THE BIT AFTER
I’ve heard gruesome tales from those who returned from intrepid years abroad about the sombre quality of life they were greeted by upon their return home. Whilst travelling, your life takes on an exuberant and care free air. Each day is different and vibrant. You’ve probably done enough meditation by this stage to feel yourself rather enlightened. Your mind has enough time to stop and breathe, and you start opening your eyes, seeing beauty in the everyday (not just the gold smattered temples and bristly elephant attractions).Twilight falling on the hides of underfed cows, grazing loosely in paddocks rimmed with scooters. The split-second pre-thunderstorm where everyone in Vietnam pauses on the roads and shrouds themselves in plastic ponchos, and the myriad of neon pink and green on the streets that follows. Teenagers squatting around the sort of plastic chairs we only use for pre-schoolers, after their own day of studying, sharing pho and jokes in another tongue. Each day brings something new, small memories that you can’t really learn to look out for, but delight nonetheless.Of course these are still available at home, albeit a little more conventional, a little less eye-opening. It’s a different culture, one that I have grown up in and therefore the everyday life strikes me as less exciting. I suppose that is one of the greater motives behind travel.I strove to wake up early every day abroad. With still a few more precious teenage years to my name, I do love indulging in excessive sleep, but aimed to be in bed early and up as not to waste too much time in dreamland. In the same way post-exam slump hits students, and they find themselves restless and purposeless, having returned home means I lack a little purpose in my days. I no longer have temples to stroll through, or streets to discover. Meals eaten out are no longer a meagre $1 or $2, but rather quite a bite out of the bank account. Harem pants are also no longer in abundance, nor socially acceptable to wear day in and day out (my strolls down to the post office have received questionable looks and knowing eyerolls).That is not to say that coming home after nearly a year’s stint abroad is without merit. Having shared a bedroom for the past 8 months, sleeping in the quiet is something of a treat (although, having moved house, I’m currently without bed and enveloped upon cushions on the floor of the study…). Spreading out a little more and no longer living out of a backpack, in dreaded fear of bedbugs or untrustworthy hostel hands is also a luxury. The biggest delight in my case is the access to a kitchen and fully stocked supply of peanut butter.Whilst I miss traipsing around foreign alleyways, permanently sweaty and a little sunburnt, I am enjoying my return home. I’ve given myself a few months to transition into a more rhythmic way of life before whatever awaits with University in September. This may seem like a bittersweet curtain call upon my travels, but please watch this space – working internet and plenty of free hours means I finally have time to start drawing up blog posts on various destinations!
Beautiful Brisbane
Beyond the hustle and bustle of Sydney (although diminutive in comparison to the constant rampage of Oxford Circus, and other central London strongholds), lies Brisbane, a little north of Sydney on the Eastern Coast of Australia. The third largest city, below Melbourne, Brisbane hosts a population of 2.35million - although you would hardly know it. I arrived on Easter Friday, to be greeted by eerily quiet streets. Travelling to the Greyhound bus transit area, memories of Twenty-eight Days Later flashed through my head, so quiet were the urban streets of Brisbane. That of course was partially due to the bank holiday, but even so, venturing out further over my five day stay in the city, I was often astonished at how calm and empty the streets were.
The Grounds, Alexandria
I’ve been a little quiet, plus Bondi has been a little boring. As per any seaside town, there is very little to do in perpetual rain (or at least sunbathing is ruled out, so my afternoons are suddenly a little empty). Thus, where Sundays would usually be spent beached up on a towel, soaking up the sunshine, I suddenly have a very free day. A little Instagram touring of the local brunch hotspots drew me to The Grounds, and despite being an hour’s bus journey from home base, the thrill of Sydney’s $2.50 opal limit on Sundays encouraged the expedition.
Popping off the bus right in the middle of an industrial centre, I’m not sure quite what I was expecting. It certainly wasn’t chickens, pigs, goats, and an abundance of greenery. The Grounds capture a little bit of wilderness and farmlife, and have stuck it right in the middle of Sydney’s suburbs. Thought up by a creative entrepreneur alongside a coffee guru, it’s no wonder.
The Grounds boasts numerous little internal venues to choose from for food. We went for the Café, for a hearty breakfast (avocado toast as always), but
The Potting Shed
offers a more upmarket dining experience, whilst the
The Garden
does soda and burgers, and the
Bakery
…well, you guessed it. The Grounds also offers weddings, with one taking place during our leisurely stroll (rather waiting the hour and a half required to snap up a table – buzzers were provided to allow you to try lose some time before food!).
The food was of course delicious, the service swift. The menu offers an array of homemade breads, meat dishes as well as plenty of vegetarian options. Coffee was also very upmarket, with fully trained baristas and an endless menu.
The Grounds offers an exciting and unique experience, perfect for weekend outings for all the family. Despite being based a little out of the way, the abundance of plants will fill you with fresh air and leave you feeling relaxed and rejuvenated before your return to the city, full of good food and perhaps with a rainbow rose in hand.
Open Monday – Friday 7am-4pmWeekends 7.30am – 4pm7a/2 Huntley StAlexandriaNSWSydney
New Year in Sydney
I do hold Christmas as something slightly sacred. The ominous descent of climate change may indeed have ruled out the days of two feet of snow piled up against the kitchen door, of being snowed in and unable to drive down to Waitrose on Christmas eve to pick up the turkey. Nonetheless, Christmas comes as a day for families. Although every year brings the ruthless defence of my bedroom when waves of family flood the household consistently losing and ending up twiddling my thumbs on the sofa at 3am over a rerun of Love Actually, I still support Christmas a time for family roasts and present confusion (cue my grandma opening a bunch of dog toys and feigning extreme gratitude).
This year I ended up a little further afield. In Sydney, to be precise, which comes out at about 10,725 miles. Living with my brother nonetheless so family was present, although after spending the morning opening presents under the cool breeze of the aircon, I journeyed out to a Sydney ‘Expat Christmas Picnic’. One of the things I love about Sydney is the inclusion of travellers. Several Facebook groups that I joined organise regular meetups for those visiting the city, ranging from BBQs to a recent floatie/lilo party. You can post openly on the groups if you find yourself lonely one afternoon, and have instant replies coming from nearby travellers or locals keen to meet and greet and provide amusement.
Expat or expatriate is a noun or adjective used to describe a person currently residing in a foreign land, whereas the more commonly used immigrant is a noun used for someone permanently residing in a foreign land. Immigrant holds more permanent connotations, for expats, their length of stay remains unclear. This is common for many travellers harbouring Sydney – a transient stop along the way to South East Asia, or a pitstop after Balinese temples. Hence the organisation of the Sydney Expat Christmas party, which was this year’s Christmas destination. Breathtaking views out from the Sydney Observatory hill over the Harbour bridge, bottles of white wine and the friendly blur of accents in the background served a certain change from the usual mince pies and drunk uncles.
I didn’t quite expect to spend my New Year on a catamaran mere hundreds of metres away from the Harbour bridge firework display either, but impromptu events seem to come hand in hand with the connections between expats and travellers across Sydney. We were told that the boat is normally chartered out at sizeable cost for private hire over New Year, but that this year the demand was absent so the owners had nevertheless decided to moor out near the bridge and welcome a posse of vaguely connected strangers aboard their boat. I therefore have the unprofitable generosity of these people to thank, as I’m certain my other plans (a mild exaggeration as my plans extended as far as admiring the fireworks from the soft nest of the sofa) wouldn’t have had me on a yacht in any sense.There was a true sense of community in the mooring areas below the bridge (our neighbours to the left had come all the way from America in a fairly small vessel; the neighbours to the right had been moored there since the previous morning) as well as an equally amusing level of conflict and drama between boats. (This included a fair deal of fist shaking and threats to sue should a certain boat come any closer to ours). It was all quite exciting, not being a huge seafarer myself, I fancied our vessel as being a prominent
Battleship
target. I was even wholly up for wearing a captain’s hat and taking charge of the wheel (controls? Rudder? I’m not entirely sure of my boat linguistics) but was instead humbled to the task of clearing away empty flutes and strawberry ends.
Returning to land turned out to be more of an issue than expected due to the sudden rush of boats all desperate to leave after the midnight firework display, but we were set ashore in Pyrmont and I braved a frenzy of drunken youths tossing bottles and weary homebodies who don’t usually stay up past 10pm all traipsing the streets to get home.The firework display in Sydney is like no other, especially from our prime vantage point at sea. The fireworks were set off from four points to provide an encapsulating display from all angles. Admittedly, fireworks do never look as impressive caught on camera, but I’ve done my best to capture a few of the striking moments of the night sky.
Bondi Wholefoods
Breezing out to Australia for my gap year, I was all ready for the blazing sun, blue seas and colossal waves topped with sandy haired surfers. Having found that the middle of Sydney didn't cater to this field, we made out for Bondi and were unfortunately greeted by dismal skies which gradually developed into a cataclysmic pouring of rain(I didn't think to bring any rain gear with me so a towel sufficed in place of an umbrella. This is also a prime example of the time I waste tailing behind stray cats all over the world)
The rain then progressed into a good old thunderstorm, fairly common round these parts, so the beach day and plan for tan enhancements was written off in favour of lunch and lurking at the back of Bondi Wholefoods, peering out at the skies.
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The cafe was fairly quiet, it being mid afternoon, but passers by started flooding in with the rain, sheltering from the outside tables in the collection of plush chairs and assorted cushions within.I have nothing bad to say about this little cafe apart from a little disappointment at them having run out of the mixed salads on offer! The service was swift, and the staff really friendly in providing the well sought after wifi and accommodating for us swapping tables three times to escape the rain. I went for the avocado toast (buried under the rocket), and Alice the sweet potato wrap.
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The menu is extensive, and not vegan would you believe it, but based rather on whole and healthy. Other options include cacao berry pancakes, a pesto chicken sandwich, or a huge list of smoothies with health boosters such as maca an spirulina. They also have an amazing variety of raw snacks and cakes, and a shop section selling all the upmarket goodies such as buckinis, tea and organic fruit and veg. I've personally fallen a little in love with carob chocolate and the Banjo bears sold here.
After lounging about and waiting pitifully for the rain to cease, we gave up, sprinted for the bus stop under towels and gave up on Bondi until slightly sunnier weather shows.
open 7 days a week, 7am-7pm!30a Hastings Parade(Corner Wairoa Avenue)North Bondi BeachNSW 2026
Peanut Butter Problems
I’ve gained quite a reputation over the recent months, and for good reason. I’ve turned up for nights out equipped with small Tupperware pots of peanut butter. A friend, whilst scrolling through my Tinder matches, pointed out a rather large and alarming facial deformity on one of the boys. Even I was a little puzzled - although found on second inspection that this was just in fact a stray smear of peanut butter on my screen. I’ve been collecting empty jars of Nuts-n-more and have been repeatedly asked why. Unfortunately I can’t even really answer that question myself. I suppose the 40 odd empty jars of peanut butter are some claim to my peanut butter throne/proof of the large quantities I manage to get through.A creature of habit, I’ve stuck to Nuts-n-more (particularly the salted caramel variety) with a ferocious devotion. I have however strayed afield on the odd occasion, and have decided to spread my peanut butter knowledge far and wide, to promote the best of the nut butters and save you all from making similar mistakes.
Sleep Cognitive Behavioural Therapy
I have always struggled to sleep. We rant and rave about the teenage generation who stay up until the early hours dancing round the streets or ogling memes in bed. Even the pre-teens are absconded for arguing over bedtimes, begging for another fifteen minutes of telly time before bed. I, however, would take myself up and off to bed before even the set 8 o’clock. My parents found this hugely amusing, the child putting herself to bed before the set bed time. I was always anxious of what would come about could I not sleep; a sort of anxiety about the world ending if I was tired. This would often (and still does) turn into a vicious cycle of clock-watching. You calculate the hours of sleep that you’ll get, should you fall asleep right now, and panic slightly, only to find yourself tossing and turning in an increasing state of restlessness at 3am – you’d only get four hours of sleep should you fall asleep now so is there even point to it?
The word insomnia has been thrown around in regards to my sleep patterns. I’m physically incapable of napping, for one, unless on the brink of exhaustion. I can lie awake for hours in periods of stress, not even thinking of whatever’s causing me stress but rather a myriad of thoughts all at once. Like remembering to buy hummus tomorrow. And googling that catchy song I heard on the radio earlier. I struggle to sleep in new places. I’m also heavily reliant on good sleep, and even then can find myself exhausted during the days.
My sleeping patterns this year have been worse. At one point I was going to bed at 4.30am and waking up at around midday. It’s hard to argue with your body clock, when you go through the daylight hours listless and yawning, and suddenly feel all ready to rise and grind come 11pm. This does however make life hugely inconvenient. Waking up pre 10am would lead to a sure fire day of hell, and I was still spending a good 2 hours lying in bed like a vegetable, waiting for sleep to embrace me.Feeling particularly exhausted and poorly rested a month ago, I researched sleep clinics in my area. I will admit to paying £95 for each appointment, of which you are supposed to attend 6, when there is an app available (Sleepio) and books on the issue. I do however think the price made me more likely to commit to the treatment.
Sleep Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, or Sleep CBT is a non-medicated form of treating insomnia.To begin with, you put Sleep Hygiene as a priority. You alter your lifestyle to encourage good sleep, by doing things such as limiting caffeine, turning off screens before bed, sleeping in a dark, quiet bedroom and putting your phone and alarm away at night.
Stimulus Control encourages your body to associate the bed only with sleep. So no lounging around in bed on your phone or reading books. You have a set bedtime and alarm time. The biggest and most daunting factor is giving yourself 20mins to fall asleep; if you haven’t done so, you take yourself up and out of bed and partake in a non-stimulating activity, like reading or drawing, until you feel tired and return to bed. This is repeated until you fall asleep within the 20mins.
Relaxation also comes into play, and you’re taught methods similar to meditation to help you sleep.The most difficult section of the CBT is Sleep Restriction Therapy. As an insomniac, your body has probably set itself to strange sleeping patterns, and the purpose of the CBT is to change those to a more natural pattern. The first 14 days of engaging in this were actual hell. It takes commitment, acceptance that you’re going to feel like a zombie, and loving support of your family and friends to turn a blind eye to your quivering upper lip when you accidentally tip over a cup of coffee. Your body resists the initial cycle of giving yourself 20mins to fall asleep, and as I was to set my alarm for the earliest I had to wake up for work (8.30am), I was getting around 5hrs sleep per night. This continued for a few days, driving me into more exhaustion, until I began to fall asleep on the third time back into bed. Then the second, and finally the first time I went to bed. This was indeed amazing after months of at least a good 2hrs pre falling asleep, but at the cost of moping around the house craving my bed and crying over trivial frustrations.
That being said, I pursued with dragging myself out of bed (it takes a good deal of willpower to get out of a nice warm bed when you’re truly exhausted, and accustomed to lying in the dark patiently waiting to fall asleep). Three weeks later and for the past week I have gone to bed at around 11.30pm, fallen asleep within 20mins, and woken up at around 8.30am, either by alarm or of my own accord.
I’ll have to keep you updated on progression, but I have begun to feel much more energetic during the days, and tired only an hour or so before bedtime. I still experience a little anxiety creeping into bed every night, that it’s all been a little too good to be true and that I’ll spend the next few wakeful hours growing more and more anxious over an inability to sleep, but so far so good. I’m also confident in my ability to fall back on the stimulus & restriction methods should I enter into another difficult sleeping pattern, to get myself back on track.
As with most things in life, consistency seems to be key, and I do really recommend trying out Sleep CBT if you suffer from insomnia, either the pricey but supportive route via therapist or the apps available.
Great Expectations vs Reality
Book before film is my usual mantra. The thought of paging through Game of Thrones, having watched the series seems tiresome. Harry Potter may have played true to word, if not better, but I found The Golden Compass a little disappointing after having His Dark Materials read to me before bed every night.An element of the beauty in literature is the individual interpretation; the characters you create within the little movie reel running within your head. Having now read Great Expectations, and consequently binge watched the BBC tv series, I must say that I am highly disappointed in Estella’s hair colour.Stellar. Star. Shining painfully white and bright, should it not? Who am I to dabble in the casting and feud between brunettes and blondes, but I imagined her akin to Miss Havisham; lustrous white curls and sharp blue eyes. An ice queen conviction (fancying myself as similarly coldhearted darling but forever wishing that my Tinder game was better), she ran as a blonde in my head. Miss Havisham, similarly, didn’t play true to word. Returning to Harry Potter, I immediately cast an aged Mcgonagall in my thoughts, bent and crooked with yellow skin. The actress in the BBC’s adaptation exhibited a far more youthful fragrancy, akin to what perhaps Estella should have displayed. White as a ghost she was, you can give her that.
We can all understand the need to chop and change scripts when condensing hundreds of pages and thousands of words into less than two hours. The BBC went a stage further and allowed a generous three episodes to cover Dickens’ novel, but the Aged P sadly didn’t make the cut. Wemmick was not only left parentless (without the weathered relative we all have in residence somewhere, to whom one must speak VERY LOUDLY, and with whom naps are considered prime entertainment), but with very little mention as to his humble abode at Walworth. My brain hereby struggled to create its own interpretation of Walworth. A miniature manor situated in London with £1million in todays money buying you a few inches of floorspace in somebody’s attic, and an old mattress if you’re lucky. Home grown rhubarb and a drawbridge? Surely the council would have off with your heads before the morning canon could be fired. Either way, I was excited to see what the BBC had envisioned for the miniature country manor to which Wemmick withdrew, and disheartened by the name only being mentioned in passing.
That isn’t to say that the adaptation has not its perks. Douglas Booth’s lips, for one, are primed to rival those of Kylie Jenner. A top class male model right out of the forge, surprisingly clean and well groomed considering his situations, but displaying an artistically sweaty chest for effect. The character of Herbert also surpassed my expectations, with a fond smile and soft spot for his sweetheart. The ending could also be deemed more satisfactory than that of Dickens’ novel – we wait expectantly throughout for the young pair to exchange kisses and swan off into the sunset, only to have Dickens’ ambiguous ending leaving a wistful parting as likely as tying the knot and running off into the sunset.
All in all, I have spent the week engrossed in the brazen humour and flamboyancy of Dickens’ characters, and three hours of yesterday engulfed in blankets on the sofa enjoying the BBC miniseries. Whilst the BBC adaptation lacks some of the literary artistry and witticism, and particularly lacks one particular Aged Parent knocked back at the fireplace, it does provide a concise tale of young Pip, in his exploration of values and the heart.
Maitreya Social, Bristol
Exeter doesn't unfortunately offer a a budding vegetarian community, and after touring Thailand's vegan cafes and chowing all the tempeh I could get my hands on, I was rather missing a good dosing of vegetables. Luckily enough my sister lives in Bristol with her clan, and also hoping to migrate the great seas (from Devon to Somerset) in the coming months, I thought an exploration into Bristol's vegetarianism would also be worth the visit.
Maitreya Social offers purely vegetarian food, with vegan options available. The menu is mainly plant based (so less of the tofu and tempeh I come to love and more vegetables on vegetables, with a glazing of some other pureed and sautéed piece of veg). The creativity of their dishes is their standpoint; the smoked aubergines with whipped tahini and date molasses were the star of the meal here. I have a soft spot for slightly burnt food (who doesn't feel for some carcinogens here and there), and am partial to anything smoked and barbecue flavour. The glaze and pomegranates balanced out the savoury with a touch of sweet.
We also shared the smoked cauliflower with curry dahl and pilau crackers, which was pretty tasty for a curry dish although the actual cauliflower seemed to be a little undercooked - or under smoked?
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Maitreya is worth the trip if you're out and about in Bristol, offering tasty vegetable dishes and a casual setting, although they encourage bookings since the seating is limited with a quick turnover. Mains are all under £11 which is certainly cheaper than a sirloin. They also offer vegetarian catering in the Bristol area if you're trying to convert your event-goers to the vegetable side of life.
open 6pm-11.30pm Tuesday-Thursday, 10am-11.30pm, Friday-Saturday, 10am-4pm Sunday
closed Monday
89 St Mark's Road
EastonBristol
BS5 6HY
Elite Gym and Fitness, Koh Samui
The best gym I dropped in at in Thailand was no doubt Elite Gym and Fitness on Koh Samui. The gym has two branches; Classic & Exclusive. I initially visited the Classic gym in the evening and all I can say is that it truly takes bodybuilding back to basics. Located in a warehouse, the Classic gym offers a huge variety of machines and one rack on the ground floor, with a bit of floor space and cardio equipment on the upper level. The doors were wide open and industrial fans in use although even at 7pm it was still sweltering – you hardly had to lift a finger before you started dripping. A stray cat also wandered in during my workout which I had to stop a set of tricep extensions to pet, no less!
I honestly found the lack of air conditioning far too difficult to work out in properly, and was told by one of the girls on the counter (who was kind enough to also gave me a lift to the Fisherman’s Bay after I was done with my curls) that the Exclusive gym was fully equipped with air con. The gyms are within a twenty minute drive of each other, and the Exclusive more catered for classes and those who tend to wilt a little under the local conditions.
Elite Gym and Fitness Exclusive caters again more towards bodybuilders but there are a few benches and one rack, and all sorts of machines, many of which I hadn’t come across before (cue my attempts to get in the seated dumbell raise machine the wrong way- the trainers found this hugely amusing and were nice enough to set me on the right path). Private cardio cubicles are also spaced out around the main workout area, just in case you’d rather no one watch your cardio face.
The gym attracts a mix of locals and tourists, offers classes such as spinning and yoga and also has a massage service. They also sell peanut butter and oat protein shakes and preworkout, as well as ‘macro meals’ – something I thought I’d never find in Thailand – such as chicken salads or protein porridge.
Both open 6.30am – 10pm, the Elite Gym and Fitness gyms are both amazingly equipped and you can really pick and choose whether or not to sweat out your sins with stray cats in the Classic, or be a little more pampered in the Exclusive.
Exclusive is located, ironically, on top of McDonalds on the main Chaweng road;
202 Moo 2
Classic is located near the Tesco; 9/23 Moo 6