Thailand, Cambodia, Singapore

06:30
Morning! I’m scooting up the M23, comfortably ensconced in my cab. I’d initially planned to jump on the National Express coach, but the 05:45 departure felt just a touch brutal.

A full day of international travel awaits me. Gatwick via Dubai and Bangkok, and ending in Chiang Mai, in the North of Thailand. 4 weeks later, a flight back from Singapore. In between is kinda up for grabs, with very few fixed plans to speak of - a visit to a national park in Thailand, a flight from Phnom Penh to Singapore. Otherwise, it’s figure out along the way territory.

Oh, and I’m not travelling solo. My companion on this epic journey is not my beloved Vicki, but my cousin, Felix. Accurately, I think he’s my first cousin, once removed - but I’m not hugely up on the specifics of family trees, so ‘cousin’ will suffice. Like me, he lost his Dad last year, and like me, is taking some time out to figure out what’s next. He’s not done any far-flung travel, so I offered to let him join any of this year’s itinerary. I’m half hoping / half expecting that this trip will lead to a lifelong love of exploring the world. I’ll apologise to his bank manager later.

Having spent an amazing few weeks in central and southern Thailand in April, I’m excited to explore the North. I’m expecting a very different pace of life, a new food culture, a path less well worn. Cambodia - I’m not quite so sure what awaits. Speaking to friends who have travelled there, I suspect a simpler and starker way of life, and much more obvious poverty. Amazing things to see, for sure - but a perhaps more challenging culture with which to get to grips, and some really not that ancient history that I think will make me equal parts angry and sad. Singapore is a city I’ve wanted to visit for years, and with which I wanted to bookend this trip, as I’m ready for it to feel so incredibly different to the time in Thailand and Cambodia. Famously the cleanest and most organised city on the planet, the juxtaposition to rural Thailand, and various parts of Cambodia will be fun to experience.

Onwards chariot, to North Terminal!

08:15
There are quite a few more children here than:

a) I’d expected, and
b) is entirely necessary.

I find myself working out whereabouts we are in the school Summer term, and drawing the conclusion that most parents here are taking their kids out of school, and swallowing the resulting fine from the Local Education Authority, rather than paying the depressingly gargantuan price hikes of the Summer holidays. I grab some breakfast with a coffee, which feels terribly grown up. I’m soon lusting, however, after the peace and quiet (I know, it’s an airport, how dare I etc etc) of a bar with an over 18s policy.

08:45
I’ve been here before. I’m in Brewdog in Gatwick North terminal departures, readying myself for an Emirates flight. Two months ago, with Vicks, on part one of our trip to Thailand. Three months ago, on my tod, heading to Sri Lanka. I’m equal parts amazed and delighted that it doesn’t feel remotely stale. I have the same, raw excitement to be heading off on my travels that I did on each of those previous occasions.Vicki asked me yesterday if I think I’ll get bored of it by, I don’t know - this time next year, when I plan/hope to be going back to work. I really don’t think so. Every time I travel, every place I go, it just spurs me to go to more and new destinations. I’m fully expecting to catch a South American bug when we visit Brazil in October - and subsequently to want to journey to Chile, Colombia, Argentina, Peru. I’ve not even begun to explore Central America, and much of Africa remains unknown to me. I particularly want to spend some time in southern Africa that’s NOT South Africa - the 3 Ms of Madagascar, Mali and Mozambique feel like a good starting point, perhaps with a bit of Mauritius tacked on as well. And despite spending a chunk of time in South East Asia, I’ve got a tremendous itching to see Indonesia, the Philippines, Laos and Myanmar. And I really ought to get to China at some point. There’s definitely enough to keep me busy for a few years yet.

Brewdog have the over-18s policy I’m craving, and it’s a calm oasis amidst the buzzing throng of the departure lounge. I spend a delightful hour reading back some of my travel journals from this year’s trips. My sabbatical is flying past, but it feels an age ago that we were in New York over my birthday, in November last year. I’ve packed a huge amount into my break so far, and count myself incredibly fortunate to have a lot more fun and frolics yet to come.

Felix lives in York, along with much of my extended family. As a result, he’s flying from Manchester, via Abu Dhabi, and we’ll have some kind of family reunion in a bar in Bangkok Airport, before we jump on the same flight to Chiang Mai. It all feels very jet-set. Our flights leave at similar times. He’s at the airport in the departure lounge, currently deciding what useless tat to buy. We briefly discuss my stealing a rather attractive Brewdog pint glass, and creating an Insta account to record its travels around SE Asia.

I’m conscious there are things happening in the UK while I’m gone - some of which are a shame to miss, others - less so. I can’t pretend I’m not delighted to be missing the next three weeks of electioneering in the UK. The first couple of weeks have been more than enough for me. That said, I’ll definitely be setting an early alarm for the 5th July, to watch the results come in, and hopefully see a few Tories crying in school gymnasiums (gymnasia?).

I’m not too sad to be missing all but the final of the European Championships either. I’ve never been *that* fussed about international football. I remember being excited as respectively 8 and 12 for the ’86 and ’90 World Cups, but beyond that, I’ve never really got the fizz for big, international competitions. I’ll keep an eye from afar, but it’s reassuring to know I won’t feel like tracking down a bar in which to watch whatever England game at 03:00 local time.

I AM gutted to miss Glastonbury, and (as ever) a bunch of friends are going, and I know they’ll have the most amazing time. Vicki and I will try again for tickets next year. We both feel like we’ve got at least one Glasto left in us, and perhaps more… The headliner line-up this year doesn’t do that much for me, but I’ve said that at previous Glastos, and ended up having an incredible time exploring smaller stages and generally wombling around.

Most of all, I’ll miss my awesome Vicki. This is comfortably the longest we’ll ever have been apart. The ways of the modern world mean there are ample means to keep in touch, but it’s never the same as staring at her beautiful face…

20:43
My flight is called at 09:05. I hardly dawdle. I refill my water bottle, nip to the gents quickly, and head straight to the gate - where I’m chided as the gate is already closing? I can only assume the flight is pretty empty today, and so processing folks onto the plane has happened more quickly than usual. I’m on a 777-300, which whilst by no means a small plane, still flies about 50% of the passengers of an Emirates A380 leaving Gatwick. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m a little disappointed not to be on an A380 for this leg. Happily though, I arrive to my seat to find the other 2 in my row empty. The cabin crew guy tells me that there’s really no-one else to board, so I’ve got the row to myself = RESULT. Somebody in a row behind asks a flight attendant if they can have one of my seats, and are told no - it’s only for special people like me.

We push back a little early, and take off in good time. It’s tricky to rationalise the really pretty busy terminal earlier, with the pleasantly relaxed and quiet journey to Dubai. I guess the hordes of kids I encountered earlier are largely heading off on shorter trips - maybe across Europe?

I’m pretty jaded after an early start, and not a ton of sleep. I forego the lunch offering (but not the wine course), and try to grab some shut-eye. There is, unfortunately, a very screamy kid sitting across the aisle from me. He’s not crying, or even upset - he just likes to shout, a LOT. I manage to get an hour or so of scratchy sleep, but his screams pervade even my trustiest of noise cancelling cans. I try and catch his mum’s eye on a couple of occasions, but she’s having none of it.

I give up on the notion of sleep, and watch Dune 2. I figure that a 3 hour movie will take a large chunk out of the flight. I loved it in the cinema, and despite the scale not being quite as impressive on a 14” screen, it’s still a brilliant, brilliant film.

I wonder about having a glass of wine. My throat, though, is a little tight and sore. I’ve been a bit snuffly for a couple of days, and wonder if I’ve got a little bit of lurgy kicking around. I’ll grab some lozenges at Dubai Airport. We’re making good time, and the First Officer updates us to let us know we’re probably going to land a little early. Summertime has hit Dubai - gone are the pretty manic floods of a couple of months ago. The temperature is 39C, and weather shouldn’t delay us. You can never completely rule out a sandstorm in the UAE though…

We pull into our gate around 19:50 - fully 15 minutes ahead of schedule. I’m at a B gate, and departing from the A Concourse. Sadly, this denies me a return visit to the Hard Rock Café. I make do instead with a bar called Jack’s, and slide into a large glass of red wine. Haven’t seen a pharmacy yet, but I’ll deffo check that out in a mo.

Felix and I have a slightly surreal conversation, where he’s in an airport 50 miles down the road, and slightly bored. I treat myself to a further glass of Merlot, in the hope that it’ll help me kip for a good few hours on my next flight. Here’s hoping / fingers crossed / touch wood etc etc.

23:55
My flight’s a little delayed leaving Dubai. We board in good time, but there’s apparently an electrical issue. To fix it, the crew are going to (I’m not kidding) turn it off, and turn it back on again. It works, but we’ve missed our take off slot, and have to join the queue for another. We finally get underway around 23:00. Take off’s fine. I get up when the seatbelt sign is turned off to grab my cans, and find three cabin crew around a passenger in the row behind me. They’re taking his temperature, checking his blood pressure and so on. He’s clearly not in a good way. Without wanting to be *too* much of a twat about it, they’re also sitting right where I need to be to get into the overhead locker. I stand, waiting patiently - ultimately for upwards of 30 minutes. By this point, 42C (for that’s his seat…) has an oxygen mask. I begin to wonder whether we’re going to need to divert, or return to Dubai….Read more