I fell in love with you and I cried is a spiritual, personal and travel memoir of a year in India and Southeast Asia. In April 2017 my husband and I asked ourselves, what would we do if we could do anything? We decided to sell up, leave our jobs and go travelling, along the way unpicking the conditioning of property, career and security and exploring what a life with less stuff would look like. We gave away most of our possessions and in March 2018 we went to India, where we spent seven months in all, then Thailand, Tokyo, Nepal, Cambodia and Vietnam. My book documents the trip through the eyes of a relatively inexperienced traveller. The sights, sounds and colours of India and Southeast Asia as well as the physical and emotional challenges.
This was a pre Covid19 trip of a lifetime; making connections with local people and fellow travellers and putting beliefs about minimalism into practice by living out of a small backpack for a year.
It is available as a paperback from Amazon, as an ebook from Amazon, Google Play, and hopefully wherever you buy your ebooks.
Thank you to the wonderful WordPress community who read along, commented, encouraged me, and published their own blogs which kept me company throughout the year, on long train journeys and in all the many rooms we stayed in. Thank you.
All the places we’ve stayed… in chronological order… with links to relevant blog posts
We had a budget per night of £10 (or US$13 or IDR1,000, roughly). We stayed in private rooms, except for me in Tokyo. We kept well within budget most of the time, often staying in rooms which cost half that amount. We blew the budget in Tokyo (£20 per night), and went over once in Delhi and once in Bangalore, and towards the end of our Pushkar stay when prices went up due to an event.
* from an article in an old magazine about the benefits of meditation, read in a cafe in Pondicherry, India
Our first stop. That spot is special to me, I did my yoga there, ‘I’m doing yoga, in India!’ and I lay there in the hall on the cool floor next to the bathroom the night I was sick.
(My husband went to Cambodia while I was in Tokyo, he stayed in two different guesthouse rooms. He also did a trip to and from Bangkok with his daughter, and so had an extra overnight train journey, and three nights in three different hotels, so he wins on numbers!)
Varanasi (guesthouse) 3 hours (unbearable due to building work)
Delhi (hotel)
Sleeper bus to Pushkar pictured above
Pushkar (guesthouse) first room
Pushkar (guesthouse) second room pictured above
We were there for a month and felt like part of the family. They upgraded us for our last few days! I loved Pushkar, home to Babas, gorgeous looking cows, and fun monkeys.
Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, pictured above, our last room in SE Asia
As this posts we will be waking up in a Travelodge in London, before getting a train to Northampton, then a bus, to begin our new lives living on a narrowboat in the Northamptonshire countryside!
Because we travel on 7kg hand luggage allowance only, I ruthlessly declutter even notebooks once the content has been typed. I tear the covers off notebooks, pull the written-on pages from writing pads and discard the rest. Although I usually have an A4 or more usually an A5 pad in the room, when I am out and about I have a small notebook. Sometimes a really tiny one. I often only have a waist bag and don’t like to carry a heavy bag.
The loose folded pages at the bottom of the pile, the two coverless notebooks and the small and tiny little notebooks contain a few additional notes from Nepal, and pretty much all the notes for India Part Two as in from October when I came back from Thailand and Tokyo, to when we left in January. I have typed some notes up as I’ve gone along, and some of the blogs from that period will contain useful aide memoires, but these notebooks are priceless.
Does having a collection of tiny little notebooks to carry around and take care of cause me anxiety? Well yes it does. I wrap them all up in a plastic bag, then put them inside a polka dot draw string bag, then in my big handbag for travelling, otherwise they stay indoors. (Other than the current one in my waist bag, of course.)
The last time I bound them up to pack I was thinking about the book, and the work, and about getting it all done, and then I saw how the books had arranged themselves. There were just two words visible from the open pages of one of the notebooks: Work hard
It’s actually part of a t-shirt slogan I noted down ‘Work hard, stay humble,’ (one day I will get around to that post, Indian t-shirt slogans are the best) but for now, I’m taking it as a sign or a mantra and I’m having it for myself.
In the photo of the little pile of notebooks is a green notebook. Until a few days before I had also had a red one the same, both from the Kerala period May- August. My husband had brought them back for me from shopping one day. ‘If you love me, buy me notebooks.’ These two had been the worst, in terms of the oldest, the smallest, and had been carried around all over the place, India, Thailand, Tokyo and back to India again, once or twice I’d thought I’d lost them, but I’d put them somewhere safe.
Typing up the bits from them hung over me like dealing with the huge Kerala section. In Otres Village, Sihanoukville, Cambodia, I worked through a chest infection on Kerala, Varkala, and opened the red notebook. It had a few bits and pieces for the main Kerala, Varkala chapter, and it also had notes about the trip we’d taken to Kanyakumari.
I’d written a draft chapter about Kanyakumari at the time and posted it on the blog in a bit of a hurry. Re reading the original notes I realised the blog wasn’t as warm, and the notebook contained potentially more depth of feeling. After a moment of disappointment/overwhelm, I realised it was ultimately a good thing. I retyped everything from the notebook, unless it was exactly the same as in the draft, so that I didn’t miss something. I got the typing finished before we left, and whilst we’ve been at Siem Reap I got the Kanyakumari draft redone.
And then in Siem Reap I went back to the main Kerala, Varkala section, and opened the last notebook, the little green one; and found… that there was nothing to find. Every page had a line crossed through meaning it had been typed, which I also checked, or was blank. Sometimes the universe just throws you a bone.
I decided that was the moment to stop for the day. My husband had gone out to give me writing space. Rather than just plough on to the next thing I thought I’d take a moment to celebrate what I had already achieved. Listening to this song alone in our beautiful hotel room, the end in sight, was a moment of pure celebration and joy:
The next day I did a final bit of tidying up and sent the Kerala draft to my husband to read: 23,000 words, and the section I’ve struggled with the most. It’s still a draft, but it’s ready for a rough read, and it’s time to move on. And oh yes, that felt good. Below was the song for that moment, that pure burst of energy:
For anyone doing anything creative I wish you full power
YES TO EVERYTHING: THAILAND (PART FIVE) Draft chapter for book Sri Thanu, Koh Phangan,
We’d started off in the party area for my step daughter, moved into a proper town for the middle part, and for the last week we moved to the yoga area. We thought we might go to a yoga class- we didn’t- but the main reasons were that it was quiet and there were lots of good vegan food places. We’d thought it might be expensive which was part of the reason we’d had the week in the town, as well as to have some variety and not stay in any one place too long in case we didn’t like it.
Our first introduction wasn’t that great, our taxi driver accidentally pulled up at the wrong property and an unfriendly Westerner leaned out from his balcony and told us all off for parking on the grass. Luckily, the place where we were staying was more friendly. Owned by a Belgium family, the son, who worked behind the bar said, ‘It’s a dream life.’
The accommodation was beach hut style bungalows, with a bar-restaurant on site, coconut palms, lots of greenery and little paths that led directly down onto the beach and tasteful sunbeds. A small swimming pool was on site; at night it was beautifully and temptingly lit up but out of bounds after seven pm.
The toilets did not have bum guns or even a jug and tap near the toilet like we’d grown used to in India and the rest of Thailand. Plus the bum gun is really useful for sluicing down the bathroom floor and getting rid of sand. It’s interesting to see how quickly or how slowly we adapt to new ways of doing things. We’d got used to the bum gun or jug, the water way. This made the seat wet though, and so I said to my husband, can we try and remember to lift the seat up, so it dries and we/I don’t get a wet bum. ‘I’ll try, but it’s going to be hard to undo years of conditioning,’ my husband said. I thought of all the arguments men and women have about this, and how it can change in an instant when your environment or culture changes.
There was a cute but fairly out of control puppy that some tourists had brought back from the street and then just gone home, leaving the guesthouse owners- who already had a dog and who had told the tourists not to bring the puppy back- to feed it. Though they fed it and were going to get its jabs done, the puppy was now not part of a dog pack or a human family. It used to scratch at our door in the night, as our room was where the tourists had stayed.
There were tiny birds in the bushes outside our room, they looked almost like hummingbirds. Around the place, hanging from trees, were strings of shells interspersed with pearlised pink beads, they looked so pretty. We’d seen a similar thing in Haad Rin, a kind of string and shell sculpture hanging from the low branches of trees at the edge of the beach.
The street with a 7/11 was at the end of the entrance drive. Along the ‘main road,’ which was very quiet, were lots of yoga places, lots of restaurants, a freshwater lake, and jungle just off the street. There were lots of scooters and jeeps. Some of the motorbikes had side cars which were like a metal frame or a cart, once we saw an old lady and three kids sitting in one. Others had been made into mobile grocery shops, selling all kinds of fresh fruit and veg, the driver would stop outside a restaurant and ring a bell.
We needn’t have worried about food and prices, as well as all the vegan places there were lots of little Thai places that were relatively cheap to eat at. I say relatively, because everything seemed expensive compared to India. The little Thai places were simple wooden structures at the side of the road, our favourite one had a tiny kitchen made from old blue wooden doors, and inside had everything hanging neatly on the walls, and jars packed onto lots of little shelves, like a cabin. Outside were a few wooden tables and chairs, plants and tree decorations, one a little wooden sign saying, Let it go.
What I read up about Thailand said to try and avoid saying the word ‘no,’ as in Thailand there isn’t a word for no. Although I had all good intentions this proved difficult, almost impossible to stick to; being offered massage and taxi at every turn, as well as being asked questions requiring a yes or no answer, eg would you like a plastic bag. We thought that in tourist areas they had probably got used to tourists saying no, and it didn’t seem to be a problem. What we realised was more important though, was not putting Thai people in a position of having to say no to us, as it appeared to cause discomfort.
One evening we’d finished dinner. I’d had coconut milk and tofu soup and a banana shake. We chatted for a while before my husband decided he’d like a banana shake too. He asked, the woman broke into giggles, hopped from foot to foot, wrung her hands, appearing very uncomfortable, before eventually explaining that the kitchen had, ‘Been cleaned.’ We quickly realised, the kitchen was closed! ‘Oh, okay no problem, we’ll come back in the morning.’ All smiles, harmony restored and my husband did as he’d promised and went back at breakfast and got his shake.
The same thing happened during a big power cut when we were going around finding out if anyone was still cooking, people were unable to say no, so we started saying, ‘Is tomorrow better?’ ‘Yes, come back tomorrow,’ they said, until we found one that was cooking.
During the daytime I wrote in the onsite restaurant, where there was good internet, charging points, water, coffee and food if I wanted it- homemade Belgium fries, tofu and vegetable rice- but also the staff were happy for me to just sit and write.
It was mostly quiet in the daytime, but just like in some places in India, even when no one was there they had the music turned up really loud. After a few days I got up the confidence to ask them to turn it down when there was only me. And just like at the Cactus Bar in Haad Rin, they played really inappropriate music for little kids, I watched/listened as a family with young kids arrived, I was so tempted to say something, but the staff did change it, after a while.
The staff were really nice though, the main person we spoke to was from Burma, he spoke very good English and Thai. He said that Thai people speak very fast on the islands so it’s very hard to learn; he said people speak slower in the North, so that in Bangkok, it is much easier to learn Thai.
The beach, whilst not huge, was very beautiful, and in the evenings we were able to watch the sun set over the sea. It was so beautiful that it felt surreal.
I even tried sunbathing; habitually I cover up from full sun, but I just thought, ‘Yes to everything.’ I dropped a factor of sunblock on the white bits, missed it out altogether on the tanned bits, went swimming, paced around the pool about twenty times, (have I mentioned I’m not that good at sitting doing nothing?) thought, that doesn’t seem to have done anything, so laid on one of the tasteful sunbeds with J for a bit until hot/bored and went in.
I got burned of course, my skin went wrinkly and I thought, well that was stupid.
Stupid of me, I mean. I do have some respect for people who make it their mission to tan and do it safely and slowly and thoroughly because I now know it takes a lot of dedication. (Just like having really nice hair and nails and a good coordinated wardrobe, other things I also don’t do/have.)
After my sunbathing, later on I went for a walk by myself. It was still hot but I covered up and took water with me. I walked past a beautiful shrine, yellow and gold with mirror mosaic that glinted silver in the bright sun.
I had bought new shoes in Kerala on a rare trip to a shopping mall. Alongside my flip flops they were my only footwear. When they were new they had given me huge bloody blisters. In Thailand I started wearing my shoes without socks they had become so comfortable.
Further along the road there was a yoga place, I went in and picked up a programme, they had a huge range of different yoga classes and meditations. It felt too hot for yoga really, but if J had wanted to go to anything I would have gone with her.
I carried on up the road as it became a hill. I said to myself, just to the top and back. I reached the top, said, just over the brow, and then, just a little further. As the road curved to the left suddenly everything opened out to a beautiful view down to the sea. The sea was a beautiful deep blue, there was a little bay, islands, and the sunshine making stripes on the sea. There was even a little stony layby where I could stand and stare safely away from the path of passing jeeps and scooters, and a flat rock to sit on and look down at it all from up high.
On the way back a yoga woman actually said hi and talked and walked with me, unthinkable in India. ‘I thought, she’s been to India,’ she said, recognising my lungi dress. This gives me cred with the Thai yoga people, in the hierarchy India comes top!
We went back to same place where I’d had the coconut soup and I realised in comparison how ill I’d felt when we went there the first time. I’d only dared eat soup and been really anxious about needing the loo. You don’t know how ill you’ve been until you feel well; in a turn around of this song they played everywhere, ‘you never miss the light til its getting low, never miss the sun til its starts to snow, never know you love her til you let her go,’ which may or may not be a good song but I heard it way too many times during that holiday.
Days of writing, maybe I’d been working too hard, and long evenings of sociability when I am a natural introvert, had meant that when I experienced a moment of peace, I really experienced it. We’d all retired early to bed after dinner. I sat on our bed which had a navy cotton ribbed bedspread, it had a familiar quality, I might have once had one like it at home. It was in a pause before we were going to watch Battlestar Gallactica. Quiet, comfortable, no pressure. A rare moment of absolute peace.
Towards the end of our time I had an emotional day, so happy in the morning, so sad at night. My husband and I went out for a vegan breakfast, just us. Just like in Eat Pray Love when she eats the pizza in Naples, it was almost a religious experience. Even the tiles on the floor were so beautiful, of flowers and grasses, just like the floor of heaven. The place was even called something to do with heaven. In the evening before dinner we went onto the beach, sungazing, paddling, watching the unbelievable light and colors in the sky and on the water, like pearlised nail polish.
Then the three of us went out and had dinner at the place we’d discovered during the power cut, a basic looking but busy and popular place at the side of the road. My husband tried a bit of my dinner and saved me some of his. The waiter came and offered us their speciality, mango sticky rice, we protested, ‘Maybe you leave Koh Phangan ten kilos heavier!?’ he said. We agreed to have just one plate to share.
My husband made a joke about me not saving him any of my dinner; J laughed. Even though he was only joking, and even though she was only laughing at him not me, it triggered this awful feeling. First I thought it was simple embarrassment, then I realised it was shame.
The mango sticky rice came with one fork and one spoon, my husband and J picked them up and started eating. ‘You having any?’ he said to me after a while. I had no implement. I could have shared his, I could have used my fingers, actually that is the done thing, but in my shame-state I couldn’t eat. I tried a tiny mouthful just to act normal-it tasted like the best food in the world, perfectly ripe mango and sweet-salty rice with a little bite to it- and then punished myself by not eating any more. I was paralysed with shame. I needed to go for a wee, but didn’t, just left with them and walked back, sitting outside the 7/11 while they went in, waiting to get home.
Here is where I have things in common with the features of emotionally unstable or borderline personality disorder (BPD): emotions that are triggered seemingly easily, come on strong and last a long time. Shame is a particularly important one as many BPD patients will have experienced being shamed as children.
Of course, rationally, underneath all this I realised that my husband was just trying not to let J feel left out; throughout the three weeks we were obviously both aware that we were a couple and of the need to make sure she didn’t feel isolated.
Yet shame, being left out, being left behind, are all big things for me, even though I didn’t name and experience them in so wide awake a way before.
On a previous evening we’d been walking home, my husband and J up ahead, me lagging behind, when my earing fell out and pinged across the ground. Instead of calling them back, I had a half hearted look and then gave up and walked on a bit sorrowfully, only mentioning it when I caught up. ‘Why didn’t you call us?’ My husband said. Immediately they both set off walking back with me and the three of us had a thorough look. We didn’t find it. Although they were my only pair of ‘dangly’ earrings, they were just the cheap gold hoop earrings I’d bought in Haad Rin and had since gone almost black, so it wasn’t important in itself, only as a teaching or a light.
Once I had been on holiday with a group of good friends, on our way home we had all decided to stop off at a certain beach, prolonging the holiday, and all drove separately. For some reason there was some confusion and they left without me or went to a different beach. It was a complete accident but I remember being really upset about it. I think it was the first time I’d really showed that side of myself to them, and they were people I’d known for years.
I even remember during the same holiday, when it was my turn to look after the dinner, someone else had made it, then I stayed in to stir it until it was finished, whilst the others sat outside on the decking with wine and cigarettes. The dinner seemed to take forever and I remember feeling really lonely and left out, even though I love solitude. Another thing I have in common with BPD features, an intense fear of abandonment.
I can trace the origins of some of these characteristics back to schooldays, but right now it’s not about analysing the past, it’s about shining a light on my emotions and responses and ironing out the kinks in as present a moment as possible.
After we got home after the mango sticky rice and 7/11, we went for a walk on the beach. I remember turning my head towards the sea and breathing; it smelled warm, and salty.
Back in the room, lying in bed, feeling my low mood, tearful, letting my emotions play out without suppressing them. Watching them, looking for a positive, use emotions.
We watched Battlestar Gallactica ‘You learned the wrong lesson from your mother. You confused the messenger and the message.’ I don’t know what that means for the character or me but I hope to find out both.
In the semi darkness, my head turned to the wall, I stared at the picture on the wall. It looked like a thing, a white creature with a crumpled face and paws. Paws resting on a table or keyboard, a surface of some kind. As if it were feeling, or controlling, what’s going on below.
I couldn’t find the right words to talk to my husband about it until the next day. I wanted to explain it from the point of view of, look what I found out about myself, and so that he would know me more rather than less.
After I talked to my husband, and with the addition of daylight, I looked again at the picture on the wall. It was just a bowl, and some unidentifiable white things.
But of course these things are never easy to discuss and sometimes things get worse before they get better. My husband said he felt ‘devastated,’ that something he’d said had made me feel so bad, and spent the day feeling like an awful person. I spent the day in a battle to force myself to go swimming. I knew the exercise would make me feel better but at the same time I felt anxious, hopeless and paralysed.
The closer we got to me going off to Tokyo, the worse we seemed to get on, bickering over the smallest things. Maybe it was the pressure of, ‘Oh it’s our last few days, they’ve got to be good.’ Or maybe we were living up to what we’d been saying mainly as a joke, ‘We need to build in a break from each other during this trip as we’ve been together almost 24/7 for six months.’ But I think we were both just sad really.
The two of us went out and I ate a whole portion of mango sticky rice, it was a re do, like buying the earrings from the shop in Haad Rin was.
My husband came in the taxi with me to the ferry, which I was glad about; and because we arrived early we got to spend a few hours alone together. We sat on a wooden platform looking out to sea, talking about our year, and watching big lizards sunning themselves on the rocks before disappearing into the gaps the moment we tried to take their picture.
So we ended up spending five weeks in Thailand, most of it on a paradise island. No travelling other than to and from the island. No taking the night train to Chang Mai from Bangkok with the lady boys, which apparently is meant to be fun. It wasn’t really planned but that was just how it all worked out. I had my hair done and got to wear (relatively) skimpy/fitted clothes. We stayed at easy places. I did lots of writing and relaxing. We ate great food. My hair looked thick, my eyes were sparkling, my face was clear and radiant. If you are travelling in India for a year, if you have a visa like ours where you have to go out after six months, I recommend a month or a fortnight in Thailand. Go stay on a holiday paradise island. You don’t even have to tell anyone, you could just pretend you’re at an Ashram or something. Or just say that you’ve gone there ‘to write.’
Personal update
Agghhh! Son’s dental surgery postponed until 10th November.
Travel update
I’m going to schedule this as a separate post for Saturday. My posts are far too long and at least people who can’t or don’t want to read the chapters can easily just check in on where we are if they want to.
Writing update
This, which means the draft of Thailand is finished! Next up, Tokyo.
See you next week, and thank you very much for reading.
Yes to everything: Thailand Part Four (Draft chapter for book)
Photograph: My husband saved this cat from some dogs and got scratched, luckily the scratches healed up with no ill effects.
THAILAND PART FOUR
Thong Sala, Koh Phangan
Just around the corner from where we were staying was a street market. We bought nice little pastries; savoury vegetable and sweet pineapple and banana. There were lots of clothes stalls both new and second hand. I tried a free size summer dress on, it fitted and looked nice. I tried a short skirt on, it fitted exactly. I tried on another top, it didn’t fit. I can try things, some fit, some don’t. That man in the shop in Haad Rin was wrong. Maybe nothing would have fitted, but it wasn’t ridiculous to want to have tried.
One night I was on WordPress, looking at which blog posts had been read that month. See yourself as beautiful, from earlier in the year before we left the UK appeared in the list. Later that line came into my mind in bed. It’s a mind game, I thought and that includes what you look like or how you feel about what you look like.
Away from the day glo hordes, albeit friendly enough, I can begin to be still and catch the quiet moments again. They are so distracted, there’s so much to see and do and so many people around.
J and my husband had gone out for a second breakfast. I stayed home and did a full, proper yoga session outside on the veranda undistracted with unlimited time; invigorating for mind and body. I had my period and reminded myself this is the time when ‘the veil is thin.’ I did the warrior pose (where your fingertips are outstretched and your gaze follows the path of your fingers). On the index finger of my left hand was my blue ring, I followed it to the exact place the stone was pointing at: a tree, its roots and branches and hidden behind the tree, the exact tip of a little red boat.
We chatted to the manager of the place at the bar-restaurant. He told us that he’d been to UK to see his friend who was at university in Portsmouth; while he was there he’d been to watch Leicester City play and been to Stonehenge. ‘Did you like Stonehenge?’ My husband asked. ‘Noooo!’ The man said and laughed; the barman laughed too and we all joined in. ‘Its not Wat Po is it?’ I said. ‘And so expensive,’ the man said, shaking his head.
The paving in Thong Sala was like the paving in some places in India, most memorably Pondicherry; tessellations, paving bricks with curves and diagonal lines, shocked parallelograms.
Like in Goa in India there was gasoline for sale everywhere for the scooters, sitting outside in sun but this time in glass bottles not plastic.
Walking into town from our place we heard What’s going on playing from one of the bars.
Thai pop music was very fast, lots of sounds, upbeat, playful, almost discordant to our ears.
We saw a sign saying ‘F***ing good bakery.’ Again we wondered, is that what they think we want?
The three of us went to a pub, above the bar were three big screens, all showing something different, luckily without sound: a film or documentary about Nazis, a football programme, and the BBC news. On the BBC news the politics looked so trivial, so grey, and the news seemed so alien, so far away. An advertisement came on the middle screen, or the end one, football or Nazis I can’t remember. I caught the final seconds: ‘Incredible India, find the Incredible you.’
One evening my husband went into a shop, I waited outside, not being bothered to undo my shoes. A turn of phrase the man used made me prick up my ears, ‘Indian,’ I thought. I looked at him, he looked Indian but before I said anything, he said to me, ‘You’ve been to India,’ recognising my dress-made-out-of-a-lungi. He was from Delhi, he said he had come to Thailand because it is much easier to run a business there. ‘It’s (India) alright for you, just visiting, but to live there and run a business…’ he said.
I was super excited, I said pleased to meet you and thank you in Hindi. He however wasted little time before trying to sell us something: as well as the shop clothes, fortune telling, meditation and chakra unblocking sessions, but my husband was hungry so we made our apologies and left. It made us realise that Thailand isn’t so pushy and that we’d probably got a bit soft! Nonetheless, I was as excited, possibly more, to meet and talk to an Indian person as J was to find an English bar that sold her favourite brand of cider for a taste of home.
One day my husband was sorting coins out, going what’s this, what’s that, that’s such and such, Thai, that’s a rupee, Indian. ‘I don’t know what that one is,’ he said, holding one up. ‘That’s a 10p!’ J said laughing, ‘I can’t believe you don’t know your own money!’ It really was true, and after only five months away.
There was a food market in Thong Sala which consisted of lots of stalls outside and inside a food court with permanent stalls and seating. From the stalls outside I bought fresh spring rolls filled with avocado. Inside there was a vegan place, we had huge portions of green lentil curry and brown rice, a solid substantial lentil dish like we would make at home. And brown rice! I couldn’t eat it all, but I felt really nourished.
There was a weird trek outside and beyond to the toilet, it reminded me of a car boot, walking down a muddy deserted track to a kind of run down prefab building where the loos were. On the inside of the loo doors were stickers, photos of pigs. Each individual pig was encased in an oval tunnel made from what looked like green garden wire. Totally encased, to the size of the pig. Rows and rows of them. ‘You don’t eat, this won’t happen,’ said the writing. I feel sick even writing it, weeks later. J, who eats meat, probably didn’t even notice them, if she did she didn’t mention it, whereas I’m still haunted by those images.
Another sad sight was all the birds in cages, outside homes and shops and at pet shops.
On a happier note, one evening we were walking past a house, their door was open and we could see inside; a man was ‘training’ a black and white cat in the centre of the room, holding up some food for it while two women looked on smiling. We all caught each others eyes and laughed.
It seemed people had a high tolerance for noise, like in India. We went past a kid on a toy bike which was making an awful noise, playing a really loud nursery rhyme; no one seemed to mind. The 7/11 door triggered a tinny automated ‘Sawadi-ka’ every time anyone came in, it would be enough to drive me insane, again the shop staff seemed able to ignore it.
At a restaurant one night, we watched a big metal pot of dinner being carried out to a scooter. One man got on the back side saddle, a second man put the steaming hot pot of food on him, got on the front and rode off. We often saw kids standing up on scooters. Health and safety wasn’t such a big thing as it is in the UK. It was nice to see that work and home life seemed mixed up altogether. We often saw kids with their families at massage places and at restaurants, and sometimes boys shyly served us or brought menus.
Often the family home was on the same site as the restaurant and to go to the loo you had to go into the family home. At one place they got the boy out of bath, covered in soap suds, I protested but it was too late. The bathroom floor was wet, a child’s version of a baby bath full of soap suds and clothes, washing clothes at same time, which made sense. There was a big water butt full, catching drips from a tap. The whole set up just struck me as so totally functional. Outside the bathroom the curve of the concrete floor was icy slippery under my wet bare feet and my feet slid although fortunately I kept my balance.
But apart from these odd glimpses, things you have to look really hard to see or be lucky to encounter, apart from these occasional glimpses, the real Thai culture seemed drowned out by the tourism. I’m not saying it’s not there, I mean I couldn’t see it for Westerners and for them having opened bars, started businesses, taken over, in a way you couldn’t imagine them doing in India. We only went to Koh Phangan though, and to Ko Samui to extend our visa, and Bangkok, maybe the rest of Thailand is different. On the ferry to Ko Samui there was almost all Westerners. A group of hungover Brits behind us were talking and swearing loudly. At the immigration office, where they expressly ask people to dress respectfully and not wear beach clothes, we saw several tourists in tiny shorts and tops, and I heard a woman getting annoyed at the counter. Keeping your cool is really important in Thailand, it is confusing and offensive to get angry.
Near our place, out for a walk on my own, I met a man who used to be a monk (it is common in Thailand for men to have spent some time as a monk). The conversation started with him offering me motorbike hire and tour guide services, but we ended up talking about meditation and enlightenment. ‘I can’t get there,’ (enlightenment), he said, because, ‘I can’t do it, one meal a day,’ the life of a monk. As far as he was concerned, there was only one route there. I felt sad for him but I didn’t want to risk offending his religious beliefs by disagreeing with him. He told me about the local temples, about how important it was to be in nature, and how if only we could roll back all the development of the island by twenty years….
During our stay in Thong Sala I felt that I had all the time in the world to do anything. It didn’t matter what time I got up or went to bed, as long as I wrote and got some exercise, I had no guilt and I was happy. I wrote, did some yoga, and spent time with J and my husband. It was the opposite of, ‘I don’t know where the day went.’
Just meters from our door amongst the trees was a log to sit on. Sometimes late at night before bed I sat there and looked out at the lights out at sea and in the town and the pretty coloured boats on the shore. It was a moment of peace and quiet to close the day with.
Sometimes we’d be woken up by the national anthem or loud Thai pop music, and often go back to sleep until later. We ate breakfast in the little on site restaurant. We bought little cartons of soya and almond milk from the 7/11 and put them in their fridge and ordered bowls of muesli with fresh fruit, and good black coffee.
The variety of milks in Thailand was incredible, soya milk with green tea, soya milk with chai seeds in, the seeds had obviously soaked so drinking or rather eating was almost like eating tapioca. We also enjoyed eating packets of dried seaweed instead of crisps. One day we went to a Tescos, it was the first supermarket resembling the ones in the UK that we’d been to since leaving and it felt quite exciting. There were huge bottles of Pantene shampoo and conditioner, popular in Thailand, and packs of regular cotton knickers which I was excited to buy, although unfortunately they didn’t fit, Thai sizes were too small for me.
I did my writing sat on a bench at a big wooden table facing out to sea. Around me on the sand floor were cane chairs and tables and beyond that the decking area. To my left, the wall of the bar, to my right the grass, the coconut palms and the bungalows and behind me the bar. When I took a break I had a Red Bull and a cigarette with J.
In Thailand, the home of Red Bull, it comes in little cans or in even smaller glass bottles which look like medicine bottles. It contains B12 and all sorts of other vitamins, different bottles and cans have different combinations, one has Zinc, another has Vitamin C; and it tastes significantly better than the stuff you get in the UK. It was possible to buy the big UK style cans in Thailand but it was much more expensive. The barman told me the Red Bull man used to be the richest man in Thailand, but he’s dead and now it is the man who owns Chang, a brand of beer and water. I spent a few days writing fuelled by Red Bull, before just, stopping…
The restaurant had a simple and limited vegetarian menu, for lunch I almost always ordered rice with tofu and vegetables, it was a small portion, just right for lunch and came with little side salad, big slanted thick slices of cucumber with tomato and lettuce.
J talked to me about her life and I talked to her about what my life used to be like. She’s twenty years younger than me and I related to a lot of what she said from the point of view of having been there and how I’ve changed.
There’s a tender balance though, between using all this as a way to reflect on how far I’ve come in twenty years, what I’ve learned, and thinking that if only J follows some of what I’ve done it will help her, rather than accepting that people have to find their own way.
So I probably did push my opinions more that I ought to have done, on the benefits of having a television and smart phone free life, sticking to a vegan or at least vegetarian diet, not drinking (mostly), not being in touch much with home whilst away in order to have a fuller experience, doing yoga and meditation, and my belief that all this reduces the chaos and drama within one’s life.
Putting draft chapters up on the blog, the comments make me realise where I need to explain more, often where I kind of knew but didn’t know how to fix, and the comments I do back help or even write it the additions for me. I love it when people say they can picture it, or feel like they are there, that they feel it through the senses. That was my intention, I stated in Panaji, Goa, ‘use the senses.’ I used to actually write it at the top of the chapter, use the senses: sight, sound, touch/feel, taste, smell. Now it just comes naturally. India made it easy for me though, of course.
Outside our bungalows we heard hard fruits dropping on ground just like at Osho’s. Near the restaurant we saw a coconut fall to the ground right in front of us, reminding us to avoid sitting underneath the coconut palms. Around the restaurant were sweet little birds with yellow beaks, just like at the Haad Rin restaurant, they made a pretty cheep cheep sound. Another bird made a sound a bit like an English wood pigeon. All around were the sound of voices, mostly quiet, sometimes loud, conversations in German, French and Thai.
In the evenings our neighbour played The Beatles. One night, after we had gone to bed, I heard Let it be coming from next door. If this was a film, I thought, we’d all start singing. Us, J next door, the people in the bungalows opposite would join in, and before you knew it the whole site would be singing along in imperfect yet beautiful harmony… But my husband was almost asleep and it was just a little too quiet to follow the words, and in any case, we’re not in a film.
Personal update
My son’s dental surgery has been rescheduled to tomorrow Saturday 13th. Thank you so much for all your good wishes which as well as helping him afterwards will I am sure help him get there tomorrow.
Travel update
Had six nights in Varanasi then an exhausting overnight train journey to Delhi last night (Thursday). Now in Delhi, we’ve had breakfast, and now I’m sitting on the hotel bed posting this. All is well.
Writing update
Just the draft of Thailand Part 4 (of 5) this week, as well as handwriting and some typing up of ‘India Part Two.’ I’ve clumped this bit, Kolkata and Varanasi and at least for a while onwards, into one document with subheadings. This feels more manageable than a separate document for each place. We will be moving to a new place on average once a week until the beginning of December so tricks that stop the writing task feeling overwhelming during this time are going to be helpful.
Thank you very much for reading
See you next week
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For pictures of Tokyo see followingthebrownrabbit
For pictures of Kolkata and Varanasi see travelswithanthony
My husband said, ‘Oh by the way, J said she’ll deal with any spiders we have.’ ‘That’s great,’ I said, ‘Yep, I’m okay with them,’ J said.
The first night we went out and drank. Many years ago I used to drink to excess to try and ‘get somewhere,’ into some alternate reality where everyone was really themselves and we all connected. It took me a long time to realise that alcohol doesn’t really raise consciousness; in fact it was a long time before I was even interested in raising my consciousness or knew what it meant. Now, even if I am a bit drunk, there’s a bit of me looking down, outside of it all asking, ‘What are you doing this for?’
Earlier on we ate dinner at one of the places in town that did 24 hour breakfasts for party goers. It was the night of the Full Moon Party and there were lots of people wearing what looked like a fancy dress uniform of white t shirts with UV paint splashes.
The loo was upstairs, up a flight of steep steps, each step was really high, it was something we noticed a lot in Thailand, how high the individual steps were, like giant’s steps. Opposite, across the alley was a row of touristy fast food places. Above one of them was someone’s home with washing hung out on hangers, the way I’d seen when we first arrived in Bangkok.
We had to buy party tickets to go onto the beach, we were early, most people don’t go until midnight, but we were just taking a look. On the beach, J walked along picking up rubbish, she picked up a plastic cup at the edge of the sea. ‘I can’t help it,’ she said, ‘I think, What if a fish got stuck in it… But then I eat fish, so…’ We both laughed. All the bars had different DJs and along the beach were different sound systems. We picked the best one, J went off to dance and my husband and I sat on the sand.
He said, if we can get any, do you want to take some MDMA? Me being me, I anxiously discussed all the risks. I really am the least cool person to do drug deals with, as I said before I like taking drugs sometimes, but I don’t like to get involved with the getting of them. A Thai man approached us and offered us some Ecstasy, we let him go. The three of us went off the beach, to a bar in a side street that was quieter. J texted her friend who had spent a lot of time on the islands for advice; they messaged back, deal with Westerners only. A likely person appeared, J approached them- she being younger and cooler looking than us. J did the deal and we left. We got home safely, just as most people were starting to go out. J and my husband tried a little bit of the MDMA but it made J feel sick on top of all the cocktails, and we put it away for another time.
We had breakfast at the 24 hour breakfast place, which did healthy food as well, oat and almond milk smoothies and big smoothie bowls of ice cold pureed spinach and fruit, too much to eat.
We ate dinner at a local place. J and I were bothered by them playing a horror movie, even if we didn’t look at the screen we could hear the screaming… ‘Well we could try to ignore it, or I could ask them to turn it off,’ I said. A group of women at the next table were also talking about how they hated horror films. ‘Or we could just leave,’ my husband said, so we did- we had finished our meal. It was a good metaphor for dealing with people or situations that upset your equilibrium, you can work on accepting it or on trying to change them, or you can just… leave.
One evening we’d eaten at the on site restaurant, on returning to our room I decided to stay outside for a few moments. I sat on the bench outside the room and ate some little lychee type fruits. J and my husband went inside. A few minutes later there was a shout or a scream. J came out, ‘F***ing hell, that’s huge,’ she said, shaking, ‘Is that what you’ve had to deal with?’ ‘I haven’t even seen it yet,’ my husband called out. ‘Oh yes, now I have…’ He came out a few minutes later. ‘I thought you said you were good with spiders? ‘Yes, normal ones, not ones that big!’ J said.
My husband had found a place for us all to go and look at. It was away from the party bit and more in a normal town. We got a taxi there. There were no rickshaws on the island, only big four by four jeeps that were expensive. We got dropped off in town and walked to the place.
It was perfect, with a simple, quiet bar-restaurant, with decking and floor cushions, grassy grounds with palm trees, right on the beach. The accommodation was little chalet bungalows, we could have two next door to each other. It was the perfect setting for taking the MDMA. We paid a deposit and stopped and had a drink, excited to be moving soon.
On the way back I, who isn’t always that good with directions, said, ‘Look out J, I think this is the monkey place,’ two seconds later, and there they were, a group of three monkeys, for J! Earlier I had manifested scrap paper when I needed it, although that isn’t quite as exciting as monkeys.
One evening we walked along the beach towards town, beside a resort, and heard an incredible noise. We wondered what it was. Ciccadas? Someone learning to play the didgeridoo- very badly? A man was in the grounds, so I asked him. He said a word we couldn’t catch, then spelled it out f-r-o-g. ‘Oh, frog! How many, many frogs?’ ‘No, maybe three or four. I show you,’ he said. We followed him up some steps, the sound stopped immediately. He shone a light and beckoned us to look. A little brown and white frog sat looking at us under the light. It seemed incredible that just four or five of those little creatures could make that much noise. ‘Not for eating,’ he said, ‘Not dangerous, but not for eating.’ We reassured him we had no intention of eating them, thanked him and went on our way.
One evening playing pool we heard another strange noise, it turned out to be a big gecko that lived outside on the back wall of the restaurant. She spent most of her time behind a sign, we just saw the tip of her tail and nose. ‘She is the mother’, the staff told us. It was only in Thailand that I realised they make a sound like Gek-oh, gek-oh. We saw lots of little ones around, like the house lizards we had seen in India.
On our last evening in Haad Rin, I went for a little walk by myself on the beach. The sea was unbelievably still, exactly like a lake. The colours of the surface, milky opal green, mauve-blue, looked like oil or glass. Above the sea, a sunset and at the shore, a little red boat. It was picture perfect paradise but it lacked the emotion of India.
Later we went to the party beach for the last time. J and I had our Tarot cards read. My husband had had his done the week before. The tarot man looked cool, with a thin curled moustache, sat cross legged on a blanket on the sand.
He turned over the first card. His face broke into a smile and he looked at me. ‘Ahh, sexy lady! Sexy when sleeping, sexy when wake up, sexy walking down the street. Everyone loves you.’ He turned over another card. ‘Good family, man loves you. You love everyone.’ He looked at my hands. ‘You are strong!’ He exclaimed. ‘You look after everyone.’ Another card. ‘You make money, September, October, November.’ Another card. ‘You worry about a young one. Okay, everything okay.’ Another card. ‘You the boss, work, home. You do stuff. Another card. ‘You like to cook? At work? You could do, for money.’ Another card. ‘Look after your heart, and your blood. Smoking not good for you. Bad air, sleeping, working, dirty air, not good for you. Potatoes good, cool, warm.’
I’d just eaten potatoes and actually commented, ‘Very grounding.’ Potatoes, in fact any vegetables that grow below ground, are meant to help ground you if you feel your spiritual awakening/frequency rising is going a bit fast. Conversely, if you want to speed up the process, the advice is to only eat vegetables that grow above ground. Sounds crazy, but in the midst of such an experience, in the absence of any advice from elsewhere, I’ll take it, and because I believe it works, it works for me.
In the taxi, almost at our new place, my husband said, ‘There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I forgot the MDMA.’ He almost went back, but we decided it wasn’t worth the risk that they’d already found it, even though he was sure they wouldn’t have done as it was hidden well out of sight on top of the very high wardrobe and right at the back where it could potentially stay undiscovered for months.
We wished we could have put it on social media as it was in the party area, the whole complex was full of party goers, no kids or families, we wished we could tell people, stay at xxxx make sure you get room xx. But we couldn’t, so we had fun imagining people who had been desperate to get some but been unable to getting a very nice surprise, or people on it and wanting more thinking they’d conjured it!
Personal request
On Monday my son has major dental surgery scheduled, followed by recovery and then implants work to be scheduled. Those of you who have been here for a long time/read old posts or who know me face to face will know that this has long been a source of great anxiety and heartbreak for me, let alone for him. If anyone feels inclined to send good vibes, kind thoughts, include him in your prayers, spells or healing thoughts, from Monday and anytime afterwards, that would be gratefully appreciated. His name is Siris. Thank you xxxx
Travel update
Back in India. Tokyo to Kolkata was quite an adjustment, after six plus weeks out of India. Kolkata is really something else, for pics see my husband’s Instagram travelswithanthony
But after three nights in Kolkata and one overnight train journey to Varanasi, I am back in India and back in love. Not to mention reuniting with my husband after the longest we’ve spent apart in seven years. Altogether now…
Writing update
What with all the travelling I haven’t managed to do very much, just the short piece posted today, as well as some typing up of Tokyo notes. I am also writing notes on Kolkata, the journey, and Varanasi, by hand in my notebook, for later.
PS If you have Netflix, here’s a recommendation: BoJack Horseman
Yes to everything: ThailandPart Two (very rough draft chapter for book)
I’d even thought of saying to M about the anthem (in Thailand they play the national anthem in public places and everyone stands up), and certainly I’d vowed to be more aware of my surroundings… But lost in conversation with M I didn’t notice the anthem and everyone standing up. M and I were at a cafe upstairs, my husband had gone downstairs to find a shop, he said he could see us just chatting away, totally oblivious.
I dragged myself away from the feeling of burning shame, it was an accident, I was totally absorbed in conversation. I decided to let myself off, we were at train station with backpacks, we would have looked like we’d just arrived and didn’t know. I was actually looking at language learning with M, trying to do my best to be a good tourist! I do have to focus on things, I struggle to read a menu whilst someone is talking to me, or to talk and pay attention to directions. I can be engaged in conversation and completely oblivious to what’s going on around me. Good for the person and the conversation, can cause occasional glitches, like this one.
As well as panic buying snacks from the 7/11 for the journey, packets of crisps, pastries and something chocolatey called Euro Rolls, we went to eat a meal before getting on the train. In the restaurant we met a young British man, he said of Thailand, ‘It feels safe; I didn’t think I would but I do.’
Is this how I felt in India? But then to come to Thailand and realise that maybe I didn’t? Or is it just that Thailand provides such an elevated level of comfort? Was this our reward for five months of India? And for thinking India was fine, which it was, but Thailand, oh my God I felt so safe, so easy, so at ease…
It’s like its all laid on for tourists. They even make the beds for you on the train. The seats are soft anyway and then they put a mattress on top and then they put the sheet on. There’s a lovely blanket in a bag, white with square raised bits, like a towel but soft, warm to the touch, it holds the warmth of your body and is big enough to really wrap yourself in and cover your feet right up.
The upper beds are a bit smaller, but the lower ones are almost big enough for two. So cosy, plenty of space, and there was even three little mini metal pegs that fold out from the wall to hang your stuff on.
The train was full of Westerners and we met a nice Irish man who was travelling with his wife and young son. A lovely friendly woman member of staff taught us Thai and took our orders for breakfast.
As usual I was too excited to sleep, and sat up writing in my little cubicle long after M and my husband had gone to sleep.
The train arrived early the next morning, and after a coach, a ferry and a taxi, we arrived in Haad Rin, Koh Phangan.
There were lots of healthy looking dogs of all different breeds, medium-small, fluffy, Golden Retriever types, but many with a ridge, even small fluffy dogs that were not like Ridgebacks at all. We saw a woman on a white bicycle with two dogs balanced on her lap/the handlebars, and two dogs in metal crate like side car. Dogs sat on the top of the two tier round white tables that were often outside shops.
We saw what looked to us like a giant cat stretched out long and fluffy on a table. We saw a woman entering a shop, pick up cat, squeeze it to her and kiss it, she did this three times. Where we were staying we saw cats held like babies, being carried back to staff’s room, ‘My cat.’ One sturdy, whiteish, one orange with bright eyes, one Siamese with a collar with a plastic bow and a name tag; all well fed and healthy. The orange cat visited us for an hour while we played cards and was fed banana cake left over from the train, all we had. At night we often heard the meowing and fighting of the various cats.
Most of the staff were from Myanmar/Burma, we should have learned Burmese not Thai. One of the staff sounded like a cockney. ‘I copy Danny Dyer, he’s my favourite actor,’ he said, and he and my husband discussed Danny Dyer films. One of the staff showed me their tattoo, ‘It means freedom, I used not to have freedom, but now I do.’ We played pool with one of the Burmese reps, he coached me and M.
We went to the party beach: little plastic buckets of alcohol and mixers with straws, loads of handwritten signs on neon card saying f***ing and c***. Is that what we sound like? We went to the Cactus Bar: a group of Burmese men and boys did amazing fire club displays, twirling, throwing them to each other, they were really good. The trees nearby were covered in lights flowing down, and when we went for a walk on the beach it all looked very nice. There were people doing UV body painting, sitting in the sand in front of big colourfully decorated screens. Beach sellers came round with fake flower garlands, light up ears, inexplicable toy monkeys in bright neon colours, and even more mysterious, Connect 4. All the bar staff were from Burma, our barman showed us pictures of his girlfriend who was from Belgium. The music was a mix of ‘inappropriate given there were little kids present;’ good; and cheesy- they played YMCA in the middle of it all. An old black dog wandered about the dance floor. The staff organised balloon games and a terrifying looking but actually okay game of fire limbo with the little kids. We had cocktails, the menu making a pretty list, Mai Tai and Butterfly and Black Russian; Sex on the Beach and Tequila Sunrise.
Waiting for 2am, our agreed time, feeling tired… At the table next to me, a woman’s foot, no nail polish, half buried in the sand. The sand so soft it felt unreal, as if shipped in, but couldn’t be, the beach is so big. Seeing my blue ring, like the room in Chennai, thinking, ‘Every moment on earth is a blessing,’ simultaneously noticing a light out at sea, one of the boats, ‘Every moment you’re alive is a blessing.’ Lots of lights but I picked just one.
There was a swimming pool where we were staying but it was often busy. We found a swimming pool further along the beach, up some steps, part of a restaurant and rooms resort that was practically empty. We ate at the restaurant and asked if we could use the pool, which was usually deserted.
Walking along the beach to the pool, monsoon clouds, the sea all different colours, green, dark blue, pale blue in patches. The beach was full of driftwood, one piece was big, worn pale, with lots of branches, beautiful. There were piles of small pieces of darker driftwood, gathered ready to burn. Lots of broken glass including terrifying broken bottles, jagged ends up, and old coconuts, dark brown coconut leaves huge like branches, and plastic bottles.
The swimming pool below the restaurant was surrounded by fake boulders, and the complex was done out like a fake temple. Grey fake stone doors led to toilets outside near the pool. There was a sink outside, in the open air. The water came out of the tap warm; there was always one or two white blossoms in the sink and standing there you looked down at the beach and the sea. There was an outside shower with a faux stone mermaid; I used to always think someone was standing there as I swam.
The three of us went swimming together, practicing strokes, doing tricks and just enjoying the water totally unselfconsciously. Family at its best are people you can just be yourself with, and be forgiven.
What do you do when everyone else is drinking cocktails, you ordered iced coffee cos you have a blog to write? Take a sip. When they can’t drink theirs and offer to you, even though you ordered iced coffee cos you have a blog to write? Take a bit more than a sip, even though don’t really want to, but don’t finish them. (Like the potion!) Return to room when all back, start blog, and keep writing until it’s the end, after everyone else asleep…
Lying on my back after yoga. ‘Why do I feel so bad about everything?’ White light above me. ‘It’s your programming.’
Tired after working hard on blog and posting it. Took a walk break by myself, to decompress, relax my body before sitting, and socialising, at dinner. On the beach. ‘Enjoying yourself can be its own religion.’ I thought of my husband. Day off tomorrow. I got back to room, my husband was listening to this song on YouTube, ‘Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think; Enjoy yourself,while you’re still in the pink; Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think!’
I thought I’d try, maybe get a short skirt and a top, or a dress, to wear in Thailand at least. The man in the shop didn’t seem all that friendly, and then when I picked something up and asked to try it on he shook his head and said no, meaning that it wouldn’t fit. I picked up a couple of other items. How about this? How about this? No, no, he said half laughing. It didn’t even seem like he would even let me try anything on, so I left. Okay, I thought, this is one of those not so nice experiences, but let’s not make it worse than it is.
On the way back there was an, albeit more expensive shop, with a friendly Burmese shop assistant and a European manager. I had a brief look and then said, have you got stuff to fit me, and told her what had happened, oh no, that’s mean, no, we have European sizes, come tomorrow. I couldn’t face doing anything more that day.
Just before my husband left to take my step daughter back, we were having last minute anxieties about our booking choices, as we had a friend from the UK coming out after my step daughter went home and we wanted to make sure where we were staying was suitable as well as not too expensive. The more we thought about it the harder it seemed to be to make a decision. ‘First world problems, where to stay on this luxury island, and how much to spend per night, £10 or £12,’ my husband said, grounding us.
We booked a few more nights in the same place to give us some time, and decided to all go choose somewhere when they got back. The place where we were staying said we might have to move rooms for the extra bit, and asked us to come and choose the one we wanted. (We’d paid for a fan room, and been given an ac room, with the ac turned off. If they sold the ac room, we’d need to move.) The ac rooms were also bigger and nicer. In the middle of this, my husband’s taxi arrived and he had to go, leaving the final decision to me.
Ahh, anxiety, responsibility! I was shown around the fan rooms by Danny Dyer and picked one, the biggest. But when I got back to my room, I thought, did I check the beds properly? Our friend had a bad back, and so does my husband sometimes; what if the beds are uncomfortable? I went into a cold sweat. I lay on the bed, paralysed. I even cried. Then I stopped, I went for a walk; I remembered what I had decided: Be more aware, and if you haven’t, rectify it, if you can.
The first time I walked past the office. The second time I went in and asked could I just look at the rooms again, I was in a hurry before and I don’t know if I checked them properly. No problem, of course. Both sets of beds felt exactly the same; my decision was ok.
Back at the room I did a long, proper- as in mindful, into it deeply- yoga session, then healing, then accidental nap.
I beat myself up about not going swimming, ‘What have I even done today,’ but so tired, hence low mood, maybe PMS? I ask for time alone but it is dangerous. I pulled myself together and went for dinner. The onsite restaurant had little bells on each table to ring for service. I disliked doing this, but it only made it worse. I’d wait for someone to come, be fearful that no one was coming. Plus I often used the space for writing, which was fine, but meant that they didn’t always know if I wanted food or not. The next morning I was hopelessly self conscious at breakfast, loads of people near loud, I felt invisible, people pouring in, not ringing bell, confusion re ordered or not, who coming to take order…
It was a weird place to be alone, a party/couples/young people holiday place by myself for four days: a bit sad and lonely but safe, with the nice staff and an easy environment, and a good opportunity for writing, yoga, swimming, I told myself.
I spent the first night in a state of anxiety about spiders, having had one only a couple of nights before. I stayed out in the evening and kept the light off so I wouldn’t see anything. The second night I heard people coming back at 3am and being sick, and sick again in the morning. Even once my fear about spiders had subsided a bit I still couldn’t sleep.
The next day I tidied up and asked for the room to be cleaned, to reduce risk of spiders, writing in the restaurant while it was being done. A nice waiter told me about what its like during the Full Moon Party (the night my husband and friend would be back), more people come every day, this whole place full, kitchen forgets food orders… ahhh. ‘Crying, lost phones, we tell them, don’t take out, don’t take card, just take enough for how many drinks you have but…’ Not looking forward to that AT ALL.
Every day I made lists and stuck to them, yoga, sort out and take laundry, go for breakfast, write, swim, lunch, town, hair… Stick with the plan, the to do list, if not happy at least satisfied… Get up early, do yoga, collect laundry, tidy room, empty bins, go shopping, WordPress, yoga, hang up clothes, unpack stuff shoved in backpack while room cleaned, made space for J, breakfast, writing, walk, swim, writing, dinner…
To the swimming pool cafe, the wind and the rain got up whilst I was there, the staff rolled down the clear plastic at the sides of the covered but open sided ‘indoor’ eating area. I ordered french fries, got more than I could eat, and a pot of Liptons tea. There were a few other tourists, young Westerners, couples. I read my notes, organising my work, conceptualising it, feeling that it was okay. I had some social anxiety, which was better the next time I went, I ate lovely Pad Thai made specially for me with tofu, it was sunny and I ate it outside.
At the swimming pool, thinking, wouldn’t it be nice to be a successful writer and have a swimming pool. But I am writing every day and I am at a pool, which I have to myself. ‘I have everything already.’
Getting into being alone at the same time as looking forward to them coming.
Orange cat came by in the evening and was still there after I came back from dinner, as if keeping me company. I tried everything to sleep, all the exercises I know. The only thing that really helped me was thinking about the little orange cat sitting outside on the bench, like a talisman.
Two young Irish women who had looked after M on her last night, been dancing with her whilst we sat outside, chatted with me about travelling after breakfast one day and invited me for a drink in the evening. I’d said maybe, thinking I wouldn’t want to, then as the day wore on, thought why not? But when it came to it they were in a group with some young guys. I thought they wouldn’t want to see me, so I walked past, eyes down. ‘You’re not the kind of person people want to spend time with.’ Ringing in my thoughts. But I didn’t want to make small talk with a group of drunk people, I only wanted to chat soberly and with just them. I’m a control freak too, as well as not always being very nice.
I read a post on WordPress about, ‘You may have noticed how it’s easier to criticise yourself than have other people do it.’ That’s what ‘internalising the negative messages’ actually means. After twenty years in mental health I only just understood that.
Bethany Kays posted on her blog on WordPress about how it was much harder to be mindful without her husband present, about how she’d wanted some mindful photography alone time but found that she was afraid without him there and that was distracting. Bethany has real things to be afraid of, alligators, spooked wild horses, and uses a wheelchair. My fears were all in my mind, but still, I recognised the timing of this post.
DSFB had been getting very deep and I was struggling to absorb his message. I wish he would explain his philosophy more simply, I thought, and he did: ‘Try and be fulfilled; Be nice to people; Enjoy what’s in front of you.’
After two nights I realised I could watch Netflix. I mean I knew that, but I forget to enjoy myself, I think only of writing and anything that might need to be done, forgetting that in the evening I could watch something. I mean if my husband is there I’m with him so that’s taken care of, we’ll spend time together or watch something that he will have downloaded and organised for me.
Anyway, I spent the third and fourth evenings sitting out on the balcony with the cat, watching stuff on my tablet.
‘That looks like my kind of evening,’ my neighbour said returning to get ready to go out, looking as if she’d rather stay in, me with my feet propped up on the table. ‘I’ve even got a cat,’ I said. And the battery lasted right up until the end, then died seconds after it* finished.
I went to the office to see if we had to move rooms or not, she said yes. I quickly packed up, she’d said ten minutes. But I wasn’t sure we’d understood each other. I went back. ‘You can stay.’ Maybe she’d misunderstood me and thought I’d wanted to move, maybe she’d had a think and rearranged some bookings. I went back and unpacked again. The fan rooms we were offered were fine, but this was much better! I was so glad I checked. This was one of those times when I got it right. Packing, unpacking, back and forth to the office, I was very hot, but happy, and looking forward to them coming.
I went back to the shop that wouldn’t serve me and bought some gold hoop earrings. It was part pragmatism, it was the only place where I’d seen cheap earrings, and part wanting a do over. I didn’t want that every time I walked past or thought of that shop or that man it would be about that not so nice day. Now it was of him smiling as I paid for the earrings, me sitting on the little step outside, unwrapping them, putting them in, me happy with my new haircut and blow-dry, the first time I’d had my hair blow dried for months. Afterwards buying a pack of cigarettes and some strawberry coloured lipbalm from the 7/11. Returning home, ordering a beer- at not quite 12 o’clock- and taking it back to the balcony. Happily waiting for my husband and our friend to arrive, listening to Prince and co playing While my guitar gently weeps, putting on my pink lipbalm and my kohl from India, making mild smoky eyes…
(*Anne with and E two episodes second night. First night finished off last episode of Thirteen Reasons Why Season Two, and watched all the discussions afterwards. Apparently the awful stuff depicted is happening in American High Schools every day. I know my stepdaughter and her friends didn’t like it because they couldn’t believe things would be that bad and that relentlessly bad, because their school in London isn’t like that, or not as far as they know anyway. And that the legal stuff is accurate, without giving away spoilers.)
Thank you very much for reading
TRAVEL UPDATE
In Tokyo, having a very interesting time. I have met up with B, writer and fellow blogger I met via WordPress and we have been discussing the big questions! Here until Monday then back to India- and my husband!
Yes to everything: Thailand Part one, (very rough chapter for book)
The flight to Bangkok (from Chennai) was at 10pm. Unlike the UK, it goes from ‘Security,’ to ‘Boarding,’ with no ‘Go to gate.’ I got in a panic at the last minute, thinking we were late, but there was a big queue at the gate for Bangkok. We met a group of young Indian men who were going there for a long weekend, like people from the UK would to Paris.
One of the young Indian men sat next to me on the plane, it was his first flight, he was next to the window, me in the middle and my husband at the aisle. He took a selfie with us.
From the window I watched the lights of Chennai, so pretty. I only realised how higgledy piggledy Chennai was when we saw the lights of Bangkok, laid in straight lines and orderly patterns.
It was the most cramped flight we’d been on, ever. My husband couldn’t sit with his legs straight, there wasn’t enough room for his knees.
There was a bit of turbulence during the flight and on landing there was a short runway and some G force on landing. ‘Very exciting for you,’ I said to the man. He said, ‘Yes and very nice to meet people like you two.’
Thinking about being more mindful in the moment. On the plane I pushed past a man to get out of his way and let him on, actually that was more rude, as he wasn’t ready, he was still putting up his bags. I should have just waited, and moved when he was ready.
The chain on my Om pendant is a bit small, I knew it was but didn’t say anything at the time. This can be rectified.
I got up to go to the loo, and sat straight down, even though my legs were still fidgetty. ‘Do you want to get out again?’ My husband asked. ‘Thank you,’ I said and got up and walked the length of the plane, feeling the slight turbulence through the thick springy soles of my flip flops, walking steadily, balancing between the rows. Rectified.
Next time, pause. Pause before taking action. Any action? Is this possible? Pause before every action. Be aware during every action. Would time expand to allow this? Would the pauses increase in length as we used them, or to allow us to use them, or in response to us using them? Like a more positive version of how everything slows down in a car accident? Try it, Rachel. Try it, and report back. Our actions are important.
Being in polite countries, Thailand, Japan, should be good for that; using a soft no, not criticising, always smiling, not raising one’s voice.
We arrived at 3am. We got confused and thought we had to fill out forms to get a visa, this was so hard on no sleep; we had to change cash, change more cash; we panicked about not having enough as there were no ATMs in that bit and you couldn’t pay on a card. We got passport photos done, the passport photos were actually good, for passport photos and for no sleep; the first thing that struck me was my green eyes and steady gaze.
In the queue I went out to the loo and ended up, stupidly, waiting for ages; a loo had become free but a Thai woman had been in and recoiled. I checked, it was a bit blocked, but really, ‘I’m from India,’ I wanted to say, ‘That doesn’t bother me,’ but I went along with everyone and waited; luckily I didn’t miss our turn in the queue. We queued for ages before finding out we didn’t need the visa forms after all.
I kept thinking we were in Japan; I was a country ahead. At check in I’d had to show them my onward flight to Tokyo, in a panic as my battery was low and I wasn’t on the internet, having forgotten to download it, forgetting in my panic I could have accessed my emails easily on my husband’s phone. (For Tokyo I downloaded everything, screenshotted it all so I could just get to it with a couple of clicks and slide to all, flight details, onward flights, bank balance as proof of funds, AND had everything printed out.)
We needed to pass the time before the earliest we could arrive at the guesthouse, which was seven am. We sat at a little cafe and had green tea, chocolate brownie and bananas, then we got a taxi to the guesthouse.
The roads were quiet, no beeping. There were more cars and less bikes, and a lot more people on the bikes were wearing helmets. There were amazing buildings, like the best new buildings in London, skyscrapers and even a Gherkin. Big brand names on the skyscrapers, Samsung.
Police stopped a driver who had stopped on a zebra crossing, unthinkable in India! Big wide roads, toll roads. In India on the way to the airport there was a toll road, the toll booth man wasn’t looking so our driver just drove off! I don’t think that would be done in Thailand.
Washing hung up on balconies but on hangars, so it took up less space rather than spread out how we do in the UK. Washing obviously dries easier in Thailand. There was no rubbish. Later, I saw some rubbish bags, put outside shops to be collected, it was still very early. Everything looked so clean, seemed so ordered, and so quiet. Clearly money was spent on infrastructure.
It wasn’t as much of an assault on the senses as India, things matched, buildings were coordinated, there wasn’t as much colour.
I could see why people who have been to India could feel superior/could be annoying- but I’m not any better than anyone else, anyone* can buy a plane ticket and go- and have the experience, but it is a different experience to for example, Thailand.
*health and plane fare permitting
Our guesthouse was in the old town, quiet. There were washing machines on the street, that you could put coins in and use! I met a man with tattoos, my uncovered tattoos an icebreaker, and it felt safer talking to strange men in Thailand. I felt hyper and friendly to all. There was a little cafe as part of another hostel that was open. She was very friendly and served us jam and toast and coffee. It was sort of self service, with a kettle and toasters on a shelf, although she brought us pretty little china plates and packets of jam.
We sat on a narrow long bench like table facing the front window. I greeted a man outside on the street with a lighter, and asked him for a light in sign language/English, and had a cigarette. I felt tired and spaced out. I needed the loo and to lie down. We clock watched, waiting for seven am.
At seven am we rang the bell, we actually rang a medium sized bell hanging to the side of the door, as instructed by a sign on the gate, ‘Ring bell, then wait.’ Another sign said, ‘No Thais please.’ (I don’t know why.) After a few minutes a Thai woman came out, in night clothes crumpled from sleep.
The guesthouse had dark brown wooden floors, full wooden bookcases like an old study and rich dark wooden staircases. Our room had pale wooden floorboards, a metal four poster bed but without the curtains. Mosquito mesh windows looked out onto the garden thick with plants, a wooden fence and beyond the quiet street.
We got into bed and slept. A bed, any bed, feels so good under those circumstances. A loo, a place of your own to rest and shower. It didn’t matter too much that it was a rather thin and uncomfortable mattress, and didn’t matter at all that it was a shared bathroom.
It rained, we listened to it while we were cosy in bed.
When we woke up we went to an easy Westerner cafe, full of tourists, with a pool table. It was expensive but so nice. Soft flat big noodles sexy in the mouth. Hummus and tahini drizzled in olive oil. Puffed up pitta bread. Pretty coloured pickles. The hummus was creamy and delicious. The pink pickle and olive oil made beautiful swirls on the plate like a work of art.
There were big screens showing people doing amazing stunts, at the edge of buildings on skateboards, parkour, rock climbing, gymnasts, extreme yoga, and foot stamping Zumba music. I could have watched that all day. Are those people magic pixies put there for entertainment, or perhaps they are a metaphor re what a person can do?
We went to a department store and bought an adaptor, always one of the first priorities after arriving somewhere new. The streets seemed so quiet, we wondered, was Monday a holiday? (It seemed to be the quiet day in Thailand)
I went out by myself. There were layers and many wires at junctions, birds nests of wires like in India.
Crossing the road, although much easier than Chennai, zebra crossings work, not same as UK but much better than India, I was still a little hesitant, I thought, can I cross with you, will you help, a woman appeared and I crossed with her.
The wonders of the 7/11!!! Everything, vests and t-shirts in black or white packaged like baby gros. I bought razors and talc. Everything wrapped in plastic, even shampoo and lighters.
I went out in a black cotton dress, sleeveless, just above the knee, my hair long and loose, bare shouldered, no stares, free, light, bare legged, feeling the breeze.
I’d gotten so used to covering up in India that it just seemed normal. Feeling the sun on my bare shoulders and the air on my legs was light and lovely.
People’s Instagram pictures of themselves in very short dresses with low cut tops, seeing thighs and cleavage had started to look weird.
There was a little shop nearby, I bought any drink out of the fridge, it turned out to be a Red Bull which I didn’t realise until later.
In the little courtyard garden of the guesthouse, a huge aloe vera plant on roof terrace hanging down, in Pondicherry we’d seen aloe vera plants in pots on doorsteps, what looked like bamboo, little pots with plants hanging down from the terrace roof, wooden framed with plants growing through and around, metal table and chairs. A bird, a lizard, a squirrel smaller than UK ones with big fluffy tail and a white belly like a stoat or a weasel.
I sat at the metal outdoor table with my water, notebook, Red Bull, cigarettes, writing, writing, writing. This is what I do now. This is me 24/7. There’s no distinction between work me and me me, I work just as hard, hard enough to deserve success, after all, I do this all the time, noticing, observing, noting, then typing up most days for a couple of hours. Not Red Bull, ahhh!!!! But when in Rome…
‘I love it here,’ I said to my husband. ‘What’s not to love?’ He said.
We went to a Thai place for dinner and ate peanuts, tofu, broccoli. I had a beer and afterwards we went for a walk, just like we were on holiday.
I would recommend anyone travelling to India for a year to take a few weeks out and go to Thailand for the food and vitamins especially if you are vegan.
It was like visiting the R&R planet on Startrek, my husband’s reference, I am more familiar with the relaxation spaceship of Battlestar Gallactica.
Walking around in the evening we saw a rubbish truck and workers in hi vis with gloves, sacks, and raffia baskets sorting through the waste and recycling. At our guesthouse they had big green bins like in UK, I’d asked which bin for which, the man at he guesthouse said to put all in one, presumably the rubbish collection staff sort it, not householders.
We walked down the Khosan road, once the hippie backpacker area, now barely a hippie in sight. Bars opposite each other played very loud competing music, the whole place was crazy busy.
Most exciting for me, I saw a Boots! I didn’t really need anything, I just wandered around looking and enjoying the air con.
We sat at a small table on the street outside a bar and had an orange juice. People watching. In an environment like that it’s so easy to remember to be in the world but not of the world; no interest in it, no competing, no envy. But it was kind of nice to know that all that is there to drop into, the Boots, the hair and nail salon next door to the bar, if I wish.
A nice looking black and white cat came over, it went over to my husband’s side under the table. ‘Stroke it for me,’ I said. He whipped his hand back fast. ‘Good job I’ve got quick reactions,’ he said as it tried to scratch him.
We walked down a road with a line of trees beautifully lit up with matching gold lights. It was so beautiful, the whole road lit up and all coordinated. The road itself clean. It was only lit up that one night, there’s a photograph of us under the lights.
We had breakfast at a Thai place by the canal, muesli and fresh fruit and yoghurt, perfect proportions of all, with lovely fruit. It was cheap, and next to a laundry. I arranged my laundry, we greeted each other then the laundry woman got restaurant staff to translate. Everything was so fun and friendly. ‘It’s like every encounter is a joy.’ I said.
We got a rickshaws to the station, to pick up our train tickets. The rickshaws were completely different, bright pink with fancy metal work and grand looking reclining padded seats, no luggage space behind the seats, not functional like Indian ones.
The front of the bun shop at the station was decorated with ‘love messages,’ ‘from your roti.’ We ate at a noodle place opposite the station. I had iced yoghurt drink, very cold and absolutely delicious. A man complimented me on my tattoos, he was either one of the staff, or a friend of the staff. He gave me some fruits, lychees, or like lychees if not. He said, say this to your husband and told me a Thai phrase. I repeated it back, then told it to my husband, and everyone fell about laughing.
That’s another difference between India and Thailand, in Thailand one can potentially have more of a laugh. Thai people generally are playful, and Indian people sometimes struggle with the British sense of humour, tending to take things literally, meaning that several of our jokes have fallen very flat.
We met M, my stepdaughter, at the airport, she’d flown direct from London by herself. We took her out for dinner at the nice Western restaurant we’d gone to when we arrived; had cocktails and took her to the Khosan road. As well as the signs for cocktails and cheap buckets there was one saying ‘We don’t check ID,’ which made us all laugh. The competing music was on again. Little street stalls sold interesting things including scorpions, I think roasted to eat, although I didn’t stop to look closely. In the middle of all this, ‘What’s going on’ was playing.
The next day we took M to Wat Po by rickshaw, that was the main thing she wanted to do, go in a rickshaw, and we chose Wat Po. Although we’d decided we were over tourist stuff in India, seeing the enormous Reclining Golden Buddha was a wonderful experience. I had to go round again, I didn’t feel that I had absorbed the sight. I still don’t, maybe its just not possible.
That evening, we got the night train South to Surat Thani, that is where you get the ferry onto the island of Ko Phangan.
Travel update
I am in Japan, by myself! I left my guesthouse in Thailand at 11am on Sunday and arrived at my guesthouse in Tokyo at 12.30pm on Tuesday. I have been getting dinner, coffee, exploring on foot, been to a gallery, been speaking, getting more coffee, and writing in communal area. Here are some pics of my hostel, I have a little curtained capsule in a twelve bed mixed dorm.
Writing update
Trust the process, the things I notice, the conversations I find interesting, are the things to write about, even if some seem more or less interesting; everyone likes different things, some the food, some the spiritual bits.
Rachel 