I’ve got my ticket for the long way round

So here I am again, high in the Himalayas in what can only be described as the United Nations town of Dharamsala. Those of you who are regular readers will know that this place is my home from home; a paradise that feeds the soul. I am out here for a myriad of reasons but a change of scenery and a chance to recharge and realign oneself is a gift I welcome every time the peaks come into view as you relentlessly wind around the mountain roads.

 

Something that I often forget and am quickly reminded of is the phenomena that is travelling or to be more specific meeting fellow travellers (for those of you who read my last blog I did finally break the communicate firewall). You spend a few days with someone and share this awe-inspiring country and you swiftly turn into old friends. You become at ease with these complete strangers allowing your true self to be shown and for secrets to spill like water. This time around I was lucky enough to find some equally as bonkers people to share my last few days with and I must admit as the car turned the final corner and Dharamsala disappeared from view I shed a rare tear.

 

But why does this happen? In my own experience its because you need friends, you crave closeness. The comfort that only someone you trust can bring. You are thousands of miles away from your friends and family and that unspoken need to replicate them creates this instant bond. You perhaps become friends with people who if you were to meet in your home country you would never be friends because of the veil of perfection. These new people in your life don't know you and while they are with you they only scratch the surface of your imperfections, so anyone seems perfect.

 

So as my final day in India draws near I think back to all the incredible people I have met; the stories shared, songs sung and laughs had. However, while the friendship develops instantaneously it finishes just as fast, either you or the person you have met moves on to the next town and to the next person. Regardless of the length of the friendship if it is a true one it makes saying goodbye the most painful thing, in any language.

100th post and still going

On July 6th 2010 this blog was born. Born out of my desire to carry on writing following my graduation which meant I couldn’t write for student papers anymore. It began as a creative outlet, when my creativity felt stifled by other parts of my life. It has become so much more than that though. Now the blog has recently surpassed the ripe old age of 100 (and now has photographic sibling) I thought I would celebrate by looking back and thanking you, the reader.

Since 2010 a lot in my life has shifted and transformed irrevocably yet this blog has stood sentinel, unchanged. Some of those events have been documented on here like working as a journalist in India or moving to London. I’ve written about crazy things (my secret love of braces, being questioned by the visa police and even wearing fancy dress to beat writers block) and more somber subjects (the Japanese earthquake, religious unity and Tibet). I’ve been awarded Freshly Pressed twice and the Versatile Award, not that I’m bragging (much). The best thing, however, is reading comments and getting stopped in the street (truthfully this has happened twice now!) by people who like my blog and say that it made them laugh. If you want to understand my reasoning for blogging read my 10,000th hit post, as you can tell I like hitting milestones!

It’s only survived past the 2nd post because of you, the readers. I don’t want to go on like Kate Winslet at an awards ceremony but thank you readers and commenters, you’ve kept me sane and motivated.

I would urge anyone to start a blog, you’d be surprised where it takes you. You can be as thick as custard but as long as you have something to talk about, it will work. Just make sure it has heart, I’ve read some blogs that are just written for the sake of writing and it’s painfully obvious. Words written without heart read hollow.

So thanks for reading and here’s to the next 100.

Be warned this is not going to be big on dignity

Ice-skating, as described by The National History Museum, London, is ” London’s most spectacular winter attraction”. In my own words its hell, hell on ice.

My friends have been badgering me for many months to go ice-skating, “it’ll be amazing”, “we are going to have so much fun”, they’d threaten. The last time I had ice skated was at the ripe old age of seven and while most of the memories of that day have been wiped, recorded over or forgotten, I had one over-riding memory of that day: pure unadulterated fear. You can probably guess where this is going…

Eventually, however, I was worn down and bowed to their peer pressure. The day was booked, the calendar marked and that fear began to reoccur. It lingered in my final thoughts at night, like flashbacks from a film of a small boy screaming clinging to the barriers for dear life. I shook it off, reminding myself that I was young, foolish and unbalanced (literally) back then, yet it still remained. You may feel at this point that I’m over exaggerating for dramatic effect, but let me assure you I am really not. The fear was real and not unfounded.

The day rolled round and we made our way to our doom. Doom easily accessed by public transport. Seeing small children and doddery old ladies slink elegantly around the rink gave me a glimmer of hope that perhaps I was being bonkers in fearing this. We soon made our way into the queue and I traded my shoes in for bladed bowling shoes, shuddering at the thought of the plethora of other people who have shifted and sweated within them. Once the clasps were secured and my previous shoes disappeared around the corner there was no turning back.

Standing up for the first time on them felt odd but not bad and the feeling of ‘perhaps I can do this’ began to rise, before being cruelly smashed when I boarded the ice. We waited ‘patiently’, shuffling our way towards the unopened doors like bulls preparing for the Pamplona, while what can only be described as a freezer on wheels went around refreezing the rink and making it slippery once more. I took one more moment to pre-warn my friends that I had a bad feeling about this and then we were on….

If anyone has seen the film Bambi, when the title character finds himself on the ice and his limbs shift irrespective of the other, balance becoming lost in a frozen moment, will know exactly how I was on the ice. While I floundered and fell my friends found the balance fast and were off zooming annoyingly gracefully into the distance.

The small children were allowed to use Pingo shaped stabilisers (see photo). I envied them immensely as they sailed around with their penguin protectors. I’m not proud to admit that I sheepishly asked the stewards if they had larger versions (carefully omitting the word ‘adult’, as clearly nothing about my panicked state was adult like).

I spend the majority of the time with an iron grip around my friends’ hands or linking arm in arm with my two male friends, which more than once resulted in a fellow skater “aww”ing at us.

The hour seemed eternal, time frozen like the rink. Again I’m not proud to say that I called time on my skating sorrows early and consoled myself with a stiff coffee (sadly there was nothing stronger within reach).

So while the whole sorrowful event wasn’t big on dignity, it was big on humour for you the reader and for anyone who was ‘lucky’ enough to witness it. Oh the horror of it all.

The lights are on but nobody’s home

This weekend I travelled back up to Durham for Lumiere Festival (festival of lights for those not in the know). Those who have been an avid reader of this blog will know that I went to Durham University and graduated a year and a half ago. With a few remaining friends still lingering on in there my group of friends (aka The Clique) decided that we should travel up for one large reunion under the premise of art. It has been about 6 months since I was last at Durham, oddly, the place no longer felt like it used to. It had been my home for 3 years. Durham is often called the bubble and truly felt like that at the time. The world outside seemed to pale in comparison with the small perfect town. Since I left many things have changed for me: journalism in India, photography business, moving and working in London. Yet Durham seemed in my mind this unchanging object. A fixed point in time. On the face of it, arriving on Friday night it seemed that way the cathedral lit up scything through the sky, unchanged for centuries, a beacon for those seeking salvation.

“People, define a place” is a saying I’ve had for many years, mainly when travelling but when I arrived at a bar that saw many of my student days/finances spent in, it became evident that this saying was now applicable to Durham too. Despite being fit to bursting, the place seemed void of people I had spent some of the best years with. You are probably all now shouting at the screen that I am being ridiculously sentimental and I am but for those who have been back to old haunts such as university towns or cities you used to work in, that unsettling feeling of not belonging anymore haunts you.

The city itself was as beautiful as ever, the light installations added to its indisputable beauty and my friends remain as always my brilliantly bonkers family. I don’t want to say that it felt like a concluding chapter to my Durham life but it did feel, however, like it could be. If I never go back, I would not be filled with the regret of not returning.

Durham will always, always holds this incredible place for me. I’m sure I am not the only one who walks down the streets of somewhere they have spent many years in looking at places and vividly picturing your past self creating that memory.

Its a sad thing to look back too much as you end up not looking forward at all. However, the majority of the weekend has been spent by all of us looking back: our first meetings, parties, loves, leavings, the whole spectrum of memories relived through a city where memories pervade its walls.

We have all moved on since then: City jobs, Phds, doctors, teachers, working for charities (myself) or -like many graduates- looking for work, but Durham was where we all started our career’s choices and future fancies and in that way it will always remain the same. As the place our lives began.

Sorry for the rather self involved and rambling post and also for the considerable lack of posts these past few months, I am working on a few of them at the moment, normal service will resume soon.

Harry Potter and The Never-Ending Corridor

The first time I walked through the stunningly beautiful Cloisters of Durham Cathedral I was being anything but studious, despite my surroundings. I wasn’t contemplating the meaning of life, debating Locke’s Political Theory with my fellow students or even reading Alexander Wells’ thriller on Structural Inorganic Chemistry. I was in a gown, waving a stick at other people and shouting in Latin.

It’s not because I had gone completely mad (although I’m almost there) but because of Harry Potter. Sections of the first two films were filmed in the Cloisters and other locations within the jaw-dropping Cathedral. According to the Dean of the Cathedral, the popularity of Harry Potter has made not only me and a few friends pretend to be in Hogwarts, but hundreds of students, who each year attempt to recreate the films.

My photograph illustrates why they must have chosen this location for the film because, even without CGI or Alan Rickman, it is still completely magical.

My Mind in the Clouds

I took this photograph last summer, which now feels like a decade ago, as the wind whistles through the crack in my window and the rain drums upon my roof. The photograph is simple but it represents escapism to me, something we all need every now and then especially during this grim winter.

Ever since I was young whenever I saw planes soaring above me I’d imagine where the plane was heading. It was usually somewhere warm during England’s never-ending icy winters or somewhere cold during our weeklong tepid summers. Nowadays, however, whenever I see planes painting the sky with a white brush of vapor trails, I envisage myself on it heading to India, a country I left only two months ago but yearn to return to.

This yearning has been brought about because some of my friends are travelling to India in the next few weeks as well as one of my friends still in India announcing her engagement. As I lecture those about to visit incredible India about where to go and what to avoid I brim over with explorers envy, knowing that soon they will be clinging onto a rickshaw as it carves through Delhi or sipping masala chai, high in the Himalayas. So I look at this photograph and pretend, just for a moment, that I am too.

A Travelling Circus of Friends

“You’re from England? Me too!” In that split second a bond is created, instant friendship. This is a curious tale of making friends whilst travelling.

I arrived in India with two brilliant travelling companions, my cousin and my best friend. With such fantastic company I had very little need for other friendships outside of our trio. We lived, breathed, ate and slept together and as they began to leave, a vast whole appeared and loneliness crept swiftly in. I sat alone drinking my coffee craving connection with England, and as luck would have it the hotel next door had a peeping owner so an escaping (and violated) traveller ended up in my hotel café. Her name was Vicki, her English accent echoed through the café and my ears pricked up, realising that I wouldn’t be alone. Her friendship began a domino affect and a plethora of friends began to pour into that void, Amisha a dreadlocked diva from America, Rishi a law graduate from Hong Kong who dreamed of biking India, Casper a bonkers butcher from Denmark, Lea and Josh and their beautiful baby Oliver, the honeymooners Adena and Yedidiah, Jenna and Justin who I celebrated the end of Yom Kippur with (Read about this here) to name but a few.

A family was formed, an incredibly bonkers band of people, all of us from different corners of the world, varying ages and views on this world. However, all of this faded into incoherence because we all crave one thing when away from the place we call home, friendships. We had some incredible times from bowling under a bus stand, dressing up for Halloween to the war like celebration of Diwali but the everyday things are what cemented our friendships. Memories like having breakfast everyday at this incredible coffee shop together, looking after each other when we were inevitably ill or just lying on the roof and watching the stars for hours.

When you travel by yourself you lose a part of you, empty spaces left by faraway friends and loved ones, you travel with pictures and talk to them on skype but nothing can bridge the gap of a few thousand miles. I think this is why people say “wow you are just like my friend,” when your travelling, even if that friend is blonde, short and female because we all miss our friends at home so we look to find parts of them in the people around us. You also find yourself creating a trusting and open friendship within hours of meeting someone, divulging your darkest secrets to relative strangers, which can backfire when you realise that this person is silently judging you and is looking for the nearest exit to make a run for it. This never happened and I can honestly say that the friends I made in McLeod aren’t just for India there for good, so don’t be afraid of sitting in a café by yourself it might just be the best decision you ever make…

And away they go….

Just a quick post to keep all your followers in the metaphorical loop, today is D-Day (or rather I-Day) as I begin my adventure back to India. The last few days have been frantic, a haze of goodbyes and shopping buys and now the day has finally come I’m sad to say goodbye to England and everyone in it. However, I know that I’ll have such amazing times ahead and hopefully England should still be here when I get back! So the bags are finally packed (and bulging like somethings trying to escape!) and I’m ready for it all to begin, stay tuned and I’ll see you on the other side.

Final Check list:
Clothes….Check
Camera….Check
Passport….Check
A lorry full of notepads….Check
Buckets of excitment….Check
Not a clue what to expect….Check