Beginnings are hard to catch. I couldn’t tell you how this all began: perhaps it was when I was sick of university and wanted to get away, perhaps it was when I decied to go to Australia, perhaps it was when I cancelled that trip and got a tattoo, perhaps it was when I booked my tickets, perhaps it was when I got on the plane. But endings? Endings are definite. It’s always easy to work out where something ends. The journey ends here, just where it began, and the world seems so much bigger, and I feel so much smaller, and my brain feels lost and damaged and full of useless anecdotes where my degree used to be. I couldn’t tell you the finer points of web service programming these days, but I do know the average annual rain fall in London and I can compare it to the amount we had in one day out in Franz Josef, when I was out hiking on a glacier in the middle of a rainforest. I don’t know much about agents any more, but I sure as hell know what sun stroke feels like, because I got it, drinking Fiji bitter on the roof of a boat somewhere in the middle of the Yasawa islands. Endings are not sad times, they’re just changing times. Endings are everywhere. One good thing about them is that you can almost guarantee that where an ending is found, there’s a beginning lurking just around the corner. Of course, it’s hard to track it down, because beginnings are hard to define. A lot of things are just beginning in my life, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.
I’m not quite sure if you can call it beautiful. Bits of it certainly are, but the onslaught of the tourist has ruined it somewhat. Somehow it has resisted the urge to become westernised though: no MacDonalds, no Burger King, no Starbucks. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before it all goes wrong. Instead you have rows and rows of restaurants with Family Guy on repeat and bars lining the beach serving up absolutely lethal buckets of alcohol and red bull to the up-for-it party goers of the night. The beach itself is pretty amazing, discarded bottles and buckets aside: it’s a crescent shape with gorgeous soft sand and jungle on either side. The sun rises over it so at 7am the remaining dancers are treated to quite a view.
Just a quick update for you so you don’t all think I’m dead.
I’m out on Ko Pha-Ngan right now, which is basically where the party happens. All the time. It’s pretty crazy and I can’t seem to escape a hangover: there’s really not much to do here apart from drink lots and sleep. I suppose there’s diving and stuff too but for a poor traveler like myself it’s not financially viable.
I found myself in much better spirits by the time I got to Sydney airport. When I said goodbye to all my friends, something clicked and I got all excited about traveling again. My flight and the day surrounding it was mercifully uneventful and I met a couple of travelers at the airport who pointed me at a good place to stay, so I got myself settled into the country really easily, even if I was confused by the time difference, not sure that my watch was right, and running on 2 hours of awkward plane sleep.
I usually sleep uninterrupted but today I had a bad dream and when I woke up all that was in my head was the realisation that I was leaving Australia in 3 days. For some reason it never hit me before. I feel sick, and scared, and sad. It feels different this time around: when I left the UK I knew I was coming back, I knew that I had all my things there, waiting for me, some kind of investment in the country that kept me feeling like it wasn’t goodbye. When I leave here I’m cashing in my chips and leaving nothing, and that feels strange.