Wonkyville meets Neverland

My partner in crime <3

“There’s no earthly way of knowing which direction you are going, there’s no knowing where they’re rowing… or which way the river’s flowing” but my guess is that you’re heading west…

The wise words of Mr. Willy Wonka ring in my ears as I sit in my aeroplane seat, contemplating, re-living and releasing the locomotion of the last 2 weeks. All the cabin windows are closed, the lights are off and for all I know, we may be flying west? But while the concept of zooming over huge masses of ocean and land in a giant metal bird in the sky is still utterly baffling, nothing can quite beat how perplexed I felt the moment that I stood around the kitchen table in that grand stately home 2 weeks ago...

Although I shall try, there’s no point in writing this blog in chronological order as the concept of time becomes merely a word to encompass the entirety of our experience (that I so wish could last forever). The experience I refer to is the event we had all been waiting for … the one you spend half the year anticipating and the other half recovering from/ in a state of denial that it’s all over. I’ll take you through a bit of the magic to tickle your tentacles and ignite your imaginations. Feeling perplexed already? So was I, I’ll let you decide which moment may describe why…

Awards night...

We had returned to Neverland… Day 1 was surprisingly civilised as girls flowed around in floor length gowns while boys drifted, suited and booted with endless glasses of bubbly in hand. We sat gracefully in our assigned seats around white tables in the expertly converted games room for ‘The Captains Awards Night’. But it didn’t take long for the clock to strike 12 and the transformation from civilised society to wreck-head ravers to begin. Conversations sped up and nonsense filled the air and we raised our glasses to the long awaited annual affair.

Disjointed conversations, after party bliss, morning yoga and chocolate bits. 30+ hours of no sleep and it was suddenly dark again… “So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you.”

The activity of the 2^nd evening? Disco dodgeball. I stood at the corner of the table in the kitchen dressed as an oompa lumpa, having a seemingly normal conversation with a crew of life-size, animated childhood heroes. It was like an acid trip had come to life. A minion stood next to me, chatting politics to a member of the Jamaican bobsled team, while a Dalmatian mixed a cocktail for a member of the SWAT team who was sensually brandishing his leather whip… everyone’s pupils were wide in anticipation for the games to begin.

And indeed they did. I looked over the heads of a bizarre array of characters, searching for my team of orange oompa lumpa’s. I soon spotted the mass of green curls and orange faces bobbing along outside, struggling to walk straight through the cold, hurricane-like wind in-between the house and the games room.

Everyone went quiet as the MC announced into the microphone ‘IT’S TIME TO PLAYYY DODGEBALLL!!’ The rules were explained and the first team ran onto the court, grooving to their entrance song of choice against the opposition; the winner of the dance off, determined which team started first.

TEAM

We bobbed along to what should’ve been (http://youtu.be/DoFeHA587GI) and needless to say the lack of sleep and my flickering eyes hindered my ability to dance, let alone last in the game for longer than 30 seconds. So I took my rightful place on the side-lines to watch the other teams battle it out. When my body could bob no longer I made the sensible decision to take myself to bed just as the heat in the Chapel was rising and Saturday Night fever was set to begin (on a lit up disco dance-floor, divided by lines and devoured by glitter fro’s that were shaking to some funky disco beats https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I).

A kitchen of characters

I awoke on that sunny Sunday morning having sadly missed Saturday night’s groove, surrounded by sleeping disco-queens in an unknown bedroom. I looked into one of the million mirrors that were scattered around the house, wiping away flakes of baby powder to assess my situation… it looked like I’d spent too long in a tanning booth as I peered at the residue of orange face paint… what a bedraggled oompa lumpa I had become. I chuckled, washed my face, shook into my body glove and with a cup of coffee in hand, stepped outside. With the help of some sexy morning tunes (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DofQMszmOOM) all the tiredness and weird residue of the fun guys chocolate nibbles from the previous day, just seemed to melt away.

Dirty Disney 

The day consisted of re-grounding and resetting, grinding my teeth against some actual nutrition before the lid of Pandora’s box opened and the toys again sprung to life. My Mrs. Willy Wonky doppelgänger appeared and I got into character, handing out a spread of golden tickets and special treats. That evening as I sat at the kitchen table I was joined by a new array of mixed company; it was like that game ‘who would you have at your dinner table if you could choose anyone?’ Next to me, sat a giant whoopee cushion (that #lookedlikePaolo), a Mario cart mushroom and micky mouse… with a baby doll lying face down on the table.

I listened in on talk of mysterious golden tickets that were being found in wonka bars, hmm… “Little surprises around every corner… but nothing dangerous” I hoped…

And as the lights became blurry and words got more slurry, I hopped on the boat and began rowing, with no idea what direction I was going… through a secret passage and out we emerged, into a land of cocoa powder, Malibu and milk!

My long lost husband Mr. Willy Wonka was setting the scene, telling his childhood tale, accompanied by a giant oompa lumpa who kept the vibes heading in one direction… west, only west. The childish tone soon took a turn as the musical conductors moved the kit into the grandest of dining rooms and things transformed from perfectly playful, to wonderfully wild: Out came glitter nips and lucky dips into bags of magic as we moved and grooved (while some sensibly snoozed) before the clock struck and the countdown to the end was to begin…

Post-party vision

We all ran and rushed,

Looking bedraggled and flushed,

Hoovering glitter in a bleary haze,

We tried our best to clean before the wedding day,

That was occurring in that house in which we were to leave no trace,

If only I could’ve mustered a smile on my face…

Likened to a bunch of animals by the caretaker was not a surprise,

For I could still see the wildness in all those sleep deprived eyes…

And as though the party could never end,

We hopped in cars with a few of our friends,

For a ‘civilised’ lunch at a local pub,

A nap in the pub...

We were well in need for some well-cooked grub.

While some continued to pop and bump,

Others had hit a little slump,

So we lay on the carpet beside the lunch table,

(This all seems surreal but I assure you, it’s no fable.)

After a little nap we were back on form!

Determined not to let the smiles turn to scorn.

So a ‘spa’ became the next destination,

Was it to live up to our expectations?

We all drove along, expecting facials and a much needed rest,

Only to arrive at the ‘hotel’ that I’d describe as average at best.

But we soldiered on, despite our energy wearing thin,

And the temperature of the pool feeling nothing but grim…

Some tunes perked us up, as did R’s blue wig and red gown,

That she had not taken off, for she refused to come down :) 

We sat together on Devon beach to watch the sky melt away,

Sensing our slow return from Neverland with the dying day…

Devon Beach (Creds to A. Gold)

It’s now been 2 weeks and in-between I turned 22,

LOST festival, Bristol

Getting LOST in a maze with another beautiful crew.

Topless and free, our spirits ran wild,

And I returned to that liberated, carefree inner-child.

I cannot express my awe, gratitude and love for you Captain and team,

As you have risen above every expectation and dream.

That goes for each and every wonderful person that I’ve met

And what excites me the most is it’s not over yet!

I apologise for the wonky direction that this piece has taken,

Santa Teresa Bernini is a statue in Rome that
they believe was continuously sent orgasms
by god. She hence comes to represents pure ecstasy
and bliss (and although this message slightly takes the piss
I felt it was an appropriate one that could not go amiss ;) )

It started as a blog but I was mistaken,

For poetry has been my means of expression,

To release and re-live the years best session.

I’d like to end with a note of academic value,

For even though she is only a statue,

What she represents is something I’ve been feeling for the last 2 weeks,

As though my heart has skipped a million beats:

Santa Teresa Bernini (on the left) is a statue in Italy,

The description underneath explains it all blissfully...

As a group of west-heads, look how far we have we come?

Captain I hope the grief you’ve ensued has not spoiled all your fun,

For you are a maker and creator of joy,

I’ve never known what it’s like to truly live like a toy!

Thanks again, I can’t wait until next time,

And that shall be the end of this (way too lengthy) rhyme. <3

Where the magic happens...
(Creds to Bateman)

Beautiful Bagan

The loudspeaker crackled for the last time "Bagan! Bagan!" the bus assistant called. What relief to have arrived after yet another sleepless night spent twisting and contorting our bodies within the confines of our rigid chairs on our 'luxury' bus. It was 5am, we'd arrived half an hour earlier than expected after a 14 hour journey from Yangon. S.K our tour guide for the day stood outside the 6 seater van with a beaming smile, speaking too fast for anyone to process at that time in the morning when we could barely keep our eyes open. But he shrugged off our moans and took us to his bustling local hot spot. We sat down and shared out the hot chai that was in a flask on our table, dipping the fried bread (similar to Spanish churros) into the milky liquid. The much needed sugar rush hit us pretty fast as we snuggled comfortably into our many layers on that unexpectedly cold winter morning. S.K drove us down windy dirt roads and past huge, ancient ruins that we could barely see until the car eventually came to a stop and the high beams lit up the side of a huge pagoda that stood in front of us, still hidden by the darkness. With the lights from our phones we clambered up the pitch black staircase, feeling the cold walls around us and ducking our heads under low ceilings until we emerged onto the flat roof to watch the sun rise across the mysterious landscape.

Slowly, the dawn began to reveal the tips of hundreds of pagodas that stretched as far as the eye could see. The blanket of mist added to the scenes spiritual air and we gazed in amazement at its ethereal beauty. I took off a layer and got my temperature rising with the sun, flowing into a sequence of sun salutations and feeling overwhelmed by the extraordinary landscape that was unfolding in front of us. As though natures conductor had waved his hands, a cloud of hot air balloons began rising in the distance. Starting as a solid, dark clump and separating with grace, the balloons floated above the pagodas stupas, higher and higher still. The dark purples were shifting fast now to pinks and light blues. Nights blanket had almost dispersed and the warmth was bringing Bagan to life. 

We spent the day with S.K visiting old pagodas, Buddhist temples and monasteries... at one point we wandered into an old, wooden Burmese house with Balinese architecture; Eerie wooden door frames that resembled grand mirrors were placed around the room and in the middle, stood an old rocking horse covered by a thin layer of dust thats particles held old secrets... outside, the village children could be heard laughing and running around, absorbed by each others youthful energy and so un-jaded by the stresses of life.

That night in the comfort of our cushy hotel, just as we were dropping off to sleep, Burma belly struck. My brow furrowed with helplessness as I listened to poor J's painful retches that began at 3am and went on until 7..  In the room down the corridor, mum and J were feeling it too and in-between trips to the toilet, everyone cursed the deep fried samosas we'd eaten that morning.. I took a deep breath,  held onto my tummy and hoped for the best...
For whatever reason, dad and I were alright and being a vegetarian suddenly felt like a blessing. We had breakfast that morning (at a very empty table), dosed everyone up on ORS' and stomach spasm pills and left them to rest and recover before the big hike that was scheduled for the following day. 

But someone had to do Bagan some justice, so dad and I (later joined by mum) went on an off-road biking adventure to explore a few hidden gems. It was tough getting the grip of it as my fists clenched the handle bars and the wheels skidded nervously on the sand.. and even tougher trying not to scream as I attempted to inconspicuously pee behind a bush and realised I was actually on top of a huge ant nest...
But we set a gentle pace and weaved in between pagodas, avoiding the ones crawling with tourists. Before long, the sun was wavering in the sky and dusk was arriving. We found a pagoda that resembled a rusty layer cake, parked our bikes and scrambled up to the highest point we could reach to watch the day melt away behind another hundred stupas. I closed by eyes, hoping J & J were feeling ok back at the hotel and opened them just in time to see a deep red wave wash across the sky. From dawn to dusk, we'd truly soaked up Bagan's beauty and were ready for our next stop: Kalaw.

New years escapades: Yangon

Magical Myanmar, a country rich with history, culture and beauty. My family, J and I are just getting back into the grind of life after having a dose of Asianspiration on our amazing New Years adventure. It's been on the bucket list for a while and we needed to tick it off before it's authenticity and innocence gets carried away with masses of tourists.. during our travels on bumpy bus rides, bamboo mats and beside the seaside I wrote a few blogs that I've just gotten round to typing up.. so may these next five words rewind the clock... 

We awoke bright and early on boxing day, slightly hungover and delirious from christmas days festivities. I joined in with the routine complaints that echoed through the house due to lack of sleep and dads cheery tone... at 6am. But everyones mood soon transformed when talk of the next few weeks of adventure filled the air... we were finally going to Burma :). First stop: Yangon. 

Dad's work colleague M had kindly offered up her house for us to stay in while she was away; we arrived in the evening after a short 2.5 hour flight from KL, hot and sweaty from all the moving around. We heaved our luggage out of the taxi, thanked the driver, tried to stuff everything into the tiny elevator and slotted ourselves into the remaining space. Nothing moved, ugh we'd exceeded the maximum weight limit.

It took a few rearrangements but gravity finally fell and the doors opened up onto the 13th floor, where the drones of a buddhist temple could be heard echoing down the hallway. It was a sound that brought a grin to everyone's face having just come from Kuala Lumpur, where the mosque is the usual background music (should anyone have forgotten their own tunes). Everyone was exhausted, so we had a quiet one and J & I became a little more informed about the brutal military regime that had gripped Myanmar for so long: https://www.youtube.com/watchv=2Xcexd802ck - it was shocking realising what had taken place around us just a few years ago.

The tick of the clock slowed down ... 24 hours later, no one emerged particularly amused. We wandered around with bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep and jaws hanging in amazement at how long the incredibly monotonous chanting had been going. So we left the apartment and the droning behind to venture into the city, with half a day to explore Yangon before the long over-night bus ride to Bagan. 

The day started with a breakfast stop at a local noodle soup shop; my grin faded fast as the strong odour of fish seeped out of everyone's bowl and I realised, being a vegetarian that I was going to have to bite my tongue for a lot of this trip. But it wasn't too tough, I got my fill on the way to the site of the day: Yangon's famous 'Shewedagon Pagoda': the largest Pagoda in Burma. Covered head to toe in gold leaf, the golden stupa had the most blinding effect when it reflected the midday sun. At the very top, was a magnificent diamond encrusted umbrella crown/ 'Hti' on top of which a 76 carat (15g) diamond sits, believed to attract the attention of good spirits. We circled its magnificence, clockwise as the buddhist tradition goes, blessing our individual 'days' with holy water that was provided in silver cups below the statues. A lot of traditions in Myanmar still border on animism and we were told that many people don't have last names but are instead categorised according to their day of birth. Based on the beliefs of Indian astrology, each day (except Wednesday that was split into 2) had its own shrine and animal around the golden pagoda that represented one of eight different planets. I squinted at the digital calendar on my samsung screen, attempting to flick back through the years to find out what days we were all born on. As we walked we took turns, blessing our days of birth with the hundreds of Burmese tourists that were doing the same. 

For lunch, we treated ourselves and ended up at 'The Rangoon Tea House'; an amazing fusion of old meets new, serving the most exquisite Burmese food. The smells of pennywort salads, pork curries, fish sambal and chilli chocolate made everyones mouths water. The cuisine was a beautiful mix between Burma's bordering countries: India/ Thailand/ China and Bangladesh. What an indulgence it was (little did we know that our next visit a few weeks later would give everyone a nasty bought of food poisoning...)

But ignorance is bliss and it had set us up well for the last of the days activities spent in Yangon's little back streets full of old, colonial remnants and the odd open air barber shop; in little makeshift bookstalls on the border of the pavements Aung san suu kyi's face was proudly represented on hundreds of books and calendars. We stepped carefully and weaved between market stalls full of colourful sarongs, smelly fish and old antiques... bargaining down the Ray-ban man who insisted his product was "best quality! Not made in China!". 
Time was ticking fast now and the day was almost over. We hopped in a taxi and drove back to the apartment to get our luggage, feeling Yangon's gentle energy despite the busy day. 

And before long, we were settling into our reclining chairs on the JJ express (JJ= Joyous Journeys :p ) pleasantly surprised by inception that was playing on the screens in front of us (albeit barely audible above the deafening crackles of the loudspeaker as the driver cluelessly messed around with the switches). Sleeping pills & blankets at the ready for a long and freezing ride to our next stop: Bhagan.

Recipe of the Day: Pennywort Salad
http://www.messyvegetariancook.com/vegan-burmese-pennywort-salad-myin-kwa-ywet-thoke/ 

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