Coming home

Today I flew from Bangkok to Heathrow. To be safe I left a 3 hour gap between my two flights... but as sod's law has it, the flight was delayed by 4 (typical!). After patiently waiting/sleeping on the freezing cold metal chairs in Bangkok airport, the plane finally arrived and we consequently arrived into Heathrow with just one hour to go before my Manchester connection. Collecting bags took the first 20 minutes. Running from terminal 4 to 1 only took the next 20 (try doing that with 25 kilograms on your back, I challenge you), and checking in with the wrong airline took another 10. Finally, with 10 minutes to go, I jump the check-in queue in front of the angriest looking woman I have ever seen (made even more scary as my queue jumping was the sole reason for her anger). The check-in lady explains that I'll never make the plane in time. I tell her I can run very fast. She says ok... and boy did I run. Getting on that plane, after worrying about it throughout the whole previous 12-hour stint, the biggest smile was just stuck to my face, less than 45 minutes before I would finally be home to Lizzie after 6 months on the road.

Thailand

I'm always amazed by Asian culture. They're always ahead of the curve, yet they differ so significantly from the western world. Bangkok is set up for tourism 100%. As I take my first taxi from the airport to my hostel I spend half the journey convincing my driver that I didn't want a girl for the night, let alone a wife. Although I must admit... I was surprised how affordable a wife could be...

Fernando is my mum's second cousin and son of Rita and Ernesto. Last time I bumped into him he was in Tokyo. He is now doing a PHD researching the conflict in Burma/Myanmar. Unfortunately the authorities quickly deported him when they heard of his research, so he now lives on the Thailand-Burma border, interviewing people as they cross the line. Fortunately for me it meant I had a very well-informed tour guide for this bustling, intricate city.

Two of my main forms of transport were the riverboat, which is a fantastic opportunity to see many of the marvellously decorated temples and buildings from their best side, and the sky train. The sky train is a city-wide monorail that amusingly, as well as the usual signs, also has seats labelled: “Please give up for a monk.” The third most popular form of a transport is the tuktuk (pronounced took-took). They are small 3-wheeled taxis famously cheap, but for one reason only. The reason being that you will never ever be allowed to get to your destination before you have been to that driver's particular sponsor, usually a tailor who will have you measured and fitted before you've had the opportunity to think. Good thing or bad, I was actually quite quickly convinced, and before the end of the week walked away with two perfect-fitting cashmere suits, two tailor-made shirts and four (unfortunately less stylish) neck ties for a mere £170. Unfortunately I have since then regained the 10kg I lost while travelling, but at the time a definite bargain by anyone's maths.

When asking for suggestions from fellow travellers before getting to Bangkok, they had often told me that a thai massage was unmissable to help you relax on your holiday. So when my hostel recommended one two stops away I had to embrace the opportunity.

The attendant showed me in, taking me through a warmly lit corridor decorated with sculptures and fabrics, to a changing room where I was asked to change into some loose-hanging generic pyjamas. Next I was led to a comfortable, dimly-lit room covered in cushions and divided from other rooms only by sets of long hanging maroon drapes.

Eventually the masseuse came in and asked me to lie down on a mattress, before putting me through one of the most painful experiences of my life (definitely the most painful one I've paid for). She pushed her thumbs and fingers into all my muscles and bent and stretched my body in every unimaginable way. It was more like lots of strong pinches than a massage. It felt like it lasted hours, and all the way through I just hoped that the next bit would be better. Neddless to say, I never went back.

The evening was better. It was the King of Thailand's birthday. Apparently everybody loves the king. So much so that every monday pretty much everyone wears yellow in his honour. Once he was seen on tv with a pink shirt, so the following day everyone had pink. There are even 2 minute tv adverts, ending in the tagline: "We love the king." So naturally, today there was a firework show above his palace. It turned out that Fernando had two good friends, BA flight attendants, who had bought a gorgeous penthouse suite overlooking the river and conveniently also the King's palace. They cooked us homemade noodles and beef stroganof which we hungrily devoured.

The next day I did the tourist thing and took an organised daytrip out of Bangkok. Our first destination was known as the floating market. It was a market on the river. Our group of American families and I got into a few long river boats which then punted slowly through the centre of the village. The riverbank was one stall after another selling everything from fruits and sweets, to handbags, pictureframes and jewelry. Everything was beautifully handmade and after you've bartered at least 50% off the starting price, it was all very cheap as well. I bought a lot of presents here.

The rest of the day was various shows and activities including an elephant ride, a diamond museum and a cobra and aligator show. My favourite however was the elephant parade. This was a fantastic show involving very well-trained elephants. The first half was a dramatic war with the elephants raging into battle carrying colourfully armoured warriours who were angrily wielding swords and spears. But the second half had me in tears with laughter as these cheeky-looking elephants came running into the stadium each dressed as a different country's star football player. A giant football then came bouncing in as a hilarious football match commenced. This ended in a penalty shootout with each elephant having their own unique celebration after they kicked the ball into the back of the net. This usually involved some variant on standing on two legs and swinging their trunk.

The last couple of days I was joined by my friend John, who was on his way to Australia but had stopped by in Thailand to catch up with me. We did some exploring and shopping, but mainly it was just really nice to catch up and reminisce about home. But one very memorable thing we did manage to attend was Thai boxing.

This was brilliant. Lots of very short, very fast fights. All the contestants were boys rather than men, but very vicious nonetheless. Before each fight they would both enter the ring dressed with flower chains hanging around their necks and would spend the first five minutes praying on the floor and performing sometimes very amusing dances while screaching. All very strange. After this they collided gloves and a battle of short-sharp kicks and punches would commence until the judges selected a winner.

Australia

Australia has got to be one of the most popular holiday destinations in the world. Thousands of British travellers visit and work there each year. It has a wealth of culture, arts and music, event-filled tourist routes, and of course the Great Barrier Reef. Did I see any of this – the plain answer is 'no'. I did meet up with a friend, Ged, who showed me the magnificent Sydney Opera House as well as the lively night-life the city has to offer. But the truth was I was completely touristed-out.

I only had 7 days in Australia and had no desire to be speeding about trying to tick off as many must-sees as possible. Instead I made a conscious decision not to see anything at all, but instead spend the whole week doing what you can't do back home. I went to surf camp!

Every few days we moved up the east coast, eventually ending in Byron Bay. My first stop was an exclusive beach location owned by the Mojo Surf company next to a tiny little village named Woolgoolga. Every morning started at 8 when we woke up to freshly baked bread and cereal. We then carried our boards down to the beach where we spent the first half hour practicing leaping from our bellies onto our feet by effectively doing “The Worm”. A very difficult manoeuvre, but essential if you wanted to stand a chance of reacting fast enough to catch the big waves.

We then hit the water. Surfing has got to be one of the most exhilarating sports I have ever tried, and I understood instantly how people could spend their whole life doing it. It is also absolutely exhausting. Especially in the learning stage when you spend 8 hours a day paddling as hard as you can to catch a wave, then leap onto your board, hold your balance for up to 20 seconds, before falling hard like a rock into the rushing water again. By the time you've finally regained your composure you've been dragged all the way back into the beach again. So you gracefully pick up your board again and sprint frantically back out to sea. This process repeats itself again and again until you ache all over and can no longer lift your own arms to paddle. And then it's time for lunch.

Lunch and dinner was great. The guys at Mojo Surf knew exactly what you needed: mountains of high-carb foods. We lived mainly off pasta, risotto and BBQ's, but nothing was more ideal after a whole morning and afternoon of frantic surfing attempts.

Then came the evenings. With several Mojo buses running surfers up and down the east coast of Australia there would always be at least one or two bus loads of people arriving into the camp every evening. These people came expecting a party, and that's exactly what they got. Just as dinner was finished and the newcomers arrived, case loads of beers would be brought out and the drinking games would begin. Then at 21:30 when the party is well under way it officially becomes “quiet time” in the camping site so the whole party moves down to the beach. Here a bonfire, the warm sea and a wheelbarrow-carried stereo system provide the atmosphere for the rest of the night. Before you know it everybody's dancing, half the people have stripped down and are swimming in the sea, and “Chef” is running around “tea-bagging” unexpecting strangers. Then before you realise it another dawn begins and it all starts all over again.

It all went great up until the last two days in Byron Bay when exhaustion, sleep deprivation and drinking finally caught up with me. The final strike was meeting Alex, the Credit Suisse prop. Trader. He was on a two-week break and had money to burn. By 10-o-clock he'd already bought us our third bottle of champagne, so I bought him a hot dog as a thank you. Had I known at that time the pain my head would feel the following morning, a thank you would have been the last thing on my mind.

That morning, had I listened to my body, I might have had a completely different story to tell, but I'd already paid for my surf lessons for that day, so I dragged my sorry backside out of bed and onto the Mojo bus. By the time I got back to the hostel my hangover had been replaced by heatstroke and nausea and I spent the next 24 hours with my head over a bucket. Nothing but good memories.