The Trip I've Dreaded All My Life To Take

So here I am, on a tarmak in Bangkok Airport, on my way back to Taipei. Ah Gong (my Grandfather)’s illness had gotten gradually worse and it is time for me to go home and be with him.

Death is a taboo in my culture, and especially in my family. It is only talked about by being implied, in euphemisms, hypotheses, analogies. I wish it was different but I don’t know any other way. So I have a problem confronting it, I feel immense pressure thinking about it, and I will have problems dealing with it. This is a difficult journey for me, every part of me hurts.

I’ve spent the last month or so being distressed as well as disengaged and displaced, there’s just been way too many distractions coming from different directions. I haven’t had time or the space to think ahead or think clearly. Although it was hard to pull myself away from London, at the same time, it will do me good, just some time with my family, some time away from the bustle, and stop procrastinating on dealing with the knots in my head. I am due back in two weeks, though I wish I could have more – I just hope I will get something out of it.

Spending half of my net worth on a plane ticket and it still isn’t even a direct flight. Fuck it! Battling my way through the chaos and bureaucratic incompetence that is Heathrow, I realised that I have picked up the unattractive English traits of grumpiness, impatience and sheer irreverence. But I haven’t felt the urge of taking it out on the strangers sitting next to me or those that are ‘just doing their job’ – so it looks like I still have self control.

The closer to home I get the more gloomy it feels. Bangkok is humid, dusty and grey and brown on this airy summer’s day, clouds are so low it feels like they are choking me. There is no space between earth and sky, thinking about the rest of my journey, I just can’t breath right now. Taipei is in fact in the middle of a massive typhoon and I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get in at all today. I don’t have an appetite for a pina colada, a prawn curry in lemon grass or a packet of individually wrapped durian candies. I just want to get home, be with people I should be with when they need me, and stop procrastinating from looking at my challenges in the eye.

Some Boys Do Have'm

Rolling Rolling Rolling

There is something for everyone in London. Basically that’s what makes it a little bit bizarre. Yet when you walk into this place it just seems absolutely normal, and you genuinely believe that this is what your every Joe and Josephine would do every single weekend after they knock off from Happy Hour.

Take 500 people dressed in highlighted lycra, tutus, hot pants, afros, glitter, etc etc etc team it with flashing roller blades (not blades) and a dash of beer and a DJ or two, throw them into two rings (one slow for the less suicidal and one fast for the show-offs) and dim the lights – hey presto YOU’VE GOT ROLLAAAHHHH DISSCCOOOOOOHHHH!

For an unusual but extremely fun night out - check it out: http://www.renaissancerooms.co.uk/?section=club&action=home

Mystic Frequencies

England's actually just one big treasure hunt. This weekend M-8 and I tinked around Somerset, an area which gave birth to the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Tables, and ofcourse, the home of hippy heartland Glastonbury, and a whole lot more when you look hard enough.

Stourhead Estate
It kind of amazes me how much money these people had back in those days to landscape design this entire area covering 11km2 previously fully owned by the Hoare family, now owned by the National Trust.
Apart from the main house which was of course luxuriously beautiful and more than enough for a family and all their servants, the property is fully equipped with its own hunting area, lake, Temple to Apollo, a water cave next to the lake (with its own nymph, and once upon a time billeted a hermit just to amuse garden-walking guests).

The state even had a ‘pet project’ on the side - a huge tall tower, also a ‘folly’ building with no reason) Alfred Tower (to commemorate the first ever English King) – a classic Rupunzel kind of tower a few miles from the main house. There’s about 200 Steps to the top (thanks to the young wholesome scouts there at the same time who counted for us) and in the panoramic views you can get a glimpse of Glastonbury Tor and a whole lot of stuff like bush walking people. Just no princes in sight…

Glastonbury & Glastonbury Tor
Glastonbury is a cute little town, but it’s become over the years a little bit more faux-bo than genuinely hippy. Its quaint I suppose, with the main street floating along with a relaxed atmosphere and randomly painted old buildings, but it’s a little overrun by shops that try to sell crystal balls made in China and woven wall hangings with American Indian chief against a fading rainbows that are just plain scary. We had a quick meal in the overgrown garden of an endearing little vego café, which M-8 overheard a conversation about how one of the ladies in the next table has recently acquired a flatmate in the form of ‘an Australian Goddess’ – “but she’s a bit ‘out-there’ and unpredictable, I don’t know how to handle her”.



We headed up to Glastonbury Tor, the huge hill towering over the town. Back in the days where the low lands used to be flooded, it was an island. The 10th century tower of St Michael sits at the summit (some claimed that King Arthur and Guinevere was once buried here) and it’s a windy climb up to the top through random little gems like a Tibetan meditation house and traces of spiritual practices we would never ever know about - could this be the remains of the Glastonbury Thorn that I am Tai-Chi-ing to?

Cheddar Gorge
On Sunday, with the reward of visiting the cheese house and a pub meal in mind, we tackled Cheddar Gorge, which is the largest gorge in the UK. I consider myself pretty fit for my age, though trying to keep up with M-8 who does half marathons and triathlons is a slight challenge. The rock formations and the way it lines the cliffs changes from each different angle and height we reach, and the scenery changes from deep green bushes to open grasslands to hilltop views of Somerset and its water reservoirs. Believe me – IT IS BEAUTIFUL OUT THERE. Having to swarm through the tubes and tiny streets of London from Mondays to Fridays, sometimes the sheer amount of green space and natural heritage England has within the stone throw of big cities really amazes me.

And this is the famous Cheddar Cat

Gold Hill in Shaftsbury
We passed by Shaftsbury on the way back to Salisbury and checked out the gorgeous and well-aged sloping street of Gold Hill over a cup of coffee in the prime seat of the café over looking the slope. We had a lovely chat with a WWII paratrooper (who is ’92 and never been kissed’) and his eccentric family & their old dog.


Old Wardour Castle
The weekend wrapped up nicely with a sunset visit to the hauntingly beautiful Old Wardour Castle (as featured in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves). This is probably my favourite castle in England so far because the setting is really quite tranquil and delicate like a landscaped Edwardian estate, rather than in a bleak and rustic atmosphere that reminds one of warlords and marching horses, yet it retains a medieval appeal with the its strong entrance towers, giant windows and spiral stairs. It has a wonderful festive feel in the sunset against its open lawns, which does somewhat take you back into the days when women pranced around with veils draped on horns on their heads and a heavy chastity belt around their poor little pelvises. Only if I could convince M-8 into wearing tights!!!

Easy Come Easy Go - Two Halls of Fame

Boarders Hall of Fame - by Victoria

Keiko 1993 - Japanese girl, language student, very shy and obedient but managed to take home a rich Jewish man. She was so clean and respectful. She was so slim and gentle and walked like a real lady. Wonderful girl, just wonderful. Sends me tea in a pretty jar, little individually wrapped sweets in pretty little boxes, tiny strings of paper cranes of pretty colours and pictures of her baby. She invites me to stay with her in Japan all the time, no one of my boarders can ever be the same. From then on I only take Japanese girls. Or those close enough.

Rie 1999 - Japanese girl, air hostess, perfect hair and make up, very slim. Caught the Heathrow Express home every three days or so. I never saw her all year, we hardly ever spoke. And then I invited her to my millennium New Years Eve Party, so she gets me very drunk in the afternoon before the guests got here, so of course I was passed out. She didn't even bother to wake me up when they all arrived, and then they ate all the food and drank all the wine while I was asleep in the bedroom. When I woke up at 4am there were only chicken bones and empty wine bottles on the floor and she was giggling away in a ball gown with two of my friends. Oh my God I was Mad! Did she not have the brain to wake me up? It was the most important evening of the entire millennium!!

Kumiko 2001 - Japanese girl, theatre manager. Very melodramatic. She was always singing some awful music and reciting something. I think she might be schzisophrenic. She learnt to speak fluent Italian from me in only three months, I am a good teacher. She flushed a sanitary pad down the toilet and costed me 600 pounds to fix it. The bloody thing.

Hae-Jyoo 2007 - Korean girl, fashion designer, sharp dresser. Had so many gay boyfriends I can't count with my hands and feet combined. She was on a disgusting dried fish diet. She boiled these dried fish and squid so hard that it stank out my house for three days. Even the neighbours complained to me. My GOD it was AWFUL!! I banned her from going into the kitchen after that.

WaWa 2008 - Taiwanese girl from New Zealand. She was a bit unruly and had some really strange ideas. Very very outgoing, a party animal, she was never home. I can't make her sit down for one second before she is off again. I need to teach her how to be more classy. I wish she didn't have big long black hairs that fell on my sparkly shiny white bathroom floor, otherwise she would be perfect. She broke every rule I had, especially the number 1 rule. She didn't know that I knew she broke it within the first three weeks. But let by-gones be by-gones. Oh boy it will be so boring without her.

......................................................

Flatmates Hall of Fame - by WaWa

No. 12 (House 3 - Wellington 2000) Over-board Politically Correct vegan militant activist. But he was man enough to cry. Punished me for buying non-organic tomatoes for a dollar a bag. Pissed on our vege patch for natural plant nutrition enhancement. Made me greet him and all our house guests in Maori despite the fact that none of us were Maori. Not that I minded greeting in Maori, its just that I hate anything that's compulsory. He had a twin brother, and almost all his friends were either twins of half of a set of twins. Quite bizarre. When his girlfriend stayed over they would bang four times a night, with our lopsided house shaking and the uneven wooden floorboards screeching like mad. I feared for my life.

No. 18 (House 6: Wellington 2002) Part time racing car driver, full time Lord of the Rings crew type lad. Keeper of the illegally fitted warehouse which up to 8 of us lived in at a time. Had a van which the local red light district girls named 'The Love Boat'. Always covered in some sort of mud (him, not the van, which he kept in a pristine condition). Drank at the Sports Cafe and scored loads of chicks that resembled Chloe of Wainuiomata that really did sound like lap dogs when they banged, but complained ferociously if any one else brought a loud screw home.


No. 24 & 25 (House 6: Wellington 2003) Adorable Scottish lesbians that lied about their age and professions and sexual orientation just so they could live with us. Of course we all found out the dirty truth within 3 days and made them clean the house so we won't hand them over to the Christian Heritage Party. Banged each other all day all night, drank awful cask wine, never understood a single word either of them said, except "Gangsta". Went off driving around NZ in a $300 car. Never saw them again after that.

No. 35 (House 10: Canberra 2004) Young croupier at the local casino who slept during the day and biked to work at 10pm. She had a long distant open relationship with a magician on a cruise ship. Sweet tooth - was addicted to fat and sugar, she had the unhealthiest food like baked marshmallow pie and triple chocolate jam sandwiches. She had a terrible penchant for snatching the virginity off 20 something IT geeks (5 of them in the 3 months she lived with us).

No. 44 (House 12: Canberra 2005) Gentle well-meant Chinese PhD student. Once he hurled a bucketful of rotten cabbage across the fence into the neighbour's garden. My other flatmate took him over to apologise. On another occasion he called me fat and told me to stop eating at a dinner party. My other flatmate made him apologise to me too, I felt a bit bad when he seriously realised that he had broken a social taboo. He borrowed a hair trimming kit from a friend once and asked me to cut his hair for him - I turned it down several times because I honestly can't even trim my own nails properly let alone cut some one else's hair. But he was so insistent, so I did and the result was a mixture between Nobita Kun from Doraemon and Bart Simpson. He was quite sweet with a childlike innocence and so animated, that I have no doubt one of the Olympics Friendlies was based on him. To our relief he never had any sex as far as I know, as his fiance was waiting for him back home. Oohhh~~.

No. 50 - (House 14: London 2008) Crazy eccentric lonely old woman who have had a very interesting life growing up in Ethiopia and Italy. Her life sounded like a thriller novel, but I think the trauma and ups and downs she has experiences going from riches to rags to riches again has really done her head in. She needs to learn to relax a little and think about issues from other people's perspectives, because no one else is ever right. I just couldn't stand the double standards she has. Apart from being a bit overboard about how clean the bathroom should be, she was quite paranoid about security, so apart from the apartment door card, she has three locks on her door, plus a latch, plus she leaves one of the keys inside the key hole, and then she also locks her bedroom door at night. I am just hoping I am never trapped in here during a fire!! But we had a lot of fun together, I loved her food and she was always feeding me interesting things. She had a fantastic shisha as well and we smoked a lot of apple tobacco together. If she let go of some of those emotional baggage I think life will be much more beautiful for her. Relax man! She claimed she had not had sex in 13 years, but I can't count the number of times I've noticed female friends sharing her bed after a hard core drinking session. One time one of them 'mistook my bedroom as the bathroom' - rivetting experience at 5 o'clock in the morning. Maybe she's a dark horse after all.

Otherwise Preoccupied: Life in London @ 20 weeks

Ahhhh --- the 1st of July. Where did time go? I've just been so terribly busy with leading a full on hectic schedule of summer fun-ness in the grand city, more bits of weekend travelling, coping with daily routined administration and various challenges that wonder out of the blue. Updates in June to come below re camping in Wiltshire, mystery weekend along the canals, my one-woman reenactment of the D-Day landings in Normandy, and generally blissful summer life.

Family
I certainly feel a lot more relaxed at the moment than I had been in the last week or two, where my life had been knocked out of tune with the bad news that my grandfather had been hospitalised again, this time being in the worst state he had been in for a while. I had made arrangements to take leave and book tickets for Taipei, when I heard that he would pull through after all. For the first few days honestly I constantly felt so upset that I was nauseous, the thought of possibly losing him and being so far away from my family, my entire body aching and shivering with worry and guilt and uncertainty. Also what to do with the new contract I've just been negotiating at work, whether to just give it up and leave everything here and go. Thanks to my grandfather's lucky stars things are settling a little more, but I am still vigilant and I am ready to head back any time they need me. He really is a cat with 81 lives. I wish I could be half as tenacious as he is. ** bless you A Gong **

Work
Anyway. Phewww. So looks like work will offer me some more employment that will stretch me up till Christmas. It will mean less holidays and travels for the mean time, but a little more income and stability on my CV for the interim.

Housing
I am also moving out and moving on from Vicky's designer heritage listed apartment in Bayswater. As much as we enjoy a good yarn with each other, I am just not sure if I am mentally capable of managing her unpredictable mood swings and intense possessiveness. I need space, freedom from being constantly advised about everything, and the chance to feel relaxed in my own home and my own skin. My tolerance just ran out. I can't continue to be the grandchild she never had. I mean, I still maintain that she is one of the most interesting people I've ever met, and I have learnt so much stuff and changed a lot of my ways of thinking and behaviour because of her, but it is time to return to a life of normalcy, with people my own age, who are just a little bit more chilled and have less emotional baggage than some one that is basically the narrator of the 'I've Never Been to Me' song.

Boy
Another big development in my life is that since May I've been in a relationship with M-8, an unlikely suitor who is completely different to the type of guys I'd usually go for (OK, apart from being a little camp which is what I've always liked), but I just adore him. He is an extremely lively and energetic individual with boundless energy, guided by a quirky thought processes and an encyclopedia of irreverent jokes. A seductively trim triathlete when he's not at his desk job, he lives as fast as he swims/bikes/runs, basically always living about 15 minutes ahead of the rest of the world, it spins my head (in a really nice way) just to keep up with him and keep him entertained. We started off taking things really easily, considering that we are both at a very transient stage of our respective lives, and so its been very easy-going being in a fairly low-maintenance relationship where we are both very independent. I think it is rolling along nicely, but perhaps too nicely. I think it might be time soon for us to amp it up a notch. I think we are both capable of making this a much more intellectually challenging venture, give it a bit more intensity and grip. One of us at least needs to play up soon. Be more manipulative, be more demanding, be jealous, be immature, be insecure, be a little more serious, fall hopelessly in love. ..

yah.

Normandy: une invasion d'une seule femme

One may think that its a little out of character for the Baroness to be a WWII movie buff, but I am… I grabbed the first opportunity presented to me in the form of a ferry/bus trip and began my One Woman Reenactment of the D-Day landings in Normandy, though admittedly I was more or less distracted by the culinary delights the French had to offer instead.

Ferry Crossing
Believe it or not I handled the floor quite well on the overnight crossing, and psyched myself up at 6am in the morning watching the distant continent and my fate drawing closer and closer over a piping hot croissant and a less than average ferry café au lait.

Honfleur
As I leaped off the boat in heavy armour (my 2 pound jacket from Edinburgh), I found myself very little action in the small fishing village of Honfleur. Not a Jerry in sight, so I eased into the relaxed and untamed atmosphere of this quiet Saturday morning. It would be perfect for a reenactment for the Casino scene from The Longest Day, what with a few beat up abandoned buildings with the missing windows and a lady dusting her carpet from a second floor window. To stock up for the long journey along the Normandy coast, I headed towards the farmers market after a brief walk along the cute windy cobbled streets. The market is unbelievably well stocked for a small place – particularly the stall which sells a 50-plus range of wild boar sausages, though after having a few sample slices, I can’t be totally convinced that I want to bring body odour home on the ferry with me. Further along the market something pungent is simmering away. Apples are of course a major produce in the area re the famous cider, and here they are being cooked with - wait for it, wild boar sausages!!

















Bayeaux
I rolled along in the Tank towards Bayeaux, one of the first major towns to be liberated from the D-Day landings, marked by the statue of General Montgomery The grand towering cathedral is one marvelous piece of architecture, and equally interesting was the ancient Bayeaux Tapestry, which was once revered by Napoleon as a major inspiration to plan out an invasion of England which he never got round to (yes, short men are relentless like that). I was however more interested in cleaning out the deli. Here is the cheese I had for lunch and I will be bringing home some crepes marinated in Grand Mariner… And I am pleased my negotiation skills in my meager broken French has not totally escaped me.













British Cemetery (Bayeaux) & the American Cemetery (Omaha Beach)

Time to pay some respects to the service men and women of WWII who gave their lives in this ruthless and unforgiving time in history. It puts things into perspective when you see the sheer number of graves row after row and how young most of the casualties of the D-Day invasions were. These are the graves of two men who died for their country at the same age as me this year, and the crosses and stars-of David at the American cemetery at Omaha Beach.
















Omaha Beach
Ayyyyyyy Yaaaaaa! BANG BANG BANG BANG BOOOOOOM! This is me storming Omaha Beach – attacking the enemy with the absolutely deadly element of SURPRISE! ready to save Private Ryan. And a thorough map of how I could have invaded Normandy if I could commanded 150,000 men.
Arromanches
I rolled along in a Zundapp motorcycle sidecar onto Arramanges, where I carried out an reenactment of pulling the mulberry harbours together. These are makeshift floating ‘bridges’ (to save every ship to havae to dock) built by the Allies to transport hundreds and thousands of tonnes of military equipment and supplied to support the liberation of Europe from England for the several months following D-Day.

Big Party in Caen
I headed to Caen in the evening for some well-deserved dancing and cigar puffing, as there is a huge rock music festival going on, perfect for a village liberation scene where I would give the locals chocolates and cigarettes and in return they all kiss me, feed me, give me cider, throw a big party and make offers of marriage to me. (as shown in the Carentan episode of A Band of Brothers). But instead they just ignored me and went on with enjoying themselves. Oh well. The Rock Music Festival is organised in a way where every 10 meters or so along the main streets you could see a different rockband performing. The streets are swarming with partying people young and old, eating bloody frits and boozing away, obviously showing off in contrast of how meager my One-Woman mission looks. Given that most of the bands were quite bad, I had to force myself into having a Red bull flavoured ice cream just so I could keep up with the head banging with those teenage French goths. Interesting flavour but a bit over powering, and almost dissolved my teeth with the overt sugeryness and acidity. But for a cheap high, yeah I’d do it again for 2 Euros.





Ruen
I arrived in Ruen on Sunday morning on horse back. The cross on the left commemorates the place where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. Speaking of ‘stake’, I had lunch with two Australian compatriots (if you haven’t worked out that the Aussies have taken over the world then you’re very out of touch) who pretty much did an reenactment of the Mr Bean episode where Mr Bean ordered Steak Tartare. It really was literally a eeny meeny minee mo type menu situation because our French was so poor and the Waiter couldn’t speak ‘Strayaan’. No words could describe how hard it was to prevent me from laughing out loud when the bleeding lumps of meat was brought onto the table and presented to the two of them with their jaws dropped. For my part I had eeny meeny minee mo’ed myself into a Croque Madame, which I expected to get a female crocodile covered in some sort of alcoholic sauce, but it turned out to be a boring old fried egg on toasted cheese sandwich. Boooo!























And homeward bound via the scenic hills towards Calais, and sailing in from the white cliffs of Dover, with the thoughts of war behind me and a belly full of stinking cheese - a comfortable trip every intrepid soldier deserves.