For those of you who know me, you might be thinking “where has she been?”, “Sam, you have a blog?” or “Did she ever make it through Italy without turning into Big Momma?”
To that I will say: 1. Read on 2. Yes, unbelievable I know! 3. No, no I did not. The pastries got me, and yes, they GOT ME GOOD.
It’s been a good long while since I last wrote and I can’t help but get frustrated at myself for not having put pen to paper or rather finger to keyboard sooner. Writing I realised is one of the things I love to do most, and it seems I also get some kind of weird kick out of putting my thoughts into words; reading them later andproceeding to cringe so unbelievably hard at what I published willingly.
So here we go!
First of all, there are few things I should let you in on since I last posted.
I graduated!
I joined the real world and had a 9-5 job in London
I left said real world job and London
I am no longer in the UK
I am no longer in Europe
And this is the story of how my now rickety, battered, and barely together suitcase and I decided to go against the status quo and sort of go a bit everywhere.
So there she sits in the corner of my room; a bit dusty, a lot broken. Not quite neglected but she’s definitely seen better days; she also definitely used to have 4 working wheels…
The last trip was to be the final one, but I have a feeling it might not be. Her once brilliant red shines still among beaten patches. The last flight was a bit touch and go but with enough optimism, positivity, blessed thoughts, prayers and insane amounts of cellophane, she made the journey. Her outer pocket’s stitching once baring the full brunt of 20 plus kilograms (without a doubt more than what was permitted)is in now questionable condition, but nevertheless she sits there proudly, her flowers only slightly faded, her big rainbow band casually rested on her handle, just there in case the moment should come, and it will.
My friend since those Erasmus days; many a travel we’ve shared together and many a fight we’ve had; with fellow passengers, bus drivers, scales and each other.
Her journey began in Granada, saving me in my hour of need (how does someone collect so much STUFF in 5-6 months/why won’t it all fit?!/where am I gonna put my rice-cooker? *panics*) and ever since, she’s accompanied me on many a weekend escapade/family visit/new adventure.
So here we are now, in Mexico.
Bit of a switch-up, but like Dad said “You always have to be different,don’t you?”
I retreated home for Christmas last year, welcomed by Lidl’s weekly stock of mince pies – I went from being homesick to almost physically sick; I tried explaining to Mum that they also eat food in Spain, but that didn’t seem to deter her from fattening me up like the honorary Christmas Turkey. Despite not being back in a while, my break at home was short and sweet, much to the family’s dismay (everyone enjoys my ability to clear the entire fridge contents, as well as my inability to not knock over everything in sight).
Christmas Tree Troll
Feliz Navidad – Granada, Spain
Dad had suggested I stay longer than the ten days planned, to get over being the Brit misfit, but I’d reached the point of no return. I need to do this, or I’ll always be stuck. Also it was my year abroad. There was no way I was going to not take advantage of that for New Year’s Eve. So ten days later and six kilos heavier, I boarded that plane, Málaga-bound, with a box of (by then, crumbled) mince pies – apparently I hadn’t been put off completely – and a new attitude.
My dad’s sound advice: “If you’re going back, stop stressing. They can’t tell you off for trying can they? Don’t let it ruin your last month there. Enjoy yourself.” And my ever-growing appreciation for the andaluz way of life impelled a change in my mentality.
“I have about six weeks left here, I want to be fluent, I want to eat tapas and I don’t want to care when people don’t understand me. I want to see things I haven’t seen before, I want to see Spanish things and I want to do Spanish things.”
So I started saying yes, or ‘sí’ to more things.
OLÉ – Salobreña, Spain
From the moment I disembarked the plane in Málaga I withheld the urge to revert back to my enemy, the comfort zone, and proceeded to the ALSA ticket office outside, making an enquiry in Spanish about times of buses to Granada. I don’t know if she noticed my accent was off or not, I didn’t notice myself, because after all, who cares? I asked a question and got my answer. Silly little things like that. Why did that ever bother me?
The sad thing is, it used to scare me.
Getting back to Casa de Monos was a bit like returning to Uni halls before everyone had gotten back from holidays; a few of us in the building had decided to stay over the New Year period, so a big NYE dinner was organised by lovely Flat 5 Izquierda, which involved lots of pasta, champers, wine, not enough chairs, and a long table of drunk foreigners, myself included.
After the lovely meal I went to get changed; my friend Chris was dapper in a suit and bowtie, so obviously I felt a sparkly gold sequinned dress and new high heels was appropriate/not OTT at all/well if you can’t go all out for NYE when CAN you?!
Feliz Año Nuevo
4 Izquierda Homegirl <3
I met everyone at the flat before leaving, and we all tottered out (okay just myself and a few of the girls), making our way towards Plaza del Carmen, outside the town hall. Which, by the way, was RAMMO. I can’t express how packed it was. And weirdly we seemed to be the only non-Spanish group. As part of tradition, some of us had brought 12 grapes along, the Spanish custom being to eat a grape for each chime of the bell during the countdown to midnight. I did not remember this unfortunately, although I did remember the champers. Fortunately.
There were masses of crowds, live music, and a lot of loud conversations. To this day I maintain that whoever was in charge had missed the countdown, because as far as I was aware, there was a fuzzy mumble over speakers in the square, and then everyone began simultaneously screaming and hugging each other. There were also fireworks amidst this madness. Some friends were chucking grapes down their throats, or at each other, while the rest struggled to get all their plastic glasses under the same bottle of trickling champagne (that would be myself included, again). Everyone was having a raucous old time, Jacob even managed to catch the flying cork of a champagne bottle which had popped somewhere in the crowd; I still can’t believe it, and I still keep hold of it for luck!
Plaza del Carmen, minus crowds, fireworks and chaos
As crowds began to disperse (WHERE’S THE FIESTA AT?), we got our group together and walked along the Paseo de los Tristes, stopping by the car park near the bridge for a mini ‘botellón’, Spanish for pre-drink, only they don’t do it to binge, shocker! After copious amounts of tinto were washed down, we headed upwards (with the hills of the Albaicín it is an almost vertical journey) to Camborio, not before stopping at the bridge for a moment to find out group straggler’s whereabouts (F.Y.I this is you, Carys). I remember having a lovely time, receiving a free glass of (more) champagne, a new year hat, or some kind of souvenir, and dancing till my shoes left my feet (literally they were so sore I am never wearing heels out the same day I buy them again. Ever.) I also cringely remember completely losing my footing on the way out, and tumbling in spectacular fashion, contents of bag spilling across the cobble-stoned street. I got up with what dignity I had left (none), realised I didn’t care, and walked to the taxi rank.
It was 7am when I arrived back at my cave of a bedroom (the shutter was down and no alarm was being set). I woke up in the afternoon, decided I wanted to make the room stop spinning/drink all the water in the world/go for a Chinese, but mainly the last one, so rounded up the troops and expressed how much a good oriental meal complete with many prawn crackers would solve all our hangover problems right now.
Throwback of me and Cartman NYE before
Home or away, seems I’m still that English girl who craves Chinese food after a night out, but I’m not sorry for it. I had a good time with good friends, and a night to remember, which definitely cost me less than the New Years Eve prior to that (no doubt it was great, but left me more than £100 out of pocket and queuing outside Charing Cross McDonald’s for a Big Mac). That is a good start to the year in my eyes (not counting the hangover), and I was looking forward to making more memories before leaving for Italy.
As destiny would have it, on returning to Granada, I messaged Sole, and she replied on New Year’s, saying how she was back at home, in Ronda.
This is what my dad affectionately tells Mum quite often (much to her annoyance) and probably has done since they met. “If your dad was a fisherman we would be spending two weeks in a fishermen’s village with the white beaches and the sunshine, and not with the mosquitoes.” When it comes to organising our trips to Thailand especially, as much as he loves the quirks and realness of rice-farm country life, the amazing landscape it inhibits; and it really is something to behold – the beaches of Siam possess a beauty that is simply incomparable.
Kim and I had never been this far south in Thailand before, but for Mum and Dad, it marked a glorious comeback; a return after thirty years. Whilst Dad likes to wind Mum up for not being the daughter of a fisherman, she in turn is partial to reminding him of their TWO anniversaries they must celebrate every year (one for their traditional Thai wedding, the other for the British registry); obviously expecting twice as many gifts/meals out/flowers as is customary.
Golden Oldies
This trip was therefore a little more significant for our family than the times before, since The Rents were celebrating their anniversary (or should I say one of them) at the very beach they shared their honeymoon 30 years ago, and even though they are, and will remain to be as corny as ever, their paradise hideaway is a tad different than before to say the least.
Google Phuket and you will find a vast catalogue of images portraying a coast that is so perfect and of untouched beauty that you could ever have imagined. The trouble is the amount of people who have done just that. Tourism in the area is booming, even after the tragedy that was the tsunami of 2004, Thailand maintains its industry in the south very well, to the point that the place has become spoilt a little. I don’t mean to sound negative or in any way ungrateful; Phuket is spectacular, and Kata beach, where we stayed, is still one to rival others – the only thing is that so many people have succumbed to its allure, and because of this it has become tainted somewhat. In actual fact, before arriving at our destination, Dad had read online that only recently, action had been taken to remove makeshift bars, parasols and deckchairs from Kata beach; so it had been even more inundated with tourists before we had even arrived. The intake of visitors from across the globe has created a good, reputable name for the south of Thailand, and through this, the rest of the country, which is great, but seeing the slight disappointment in Mum and Dad’s eyes on reminiscing prompted me to question what the now-booming destination was like in times gone by.
Kata Beach
Siamese Siblings Selfie
Beach Breeze
‘This is where we stayed 30 years ago’
‘It’s changed so much.’
It was a little sad to see, and in all honesty, it made me miss Hua Hin, where we lived for a short while; it was becoming a little touristy, but not on the same level as Phuket, that it had changed completely.
Saying this, if you look close enough (or follow your stomach), you will find portals into the past; hidden gems in Phuket which took Mum and Dad straight back to their heyday. Two days into our seaside holiday, we came across The Kitchen Restaurant, which pretty much became home for the rest of our stay. Everything about this place is authentic, and to be honest, it started to feel more like eating with family than dining out; the cocktails were superb, the food even better (THEY HAD MANGO AND STICKY RICE AND THIS MEANS EVERYTHING) and the establishment itself is open air; the original Thai Kitchen. The atmosphere created by bamboo walls and a tin/thatched roof combined with the 80’s ex-pat playlist made for many an enjoyable evening. When Carabao’s ‘Made in Thailand’ played I thought the Rents were going to cry.
Apart from the excellent menu and outstanding hospitality, the Kitchen Restaurant offers cooking classes and tours, and even taxis guests to and from the restaurant provided they are staying within the local vicinity. I can’t express how grateful we were to the restaurant for not making us climb that damned hill to the hotel. #SAVED
My dad, being a bloke, made sure we looked for the nearest waterhole while strolling about on holiday. As we ambled through the town in 40 degrees (40 DEGREES, PEOPLE!), we stumbled upon a bar that emitted the same kind of vibes The Kitchen had; back to the old school, hippy, travellers-and-Thais-coming-together type atmosphere. There was bamboo on the walls, foreign coin within the tables and a man on a stool with an acoustic guitar.
Smiley kitchen girl
Mojito Money
Even though it has changed enormously by the sounds of it, Phuket still has its charm, and we all enjoyed our break by the beach (I think Mum was very content with being treated to many dinners out). Although super cringe, I loved seeing the Rents in their element, and because of this, part of me really wishes I could have seen them together at the time when the places I’ve mentioned were not hidden treasures on the island, but instead made up the majority of it.
