Living Without Cheese

Hi all, for anybody that actually reads this blog (you poor thing) the reason it’s not been updated for a long long time is because I’m currently blogging on a different site. For various reasons I switched over and then didn’t see the point in updating two. So although it’s terribly rude to post a link to my other blog on this blogging site and though I face the prospect of incurring the wrath of the bootsnall blogging lords, for those who which to keep up to date with my antics and photos, check out www.getjealous.com/aoife-fortuna-rocketsalad

Sorry!!

I never really managed to get to sleep properly, what with the dog and rain and the stupid English girl that persisted in brushing her hair all night and fear that I was going to be robbed, but I did manage to doze off for a while just before dawn.

I awoke to perfect stillness. The storm had left us. The dog was nowhere to be seen. A strange looking Frenchman with straggly white hair was sitting in the middle of us smoking, and staring into space.

One thing I’ll say about the barn – it gave a good view across the Mekong river (cos of having no walls like) to Laos. It was kind of exciting. My first sight of Laos. More specifically, dawn breaking over Houay Xai. It looked different. There was a shanty town feel to it, things just seemed to be stuck together in no particular method. It looked poor and disheveled.

I started to feel that maybe Laos was a totally different world.

And so we crossed by boat, after a brief fight with a gang of Vietnamese tourists (Learn how to use a fucking queue people! Look it up! It’s in the dictionary!), queued for this, queued for that, an hour later, visas stamped and paid for, we were officially in Laos. All the (fucking really annoying) Vietnamese tourists had managed to get there before us (hundreds of the fuckers) and taken all the buses. Because travel takes so long in Laos, there’s not much point in a bus leaving after 10am, cos it’s not going to get anywhere before dark.

And we were tired. Really really tired. And everything was so different. The people were so different. We didn’t have the energy to deal with it. So we decided to get a bus to the nearest town, just to get us away from the border and the crazy Vietnamese and the feeling that nobody wanted us there. We chose Luang Nam Tha.

I sat down on the bus. I was so tired. I hadn’t slept for so long. I dozed off.

I was woken on the bus by a strange Lao man yelling over me “Luang Nam Tha! LUANG NAM THAAAAA!”.

Um. Ok (you crazy bastard). Say it don’t spray it.

So I gathered my belongings, dragged myself up, and went to check out Luang Nam Thaaaaaaaaa.

And a few hours later, realized, too late, that I’d left my camera on the bus, which was well on it’s way back to the border. My initial reaction was, Aoife, you stupid bitch, followed by a general feeling of being gutted.

It’s weird how important your camera is to you when you‘re travelling. It’s like, if you don’t have a camera to document what you see, then it didn’t really happen. Or, you become sort of unwilling to go see beautiful things because you can’t take photos to remember them. And you’ll feel bad. It’s a crazy feeling, but it’s true.

So I moped and whined, smoked cigarette after cigarette, a topless lady tried to sell me some cotton, the guesthouse people tried to rip us off by adding a couple of phantom beers onto our bill (which turns out happens quite a lot in this country, in 4 days it happened 7 times. Weird), and I just thought to myself, this is so not what I was expecting or hoping things would be like.

The country had me confused. I got Thailand. Thailand is easy to get. The people are easy because most of the time, what you see is what you get. They’re so used to dealing with us falang that we’re almost part of their culture. And they know how to deal with us. Here, things run deeper. People live their lives around you, almost oblivious of your presence. And when they do notice you, sometimes I’m not sure if they like what they see. To be honest, during my first few days in Laos, every local I met was either grumpy, rude, or dismissive. Now, everybody’s got a right to feel like that every now and again, but at times I felt it was directed specifically at tourists. Especially when one shop lady yelled at Tracey about foreigners coming over spending their money. We weren’t quite sure exactly what she said or what she meant, but she was mad. And I was disappointed.

But onwards and upwards.

I never really managed to get to sleep properly, what with the dog and rain and the stupid English girl that persisted in brushing her hair all night and fear that I was going to be robbed, but I did manage to doze off for a while just before dawn.

I awoke to perfect stillness. The storm had left us. The dog was nowhere to be seen. A strange looking Frenchman with straggly white hair was sitting in the middle of us smoking, and staring into space.

One thing I’ll say about the barn – it gave a good view across the Mekong river (cos of having no walls like) to Laos. It was kind of exciting. My first sight of Laos. More specifically, dawn breaking over Houay Xai. It looked different. There was a shanty town feel to it, things just seemed to be stuck together in no particular method. It looked poor and disheveled.

I started to feel that maybe Laos was a totally different world.

And so we crossed by boat, after a brief fight with a gang of Vietnamese tourists (Learn how to use a fucking queue people! Look it up! It’s in the dictionary!), queued for this, queued for that, an hour later, visas stamped and paid for, we were officially in Laos. All the (fucking really annoying) Vietnamese tourists had managed to get there before us (hundreds of the fuckers) and taken all the buses. Because travel takes so long in Laos, there’s not much point in a bus leaving after 10am, cos it’s not going to get anywhere before dark.

And we were tired. Really really tired. And everything was so different. The people were so different. We didn’t have the energy to deal with it. So we decided to get a bus to the nearest town, just to get us away from the border and the crazy Vietnamese and the feeling that nobody wanted us there. We chose Luang Nam Tha.

I sat down on the bus. I was so tired. I hadn’t slept for so long. I dozed off.

I was woken on the bus by a strange Lao man yelling over me “Luang Nam Tha! LUANG NAM THAAAAA!”.

Um. Ok (you crazy bastard). Say it don’t spray it.

So I gathered my belongings, dragged myself up, and went to check out Luang Nam Thaaaaaaaaa.

And a few hours later, realized, too late, that I’d left my camera on the bus, which was well on it’s way back to the border. My initial reaction was, Aoife, you stupid bitch, followed by a general feeling of being gutted.

It’s weird how important your camera is to you when you‘re travelling. It’s like, if you don’t have a camera to document what you see, then it didn’t really happen. Or, you become sort of unwilling to go see beautiful things because you can’t take photos to remember them. And you’ll feel bad. It’s a crazy feeling, but it’s true.

So I moped and whined, smoked cigarette after cigarette, a topless lady tried to sell me some cotton, the guesthouse people tried to rip us off by adding a couple of phantom beers onto our bill (which turns out happens quite a lot in this country, in 4 days it happened 7 times. Weird), and I just thought to myself, this is so not what I was expecting or hoping things would be like.

The country had me confused. I got Thailand. Thailand is easy to get. The people are easy because most of the time, what you see is what you get. They’re so used to dealing with us falang that we’re almost part of their culture. And they know how to deal with us. Here, things run deeper. People live their lives around you, almost oblivious of your presence. And when they do notice you, sometimes I’m not sure if they like what they see. To be honest, during my first few days in Laos, every local I met was either grumpy, rude, or dismissive. Now, everybody’s got a right to feel like that every now and again, but at times I felt it was directed specifically at tourists. Especially when one shop lady yelled at Tracey about foreigners coming over spending their money. We weren’t quite sure exactly what she said or what she meant, but she was mad. And I was disappointed.

But onwards and upwards.

We thought we were being smart.

We thought we were doing it the fast and easy way.

A thing I’ve learned about Asia.

The fastest way is NEVER the easiest.

The plan was to grab a minibus from Pai straight to the border town of Chiang Khong, grab a few hours kip at a guesthouse there, get up early, scoot across the border and be in Luang Prabang in Laos by dinner time.

This is what actually happened. (Jesus I feel like I’m writing a script for Law & Order)

At 8pm we settled ourselves into a wee minivan. There were only 6 of us onboard so plenty of room to stretch out and try and get a bit of sleep. And then we started driving.

There are 762 bends in the road between Pai and Chiang Mai. No, I did not count them. Somebody else did, and printed it on a load of t-shirts, but whatever, I believe them, because even though I didn’t count them, I felt every single one of them. Sleep was impossible. When you weren’t being flung to the left, you were being tossed to the right. When you weren’t climbing up steep mountains sides, you were hurtling in the dark through a foggy gap between cliff faces. And all you can tell for sure in the dark is that you can’t see a fucking thing, but you can sure smell the girl puking out the window behind you.

At about bend 24, the thunderstorm hit. Lightening raged over our little silver bus, following us for the rest of the night. The wind whipped us all over the road, and not a sound could be heard over the rain pounding on the roof. Not even puking.

At least it brought a bit of light, so now you could actually SEE the sheer cliff faces and menacing curves now.

Halfway through the journey, we pulled up at a petrol station. A few people dashed in to use the loo. And came running out gasping that there were swarms of mosquitoes, armies of angry ants and a few slightly irate cockroaches patrolling the bathrooms against foreign invaders. Or maybe just hiding from the rain.

There would be no peeing that night.

Another bus pulled up and emptied itself into us. 6 became 20. We told ourselves it was cozy, whilst positioning limbs carefully to avoid special areas being damaged by flailing limbs. And then came the potholes. Many potholes. Potholes of all sizes and shapes. Potholes who dreamed of being valleys and were emphatic about achieving this dream. More fog. Some bouncing. A little puking. And potholes. Always potholes.

At 4am we arrived in Chiang Khong. Thank Christ, we thought. A bed! A bathroom! Shelter from the storm! Yippee!

Cheerfully, we made our way inside and were told to leave our bags in a corner of a semi outdoor sort of barn. It had a roof that only met 2 of the walls, because, well, there only were 2 walls. With rugs on the floor. And a table. And a chair. Lots of rugs. About 20 rugs.

It was when the owner started yelling at the big black dog that had made himself comfortable on one of the rugs that I began to suspect that we would not be getting a bed that night.

I’ll gloss over the horror dawning on the faces of all my fellow bus goers, followed by disbelief, followed by revulsion, followed by a fervent desire to grab a rug that was still dry and a patch of ground that was not being rained upon. We legged it, rugs and bags tossed up into the air, the dismayed dog running for cover under the table.

Did I mention the thunderstorm was still in full swing? Cos, yeah, it was.

Ryan and I met each other eyes at one stage and burst into laughter. Because if you don’t laugh, you’re only going to cry.

And so we settled down for night, using our bags as pillows, the floor as a bouncy mattress, and a doggy rug as cozy duvet cover. All the while the rain poured around us, leaving us covered in a fine mist by morning.

This is interesting, I thought to myself.

I am a bad bad little blogger.

Now that I have that off my chest, I’ll continue.

And will break the last few weeks down into digestible chunks.

So, Pai was fun. We partied and chilled out and joined the backpacker massif in having a rip roaring good time. I was befriended by one of the hairiest and friendliest Thai man I ever did see. He was playing guitar in a pretty much empty bar one Sunday evening. Just me, a Japanese family and two awfully strange German men who liked to stare. Num (yes, Num) played his hairy heart out to us, regaling us with Doors classics (didn’t recognise the one about the stains at first, but turned out he was trying to say strange). Until mid song he cried out to me “Noooo! Please don’t leeeeave meee! Don’t leave! I have to play til midnight!” I had no idea that the rest of the bar had escaped. Leaving me. And him. Singing at me. I hadn’t the heart to leave. And by God I’ll tell you, it’s mighty uncomfortable when a hairy Thai man is staring into your eyes from 4 feet away singing about stains. Later, while he did my hair into a nice bun, he thanked me for staying and asked to borrow a hair tie because his afro kept blowing into his eyes. A strange but interesting guy.

One evening, we decided a game of cards in our bamboo bungalow with a few bottles of Chang beer was well in order. We searched high and low for a deck of cards. At least 2 shops.

“Cards! Cards!” Tracey yelled to the nice man in shop number 2. “Do you have any CARDS!” (because obviously speaking louder really bridges the language gap) and mimed dealing a deck.

The nice man looked at her oddly, reached into his barrel, pulled out a deck and said “Yeah no problem, that’ll be 140 baht please, can I get you anything else?” Justifiably embarrassed, she paid and slunk away.

While picking out the frostiest of beers in the trustiest of 7/11s, all the power went out in town. Rainy season can be a total kick in the gonads sometimes. But thanks to an assortment of mini-mag torches, 3 cigarette lighters, 2 cigarettes, a headlamp, a pre-purchased pineapple shake, a wind-up torch (with radio included in the wind-up ness!!) and a few candles donated by our landlord, we were back in business. Until we realized we had no bottle opener. The gonads were once again feeling the pinch. It was like crisis after crisis. I only wanted a frickin’ game of cards and a beer! It was a mess. There was fizzy beer all over the room, the ants had a drunken field day.

But it was fun. And later that night we met some ladyboys.

PS. Watching The Lord of the Rings is tough enough at the best of times. Watching it dubbed in German and subtitled in Thai is both a mental and physical challenge.

I am well on the way to fully entertaining my hippy tendencies.

We arrived in Chiang Mai around the middle of October (time means nothing and in fact I may have already written about Chiang Mai but because I am now fully “chilled out” I don`t care and am going to continue writing), and it`s been the most relaxing week of the trip so far. Well. Apart from spending 2 separate days hunting for affordable accomodation that is. A bitch to find a nice place in Chiang Mai that I can afford, but whatever. It`s only a bed.

I went to night market after night market after day market after mid-morning market and spent a total fortune on a pile of hippy trousers and presents for everyone at home. I rolled out of bed whenever I wanted and drank fancy coffees at swanky coffee bars. I ate Western food and felt guilty so immediately bought a banana pancake to make up for it. I read and walked and got lost and found myself again and got sunburned while I was lost but didn`t care because I spotted some cows during my walk and it was totally worth it. Cows are waaay skinnier here but have nice little bumps on their heads which makes up for it I think.

I got drunk on Thai beer and got chatted up by a dirty Dutch guy who couldn`t say it without spraying it. After getting rid of him, I found myself in a “club” AKA Spicy (read girly bar) which changes from girly to clubby after twelve. My arse. Plenty of girlies available for all. But still fun. But when a shiny faced tuk tuk driver offered to walk me to my hostel I decided it was the right time to make a hasy exit. Girly and tuk tuk driver-less of course.

Holy shit, Ronan Keating is being played in the bar I`m in!

*nostalgic sigh*

A few kilometers from Chiang Mai there`s a little village called Bo Sang that operates an umbrella, um, factory, I guess you could call it. About 20 or so Thai people sit around putting together bits of the umbrella, dying the paper, painting on the designs, waterproofing the whole thing. A shop next door sells all the produce, and I felt like a total criminal walking around the place. Everywhere I walked, somebody followed me. Skinny Lady was first, with School Girl taking over from her at the wooden frog section. We decided to play them at their own game and split up. I headed for the elephant purses, Lorraine for the parasols and Ken just kinda wandered aimlessly. I could see the confusion registering on their faces. But they soon recruited Little Old Lady to form a solid triangle of sales advice. And of course I bought 2 umbrellas. Bastids.

And then there was Pai. Oh Pai. Pai in the sky.  A little town in the mountains that revels in it`s own intimacy and happy vibes. I`m sitting in an outdoor bar surrounded by fairylights and pure distilled chilled out ness. Honestly if the place was anymore relaxed, everyone would walk backwards.

There`s a huge expat community there. After millions of hours trying to find somewhere to stay, we were sorted out by an expat Irish guy who figured everything out for us, even driving us around in his huge fuck off dump truck thing to check places out. Later that night, after floating from a cocktail stand to Jan`s birthday party (no idea who Jan is but there were balloons and a guy playing some kind of flute thing), the same Irish guy yelled to us “Jump into the back! Party at Bebops!”

Um. Ok. Why not I guess.

So we were ferried from bebop bar to bamboo bar all night, stopping off at intervals to pick up randomers we met on the road. I cannot emphasise enough how weirdly fun the whole night was.

My hangover only lasted 24 hours. Unfortunately the memories are already long gone from my gin soaked brain cells. But I KNOW I had fun, so that`s good enough for me.

Speaking of fun…….I drove a scooter for the first time and by Jesus it`s the most fun you can have with you clothes on. And I didn`t die. Great success!

Aaaah it’s a tough life, this travelling lark.

No seriously, it is. Every day I wake up earlier than I ever did when I had to work, drag myself for a coffee while the mosquitos attack, plough through the relevant chapters in the bible (the lonely planet), and psych myself up for the day. Temple after temple after temple. I swear if I never see another temple in my life I’ll be a happy lass.

After bangkok, we headed west to Kanchanaburi, a small town famous for the atrocities carried out by the Japanese army during the building of a railway line linking Thailand to Burma (and beyond that, to India) during WWII. Thousands of British and Australian POWs died while working 18 hour shifts without food, little sleep and using basic tools to build this bloody railway line to keep the Japs happy. Anyway, a film was made about it – The Bridge Over the River Kwai. Never seen it, but y’know, history, culture etc. The bridge itself is, well, a bridge. The area is really pretty though, lush fields, thickly forested mountains, snaking rivers. I liked it.

The best part was our guesthouse though. We stayed in a bungalow built on a raft on the river overlooking some savage scenery. It was while I sat on the veranda looking at this scenery and counting fish that I got attacked by 398 mosquitos, who left my feet in swollen tatters. But I decided the best thing to combat this would be to go hiking in a forest for miles and miles and miles (and miles and miles), then to swim in turquoise pools while fish tried to nibble my thighs (plenty to nibble), cycle miles and miles (and miles and miles) to visit a cave/temple/torture camp for the Japanese during the war/site of the murder of a British tourist by a drug addicted monk, get caught in a thunderstorm and take shelter under a homeless family’s piece of wood, and stand beside Caro while she jumped into a drain full of sewage, soaking both of us with unmentionable crap. Next day, every bite had turned into a fully fledged blister. Luckily, the pain was soothed each night by the karaoke barges that passed my bungalow every 10 minutes for 4 hours each night, packed with microphone happy Thais. Serenity eh? Can’t beat it.

And thus we arrived in Ayuthaya in a blaze of public bus glory  in the middle of the night, to find no taxis available, all guesthouses miles away from the station and packs of wild dogs roaming the streets and eyeing up my thighs hungrily. My feet hurt. The dogs started following us. Things were not looking up. Caro waved down every single vehicle that passed us. This included a range rover driven by a man who told us Bangkok was *points* that way, and a tuk tuk driver who dumped all our stuff into the back and dropped us off at a “guesthouse”. I’m fairly sure it was just somebody’s spare room that they stuck the number “6” onto. We were outta there first thing next morning. Nice things in Ayuthaya? Well, ruined temples of course. Goes without saying. The city is lovely, much nicer than Kanchanaburi, very clean and well kept. The people are great and the atmosphere really relaxed. The packs of wild dogs? Not so cool. After myself and Ken scared all the children by stripping off and exposing our white selves at the pool in the guesthouse, we felt suitably refreshed to continue or journey North.

To Sukothai. Which is where I am now. All of today was spending cycling for miles (and miles and miles and miles) checking out – yes! you guessed it! ruined temples! I got sunburned despite lashing on the factor 50 three times an hour. The heat was something else. Old Sukothai is something out of a movie, it’s really incredible and well worth a visit. But now that we’ve done that, we are northward bound in the morning. Next stop – Chiang Mai.

In conclusion, I like the following things about Thailand:

1. Public transport – anywhere you want to go, anytime, for any price

2. Thai people – once you get over the fact that there’s a good chance they’re trying to get some money out of you, they’re sweet as hell and the best of craic.

3. Air Conditioning. Oh it rocks.

I do not like:

1. Blood thirsty mosquitos. I am not a piece of meat. It’s like being in CPs every day.

2. Slugs the size of a rat.

3. Bedrooms that smell of sewer.

4. Streets that smell of sewer.

5. Sewers.

But Thailand is fantastic, and I’m enjoying every minute.

The guesthouse I’m staying at is down a little alley that smells of sewer, sings of cats making love, and houses a little massage parlour. Every day a lady sits on a fold out chair outside between the cats and the sewer and says “Massssaaaaaaaaaaaage?!”. After the 7th time saying “No thanks you very much.” the very first day, I decided to just walk on by. Nice lady.

In short, Bangkok rocks my ankle socks off. Yeah it stinks and it’s polluted and infested with prostitutes and mangy cats and scam artists, but it’s the just so much fun. Interesting fact: Thai ladies do not seem to shave their legs. Not the ones I’ve seen anyway. Anyone care to correct me??… And the scam artists are so good natured in their attempted scamming that you both end up laughing your heads off by the end of the conversation.

Another interesting fact: Buddhist monks wear underwear.

Thai people love 2 things more than they love scamming.

First, Buddha. They bleedin’ love him. Every social demographic mill around the temples giving praise and praying for help. It’s amazing. They don’t have the suspicion we (I mean lapsed Irish Catholics by “we”) do when it comes to faith. Buddha is there ready and waiting and he’s going to take care of them. Their monks are holy men, and nobody would dare look sideways at one. Monks are quite nice too. In their little orange sheets and baldy heads. Praying. And stuff.

Second, their King. They LOVE their King. Adore him. Want to have his babies. I asked a Thai girl what exactly the King does. She said, “um, ceremonies and stuff. ” I asked “But the government or law-making or war or that kind of thing?” She replied “Um, noooo……..but……….maybe……….if it’s really bad situation……?….” Don’t think she knew to be honest. So in conclusion, they love their King, have pictures of him in their houses, talk about him all the time, but are not 100% sure what EXACTLY he does.

In other news, I found a supermarket today that sells CheeseStrings. Great success!

We went to a floating market this morning. I’m sure back in the day, when canals were used extensively by Thai people to do business, these markets were the real deal. Nowadays, however, they’re just a fancy tourist trap. A pretty tourist trap, but a trap nonetheless. All that’s sold is elephant trinkets, pictures of the King, oh yeah! and while you’re on the boat, some smart-ass takes a photo of you and quickly superimposes it onto a plate, so when you land at the quay a wee girl comes up and tries to sell it to you. I thought she was just selling me a regular plate at the start, and thought, “What an idiot, a plate like. Pfft.” and waved her off. It was only when Caroline called me back “Ava! Ava! Come look!” (She hasn’t gotten the hang of my name yet.) that I saw my ugly mug on the plate. Ugh I screamed. I never want to see my face on a plate again.

There was thunder and lightening for hours and hours last night. I know this because it seems I still have jetlag and am surviving on 3 hours sleep a night. And am still bright as a button. That combined with the alley cats making sweet sweet love for 13 hours (“nyeow, nyeow, nyeow, nyeow, nyeow, nyeow………13 hours later………nyeow, nyeow, nyeow” you get the picture), sleep ain’t much of an option.

In Bangkok, when the leaves fall from the trees, they land with a “thump”. One landed on my head yesterday, and I thought a transvestite punched me in the ear. So I screamed. At the leaf.

We’re heading off to Kachanaburi tomorrow morning to visit the Bridge over the River Kwai and Hellfire pass and all sorts of other things. Temples in caves. Monks living with tigers. You know. The usual. So I’ll update next week some time and try and get some of my photos up too.

Miss ye all loads and hope things are happy happy same same.

The panic attacks are now hitting every 2.7 days. But I’m becoming numb to them. I have learned to just ignore them, and pretend I’m not going to be on my own in a foreign country in 2 weeks, with nothing but a face full of freckles and an overstuffed backpack. It’s the little things that worry me. An unfamiliar currency, weird asian squat toilet culture, looking like an chubby freckled eejit in the midst of throngs of bronzed beach bunnies. Stuff like anti government demonstrations, avian flu, landmines and tourist attacks isn’t causing me any worry at all. Funny old brain.

I’m in the process of packing up my stuff to send home for the year. Parents are just brilliant. The poor things have to deal with a room full of my crap for the year while I’m away “experiencing stuff”. Travelling is really the most selfish thing you can ever do. But I never said I was nice.

 This is my last week in work and I am excited. I’ve been working in such an anal environment for 3 years now; what’s going to happen to me when I leave? I’ve become so institionalised! How will I cope with not having my 10.25am breakfast break for 20 minutes and my 1.30pm break for 30 minutes followed by the obligatory trek back to the office peppered with anti-company invective from my workmates? My 3pm cup of coffee? My 4pm stroll to the vending machine? What will I do without someone yelling for deadlines to be met, reports to be approved, forms to be filled? I love hating the place. What am I going to fill my manager mental bashing time with? But not to worry. Surely the place can’t keep on going without me and will be closed within months of my departure.

In other news, today I bought one of those headlamp gizmos, a compass, a pair of binoculars, a tiny maglite, a tinier pink travel towel, a packet of cigarettes (bad girl, bad girl), a red strap (I’m not sure what it’s meant to do, but it’s red and only cost E1.49 and just looks like somehow, someday, I will find a use for it. In fact, I will make it my business to find a different use for it in every country I visit.), a little shiny blue camera, a pair of candlesticks (they’re not coming with me), a block of cheese and a box of almond magnums. That’s proper shopping.

So, yeah, the headlamp. I had to put it on straight away, and man did I prance around the living room. Many self photos were taken.

“Aoife peering into a cave”

“Aoife discovers an even darker cave under the coffee table”

“Aoife sets LCD light to Party Flicker and raves”

Then I (don’t laugh) attached my compass to my red strap and hung it around my neck. Then I decided to attach my maglite to the red strap as well. Then I figured the binoculars needed a test drive. All while wearing my headlamp. So I focussed and focussed and got a good insight into what my neighbours get up to on a Saturday evening. My eyes, they burn. If one of them had turned around they would have seen a little curly haired girl wearing a headlamp with a red strap around her neck with various appendages attached to it staring at them through a pair of binoculars. Then I started to test out my new camera. Flash or no flash. Flash or no flash. No flash is best. Especially when you’re taking photos (of the sunset I swear) in the direction of the aforementioned neighbours house. I feel I am trying their patience.

So things are coming along quite well. Most things are sorted or semi sorted. I haven’t had any luck in selling my car so it’s going home with my parents at the weekend and they’re going to try and find a buyer for it when I leave. There’s a guy coming to check out my room tomorrow. I have most of my flights booked, I just need to book a cheapie one from Bangkok to Malaysia to provide proof that I’ll be leaving the country before 30 days so they’ll let me into Thailand and I need to get insurance and my visa for New Zealand and that’s pretty much it.

And in two weeks I shall unleash my flashing LED self onto the peoples of Asia and my neighbours can finally enjoy their Saturday evenings in without fearing mild amateur paparazzo stalkage. That’s a win-win right there.

I sat in the waiting room for 40 minutes reading an article about buying yachts in the February 2008 edition of “Country Life”. What a strange choice of magazine. My village in the South West of Ireland bears no resemblance to the Hamptons. It’s a nice village, but it’s not wealthy. We have a post office and a local shop. Most of the people here have normal humble lives. They work Monday to Friday, go for a few pints in the local at the weekend, go to Mass on a Saturday evening, and a package holiday to a beach resort in Spain once a year. Not a yacht in sight. At a stretch they might rent out a paddle boat while on holidays. Why on earth would the receptionist at the doctors put a magazine about buying yachts and mansions in East Sussex in the waiting room? Truly bizarre.

Anyway. The reason I went to my doctors was to get my travel shots. She stuck me full of Hepatitis A, Polio, Tetanus, Rabies, Diptheria and Typhoid antigens. I feel like a bit like a farm animal, getting jabbed all over my body. Whenever I have to get a shot, or when blood is taken, I look. I have to see what’s going on. I stare. It puts the doctor off sometimes.

 “Quit staring at me.”

“I’m not staring at you. I’m staring at the needle.”

“Well just stop it.”

 But I keep staring. I think that it’s better to know what’s happening. Looking away just heightens the unpleasant thrill that comes before a needle is forced into your arm. My doctor said I was “hard as nails”. I’m not. I just don’t like painful surprises. “So. How’s work?”

People say to me “You’re so lucky to be going travelling.I wish I was that lucky.” Sometimes I reply “Yeah! I know!” but mostly it’s “Luck?! Where does luck come into it? You save your money, book the flight, and you go.”

But then I realise that I am a complete hypocrite because I did get a helping hand, financially speaking, with the planning of this trip. I came into some money, a lovely amount of E4000 that most sensible people would have hidden away in a “you can look but you can’t touch!” savings account, and started thinking about the future. Y’know. Pensions and shit. I did not do this. I kept looking and looking and then looking some more at this cheque for about a week. I smelled it once. (Mmmm that’s some good smelling paper-equivalent-of-money.) I put it in a jar. I took it out of that jar. (I then lost the jar but that’s a whole other story.)

I’m not going to go into the ins and outs of the thought process that lead me to decide to go travelling; it’s a story that’s been done to death. Feel trapped – hum drum life – no excitement blah blah blah – ooh some money – why with this money I could escape the feeling of entrapment, hum drum life and have a life of excitement and exotic tales.

And here I am 4 months later, starting a travel blog.

So. Planning a trip is exciting. It’s fun. And it’s damn hard work. I’ve never organised a trip in my life. I get nervous at the thoughts of going for coffee in a new café. I don’t like to ask for help at the information desks at airports because I’m sure they’re very busy and I don’t like to disturb them. It’s taken me 4 years to figure out how to apply for a credit card. I believed my friends when they told me Barry Scott (from the Cillit BANG! ads) was deaf, which was why he shouted all the time, and that Cillit Bang were an equal oppurtunities employer.

In short, I’m useless.

So planning and organising and being on the proverbial ball is my new challenge. So far I have booked the tickets (check!), booked my first nights accomodation (check!), applied for the stupid credit card (slightly embarrassed at the whole taking 4 years to figure it out check!), and got the local guard to sign my passport form (check!). What I have yet to do is post that passport form (how I hate posting things), sell my car (oh jesus don’t get me started), and sort out my travel insurance (A totally pointless exercise. If anything happens, they’re never going to get my claim form anyway because I just hate posting things.).

Then there’s the saving. I haven’t saved in years. Everything I earn goes straight out the window on a bloody marvellous social life and a bedroom full of useless paraphenalia. The Nintendo DS I lusted after for months (yes I’m 13) and which is collecting dust beside the dustier keyboard. I bought the keyboard because as far as I can remember, I was very good at it when I was young, and it’s just like riding a bike, right? So wrong. The trick with playing the keyboard is to (a) learn a piece and (b) practise it a lot. I have employed neither tactic yet. Hundreds of CDs, DVDs, a car I’ve never driven, a bike, a guitar, a laptop, a fancy camera; the list is endless. It’s not that I need or want all this stuff. It’s just that I have been far too near sighted to contemplate a time when I would need the money more. I blame the Celtic Tiger for that one.

Now I have a strict budget, which I stick to. Ish. I keep my receipts. I know exactly how much money I have in my account at any given time. I check my change after a transaction. The shop keeper has to wrench the pile of change from my hand when I want to buy a packet of chewing gum (which I now buy in bulk).

Back in college, being poor was fashionable. Pot noodle and/or pasta á la Questionable Sauce from Lidl was haute cuisine. Now that I’m one of those “professionals” I’m expected to come up with a damn good reason when I turn down a dinner invitation or a night on the beer. Luckily for me, I have one. Then comes the inevitable “You’re so lucky!” conversation.

I compare the price of everything I buy to what I could get for the equivalent sum in South East Asia.

“Mom – for that packet of toilet roll I could buy a golden buddha and three dancing girls.”

“Why would you want three dancing girls. Wouldn’t one be enough?”

“Em. Probably.”

I’ve taken for granted how expensive this country is. Trying to have a night out for under E50 is nigh on impossible. I smoke, which adds to the financial discomfort. Combined with my penchant for having fun and my rubber elbow, it’s just a complete disaster.

“So. You wanna go for a pint?”

“No way. Totally skint.”

“Ah just the one.”

 “No. I’m on a budget. There is no way I’m going to change my mind.”

“G’wan.”

“Ok let’s go. But I’m totally wearing trainers so there is just no way I can go to a club.”

 Four hours later……

“Hey! Hey! Look! Right. If I bend my knees and stoop over like this and then pull my jeans down as far as I can and then if you walk in front of me there’s no way they’ll see my trainers!”

“You’re pissed.”

“Yes. Yes I am. Now walk in front of me.”

So now I’ve all but given up the social life, am in the process of thinking about quitting smoking, and am learning to get over my fear of posting things. I think it’s been a very productive few months.