It wasn’t until I got a message on Substack from a subscriber who doesn’t know me personally, asked if I was okay and why I hadn’t posted in a while, and how much they’ve enjoyed reading about my trip. It struck a cord with me, perhaps because I struggled to believe that anyone has actually been reading this blog, but also because I really haven’t had a minute to check in with myself about the whirlwind of the past year.

It’s hard to put into words how incredible travelling was, and makes me so emotional reflecting back on my memories now that I am home. The people I met, amazing things I have experienced, delicious food I have tried, culture and traditions I’ve been exposed to and the insane growth I have embraced has been the most life-changing chapter of my life, and I am so grateful that I have had the opportunity to travel in this way.

So why go home if it was so perfect?

Well, the truth is, it wasn’t entirely.

My mental health has always been a sticking point when it comes to my pursuit of happiness. In my old life, before travelling, I was able to shroud this in a jam-packed schedule trying to hold together the motivation to climb a corporate ladder I didn’t even want to be on, a brimming social calendar that barely gave me an evening to myself, London-life in an area I didn’t find inspiring and the desperate dream of a creative career amounting to nothing but a few spoken word shows a year. I was exhausted—but distracted—and that was enough for me not to pay my mental health any mind.

When you strip this all back, all the arbitrary achievements that we bounce between without even taking a breath, the need to make and spend money and the frustration of feeling like you never have enough, and all the stuff we attach our identity to, we are just left with ourselves. And for me, this was very difficult.

At first I loved travelling solo, and I was lucky to have met so many incredible people that I was never truly alone. I was energised with a full social battery and the excitement of all I was yet to experience on my trip. But this started to dwindle eventually and my appetite for new connections was wearing thin.

I always knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and whilst there were highs, there were also some very low lows. Getting my heart broken two months into my trip was definitely a low-point, and subsequently spending a tonne of money in Tokyo trying to retail-therapise the fuck out of my broken heart made a significant dent in my budget. I got over this bump, but there were still many more to come.

Feeling disconnected from friends back home, and being surprised at some people’s lack of effort to keep in contact with me was upsetting. Honestly, go away for 7 months and find out who your real friends are, for real. Meanwhile, dealing with the looming stress of money dwindling and the fear of what the fuck I was going to do with my life when I got home started to consume my brain.

I started drinking too much and making slightly reckless choices because I just had no structure to anything and I felt so untethered. I desperately missed the routine domestic things that make you feel grounded; cooking, doing laundry, having drawers to put away your stuff. Without this I was too overwhelmed with the novelty and inconsistency—a new place to sleep every 3 nights and a constant turnover of new roommates—snapping me back into survival mode as soon as I started to get used to something.

Hostel-life started to take its toll, tipped over the edge from an adult man taking a whole shit in the corner of my 12-bed dorm room (yep, true story). Ameliorated by then staying in significantly less dorms, further eating into my swiftly disappearing budget, it then contributed more to my spiral worrying about the future and the inevitable end to this long-term holiday.

Then I hit the wall.

It was around about when I was in China that I crashed out. Exacerbated by the loneliness and culture shock of a country I didn’t particularly vibe with compared to the southeast Asia leg of my travels, my mental health deteriorated quickly.

I was having panic attacks and crying daily, barely able to get out of bed in the morning and seriously question what the point of it all was. I would then feeling guilty and ungrateful for not optimising my time and think about how I was currently living my dream from the past 5 years, yet I was so deeply dissatisfied. I remember being on the Great Wall of China, camping under the stars with no one around, and not feeling anything, just a numb passivity that this was happening and I was here, but no awe or wonder anymore.

The reality is, my mental health is a fragile vase, relying on hands to hold me and make me feel like I am enough, hands comprised of all the distractions and coping mechanisms I have relied on for over a decade. But as the hands slipped away, and all the things I knew to be true disappeared, I was left only with the fragmented pieces, shattered all at once. Desperately trying to put together these pieces once more I realised the edges are too sharp and they cut too deep, and the same hands just cannot hold me together in this new form. I was profoundly changed, but at the same time, as I always was.

Perhaps this was why travelling was destined to be in my path, to make me strip it all back and finally see myself in my purest form, realising that I actually cannot continue pretending like everything is fine and put all my self-worth in the success of a big life change. Looking back, I do think I wanted to travel so I could escape, thinking all my problems were rooted in my old life, and to an extent this is true, but a whole lot of shit followed me to the other side of the world too.

I made the decision to cut my trip short and book a flight home when my mental health got to a worrying place where it was genuinely a cause of concern. I started to get very dark thoughts, I was extremely lonely as I had zero energy for new connections and my money had reached a threshold I wasn’t comfortable surpassing. I didn’t want things to get worse and define my whole experience, so made the choice to preserve the beautiful memories I had made without tainting them with my spiralling mental health.

That being said, the final month or so of my trip was still filled with amazing experiences and many happy moments. Since checking in with you last I met Amy, Jack and Hannah in South Korea and had an awesome time trying new foods, stocking up on K-beauty products and catching up with my dearest.

I made a stopover in Ubud Bali, catalysing a desire to travel Bali a lot more in the future, staying in a gorgeous all-female wellness hostel and meeting some amazing girls that really gave me an injection of energy and excitement about the last few weeks of my trip. It was here that I partook in a cacao ceremony and cried my little eyes out at the realisation that I had a lot of work I needed to do on my self-esteem and healing my inner child.

I ended my trip in Malaysia, eating my way through Kuala Lumpur and Penang, finding a newfound love of Malay food and culture, trying batik painting and speaking to locals about the politics and multicultural influences in the country’s history. With only a week in this country, I spent it mostly alone treating myself to hotel rooms, mentally preparing myself to go back home and how to tackle the next chapter of my life.

Seeing my dad pick me up at Heathrow airport, the same place he had dropped me off 7 months before, was surreal. When I was away I had felt like I was gone for ages, but as soon as I was back it felt like a blip, like a fever dream I had just awoken from, prying open my eyes to the dreary grey skies of England and sitting in the passenger seat next to my dad as I’ve done my entire life since I was a child.

Everyone will ask you where your favourite place was, and despite being asked this numerous times I still haven’t perfected my answer. Even though I had spent all this time doing so many amazing things, all of the memories seemed to blur into one and I found it difficult to remember the highlights without looking at pictures of re-reading my blog. My brain was still recalibrating to the familiarity, whilst also feeling so alien to being home.

The idea of cooking a meal or going to the supermarket felt like a mammoth task and the concept of sitting still and just watching TV made me feel restless. Despite getting rid of most of my belongings before travelling, I arrived home overwhelmed at the volume of stuff I owned; living out of a 46 litre backpack for 7 months had made me a whole new level of minimalist.

The past month has been difficult I cannot lie, and I think my mental health is at one of the worst points it has been in my entire life. Not only am I dealing with everything I was when I was travelling, but now it is compounded with the guilt and disappointment of a much-awaited trip being cut short and the pressure of having to get my entire life together whilst dealing with my mental state. I have felt very lonely, despite connecting with friends since being back, and my mind just keeps rewinding all the things I wish I’d done differently that perhaps would have avoided this situation. It’s hard when I’m in this mindset not to spiral into a whirlwind of negativity and self-loathing, but I do feel like my fingers are constantly gripping onto a crumbling ledge.

Regardless, I know in my heart that I can’t change a thing and that my experience of travelling was still amazing, despite the bumps in the road, and actually I am grateful that I became so in tune with myself that I realised all these things. I feel equipped to confront a lot of my buried insecurities and traumas now that they have no where left to hide, something that was only made possible from the past year stripping everything back and forcing me to start again. Things are starting to look up now that I have been getting settled, with a new job and new flat on the horizon, and most importantly a new therapist to unpack all the things that have come up.

This may be the last travel diary for a while, but I have promised myself I am going to keep writing, and continue the Restless Writer in the way it was intended: to explore all facets of what it means to be human. Let me know what you’d like to hear about and I promise I’ll write to you soon!

If I had more time I would have travelled more extensively around the country, visit Tainen and some more of the beautiful nature down south, but with only four days I decided to stay in Taipei to really soak up the city’s culture, guided by my Taiwanese friend Giada’s recommendations. By this point in my travels I was severely burnt out from catching long trains every few days in China so wanted to take it slow and easy, with only one big day trip out of the city planned.

Luckily my hostel, Meander Taipei, had such a homely and comfortable vibe that I could indulge in some healing downtime. A kitchen (with an island!) with unlimited tea, coffee and snacks fuelled quite a few hours of TV binges as I whizzed through an entire series of Celebrity Traitors (how have I not watched it before?) over the few days. Sometimes the best thing you can be is horizontal.

I overheard another traveller described Taipei as ‘China’s cooler younger sister’, a term that I love and can wholeheartedly vouch for after spending days mooching around. It’s always so hard to compare countries but this distinction really helps describe what Taipei is like, with the people just that bit friendlier, the fashion just that bit edgier and the cafes and bars that bit cooler. I found a lot easier to get around with English more prolifically spoken, and with Michelin recommended spots everywhere throughout the city it was really easy to grab a quick bite of good food.

On the subject of food. THE FOOD. Taiwan has unexpectedly rivalled Japan and Vietnam for the top spot of my favourite food on my entire travels, which is impressive as the bar was already set very high. I visited this specific bao bun spot called 甲子餐飲, a street food cart ran by three women a five minute walk from my hostel, selling succulent pork, with a sweet sauce, crushed peanuts and coriander encased in a fluffy yet chewy bao bun—it was a dream. I had countless bowls of beef noodle soup which seemed to get better and better with every spot I visited, with the broth thicker and more gravy-like compared to pho, and hefty chunks of tender beef floating above the chewy egg noodles making it a heartier dish.

There are also some great cafes in Taipei, with proper coffee roasters with cool decor and yummy treats littered throughout the city. Some of my favourites included Powder Coffee with a minimalist feel and really delicious red bean bread rolls, and Simple Kaffa for coffee nerds looking for an extensive espresso menu of different beans and roasts. This was also something that I felt was lacking in China, and what’s more cooler younger sister coded than spending too much money on an iced vanilla latte just to doom scroll in a cafe for a couple hours?

I love Studio Ghibli, so when I stumbled upon a video on Instagram about Jiufen, a touristy town that inspired the scenery of Spirited Away, it confirmed I must include Taipei on my travels. I have tried to avoid social media for recommendations on what to do whilst travelling, and rely more on locals or reputable travel blogs, but this looked too magical to skip. How wrong I was.

Jiufen was pretty but was so crowded, with the small alleyways packed with people you have no choice but to shuffle through the claustrophobic streets until you reach a clearing. The shops and food vendors looked good but were quite pricey, especially the famous teahouses which were charging way too much to have a brew that I couldn’t justify the cost. An hour bus ride outside the city of Taipei, I tried a few treats and only ended up staying for a couple hours before heading home as there really isn’t anything to do there except spend money. One positive that came from my day trip to Jiufen was receiving a good lucky fortune ticket saying that the rest of my travels will go well, what is lost will be returned and I should probably move house…

Can I call it a lesson if I already knew it? Nonetheless, this experience solidified to me that using social media to tell you how to live life, how to travel, what to eat, or anything for that matter, is futile. The videos you see on TikTok almost always jazz up a place to make it seem unmissable, when in actual fact it isn’t an enjoyable experience. When you get there and look around, it is just a load of people who watched the same videos, looking through their phones and taking videos to churn out the same content just to say they’ve been. For me, travelling isn’t a tick-box exercise, it’s about experiencing authenticity, and you won’t get that if your travels are guided by reels and hyperbolic must-do lists.

I wasn’t going to let this rocky start dictate my entire opinion of Taiwan, so was eager to get back in the city and enjoy the last couple days before flying to Korea. I was keen to get a cute tattoo of a Chinese lucky cat after seeing them everywhere on my east Asia travels and was recommended an artist by my friend. Hedy at Justice Ink did such a great job and I am so in love with my little Mao Mao (does anyone else give their tattoos names?).

After learning from my mistakes, I asked Hedy where she goes on her lunch break, and she guided me to a local spot selling the infamous stinky tofu with noodle soup, a dish that got its name from its strong smell. With no English menu in sight, I queued behind locals who clearly were confused how a white girl had even found this place. The tofu itself didn’t smell as bad as I’d thought, with the strong spice from the red chilli masking the fermented flavour, broken up by big slurps of the noodles.

With my tongue somewhat on fire, it was apt to visit Hedy’s second recommendation of shaved brown sugar ice, a loved local dessert where you can add various toppings including purple rice, tapioca pearls and sweet potato. I’m not sure what I ordered I just kind of pointed at things that looked good and colourful, and took my concoction to the local park to enjoy the afternoon sunshine.

This is what travelling is all about for me: eating local food, chilling as the locals do, people watching , sharing a smile with a stranger as they walk past you, the universal activity of petting a dog, enjoying the sun, and noticing that, despite it being the same sun, how different it feels elsewhere.

I really liked Taipei, even with high hopes it pleasantly surprised me and it was the perfect environment to reset. I have found it so interesting to see the slight nuances between countries so geographically close and with shared colonial history, seeing how culture has been adopted and morphed over time into something distinctly native.

Apart from eating my way through the city, I didn’t do a lot in Taipei, but doing stuff is overrated. Running around from museum to temple to landmark isn’t travelling, it’s being a tourist. Sometimes it is enough to just get coffee or ice cream, sit in the park and be present in the stillness. Life is busy enough and sometimes doing nothing is the most exhilarating thing to do.

Hong Kong

I flew from Cebu to Hong Kong, which immediately felt like a mini London. Already homesick, the metro system reminding me of the Underground, Causeway Bay mimicking Regents Street, and even spotting an M&S and HSBC, I felt like I was home. Hong Kong prices also seemed to replicate London too, which stung slightly after months in cheap south east asian countries.

Another slight shock starting the east Asia leg of my trip was how much harder it was to meet people. I hadn’t needed to use the Hostelworld chat function at all on my travels, with hostels being social and activities connecting fellow travellers. Hong Kong however felt lonely and disparate from the backpacking community. I knew I was going to put the work in if I wasn’t going to be lonely.

My first afternoon in Hong Kong was spent ticking off some local recommendations from the hostel receptionist and friends who had visited before. I immediately went to Bakehouse to try their infamous egg tarts and doubled down on the sweet treats with a dark chocolate sea salt cookie. When I say it was the best cookie I’d ever had, I am not exaggerating—unreal! I munched on my baked goods in the local park, basking in the mild sunny weather, the air perfumed by the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass, whilst watching old people practice tai chi. Was I in a utopia?

By this point in my travels I had also gotten incredibly bored of my wardrobe. Recycling through the same tank tops for 5 months does take its toll on your ability to feel fabulous, so I took it upon myself to do some shopping for basics for a well deserved clothes refresh. What was meant to be a light shopping trip turned into a haul at Cotton:On, with 500 Hong Kong Dollars well spent on some lovely tanks and socks. Oh gosh how I had missed the dopamine rush of spending money.

As promised to myself, I got my socialising hat on and met up with a lovely group from the Hostelworld app. I spent a disgusting £11 on two pints of draught session IPA, which really brought me back to good old London, but was ameliorated by a £12 dim sum feast we engorged on later in the evening.

Two of the girlies met up the following day to do the Dragon’s Back hike, made even cooler by the misty weather. Fuelling up on yet another Bakehouse egg tart set us up for success, as we managed to overtake the hoards of Chinese tourists and make it the clearing, enjoying the gorgeous panoramic view of the city and bay. The hike lasts a few hours and is relatively easy with only a few uphill parts—definitely worth the trek if you’re planning to visit Hong Kong.

We were ravenous after the walk, so grabbed lunch back in town where I tried local delicacy of roast goose. I liked it! The salted goose variation was my favourite, but will never overtake the true love of my culinary life: char siu pork (more on this later). We all split up to refresh back at the hostel, and after I freshened up I ventured out for a much needed bubble tea run and a wonder. Silk did a sensational Hong Kong style milk tea with tapioca pearls and Causeway Bay has so many cool vintage and streetwear stores I could have easily spent all my money, but I reluctantly resisted temptation.

The group met up yet again for dinner after a failed attempt at finding the street food market, we stumbled upon a very local spot with a variety of dishes. Smashed cucumber salad, chilli silken tofu and fried egg noodles were inhaled over bottles of blue moon beer and an amusing conversation about the British TV program Naked Attraction and the cultural event of the naked bike ride in the city. Apparently it’s strange that being naked in a sauna is considered weird in British culture whilst we simultaneously are okay with these similarly naked things? I think it makes perfect sense.

My final day in Hong Kong was spent solo as I was in great need of some self care. I visited the Broadway Cinema, an independent cinema and arts space and saw The Drama. My friends back home had seen it without me (criminal, I know) and was keen to see what the ambitious marketing of this Zendaya and RPattz movie was all about. I won’t spoil it but WATCH IT. I decompressed and reflected on the movie at the theatre’s cafe with a flat white, surrounded by books, art and cinephile memorabilia.

My last supper in this cool city was one of the best I have had on my travels. Fat J Char Siu lived up to the hype, with sweet succulent pork, rich fatty egg yolks and perfectly fried bok choy. This place is quite famous and usually has a really long line, but I went just before they closed their lunch service at around 3pm and got seated right away! I couldn’t have ended my stopover in Hong Kong on a better culinary note, and was excited to see how the food would compare in mainland China.

General thoughts and advice about visiting Hong Kong would definitely be to download the Octopus app on your phone ahead of time as I was in many positions where I struggled to pay for things as a lot of local vendors do not accept card. Otherwise, carry cash! I assume most people know this but they don’t speak Mandarin in Hong Kong, they speak Cantonese… this slipped my mind and I was Ni Hao and Xie Xie’ing my way through the city before realising that this was not the native language, oops. Also be prepared for European prices in more touristy spots, but eating local can really curb costs. Saying that, definitely indulge in the bakery culture as it is divine.

It was now time for me to move into China mainland and travel East before flying from Beijing to Taipei. This is going to be a hefty post to squeeze in an entire 3 week stint in one of the biggest countries in the world, so buckle up for information overload.

Yangshuo

The train was surprisingly okay as you pass through Chinese immigration at Kowloon station so there’s no faff once the train pulls into a Chinese station. I had a changeover in Guangzhou and a cumulative 4 hour journey to get to the quaint mountainous destination of Yangshuo. I hadn’t done heaps of research but was made excited by the scenic train journey into the province, with green hills dotted between the villages.

Once I got off the train I was hit with the most intense culture shock I have ever experienced. When I tell you no one speaks English, that is no exaggeration. Going from the very westernised Hong Kong to what felt like an alternate reality was a lot to adjust to, but I did finally get into a taxi to my hostel.

I can give a brief run down to all the apps and preparation necessary to visit China. Essentially you need Alipay to pay for EVERYTHING, WeChat to pay but also converse with Chinese people/businesses etc as the main social media platform, Amap to get around as Google is unreliable as it is blocked in China, DiDi which is basically the China version of Uber (which has an UI within Alipay so you don’t have to download separate) and, most importantly, an esim or VPN (or both as I have). Add all of your cards and verify your identity and phone number on all apps before you enter China just to make your life easy and your time will be super smooth like mine has been.

Yangshuo was cute, albeit quite touristy. Perhaps it was the long travel day, hunger and tiredness hitting hard, or the difficult culture shock, but I panicked once I arrived at my hostel (which also was quite unclean). I impulsively reduced my stay to two nights, which was thankfully easy to move my trains to my next destination.

My single full day in Yangshuo was spent rock climbing at the renowned Swiss Cheese mountain. No one else from the hostel signed up so I had a private session with a lovely instructor who spoke good English, made me feel super safe and encouraged me to get to the 18m climb, something I never thought I would do if you’d asked me 6 months ago what I’ll get up to whilst travelling. Seeing the climbing culture amongst locals was so cool and made me want to become even more of a queer cliche and start bouldering when I get back to the UK. Between climbs I played with the cutest dog called Flash who belonged to one of the other instructors.

Having put my life in his hands for the past few hours, my instructor and I bonded and we decided to head to lunch together after the session. He took me to a very local spot, where I could tell I was getting weird looks simply because I was a foreigner. It was a buffet style eatery with small bowls of different Chinese dishes that you pick and choose and pay for. I opted for a fried aubergine dish, bamboo shoots with pork and a tofu stir fry thing which amounted to only £2 and was one of my favourite meals in China. It was so cute to speak to him about our respective lives, travel, and his pets. Such a wholesome day!

Zhangjiajie

My next stop in China was Zhangjiajie, known for its national park home of the infamous avatar mountains which inspired the scenery for the movie Avatar. This travel day was arduous, being a cumulative 9 hours with a changeover. This was the day I started to resent my backpack and wished I was a suitcase girlie, but alas, this life chose me. I eventually got to the city centre where I checked into a hotel for the night and got ready for what I knew would be a few days of hiking and breathtaking nature.

Staying in the city I took the opportunity to visit Tianmen mountain via the cablecars which turned out to be so touristy and not worth it unfortunately. The 999 ‘stairway to heaven’ was a challenge to walk up and the view was cool, but for £30 for the ticket and only abut 5 minutes of cable car and literally no view at the very top of the mountain except the gleaming lights of the Burger King plonked at the top (what the fuck?) I left disappointed, my ear drums slightly damaged from the sheer noise of the mic’ed up Chinese tour guides shouting to rally their groups.

The rest of my time in Zhangjiajie was nothing short of magical. I checked into my homestay, Xiangzi Creek, located in the national park so you skip the queues of tourists visiting each day. This homestay was so lovely and one of my favourite accommodations of my entire trip, with the hosts being so welcoming and cooking the most delicious local food for the guests—imagine pork belly from a local farm which was smoked at home, unreal. Always with a pot of tea on the go, this truly felt like home and a welcomed respite from bustling city life. The host even taught us how to play Mahjong with her fancy automatic playing table!

Yes, Zhangjiajie is very touristy, but for good reason. The Avatar Mountains are AMAZING and the scenery in the rest of the park is gorgeous. You mustn’t skip it if you’re planning a trip to China, but just beware of the monkeys because they are not shy when they want to steal your coffee (I had to chuck it on the floor because one kept jumping up and it scared me shitless). Also check the weather… our final day in the park it was chucking it down with rain and I was soaked to the bone and it did put a dampen on the day. Other than that, Zhangjiajie was a major highlight and such a bucket list destination.

Chengdu

It was soon time for yet another long train journey across provinces to get to Chengdu, my first proper city and the location I was most excited for in China. I had four days here but to be honest I didn’t get up to much, which was needed after a week of filling my days to the brim with activities and sightseeing. Chengdu Mix Hostel was such a good home base and a really cheap hostel for what you get, with a 4 bed female dorm only costing £5 per night.

The first morning prioritised the main attraction of the city, visiting the pandas! We arrived early morning in hope of seeing their post-breakfast zoomies. I had high hopes for the breeding and research centre and it did not disappoint, having me melt with cuteness overload at every enclosure. Previously a critically endangered species, the breeding centre helps repopulate the pandas. Did you know that all the pandas in the world belong to China? Apparently they use them as leverage when another country pisses them off LOL.

Despite flagging from such an early start, the girls and I wanted to seize the day and continue exploring Chengdu together and enjoy the first bout of warm weather I had had since entering China. We stumbled upon a noodle shop near our hostel which ended up being our favourite meal in China so far; succulent braised beef in thick egg noodles with fresh fragrant veggies and herbs, YUM. Aptly fuelled, we headed to the Kuanzhai Alley area to peruse some souvenir shops and have samples of local treats shoved into our mouths. The market itself was fine, everything you’d expect from a touristy area, but it was still nice to soak up the sunshine and walk around with an iced tea.

We made our way to People’s Park on the way back to the hostel, the social hub of Chengdu known for Heming Teahouse, live musical performances and its manmade lake. One of the biggest attractions in the park is Matchmaking Corner, which we stumbled upon completely by accident and without any context. After translating some of them we realised they were marriage adverts for singles to write about themselves and their ideal partner in hope of finding true love.

After a quick google search we found that in fact many couples have met through Matchmaking Corner and many have gotten married and had successful long term relationships. I wonder what this would look like back in the UK, if Clapham Common was filled with analogue dating profiles on a single side of A4. I wonder if we would take it seriously, if it would stop us flaunting the arbitrary stuff and reduce our traits and values into the bare bones of what truly matters, or if it would result in surface level connections that don’t go beyond our education levels and how much money we make. Maybe this is a social experiment waiting to happen…

After a few hours to get a much-needed load of laundry done and chill out in my dorm, we headed for a Sichuan restaurant recommended by the hostel receptionist as a good local spot to get authentic hot pot. The ladies who worked there were the sweetest and, despite speaking no English, took the time to help us order and set up the hot pot. They also majorly humbled us, showing us how to effectively use chopsticks and coming round to tie bibs around us because of how precariously we were picking the noodles out of the steaming broth.

A couple bottles of Tsingtao beer later and the Sichuan pepper had most definitely taken hold in both my tongue and eyes. Tears streaming down my face, my mouth on fire from the spice, I thought I was a trooper when it came to taking the heat but I think China has well and truly put me in my white girl place. A failed attempt at finding a sweet treat after dinner ended with more goodbyes, something that I have become accustom to on my travels, as both Nella and Beth were leaving the next morning to continue in China.

The next morning I started the day uncharacteristically bright and early to meet a local girl from Chengu for a tour I’d found on GuruWalk. For those who don’t know, it’s a free tour platform operating in most cities where you can meet locals for different cultural experiences, paying for your own activities and tipping at the end in accordance to the app’s guidelines.

When I arrived at the meeting point it turned out I was the only person who had signed up, so had my own private tour with Chang, my local guide who had lived in Chengdu her entire life. First we went to a local food market where vendors sold raw ingredients and pre-made street food for a reasonable price. As it was barely 9am by appetite wasn’t quite up for anything too adventurous, but I tried a kind of fried pork pastry bun thing with sesame seeds made fresh for only 50p.

Nibbling on my breakfast, Chang and I walked around and she explained to me what most of the mysterious foods were on display. Everything from rare varieties of mushrooms, whole Sichuan peppercorns, hot pot base and animal innards were sold here, and the place was teeming with locals. After buying some cherries we sat in the shade and Chang taught me a Chinese card game called Farmer and Landowner, where I learned I was not conniving nor strategic enough to be a landlord.

Our next stop was a local teahouse for a tea ceremony and calligraphy lesson. I adored this experience and it was one of my favourite things I did in China, mostly because of the simplicity. The tea master explained the benefits of white tea and performed the precise yet relaxed ceremony, explaining each step’s reason. We discussed the difference between Japanese and Chinese tea culture, learning that whilst in Japan tea is connected to religion, in China it is more about the act of patience, presence and routine. Making tea, whether for oneself or for others, becomes a pocket of time dedicated to being mindful and taking the time to execute each part of the process. Tea shouldn’t be rushed, and it is seen as an act of self love to follow the ritual and get the most out of the tea leaves.

She then taught me how to use the tools for Chinese calligraphy and showed me a few phrases I could replicate on parchment paper. Despite my artistic skills being limited, she said I was a natural and my writing was legible Chinese—what a relief! My pronunciation also gained some praise, but perhaps she was just being nice.

My favourite experiences whilst travelling have also come from connecting with local people. You learn so much more about culture and tradition by engaging with every day people, not signing up for pre-package Western-centric tours designed for commercial entertainment. The moments that are rough around the edges, with Google Translate and a toothy smile carrying the communication, are the ones where you really learn what everyday life is like in the countries you visit, and that for me is invaluable.

My final 24 hours in Chengdu was mostly spent on Fanghua street, a hip neighbourhood I had read about on a blog where the ‘cool kids’ go. A hidden gem full of locals, this street boasts some of the best coffee shops and bakeries I have visited on my travels so far and really cool vintage and streetwear stores that I spent hours exploring. Basque cheesecake, raspberry egg tarts and rich dark roast lattes were the perfect end to a funky few days.

Xi’An

It was soon time to board yet another Chinese high speed train to the historical city of Xi’An. Made famous as the home of the Terracotta Warriors, I was also excited to experience Xi’An’s food culture, so immediately made my way to the Muslim quarter when I arrived in the city.

Glistening with neon signs from street food vendors, the air smoky and thick with the scent of grilling meats and wok-fried noodles, buzzing with the sound of tourists and locals alike, this was a foodie’s paradise. I was quickly swept into a long queue for something, I didn’t even know what but one rule I have learnt is that in China where there is a queue, there is treasure.

As I approached the front and saw the skillet with puffed up bread buns and a large pot full of braised beef I knew I had made the right decision. Turns out it was the famous ‘Chinese Burger’ and was a delicious start to my visit, but two pomegranate juices and some spiced potatoes later I was already ready to call it a night.

With only one full day to pack in all the sights and some more food tastings, Katya and I embarked on an ambitious day out in the city. First heading to Luckin, a big Chinese coffee chain that I had frequented daily, for a much-needed caffeine hit, we then went to the Xi’An city wall to rent a bike and cycle on the walls themselves. Built by the Ming Dynasty in the 1300s, the wall was built to enclose and protect the city and spanned almost 14 kilometres. It was such a gorgeous activity to cycle around looking at all the architecture and soaking up the sun, although I did get a little burnt on my shoulders.

Lunchtime was spent in the Muslim quarter at a food court selling the famous dish of Biang Biang noodles. This was SO YUMMY but so messy to eat, with a chilli oil rim around my mouth within the first few minutes. I had to create a makeshift bib out of a plastic bag to protect my white t-shirt (which was successful!) so I could properly engorge on the wide flat wheat noodles and chilli stewed meat. The name comes from the onomatopoeia of the sound the noodles make when the chef slaps them against a surface to flatten them, and I can confirm after seeing them made firsthand that this is true.

Another pomegranate juice for the road took us in a DiDi to Emperor Qinshihuang's Mausoleum Site Museum where the Terracotta Warriors are. The day was scorching but luckily there weren’t too many tourists and we were able to get a good look of the little guys, who actually weren’t so little. I don’t know why expecting miniature men but the figures were life size and so cool.

The Terracotta Warriors are a collection of over 8,000 life-size clay soldiers, horses, and chariots, created around 210–209 BCE. The first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang started ordering this to be built when he was as young as 13, taking over 40 years to build the Terracotta army.

Now wiped out from all of the site seeing, Katya and I headed to a funky bar in town for a much-deserved cocktail. TakeFive was a super vibey space that is a coffee shop in the daytime and opens a sleek cocktail bar in the evening. With a view of the street below from the balcony and a carefully curated cocktail menu combining Chinese ingredients and well-known favourites. I opted for a mango and osmanthus flavoured drink with a rum base paired with some parmesan truffle fries as a starter before heading to dinner back to the Muslim quarter.

We yapped about life, travel, love and our dreams for the future, and it was such a welcome girls night and the perfect tonic for a bout of travel burnout. I could have spent longer in Xi’An if I had the time to soak up the city and indulge in more of the food culture, but I was making my way to Beijing for my final stop in China the following morning.

Beijing

By this point in my trip I was running on empty and really didn’t have the appetite to explore or pack my days full with socialising and sightseeing. I have a few missions to complete in Beijing, but wasn’t putting pressure on myself to do everything. I still had a way to go in my trip and wanted to slow it down a bit before an expectedly busy time in South Korea when I meet Amy, Jack and Hannah.

My first mission was to buy a tea set. Ever since my tea ceremony in Chengdu I had my eyes peeled for a little tea set and some tea leaves, but hadn’t seen any that caught my eye or was within my price range. I had heard of the Maliandao Tea Street as the must-visit place for tea lovers in China, and barely scouted a fraction of it before falling in love with a hand painted tea set in a store tucked away in the corner of the market.

With the intention of only getting a small tea pot and two cups, I ended up walking away with a briefcase full of an 8 piece tea set in a gorgeous blue-green colour with bamboo paintings on. With the cost coming in slightly shy of £100 I just couldn’t say no, but then had to purchase a suitcase to have a way of transporting it with me on the rest of my travels. Isn’t it stunning!

My next mission was to attempt to recuperate from the travel burnout and fend off the rain at a bath spa. After some research I found Shui Guo, a reasonably priced yet luxury spa experience known for its unlimited snacks and drinks on offer for guests. For a mere £30 you get 16 hours of spa access to the thermal baths and saunas and access to the lounge upstairs which has unlimited and free (I don’t think you’re ready for this) cafe serving coffee and milk tea, haagen-dazs ice cream, a dessert station with macarons, a rainbow of bottled drinks of all different flavours and, my favourite, a fruit market with unlimited free fruit of all varieties.

Not to mention the space was huge, littered with cute cosy nooks with beanbags and warm lighting, a reading space, cinema, gaming space, and so much more. It was absolutely crazy and like nothing I’ve experienced in Europe especially for that price point, and I was the only foreigner I saw, so it’s clearly a hidden gem. Just a word of warning you are expected to be fully butt naked in the baths and saunas etc which threw me off, but with the irony of the conversation about nakedness in Hong Kong I managed to get over it. I added a 50 minute foot massage on for £30 which put me in some kind of deep relaxation trance. I ended up spending 6 hours in this heaven of a place and left feeling so rejuvenated.

The food in Beijing didn’t impress me as much as other cities which was unexpected. We went to a place that was meant to be Michelin guide recommended Peking duck but the skin was quite oily and the hoisin sauce too salty for my taste so I was a bit disappointed. One meal I did really enjoy was the soybean paste noodles from Fang Zhuan Chang, which is a chain restaurant on the Michelin guide. I had to wait about ten minutes for a seat which was worth it alone for the crispy fried sesame lamb—one of my fave meals in China!

Now for the main event… camping on the Great Wall of China. I ended up doing this with Alex, a friend I had met in Zhangjiajie, which was so nice to have company and someone to yap to as we hiked along the Great Wall. The day started bright and early, getting to the train station for 6:30am and travelling 2.5 hours outside of the city. We met our local guides and embarked on a five hour hike, half of which was led by a dog belonging to a local family, before settling down at their homestay for dinner and then going to set up camp on an old watchtower on the most secluded part of the wall.

Because it is China, I still had 4G, so took this opportunity to research. The Great Wall began construction around 221 BC and was built over 2,000 years, finishing in the 1600s. Spanning over 200,000km, the wall was built to keep out nomadic invaders in the north of China. The wall lost it’s purpose during the Qing dynasty when the emperor’s borders absorbed the land above the wall—imagine spending 2,000 years building something for it to become obsolete within a few years!! I’d be fuming!!

We camped out in an old watchtower, playing card games under the stars and listening to the silence. As much as I tried to be present, it honestly didn’t feel real and my brain couldn’t quite comprehend what I was doing. There’s only so much time you can be reflective so my night on the wall ended watching the Kylie Minogue documentary—I think she’d be proud.

We packed up camp bright and early at 5am before heading back into the city. I was absolutely knackered and conked out asleep as soon as I got home, having my last supper at the noodle shop next door and watching Celebrity Traitors (how have I never watched this?!).

My overall thoughts about China are mixed if I’m being honest. I adored the tea culture, the pockets of quiet moments I managed to find in cafes or nature and the food is next level and some of the best meals I’ve had ever, but there was something about China I couldn’t quite connect with. Perhaps it was the language barrier that made it so hard to communicate with locals, but I did find I experienced a lot of rudeness, especially pushing and shoving in crowds.

I get very overstimulated in noisy environments and this also became a bit of a nightmare at times, with it being very normal for people to not use headphones when video calling or scrolling on their phones, so many public areas are extremely noisy. The tour guides who shout into microphones also really ruined many of the more touristy spots on my trip, and again, I was pushed and shoved multiple times when waiting in lines or getting on public transport.

I also just cannot get behind the spitting. It’s really normal in China to spit in public, like fully hacking up phlegm just on the side of the street, out the window of taxis, I even witnessed it inside the train station where the guy simply wiped his spit with his shoe afterwards. I know it’s a cultural thing but I just couldn’t get past the visceral reaction my body had any time I saw or heard it.

I would also say China has been far more challenging to travel as a solo backpacker, with it being very draining to find people to hang out with compared to the rest of the countries I’ve visited in Asia. There were many moments where I did feel really lonely, but had no choice but to spend time alone.

I think it is unrealistically to fall in love with every place you go to, as long as you keep an open mind and try and find things you do like and connect with at a destination. Saying this, travelling isn’t supposed to be all highs, the lows also offer a chance to reflect and develop tolerance, empathy and understanding. I won’t necessarily be rushing to return, but I wouldn’t write off China too quickly, perhaps it’s somewhere I will warm up to in the future.

I’d arrived in Manila after having such an incredible time in Cambodia, I really didn’t think anything could top it, but I was positive and excited to meet everyone on the tour and explore a new country. I had only done one group tour before in South America and wasn’t the biggest fan of the fast-paced, crammed itinerary, but this one seemed a lot more chilled and well-balanced. Most importantly though, I was thrilled to be travelling with fellow queer people and feel a part of the community, something that I have found somewhat challenging whilst backpacking Asia.

I think I took for granted how easy it is back home to attend queer events and have your bubble of similar friends who understand you on that level. On an adventure full of novelty, chaos and impermanence, finding community becomes less of a priority and something you have to actively seek out, rather than something that comes easily when you have a home base.

Arriving in the Philippines was far from smooth, but completely my fault. I forgot to do the e-arrival card and to install a Filipino e-sim, so was stuck at arrivals trying to complete it on unreliable airport WiFi. After many attempts and error messages, a member of staff let me do it on her phone and I finally got through immigration hours after my plane landed and made my ways to the hostel for a modest 2am check-in.

Meeting the group on the rooftop of Z Hostel the following evening felt like a deep exhale. Conversations flowed easily and I felt seen, despite the 20 other members of the group being strangers. It’s hard to explain, but everything that makes up the building blocks of the human experience—humour, life experiences, world-view, relationships, hobbies, style—are uniquely grounded in the queer experience, and everything therefore feels so much more comfortable with fellow LGBTQ+ folk. I’ve found this on my travels so far, that as soon as I find out someone I’m hanging with is queer, out friendship catapults forwards and our connection deepens simply because we understand each other on a greater level.

The first couple days of the trip were spent getting to know each other, hanging out by the pool with happy hour pina coladas, playing imposter and sharing meals over family-style dining tables. It didn’t take me long to learn most of the group’s star signs, and when my dinner tab came to 444.44 pesos on the second night, I took it as a sign that this Palawan trip had something magical for me in store.

Travelling long-term forces you to learn a lot about yourself, about how you want to live your life and the kind of person you want to be. It also teaches you about what you’re scared of, and in my case, it’s bats. They’ve always freaked me out but coming face to face with the bat cave of southeast Asia was a far from calming experience. We cruised down Puerto Princessa’s underground river in the darkness, the boatman’s flashlight and audio guide pointing out how nearby rocks resembled everyday objects including a variety of vegetables found in a salad (?) and ‘the world’s hardest peanut’. Aggy distracted me by challenging me to a thumb war and telling me that the mysterious liquid dropping on me from the ceiling was not bat pee but in fact water. Many others in the group who do not have a phobia of bats thought the experience was very cool, but I was relieved to hear that there were no more caves on the itinerary.

A much needed night out followed after we arrived in Port Barton, and this was when the group really bonded and let loose. After a couple of drinks watching the sunset and cheering on our iconic guide Sheena as she performed a song at the beach bar, we all crammed into a karaoke bus. Now a couple of cuba libre’s down, I knew someone would need to break the ice and be the sacrificial serenader of the group, and I will never pass up an opportunity to both embarrass myself and be the centre of attention. Little did I know, my rendition of ‘Push The Button’ by the Sugababes would cause that song to be the track of the trip, later leading to a group music video created based on our adventures. Not long after, we were all moshing and singing along to ‘Still Into You’ by Paramore; who knew slut dropping on a stripper pole would be the way to bring people together.

Port Barton ended up being a lot of people’s favourite leg of the trip, for many reasons, perhaps it was the gorgeous sunsets, the quiet beaches, the cute dogs. For me, it was where I saw a turtle for the first time in my life. In fact, he hung out with us for half an hour, swimming below our feet and poking his head above the water playfully. It was adorable and amazing and I still think about it daily.

We had a few stops on the boat island hopping on white sand beaches and swimming in crystal blue waters before settling on our own private island for the night. When I tell you I have never experienced anything as cool as this in my life, that is no exaggeration. It was only our group on this secluded beach, we lit a roaring bonfire and made smores, played a competitive game of Uno No Mercy (just as brutal as the name suggests) and sat on the beach under a starry sky, deepening our connections and learning about each other, laughing and playing like children in the glowing plankton.

No phone signal, just impeccable vibes and gorgeous company.

Sleeping in tents was surprisingly comfortable, albeit a little sweaty, and waking up to the yellows and oranges of the sunrise over the ocean is an image I will not soon forget. Hannah and I ran straight into the sea when we woke, to join some others in the group for a morning swim. Unsurprisingly Carmen, Katie and Gigi were already in the ocean—I think it was rare to see them on dry land for the entirety of the trip! As someone who hates waking up to an alarm clock, I would happily swap them for crisp saltwater on my face in the morning. Perhaps it’s the island life for me…

We had to say goodbye to our island paradise eventually for a final night out at a beach club (where I taught Wren and Kate how to twerk, and fell over trying to show off during limbo) in preparation for our journey to El Nido the following day. Now, we’d been warned that El Nido is where many travellers get sick because of the water quality, but I don’t think anything could have prepared us for the apocalyptic epidemic that hit our group. I’m getting ahead of myself, however, because our first few days in El Nido were a dream.

One Life, the tour company the trip was booked through, had organised us a cultural day with a local family. We fit so much into half a day, learning how to crack and shave coconuts, make the traditional Filipino dish Adobo and climb a coconut tree, where of course I did a celebratory twerk at the top. We felt like children partaking in the traditional dance of Tinikling, jumping rhythmically between bamboo sticks, and playing Tumbang Preso, a street game involving trying to knock over a tin can with flip flops. We laughed hysterically, cheered each other on and ate some incredible food—a standout day for sure.

This was the day that made it clear how close we had already gotten as a group, barely a week in. Sub-groups were naturally forming, of course, but I felt comfortable sitting next to anyone and feeling a warm welcoming energy from them. Perhaps it is a testament of how lucky I got with the people on my tour, but I also think it is typical of the friendliness within the queer community, all looking out for each other and supporting each other.

A large part of this can also be attributed to our wonderful guide Sheena. Now, I knew Sheena and I would become fast friends when she told me how much she loved a sober night out dancing, and we promised each other on the first day that we will go out and shake booty together. She made it so easy for us to connect and have fun, bringing us together and structuring our days perfectly, whilst also being a reliable and organised guide. Another aspect of the trip that made it so dreamy!

We had a gorgeous evening watching the sunset at a rooftop bar and drinking one too many mango daiquiris, followed by an unreal seafood risotto at a fancy restaurant. El Nido is also where Hannah and I organised a group game of Mafia, where everyone draws a name, item and location at random and has to ‘kill’ someone else by fulfilling their mission. Little did we know this would be an ironic act of foreshadowing as one by one members of our group began to be lost to a murderous wave of sickness.

We have tried to retrace our steps to see where it all went wrong, but the days before doomsday was one of the most fun of the whole trip. Let me take you through it. We enjoyed more island hopping on yet another private boat, stopped off at a beach bar where Hannah and I accidentally got really drunk on one pina colada (in fairness, it was 80% rum). We got back to the hostel and all had pizzas by the pool followed by a chaotic few hours of karaoke, jumping in the water in our clothes and terrorising civilians staying at the hostel. The Mafia death toll was rising already, but at this point the group was in good health.

The next day I felt the social burnout creep up on me and knew I needed a little bit of me-time to catch up on my scrapbooking and reply to messages from home. Most of the group went to do the zipline and canopy walk, and I met up with Lauren and Hannah later on for tiramisu and our scheduled free massage included in the tour. We broke away from the group that evening for a cute date night at an unreal Italian restaurant to fulfil an intense craving for pasta, followed by an early night.

The following morning was the final travel day of the trip, where we were getting the ferry to Coron, but as we sat in the lobby waiting for the rest of our group, one by one people emerged looking pale and uneasy, and told us of their nights from hell. There were too many people sick for it to be a coincidence, but we couldn’t pinpoint what it was when everyone was eating different dishes and splintering off for meals in groups. Our group temporarily lost its whimsy, and some people even stayed behind to delay their ferry journey because they were too ill.

The incomplete group arrived in Coron and we felt the hole of those left behind. Everyone contributed to the energy of the trip and having a handful missing was strange and we wished everyone a speedy recovery so we could be reunited once more. Luckily our first day in Coron was a free day, so everyone just chilled out and a few of us did the short hike to a sunset viewpoint before having some unreal garlic prawns at a local tapas restaurant.

We were whole again, despite many members of the group still feeling ropey, but nonetheless were all in high spirits and excited for the last few days together. Hannah and I still don’t know how we escaped the sickness unscathed, but we put it down to the fact we have both been travelling in Asia for months and our bodies are probably acclimatised to it more than those just coming to the Philippines for the group tour.

The final island hopping adventure in Coron took us to Pass Island for even more time on our own private beach camping under the stars. We watched the most gorgeous sunset, I did some tarot readings and we finished up the group video, which you can watch on Sheena’s instagram here—it perfectly encapsulates just how silly and surreal the experience was and the gorgeous souls who were in our group. How did I get so lucky!

The final night together was one of the best nights out of the trip, going to a bar with live music and dancing and singing along to all of the bangers. Sheena serenaded us with the band and we jumped up during the DJ set to dance on stage together later on in the night, to shake booty as we promised on day one. Sharmi was crowned the winner of Mafia—a well-deserved victory! The goodbyes were so hard, as we all departed at different times the following day, some us to return home, and a few of us to continue out adventures.

If you are a fellow queer who loves travelling, I’d highly recommend looking into the group trips organised by LGBTQ+ Backpackers. They have quite a few tours to a number of destinations worldwide, and was some of the best times from my whole 5 months of travelling so far, and I left with so many new friends and unforgettable memories. Definitely take the leap and sign up to one if you’re thinking about it!

I found a particularly special connection in Hannah, and we continued our travels together in the Philippines for an extra week after the group tour. I think everyone who has met her would agree that she is an absolute ray of sunshine and has the purest, kindest energy. Animals flock to her and she lights up every room she walks into, and I felt very luckily to form such a deep connection with her so early on in the trip. She is the kind of person who will jump on stage with a tambourine in front of a room full of people purely because she was dared to, will go out of her way to make people feel included and fills every moment with laughter and silliness. She is pure joy in human form and I feel very lucky to have met her.

We took a flight to Cebu (where my name was called on the announcer for the first time in my life because I had a lighter in my checked luggage) and then a three hour bus down to Moalboal for a couple of days. Hannah wanted to do canyoneering and I nervously agreed to join, despite knowing deep down that it wasn’t my thing. Even watching the safety video I was filled with deep regret at what I’d signed myself up for, and even jumping off the smallest 5 metre cliffs was too much for me. I tried to get the most out of it as I could, and got a lot of joy watching Hannah leap off the rope swing, but safe to say I will not be partaking in any adrenaline pumping activities for the foreseeable future.

Moalboal is known for the sardine run, where you can snorkel and dive with schools of sardines. It was unreal, and what made it even better was seeing not one but two turtles just chilling in the sea alongside the fish and coral. We also saw a gorgeous blue starfish glowing amongst the rocks!

Two days was enough for Moalboal as the town itself was not our favourite vibe, so made our way to Siargao, an island on the far east side of the country and somewhere I had heard so much about by fellow travellers and locals alike. Known for its laidback surf culture and trendy cafes, it was perfect place to situate ourselves in a villa for 5 days and enjoy the remaining time we had together.

We ate good in Siargao. Some standout meals was the focaccia sandwiches and basque cheesecake at Ragu, the harissa chicken wings and pittas at Happiness and brunch at The Silk Road where I had my first fix of Yorkshire tea and a full English breakfast since departing the UK. We became obsessed with the Filipino dessert champorado, a chocolate mousse rice pudding, and and cannot tell you how many spanish lattes were consumed during our 3 weeks.

It was a week of slow mornings, afternoon naps, a few yoga classes and countless games of Monopoly Deal. It was here that I tried surfing for the first time in my life and I actually stood on the board for a total of 2.5 seconds before wiping out again and again over the course of two hours. We both ended the session feeling battered and remedied it with an afternoon in bed watching Harry Potter and listening to the rain outside.

There are so many funny random moments that are tied to this trip, including seeing a crab literally cross the road and going to a beach bar where the staff shout in unison ‘WELCOME TO SHAKA’ every time a new customer walks past. Both my toenail on my right big toe and my black bikini bottoms did not survive the Philippines, but I guess good things do require sacrifice.

The goodbye was hard, with Hannah coming to the end of her travels and me continuing on for a few more months, but it was made so much easier with the knowledge that we will see each other again and the gratitude of the time we got to spend together in paradise, all because we followed our intuition and signed up for a group trip with strangers. I’m a firm believer that the things meant for us never pass us by, and I know this is an example of that.

My final few days solo in Siargao has been spent taking advantage of the yoga classes on offer and planning the next leg of my trip which will take me to Hong Kong, China and Taiwan over the next month. Watch this space for the East Asia chapter of my solo travel adventure!

Cambodia was not somewhere I was particularly fussed about before I came to Asia, mostly because I’d not done much research. My mind was so focused on the popular destinations I had heard so much about—Thailand, Vietnam, Japan—that I did not consider how much I could fall in love with the places less travelled.

You’re probably sick of hearing about how I got my heartbroken in Tokyo, but the fallout of that situation continues to be pervasive, with it rejigging my entire itinerary, freeing up the four weeks I had in Cambodia before I need to be in Manila for my Philippines group trip. Originally planning to volunteer in a school, this also did not go quite according to plan, carving out an entire month for me to explore the country. I was entirely winging it.

You often hear about how ‘the people’ in southeast asian countries are the loveliest, which I had already found to be true on my travels. Cambodians, however, are the kindest, warmest, most hospitable nation of people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. From the moment I got off my sleeper bus, I was greeted by the widest smiles and the most generosity and selflessness I have ever encountered. You can’t help but meet every interaction with a grin, and after spending a month in this beautiful place, can wholeheartedly say that this extends across the country.

This fact is especially inspiring when considering the history of the nation. I am ashamed that I didn’t know about the Khmer Rouge and the atrocities of Pol Pot in the 1970s before coming to Cambodia, but made this my priority as soon as I landed in Phnom Penh. The Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum are an absolute must-visit to fully understand the political history and culture. It was harrowing and difficult, particularly when meeting living survivors of the regime and being reminded of just how recently something so unthinkable happened. Cambodia’s prioritisation and gratitude for peace is a driving force behind their kindness and optimism as a nation, and it has been a privilege to witness such a beautiful culture that has survived such dreadful experiences.

My historical tour extended to Siem Reap where I visited UNESCO World Heritage Site and ‘eighth wonder of the world’ Angkor Wat temple. Built in the 12th century for the Khmer Empire, it is the world’s largest religious monument, originally a Hindu temple dedicated to Vishnu, and later becoming a Buddhist site with the change of the emperor in Cambodia.

A day pass gets you access to the additional temples around The Angkor Archaeological Park, which contains over 1,000 recorded temples and shrines scattered across its grounds. We spent the day bouncing from each of the distinct religious sites, admiring the different carvings and sculptures, and even seeing where Tomb Raider was filmed. It was awesome and a must-visit during your time in the city.

A complete vibe switch-up followed as I made my way to Koh Rong, a paradise party island known for hosting ‘Nestival’, a backpacker’s beach party on Nest beach. A weekend of boozing, boat parties and being a beach bum was all a bit of a blur, partaking in Nestival sports day with a group of girls, naming ourselves ‘Angel’s Angels’ and painting angel wings on our backs, and partying on the beach until the early hours of the morning. The fever dream turned slightly dark when I endured the most traumatic hostel horror story anyone has ever encountered (it is actually too awful to write on here, but trust me).

In an attempt to recover from said traumatic experience, I treated myself to a hotel on the quiet side of the island near coconut beach, which turned out to be the best thing I could have done. I am not exaggerating when I say it was the most stunning beach I have ever seen, with powdery white sand and clear blue water. Rafikis beach club was the coolest hangout spot, serving healthy meals and smoothies, filling the beach with chill neo-soul tunes, the perfect backdrop to laying in a hammock until the sun goes down. I could have stayed there forever, but I had booked a ferry to hop across the water to Koh Rong Sanloem island.

I met the coolest people on this island and had such a wholesome time snorkelling, watching the sunset and chilling on a boat. Two days felt apt as I was ready to get back on the mainland and not perpetually have sand in my bed and in my shoes, but nonetheless I had such a dreamy time in literal paradise.

So far, Cambodia had the nicest people, the most beautiful beach, an inspiring history and such a rich culture—I was already falling in love.

After a truly horrific and nauseating speedboat from Koh Rong Sanloem, I arrived at Kampot pier, but as soon as I arrived at Karma Traders Hostel the seasickness was washed away by meeting Jasmin. Turns out she had already heard my hostel horror story from the week before by a mutual friend who was also in my dorm and saw that as a sign of string theory and decided to become best friends (it really is that easy!). We spent an evening on the roof exchanging travel romance anecdotes and deciding that men are in fact trash, before making a plan for the following few days.

The only thing on the agenda was to visit La Plantation, a French Belgian-owned farm producing world-renowned Kampot pepper. We rented a scooter, stupidly relying on me for directions which resulted in us getting lost amongst country lanes of rural Cambodia under the scorching sun, all of which was made enjoyable yapping about music and waving at the local people as we drove past. Have I mentioned that Cambodians are LOVELY.

The pepper farm was so interesting, we opted for the secret tour to see the entire strict quality control process from tending to the plants, dehydrating and smoking techniques, all the way to sifting and packaging the pepper. We tried so many varieties of pepper I thought my tongue was going to fall off, but still had the capacity to eat at their restaurant and try pepper ice cream. Who knew dark chocolate and black pepper was such an unreal combination.

This was also the day I fell in love with Cambodian cuisine, trying my first fish amok and genuinely having my eyes roll back in my head at how yummy it was. I wasn’t sure whether I liked the food yet, with it having a lot of Thai influence and not being the biggest fan of Thai food. Lok Lak, a thick onion based gravy with meat, rice and egg, grew on me eventually and became my go-to hearty dinner. I decided I prefer Cambodian food to Thai, with it being considerably less spicy and more focused on rich flavours, garlic, gravy and creamy curries. Another box ticked on why Cambodia is incredible.

The rest of my time in Kampot was really just spent hanging out with the incredible people I met there. The hostel was super social and I even performed some spoken word poetry at their open mic night, which had a pretty decent turnout! Jasmin and I got a slice of pie at Kampot Pie and Ice Cream Palace, spent the days zooming on our scooter (me as passenger princess of course) and mooched around, yapped, got coffee, got brunch, got an aura reading by a witch whose number we found in a public toilet, told each other our entire life story and tried to plan when we can see each other again.

On our final night we partook in the hostel pub quiz, where there was a promise of a free shot for the best team name. I was sure that my contribution of ‘The Red Hot Kampot Peppers’ was going to win, but the cockney MC decided that ‘Quizzle on my Tits’ was better?! I demand a recount.

We came fourth in the quiz, missing third place by one point, which I would have been more mad about if we hadn’t of relied on Steven, a 60 year old German man we tactically adopted into our team, for most of the answers. I think I contributed a total of three points and one of them was ‘Call me Maybe’ by Carly Ray Jespon in the music round.

It is known amongst the backpacker community that the people make the place, and this couldn’t be more true for Kampot. I met so many beautiful souls there, and throughout my time in Cambodia, that I cannot ignore the fact that I was led there for a reason. My plans were meant to fall apart, I was meant to break free from my strict itinerary, and I was meant to fall in love with Cambodia to such a degree that I stayed for as long as I did.

I had a week to play with before needing to fly to Manila so decided to return to Siem Reap. I had crammed it in before going to the school, so had to miss a lot of things other travellers had recommended to me, and also wanted to treat it as a reset week after such a busy and boozey month. Or so I intended.

I managed to time it perfectly with Esther, one of my oldest friends from High School, as she was also in the city for a few days. After a brunch catch up where I answered even more questions about my hostel horror story, we went to APOPO visitors centre to see the hero rats. These adorable creatures are amazing! They’re trained to identify unexploded bombs hidden underground, which is a big issue in Cambodia since the Khmer Rouge. In other countries, the rats are also trained to diagnose tuberculosis—insane!

Another big priority was to see the Phare Cambodian circus. I had heard amazing things and it really did not disappoint. It was so much more than an acrobatics show, but a mixture of dance, storytelling and social commentary. The circus has six different shows on in rotation, with different storylines. The one we saw was all about how tourists and locals experience Cambodia differently—it was funny, poignant and showed even further insight into local life in this country I had come to adore.

Now, I did go to the gym once in Siem Reap… but I did not manage to uphold the promise to myself to stay sober. I blame Ben and Alex for a spontaneous night on pub street that resulted in two beer towers, an unhinged game of Piccolo, vomit and a 6am bedtime. I would have liked to spend the subsequent day in bed, but Freya and I had already booked a package at the spa. Relaxing, you would think, but having a stranger rub coffee grounds all over your body (yes, all over) and then kind of force you to shower with a girl you’d met for two days was not ideal for hungover Angel. My skin had never been softer, but I had never felt more dead.

I did eventually go to bed and recuperate, spending my final few days in the city spending a small fortune at the Made in Cambodia Market, chilling out by the hostel pool and getting thrashed by Steven at chess (not the 60 year old German, but a 25 year old Kiwi). That’s another one—I didn’t think I’d get to see Steven again after meeting in Phnom Penh, but the universe placed us in the same coffee shop in Siem Reap at the same time and we were able to hang out again and have the loveliest day gorging on cake at The Muffin Man bakery and talking about his experience doing Ayahuasca.

I am writing this at Singapore airport waiting for my connecting flight to Manila to embark on the next phase of my adventure, feeling so fulfilled and grateful. Grateful for things going wrong and embracing the change in direction. Before I went travelling, plans falling through would feel like the end of the world and would result in a tantrum, panic attack or both. I feel so much more receptive to letting the universe guide me, and that no matter where I end up, there are experiences and people that are meant for me waiting on the other end.

Being a lover girl is not something I have ever been shameful of. Yes, it gets me heartbroken significantly often, but my hope that one day someone, something, will stick, continues to push me forward in my pursuit of love. I will never stop being the girl who gets on a seven hour flight for a man based on nothing but a promise and a gut feeling, but I have realised my inherent optimism and openness is getting me in situations I do not deserve to be in.

People can disappoint you. I’m sure I’m not the only self proclaimed lover girl who has experienced a complete 180 degree shift from someone they were seeing. There’s nothing to say about it except that it sucks, but it is inevitable insofar as you are opening yourself freely to people without really knowing them at all.

This chronic disappoint causes our standards to slip, perhaps so incrementally and to such a small degree that we don’t even notice until we are getting our heartbroken by someone who really isn’t all that. My optimism about people causes me to overlook the things I find unattractive about them, diminish their importance to me and label myself as shallow for putting too much weight in things like looks, success, talent, intelligence and general coolness.

But the truth is, these things are important to me, and should be in order to measure compatibility and attraction. In the past I’ve seen these things as a sliding scale, that it’s unrealistic for me to want someone with all of these attributes, even though I believe I possess them myself. I’ve recently had a bit of an awakening whilst reflecting on some people I have let play with my heart, that I never really liked them in the first place. I always knew I was out of their league and they were punching, but still continued to give them the time of day and allow them access to me. Why?

A recent situation woke me up to how liberally I have let myself endure the wrath of mediocre men. I’m currently travelling southeast Asia and was on an island called Koh Rong in Cambodia for a weekend of partying and lazing on the beach. I met a guy on the party boat and we hit it off, and ended up in the ocean for a night swim where we shared an innocent smooch. Now, he wasn’t ugly by any means, I stand by the fact he was cute, but was he punching? Absolutely.

The next day I saw him at the beach party and we went to the bar to get drinks. He looked at me for a few seconds, and blurted out ‘you’re so hot, you’re too good for me.’

Was this supposed to be a compliment? It sure didn’t feel like one. Perhaps a past version of me would see this as flattery, and enjoy the vertigo of being put on his pedestal. But me now, having endured so much heartbreak over the past year, looked at his mediocre face, replaying our conversations about his mediocre life, compared to the fullness and beauty of mine, and just said ‘okay’ and walked away.

The truth is, people show you their true colours very early on, almost immediately, but we are blind to some of the clear signs people give us that they are going to disappoint us. People tell us their capacity for love, emotional depth and respect, but when you are drowning in the optimism of being a lover girl, these tend to go amiss.

I know of so many gorgeous women who have made questionable dating choices. Having a ‘medium ugly’ crush or starting a sentence with ‘hear me out’ before showing a picture of the guy you like is dismissed as funny, but it’s actually seriously harming our sense of worth and contributing to the narrative that it really is embarrassing to have a boyfriend.

The worst part is, no one will treat you worse than someone who doesn’t think they deserve you.

Men who are with a woman who they know deep down is out of their league will project their insecurities onto the woman. They will desperately try and hide the fact that they know they’re inferior, and instead try and bring the woman down to their level, be nonchalant about their attraction and make her feel insecure. They will struggle to fully commit, keep her at arm’s length, but never quite let her go.

It seems like this is a universal experience amongst beautiful, cool women, with Billie Eilish’s viral interview comment ‘You give an ugly guy a chance, he thinks he rules the world. I swear to God, because they got a hot girl, they can be horrible? Like, you’re still ugly though.’ This can be applied to all criteria, not just looks, when you give someone a chance that doesn’t quite meet you on your level.

I recently bonded with a girl on my travels when we were sharing stories of our questionable romances, to which we both had an anecdote about a ‘stinky small dick man’. We laughed, but seeing how beautiful and cool she was, it made me reflect on why I too had entertained a man who struggled to brush his teeth twice a day.

I am pansexual so date people of all genders, but this specific experience is particularly prevalent in dating the male species. When dating women and non-binary people, I have no doubt about my worth and feel secure pursuing people I perceive as extremely attractive. Dating men, however, has always come weighted with insecurity, ambivalence and severely underestimating my worth.

This is probably rooted in some kind of patriarchal insecurity, a desperate need for male validation and systemic agenda of diminishing the self-worth of women. But more than that, I think the volume of beautiful and cool women far outweigh the number of equally cool and beautiful men available. I know they’re out there, because I’ve dated a fair few, but they are very hard to come by.

I have come across far more of them on my travels than I did back in London, but what is notable is my reaction to meeting and being intimate with some very sexy, cool, interesting men. I notice that my instant reaction is unequivocal doubt that they would fancy me back, and an acceptance of friendship straight off the bat. When it eventually becomes clear that said sexy, cool, interesting man likes me I go through stages of shock, denial and dismiss their blatant flirting for friendliness, only reaching eventual acceptance when their tongue is down my throat.

Now that this has happened a fair few times recently, I have come to the conclusion that I was severely underestimating my beauty and coolness and pouring my energy into connections with people that just couldn’t meet me on my level. This isn’t even just about looks either, it’s about ambition, creativity, emotional maturity, passion, kindness, communication, humour, intelligence and so many more attributes that make someone sexy.

I know that this is a self-esteem issue. I purposefully go for men who are below me because I think it would mean they won’t leave. They’d feel too lucky to be with me that they wouldn’t want to lose me. In my mind, a man who is clearly not good enough for me would create far less opportunity for heartbreak, which is something I have always been terrified of experiencing.

Not only is this untrue, but it is futile.

No one will treat you worse than someone who doesn’t think they deserve you.

The empty space between you and the man who is not good enough for you is taken up by an inflation of their ego and a diminishment of your worth. By exchanging your energy with someone, you close the gap yourself. Nothing is worse than getting hurt by someone who you knew you had to convince yourself you liked in the first place, I wouldn’t categorise it as heartbreak, but more so embarrassment at a wound that was self-inflicted.

I refuse to put myself through this any longer.

I refuse to entertain anyone if I don’t think they can meet me in all that I am.

No one will, from now on, enter my orbit unless I see them as a definite good match, as mouthwateringly attractive, as someone who is sure.

I am educated and extremely intelligent, well-travelled, well-read, a passionate music buff with impeccable taste, very successful in every job I’ve ever done, financially independent and able to finance a full life, have amazing friends and a thriving social calendar, a great cook, a brilliant writer with the confidence to read poetry in front of hundreds of people, I am empathetic and kind, I am a great communicator, I am so fucking funny with a knack for telling stories and holding a room of people, I have so many hilarious interesting anecdotes about the full life I have lived, I am beautiful and sexy and have such cool style and look after myself to sustain a great physique and glowing skin, I have a contagious laugh and I’m a great listener, I am spiritual and witchy and am a thriving plant mom, I’m caring, can hold my own in any political debate, can balance being fun and being sensible, I am a lover girl and love so deeply and so wholeheartedly and that deserves to be cherished.

It’s funny, even writing this I stopped and thought ‘is this big-headed’ ‘should I be saying this’ but as I read it back, it is all 100% true. It’s so important that we remind ourselves as women what we are, and not settle for anyone who is anything less.

I am under no illusion that I may never meet a man who can meet me on the level I am on, but that is okay, I’d rather that then entertain anymore mediocrity. I am also under no illusion that just because these people exists, it doesn’t mean it will necessarily work out romantically. The man who broke my heart in Tokyo almost seemed too good to be true insofar as he embodied everything I’d ever wanted in a human, but his inability to communicate was enough for the relationship to fall through.

I will never again find myself convincing myself that I like someone, trying to find an angle or the right light to make the connection palatable. I deserve more. We all deserve more. Until I meet someone who I am sure is as cool, or even cooler than me, I will be staying very very single, and I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

I never classified myself as the princess type who couldn’t deal with any level of discomfort. I’ve camped at festivals and, albeit not loving being filthy and sleep deprived, could lean into the vibes and embrace the lifestyle. In my daily life, however, I would shower twice a day, never let outside clothes (or god forbid SHOES) on the bed, would deep clean my flat once a week and would rarely wear an item of clothing more than once before washing it. My thinking being, if I have the privilege of access to all these things I may as well use it.

I had hoped that travelling would shake this out of me somewhat, and acclimatise me to being more present and at one with nature. I so badly wanted to be the type of person who likes walking barefoot outside, who can sleep anywhere, who doesn’t need a five step skincare routine. These people seem so much more worldly and enlightened. Exposure therapy seemed like the most effective way to level up in this way, so I signed up to Workaway and found my first volunteering position in Cambodia.

I knew somewhat what I was getting myself in for with my volunteering opportunity. I knew the school was in a rural area two hours outside of the city, but with food and accommodation provided for me and with an expected busy schedule of teaching filling the three weeks, I wanted to give it a try. Fortunately, the other volunteers at the school were lovely and we made friends quickly, but the living conditions I was expected to endure were just intolerable for me.

My ‘bed’ was a thin mattress on top of a table, the floor was covered in dirt and there were ants crawling up the walls. The bathroom was disgusting, with hair in the plughole and spiders everywhere. I couldn’t walk in the room without flip flops on, and with it being the only place on the grounds with AC I was forced to choose between uncomfortable heat outside or uncomfortable dirt inside. I was struggling.

The location was quite literally in the middle of nowhere, with one place to get coffee on the side of the road, and all shops nearby being a pile of random boxes of products piled on top of each other in someone’s front room. Even finding a can of soft drink was a mission. There was no form of entertainment except doom scrolling or binge watching Netflix.

Perhaps it would have been made better if the teaching opportunity was more hands-on. I had been a psychology tutor back home and adored teaching, which encouraged me to do my TEFL and try out some English teaching gigs abroad, with the potential of making it my next career move. What I love about teaching is the creativity of planning lesson, of tangibly seeing an impact and improvement in the students, making the work feel purposeful.

Unfortunately, the teaching element was just as poor as the living conditions. I was essentially a glorified childminder, playing basic games with nursery aged children who could barely understand me. The bulk of my day was spent proof-reading slides the other teachers had made or correcting their pronunciation of words. It was so incredibly boring and pointless, and after one day I could not bear the thought of doing it for three whole weeks.

I so badly wanted to love it. I so badly wanted to seem free-spirited and uncaring of the comfortable life I left behind. Travellers I meet who have crazy stories of them camping in the jungle with no access to a toilet, or volunteering in the most random places far from civilisation, seem so cool and I so badly wanted to be them. I felt guilty for not loving it, and ashamed that I couldn’t just embrace it. But part of self love and self acceptance is as much about the realisation of what you are not.

Unashamedly, I have learnt that I like comfort. Not luxury or expense, but a basic level of comfort. I cannot tolerate unhygienic and dirty living conditions, I need access to decent food and much prefer a city vibe that has lots to do and a place to get a decent coffee. It’s okay that my tolerance and bandwidth for discomfort do not stretch as far as other travellers, it doesn’t make me any less interesting or open-minded, it just means my travel experience is a different hue to theirs.

I made the decision to quit volunteering after a single day. Some people may have advised me to stick it out a little longer, but every fibre of my being was uncomfortable, and not in the positive way in which people grow, but the kind that makes your chest tight and feel like a sinkhole, sucking out all enjoyment. I felt anxious, not excited, and dreaded spending the next few weeks in this environment.

It’s a privileged position to be in, but I didn’t need to save the money. I realised that most people who jump between volunteering opportunities are doing so to extend their travels, and therefore put up with a lot more because the alternative is to go home. I am fortunate enough to have saved up a lot of money from working and could feasibly afford to travel Cambodia instead of teaching, so the decision wasn’t that difficult. I couldn’t justify staying when leaving was so easy.

Sometimes struggle is beneficial; you’re muscles will never grow if you’re not putting them through pain whilst exercising. But my thinking is, life is stressful enough, and why put yourself through the ringer if you really don’t have to. You need to pick your battles in life, and that includes the battles with yourself.

There were so many things I had missed out on in Cambodia to go to the school instead, and I felt invigorated by the idea of being able to visit more spots in this beautiful country. Researching and making a plan quickly got my spark back and leaving being the right decision became crystal clear.

I can’t wait to share with you what I’ve been up to and how pleasantly surprised I have been by how much I have fallen in love with Cambodia. If there’s one thing you can take from me, is if you’re main reason for doing something is for how it will make you look to other people, that’s not a good enough reason to go against your intuition.

Since I last checked in I had just arrived in Hoi An, a coastal city down the middle of the country, which I had been told by many travellers is their favourite spot in Vietnam. As soon as I arrived at Seaside Bungalow hostel I was greeted by fellow travellers inviting me down for the hostel’s beach party. Despite being absolutely knackered, I will always revive myself for a boogie on the beach, especially with the almost-full moon brightening the sky.

A quick change and a Saigon beer downed soon turned into a night still going strong at 2am, fellow travellers taking in turns to spin the decks and the bar free flowing tequila. I got chatting to a wonderfully eccentric girl called Hannah and it came up that I had never been skinny dipping, to which she steadfastly responded ‘that needs to change’.

Hannah was on crutches from an accident in Indonesia, but nonetheless promised that she would join me in stripping off and having a night swim. I think this pretty much sums up backpacking culture; you can meet someone and 20 minutes later you will be helping them take off their clothes and hobble along the beach to get in the sea in the early hours of the morning.

Skinny dipping was as cool as I imagined in my head. I felt like The Star tarot card, utterly free and at one with nature. One thing I didn’t anticipate was almost getting swept out with the current, but luckily a guy from out hostel (who was not naked) helped yank me back to the group. Trying to have a conversation with him, tits out and teeth chattering from the cold, proved a lot less sexy than imagined and I stumbled out of the sea to help Hannah and rejoin the party. Bucket list item: TICKED OFF!

I ended up staying in Hoi An for a week, but all the days blur into one. The priority on day one was to visit the lantern festival in town and live my Tangled dream. What I thought would be a magical experience was in reality a stressful series of bartering (which I seriously impressed everyone with my skills) and being rushed onto a tourist boat, forced to put on life jackets before the police fined us, just to be rushed off the boat so more tourists could replicate our experience.

Nonetheless, it was gorgeous to make a wish and release a lantern onto the canal, watching it float away and the flame diminish in the distance. I wish for the same thing every time I’m asked: contentment. This blog, born out of restlessness and a yearning for something more, is something I want to tame one day. Perhaps one day I’ll be content, happy to stay put for a while. That’s not to say I don’t want to travel and nurture my free spirit, but I don’t want her to dictate what I do—I think that’s what it means to be truly free.

The rest of my time in Hoi An was spent with Dom, my friend I met in Sa Pa, briefly met in Hanoi and now planned to travel the rest of Vietnam with. We did a traditional Vietnamese cooking class, visiting a local market and learning how to make spring rolls, banh xeo and some more dishes that I’ve forgotten the name of. Then, we paid £1.50 to get spun around on a coconut boat in the river, agreeing it was the best £1.50 we’ve ever spent.

We mooched around the town, getting coffee and sharing out favourite tunes, meeting friends in the evening for drinks by the canal. The nightlife in Hoi An is something you could never tire of, from Irish pubs with live music, to fancy wine bars with carafes of imported reds, it is definitely a place that comes alive at night time. The colourful lanterns reflect off the water like bundles of ribbon and despite the hoards of people it still don’t feel too crowded. A more few beach days filled the time, but soon it was time to move on and continue travelling south.

We arrived in Da Lat in the morning, having barely slept on the turbulent sleeper bus journey. We grabbed a bite at Brooklyn Bagels (unreal smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel!) and planned out the next few days. Rather foolishly, we decided to fill the time before we could check in to our dorm at the go-karting place made famous on TikTok for its brutal crashes and precarious health and safety measures. What could go wrong?

Turns out a lot could go wrong. On our second lap of the course my sleepy brain lost it, I started gathering speed and I am not sure if it was me or my car that malfunctioned, but breaking didn’t seem like an option. Before I knew it, my car had crashed into a wall of tyres and I had flown out of the side, banged my coccyx on the side and was lying face down on the tarmac of the racecourse. The shock could only produce uncontrollable laughter and Dom helped me get back into the car, but by the time I reached the end and the adrenaline had dissipated, I realised I had really hurt myself.

Luckily nothing was broken except my pride, and we sat a cafe with a cold drink wedged between the waist band of my trousers to ice my lower back. It’s still healing, but a lot better and hasn’t really effected my trip very much at all so all good! I guess the whole ‘slow down’ mantra really applies literally, and perhaps I should not be in charge of vehicles insofar as I failed to get my driving licence, especially when I’m running on 2 hours sleep. Lesson learnt.

For my last full day in Da Lat we had booked a tour of some of the city’s main attractions. It ended up being a private tour with the cutest 72 year old Vietnamese man called Stephane, who was so knowledgable and funny. We stopped off at loads of cool places including waterfalls, a silk making factory, a cricket farm (where I ate crickets and liked it!), the Lady Buddha statue which we climbed to the top of and an ancient temple where we lit incense and made another wish. Our ride on the Alpine Coaster was aptly steered by Dom, so no accidents this time!

Our favourite stop of the day was to Da Lat’s coffee plantation where they make weasel coffee (essentially from the poop of weasels). After learning about how it’s made we still wanted to try it, so sat overlooking the most gorgeous view of the mountains, counting the drips of the coffee filter until it was finally ready. It is that moment that will stay with me forever, sat with a dear friend who I’d only known for a few weeks but felt like I’d had in my life for years, soaking in the view and being truly present, immersed in the novelty yet still finding comfort and familiarity so far from home.

Our day was brought to a close at Maze Bar after forming a group over happy hour at the hostel. I won’t lie, I was very drunk but do remember getting lost climbing up its many winding staircases and exploring the themed rooms. There’s a man there dressed as Mario who, if you beat him at chess, gives you a special variety of magic mushrooms. Unfortunately I was too drunk to challenge him, but I expect I would have lost anyway having only beaten one person at chess in my life (Dom).

I was violently hungover the next day for my bus to Mui Ne, and was also travelling alone as Dom wanted to stay an extra day to go canyoning. I had also stupidly booked a sleeper bus with snug horizontal cabins that resemble coffins, too much for my poor little bruised coccyx to bear. But as soon as I reached my beachside hostel, scoffed down a burger and fries and napped in the sun, I was somewhat revived. This is also when I met Becca. I recognised her face but couldn’t place her, but we then figured out we had met on the street when I bumped in to our mutual friend, small world!

Pretty much all there is to do in Mui Ne is visit the sand dunes or chill at the beach. A big group of us at the hostel booked on for the sunset tour which included quad biking on the dunes. It was… cool? I will admit, it was very much an Instagram vs reality moment, with the sand blowing into every crevice and coating my sweaty skin. I forgot my sunglasses and scarf to cover my face, so tried to steal glances of the dunes between squints. It was very fun to glide over hills of sand in the quad bike, but was it worth the sheer amount of sand in my mouth? Not sure. I tried to get a cute picture with our pink jeep but I just look like I’m in severe pain the entire time, which is kinda true.

The only other activity I did was hang out at Pineapple beach club, a cute place to lie on bean bags and sip on peach iced tea. I think I got heatstroke because I started feeling really sick and ended up developing a bit of a sunburn on my tummy, oops. Just in time for my 4 hour bus to Ho Chi Minh City.

Ho Chi Minh City, or Saigon, reminded me of Bangkok and was a stark contrast from the Northern capital of Hanoi. First of all, there are traffic lights, giving some order to the same chaos and bustle that is a through-thread in Vietnam. The shopping is a lost more modern and familiar, so much so that I was able to top up on my Korean skincare products and grab some linens from Uniqlo. Not usually one for fake designer, I did indulge in a pair of ‘YSL’ sunglasses and ‘Hermes’ scarfs, things I actually needed and may as well purchase under the illusion of luxury.

Travelling with Dom and Becca was a joy, with all three of us ending our Vietnam travels together. Having spent over a month in the country, we did treat ourselves to more Western dishes, visiting a gorgeous Italian called Terraviva and having burrata for the first time since leaving the UK. The Apartment Cafes were also very cool, I climbed up 8 flights of stairs to reach Good Days cafe on the top floor, sipping a peach iced tea whilst overlooking the city.

The most memorable day in the entirety of the Vietnam leg of my trip was visiting the War Remnants Museum and Cu Chi Tunnels, to learn more about Vietnam’s heartbreaking and inspiring history, listening to the stories on the audio guide about the French colonial invasions and American war, and the sheer volume of barbaric casualties of civilians, journalists and soldiers.

The most shocking part of the museum was learning about Agent Orange, a toxic chemical used by the Americans to poison water and land to essentially starve the agricultural function in rural areas of Vietnam, leading to many diseases and deformities of adults, children and unborn infants. The images were so difficult to look at, but so necessary to understand the full extent Vietnam suffered. 3 million Vietnamese lost their lives during the conflict with the US, 2 million of those being civilians. The most shocking fact I read was, in a single day, more bombs were dropped on Vietnam than the total number of bombs dropped on Germany during WWII. Let that sink in.

We had the opportunity to visit an art gallery and store which provides jobs for those affected by Agent Orange, to product art from recycled materials and sell it in their showroom. Watching the meticulous process of creating the pieces from seashells and other natural materials was fascinating, and I even bought an adorable little vase to support the local people.

The Cu Chi tunnels were extremely cool, I managed to overcome my claustrophobia with the support of Dom and crawled through the entire 60 metres of tunnels amended for tourists. Knowing that the size of the tunnels were increased by 40% was crazy because they were already so tiny. The infrastructure of the tunnels was fascinating, with everything from booby traps, ventilation, water access, bomb shelters, a kitchen and a meeting room. Learning about the guerilla tactics of the Vietnamese army was super interesting and really complimented our morning at the museum.

Our last night in Vietnam was of course spent on the famous walking street, which really made beer street in Hanoi look pathetic in comparison. Bars and clubs with go-go dancers and fire breathers lined the street, and promoters offering cheap drinks approached us every few yards. We truly went out in style, dancing to Bad Bunny and backing Saigon beers until the early hours of the morning. Vietnam had well and truly chewed me up and spat me out again, with more nights out over the past 5 weeks than I had all year back in London. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

The next day’s hangover was made even harder with goodbyes. We left Becca in Saigon to enjoy her final day, grateful that a chance encounter outside a Banh Mi stand in Hoi An had turned into a travel bestie with so many memories shared. It is so beautiful that you really never know where connections can lead, and the right people always find a way into your life.

Dom and I travelled into Cambodia together and it was so difficult to part ways and for me to continue on to Siem Reap and leave him in Phnom Penh. He is someone who defined my Vietnam travels, meeting so early on in our journey and creating memories all the way down the country. Travelling with someone is an incubator for connection, spending such a concentrated amount of time together, sharing life-changing experiences and seeing each other at both your best and worst. Getting used to each other’s quirks, common phrases and habits, and creating a rhythm of shared balance and teamwork.

It’s the comfort and familiarity of having a constant someone, someone who knows you and can share the excitement and fear of travelling long term, someone who you can lean on when things get hard and can be a sounding board, because it is so much more fun planning with someone else. The sadness was ameliorated by gratitude that we are capable of such deep friendship all the way on the other side of the world, and the knowledge that one day, whenever that may be, we can reconnect and reminisce on everything we shared.

The next time I speak to you I will be in Cambodia, travelling to see the main sites for a week as a precursor to volunteering in a school for three weeks, which I am beyond excited for. It is so funny how meticulously I planned my travels before I came out here, and how little has actually gone to plan, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I started the Vietnam leg of my trip in Hanoi, which now feels like a lifetime ago. My handful of days in the capital were spent indulging in history and food alike, visiting Hao Lo prison, the Women’s Museum and many Banh Mi stalls. After much deliberation and many of the French-influenced baguettes filled with meats and veggies absolutely scoffed down between meals, I have come to the firm conclusion that Banh Mi 25 is the best in Hanoi. Fight me in the comments if you disagree.

Meeting both Chris and Christabel within my first few hours in the city was a blessing, and we spent a couple days trying Vietnamese dishes and trying not to get hit by a scooter when crossing the road. A highlight was getting Pho, a fragrant noodle soup dish infamous in Vietnam, from a restaurant with no menu, situated quite literally in a local family’s living room. A close second is Pho 10 Ly Quoc Su from the Michelin guide and Bun Cha Ta, a street food vendor selling the rich pork dish Bun Cha.

Hanoi is a city you have no choice but to eat through, washed down by the unavoidable coffee culture. Cafe Nang ended up being my daily spot, perched on a balcony in the old quarter, it was the prime people watching spot in the city and the best place to enjoy a morning brew. I managed to peruse the entire menu in my few days, with salt coffee being my absolute fave and iced coconut coffee coming in close second. I am not ashamed to say I have become addicted to the condensed milk coffee concoctions of Vietnam and have no idea what I will do when I can’t start my mornings with these creamy sweet delights.

Touristy things are unavoidable in Hanoi, with viral spots like Train Street, The Note Coffee and the Temple of Literature somewhat living up to the hype. Feeling a train whizz past a mere centimetres from your face with an overpriced beer in one hand, sipping a coffee whilst reading the notes from other travellers that completely covered the walls and walking through same rooms that Confucius once did is pretty cool and worth doing.

My favourite thing to do in Hanoi was simply people watching. Immortalised by Jon Enoch’s Bikes of Hanoi photography series, the Vietnamese’s ability to fit anything and everything on the back of scooter is astounding. Seeing, with my own eyes, a family of five all riding on one ped, clutching each other’s waists in height order, or a man driving a scooter with a literal fridge strapped to the back, or a woman being the most iconic passenger princess whilst holding a tree double her size—these are the travel moments that stick with you.

Already, Vietnam has proved itself to be a country of colour and vibrancy, unapologetically chaotic and unstructured as a form of cultural preservation. Whilst Thailand felt somewhat like a path for tourism had been carved out and established, Vietnam still has a hold on its authentic charm that makes it such a beautiful place. I was, however, already overstimulated by the craziness of the capital and was excited to escape to the mountains for some much needed restful time.

My next stop was Sa Pa, up there with one of my favourite places I’ve visited on my travels so far. Dzay homestay, situated in the H’mong village was the loveliest accommodation I have ever stayed in, with cosy bamboo rooms with heated mattresses, a family dinner every night and a gorgeous view of the river and surrounding rice paddies. The father of the family took us on multiple challenging treks through the mountains, breaking in my Salomons with a fair few muddy puddles (I have unfortunately realised that I am in fact very clumsy and, at every opportunity, will fall over if a surface is remotely slippery).

On days not spent sat outside reading, we immersed in the surrounding nature and tribal culture. Cat Cat village, albeit very curated for tourists, had beautiful nature and quaint handmade trinkets to peruse. We visited a traditional dance show at their community theatre and ended up jumping on stage to take part, holding hands with the local villagers and copying their movements. It is these moments, where you overcome the fear of embarrassment and just throw yourself into experiences, that core memories are made.

On the day we wanted to go to Fansipan mountain the visibility was so poor that we decided to detour to Love Waterfall instead. The weather contributed to the fairytale atmosphere of the gentle hike, hopping on stones over the trickles of running water whilst feeling the light spray of rain from above. The highlight of the trip was actually being on the back of Johnny’s scooter for the breathtaking drive up through the mountains, squinting through the mist to see the road ahead and coming to a clearing of lush verdure.

The entire vibe of Sa Pa can only be described as whimsical, like something straight out of a Studio Ghibli movie. The misty clouds wrapping around the mountaintops like a fluffy scarf and the seemingly random lines of rice paddies—nature’s freehand sketch—comprising the most intricate designs, its puddles reflecting the clouds above. Life seemed to slow down in the mountains, and once I got into the rhythm of it, I didn’t want to leave.

I decided to avoid going back to Hanoi for Vietnamese New Year and stayed in Sa Pa for a more laid back experience of Tet, which turned out to be a great decision. Washing down a banquet of family food with happy water, fireworks lighting up the sky beyond the shadows of the mountains, playing multiple rounds of Uno and Cambio to close out the night, was so much more my speed than the beer streets of Hanoi.

We went on a new year’s day trek through the street parties in the village and saw the distinct difference in how the Vietnamese celebrate bringing in the new year. Rather than the booze focused night out in the UK, Tet is so much more about spending time with family and genuinely having a break, something I wish was more widely adopted in the Western world.

I am getting so much better at assessing what I would actually enjoy rather than just following what every other backpacker seems to be doing. It’s enabled me to meet more likeminded people who aren’t just focused on partying and have more authentic experiences away from the typical backpacker culture. That has come with having to cut some friendships short and go separate ways with people who are just not on the same wavelength as me; it seems harsh but it is necessary to get the most out of your time travelling.

I quickly fell into a routine in Sa Pa, having breakfast at Hermit Cafe (the only local place open during Tet) and helping cook the family dinner every night, although the daughter of the family still amended my attempt at spring rolls after a week of me making them. Whilst I could have stayed for weeks, it was time for me to move on and see Ninh Binh before the Ha Giang loop I had booked from Hanoi.

Unfortunately, Ninh Binh was a pretty forgettable leg, but I think that was more due to my own error than the place itself. Firstly, Tet becomes a week long affair in the city when the Vietnamese go on public holiday. For this reason, all attractions are rammed with Vietnamese tourists and it was near impossible to get a Grab taxi. This was exacerbated by the hostel I chose in Trang An, ordinarily pretty close to the main hub of Tam Coc, but proved to be a bad location to get around during the celebrations.

But as we do when travelling doesn’t quite go to plan, I made the most of it and treated Ninh Binh as a rest stop, with days spent leisurely by the hostel pool. The guilt of doing nothing was made easier by coming on my period, so took it as the perfect opportunity to binge watch the entirety of Heated Rivalry (oh my gosh, what a show). I did meet up with Jasmine and Phoebe for a cute bicycle ride through the sites in Tam Coc on the one sunny day whilst I was there, so all in all, it was a decent few days, but have learnt my lesson to do more research when travelling over local holidays.

I did catch myself getting complacent with the insane views that surrounded me in Ninh Binh, staring at gorgeous mountain landscapes and shrugging like its simply another day. I had to, at times, give myself a metaphorical slap on the wrist and remind myself where I am, to appreciate what is around whilst I can still see it with my own eyes, to not take the days for granted, even if the breathtaking has become the norm. I think it is all a lesson in staying present and taking my time to realise that this is what I am travelling for.

It was soon time to go back to Hanoi to prepare for the Ha Giang loop. My brief stopover back in the capital was spent with my friend Dom who I had met at Dzay homestay the week before. Having a matcha and a gossip gave me some semblance of home, and walking around the colourful city at night for one last time before it bid me farewell back into the mountains was the sendoff I needed.

Okay, the Ha Giang loop… where do I start?

I went with Jasmine tour company for the 4D3N version of the loop with an easy rider. For those who don’t know, the Ha Giang loop is a motorbike adventure spent riding through the north-most mountains of Vietnam, with multiple stops along the way to see iconic landmarks like the Chinese border, astounding viewpoints and waterfalls. The evenings are spent in homestays, all meals are prepared for you and you get your own personal easy rider, or driver, to take care of you throughout the tour.

My easy rider was the sweetest man ever, buying me gifts and always making sure I was safe and comfortable during my journey, and I obeyed his request of a Red Bull at every stop in exchange. He would give me his hand every time I hopped on or off the bike, take pictures of me at every stop and shout ‘LET’S GOOO!!’ whenever we set off—he really made the experience so fun and I am so grateful for it.

I didn’t think anything could top the views in Sa Pa, but the Ha Giang loop really blew it out of the water. Every viewpoint looked like an oil painting, I could barely believe what I was seeing was real. The weather was magnificent and seeing all the shades of green against the backdrop of a blue sky was jaw dropping. The nature felt untouched as we ducked into caves, hiked up rocky mountains and swam in pristine waterfalls. Despite it only being a handful of days, I almost forgot what life was like before embarking on the loop; time had become as outstretched as the roads and I felt truly present and free.

My group of ten were the loveliest, most unproblematic fun people and made my whole experience incredible. But coming together with the other seven groups in the evenings was nothing short of chaos. Perhaps I was unlucky, but the wider group seemed to be made up of 80% young British lads drinking beer for breakfast and perving on all the girls. The reality of the Ha Giang loop is that everyone is shagging and getting blackout drunk; being on the peripheries of this felt like somewhat of a social experiment and consolidated the already known fact that I am not a party girl.

That being said, I did indulge in the party culture of the loop somewhat, having a few too many happy waters and dominating the karaoke mic. The thing is, I can do that once, perhaps twice, and then I need to hibernate for at least two weeks, but being on the loop makes this atmosphere inescapable. It’s safe to say by the time my sleeper bus back to Hanoi pulled in at 3am, five days after I arrived in Ha Giang, I was positively exhausted.

Overall, my experience of the Ha Giang loop is hard to put into words. If I could do it again perhaps I would have gone with a different tour company known for being more of a chilled vibe, but then I wouldn’t have met the gorgeous humans in my group or had the same amazing easy rider. I’m learning to accept the light and shade in everything and always focus on the positive takeaways and not blame myself for not making the perfect choices.

The most profound epiphany to come from my motorbike adventure has been the ability to let go. Quite literally, by the last day of the tour I was sat on the back of the bike, a lollipop in one hand and my phone in the other, blasting Paramore with my visor up, my arms outstretched like an angel when we hit 90mph down the open road. A stark contrast from the first day, my knuckles white from clutching the back of my seat, peering my head over my easy rider’s shoulder to check for upcoming bumps and turns.

I’ve learnt how futile it is to anticipate things already out of your control, and by looking at the road ahead you miss all of the surrounding beauty on your present journey. It is scary to let go, but you’ll be surprised how easy you float, how free it feels to not have to have a hand clasped around reality, to just let things be. It doesn’t make the road any less bumpy, or the turns any less sharp, but it sure makes the journey a lot more fun.

As I head on to the south of Vietnam for more of a beach holiday vibe, I’m going to make sure to take this lesson with me. I want to plan less and go with the flow more. I want to worry less and see the opportunity in the hiccups. I want to let go of having to control everything and not anticipate the bumps in the road, and instead, just enjoy the ride.

I’ve met travellers as young as 18, all the way up to people who have grandchildren. I’ve met people from all over the world (notably a lot of Brits) from all different career and study backgrounds. I’ve met people who have been travelling for over a year, and others who are dipping their toe into backpacking for just a couple weeks.

Finding your people whilst travelling is so much less about who you have most in common with and so much more about the vibe you want to embrace on your trip. Yes, finding out about people’s background can help reveal this, but my experience meeting people who I adore and will 100% stay in contact with is in an unexplainable energy where I just know.

Perhaps it is a sense of familiarity and safety, meeting people who remind me of my friends back home. In most cases, the people I meet who I imagine getting on really well with my friends are those who I know are more than just temporary connections. Often it is grounded in a shared sense of morality, purpose and motivations for travel, with interesting conversations beyond plans and drinking, but more so how we see the world and what we want to get out of such a life-changing trip.

It’s difficult to identify a common formula on how I have found my people whilst travelling so far.

Sometimes it has been over music, yapping about bands we love and sharing a pair of wired headphones blasting Radiohead in the back of a taxi.

Sometimes connection is found between my deck of tarot cards, a shared love of the esoteric resulting in deep conversations and an openness only found in soulmate friends.

Sometimes I find out someone is a fellow queer and we latch on to each other immediately, because nothing makes you feel seen like someone who knows both your joy and struggle.

Sometimes it’s people who are also, for the first time in their life, doing what they want to do, not what they feel they should do, and we hold each others hand into the unknown.

Sometimes it’s an unexplainable calming energy, an ease of conversation, a silly sense of humour, a good listener, a good yapper, a warm smile, a kindness and generosity and a shared love of food and culture.

And I guess getting to the point where I just know is born out of many situations where I have realised I am hanging out with people who definitely are not my people.

Recently I found myself out for dinner with five boys aged 20-22. I was chatting to one of them in the hostel common area and he was nice and invited me as I hadn’t eaten. I went because I was hungry, not necessarily because I wanted to hang out with them, but quickly it was clear that my energy was very different and really didn’t slot into the group.

Don’t get me wrong they were nice lads, respectful and included me in the conversation, but maybe it was the multiple rounds of beers ordered for the whole table without me saying I wanted to drink, the lack of knowledge of or interest in Vietnamese culture or phrases, or the majority of conversation being taken up by sports and gaming that made me feel like a bit of a spare part.

I’ve been in so many of these situation where I’ve met perfectly lovely people who were just on a completely different wavelength to me, where we had barely anything to talk about and were not looking to get the same thing out of our travels. On the other hand, I’ve been fortunate to also meet so many people that have added so much positive energy to my trip, who I’ve shared treasured memories with and have no doubt will be part of my life beyond our travels.

Age definitely influences this, but mostly because of the vast difference in life experience and maturity that usually comes with meeting people younger than 25. Both at home and whilst travelling, I commonly connect with people my age or older, as I find we have so many more shared experiences and a more grounded approach to life.

People in their mid-late 20s and 30s are usually travelling because they are in a pinnacle transitional point in their lives; many I have met have quit their jobs or are giving themselves a break from the burnout of a stressful career, are going through a breakup of a long-term partnership, or are looking to move abroad. For travellers like myself, backpacking is so much more than a gap year or something to do before studying, but a protest against the pressure of capitalism and the rat-race we find ourselves stuck in; a way to wriggle ourselves out of a life we thought we wanted but no longer fits.

That being said, I have been surprised to meet people younger than me who I have also connected with. Being an older sister has definitely come out in my motherly, protective energy towards girls I have met on my travels who are a similar age to my little sister. Whether it is giving tattoo healing advice, travel tips or generally being a sounding board for dilemmas, it has also been fulfilling to have relationships where the dynamic is grounded in me imparting my wisdom and giving a comforting energy to those younger than me.

I’ve learnt that I don’t tend to get along with people who are big drinkers or those who are constantly searching for a party. Don’t get me wrong, I love the occasional night out, but I find the subsection of travellers who centre beer at every opportunity are really not my vibe.

Luckily I rarely encounter this type of individual because of the types of hostels I choose to stay in. The accommodation you choose is one of the most important decisions that will shape your backpacking experience, so do your research and read reviews to get a good sense of the energy and the types of people it attracts.

I stayed in one party hostel in Koh Tao and absolutely hated it, mainly because of the centring of alcohol and the noise of drunk antics going well into the night. Choosing hostels that value sustainability, wholesome group activities and a chill social atmosphere has been the main reason I have encountered so many wonderful individuals on my trip who are wholeheartedly my people.

Finding your people isn’t always easy and does take courage and confidence to spark connections. Yes, one of my favourite girls I’ve met on my trip I literally met outside a Banh Mi cart, but more often than not you need to open up and make the first move to see if a connection is worth pursuing.

The best way to find your people is to be yourself—it sounds cheesy but it’s true! I found friendship with a wonderful girl in my homestay in Sapa after days of knowing each other, all because I asked for her advice on how to handle a difficult situation with a friend, and we are now planning to meet up at another destination on our trip. Be brave, be open, be vulnerable, it is the best way to attract the souls who love you for your authentic self.

Part of travelling and learning how to identify my people goes hand in hand with becoming more comfortable being alone. I don’t have an interest in latching on to shallow connections just to have people to do things with, I’d much rather spend time with myself than people who I don’t feel completely comfortable around.

I have accepted that it is okay to walk away with respect and politeness from people who you don’t feel are adding positively to your travel experience. You have to put yourself and your experience first, and wasting energy on negative people who you don’t feel like are a good match for your travel style or priorities is an act of self-love.

Travelling has revealed to me just how introverted I am, and how draining I find it to mask and clutch at straws for hollow conversation. I, myself, can be my people, and I have found it more and more valuable to find the moments of serenity in solitude, as worthwhile intermissions between building connections with new friends.

The bittersweet part of finding your people whilst travelling is saying goodbye, but as heart-wrenching as it can be to part ways with someone when the potential of a great friendship is unfinished, there is so much beauty in the capacity we can love and care for people we have known for a matter of days. To feel seen and cared for during such an uncertain and overwhelming time is one of the main reasons I am still out here after two and half months, still eager and excited for more adventures and to build even more lasting friendships.

When people ask me why I love Japan so much, I can’t answer without giving an exhaustive list of everything that makes it perfect. The food is the best in the world in my opinion, the fashion and shopping is unmatched and the music and arts scene is impeccable. Tokyo has everything I love about London, minus the chaotic disordered hooliganism and hastiness; its culture of rule following and order balances its sometimes overstimulating fast-paced metropolitan feel, styling out all of its quirks with intent and thoughtfulness. Everything is considered and made more convenient, it’s so clean, there’s a respected process for everything and there is an endless supply of interesting things to do no matter what takes your fancy.

Last time I visited Tokyo I spent five days doing the typical touristy stops like TeamLab Planets, Senso-Ji temple, Shibuya Sky and some of the more notable food chains and bars like Ichiran and Champion. Whilst I do recommend those things for first-time visitors, my aim for the past two weeks, especially with it being the off-season of Winter and travelling solo, was to explore more of Tokyo’s districts and revel in the overall feel of the city, getting to the beating pulse of Tokyo local life.

My first day was spent in Harajuku to do some much needed clothes shopping, as I had just come from Thailand with nothing but linen for the Tokyo five degree weather. It is so easy to get lost spending a day popping in to all of the shops lining Takeshita Street to see the variety of fashion trends from Kawaii outfits, goth garments, American vintage and reuse stores, as well as indulging in some of the higher-end stores of Omotesando. I picked up a vintage leather jacket, some cute second hand tops and knitwear and a denim skirt, alongside some make up and skincare bits from Cosme, a K-beauty fanatic’s dream store.

It was in Harajuku that I purchased my first selvedge denim set from The Flat Head, a Japanese denim garment technique focused on quality weaving and rope dying, letting the denim have a natural unique fade as it is worn over time. It is on the pricier side, but so worth it for clothes that will last forever as long as you care for it, and go through its lifecycle with you.

Another purchase that has been on my list for a while is a pair of Onitsuka Tigers, and I took this as an opportunity to get some Nippon Made Mexico 66 style sneakers, a perfect complement for my new double denim set too. Tokyo has the greatest concentration of stylish people I have ever seen, so there was no way I could ensure two entire weeks not doing as the locals do and enjoying expressing myself through clothes, something I have greatly missed since leaving my wardrobe behind in the UK.

A Harajuku shopping day is greatly complimented by a stroll through Yoyogi Park, circling by Meiji-Jingu shrine to explore the vast nature nestled within this bustling shopping hub, write out a wish for the monks to present to the shrine and get your fortune read. It are these slithers of culture, encased like a flower in resin, within the high-rise neon signs of an urban environment, that let a city breathe. The nature in Tokyo particularly blooms with the arrival of cherry blossom season, but even in the depths of Winter, with the sun splintered behind the bare trees and dogs wearing jumpers, it serves as much-needed respite from the rest of the city.

Other shopping spots you must hit, whether you’re into thrifting or boutique stores, is Shimokitazawa and Koenji. Japan gets a lot of its vintage imported from the USA, so it’s best to do your research if you want to avoid being inundated with American vintage as I do. My preference are the curated boutique vintage stores where, although the prices are higher, you get a lot more Japanese influence in the style and curation of garments. Expect lots of distressed knitwear, patchwork denim and exquisite quality clothes that are not afraid of colour, with some of my favourite stores being Garage Sale, where I picked up a cute Ralph Lauren polo for an absolute steal, Ruby’s and 2nd Street, a very reliable reuse chain that is essential Vinted on the rack.

Despite not having the luggage space to purchase any this time around, you’ll also find many incredible old bookshops and ceramic stores dotted around Tokyo, with Reload and Oribe being places I would have literally taken everything home if I could have.

There’s only one thing you need after a full-on day of shopping: food. My shopping day in Shimokitazawa was broken up with a slice from The Pizza which really took me back to all of the Saturdays I spent wondering around Shoreditch, ending the day with a slice outside of Box Park. This spot is considered some of the best pizza in Tokyo and was very delicious, and cheap which is always a bonus. On the point of budget meals, conveyor belt sushi at one of Japan’s many chains is a bucket-list experience and a cheap and reliable dinner option, and they’re dotted around everywhere throughout the city. Another chain that I visited more than once is Coco Curry, the go-to spot for a quick and easy katsu curry late into the night.

I am not ashamed to admit how many of my meals were from 7-Eleven, with tomago sandos having a special place in my heart forever, and the wide variety of ready meals saving me from tipping over the edge of hangry many times. The accessibility of affordable and nutritious meals from convenience stores is another reason Tokyo trumps London in my opinion.

One thing you must do at least once in Japan is an Omakase! There are endless options available, especially in the boujee district of Ginza, that take you through a chef’s speciality menu of fresh sushi and/or hot food. On this trip I tried Sushi Meguri, known for an intimate and fairly causal dining experience for a lunch omakase (top tip, it is always cheaper to do a lunch course rather than dinner!) and ended up being the only person in the restaurant. I yapped with the chef, mainly through google translate, and was served 15 courses of fresh fish sushi including sword fish, sea urchin, tuna and snapper, with the highlight being seared toro which is the fatty belly cut of a tuna fish. It’s not just about eating, it’s a whole experience that not only teaches you about the culinary expertise of sushi chefs but also the meticulous hosting culture of Japan.

I ate so many incredible bowls of ramen these past couple weeks, but Wagyu Ramen in Shibuya was one of my favourite meals I had. I tried tsukemen for the first time which was glorious, although my dipping technique handling udon noodles with chopsticks was precarious at best—let’s just say I should have said yes to the offer of a bib. I went to this little local’s spot near by apartment for tempura and was blown away by the delicacy of the batter and fresh veg and fish, washing it down with a gorgeous hot miso soup that I happily would have drank gallons of. Again keeping it local, I got pistachio souffle pancakes at Bam Bi Coffee for a breakfast treat and it was unreal, rivalling the viral spot we visited in Osaka a couple years before.

My advice for food is to download Tablelog for more reliable reviews from Japanese people, but also look up from your phone, not all of the best food is going to be heavily reviewed online, take a chance on an unassuming spot down a back street or residential area—trust me!

As a matcha-lover, Tokyo is heaven for me as you really can’t go wrong. Matcha Passport in Shimokitazawa is a fun spot to try some interesting flavours—I got fresh strawberry and it was delicious, but a little pricey. Matcha Lab does an interesting black sugar matcha latte which kind of tastes like sticky toffee pudding, but for your classic unsweetened green goodness you’ll find amazing spots around every corner. I genuinely think I am going to have withdrawals.

The matcha culture goes hand in hand with the coffee culture in Japan, which is inextricably linked with Tokyo’s enthusiasm and adoration for music. Kissas, or listening cafes, are very common, fusing an appreciation for vinyl with rich caffeinated beverages. Genius jazz listening cafe is a quaint spot nestled in the residential area outside of Shinjuku, with an afternoon-tea-style menu and old jazz records playing all day. For a nightcap, DUG jazz bar is a smokey speakeasy style bar spinning jazz records, with designated smoking tables. I spent a perfect evening here with a glass of red wine reading a book, taking in the underground vibes and breathing in a lot of second hand smoke.

I treated myself with a mid-week trip to Blue Note jazz club which was one of the most stunning music venues I have ever been to. The service is impeccable; I have never been greeted by so many people after entering a room. Unfortunately I wish I’d done more research on who was playing the night that I went as they weren’t my cup of tea musically, but nonetheless a great experience to see such an iconic venue and be exposed to some new music. You are spoilt for choice in Tokyo to see some live music, whether that it is in more established or grassroots venues. I anticipate the priority for my next visit would be to try and be more plugged in to the music scene in Tokyo so I can further enjoy the wide variety on offer.

If you aren’t a fan of jazz (I am judging you) Meikyoku Kissa Lion is one of my favourite spots in the entire city. Nestled down the winding streets of Shibuya, this cafe has one of the most impressive sound systems I’ve ever heard and exclusively plays classical music. With no photography allowed, nor any talking, I went here multiple times when I needed to clear my head and think.

For a more independent listening experience, Recoco in Shibuya lets you reserve your own record player and select your own vinyl from their collection. For 90 minutes you are free to enjoy the impressive audio quality and keep to yourself—an introvert’s dream! I complimented this visit with a short walk over to Tower Records, a must-visit for any music lover in Tokyo. The store is massive and so well curated, with an impressive mix of new and second hand vinyl and cassette tapes. This trip has seriously made me want to invest in my own sound system, but I guess I need to decide where I want to live before I commit to that.

Tokyo really is a city that comes alive at night. Interestingly, most shops and even coffee shops don’t open until late morning at the earliest, but stay open well into the evening, not to mention the infamous Don Quixote store being open all night. I spent a fair few drunken nights perusing the many floors of its overstimulating organised chaos back in 2024, but with a bit more of a game plan this time had to resist temptation and only opt for the essentials. In fact, I barely experienced Tokyo’s night life this time around, with my plan to explore the queer scene not coming to fruition and feeling so exhausted from exploring in the daytime that most of my evenings were spent back at the apartment.

I am not sure Tokyo is the best place for solo travellers. Obviously I did not stay in a hostel, but from what I’ve heard they are few and far between, with most budget options for travellers being the even more solitary capsule hotels. I admit I didn’t try to meet people, but apps like Nomads Table do operate in Tokyo, so perhaps it just takes a bit of extra effort.

Luckily my friend Henri was also in Tokyo so we took it as the opportunity to visit Omoido Yokocho (also known as memory lane) for some yakitori and an Izakaya to wash it all down with some whiskey highballs. One of my favourite spots when I visited the city last time, Memory Lane is a tiny alleyway, shrouded in smoke from grilling meat, with small stall eateries serving an extensive menu of yakitori skewers. In a sake-induced curiosity, we tried pig heart, tongue in cheek with chicken skin and neck, getting our veggies in with some miso cucumber and grilled shiitake mushrooms. Izakayas themselves are bars dotted tucked away throughout the city, indulging in the smoking culture of Japan and serving an extensive menu of drinks and Japan’s version of pub grub. Expect lots of fatty salty bites in a very atmospheric dimly lit and smokey bar.

I also roped Henri into accompanying me to Disney Sea, which turned out to exceed my expectations. Whilst the lines for some of the more popular rides can get ridiculous (I’m talking like 4 hours!!) the process of purchasing fast-passes and an easy to use app with live wait times meant we were able to hit all of the best rides in one day. I was seriously impressed with how cinematic and immersive the rides were and the park itself was so well curated and a joy to walk around, especially at sunset. Ending the day with the Tower of Terror ride that briefly shows a panoramic snapshot of the park through the ride’s top floor window, before plummeting you eight stories was a serious adrenaline rush and some of the most fun I had my entire trip.

Tokyo National Museum in Ueno is something I’d recommend, even if you are like me and are not generally a fan of museums. It’s worth it alone to see the collection of samurai swords and armour that dates back to over 700 years ago, as well as a historical tour of various eras of ceramics, fashion and art. Although I didn’t get to go this time around, I have heard that Ueno is a lovely area to explore, particularly for its monthly vintage market, so this is something I have on my list to go to next time I am in Tokyo.

As a final splurge I had to treat myself to a tattoo at the infamous Three Tides studio in Harajuku. I’ve had an oriental style tiger piece on my rib for the past few years and have craved a matching dragon on my other side to complete the aesthetic. Serendipitously, Aura was guesting at Three Tides this month and I got this gorgeous piece by her. I won’t lie, the pain was on the borderline of unbearable, especially around my stomach and hip area, but seeing the finished product made it all worth it. I couldn’t be more in love with my new ink and love having a permanent souvenir from my travels!

My overall observation visiting in February is that the weather is beautiful and it is far more quiet than peak sakura season in March/April. Sunny with a stretch of blue skies, I did not see a drop of rain my entire fortnight except when it snowed the last two days I was there, which was a magical experience in itself. If you’re looking for a more laid-back experience visiting Tokyo, I’d really recommend travelling during off-peak times, just make sure you bring lots of layers as it is freezing!

I’ll miss a lot about Tokyo. I’ll miss the bird noises they play at the subway platform and the orderly queues to enter the carriage that scratches my little neat-freak brain. I’ll miss how reliable the public transport is. I’ll miss how easy it is to find a decent meal. I’ll miss wading through racks of impeccable thrifted items. I’ll miss how almost everything is scored by some kind of jingle. I’ll miss attempting to speak Japanese. I’ll miss the amazing customer service literally everywhere you go. I’ll miss food, just all of it, every single bite, especially the eggs, oh my goodness the EGGS. I’ll am convinced Tokyo is a utopia and I am going to do everything in my power to not only return soon, but hopefully get to live there at some point in the future.

I’m glad that I didn’t let my interlude of heartbreak ruin this trip to my favourite city, but I do feel the need to depart, reset and shake off the ordeal of the past couple weeks. I’ve had a wonderful time, but it’s bittersweet as so many of the things I experienced I thought would be with a special someone. I’m writing this on my flight to Hanoi where I anticipate a complete 180 vibe switch up to genuine chaos, but perhaps its what I need to bring me back to myself and get my backpacker adventure back on its original track. With both my heart and my bank account suffering somewhat of a beating, perhaps the lesson of this leg of my trip is proving to myself that I can push through things alone, and for that I am immensely proud of myself.

One noteworthy thing, however, has happened: I met a boy. Well, I had actually already met him earlier on in my travels when I was in Bangkok. We were staying in the same hostel and were doing a similar route up to Chiang Mai and Pai, so ended up hanging out a lot over three weeks. We got really close as friends, getting dinner together most nights and having some lovely day trips too.

We shared multiple evenings sat outside when the hostel common areas were closed, sharing stories from our childhood and trying to understand how certain things still haunt our adult life. We talked about our friends and family, exes, dreams for the future. We were silly together and laughed so much, usually breaking off into our own conversation whilst in a group, giggling with inside jokes and a shared sense of humour. I confided in him about my mental health, and he became my safe person who I knew was looking out for me and would always lend a kind ear if I needed it. We weren’t joined at the hip, but seeing his friendly face around the hostel was a comforting familiarity that ameliorated the inevitable loneliness of this style of travel.

I always thought he was beautiful, but after spending weeks building a friendship I made peace with the idea of it not going anywhere beyond platonic. He never showed interest in me romantically, but still made me feel special, chosen, like our connection went deeper than the common surface-level friendships made in fleeting interactions with strangers. My enjoyment for his company far outweighed my attraction, and besides, I just assumed he was out of my league so why bother!

We went our separate ways just before Christmas when I travelled to the south of Thailand and he stayed in Chiang Mai before moving on to Vietnam. The goodbye felt emotional and I missed him a lot. I felt the hole his presence left behind and we would message every day just to keep tabs on what we were both up to and how we were feeling. My depression got particularly bad around New Years and he was the one talking me down from some worrying thoughts, offering to call me, checking in and making things feel a little bit more manageable.

I hoped I’d see him again, just because I felt a genuine connection like this shouldn’t be wasted and I missed him, not because I necessarily wanted something more. However, our plans were not lining up and it looked as though we would just miss each other.

Then he booked a flight to Thailand.

He lined up his travels so he would be in Koh Tao the same time as me, and celebrate my birthday together. I already knew he wasn’t enjoying his time in Vietnam as much as he’d hoped so wasn’t entirely attributing his change of plan to me, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to feel special when, out of everywhere in the world he could go, he chose to be where I am.

In the days leading up to our planned meeting our messages started getting slightly flirtatious; ambiguous enough that I was still unsure what to expect from seeing him, but a noticeable shift from the purely platonic energy from the past six weeks. Perhaps he did reciprocate my attraction? Perhaps he too saw this as a second chance to see where our connection could go? Perhaps it would be exactly how it was before: a friendship that makes us feel safe, seen and comforted when being so far from home. I didn’t mind which of these outcomes came to fruition, I was just so beyond excited to see him.

We met up for a coffee the day I got to Koh Tao and I leapt into his arms. Seeing him felt like a deep exhale, like all of the uncertainty of travelling finally had a grounding force. I had felt so incredibly lonely, but being with him made me feel like I had someone in my corner, someone who sees the world in a similar way.

We had planned to go to the infamous Escobar jungle rave that evening and despite staying at a party hostel that had dedicated drinks, decided to go and do our own thing for pre drinks and continue catching up. The energy between us was noticeably different than before, being a lot more tactile with lingering eye contact and heaps of tension. Then when we went up to his dorm room for him to fetch something before we went out, it happened.

He kissed me.

A kiss quickly turned into a passionate make out session in the middle of this empty dorm room, the echo of bad club music from the DJ downstairs pounding at the walls. It felt so right, like all of the unspoken attraction from the time we had spent together releasing like a clasped hand. It felt melty and soft, but at the same time, fiery and intoxicating.

He told me that he would see me around the hostel in Bangkok before we ever spoke and thought I was beautiful. He said that he felt so miserable when we parted ways that he would tell other people in Vietnam about me and how much he missed me. He said that he knew we would see each other again, wherever in the world, even if it was back in the UK. He said that he came to Koh Tao for me, to see me again. He said lots of things. Lots of things that made me feel so special and like maybe this was the start of something.

We went to the rave that night and couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We got quite drunk, dancing under the velvet night’s sky shrouded by tropical trees, then spent the night together in my dorm bed (don’t judge me).

For the rest of our time in Thailand he was affectionate with me in public, touching my waist when we spoke and kissing me when we said goodbye, even if it was only briefly for me to go to the upstairs area at the gym. We spent my 26th birthday together, he took me out for dinner and gave me a gift he had picked up for me in Vietnam before we had started a romantic relationship; a bracelet with my name etched on the beads that he had made and a necklace with a green Tibetan fluorite crystal.

The days that followed felt like a blossoming, a connection able to grow into its true form. We got a private room, albeit still a bunkbed because of a mix up with our booking, but it still gave us more space to be alone together. I was going out each day to do my scuba diving course, but we would come back together in the evenings to get dinner and talk about our day then cuddling up to watch a movie before going to bed. I would bore the girls on my scuba course talking about him and they would gawk at how romantic it all sounded, asking me where I thought it would go beyond travelling, to which I didn’t really know the answer.

He was planning to go to Tokyo after his time in Thailand, somewhere he visits yearly and considers his favourite place, and he invited me to come with him. I had originally planned to go to Japan later on in the year when it was warmer, as January is still in the depths of Winter and it wouldn’t be the right climate for me to travel the country completely from North to South as I’d wanted. Nevertheless, I was having such a great time with this guy and wanted to continue having fun together, so I decided to go with him. I thought that is what travelling is all about, being spontaneous and following your gut feeling.

We sat down together in a cafe and booked our flights and a one-bedroom apartment near Shinjuku for two whole weeks. Before anything was finalised I asked him if he was sure he wanted me to come. From what he had told me, Tokyo was his happy place, somewhere he had frequented seven times and he had friends there, so I didn’t want to encroach on a trip that he really wanted to do solo. He reassured me he wanted me to come, but that we would probably need to factor in a few days where we do our own thing (stressing his use of ‘a few days’). I agreed and was actually relived to hear this as I am quite introverted and need my alone time to recharge, so we went ahead and booked the next leg of our trip together.

I was beyond excited. I had been to Tokyo once before and adored it so much, it was one of my main catalysts for getting my TEFL to open up the possibility of moving there to teach English in the future. Everything with this guy felt great and my expectation for the next two weeks was that we would be exploring together, having sexy times, whilst also giving each other the breathing room to do things solo. We sketched out a brief plan to travel Japan for a few weeks before moving on to South Korea and possibly Taiwan, but with no fixed dates as of yet. My understanding was that we would see how Tokyo went and then decide if we wanted to continue together.

I didn’t necessarily foresee our relationship going anywhere serious. He is in his early thirties with a whole house, career and a dog waiting for him back home, with a fixed end date of his travels approaching in a mere couple months. I on the other hand am in a chronic state of ambiguity in life, with no permanence or plan, and definitely not in a place to enter any kind of serious relationship. My understanding was that we could have something good for however long it lasts, and whenever it had to end, doing so with the same consideration and care we have had throughout the time we had known each other, remaining friends. It sounds idealistic to some, but has worked for me in the past with good communication between two kind hearted people.

Our long travel day arrives (along with my period) and he continues to make my life easier, offering to carry both our big backpacks and leave me with the small ones and sorting out all of the tickets. The ferry, bus and flight was made more comfortable by snuggling up and sharing AirPods. It did feel very relationshipy, but it felt good and that’s all I concerned myself with.

Even now I can’t pinpoint a moment where it all went sour.

From the moment we got off the plane I had this slight feeling that he didn’t want me there. I brushed it off thinking we were both exhausted from such a long journey, or that I was just being insecure. We shared a conveyor belt sushi dinner and discussed our plan for the next few weeks, laughing like always, then went to sleep as soon as we got home.

As it was Winter in Japan I had no suitable warm clothes, so made it my mission to go shopping as soon as we arrived. Shopping is something I generally prefer to do alone, so I went to wade through the treasure trove of vintage stores in Harajuku to find some second hand gems. We met up briefly for lunch in the afternoon until he soon left me to go for dinner with his friends, which I didn’t mind at all, I even carried his shopping bags back to our apartment so he didn’t need to lug them around for the evening.

The next day when we went to Shibuya it was clear we had very different lifestyles and appetites for luxury back home, that perhaps wasn’t evident when we were in Thailand wearing minimal clothing and staying in hostels. I don’t have expensive taste and it was clear we were worlds apart when it came to what we wanted to get out of Tokyo in terms of shopping, but I was looking forward to be spending the day with him and indulged his desire for some high end stores despite not getting much out of it myself, thinking that there will be so much more to our trip than spending money.

I do admit I got very bored, and I’m pretty sure he noticed that, but later when we made our way to Shimokitazawa I thought I would have my company returned perusing some thrift stores and I could share with him my approach to style, something that is a big part of my life back home. Unfortunately we barely went to two spots together where he told me he couldn’t deal with chaotic thrift stores and that he was bored, so we grabbed dinner and left. We had a brief conversation that maybe we should leave the shopping as a solo activity because it was clear we had very different priorities, and I thought that was the end of that conversation.

The next few days our relationship died a slow death. The mornings went from being met with a kiss on the cheek and an explanation of where he was going, to waking up alone in bed with no idea if I was going to see him for the rest of the day. The evening intimacy dwindled with my advances being brushed off with no explanation, and once I stopped initiating any kind of physical affection I noticed it completely disappeared.

The brief time we would spend together I noticed he would walk three paces ahead of me, and when I asked him to slow down was met with a sigh. He continued for the rest of our time together to walk up stairs two at a time, and rush ahead in crowds without holding my hand. I am so sensitive to these microaggressions in a relationship, especially going from being treated with such tenderness. He was being cold and acting like it was a burden that I was there with him, yet wasn’t explicitly saying anything so I was left trying to piece together how he was feeling.

One evening I asked him outright if he wanted me there and if I’d done something to which he told me he did want me there, it was just a lot to adjust to. He told me it was making him anxious that he knew our relationship had an expiry date and that it couldn’t go on beyond travelling, and he was worried he would get attached spending so much time together and being so intimate. He said we’ve just had a tiring few days and that he just needed some space.

I expect what he said had some truth but still doesn’t make much sense to me. I tried to give him as much space as he needed but it seemed the more I gave the more he wanted, to the point where I just wouldn’t see him all day. Then, when we finally had time together in the evenings, he would treat me like I was invisible, barely sharing the details of his day or asking me questions about mine. I was being ghosted IRL.

It was evident that he was doing just enough to keep me sweet, to avoid an issue, to make himself feel like he hasn’t treated me badly; hanging out with me a little and keeping up the pretence of small talk, but placing a boulder between any kind of emotional or physical intimacy without actually communicating it with me. It was as though he was treating me like I was invisible in order to avoid having to tell me the truth: that he just wasn’t into me anymore.

He grow more and more distant, slowly snuffing out the flame until it extinguished and I wondered where the spark came from in the first place. Our time together, once warm and comforting was now awkward tension that made me feel like I was walking on eggshells constantly and desperately trying to decipher what he was thinking.

Eventually, I think he had actually convinced himself that I no longer existed. At night when we got into bed he put in his headphones and rolled over to watch something on his phone. Not even a goodnight was uttered. I laid there next to a man who genuinely treated me like he wished I didn’t exist. I had flown seven hours for someone, someone who once made me feel special, who now acts like I am dead weight to carry round. I was at a loss on what to do. I barely slept because of how anxious it made me reading into everything he said and trying so hard to uncover if I had anything to apologise for.

I decided that night after many tearful phone calls with friends that I no longer wanted to travel with him. I was in an incredible place with complete freedom and I was miserable because of the weird limbo he had placed me in. I couldn’t plan my days because I had no clue what he was doing and whether he’d want to spend time with me. I was so anxious and exhausted because I wasn’t eating properly and barely sleeping. What was once an exciting prospect of romance and fun now felt like a jail cell. I felt so trapped, so worthless, so in the dark.

The next day I finally told him I no longer wanted to travel together after Tokyo and he swiftly agreed. After probing him quite a bit he admitted his feelings had changed towards me and that Tokyo wasn’t what he thought it would be for us. He couldn’t pinpoint when or why he had a change of heart, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.

I explained that it felt like, rather than simply communicating to me that he no longer liked me and suggesting we get separate accommodation, he was trying to freeze me out so that I made this decision for him and unshackled him from my presence.

‘Yeah that sounds about right.’ He said.

He told me he didn’t want to hurt me by telling me the truth, especially as he his feelings had changed so quickly and without reason. I explained that it has hurt me more spending a week being treated like shit by someone I trusted rather just knowing where I stood, and that I created ample opportunities for him to be honest.

‘Angel, not everyone can be so direct with their feelings. Maybe one day you’ll meet someone who can but it’s not normal.’ He said.

I personally think being direct with your feelings is not only ideal, but necessary for any kind of relationship in adulthood, and trying to make me believe that I am being demanding is quite manipulative.

‘I did think you were beautiful.’ He said

The worst part isn’t even that my travel romance had fizzled out, it was that I had lost a friend, one of the few true friends I had met whilst travelling. I was content just being platonic with this man, but he opened that door, I just wished he hadn’t slammed it right in my face again.

My mind instantly went to the Olivia Dean track ‘Loud’ with her lyrics:

I never asked for love, no diamond ring
You let yourself in
And you weren’t allowed
To come around and throw my heart about
To turn me on just to turn me down
And everything’s unspoken now
I’m out, the silence is so loud

I understand if you changed your mind about me
But all you had to do was say

He suggested he find his own place to stay. He apologised for hurting me. He said he didn’t want to fall out and he wished we could go back to being friends. He hugged me goodbye and told me he’d see me later.

I never saw that man again.

After the outpour, I went for a walk around Yanaka cemetery feeling sorry for myself (you can take the girl out of the emo phase but not the emo out of the girl). I ended up bursting into tears replaying everything I could have done to make this man go from getting on a flight to see me, to not wanting to get away from me quick enough.

Maybe I snore or do something weird in my sleep like fart or grind my teeth.

Maybe he got the ick seeing me eat ramen.

Maybe he hates the way I dress or do my make up.

Maybe sex with me is boring, or bad.

Maybe he had another option come his way, someone better.

Maybe I’m not interesting enough.

Not talented enough.

Not smart enough

Funny enough

cool enough

nice enough

pretty enough

sexy enough

not enough

maybe I’m just not enough.

My mind was spiralling replaying all the reasons I am not loveable, not worthy of someone good, not able to get someone to stay. How can I, when I didn’t even want anything serious in the first place, still be hurt so badly. How, when all I did was be kind, give him space and want us to have a fun time together, still be met with coldness, disrespect and avoidance.

Then I realised it really isn’t about me at all.

I am not the first woman in the world to have a man get bored of them, yet we all act as though its a unique experience. We blame ourselves for a man’s disinterest and sit in the solitary shame that perhaps if we were different things could have been different.

I have encountered his type of man far too often. The type who are driven by the idea of someone, the tension feeds them but once they have what they desire there’s no longer a goal and they get bored. Once the illusion of someone dissipates and you see behind the curtain that someone is just a person, it’s no longer worth getting on a plane for.

The type of man that thinks fading into the background to avoid confrontation is best for everyone, when really it is the cowardice option. I am flabbergasted that a man of his age can own a whole home but not be able to communicate his feelings, it is almost comical how juvenile some adults can be.

I spent about four hours feeling really hurt and pathetic before I reached the angry phase, shocked at how someone could treat me this way and that I deserved way better. Brief thoughts of getting on a flight back home during a tearful conversation with my dad were brushed off: I was not going to let this ruin my trip. This trip doesn’t belong to this man. He does not have the right to take up any more of my energy or time. We move.

Within 24 hours he had moved out of our apartment, leaving the key for me in the plant pot so I didn’t need to see him. He sent me a short text that was clearly written by ChatGPT, apologising and saying he ‘appreciates me’. I didn’t reply.

Despite this occurring four days ago, my heart does still feel bruised. I guess I am disappointed because this was not what I had expected or hoped from my time in Tokyo with him. I feel embarrassed that I followed him here. I feel shocked that he is the same person I had developed such a close friendship with and spoke so highly of. I feel concerned that I really didn’t see this coming and that my radar for good people can be so wrong.

It’s a beautiful thing that I have such an open-heart that I would follow someone half way across a continent. It is commendable how excited and optimistic I am about every new connection that comes my way. My sensitivity is what enables me to treat people with kindness, despite it continuing to get me hurt. I never want to lose that. Maybe one day my heart will end up in the right hands, but I’ll never stop letting people in until that happens.

My friends have really showed up for me during this time. I was inundated by phone calls and voicenotes from my girls reassuring me that he was a twat and that I didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Even my dad who is not the best with emotional conversations called him a ‘dickwad’ and that despite him not recommending travel romances understands that you ‘can’t quell the feelings of the heart’. The same people listened to me vent again and again, then helped me decide what I was going to do next on my travels and plan some fun things for me to do in my solo week in Tokyo.

I ended up booking a flight to Hanoi for this Sunday as I feel like I just need to get out of Japan and have a bit of a clean slate away from the memory of this man. It will be on this flight that I will do a full overview of my time in Tokyo and all of the fun things I have gotten up to, so hold me accountable for another post within the next week! I will be back in Japan to do my original plan of going from Hokkaido to Okinawa later in the year, but for now I have a hurt heart to mend.

I wonder where she goes
I wonder if she sleeps
I wonder if she ruminates
I wonder if she dreams
do you think she always wanted to be the sun
or just fell into it like so many of us
a circadian blackhole
enmeshing who we are with what we do
we go through the day
sometimes just fucking waiting for it to be over
and perhaps so does she
when her matinee is met
by grunts and sweat
and days of rest
hiding behind clouds
met by moans and stays at home

We play chase with the night
as her co-star takes the stage
the moon
and its purples and navies
that make us behave
like nothing seen or said after the setting sun
means as much
as when she’s high in the sky
but that’s a lie
because at the end of it all
we still gawk at how fucking gorgeous life can be
and whatever you did today
whether you cried
or laughed
or made love
or got dumped
know that you are the playwright
and you may not get the applause that you’re after
and sometimes the stalls will be empty
but she performs under stage lights
and takes her curtsey anyway

At 6:34 the beach clears
as the audience shake off their towels
along with the day
knowing that no matter what kind of shit show life is
there is one constant
one ephemeral inevitability
one mundane predictability
that no matter what
the sun will set tomorrow
and that
is enough

The ferry to Koh Phi Phi Don could not have come soon enough, but when we reached the pier at this small but mighty island, I must admit I was uncertain. The swarm of shirtless British men clutching Chang beers was unsettling and the winding streets lined with bars blasting mediocre club music was really not what I had hoped for. Have I just relocated to a mini Phuket?

An afternoon to reset and smoke weed at the beach (for people who don’t know, dispensaries are EVERYWHERE in Thailand) preceded a dichotomously wild and relaxing few days, coaxing me out of my depressive cave and very much getting me my spark back.

Now, I don’t usually like to entrust TikTok for all of my travel recommendations as 99.9% of what travel influencers recommend is rubbish, however, a friend who lives in Thailand told me I had to check out Reggae Bar whilst in Phi Phi. This bar essentially bribes tourists with free alcohol in exchange for a three-round Muay Thai fight in front of hundreds of paying spectators. Comparing the pitiful amateur fighting of the clueless white people, to the semi-professional fights that intercepts them was hilarious. The drinks are overpriced and you need to get there early to secure a good table, but is definitely a must-visit on the island.

On our first full day we decided to do a boat tour to some nearby landmarks. The first stop, Monkey Beach, was one of the most underwhelming experiences on my travels so far. To get onto the beach we had to tread through shallow water FULL of jellyfish (the boat crew were literally chucking them out of the way for us to walk past). Then imagine a tiny shaded stretch of coastline, littered with plastic bottles and trash brought in by the full moon tide, with a few monkeys chilling around. A funny experience but not worth the trauma—skip it.

Maya Bay, made famous by the Leonardo DiCaprio movie The Beach was another stop I feared would not live up to the hype. I LOVE that movie so much; it really scratches my frequent ‘I want to remove myself from society and join a commune’ itch (anyone else get that?!). As I saw the hoards of tourists queueing along the boardwalk, my heart sank. The illusion of this beautiful place is about to be shattered in front of my very eyes. I CAN’T WATCH.

But as we emerged from the crowd, stepped onto the pillowy soft sand and gazed upon the shimmering turquoise waters, I was quite literally speechless. The iconic limestone cliffs in the distance was a sight to behold and after an unavoidable photo shoot on the shoreline, we sat towards the end of the beach cushioned by sand that felt like white feathers.

What’s really interesting about Maya Bay is the effort that has gone in to protect it from tourism. The beach was closed for two years after severe coral and wildlife deterioration for a restoration project, and is subsequently closed for two months per year to tend to the bay. Going in the water itself at any time is forbidden to further protect the coral and wildlife from the suncream and mosquito repellant that quite literally kills everything in its path.

This overindulgence in the beauty of the natural world is so upsetting, and especially with social media exploiting beauty for virality, it’s becoming so much harder to preserve the natural order of things. It’s such a tricky tightrope to balance: on one hand the tourism brings income to local people, but the exploitation of nature for financial gain is draining such places of authenticity and vitality. So many once-hidden gems are now merely a tick-box exercise, a quick stop on a full-day tour, a picture to snap and move on.

That being said, Maya Bay is gorgeous and worth visiting, especially because of the prioritisation of nature conservation and the steep fee to even visit the bay. I just wish other destinations would follow suit and give mother nature a cut of the profits.

I snorkelled for the first time in my life on this boat trip and swam through schools of fish (and swallowed a whole lot of sea water). After we watched the sunset from the boat, we attempted to swim with plankton but I think the full moon’s light made them extra shy. The boat ride back in the pitch darkness hopping over the most rumbustious waves was… terrifying? Thrilling? Probably a bit of both.

Following a final day of lazing at Long Beach, we decided to close our our time on Koh Phi Phi at Freedom Bar for the sunset and fire show. What was supposed to be a chill evening with pizza and beer turned into the most chaotic night I’ve had on my trip so far.

Anyone that knows me will vouch that I am both a drama queen and love being the centre of attention, so when the fire dancers asked for a glamorous assistant, of course my hand shot up. But as my bare feet stepped on stage, I looked out at the rows and rows of audience members and remembered that I have just volunteered to be surrounded by fire, I began to resent the boisterous self-confidence that has carried me through life.

I did in fact escape the fire show unscathed, perhaps with just a tad of embarrassment from the utter discomfort on my face throughout my time on stage. The same cannot be said for Marie whose skirt was literally set alight by the fire rope (she’s okay!)

After my 15 minutes of fame I felt like somewhat of a local celebrity, and some gifted shots and cigarettes in addition to the three blue curacao cocktails I had already consumed really tipped me over the edge. Let’s just say the night ended with me hunched over the toilet bowl throwing up bright blue vomit, followed by a brief nap on the hostel bathroom floor. Not my finest hour, but a very fun night nonetheless.

I departed Koh Phi Phi with a raging hangover but a newfound energy to embrace the distinct vibes in each destination, even the ones that don’t seem well suited to me upon first impression. Whilst I don’t think I will be returning to Koh Phi Phi anytime soon (the food was mediocre at best, everything was overpriced and the drinking culture is something I can barely hack for three days), this leg of the trip did teach me to be open minded and know when to force myself out of self-isolation.

It is so easy to brandish being a hermit as self-care, but sometimes the only way to stop the spiral is to stop wallowing. Being around people, doing things that gets your blood pumping and being outside are all great alternatives to bed rotting and doom scrolling (although there is a time and place for that too). I know not everyone has access to a company of fire dancers to get them out of a depressive episode, but I’m sure you can make do with what’s available to you.

The vibes then did a complete 180 when we arrived in Koh Lanta. This is probably the island I’ve been most excited to visit in Thailand, so much so that we decided to change our plans to visit Ao Nang and instead stay in Koh Lanta for an extra 3 days, extending our stay to a week. My body screamed for serenity and the slow-paced paradise that so many other travellers had raved about, and skipping yet another party island proved to be the best decision.

Koh Lanta has been an absolute dream and has provided a week of pure healing. Like I’ve said before, the hostel you stay at can really make or break your experience, and AHA Hostel in the southern part of the island was my favourite one I’ve stayed in so far. Located far from the touristic area and within a short scooter ride to day trips to Lanta Old Town, Mu Ko Lanta National Park and beautiful beaches, not to mention a free yummy breakfast served every morning, it provided the perfect base.

It is so easy to find balance between activity and relaxation when everything is available to you; when starting the morning in a Muay Thai gym beating the shit out of sand bags can easily be followed by an afternoon lounging around in the hostel courtyard, or steep jungle hikes can take you to the most secluded beaches. Fresh fruit shakes and delicious food down every street, thick verdure lining the country roads, no traffic, no noise, no expectation to be awake past 10pm. Heaven.

This week has been a reminder to welcome the chaos and create space for the wild and crazy experiences, but to also chase it down with a spoonful of sugary nothing. I’ve always yo-yoed from one extreme to another, with the sweet spot in the middle impossible to find. Perhaps it doesn’t exist. Perhaps the biggest act of self-love is to have a constant dialogue with our body and mind, and be reactive to what it needs, rather than constantly scrambling to provide it everything at once.

I think it’s also an identity thing. I resonate with being the fun free-spirited friend with a constant backlog of wild stories to share, whilst simultaneously being the hippy dippy, yoga-loving, crystal-wearing barefoot babe in pursuit of a higher purpose. For the first time, I am accepting that I can be both at once and switch day by day. Travelling has taught me not to box myself in, but to carve out my own unique space.

We have a few days in Koh Lanta at a different hostel before taking the 7 hour journey to an Airbnb in Koh Samui, where I expect the healing and relaxing vibes will continue. I’m very aware that my next stop is Koh Tao where I’ll be doing the Jungle Rave, celebrating my birthday and doing my open-water scuba diving course, so will take all of the nothing days I can get before a couple weeks of pure chaos. Again, it’s all about balance.

Acceptance is one of the biggest lessons I have learnt on my travels so far. Self-acceptance in terms of allowing myself to be without judgement. Accepting and embracing a change of plans or unexpected hiccup. Accepting others and allowing breathing room for connections to flourish. Accepting a place for what it is, and focusing on what resonates and leaving what doesn’t.

My Grandma dropped out of university when she was 19 to travel the world, and has always proclaimed that it is the best education she ever had, and I am now understanding what she means. Whilst the world seems to value diplomas and references on your CV, there is no better knowledge than that of oneself. Like my Grandma, I have learnt a lot—yes about culture, history, food etc—but I am learning so much about myself. I feel more in tune with my body, mind and soul than I ever have and I believe that is the ultimate form of wisdom and the key to happiness. I am still getting there, but I feel like I’m already on the right path.

Despite hearing travellers speak of burnout, I never thought I would experience it, let alone so soon. I believed it would never happen to me, and the odd night in a hotel to recharge would be enough to keep my social and emotional battery replenished for the foreseeable. Oh how wrong I was.

I wouldn’t say I’m a creature of habit, I actually find routine quite suffocating, but what I didn’t account for was my nervous system’s favour for consistency. The familiarity of having a home base, a bed that belongs to you, a fridge that you stock with food, a sofa and TV to binge watch Netflix, plans in the diary with friends who know you, all creates a feathered pillow cushioning any stresses that life throws at you. In the absence of all these things, every cortisol spike is felt unequivocally, and it eventually compiles to be too much.

I guess it is the price you pay for being free, for removing the weight that holds down the helium balloon, for being wholly untethered: you cannot rely on anything external for comfort, because everything is impermanent.

I didn’t go into this completely naive, I knew it would be hard and that it would push me to grow and be more comfortable with discomfort. Until now the newness has felt exciting and I’ve had so much energy to meet new people and throw myself into new experiences, probably because it is still novel and my body is still on holiday mode. The past week, however, has thrown a few reality checks my way that have snapped me out of my backpacker bubble.

I was awoken on Boxing Day by a swollen throat that felt like razor blades every time I swallowed, and marked the beginning of a coldy flu that would take me over a week to kick. Getting sick happens to the best of us, but it’s a lot easier to hibernate in bed drinking Lemsip and watching trash TV back home. Calling in sick to work and becoming the burrito filling to my tortilla wrap duvet was something I did liberally, but it’s not that simple when home doesn’t exist anymore.

I really thought I was doing well this past month: eating healthy, taking my vitamins, staying hydrated, barely drinking alcohol, going to the gym, taking some chill days. I think somewhere between the blasting AC everywhere you go, the broken sleep from demonic snorers in dorm rooms and the brutal overnight sleeper bus, my immune system decided to pack in and make me sicker than I have been in years.

More than anything it is the guilt of wasting precious moments in surreal exotic locations that stops you actually looking after yourself. When you have plans booked in advance or only a few days in a magical place, taking the much needed time to bed rot feels like an immense waste and a direct contradiction to why you are travelling in the first place. I feel ungrateful and spoilt for even writing this, to admit that there has been moments where I wish I could have my old life back, just for a day.

The decision to push through and try and make the most of our plans was made even more difficult by coming on my period the morning of a jungle safari. A year or so ago I would get the most painful periods to the point where I’d faint and throw up from the sheer agony I’d be in. I was tested for endometriosis but apparently there was nothing physically wrong with me (shocker considering the abysmal investment in women’s health). Thankfully, through lifestyle changes, some weight gain and supplements my periods have been at bay for a good six months or so, but the anxiety every time my period rolls around still persists, especially not knowing how travelling would alter my seemingly good run of manageable menstrual cycles.

Khao Sok National Park was probably the location I’ve been most excited for in Thailand, where we had booked one night in a treehouse in the jungle and another night in a floating bungalow on Cheow Lan Lake, so feeling so unwell during what was meant to be the highlight of my trip was difficult to manage. All of my energy went into trying to still have a good time, that I barely had any left to recover, and so I felt paralysed in this state of just not feeling good but pretending like I was fine

Saying this, I did still have an unforgettable experience, going to the sleep to the sound of wild animals and insects buzzing outside (listen in the voice memo below), and waking up to the turquoise waters of the lake right outside my window. The nature and clean air felt like it was reviving me somewhat, and was a much-needed change of pace from Bangkok.

But the thing with running away from your feelings, is it always catches up with you eventually, and that’s exactly what happened when I landed in Phuket. Perhaps it was the fact that I had an apartment for the first time on my travels that allowed me to shed the facade of powering through and actually relax, or the fact that Phuket is just really not my vibe at all and I didn’t feel guilty not leaving the house. Regardless, all the buried anxiety, depression, exhaustion, burnout and doubt came to the surface as soon as I just stopped and stood still.

I need to give myself some grace for feeling a bit crap, anyone would considering all I’ve been through this past week. I think I just put so much pressure on travelling to cure my depression, blaming everything external for how I’ve felt these past few years. I feel guilty, ungrateful, pathetic and weak for still, despite being so lucky and living my dream life, feeling unhappy. It makes me wonder whether happiness is something I am even capable of.

Okay, that’s a bit dramatic.

I’m just frustrated that this feeling has come at a time where I have the next two weeks planned out and have an inflexible schedule that is apathetic to my mood and needs. I guess I just need to find softness, slow down and give myself permission to put myself first without guilt.

To try and end this on a positive note, I’ve had a much-needed cry today, my period is almost over, I am almost over this illness and tomorrow I leave Phuket for Koh Phi Phi. Things are looking up and hopefully I’ll have a lot more space to feel, to exist and to be kinder to myself. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows everyday, no matter where you are in the world or in life, I guess it is just about building that trust and self love that you can weather the storm to find the calm thereafter.

I’d heard of the infamous ‘Pai-hole’ from travel influencers and friends alike, and was so intrigued as to what made this hippy town somewhere that people plan to visit for a weekend, and end up staying for months. However, my first impression of Pai was not wildly positive. I was told that the four hour van ride from Chiang Mai was uncomfortable, but nothing could prepare me for the rollercoaster of winding roads through the thick of the jungle, making my stomach somersault with every sharp turn. To put it into perspective, I was hunched over a bucket on the side of the road at a halfway stop due to motion sickness, which has never happened to me in my life.

The first couple days were uneventful, hanging out at Spirit Bar for drinks and promenading the walking street to, as always, mix and match parts of a meal from different street food vendors. Perhaps still tainted by my scepticism, all I saw was a dusty town, lit by multi-coloured lanterns, lined by shack-like eateries and boutique shops selling typical wide leg pants and crystal jewellery at tourist prices. Aside from the centre, it’s not a very walkable place, and as someone who almost crashed in my driving test and never set foot in the driver’s seat of a car since, I was in no world going to be renting a scooter, so was worried that I wasn’t going to get to experience Pai to its fullest.

I decided to skip tipsy tubing (getting drunk, sitting in a rubber ring and floating down a murky river with basically every other backpacker in Pai) and booked onto a tour to see some of the sites outside of the city centre. Ruby, someone staying at my hostel who I also briefly met at our shared hostel in Bangkok, joined me and we embarked on a half-day adventure seeing some gorgeous landmarks like the Big Buddha, Chinese Village (where I tried archery for the first time and actually wasn’t awful at it) and the Bamboo Bridge. One thing that Pai does better than any other place I’ve been is sunset, and stopping at Pai canyon to take in the final oranges and yellows of the sky before dusk and marvelling at the untouched nature, was magical. Despite having a great day, I was convinced that perhaps Pai just isn’t my kind of place, and the trendy metropolitan feel of Chiang Mai is far better suited to my vibe…

…until Saturday. I found a fast friend in Ruby and she asked me if I’d ever tried magic mushrooms (or shroomies as she calls them, and will be aptly called for the duration of this article). Despite trying most recreational drugs out there and being particularly fond of edibles, psychedelics was unknown territory for me. She told me of a place called 10Rai that does happy shakes, and is the most popular place to take shrooms and immerse yourself in the hippy side of Pai. Anyone who knows me will know that I will try anything once, so we made our way to the picturesque viewpoint, a playground for drugged up adults with swings, untamed grass and a elevated deck strewn with beanbags and cushions. We glugged down our passionfruit happy shakes, made ourselves comfortable then waited 20 minutes or so.

I can’t even go into details about our trip because it makes no sense and is probably inappropriate, but the best way I can describe it was everything around me came to life. The hills of shrubbery in the distance writhed like a basket of snakes, the stretch of lined crops pulsated like a magnetic field, the sun melted into my skin like a dripping ice cream and the clouds morphed and changed in front of my very eyes. Even looking at my own hands became fascinating, with the blue and purple veins underneath my skin bulging and wriggling. It is true that when you fixate on something it’s almost like it performs for you, dances and taunts, entrancing you with its vitality. I also remember playing with a butterfly and almost following it underneath a wooden structure because I was convinced it wanted to show me something.

I don’t think I got anything profoundly spiritual out of the experience, mostly a lot of giggles surrounding a fabricate story that Ruby and I were the only women left on Earth and everyone else was a monk that worshipped us (I told you it was weird). That being said, I did make note that only the natural world changed so vividly compared to the manmade objects around me staying largely the same, making me so much more aware of the energy that the natural world transmits and appreciative of the beauty in its simplicity.

As the sun set and the day closed, surrounded by hippy drugged up travellers fulfilling the stereotype wholeheartedly, I uttered the inevitable words ‘I could stay here forever’ and I realised that the Pai-hole is very much real, and is grounded in the synchronicity between drugs and beauty, creating the perfect backdrop to opening your mind. This intrusive spiral of thoughts made me contemplate cancelling my onward travel and staying a few extra days, but I was reminded by high Ruby that the monks are expecting me, so was fished back out of the Pai-hole once more.

The shroomies created an impenetrable bond between Ruby and I, so much so that I convinced her to come with me to the three day meditation retreat in the middle of nowhere. I’d heard about Pa Pae from a few fellow travellers, and thought of myself as a relatively spiritual person, and wanted to deepen my understanding and practice of meditation beyond what I’d learnt in yoga, so we took the 7am bus 90 minutes out of Pai, taking to the winding roads once more.

Immediately upon arrival I had discovered I had booked the wrong retreat and the one I had signed up for was at a different location. I thought I was generally good at dealing with problems and going with the flow, but on this day the ashamed voice of my inner perfectionist won. Despite everything being fine and resolved quickly, with the Pa Pae location having ample room for Ruby and I, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d fucked up, that I was stupid, that I couldn’t rely on myself to do things right. This may sound dramatic, but my inner control freak has me in a strong chokehold. It’s one of the main reasons why I want to travel, to wriggle out of its grasp and trust myself to deal with situations as they arise, because usually they really aren’t as catastrophic as my mind has me believe.

We were staying in an actual forest monastery with Buddhist monks (obviously in separate living quarters) but weren’t really told anything beforehand regarding the practices, rules or expectations for assimilating into a religious space, all we got was a book on meditation which I ate through in about two hours, a schedule outlining what the days looked like and mandatory white linen outfits to be worn on the premises at all times. The grounds themselves were gorgeous, with bamboo seating structures presenting the most breathtaking views of the surrounding wild foliage. Once we had checked into our rooms and got a well-deserved slice of carrot cake from the cafe, the anxiety dissipated and we were ready to explore the grounds and attend our first meditation session.

Now, I want to say that we genuinely came to this with a very open mind and were expecting a sprinkle of culty-ness from what we’d seen online, but I think this was too much for me. Imagine a wooden single room building with floor length windows on each side, sat in the darkness of the evening, the sound of stray dogs barking viciously outside and the statue of Buddha at the centre-front. Imagine a white man, dressed in orange monk robes sat at the front, as 30-40 people dressed in white garments fill the rest of the room in perfect lines, either sat cross legged or on chairs. Now imagine, when instructed by the monk, everyone opens up a dilapidated booklet and begins chanting melodically in a foreign language for half an hour, bowing between verses. My brain couldn’t work quick enough to try and vocalise the phoneticised words on the page, so I sat there in silence looking around the room bewildered.

If that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, the meditation followed in pitch darkness, the only light flickering from a single candle underneath the Buddha statue. The dogs howled louder, one even managed to break into the room and sat behind us. I couldn’t shake this eerie feeling as I struggled to sit still much less keep my eyes closed and as our first introduction to the retreat, we felt wildly out of place. Perhaps we should have done more research on what to expect beforehand, but by the end of the 90 minutes when we were told to bow three times to the Buddha and the monk, my body was frozen. I questioned why, when I don’t know the meaning of any of the words chanted, I should simply do as told blindly without hesitation.

Despite being spooked, we decided to stay at the retreat and keep an open mind. The nature at Pa Pae is some of the best I’ve seen in my life, and with days spent reading and eating ice cream at the top of treehouses, soaking in yet another Thai sunset at the top of the viewpoint, and exploring the local village, we treated it more as a nature retreat, staying in a cold wooden cabin that provided no insulation between us and the wilderness.

We did attend another meditation session, purposefully without chanting, and I did find it a lot more attainable and an introduction to the core beliefs of the religion. An Australian monk, one renowned at the retreat for his spiritual soliloquies, explained the concept of the ‘monkey mind’ and the purpose of meditation as taming the mind from an evil master to an obedient servant. To generalise, Buddhism is all about the path to enlightenment and the end of suffering, with meditation being the key to contentment. He described stillness as the key to success, and desire as the enemy of happiness. Another interesting comment he made was that we don’t experience things as they are, we experience them as we are—an interesting intersection between spirituality and psychology which helped me frame the philosophy within theory I already knew. I took in everything he said considerately and observed how I felt about it over the last couple days of the retreat. It turns out I have many thoughts and reflections (shocker!)

My main qualm with this philosophy is villainising suffering, and the ultimate goal of aversion to any negative thoughts or experiences. It may be the poet in me, but ‘suffering’ has inspired some of the greatest, most moving pieces of art and music to exist, and the way such creativity can be a vehicle to push through the suffering is what inspires many people to continue to create. Yes, it is painful, but isn’t that what living is all about? Isn’t it innately human that we can experience the brevity of the vast spectrum of emotions, good and bad, and accumulate our unique experiences to enrich the world. To be simply content sounds very boring to me, it sounds very uncreative, unimaginative and uninspiring. On the evening where we hiked up to the sunset viewpoint there was a man sat there meditating and the entire time I couldn’t help but think what a pity his eyes are closed and he’s missing the most spectacular view.

That being said, I can definitely see the benefits of meditation and want to deepen my practice of it going forwards. I found it near impossible to focus my mind and stop it wondering off; I tugged my mind back under control like a puppy on a leash, but obedience was fleeting and my intrusive thoughts, fantasied scenarios and fixation on immediate plans constantly yanked me in another direction. Hearing the monks discuss the benefits of stillness, of clarity and control, sounded idyllic, and I can imagine spending ten minutes a day being able to switch off the constant rattling train of thought would be refreshing. Like anything, it’s important to think critically and not mindlessly follow anything just because it is presented to you with a promise. I have come to the conclusion that, whilst I really do not want to become a monk, nor would I consider converting to any religion, there is wisdom to be found from all deeply spiritual beings, and the benefits of spirituality are not homogenous but rather can be adapted to suit one’s own lifestyle and world view.

We also joined the monks on what they call ‘Alms’ where they walk around the surrounding village at the crack of dawn collecting food donations from local people, as monks can only eat what is offered to them. Donating isn’t mandatory, and it comes in exchange for the monastery being completely open to the local people for guidance and sanctuary. From what I observed, the villagers were not extremely poor, but I can’t be sure if that was just a reflection on the few homes I saw whilst following the Alms. Observing this practice sparked many questions within me, all of which have gone unanswered. I mostly wondered how the villagers feel about many of the monks being white; this did make me feel slightly uneasy, but without a thorough understanding of how it’s perceived by locals it’s hard for me to comment.

Overall, the retreat has presented far more questions than answers. I have heard that the structured retreat (which I booked at the wrong location) is far better at delving into the philosophy, and the bare bones schedule of the off-peak retreat is a lot more lax, so perhaps this would have been better to get the full experience.

We left Pa Pae unscathed albeit sleep-deprived and feeling considerably less woke than some of the other attendees of the retreat who have clearly studied or practiced Buddhism before. Do we wish we’d rather stayed in Pai and did shroomies for three days? Nah. These crazy, random, once in a lifetime experiences is what travelling is all about.

My time in Pai was brought to a close with the most poignant goodbyes I have had to give whilst travelling so far. Despite not knowing people for long, I have fallen absolutely in love with the beautiful, kind, compassionate souls of the friends I have made, so much so that we are already trying to find ways to cross paths again in the future. Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of parting ways with someone who has been a pinnacle part of some of your favourite memories. From having someone to go for dinner with every night, someone to hold my hand through the uncomfortable, to follow me through my wild ideas, to listen to me vent in the late hours of the evening, to then having to make friends from square one feels like a mammoth task. Travelling is so much less about the places, but the people that frame how the place is perceived, and each connection made is its own unique memory where the location is just a backdrop. Backpackers are the most open-minded, interesting and considerate people, and it’s no wonder friendships are fast tracked in this environment.

The theme of this past week is appreciating the beauty in the still, the inexpensive, the mundane, but also finding the balance with knowing when to move. Like how trees stand erect but know when to sway in the breeze, or the sun chooses to move so slowly you can barely notice it at all. So much of this is accessible to me wherever I am in the world, but to remind myself to be grateful, slow down and not to take anything for granted is the core focus going forwards in my trip; to marvel at the sunset, even if the sun does set every single day.

Having the opportunity to travel slowly has been such a blessing, because I really got to immerse myself in day-to-day life as a local in Thailand’s ‘second city’. Formerly the capital of the Lanna kingdom, Chiang Mai is renowned as the cultural capital of Thailand, bursting with live music, arts and crafts, nature and some of the country’s best food. I was spoilt for things to do spending just over a week here, filling some days with adventurous days out and others with sipping iced lattes whilst getting lost in its many winding streets.

The craft culture of Chiang Mai sports many artists villages, like Baan Kang Wat, full of independent merchants selling jewellery, art and food. It was here that I engraved a leather notebook which I have been using to scrapbook my trip—I’m making good progress filling it with doodles, notes of my favourite spots, random food packets and ticket stubs, and little notes from significant people I meet along the way. I also engraved some silver jewellery at Lanna’s Artisans Gallery which was so fun, albeit a very overstimulating experience with about 40 tourists hammering the steel carving nails, attempting to make something even slightly resembling their original vision. Nonetheless, Chiang Mai’s calm and creative vibe is really bringing me back to my true self.

The main theme of the past week or so has been the dissolving of the ego. My hostel has no floor length mirrors, I’ve barely worn make up since I got here and in true backpacker fashion I have reworn the same outfit two (or three) times before washing it, out of necessity. Paired with a screen time of less than three hours per day (50% of that being Google Maps, and the rest on Instagram and Whatsapp organising plans with friends I make along the way), for the first time since I can remember, I feel freed from comparison and judgement. Connections here are catalysed by shared interest, curiosity and warmth, not aesthetic or status; travelling feels like a clean slate that washes away all the ways we are taught to judge others and ourselves. We are all just human and there is always something that connects you to someone else.

My self confidence is at an all time high. Perhaps slightly influenced by an already healthy dose of travel romance, stripping away everything that I thought made me interesting and hot and feeling that I am, at my core, interesting and hot, has boosted what in London was a dwindling amount of self-esteem. Knowing that I can walk up to a table full of people and make friends, or go out to a restaurant for dinner alone without a second thought has strengthened my sense of self more than any arbitrary achievement my old life gave me. Feeling wholly untethered, free and open to the endless possibilities of the day has enabled me to align with my interests and intuition more than ever, and that has enabled me have some once in a lifetime experiences I would have otherwise waited around to share with others.

The standout highlight being visiting an ethical elephant sanctuary. When I tell you I had a cheesy grin plastered across my face during this entire experience, that is not an overstatement. Feeding and observing the elephants was surreal; it’s amazing how much personality and character can come through from animals through nothing but body language and little quirks. I went with Joy Elephant Sanctuary which was recommended by the hostel for its ethical practice (not allowing bathing, riding or any touching outside of feeding the elephants). I will never forget this day, it was an absolute bucket list activity and I would recommend it to everyone visiting the city—there are loads dotted around Thailand but Chiang Mai is the best place as the jungle areas mean the places are closer to the natural habitat of elephants.

I loved this experience so much I had to commemorate it with a tattoo. I went with Zeroo Tattoo in the old town, specialising in the traditional Thai bamboo method of tattooing, which was surprisingly not as painful as it usually is with a machine! Insofar as I have no room in my backpack for souvenirs, scrapbooking and inking my skin with memories is probably going to be my go-to substitute for the next year or so.

The nature in Chiang Mai is infamous, so we had to visit some of the more rural areas out of the city. Doi Inthanon National Park boasts the highest point in Thailand, with ample biodiversity and spiritual sites to spend the day walking around. My friend Louis, who I’ve been grateful to spend a lot of my time in Chiang Mai with, described it as ‘Ghibli-esque’ because of the furry moss crawling up the trees, the leaves creating a mosaic with the sky’s blue and the yolky sunlight.

Seeing the pagoda and waterfall was a great day out to give a change of pace from the bustling city, and visiting the Karen tribe’s village for a homemade coffee tasting and cultural experience was very eye-opening, seeing a completely different way of life than I have ever known. The village houses around 400 people, originally settling from Myanmar for the fruitful farming land, people who have to rebuild their bamboo homes every 5 years and get all their electricity from a singular wire strewn over treetop branches. I started to imagine what it must be like for those who are born here, who then leave home to the big city when they reach adulthood. I know everything is relative, but I wonder if it feels even slightly similar to how it felt for me moving from a village in Buckinghamshire to London when I turned 18—adapting to a world that is so much bigger than you have ever known.

The food in Chiang Mai has impressed me more than Bangkok. Perhaps it is just because I am getting used to travelling and Thai food in general, but I’ve found my appetite has improved and pick-and-mixing from multiple street food stalls to comprise a full meal is starting to feel more normal. Some of my favourite meals have been the papaya salad at Kat’s Kitchen, stir fried chicken and holy basil at The Coconut Shell and pork belly and pad see ew at Dash Taek House. The night markets in Thailand are a must; an array of meat on a stick truly never gets old.

One of the places I so desperately want to gatekeep is Blue Noodle—a truly local’s spot with a fast moving queue lining the outside, serving variations of noodle soup. I had quite possibly the best stewed beef IN MY LIFE with rice noodles and fresh fragrant vegetables, all bobbing in a thick beef broth that I would happily drown in. Sitting besides Thai people slurping noodles and muttering ‘aroy’ (meaning delicious) gave me the reassurance that I am doing backpacking the right way, I even added extra chilli from the condiments pot on the table… who is she?

On the subject of food, one of my favourite activities in Chiang Mai was an authentic Thai cooking class. I went with Nathaniel, who despite only meeting the day before in our hostel, was one of those friendships that felt like we’d known each other forever and is a true testament to how open and warm people are in the backpacking community. The one we picked took us to a traditional market and taught us about local produce, before taking us to a farm to pick some herbs from the garden and get chefing. Spending the morning learning how to cook, and then devouring our creations of spring rolls, Thai chicken with holy basil, panang curry and tom yum soup was so fun and I think helped me connect more to Thai food. It’s interesting how, when something feels alien, our nervous system can be so resistant to it, but easing in and making something more tangible really helps familiarise ourselves.

Despite all of these epic adventures, some of my favourite days has been quite uneventful. Mooching around and sitting in coffee shops (specifically the activated charcoal vanilla latte I had at GRAPH—the best coffee I’ve had IN MY LIFE), reading my book in the hostel garden, going to sunset yoga class and starting my day at the gym. The mundane can be the most grounding and maintaining a good balance between adventurous excursions and chill out days is what has fended off the travel burnout for another week. The pursuit for balance, something that I have always found almost impossible, is starting to feel easier. It might be because I am completely free and in control of my day, so being guided by my intuition and body is far more attainable, but shedding the pressure to do it all has been a big win for my first full week of travelling.

That being said, the night life in Chiang Mai has sucked me in somewhat (but again, it’s all about balance right!). Whilst in Bangkok I had a total of one Singha beer during my entire three days, a few late nights of mojitos and tequila shots have been enjoyed in this city, but that is mainly because of the trendy bars centred around live music. North Gate Jazz Co-op is a must-visit for some funky music and immaculate vibes, Deaf Sounds is one of the coolest vinyl bars I’ve been to, and you can spend an entire evening bar hopping and dipping out of live music venues. I didn’t even attempt khao san road in Bangkok, but if it’s anything like Zoe and Yellow in Chiang Mai, I think I’ll give it a miss (basically a Magaluf-esque backpackers hub).

The friendships I’ve made here have been somewhat different too. Whilst in Bangkok I found myself adopted into large groups of people quickly, Chiang Mai has given me the opportunity to really deepen my connections to a handful of individuals, going for dinners together each night and planning our weeks around each other. Because I’ve stayed here for much longer, I’ve been able to really settle in and take my time in nurturing friendships that would have otherwise been short-lived, which has been lovely insofar as I already miss my friends from home so much, some familiarity has been really comforting!

That being said, tonight I have organised my first meet up on an app called Nomad Table. It’s basically an app where people can post activities they want to do, places to eat and drink, or ride shares, and people sign up through the app to meet fellow travellers. Twenty seemingly normal people have signed up to go to the jazz bar with me tonight, and a few lovely girls and I are going to grab dinner before. I will report back on how it goes…

All of my daydreams were held up by helium balloons, holding me suspended from finality, cushioning the fear with an inflated separation from the real world. In that moment, all the balloons burst, and everything I have been unable to feel for months rushed like a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my body. As I looked at my Dad’s face, a face that suddenly seemed older and made me feel guilty to leave, I thought of all the other faces I will miss so dearly and all the things I have traded in to pursue something so unknown. Knowing that in this place I am merely a speck of a statistic in the home of goodbyes, but for me it is my entire world I am saying goodbye to. It is in this moment that the words I love you are the only thing I can muster, hugs linger longest and actually walking away from the car was the hardest journey I have ever had to take.

The dreary London wind blew me softly into LHR departures as the weight of my Osprey 46 litre backpack pressed into my shoulders and another smaller backpack draped around my front. The lilac on my Salomons, a gift from my beloved friends, matched the colour of my bag—even as a backpacker, I had to uphold my sense of style of course. A few deep breaths and a quick pep talk to pull myself together subdued the bubbling of tears in my eyes. No going back now.

Bag drop-off and security couldn’t have gone smoother and with two and a half hours to kill before my gate opened, I situated myself in one of the fancier restaurants in the terminal to prepare me for the 17 hour journey ahead: first a ten hour flight to Beijing, a two hour connection and then a final 5 hours to Bangkok, all with AirChina. Within half an hour a man who just so happened to be on my flight strikes up a conversation with me and we swapped travel stories and recommendations for Thailand; I took it as a good omen and reassurance that even thought I am alone, I will not be lonely.

I thanked past me for paying extra for a window seat as I looked at the broccoli trees of Europe and meringue-like mountains of Russia and China from above. The food was a mediocre chicken and rice for dinner, and then a vile chicken porridge for breakfast (which I did not eat). I watched Good Will Hunting before chewing on a melatonin gummy and attempting to sleep, to no avail. The connection at Beijing airport was chaotic, with one of the staff holding a lollipop sign for transfers and shouting BANGKOK!!! to shepherd us to follow her through a winding shortcut to security. The final five hour flight had me bobbing in and out of sleep, wrapped up in a travel pillow, blackout eye mask and loop earplugs. Immigration at Bangkok was long but fine, my luggage thankfully arrived safely at the airport. The hard part was over, this was life now.

There’s something I find quite romantic about travelling alone, perhaps it is because I have always romanticised independence and mystery. I wonder if people wonder what my story is in the same way I people-watch like it’s an Olympic sport. I wonder what has drawn everyone to book this flight, on this day, to this specific destination. I wonder who and what they had to say goodbye to, how long they will be away from home or if that is where they are heading. I wonder what galaxies are spinning in each person’s individual universe and when they walk away, probably for me to never see again, I wonder how many people see me as simply a universe that is in and out of their sight within seconds.

I called a Grab car (Asia’s version of Uber) to my hostel and pretty much conked out straight away. My dinner consisted of a pack of chocolate covered almonds and salty popcorn bought at Pret before my flight and smushed at the bottom of my bag, the last semblance of a British meal flown across the world to be eaten in the top bunk of a six-bed dormitory. Three hours of sleep was interrupted by a familiar foe: jet-lag. Whilst waiting for a sociable hour to get up I managed to book my hostel and flight to Chiang Mai in the North of Thailand for the following week, write a list of things to do whilst in Bangkok and talk myself down from a fair few panic attacks. The reality that this was my life now and that I wasn’t simply on a holiday still hadn’t quite settled in my body.

I have been staying at The Yard hostel in Bangkok’s Ari district, a quaint and trendy neighbourhood away from the touristy overcrowded areas in the city centre. I am not a party girl and would far prefer meeting likeminded people who are interested in wholesome exploring rather than boozing. Albeit pricier than other hostels in the city, the reviews painted a picture of my dream accommodation, and it did not disappoint. Every morning the hostel provided a free breakfast of fresh fruit, homemade yogurt and sourdough and unlimited tea and coffee, all served in their cosy courtyard shaded by trees. It didn’t take long for me to start chatting to other travellers and making plans for the day ahead, feeling like I’d known people for weeks rather than hours.

I’ve had a total of three full days in Bangkok (December 6,7 and 8) until I loop back around to the city to meet a friend for Christmas to spend another few days there. I have to keep reminding myself that this is life now for 12+ months and in a usual week I am not filling it to the brim with activities and sightseeing and this pressure to do it all has come up in conversation with other backpackers. Social media creates an arbitrary tick-list of activities that are must-dos otherwise you haven’t completed a city, but realistically there are always going to be things you haven’t done, and activities that some may consider amazing but just really aren’t your vibe. Travelling in this way is really challenging me to critically think about what I like to do, independent of pressure and expectations of others, and prioritise my time and money with things that really spark my interest.

My first day, however, I felt immobilised by all the endless possibilities of the day ahead. After being so reliant on institutions and obligations dictating what I get up to, I had a bit of a so, what now? moment when deciding how to spend my time on my own terms. Despite researching and planning this trip for years, I hadn’t really made any kind of list for each individual city—I planned to be reliant on hostels and other travellers for recommendations. I needed to just rip the bandaid off and get out exploring, so headed out for a morning of temple hopping and gawking at beautiful religious buildings and shrines. The Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho was awesome (quite literally a giant gold flecked statue of a Buddha lying on his side) and the Grand Palace, the residence of Thai Kings since 1782, albeit very touristy and busy, was extremely gorgeous. I didn’t make it to Wat Arun as I was all templed out, but saw it from afar when getting a ferry the next day, but as all three are very close together it’s easy to see them all over a few hours.

It was on this day that I also experienced being on the back of a motorbike for the first time in my life. I knew it was inevitable as it’s really the only way to get around in Southeast Asia, but it didn’t stop me from being really apprehensive and scared. Not a lot of things makes me genuinely anxious in life, but tightening my helmet strap and getting on the back of a bike behind a stranger who barely speaks my language, had my chest tight and my heart racing. However, after a few minutes I was having the time of my life, cheesy grinning down the open stretch of road, my knuckles white from clutching the grips on the side of the seat. Likely the first of many, this was one of those wow, this is my life moments.

After a much-needed 14 hour sleep, the next day we went to the Chatuchak weekend market, a huge street market full of vendors selling everything from jewellery, clothes, spices, crockery and pets. I thought it would be chaotic and unenjoyable but it really was a great market with some gorgeous souvenirs. Busy, yes, but meandering through the tight alleyways of stalls is part of the mandatory Thailand experience. Back home my hands are usually decked out in rings that I have collected from my travels so far, and like so many queer people do, I feel naked without them. I decided after much deliberation to leave my rings in the UK and start from scratch, slowly building up two hands full of rings from my travels in Asia, and this market facilitated the purchase of my first two. I don’t think it will take me long to find 8 more…

One of the main reasons I travel is for food, which is probably why I have always been drawn to Asia. Thai food has never been my favourite, but I knew I would be spoilt in Bangkok, especially for the price. I will say, despite loving the food so far, there hasn’t been a meal that has blown me away, not in the same way that most food did in Japan. I still have another seven weeks in Thailand so am intrigued to see if Thai food can break through into the eyes-rolling-in-the-back-of-my-head God tier of food. Some amazing meals I’ve had so far have been BBQ Pork Pad Thai at Michelin Guide Pad Thai Fai Ta Lu, stir fried khao soi with thai sausage at Ontong Khao Soi and of course mango sticky rice at Bangkok’s infamous Chinatown. One thing I have realised about myself so far is how awful I am at taking photos, both in volume and quality. I really don’t have the photographic eye like some people, and I am so envious of those that do. So, I apologise my dear subscribers for all of the mediocre pictures in the year to come.

Once my third day rolled around I was pretty exhausted already. I had beaten the jet-lag but already had a couple blisters on my feet and felt like no matter how often I showered I was never quite clean. Reminding myself again that this is a lifestyle not a holiday, I decided to have a nothing day, or as much of a nothing day as I’m capable of whilst in Bangkok. Morning was spent at a local matcha bar writing this very Substack and people-watching locals. I grabbed lunch with some lovely girls from the hostel that I had connected with the night before in the courtyard when I brought out my tarot cards. In my experience solo travelling and knowing the types of people I really vibe with are usually of the hippy-dippy spiritual variety, shuffling a deck of tarot cards is the easiest way to open the door to some deep chats and really get to know someone beyond the small talk. Before we knew it, it was 1am and we’d been discussing travelling, anxiety, psychology, politics, media and so much else for hours and hours, illuminated by the fairy lights hanging between the trees, scored by the hum of insects and cooing of birds.

I got my first ever Thai massage on the afternoon of this nothing day. I went in with little knowledge and no expectations, and was blown away by the experience. For anyone who doesn’t know what a Thai massage entails, imagine a small old Thai lady using her elbows and heels to knead out any knot in your entire body, and bending you in all sorts of positions to crack even the tiniest of joint. I’m pretty sure at one point she was walking on my hamstrings and back, but I dared not open my eyes and turn around. Every time my joints gave a loud click she would giggle and say wooow! which made me laugh a lot. I have never experienced anything like it, and despite it not being remotely relaxing, I feel like a new woman for a mere 350 Thai Baht (around £8).

My final evening in Bangkok continued the immaculate vibes that both the city and my hostel has enabled throughout the past few days. After writing a bit more, a friend and I were looking to grab dinner locally at Lay Lao which has been on the Michelin Guide for a handful of years. Dinner for two quickly turned in a table for six as others from the hostel tagged along, and we ordered a bunch of Thai dishes to share (the fried squid was a highlight). This is what I love about solo travelling, the spontaneity of plans and how someone can be a complete stranger and then a few minutes later you’re sharing a meal and your entire life story. In fact, a handful of times I have been yapping to lovely people for hours and realise I don’t even know their name (I guess we have more important things to talk about!).

An evening of more tarot card readings and confusing card games ensued, and whilst it felt melancholic to know I was leaving in the morning, I felt so lucky that my first destination had gifted me with some amazing experiences and incredible people. My advice for other travellers is pick your hostels wisely—make sure it matches your vibe as that is the best way to meet other travellers on your wavelength!

Saying goodbye is hard and it did feel strange departing from a place that just started to feel like home. I’ll miss seeing the same smiley faces every morning and knowing that I’ll always have people to grab dinner with, but it brings comfort that many more connections await in the plethora of places I will visit in the next year. Some of the lovely friends I have made on my travels may be crossing paths with me at certain points, and I’m excited to be reunited with some familiar faces too. In my experience, the friends you make travelling are cut from a different cloth, as usually you bond over deeply intimate topics and feel comfortable being open so quickly. The connections become bound to the memories of a place and heavily influence your judgement on an destination, at least for me. Bangkok has been magical for so many reasons, but the people I’ve met have made it that much more special.

As I finish this post I’m at the airport waiting to board my flight to Chiang Mai in the north of Thailand, one of the destinations I am most excited for on my travels. Make sure you’re subscribed (it’s free!) to get this newsletter straight into your inbox, and to support my writing and boost my numbers. I guess this is life now, and I can’t wait to share it with you!

One day I went into school and Ella wasn’t there. I spent break time alone that day, walking laps of the playground in silence. The next day, Ella didn’t come. And the day after that. I don’t think anyone ever told me that Ella had moved schools or if I just eventually caught on to the fact, but I remember being so overwhelmed by the enmeshment of confusion, betrayal and sadness that surrounded losing my first real friend. I think a part of me, the wakings of my inner child, still misses Ella. Still wonders where she is, why she moved, why she never called. Amongst all of the sadness that still grieves for that confused four year old Angel walking aimlessly around the nursery playground is a reminder, that even at that young age I was capable of true friendship, and that is evident in how much I miss her.

I have been thinking a lot about what it means ‘to miss’ lately. It’s one of those phrases that sounds funny the more you say it. To me, missing someone is feeling the hollow from the weight of the presence they once had, the cave shadowing the light of their presence. Like a scoop of ice cream taken from the carton, it was once sweet but is no longer here. To miss is to feel like a significant part of your joy has been propagated elsewhere, flourishing somewhere out of sight, still a part of you but no longer yours. There’s the mixture of gratitude for the time you have spent, the excitement for when you are able to see them again, bridged by this liminal void of present uncertainty. To miss like you’re unable to catch them, unable to capture the tangibility of memory, to know that something is scurrying around but is unfathomable to your eyes or hands.

To miss is the sister of grief and even when someone has not passed, sometimes missing them is a form of mourning. Grieving maybe a chapter of time that defined your relationship and knowing that, at least for now, it will not be the same. When we grieve, we rummage through pictures and listen to voicemails because it brings that person closer to us, creates a mirage of love and longing. When we miss someone we do the same, perhaps over video call or voice notes, but it’s the same premise. We restructure the memory of someone in pixelations, because we do not have the opportunity to see their lineaments up close.

I won’t miss a lot about London. I won’t miss the deceptive upholstery on the tube disguising the decades of stains for a funky print. I won’t miss the spitting rain that can’t decide who it wants to be. I won’t miss paying an extra 50p for oat milk. I won’t miss the hoards of tourists on Oxford Street when I am genuinely trying to get somewhere important. I won’t miss the heartbreak, the rejection, the boredom, the comparisons, the pressure, the grind. The seasonal depression. The lack of purpose. Forcing a life that just doesn’t fit right.

What I will miss is getting to see my friends perform a poem they wrote for the first time. To shout ‘new shit’ across open mic venues and be able to say, to their face, whilst clutching their elbows that I loved it and they were brilliant.

I will miss cooking for the people I love. Creating new recipes and labouring lovingly over plates of food that get devoured over life updates.

I will miss uncorking a bottle of wine and gossiping about people we barely know, sharing our past lives lore in too-loud bars where I have to piece together sentences like beads on a necklace.

I will miss cheeseboards. Brie specifically. But more specifically, the hands that dip in and out of view as we reduce the board to rinds, crumbs and grape vines. And I will miss that we always leave the last morsel, because selflessly, we all care about each other’s bellies more than our own.

I will miss holding my friends as they cry, not like I want my friends to cry, but rather I want to be there to console them. What a privilege it is to be trusted with the slippery, fragile emotion of vulnerability.

I will miss hugs, spontaneous nights out, tequila shots, choreographed dance routines, sharing clothes, celebrations, long autumnal walks and getting matcha. I will miss hearing your laugh reverberate through my body, secret looks exchanged in social situations because someone said something dodgy, movie nights, buying you flowers, receiving flowers, book club, binge watching shows. I will miss putting things in the diary and saying goodbye knowing I’m seeing you again soon.

The anticipation of missing you already makes me cry when I think about it too long, but is made easier by the knowledge that I too will be missed. What an honour it will be to know that my name will escape lips during nostalgic conversation, perhaps over the same bottles of wine that would bleed a glass for me if I was there. To know that no matter where I am in the world, there are hearts that long for me to come home, to hear my laugh, hug me, and hear all about my adventures over a home-cooked meal. The missing creates magnets that attract and click together across continents, subconsciously connected, no matter how long we are apart.

What a privilege to be preserved in the memory of friends, to be a character in the supercut of people’s lives, to be a trinket in your time capsule of happiness. To be told you will be missed is to be told that your energy is so vast and bright, that it’s like a meteorite, leaving visible craters behind. Missing and being missed does not mean the world stops turning, just that one’s experience of the world shifts ever so slightly. And whilst missing you, and being missed by you, exacerbates the sadness of knowing we are apart, it reminds me that one day we get to be reunited again.

I look around the room, full of humans that I only met because of the butterfly effect of thousands of micro-decisions possibly even pre-dating my friendship with Ella, knowing that I will both be missed and miss you all so deeply. How beautiful it is to have loved, to be loved, to know that that love can shape shift into all of the human emotions that reminds us we are alive and that we care about each other. Goodbye, my friends, I will miss you millions.