern Bolivian music, and some rock. Every bus has a soundtrack. I'm a poorer bus user without it.
*Bolivians have an opinion on everything once theyve stopped being reserved about piping up. Theyre muy inteligente with strong determination to advance.
*In my experience, the famous Bolivian lack of hygiene is nowhere near as back as that of Peru.
*Bolivia is in no way an industralised, commercialised country. I saw one or two ipods not including my own in three or so months there. People buy their groceries and stuff in markets, as there are not many supermarkets. Advertising billboards dont really exist.

Peru
*Is maybe the most touristy part of the gringo trail Ive seen in SA: llama jumpers coming at you from all angles
*Is overpriced
*Has some great religious art, particularly the tour of the cathedral in Cuzco in which I learned shitloads about indigenous painters mastering the art of copying frescoes from Inquisition era Spain, while secretly putitng two fingers up to the bastard conquistadors by adding in their own secret codes gleaned from age old traditional motifs and colours
*Has a brand of bolognese sauces and condiments called Fanny. They also do a line in jams.

Uruguay
*Has friendly people and decent hostels, though isnt as cheap as you'd think
*Has an odd accent, a mix of brazilian with spanish

Brazil
*Claims it is the sexiest nation on earth: but that depends on ones version of sexy. In Brazil's case, from what I saw, sexy is squeezing oneself into tiny tops, skintight camel toe revealing jeans and stupidly high wedge heels regardless of whether youre a bloater or a supermodel: in most cases the latter, the burger being the national dish these days
*Claimed to be very dangerous for tourists but, in reality, is probably only dangerous for those wearing money belts outside their clothes, poncy designer gear and bumbags. In these cases they deserve to be violently robbed. Smae rules apply anywhere in the world where the rich and the poor live nose to tail.
*Is too rich for my blood - the prices are stupid.
*Is probably much more rewarding the further north you go
*Has some very pretty mountainscapes

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Photos

Happiness...happiness
In San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina. A long, long way away from Onehorsetown, Loaferville, Hampshire, England.