• wake up still with the feeling that I am not going home any time soon.The girls plan their remaining trip to Cambodia and The Islands, but I am not yet jealous as I still feel like I’m going to stay here a while…
  • it’s pouring it down and noone is particularly enthusiastic about doing much. But it’s my last day and I am determined to buy souvenirs.
  • We spend a long time at the cafe, where Rosie and I devour a pancake after our large fried breakfast.
  • Rain slows down and we go for a wander. We end up in a bakery full of amazingly decorated cakes. They look delicious and we can’t resist……. the cakes are vile. Clearly been there a long time.
  • Wander around trying to find the markets….. we come across a large indoor one, where I impulsively buy a dress and a playsuit.
  • On the way back to the hostel where my bus is due to arrive, we stop at a bar and enjoy one final vodka and lemonade, where I also purchase an ugly black bracelet for memory sakes, and then we head back where I pick up my baggage.
  • The taxi arrives, and after a final group photo, a generous Lucy and Amy accompany me to the airport. Once they leave, I find myself lost in the airport, and emotional. I’m not ready to leave…
  • Nevertheless, on the plane I get. I fly into Doha – my most hated airport – half an hour after my connecting flight is supposed to have left. Despite my panic, the security woman won’t let me go in front like she is letting a lot of other people. Finally, after learning that it has waited, I find myself wandering around everywhere looking for the gate to board for my connecting flight to Manchester. Trailfinders had failed to inform me that I should have been looking for a flight to Bangkok as it quickly refuels there, so I find myself on a transfer coach with a couple and their two kids. It is last call for us. Very stressful.
  • On each plane I find myself chatting to random older men – one of whom won’t stop showing me his gadgets on his iPad.
  • After hearing rumours about a heatwave in England, I am even more gutted to feel the sharp bite of frost hit my face as I arrive back in Manchester, hearing normal English people, with normal boring lives…
  • I know I will not be staying here long…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s