On going home...

As my journey drew to a close and the realisation that I would be home in less than a week set in, I began to feel pretty depressed. Trying to focus on all the amazing experiences I had managed to stave this off somewhat. More importantly through sheer chance, I bumped into some friends from the Ha Long Bay tour I’d made nearly 2 months earlier. They just happened to be staying in the same hotel as me, here in southern Cambodia. Great timing! Seeing a few friendly faces and meeting some great new people gave the last few days a new lease of life and eased me out of the homeward bound blues. But soon enough it was time to part ways, me and a fellow traveller made the gruelling 16 hour bus journey from Sihanoukville across the Cambodia/Thai border and up to Bangkok. Having someone who was also heading home to make the journey with made the mission a whole lot more bearable as we reminisced and discussed travel and everything else that came up. Accidently booking into a swanky hotel that was way out of our price range made it a memorable last night too, after a simple meal with temporary friends made on the bus journey, back on Khao San road again.

I spent the very last day alone in Khao San, letting the hipster-travel crowd bustle around me, marinating in the sizzle and steam of street food, watching the hustlers, drunks and families, the sultry thai ladies that beckon you into the bars, the booming music, the laughter and shouts all blended into some sort of liquid effervescence that carried me forward and soothed my spirits. I was ready to come home.

Two flights, three airports and many hours later, I arrived back home. Meeting my parents at Heathrow, I stepped out into the blasting chill of England in December. My first taste of fast food in nearly 3 months. Where are all the Asian people? The street food? Temples? Monks? Any beaches? Jungle? No? This would take some getting used to. Returning home was utterly bizarre in its familiarity, meeting up with my friends for the first time a totally surreal experience, more so than anything that happened to me a life away on the other side of the planet.

A few weeks later a friend would make the great point that coming home is more of a culture shock than arriving in some strange foreign land. Spot on really. It took weeks to acclimatise, going back to work in a factory was bleak. The dreary sludge of sledgehammer mornings. The grey. The cold. God, I wanted to go back. Plans were made to return as soon as possible. Myanmar echoes in my future. The smells, the heat, the sweat. Babbling voices in an unintelligible language I’ve never heard before call me forward.

This is the story of my journey. I’ve missed out loads, but it’s all in my head somewhere. I’ll carry it as long as my mind works. If you want to hear more, ask me. If you’re still reading, thanks.