Rewind to Christmas Thaim.

So I'm almost 2 months into life in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Living at home, working full time and learning to appreciate the weekends more every day. I've found my priorities shift as my free time has become squeezed into a narrow 2-day gap and my recreational 'to do' list is still just as long ... and incomplete but I'm ticking off the boxes one by one. The lesson I'm learning is that it's ok to slow down because unlike the days of my degree, in this working world there is no end to the race. So while it's long overdue, this post is something I wrote over the christmas holiday and although I'm in a very different space now, it's nice to let the mind return to a time that was once a reality...

The clocks hand has finally cut the circle in two; it's 7.30am and my body is up and eager for the day. The 8am morning yoga in the buddha hall was sounding good but alas, nature decided otherwise. My mum and I are staying in a little wooden bungalow at the top of a mountain, in Koh Phangan, Thailand. Aside from its solid foundations it stands bare and defenseless against tropical rainstorms like this. The shutters closest to my head are swinging open and closed and gusts of earthy wind are circulating the room, it's a wild experience to be a part of. The tropical trees are shuddering and the giant leaves - so thin and strong have been weakened as they fall to the ground in all directions - soon to become part of the next layer of jungle floor when the storm has passed.

Yesterday, when I looked out the window at the vast expanse of sea, my eyes were entertained by the constant currents and rips that were surging and merging into one another. But now, looking out there is no distinction between the underwater rhythms. Despite the outer chaos the water is seemingly calm, awash with a million tiny pockets from where the droplets continue to fall. Through the ancient medicinal lens of Ayurvedic tradition that we follow in yoga this weather would be described as vata; a 'dosha' or constitution that connotes purifying, wet and strong weather on the outside and a desire for movement, creativity and contemplation on the inside. If one were to sit now and practise anything it would need to be the opposite - long, deep, heating breath and strong, grounding movements - working with the elements. A big thunderbolt just struck the sky and in its wake, silence has followed. Now we rest in the calm after the storm...

I love it here, this patch of earth that we've been coming to for over 10 years now; I'm with my mum, her boyfriend T and his kids C and T to celebrate New Years. To the side of our hut, enclosed by a little bay lies 'The Sanctuary' - a healing retreat scattered along the roots of the jungle. The restaurant is full of vegan and gluten free goodness and the shop full of Ayurvedic oils and pretty garms. The grounds are run by the glam hippies adorned in sparkly sequins and sarongs, floating between natural and psychedelic healing sessions. On the other side of us is Haad Tien where 'Eden' lies - a venue that holds great sentimental value, positioned between ancient rocks and home to the most magical raves. It's a sight to be held when the sunrise reveals the seamless stretch of bay, sea and jungle - previously hidden by the night. I remember being on an adventure here when I was 18 years old with J... we'd managed to escape the obnoxious beats of the half moon party on Haadrin and instead, chose to board a little boat to an unknown bay that offered an unimaginable alternative. We danced until the sun rose and then I remember recognizing an old school friend from Sri Lanka and then another from Cambodia! My worlds had collided and shrunk into a tropical raindrop. It is truly a place where magic happens... I found it comical yet not surprising that we had discovered the rave right around the corner from the healing retreat that I'd spent time in growing up. So this is where the adults had disappeared off to when I lay in bed at night listening to the cicadas sing. The dots all add up eventually...

For a change, this holiday I haven't been so drawn to the beats that echo across the island. My body has been recovering from the last few weeks of madness in London and I'm luckily in the perfect place to heal. The other day as the post-yoga gong was sounding through the hall, I heard it merge with the deep bass from Guy's Bar and I smiled... true.vibes. It's 3 days on from New year, the music is still going and the people still flowing passed our little hut with remnants of glitter on their faces..

So that tropical storm grew and grew until we could no longer stay

For fear of being blown away.

And after a few hiccups we were all homeward bound 

and we made it back safe and sound.

Now I'm counting down the days,

until the next glorious getaway.

Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrbaZ7dpJyg

A taste of Perugia

Sterlinghe

Bedroom
view

We’ve just soared above cloud level, leaving the warm rain behind and entering a clear, blue layer of sky. It matches the blue that has been present above the hills of Città di Castello every day for the past week as we return from a family holiday at my uncles house in Perugia, Italy; what luxury it has been. Each day has melted into the next with the ever-present sun heating the yellow stones that remained warm well into the night.
Beautiful Sterlinghe, a holiday villa that’s taken D & V 10 years to complete; each detail perfected, from the copper wires to the wood fired oven to the perfectly groomed lavender bushes. If you were to close your eyes and wander through the garden, your body would submit to a completely soporific state, acting as a container for the sun’s heat as the constant hum of a thousand bees filled your ears and the smell of lavender indulged your nostrils. Opening your eyes again would bring you back to life as the vibrancy of the surrounding colours hit you retina, a true feast for your eyes.
Lunch time was my favourite  – bright red tomatoes under white mozzarella topped with a single, green basil leaf; pink prosciutto wrapped around orange melon; huge green salads next to chunks of ciabatta drenched in thick, yellow olive oil and deep red wine in vintage glasses. In the dappled sunlight, under hanging vines everyone would gather to sit around the huge wooden table and eat and laugh. One afternoon, when joined by new company we bonded through a group pizza making session, kneading the dough, spreading the passata and choosing from an array of amazing ingredients. It took a few attempts but soon enough beautiful, organic shapes were streaming out of the wood fired oven, placed upon wooden chopping boards, drizzled with truffle oil and topped with fresh rocket; the whole scene was like an art installation.

One cannot possibly write about a holiday in Italy without mentioning the cuisine given its prominence in Italian culture. One night, we went for a meal in town and as we waited for the food to arrive, D & V told us about Sterlinghe’s creation: how kind the builders were, courteously inviting them to their family homes for a meal – it’s typical for Italian families to own a patch of land upon which they build multiple houses to allow room for the whole extended family to live. During one meal that they went to the food was all served on plastic plates that were placed on plastic tables as everyone sat on plastic chairs with a small TV blaring in the corner. Yet despite their obvious lack of wealth, the richness lay within the food and the joy that it brought everyone as they ate together and welcomed their guests with open hearts and expressive hands.

As the food began to arrive at our table I noticed the energy increasing around us. Beneath the towering 12^th century Cathedral and the ancient sandstone and red brick buildings that bordered the town square, clusters of beautiful, deeply tanned girls began to arrive in groups. Behind them, followed equally brown, well-dressed men with slicked back hair that matched their shiny shoes. Against the yellows and oranges of the buildings, the whole scene gave off its own heat waves, sending my eyes into a lull that I fought off by jiggling my knees.

One of my favourite things about that Mediterranean paradise is the plain elegance with which the Italians conduct themselves socially; they drink no more than a small glass or two of alcohol, no leery voices or obnoxiously loud music could be heard and no over-stimulating advertisements are plastered against the walls. 

The flow was mellow that day as the sky transitioned into night and we ended the evening with a gelato, as one should. My eyes bulged as I held up the supposedly ‘small sized’ cone that was quickly drowning in scoops of fresh fig, walnut and pistachio ice cream – 2 scoops was the minim but it easily beat an English ‘large’. I lapped it off the cone before it became a sticky puddle in my hand. Outside the gelateria, motley crews were standing in circles, eyes down, dodgily licking their ice creams in silence with the polizia parked up under the stone arch nearby in case Iscreamed… Needless to say, the evenings innocence kept trouble at bay and no one went hungry that night… or any night for that matter.

If food is the substance of nurturing, Italy is the mother nurturer and instead of hitting the treadmill running, I’ve opted for the holiday route of indulging in ‘Il dolce far niente’ – the sweetness of doing nothing.

Mm… I just heard my tummy rumble, or was that turbulence? God, I miss it already! 

Soporific song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvpThS7zfQ8 

Christmas Crunch Time

Meoww, champapi <3

Another day is dawning as we glide over a patchwork quilt of dark olive and mustard yellow land; the colour scheme now shifting to dark ocean blues as though a paintbrush was slowly waking a piece of art out of its deep sleep. I take a swig of the last few drops of my 4th delectable cup of aeroplane coffee and lean back against the rigid headrest to reflect upon the manic week just passed. My body clock is completely out of whack, minutes and hours merge, days have been skipped and nights forgotten. The tell tale sign was when I was handed back a form I'd just signed at the airport that I'd wrongly dated '8/12/2014', it took me a good few minutes to realise what the issue was... a pretty representational result of the last 4 months of madness. The deep rumbles of the engine begin to stir stagnant memories back to life into a stream of incoherent movie clips. The first scene to pop up is accompanied by the soundtrack of a new favourite (https://soundcloud.com/mono-massive/sunday-jazz-party) played at our pretentiously suave house party that was so Young & Fuller Sol as everyone leisurely swayed past each other in long dresses and suits, champagne flutes in hand.

Finally
making it out of Butlins
after The House of Fun Weekender :)

Madrid <3

More Bristol nights followed, meeting crazy captains that manned all sort of vessels along the way and then the madness moved to Butlins for a weekend as I stayed with the skariest crew in a House of Fun, finding my inner groupie somewhere on the way.. (https://www.youtube.com/watchv=sTZxeiydcUk)
And then one last cheeky adventure to warmer weather, for a whirlwind weekend in the sexiest basement of Madrid with my girls and some gorgeous company, listening to tunes and living life nocturnally for a few days, before returning to grey skies and a winter wonderland :) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4k6gcbgUvM4). 

Madrid 4 days later...

Skating at winter wonderland 

Academia's supposedly been going on simultaneously, I’ve slowly settled into my last year of uni, delving into dreams with my new passion for psychoanalysis, questioning my sanity during our consciousness course and slowing down the rat race with a new yoga class, that I get to teach once a week to a few gentle souls. It's been a heart warming few months of the usual highs and lows as the 3 year mark hits and grants with it a sense of comfort and a funny feeling of home…

The seatbelt sign's on and the energy in the MH003 cabin is getting uneasy... a similar sensation to the rumbles of discomfort that's brewing in many bellies as the headlines maintain their reign of terror: another attack, tighter immigration laws, more war. Watching the incredible response on social media as everyone responds and reacts with statuses, articles and profile pictures, that transition from gay-pride rainbows to French flags; feeling both shocked and amazed at how fast the notifications popped up “15 friends marked safe“ as soon as the Paris bombings occurred. Going to uni that day I felt a worried pang as the cacophony of murmurs suggesting 'World War 3' resonated in the room, at a low tone suited to the subject of conversation... the high shrills of the canteen ladies retained the normality of the situation. The conversations moved on, I ran to my lecture and people continued leisurely sipping on their coffee's & talking about the weather … surrealism at its best.

I went to my first protest to not bomb Syria the other day after conveniently having just had a seminar on crowd psychology. L and I cycled in a dramatic haste through sheets of rain, feeling excited and purposeful as we raced to join the crowd that was blocking off the whole high street in our wage against war (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztZI2aLQ9Sw). I observed the many splits between groups: the transgressive lot demonstrating their disobedience as they skanked out to D&B playing from their mini-rigs, while another group chanted “1,2,3,4 WE DON’T WANT NO TORI WAR, 5,6,7,8 STOP THE BOMBING STOP THE HATE” waving their signs above the masses.

Someone just opened their window a peek and the sun shot through my eyes, it was like being born for the first time :/ and then to add to that weirdness, I can hear that familiar, cheesy welcome video “Salamat Detang, welcome to Malaysia!" Switch.
Back into Asia-mode, eeek i can feel my inner hippie stirring and swirling and singing dem songs :) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rynxqdNMry4)! The dark colours that make up my English wardrobe are soon to be stripped and replaced by trippy sarongs and flowery dresses.
My eyes are adjusting to the tropical rain forests that are appearing as we swoop lower;

just as smooth as the air lifts the wings of this huge machine, my heart settles down from the mass of caffeine with not a patch of grey in the sky to be seen.
Palm trees and tinsel time, ho, ho, ho… 
this is the Christmas that I truly know. 

Song of the day: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfJRX-8SXOs

Airy Fairy I

Wanderer

Dancin with the fairies

It amazes me what an intense effect stress has on the brain, I watch my amazing housemate work through a full-time masters and a half-time job, buzzing along the mood spectrum from calm to hysteria, those of us with slightly less stress showing pretty similar symptoms (if living in a house of girls is a reliable reference point ;) ) … it makes the importance of finding something to calm you down whether it be meditating or monging out to TV so important. Without the balance we’d all end up in asylums or …slow-down camps. The point of the stress rant was what has just happened yet again, on the start of an Easter adventure to Holland to catch up with a few of my favourite girlfriends from high school.

Just about where my head's at

Tralalala

I woke up this morning with a foggy head that soon vanished after a long sesh of yoga, a scattered feat of packing and a run in the spring sunshine. Packing always takes so much longer than anticipated doesn’t it? Doing it the night before is what we’re been taught for so many years but for me, it still hasn’t sunk in.

So of course, I look at the time, hoping it’ll be 2pm (I actually learnt the psychological phrase for this the other day… ‘false hope syndrome’, ha) but of course it’s 3pm instead and as I sit leisurely blow drying my hair, the cortisol levels rapidly rise and I realise I have 30 minutes until the bus leaves and I still wasn’t ready... so trying to get my priorities in check, I put down the hairdryer...

It's never seemed more
appropriate that both our
names begin with J .. for
this holiday at least <3

Chuk mung nam moi B! See
you in Dam B <3

Fast-forward mode began, what a familiar feeling. A taxi it had to be. A gulp of coffee and a regrettable puff of a J and the taxi arrived. Bags in, door shut and finally, feeling somewhat reassured we were on our way, 5 minutes down the main road. Shit. Please don’t tell me I just put my phone down on the kitchen table. 20 minutes left. Arghhhhh. After a brief inner-battle as to how necessary a phone was compared to a new bus ticket to Holland, we turned around. Run in, grab phone, back in the taxi. We arrived at the megabus to London with 10 minutes to spare; I check in and sit down. Realising I’ve put my laptop under the bus … um a 3 hour bus ride isn’t going to entertain itself. Gawwwd. The bus driver mutters under his breath and lets me climb into the luggage compartment and start rummaging while he eyes me suspiciously. I manage to awkwardly pull out my laptop bag, lying on everyone else's bags in the process and rolling onto the pavement next to the driver who was tapping his foot and shaking his head, making sure the items in my hand had actually come out of my bag. There's not much trust left in the world is there... but then again, after just watching 'the pursuit of happiness' and seeing the peace and love looking hippie run away with Will Smiths scanning machine, I can understand the association :p. I sheepishly walked back onto the bus, straightening out my clothes to then receive a call from the taxi driver notifying me that I had left my only warm jacket in the taxi. Eeek. As a lovely gesture, he was going to come back to

From Laos to Amsterdam -
Seeing these travellers soooon

A long awaited reunion
with these 2 beauts <3

return it to me. So I get back out of the bus, repeating ‘thank you’ in my head every time a late-comer walked up to the bus driver with their reservation numbers. Oh my god pleeease hurry up!! I stood, biting my fingers nervously with a foggy head, my inner-clock getting louder and louder as the minutes ticked on. The taxi driver arrives, I breathe a sigh of relief, run to grab my jacket, thank him and then scramble onto the bus. The engine finally starts. Ahh J we’re about to leave. The engine stops… I could hear the bus driver storming back onto the bus. “Who’s lost a black wallet?”. I laughed in my head… how bad would that be. He comes up to the 2^ndfloor and what do I recognise in his hand but my.black.wallet containing my passport, bank cards, bus tickets and money.

So now I sit on the bus that’s finally moving, cringing behind my seat and feeling successful at having ticked every box on the ‘what not to do when you start travelling’ list. Let’s hope the rest of the holiday gets better from here… :p

17 hours later at a (real) coffee shop
... AMSTERDAM

Recipe of the day: Easter egg fairy cakes
http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/7083/easter-fairy-cakes.aspx