A Kindred Surprise

Giiiirls

 The cold wind swept through my hair as we rushed along the quiet roads. On the back of T’s scooter, I hung on to his notorious beige leather jacket as we rode a

C, L and I

long the arching robot-like bridges. It was just over a year ago when I was in the same position with T and the gang in Laos and even longer with J and the girls, but with a bit of effort and some productive Facebook time, I’d made it to a very different part of the world and T's home country, The Netherlands. Bittersweet is the only adjective I can think of how to describe the ending. You can't be too down when your soul's so lifted. I looked next to me at the faces that I’d spent the last few beautiful days with… a chirpy Aussie, a feisty Swiss Latino, a sexy Spaniard, a cool German, a fist pumping Welshman, a gorgeous Canadian, a lovely Dutchman and a flower girl, what a mix! It was as though someone had brushed everyone over with a layer of serenity. Expressions were soft, movements were slow and the odd giggle would always peep out of someone every few minutes, the rest of the group either laughing or moaning together in response. It was the day after the deep house festival DGTL (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXgwjSfaNSk) and instead of sulking in bed with the curtains closed; we took advantage of the sunny skies, though it took a while to actually reach that conclusion. I’m sure everyone knows how long big groups can take to get their act together, especially when no one’s too eager to move… So a few of us assigned everyone roles to get things going, we'd decided ours should involve the least amount of movement - that idea didn’t pass and we compromised by all agreeing to get up, treat ourselves to brunch and coffee (after all the hardship we’d gone through) and have a lie in the park. 20 minutes turned into an hour or two, I don’t know how exactly us girls always seem to take so long. In the fibonacci spiral, the golden ratio can either go the fastest root in a straight line (usually described as the masculine line) or the scenic route in a curved line (the feminine line) yet both end up in the same

The fibonacci spiral

place. This was definitely evident in our methods of getting ready, the boys would be at the door 5 minutes after talking about it and the girls would sit and suggest something on our to-do list... after another 15 minutes of all continuing with our minor routines we’d look up and discuss doing something about it… 15 minutes later, it would start getting done... a few hours later, we all ended up at the door, some just a little more agitated than others... With all the piles of girly clothes, make-up and rolling material that trailed around us, we can’t say we didn’t leave our mark J

Morning snuggles

So we found our breakfast spot and happily sat down outside on that sunny morning of 4/20 in Amsterdam. With our tummy’s grumbling we sipped on OJ and coffee, holding in the moans as 2pm struck, the thought of breakfast seeming so distant and each second feeling like hours. All of our desperate heads turned as the waitress finally walked through the door with plates of English breakfast, burgers and mozzarella sticks mmm, I think that was one of the few moments of silence during the holiday as everyone zoned into the bliss of long-awaited deliciousness. Before splitting the bill, B (an old welsh travelling mate from Asia) joined me in an all too familiar ATM hunt that lead us 20 minutes away through the city to the ‘nearest cash-machine’, on return we were told with a grumpy look that there was a closer and easier option 5 minutes away, haha! 

‘Regression Sessions’ is a great night in London that takes you back to your childhood with ball pits, bouncy castles and altered mind states. The day at the park felt exactly the same, lining up for ice cream, sipping on soft drinks and appreciating each other’s company. The sun danced in front of our eyes and shone through the gaps in the spring leaves that cast funky shadows onto our toes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fmKGQ-1we0

Wine night

The day before had been quite the opposite vibe. We’d woken up fairly late after a group breakfast and a pre-festival preparation sesh, made our way on/ off various modes of transport to get to T’s, hurriedly caught up with D and our fellow festival goers and began the day of madness. How great is it when a negative weather forecast is wrong?! ‘Cloudy skies’ were nowhere to be seen as we all got sunglasses out, slipped past security and the wagon-wheel like tables/ chairs and over to the booming stages where Soul Clap, Ben Pearce and Skream were just a few of the names playing (not that we knew who anyone actually was). Flowers, glitter and red lipstick were out so we dropped with desperados and spent the rest of the festival between the fire-hut and the various stages, dancing, laughing and having odd cuddles and deep and meaningfulls with strangers. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXgwjSfaNSk) It struck 11pm and the festival timer dinged so we went from semi-naked to fully clothed as the winter winds blew through the flat plains. We were herded like cows through the industrial-looking grounds, past the coffee shop and up to the beautiful apartment that overlooked a canal with about 15 people on toe. Day festivals are great because you can actually get to sleep at a reasonable hour, so curled up in sleepy snuggles, music and flower fumes, we slowly sunk into slumber, C, T and I spooning each other over the one pillow that we happily shared.

Hot tubs

But that was all before the journey! Getting to Amsterdam had been a struggle and a half. The complaints were kept to a minimal as we worked through the re-occurring obstacles… A morning of cleaning up from the party the night before took longer than expected, as did breakfast/lunch that got pushed back to about 3pm. Our ideal plan was to leave at 6pm so we get to the station only to realise that the train tickets needed to be printed off at home so J and J won the ‘most productive couple of the day’ award in sorting that out, having to de-tour as the internet wasn’t working etc. etc. etc. Loooord almighty.

B!

Meanwhile… the rest of us sat quite happily in the sun surrounded by flowers outside of Groningen station, looking fairly hobo-esque but keeping it casj with a few tunes on the computer and hot drinks from Starbucks. It took us about an hour of huddling up against the wind and watching the sun slowly disappear as we covered ourselves with super thin hippie cloths until someone suggested that to stay out of the cold, we could actually sit inside Starbucks, so for the last 10 minutes we regained a bit of the lost warmth until the others returned. Hours later we were on the train, trekking through Amsterdam with our big backpacks, bags of blankets and festival gear. A coffee shop was our second-last/ essential destination… ahh we made it! We then realised there were 3 ‘dampkring’s’ in the city and our friend ‘A’ who was collecting us, was at a very different one in a very different location… just our luck. We lay on the street outside the coffee shop at 11pm, the flash of C’s polaroid lighting up the scene for a brief moment to capture the excitement in our faces as ‘A’ stayed true to his  Dutch roots and rolled around the corner on his bicycle. We all shared long hugs, feeling with slight confusion how manly 'A' was after a year out of high school.

Balcony sesh's

Festival spider

The green peace boat that had been
freed from Russia

With laughs of exhaustion and hysteria we lunged with the weight of our bags and stopped at the nearest, yummiest looking pizza place that was soon followed by a flowery SLUMBER PARTYY. Before falling asleep, the OG kush rode with the laughter wave that passed through the room and bounced off the walls, hitting us all multiple times until exhaustion was our only defence. I woke up in the living room of A’s new furniture-less house, groin to groin in the centre of the blow-up mattress that was concave in the centre, somehow touching the ground because of our weight and inflated on the periphery leaving us all lying at very awkward angles. M was curled up on the armchair with all his clothes on from the night before and J & J had slipped off the padded beanbag and onto the floor below… the laughter resonated in the room and healed the broken sleep.

DGTL

There’s something about catching up with friends after high school that’s never quite the same. Well, either it is or it isn’t. It’s so easy to get along with people you’re taking the same subject/ course as because conversation can revolve around it, but once that common denominator’s lost, you really feel who you’re able to re-connect with when conversations can go beyond small talk… The talk of this holiday went above and beyond small, on our first night in, after a cycle around the city and a few warming rays from the afternoon sun, J and I picked up C and got into our bikini’s, B (another friendly KL face) told us of her amazing project that she described as a ‘human library’, an event enabling people to talk face-to-face with individuals who’ve experienced prejudice, they get to tell their stories and the audience gets to soak it in.

The journey to Amsterdam

Multi-coloured vino flowed and we soaked into the bubble filled hot tub with fairy lights draped on the outskirts of the room until a very drunk C returned from his frat-party and joined in. Dancing, polaroid’s, naughty snap chats and old cheesy 90’s tunes were soon cranked up as we drifted off in the wee hours of the timeless morning.

Venturing out the following day, our coins stayed buried in the bottom of our wallets during a slightly failed festival-shop but did leave the shopping mall with something, speeding out of there as the next victim to enter the bathroom held an impressively composed expression… Coffee shop next for a civilised puff and a coffee. It’s always interesting watching the people that go into coffee shops, is this their break from work, a sesh with their friends or a date? It’s so nice that the paranoia and grungy atmosphere turns into a… Buddha bar of sorts… Losing track of time, yet again, dinner took a while to sort out, and just as the house-party guests began to trickle in (3 hours late), us girls were just sitting down to a dinner of black bean chicken and a glass of wine. The sex divide was evident as boys hovered around the beer pong table in the corner and we all tuned into the girly vibe, getting deep and dirty. Plates cleared and we commenced the mingling. Party chat went from questioning ones identity to the structure of our political system to whether one would rather be a tree or a cloud until my brain could take no more so boogie, love, desperados, down.

The group!

Polaroidss

I hope the lack of chronology emphasizes the timelessness of a holiday. I have 2 hours to go out of a 17-hour journey via buses, trains, scooters and ferries but it was only £50 return J. I will say, to anyone making the megabus journey to Amsterdam go in the day as the Euro tunnel is open and the journey’s a lot smoother. Somehow I made each bus about 5 minutes before departure, gained back my passport after misplacing it twice and re-kindled flames with my girls and a few new friends. I’ve just been turfed out of the best seat on the bus by a persistently rude man who I have no energy for, so instead I let down my guard, move back a seat and gaze over the lush English countryside on Easter Monday of 2014, thinking how beautiful life is and how sometimes it just takes a holiday to remember it again.

Christmas strikes again

Banter on the flight to Lanka,
before the hysterics started...

The ‘Air Asia’ logo looks back at me as we sit waiting for the plane to refuel so that we can jet off to sweet home Sri Lanka, via Male the capital of the Maldives. It’s Boxing Day and no one’s really ‘with it’ just yet. I stumbled in with J at 4am, giving us approximately 3 hours before the shrill piece of cake compared to the UK. Opening your eyes from under a heavy 50tog duvet, the ringing of that annoying alarm you’ve been conditioned to associate with wake-mode and just… darkness. It has to be done fast, like ripping of a plaster, you know the hairs are going to be pulled out regardless, why make the process slower than it needs to be? The alarm rang and it was time to up and go/ moan and deliriously pack my bag that was brimming over with piles of crumpled up clothes – organised mess I like to call it, something a fair few students/ teenagers seem to understand. I wiped the sleepy dust out of my eyes, dad had already given us the wake up call but I knew my alarm would give me another 15 minutes. I could never really understand the concept of being able to ‘chill out’ when you know you only have a few minutes left… I get that bodily sensation of every cell pumping itself up until I can’t take it anymore and my legs swing themselves around until I’m standing vertical on the floor, having transitioned away from peaceful slumber and a comfy bed. Waking up in Asia is a

A lovely catch up at KLCC with H and K <3

A and I <3

I arrived in Malaysia to the warmth and sunshine just over a week ago, how time flies eh? – If I got a pound for every time I said that I’d be a rich girl. Despite the short time, I feel like I’ve covered most bases. Getting back into the humid rush of the tropics, emotions running rampant and jet lag greeting you in waves. Seeing family and being the ‘child’ again after having had complete independence – not having to do all your washing up or share cupboards or fridge space, having your clothes washed for free and family dinners! Clicking with old friends after years of no contact and feeling like you’ve all just returned from a very dense spring break. How do you catch someone up on what’s been happening for the last 2 years of your life? Is it the bad times that stand out, the magical moments, the spiritual awakenings or just the present state of being? I like asking people how they are at the time because that’s all that really matters, of course the experiences and the stories are what got us to this point, but we all have so many and why waste energy dwelling in the past, when it’s the moment you have together that makes another story for the next person. Walking through pavilion with red eyes at midnight, indulging in rich, creamy ice cream, lunch with H & K - 2 old friends from The Overseas School of Colombo/ Sri Lanka who I share a 3 – year catch up with whenever we’re in the same place, shisha time, pool sesh’s, delicious meals out, beer towers, swims, yoga, presents, Malaysian grass and booze.

Christmas morning came around and we cuddled up in dad’s bed to open our stockings, which were hilarious. You know your brother’s reached puberty when he starts pulling out face wash, deo and blemish sticks. I on the other hand got chocolates, lingerie and… a grinder? Love you Santa.

KL crew's first night out :)

The first night I was back I saw J again, after 6 months of long distance, having been through the hardships of longing and lusting we finally got to experience the initial moment of locking eyes, without having to be on Skype. Feeling that familiar, overwhelmed, ecstatic and confused sensation all in one go, do you kiss or hug or talk?! My eyes streamed and heart pounded as we embraced for the first time in too long and just held on as tight as possible for a while, wondering whether it was real or not. The last time we’d seen each other was 6 months ago in that very spot. It felt like the time that had lapsed had been a different slice of life– I’d lived mine in Bristol and he’d lived his in Aus, different people, different experiences and yet here we both were, back at square one, something we understood together again. Do you know the theory that we exist in multiple universes simultaneously as the same person, but in infinite possible situations. Like the butterfly effect, when one tiny thing changes, the rest of the story does too – if every single possibility was to happen at once, our reality now/ perception of what we see is one of those possibilities because of the way the human mind has learned to conceptualise time and space. We think of time as linear and progressive, when in actuality it’s one point in space and that point symbolizes everything that’s happening at once, hence the importance of ‘presence’. We spend so much time planning our future or worrying about our past, but if we died in 2 minutes, none of those thoughts would be significant if we hadn’t taken the time to live those 120 seconds to their fullest – YOLO I believe is the expression? Haha, sorry…

Before I boarded the plane in London, I wondered whether I’d run into anyone. It’s quite cool that as International kids we could be in any airport anywhere in the world and still see someone we recognize or know, standing right next to us. M from Alice Smith was on my flight so we chatted and caught up, the general theme being that going home was something everyone was craving. It’s interesting seeing how everyone’s taking Uni, A lot of people seem to take a while to find their feet, including me. You’re thrust out of this spoon fed, easy going bubble of fun, expat living, cheap food, taxis, free drinks, great clubs, shitty music… to independence, bills, cold weather, reality. Of course that’s slightly cynical and there’s a lot more to it than that, a lot that’s beautiful and life changing and fun. But for the sake of argument, it’s a big shift that involves big emotional turnovers leading to this suffering in the form of disorders, drugs or disease. My heart goes out to all those having a hard time <3

On the other (slightly less depressing) hand, it’s great hearing stories from those that are loving life. R’s living it up in Sweden surrounded by beautiful, blue eyed blondes, C ‘s experiencing her love for Bushduf’s in Aus and H has her head firmly on her shoulders with a great group of friends in Holland. It’s also great being able to give that experience to each other – a drunken night out on Changkat full of laughs and dancing, being 19 and walking into our old hang out spots while you feel the evil eyes of 14 year olds wondering who you are and what you’re doing in their space… as you look back wondering how old they are and remembering the days when we were them. A meal at 3am at Nasi Kandar where the common favorite is roti Cannai and Milo ice, £2 for something that takes 5 minutes top to inhale.

Family at christmas

Last night after a huge Christmas dinner of turkey, duck, roast potatoes & all the trimmings, a stodgy Christmas pudding, apple crumble, minced pies and large glasses of baileys, R and I were planning on finding someone to rub our tummy’s for a bit before we became mobile enough to walk/ go out. We held our food babies and reveled in the satiation of stuffed-ness. You know food comas are a real thing right? As you’re eating your body releases dopamine, a hormone responsible for states of excitement, ecstasy, happiness, that’s followed by the slow release of serotonin and melatonin – the hormones released when one goes to sleep hence why you feel sleepy after a meal. The Spanish have it right with siestas – when I bought that up over summer my cousin suggested that that’s the reason things don’t get done fast enough there contributing to why they’re in such a bad way, economically. I can’t imagine London chilling out enough to stop everything and sleep for a few hours after lunch; you can’t even walk slowly in London without feeling out of place. A nap?! Pshh. If only.

Jack and Jill :)

So with our full bellies, my red drunken face and a Christmas spirit, we took the bus to KLCC and walked over to Changkat to have a couple of happy hour drinks with the upbeat Aussies J and J. Joined later by other friends we moved from one bar to the next, from Sambuca to long islands to beer to cider. We sat in ‘fish n chips’ a bar down the road, with the first man sitting down ironically chowing down a plate of fish and chips – good advertising. J got up to break the seal and came back chucking a live lobster on the table that crawled around frantically as we all stared in amazement at what had just interrupted our conversation. ‘Cannot lah! Cannot!’ the waitress squealed as she looked over our shoulders at the live sea creature, pulling The chef out of the kitchen after a few minutes, to put the little guy back in his tank. Causing more trouble J and J disappeared for a bit to say hi to a few other friends at another nearby bar, Healy Macs. We soon ran into them, ripped Calvin Klein shirt, hyper demeanor and wide eyes at having sprinted away from a bouncer that had obviously woken up on the wrong side of the bed and hurled a few punches before realizing he wasn’t going to get them. We thought we’d get out pronto so off to J’s hotel we drove, clambering up to the rooftop to spin around in awe at the panorama of KL on Christmas night. The orangey glow of city lights added warmth to the scattered skyscrapers. We lit up and exhaled, talk going from small to medium to deep deep down into the depths of the ocean. Enigma codes, fractals, human perception, the creation of math, 3D printers AH brain-ache. I sat hours later on the same side of the table as R facing the fluorescent, empty hallway of lights and sipping on a Milo panas (hot chocolate) just absorbing our flow.

Bright and early on xmas morning

Christmas night <3

Time was ticking, 8 days had already gone by, I still hadn’t packed, showered, been home or hydrated
after our night of drinking, I could almost hear my alarm going off already, ugh get us home! We all hugged tight and said our indefinite goodbyes to each other, getting into a RM10 taxi for my last ride home in however long it would be. It’s a scary thought not knowing what the future holds isn’t it? But at the same time, like the ‘simultaneously infinite existences’ that I mentioned earlier, there are also infinite possibilities of what might happen in our future so we can only really flow with it and see where it takes us. Right now I’m being taken back home to the country I lived in for the longest, to stay in our friends fairytale wooden/ glass house in the rubber plantations, a hippy eco-village for New Year, a dive and surf in backpacker central/ Hikkaduwa and some family/ friend time at good old Galle fort. How I miss it so. Merry Christmas everyone, live up the last few weeks of 2013 before the post-crimbo diets begin ;)

Recipe of the day: Christmas Pud
http://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/cuisine/european/english/traditional-christmas-pudding.html

Shutting the suitcase

Obi-1-konobi

My fairy lights add a warm glow to the old white walls of my new bedroom; a light pink rose garland is strewn across my desk and Marilyn Munroe winks seductively at me with her scarlet red lips next to Einstein's multicoloured 'imagination' poster.. To the left Bob & The Rolling Stones exhale a sexy breath of smoke that finds its way around the crystals on my (broken) fireplace, add a hippie sarong or two a touch and a delicacy is born. I've just moved into my first house! Built in the 1800’s, 5 bedrooms, a little garden and a shed soon-to-be converted, I’ve found my home for the next year. The characteristics of the house are what make it cozy; a lovely stained glass window welcomes you at the entrance and little detailed carvings on the edges of the doors catch your eye as you walk through. It’s the first time I’m not living out of a suitcase in a long while and although travelling gives you a sense of liberation from order and routine, having structure return is invigorating. One room-mate N has already moved in and we get along like a house on fire, the rest of the girls are to come gradually over the next few weeks, allowing the family to grow and the house to become a home – though the process wasn't easy, the product was worth it.

N & I had our first night out in Briz on Saturday with old friends from KL and their house mates.

Getting lost - Pre’s – underground raves – deep house – new friends – Bristonian accents – steep hills – chilly nights – warm onesies. On our way home before we the 'lost' part happened, we somehow bagged ourselves a free taxi ride with a sweet lady going in our direction and a frantic 19 year old that was on the run from a gang of boisterous youth. We got a mouthful of the town and its music in one night and fell asleep under warm duvet’s with smiles on our faces. Getting lost in this City is something I anticipated but the hilly roads, was not. If you have time to explore, getting lost is no burden, it gives you a chance to take in the multi-coloured houses, quaint cafes, scattered posters advertising gigs, vintage/ charity shops, restaurants – it never ends. Take London, shrink it, add an influx of rastas, hippies, wind and posters, raise some of the roads and add a farmers twang to the accent… and you've got Bristol. I feel really lucky to have moved from London to Bristol and not the other way around, as from what I've heard it can be a rather overwhelming experience.

First night in the hoouse

A shit picture but the clearest rainbow I've ever seen

London was great while it lasted, once you've got a knack of where to go, who to go with and how to get there it’s a wicked city. I changed charities due to ethical reasons and ended up working as a fundraiser for ‘Care International’ - it was an enlightening experience indeed. Every day you were posted in a different part of London/ England with different members of the amazing campaign group P2P. We’d meet, travel, change and disperse for the next few hours, trying to get as many sign-ups as possible and reach our target (10 a week). If you got over, you’d get a bonus, if you got consistently under, you’d most likely be fired. Fundraising involved thick skin, a big & enthusiastic personality and a strong sense of willpower; hence most fundraisers ended up being boys for one reason or another (I think it’s because they had more of an upper hand when dealing with abuse). The abuse was not something I expected; racist, ignorant, screwed up and untrusting people – you’re interacting with every member of the public so you see and respond to it all.
Fundraising in poor areas was never fun, if people couldn’t even afford to pay their rent or buy their kids cereal for the day. Those were the people I felt most inclined to talk to, as giving a bit of your energy to someone who just wants to be listened to, feels far more beneficial than getting their bank details because they like… your legs? I guess that’s a plus too. It was interesting watching the guys on my team sign up girl after girl who fell into their flirtatious traps, and realizing, that’s what a lot of sales is about – attracting someone to the product, yes. But you have to get their attention first right? So girls usually sign up boys and vice versa.

M and I <3

There were a few interesting experiences, watching the mentally ill man rock back and forth on a wooden park bench nearby. His eyebrows would rise up and down in an anxious fashion, almost in time to the light pattering of the pigeons feet that held up the fragile grey bird frantically pecking for crumbs in front of him. We continued with our day and at the very end while we were packing up, he made his entrance. Standing in front of us he took his position and shouted ‘You all make me sick! I’m part of the council and we all agree you should f**k your mothers and go to hell etc etc etc’. Woah! What a long order. We looked at him and smiled with compassion, the boys put their hats to their chest ‘have a good day sir J’.

10 years on

As you walk past another person do you ever get that uncomfortable feeling of ‘what do I do?’ Are they far enough away for me to smile at them, do I say something or make eye contact? Watching children go through this thought process is really interesting. Mums and dads rush past me as their kids are the ones that want to talk and interact. ‘Come on!’ Sorry we don’t have time’ she brushes past me with 3 kids on tow, they look back at me and smile, not fazed by the rush but caught in the daze of the grown-ups busy afternoon. ‘I want to give to charity!’ The little girl turns and shouts to me. I love that pure compassionate intention that’s so common in children; of course, kids are shielded from half of what charity’s become, and what money means now but that’s not the point..

So charity work was good hours with good people and good pay. Inbetween was social time. A weekend in South London at a beautifully modern 7 bedroom house that belonged to M’s godmother. M and I had grown up together in Sri Lanka and hadn’t seen each other in years. It’s funny looking into someone’s eyes when you’ve known them for so long. Seeing stories rush back at you that had been tucked away in the back of a room and taken over by spi

ders and cobwebs. So we spent a luxurious weekend opening pandora’s box of memories with the scent of flowers wafting through the air. Another glass of nostalgia was enjoyed in Gordons Wine Bar with B. over a platter of French cheese. As though catapulted through time, my last night had arrived – I invited over those 5 special friends and we sat on the trampoline and chatted, laughed and drank, with a duvet to keep us warm. Leaving that morning did not go as smoothly as anticipated, I got my train times wrong and proceeded to run around London with the heaviest bags I have ever carried and no right hand man to help me out. I felt less sorry for myself when I arrived huffing and puffing into my carriage on the train to Tisbury. A man in a wheelchair rolled over my feet as he tried patiently to maneuver himself into a good position, an 80+ year old sat next to me uttering dry complaints about the weather and then to top it off a pregnant woman with her 2 year old ran in flustered about having just left her whole handbag in the coffee shop. What a funny bunch of people we were.

Living in the clouds

 A yummy lunch at Aunty M’s, a speedy drive into Bristol and a manic Ikea shop. I stood still and just took in where I was, this had been a long time coming. Fairy lights up, music on, friends over – a good first night in Bristol and my own bed to snuggle into, I can feel a good year coming on.

Recipe: Vegetable curry

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/3084674/pea-and-new-potato-curry

Carnival

\‘JAMAICA JAMAICAA’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgiFe6LSEeA) rang out of the huge sound systems that lined the streets of the West end. Everyone had emerged from their burrows to grab a slice of London at its best. Notting Hill Carnival, it’s been around since 1965 and ‘was led by the West Indian Migrant community in London. In recent years it has attracted up to 50,000 performers, 38 sound systems and 2.5 million people over the weekend, making it the second largest street carnival in the world after Rio.' (nottinghillcarnival.eu) Today, it’s a time that allows everyone to let loose together and share the one thing that connect all humans – a love for music, food and culture. 

Above the heads

Old Rasta’s jamming along to Aba shanti with flower fumes waving to the beats, little ones shaking their hips above shoulders and within protected circles to the tunes of Sancho Panza, with their parents keeping half an eye on them with a smile on their face. True Jamaican twerkers bumping and grinding in front of floats that were crawling with people and shaking with sounds. The crowds were a sweaty treat, not recommended for the claustrophobics amongst us as half your time is spent pressed up against strangers, shuffling through police barricades to try to reach the nearest music.

M and I

M and I lived right next to Carnival and that day, much of the public transport staff had conveniently chosen to go on strike; luckily for us, we weren’t effected and relied our legs to get there and back. Shops were shut, bars were teaming with people, the litter was slowly building up and the fabulous once-a-year (£200 - £600) costumes were appearing. We’d gone for glitter and masks, and a whole bottle of sun cream – it was 30®C and I felt like I was in the Mediterranean without the sea (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBDVarvFqYI) today, a lot of water was going to be needed.

Famalam

The two main days of Carnival are Sunday and bank holiday Monday. Sunday’s usually family day so the vibe’s a bit more lax, we went with the adults of our family, strictly NO kids allowed - this was our day, you can’t be dealing with little manic responsibilities when you’re tryna have fun!

En route to Carnival

So we hit the first pub, ciders, G&T’s and shandy’s it was, the tunes were pumping and the bar was crowded... it was only 12pm. In the heat of the day it didn’t take much for the alcohol to reach our heads, so we downed our last drinks, with the ground becoming progressively more uneven and speech starting to slur (well mine). Shuffle, bounce, grind in time to the beat, using whatever available body parts you could, to move with the rhythm in whatever space was available. So we moved those hands and fingers above the heads of the masses, the ecstatic wave of the day passing through each of us in turn. The best part about being with family that know the scene, is they also know the shortcuts. M and I followed along quite happily, just as we were reaching Aba shanti a Rasta in the crowd held out a hand of green daisies. A 3 minute transaction and I was skipping along happily with my new purchase and being ‘welcome(d) to jam rock’ by the DJ. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlCmQcRPtRg)

Grind, roll, lick, light the fumes dispersed and merged with the countless others. Police could be seen struggling through crowds looking for trouble, we didn’t really fit that category. The smoke from the jerk chicken wafted up our nostrils. Beans, rice, jerk, salad and gravy mmm. We bopped along in line, getting the extortionate £7 out of our pockets for our meal. Mouth-gasm is the only way to really describe the sensation when you bite into a succulent, sweet, sticky bbq’d piece of chicken with the tang of the salad, the thickness of the rice and the reggae music to top it off. 

Jerk

Mmm

We shuffled on, to Sancho Panza, Norman Jay’s good times, soul, funk, rap, reggae, house – it was all going down. The dancers were wearing their tight little knickers and spangly Brazilian/ Jamaican tops that had obviously been worked on for a long time; most of the men at carnival were having a field day, the hunger in their eyes everywhere they looked almost making them dizzy. Women didn’t do too badly either, tall, black, beautiful, ripped men dancing to good tunes? 

Sunday eve

What more could you want. As the day wound down 6pm struck and the crowds started to disperse, as around that time, is when things start to get rowdy and a lot of the gangs make their appearances. It’s the one deterrent of Carnival for a lot of people, but if you keep your valuables and friends close and your mind alert then you should be fine. The rents left us around 5 and we went to sit on the patchy grass with the other carnival go’ers. It didn’t take us long to get chatting to the group beside us, Charlie said hello and sent us buzzing on our way back home before we headed out for the night. ‘One drink and then we’ll go home’ was the plan… until we met T and J. Bringing a few girls along to a house party always looks good, so we essentially became the accessories of the night (that relationship did deepen once we all got to know each other... and started the discussion of M and I’s significant others.. love pulling that out the bag.) But we followed along quite happily; it was a free night of everything, good company and tunes on the roof of a 5 storey flat, walking distance from home - how great it is to be a girl sometimes. That night went on, and on and on moving from the kitchen to the roof, back to the kitchen for warmth, downstairs for cigs, upstairs for tunes, home for bed and up again for Carnival. The best way to get out of a strop is to do something, surrounding ourselves with music for the second day in a row allowed us to pick up on everyone else’s vibes (& jerk chicken) and just feel, good (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHs98TEYecM)

I spot the police..

Little jammers

Men..

I skyped mum and dad in Malaysia the day afterwards and described my first experience of their old tradition. While I was raving about the DJ’s they laughed – ‘It’s so funny that you guys are all jamming along to our mates old tunes that we saw them create’. M and I’s parents, having dabbled in the music industry were mates with the DJ’s of all the biggest sound systems, and while we were playing their tunes for the first time on Spotify, our parents were sifting through their old vinyl’s & memories of when it all first began.

Lots of love

On Tuesday, work had begun again and London was back to its busy hustle and bustle. The memories of the sounds lingered in the air, clinging to the conker trees that’s leaves were transitioning from green to orange. This weekend had been ‘a whole different gravy’ as J would say, and the spirit of the city that holds so many secrets had been lifted once again.

Jam of the day: Aba Shanti at Notting Hill Carnival

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuCWaCHfAqA