I write now, on what feels like a giant laptop, after tap-tapping on the delightful Baby Asus for more than two weeks. It's like being at the cinema.
I am safely back in Plumstead, SE18, where things are remarkably similar to how I left them on July 3rd. I am now in the process of picking up all the threads of my existence, and plaiting them back into some sort of normality.
I know what you're thinking - 'you've only been gone a short time, what's the matter with you?!'
Granted, it is a relatively short time, but I have been in multiple worlds, in multiple settings, in multiple countries in that time. In case you missed where it all began, I was part of the Girlguiding UK delegation to the WAGGGS World Conference - the official UK delegation blog is here. This was a wonderful and profound experience, where I met up with old friends, made new ones, attended all sorts of sessions on important topics within Girlguiding, such as spirituality, gender, Fifth World Centre pilot and many more. We went to spectacular events, such as the opening and closing ceremonies, then (wo)manned a stall at International Evening, where participants could have their photograph taken in the now world-famous Girlguiding taxi. As a delegation, we helped make decisions to shape the future of WAGGGS and the 145 Member Organisations, as well as heard about the work of our very own Europe Region and World Board. We celebrated with Nicola Grinstead, who was elected World Board Chair.
This was one world - a world of joy and friendship, laughter and fun, ideas and vision.
I then glided into the next phase of the trip, to Vietnam and Cambodia - read back over the last few blog entries to get the picture, if you didn't already. One minute I was watching the superb Vietnamese water puppet theatre in Hanoi; the next I was cuddling a Vietnamese baby on a 33-hour train journey from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City / Saigon; the next I was crossing the Cambodian border, then learning about the horrific regime of the Khmer Rouge; then I was in the air again, bound for Siem Reap and the UNESCO World Heritage site which spralls across the whole area. Back at the guesthouse, I was sipping ice-cold beer in bars whilst blogging about the day, occasionally chatting to people who look like they live in hedges.
Now, I am back in my bedroom / office / storage space, whatever you want to call it, having unpacked everything, opened my post and had a good sleep, working out what I really need to do before real life resumes in the morning.
I boarded the Hong Kong flight from Phnom Penh, which was unremarkable. I started reading a book by a survivor of the Khmer Rouge campaign, so was engrossed in that; suddenly we were in Hong Kong. The book is called 'First they killed my father' by Loung Ung. It's biographical and told by a child, who is 5-years-old at the start of the book. Her simple language and childlike tone paints a solid of picture of the happy life she and her family enjoyed in Phnom Penh, before the family and all other city dwellers were forced out of the city and to rural areas.
I haven't finished the book yet, but it filled all of the hours I was awake. I can lend it to you when I've finished it. It is a tragic story of loss, but also of hope and courage. I think that anything one can read about history is useful, particularly recent history - it starts in 1975, when you may well have been around.
Having spent the entire World Conference living in the Regal Airport hotel, I felt quite at home landing in Hong Kong again. My connecting flight to London wasn't for another 10 hours, so I'd arranged to meet up with World Conference friend Jess who was also transitting there.
Without thinking, I happily queued up in the 'transit' queue and was about to go through security again, when I suddenly thought - can I actually leave the airport if I go to the transfer lounge? I asked an angry Chinese worker if I could leave the airport if I went this way; she was just angry. I suspect she had personal issues which might be affecting her performance at work, but didn't like to bring this up.
'Can I leave the airport if I go this way?'
'No leaving flight-deck up. Go, flying', came the crystal clear reply. Awkward. I started to explain that I had to return to the airport hotel to collect most of my clothing. She wasn't having any of it.
Another woman approached. She was wearing an ID badge and a uniform, so was obviously trustworthy, (unless she'd locked the true worker in a cupboard and stolen their uniform and badge); I was prepared to take the risk.
She ushered me past the angry woman and I headed for immigration. I filled in a quick form, then went through to find Jess waiting for me! How exciting to see a familiar face, who had been part of the World Conference experience!
We went back to the hotel and Frances Yip, Head of Housekeeping, duly delivered on the clothing front. I was happily reunited with most of my clothes.
Jess had been travelling in Vietnam, so we spent hours sharing our travel stories - tuk tuks, motorbikes, cooking lessons, language, revolution, the Khmer Rouge - the ten hours flew by as we talked and talked, sipped coffee, munched baguettes, then hunted around for postcards. We said goodbye and I pootled along to my gate.
I met a man called Pete from Manchester, who was heading home for his daughter's wedding next weekend. He's got 4 children - two boys and two girls; the girls are identical twins. He works most of the year in Vietnam and China, doing something with sofas, but I'm not sure exactly what. He read me the poem which he's written to read out at the wedding. I'm sure his daughter will like it, although I have to say, I didn't. I didn't lie to him though - I smiled and said, 'Aw, I'm sure she'll love it', though having seen it, this cannot be guaranteed. I'm sure it won't matter anyway - the divorce rate is 50% these days.
I hopped onto the plane and found myself surrounded by red t-shirt clad teenagers who were coming to London on a study tour for 3 weeks. I had a window seat, as I always do, (so that I can see the care bears sitting on the fluffy clouds). I chatted to the girl next to me.
'My name is Helen. What is your name?'
'Gorky'.
'Gorky?'
'Yes, Gorky', she assured me.
'Right', I said; 'is this the flight to Bulawayo?'
'Yes', she assured me, nodding profusely.
I'm not sure if you've been on a flight recently, but there's a setting on the individual screen where you can watch from the camera which is underneath the plane! It's very exciting and is second only to actually flying the plane.
I was intent on sleeping, so wrapped myself in blankets, put my head down, and dozed for the first nine hours, read my book for two hours, then we touched down in London Heathrow!
I was amazed that my trusty rucksack had made it all the way from Phnom Penh to London, via Hong Kong and a 10-hour wait. I will never understand how these airport transport systems work - it's genius and can only be managed by magic.
I tired of the people faffing about their baggage at reclaim; one particular woman was catastrophising about the luggage not coming through; 'just be patient', I wanted to say to her; 'your bag will be there somewhere'; but I didn't. I just collected my bag and scurried through the 'nothing to declare' channel.
What have we learnt? Do useful things. Travel. Mix with the people who live there. Remember that their lives are different to yours. Travel is a privilege which many people will never enjoy.
Respect the people you meet, even the idiots. Respect the history of a place. Don't take photographs at genocide sites. If you're not sure what to do, consider what Jesus would do. Whether or not you buy the 'son of God' malarky, you can't deny that he was a good bloke who treated people with love and dignity, regardless of who they were. So don't bargain too hard; give to people who are clearly in need, but be sensitive; you might be better to make a donation to a local charity when you get home.
Be culturally and religiously sensitive, whether or not you believe in the religion you are visiting e.g. don't wear hot-pants and a strappy top to a Buddhist temple - be yourself, but be respectful.
Be savvy. Act on your instincts. I trusted Stone immediately - look people in the eye and decide if you trust them. If you don't, then make an excuse and find someone else. Use your contacts - I can give you Stone's number (he's got business cards and everything); and Ti's number for Siem Reap; so if you're heading to Cambodia, let me know.
Above all, be safe. Don't give personal details. In Ghana in 2002, I gave my actual address to all sorts of people, then came home to a load of letters from the Home Office citing me as a referee for visa applications. Don't do this.
You may have noticed that when I was travelling, I never gave exact details of where I was staying, until after I had left. There was a reason for this. Don't make yourself vulnerable. Don't worry about bending the truth to protect yourself - as mentioned before, I often have a 'husband' waiting for me wherever I am heading, as it saves a lot of hassle and questions. Yes, of course I shouldn't have to, but it makes sense.
Ultimately, walk confidently and people think you know where you're going.
I'm going to sign-out there, as I'm sure you've had enough now. Thank you for being a diligent reader, for the comments on Facebook, for the knowledge that you were reading. I hope this trip has opened your eyes, taught you something, made you laugh, or even cry, or both.
I'd be interested for any more comments. Maybe you know me - tell me next time we meet. Maybe you stumbled across this by accident, in which case, welcome, I hope you've had a good read. Maybe you are a publisher and want to offer me a lucrative publishing deal? (Not a dodgy vanity publisher though, proper ones only please).
The heavens have opened; there's thunder in the air; lightning has struck - twice - strange, so methinks it's a good time to say au revoir.
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