What’s so special about the seaside?
Not too long ago someone asked me “do you feel trapped?” I had been talking about my love for the seaside.
He reasoned that because the vast openness of the seashore signified infinite possibilities, my longing to be by the sea must then mean that I pined for freedom, albeit unconsciously. Why else would it induce such a reaction in me?
Perhaps at that point in time I was feeling a little at loss. And maybe I did secretly long to be by the sea more than other times in my life. But I am quite certain in the fact that I have always held a desire to be by the sea. Surely this cannot mean that I have felt trapped all my life? If so that would be a very sad life indeed.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself at the seaside and it was almost as if the sun was shining on me right there. There was just a sudden rush of warmth and joy that I couldn’t express. And I said so.
The first time I ever visited the seaside was on a trip that took me to Qingdao and Dalian. We went to visit some distant relatives who I had never met, haven’t seen since and probably never will again. I don’t recall the precise moment when I first laid eyes on the sea but I’m sure it wasn’t spectacular. I was only about four so I suppose even if I did view it with wonder I would have long since forgotten.
But I do remember having a fantastic time.
It was the first time I had ever taken a train journey, and it lasted for days because it was so far away and the trains were a lot slower in those days. We went to pick cockles at dawn just as the sun was rising. I’m sure that if I did it again I would have taken it under some romantic notion but back then I didn’t even know you could eat cockles because it was on that trip that I had seafood for the very first time. I just thought it was amazing that these shells were alive and some had all sorts of little crabs and shrimps in them that would run away when you pointed at them. And crabs! They walked sideways! And I remember picking up huge strings of seaweed and insisting that we should take them home as I had eaten them before and it just seemed like the done thing. And you know I did all that building sand castles naked and getting washed away by the sea and vowing never to return business that kids do too.
I have since been on many trips to many different seasides. Some were memorable and others were less so. But I never pondered why it was that I found the seaside to be so incredibly exciting, just passively accepted it as fact. And why should I have done? What difference would it have made?
And yet since I was asked this question, I got curious. I sat on the beach on my most recently trip and tried to untie this knot.
Looking out to sea I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to experience it as I had imagined it. Either my senses had deserted me or they were deluding me before because none of the elements of my imagination existed. I was just by the sea, tired and almost feeling a little agitated. Opening my eyes I looked out again. No, it was more irritation. I soon gave up on that exercise and went to sleep. A few days later though when I looked out to sea that old familiar feeling had returned. I tried to pin point it and arrived at nothing.
I wondered, was it the nature of the sea?
Two days later when it started to rain I was by the sea again. Apparently it, that is the nature of the sea, had little effect on the way I felt about it. Of course if I was venturing into the sea and not merely standing by its side maybe I would have felt differently.
Anyway, after days of pondering I still had nothing, except what I began with: “What difference would it have made?” Maybe it’s just in my blood.
What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: adventures in Bangkok
When my dad and I finally arrived in Bangkok after our torturous journey, we were greeted with temperatures of around 30 degrees Celsius. The humidity filtered into the airport, despite the air condition, leaving our hands clammy and a sticky feeling on our skin. It felt like we had just travelled from the north pole to the equator.
There was sense of excitement too. It felt liberating to be somewhere so sunny, spacious and full of fresh tropical blossoms. Even though I was sure I didn’t want to be in Thailand, there was a sense of adventure tickling me. I was somewhere new and it was so exotic.
We were met at the exit of the plane by Aeroflot representatives who took us through the paperwork and led us to our hotel. The rooms at the Miracle Hometel were spacious and the bathrooms were even more accommodating. With food and airport transfer also organised for us, it was finally safe to relax.
After a quick shower (we have been wearing the same clothes for over two days by this point and a shower provided the only sense of hygiene), we headed into town. But not before being told off for wearing a red t-shirt. After recent reports of the red shirt movement in Thailand I can understand why but at the time it was completely baffling. We didn’t know if it was because of the short sleeves or because of the colour. Apparently I looked too Asian so couldn’t get away with wearing it. But since all my clothes were in the checked luggage, we couldn’t do anything to rectify the problem.
We got a taxi into central Bangkok. I found the sights en route to be strangely familiar. The buildings were very similar to the sort that you would find in a Chinese city. The only thing marking it out as being Thai was the large posters of the Thai royal family set to the background of fresh flowers. In fact, the orchids and the ratchaphruek lent an air of vibrant je ne sais quoi that could only be distinctively Thai. It wasn’t at all the slightly poverty stricken bustling mess that I had imagined it to be. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
We went to the Grand Palace on advice of the staff at the hotel only to find it was already closed. We were soon met by a friendly somebody who directed us to the street corner lined with tuk-tuks and their drivers relaxing in the lazy sun. For 20 baht, a driver would take us to a few temples and back. Considering at the airport we had paid 20 baht for a bottle of water, this didn’t seem like an expense at all so that’s what we did.
When we first got on I was a little worried. Someone had previously told me about tuk-tuks, about how dangerous they were. They had said that the tuk-tuks were generally driven at high speed and would dive in and out of speeding traffic leaving your heart in your throat and your gut behind somewhere near the last corner.
But I needn’t have worried. There were similar sorts of vehicles in China often driven at greater speed than our tuk-tuk, and on far bumpier roads. Our driver expertly navigated the roads and took us to several temples.
The thing which surprised me greatly was how clean and peaceful the temples were. The serenity of some of the temples were in stark contrast to the buzzing roads outside. Other temples were bursting with people, food and prayer and yet somehow still maintained an air of tranquillity. They were all painted a slightly creamy white offset with gold trims, fresh flowers and of course statues and frescos of buddha. It all seemed so inviting that I felt a great urge to take off my shoes and walk around, maybe sit down somewhere for some quiet contemplation.
It was quite different to the Thailand I had imagined. What’s more, the people were warm, polite and kind. People would strike up conversations with us when we walked around, and it would be through a genuine interest in culture and background. People also seemed to go out of their way to help us which is not often seen in other parts of the world.
When we arrived back at the airport the next day, I felt a little sad to leave. What else had I missed in our short diversion to Thailand? Also a little embarrassed because I had so readily made a judgement in the negative about Thailand without any real basis. However, as we boarded our last flight, there was also relief that we were at long last going to arrive at our final destination, Chengdu.
I guess it will remain a wonder how a gust of wind created a three day adventure.
What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: part two
After a restless night at yotel, my dad and I were up again at 7am for breakfast and the morning flight. We had opted for the early KLM flight to Moscow to reduce the chances of missing our connection. Despite the long queue in front of us the night before there were enough rooms, for us at least. The rooms were rather bijoux (small) but it had all the essentials. Add to that, the incredible showering facilities almost made up for the lack of sleep. Certainly tea, croissant and fresh orange juice helped.
Having successfully arrived in Moscow, it felt like we were finally headed for a smooth journey to Chengdu.
It was really quite novel being in Moscow, like stepping back in time. Looking outside on to the air field, it was definitely still bleak mid-winter. The snow was piled so high that half of the windows were covered up. The bleakness was obvious when the strong winds picked up a small tornado of snow and flings it around the dirty tarmac ground before depositing it again on top of another pile of snow. Sparse buildings stuck out of their white blanket, lit only by waning yellow lights. It was everything out of a war-time Russian film that you could imagine.
The novelty soon wore off upon the realisation that the airport was really quite small and two (very salty) paninis and a bottle of water costs an extortionate £15. Even the small moment of pleasure upon discovering vodkas called ‘The Red Army’ didn’t last. Worse still, smoking was allowed inside so my lungs soon felt smothered. At least there was only a six hour wait…
A few hours later, after finishing my second copy of Tatler, the flight had still not begun boarding. When we enquired at the transfer desk, our boarding passes were taken away and replaced with new ones. Printed on these passes were new flight times that were two hours later than what we had been expecting.
Our flight had been inexplicably delayed, the situation was amounting to despair. We had been waiting for hours in a place we couldn’t wait to get out of and now we have to wait some more without explanation as to the reason or even guarantee that there would be a flight! The weather was pretty awful outside but in Russia it was hardly incapacitating. Being stranded in Moscow is hardly ideal, there’s not even a hotel in the airport.
Of course with a two-hour delay, we were also going to miss our connection in Bangkok. As it was an international connection, we didn’t know whether there would be another flight that day, or even the next few days. Our growing irritation of yet another missed connection finally solicited a response that the delay was due to technical reasons so arrangements would be made on our behalf in Bangkok. All we could do was wait to board.
The flight with Aeroflot to Bangkok could only be ironically described as interesting. I had never in my 15 years of being an air passenger been on a plane which was quite so basic. Aside from the immediate sense of paranoia that the plane might disintegrate from decades of wear and tear, there was zero in-flight entertainment to help us pass the nine or so hours to Bangkok. The fact that the cabin crew forgot to give us our main meal and there was “no more water” for the final three hours of the journey certainly did not improve the situation.
The ordeal wasn’t quite over yet though.
What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: part one
If there ever were evidence testifying to the powers of the jinx, this would be it.
My recent journey to China with my dad could only be described as epic, and at times, physically and emotionally trying. The plan was, as usual, to catch the afternoon KLM flight from London Heathrow to Chengdu Shuangliu with a brief transfer at Amsterdam Schipol. The usual trawling of duty free shops would be involved as well as some seriously good in-flight films. The cuisine would be negligible as would sleep. But the phrase ‘Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht’ could not ring truer on this occasion.
Just as everyone had buckled down ready for taxiing, an announcement was made followed immediately by uproar in the cabin.
Evidently Amsterdam was troubled by strong winds and as a result there would be an hour’s delay to our flight. Unfortunately the time allocated to make our connection was just over an hour. Sitting there I wondered, could my tweet just days earlier be any more… Untimely? It had said: “Hiding out in bed so I don’t have to pack (packing is surely the worst part of any trip ever? Aside from delays…)”. I’m not sure of the best word to describe this ludicrous feeling, though at that point one can only be optimistic. Surely, if we were experiencing delays, our connection should be experiencing similar delays?
Alas, not so. Having finally arrived in Amsterdam, we realised that our connection probably took off as we landed. Anyhow, it was no longer on the transfer board. After much fumbling we finally managed to track down the KLM transfer desk, only to be met with a two hour queue and news that there were no more flights out of Amsterdam for that day. Our only solace to the mounting frustration was the free water provided.
We did eventually make it to the front of the queue to arrange transfers… But, it can only be expected that the last seat heading to China the next day had just been allocated. To the person next to us.
So after yet more finger drumming, a not-so-sympathetic floor staff told us the earliest we can get to China was 1am, the day after next. Even more spectacularly, we had to fly to Moscow Sheremetyevo the next morning, transfer to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi six hours later and make a final transfer to Chengdu Shuangliu after that. We were certainly going to get our money’s worth of flights. What’s more, I had just been told that, along with clocking substantial air miles and collecting time zones, I was going to the one country on Earth I said I never wanted to visit: Thailand. The backpackers’ paradise held little interest for me and I had strongly believed that it resembled Daniel Cleaver‘s sleaze fest (of course I now know this is not the case).
This had turned into a saga.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this ridiculous crawl towards our final destination but it was that or facing another day and half cooped up at the airport.
Meanwhile, there was still the night to consider. It was impossible not to be grateful to receive the €10 meal vouchers – we had no cash. However, faced with the prospect of spending the night on some airport loungers, the additional KLM blanket and pillows offered provided little comfort to us. From experience, nights at the airport tended to be surprisingly chilly and agonisingly noisy. But what else was there? The two hotels within the airport, yotel and the Mercure were both full due to the weather. The only spark of hope was the possibility of a room at yotel after 1am, if we get there early.
By this point, things were looking rather bleak with no signs of improvement. It was fast approaching 11pm as we investigated the hotel situation and all the restaurants and cafés were locking up. If it hadn’t been for the sandwiches we had consumed earlier in anticipation of a late dinner sustaining us, my dad and I would be on the verge of collapse resembling two hungry coyotes.
After trekking the entire length of the airport twice, we finally managed to find a 24 hour bar which still had food left. Devouring our food as quickly as we could, we headed back to yotel hoping to secure a room. My heart sank a little when I saw the long queue already outside…
Seriously, after all that, are we still unable to get a room?
The saga continues…
Madrid on a string
Here’s one I did earlier about a recentish trip to Madrid. I considered submitting it for publication but decided to keep this one just to myself 
Arriving in Madrid Barajas Airport around 5.30pm, I began my adventure aboard the train to Sol in central Madrid. As a seasoned traveller of seaside resorts, I was embarking on a midweek city break for the first time.
As an habitual lone-traveller, I was self-assured when I stepped onto the metro system. This, I quickly discovered, was my downfall as by the time I stepped off the metro system my bag was open and my purse was gone.
Embarrassed and horrified all at once I realised aside from the €10 in change from buying a three-day metro ticket, I was penniless. It’s common knowledge that pick-pocketing in Madrid was rife but I didn’t think that my confidence could so quickly turn to foolishness. I had inadvertently displayed my tourist status like a peacock waiting to be noticed. Luckily, I was couch surfing with Twist who was a friend of a friend so the situation wasn’t completely dire. Still, this was going to be one big challenge.
It was still early so I decided to try and find the police station before meeting Twist. The flaw is that I can’t speak Spanish, and the Madrileños spoke very little English. I soon gave up on that fruitless venture and found myself a cheap eatery where I could regroup while I waited for Twist to meet me. A couple of hours passed very quickly as I ate and reread the Guardian I picked up on the flight over. I found a calmness that would be misplaced in my usual hectic schedule and was feeling strangely at home.
I didn’t know Twist terribly well at this point and cringed at the thought of having to explain my embarrassment to him. See, I was first introduced to Twist many years ago at Reading Festival where he was camping with some mutual friends. He was a free spirit in those days who knew exactly what he wanted to do. Since then, we’ve kept in touch sporadically via Facebook. These days, Twist is self-employed and teaches English to Spanish businessmen so I had no idea what to expect. When Twist came to meet me at 8pm as arranged, I felt a huge sense of relief.
He confidently weaved through the throngs of people now crowding the streets of central Madrid and I, humbled by my recent experience, followed timidly. We went to one of many open air café bars on a square alive with music and entertainers. There over cheap but good wine, we chatted about our lives, recounted stories of old times and planned the next few days.
Day two was gloriously sunny, typical of February in Madrid. The previous day’s events were now a distant mirage. Twist took me to SATE (Servicio de Atención al Turista Extranjero) to file a police report and then introduced me to the tourist information office for their extensive range of free local maps and guides. He also helped me out with some spending money and I was finally set to begin my holiday, on a drastically reduced budget.
I found myself deliberately avoiding the usual trudge around shops for fear of not being able to afford anything. Instead, I focused on looking for interesting things that I wouldn’t find back home.
This wasn’t hard since my visit coincided with CowParade. One hundred and five cows with uniquely interesting designs were dotted around the city, each with commentary on design and individual stories. At the time I thought that these colourful displays were part of Madrid, like the Bath pigs, so the search for these took me all around the vibrant city.
My journey started at the ‘Bear and Strawberry Tree’, the symbol of Madrid. From there, I managed to stumble upon Plaza Ciebeles, Museo del Prado and a few other famous landmarks. The richness of the history and changing culture in Madrid was certainly very prominent. Walking along the bustling streets, the ghosts of the city’s past were highlighted by the notably different styles of architecture between even adjoining buildings.
I was thoroughly relaxed and in holiday mode after settling onto a bench in Retiro park to enjoy the mellow afternoon sun and my holiday read. Later, I caught a military parade at the Royal Palace before going on to the Temple of Debod to watch the sun set over the city. The intense amber of the setting sun on Egyptian sandstone created the perfect end to the day. The best thing was I hadn’t spent any money all day.
Day two saw me trekking to the nearby city of Toledo. Just a short bus ride away from central Madrid, Toledo is a World Heritage Site that’s host to extensive medieval architecture and hidden gems of sculptures. Once inside the city, it was quite easy to get lost in the endless twists and turns of side roads and narrow passages so having a map was quite useless. However it was easy to spend a day just wandering around aimlessly discovering new sights and enjoying the lovely weather.
By my last day, I was quite certain that I had already been to every part of central Madrid possible, but when Twist led me round it was a completely different experience. I found that there were still many quirky places that I hadn’t discovered like Plaza Mayor. We visited Retiro park again which like many other Madrileños has become one of my favourite places in Madrid. I love that it’s busy but peaceful. There were water features and landmarks to seek out, benches and extensive lawns to relax on and plenty of ‘live performances’ around to watch. This seemed to be the general theme of Madrid too. There were lots of things to get involved in and absorb.
That night, we went out and partied like the locals. The evening started with meeting some of Twist’s friends at a pub quiz. That was in English of course. Then we went on to a communist bar called Marx Madera and discussed, what else, but politics? After being engrossed in a heated debate until the 5am closing, we headed to a club, stopping frequently to talk to complete strangers about life and everything else. When 7am finally rolled round, we strolled into a churroria for some sinful breakfast churros and hot chocolate. Exhausted but very satisfied, we headed home so I could shower and get ready for my afternoon flight back.
While I wouldn’t recommend being relieved of all your funds upon arrival, it had certainly provided me with an incentive to explore the city for its culture and heritage. Not only was there plenty to do, I managed to do it very cheaply too. This is definitely a bonus for any budget traveller.
All that’s left to do now is plan my next adventure with my now very dear friend Twist.
