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Asia Trip 7 Part IV - Makati Madness, Tacloban Fairytales, Sentosa Spaceship

Published March 27, 2024

Country 58 - Philippines: Dirt, Sex, Fairytales

I sat down in my seat to K-pop classics blasting from the plane's speakers.

Twice, IU.

Nice touch.

A woman and her young son sat next to me. Despite the father across the aisle, she was flirty and giving me eyes, lots of eyes, fuck me here, it's fine, it's fine eyes.

I rather enjoyed it.

My worry of falling out of the sky and into oblivion left me long ago, but one place I still feel angsty is flying in this area of the world. There's something about the triangle trapezoid from Taiwan to Singapore to Darwin to Taiwan. Tropical monsters fly the skies here and they get hungry.

It was a mostly peaceful flight, until I closed my eyes on descent and opened them as we were coming into land.

'We're going to crash.' I calmly said to myself.

The plane was coming in too fast and at a deadly angle.

Just a second after I finished the thought, we took back off into the sky.

My first missed approach and my first go-around.

12 years of hardcore world travel and so many flights, and here I was, heading back into the sky, undercarriage retracting, into the darkness of the clouds. Nearly dead, not dead, land the fucking thing,,,

CRAZY SHIT, FUN STUFF, BRADEARTH FOREVER

The drive into the city was fucking horrible.

The traffic moved slower than a snail full o' pie.

. . .a snail full o’pie. Yahuh!

I didn't connect with the city I saw out the window.

I spent many days in Makati. And my time in Makati will be written as a poem.

Here is the poem... --- >>>

love hotel, fuck hotel

fancy hotel, dildos a-chargin', dildo's stuck on the TV

dicks and tits and ARSE

makati avenue

av

en

ue

the dirty little children beggin’

the dirty little adults doing the same

dirty, dirty

filthy

foock makadi

A few days in I developed a cough. I blamed it on the pollution and limited my daily excursions to once a day for food.

At Christmas a large chunk of the population headed home, back off to the suburbs, back off to the provinces and I cranked up the AC. The cold artificial wind made me feel better, so did the absence of filipinos n' filipinas and all their motor smoke.

On Christmas Eve morning some kind of human elf monster whore woke me up screaming hell at 5am. An unpaid hooker or surprise ladyboy rejected by some sex tourist prolly. I flipped the pillow to the col’ side and fell back asleep.

The screaming in the darkness down the hall at some point became calming. I dreamed and I dreamt of boats in space in regions with no pain.

I fucking hated the Philippines. I just wanted to be in bed, away from the fumes and the very sad hordes of dirty street people, especially the little ones, the little dirty street people, running up beside me beg-beg-begging for dat coin-coin-coin, coming way too close to my bags of Jolliebee and 7-Eleven snacks.

Tut, Tut, Tut.

It's a sad reality, the Philippines is a helicopter country. One to jump from spot to spot and avoid what's on the floor. I was already bored now, and tired, I wanted more than anything the end of December and the time until mid-January to pass and for me to be on that flight to Singapore, to smell that 'spicy perfume', eat kaya, see some old spots and some new ones before flying off to beautiful cold England.

I reserved one day to see the little of Manila of any interest.

In the morning I walked across the bridge and to the river ferry station. Apparently this plastic bathtub, thrown together, children's art supplies for windows ferry needed a passport to ride. I walked back to the hotel and got my passport for a ferry boat.

The river was a dirt brown. The brown of the Thames looks sugary, a delightful chocolate milk, this brown was a murky diarrhoea with deep trash lining the bowl.

As we crossed into the Malacañang Palace, the boat's engines throttled back and we floated quietly through the Philippine presidential bubble. I took out my phone to record, this precipitated a meltdown of the crew on board.

With the one exception of Malacañang, the poverty along the river was horrid. Further cementing the view that there is something deeply wrong with the Philippines.

The day finally came to leave Manilla for Tacloban. A city that most visitors to the Philippines don't even consider. I wanted to see it. The entire city was destroyed ten years ago, flattened by the strongest typhoon in history. That was more interesting to me than a polluted beach.

The plane to Tac met wall after wall of cloud.

I love the feeling of hitting the clouds. The anticipation.

The punch to the gut and the madness inside the plastic that follows.

At the airport a girl was waiting for me.

We squeezed into a jeepney full of Filipinos and Filipinas and rode to my hotel.

Tacloban City had an odd mix of highlights.

In terms of tourism, the two things it had going for it was its own destruction and General Douglas MacArthur.

After new years, me and the airport girl headed on jeepneys and tricycles to Palo to see the famous statue of MacArthur and Friends and the flood wall built to keep back the ocean after the typhoon.

We had sex in the afternoon and then I stopped messaging her and I didn't see her again.

I didn't dislike her, but in person there wasn't much there.

I had quite a few interesting women in Tac. A doctor working in the ICU, infectious diseases… she bought me a big packet of medicines as a gift, which was nice. Another was a virgin and then not a virgin. Fun stuff.

But it was time for a fairytale too. It had been a while since I wrote a fairytale.

She walked confidently through the dark parking lot. Hood up.

I stood on the balcony above the stairs.

'Blue shirt?' she messaged.

As we entered the shared space outside my room, I turned and looked at her.

It wasn't a 'love-at-first-sight WOWZERS, but it was one of those hard to describe moments, there was a pause in time. Some kind of realisation, a lost love in some other galaxy, some other timeline. It was a familiarity.

There was an elegance and ease to this hood girl that I rather enjoyed. She was also the best sex I'd had in a while, and even a contender for the top spot of all time.

Let that sink in.

A Contender For The Top Spot of All Time.

After HoodGirl left I ate some crisps, turned on the TV and began an evening pacing session.

The Man from U. N. C. L. E. was on and they were in room 304 and I was in room 304 and I first watched this movie in a cinema in Victoria, British Columbia and the woman in the film was called Victoria. Fun Stuff, Fun Stuff!

The last morning in Tacloban HoodGirl returned. Another session of top notch, super sex. Gold medalists. Well done us.

When we were finished, I think we both felt a little sad.

She zipped up her perfect brown tits behind her black hoodie and asked if I wanted to get lunch. I had time before the airport so I took her to KFC.

KFC was built for the romantic. A romantic like me.

When I got back to the table she asked if I ordered

I said yes

She had already ordered for both of us and paid for the meals. So I had two and I ate two.

An hour later we stood outside the catholic church digesting our chicken, the skies teasing rain.

She came to the airport with me.

I hadn't felt sad about a girl disappearing into the nothingness for years. But I felt a bit sad about it. Maybe I liked her. Maybe she was just great at sex. Maybe I should render her again.

I flew to Cebu on a propeller plane and left those thoughts behind.

But, then…

Cebu was melty-trash. Cebu was pus-shit.

I got off the bus and was walking the dark highway to my hotel when I fell into a storm drain.

I power-walked away with deep scratch-like cuts and the toes of my left foot nearly sheared off.

The main concern was rabies and then tetanus.

It all looked dirty.

I tore off my clothes and showered and soaped the injuries.

I get paranoid about these things, breaks to the skin. But I should. We all should. I carefully placed my broken toes into my stolen flip flops and went to the 7-Eleven at the corner of the street. I bought rubbing alcohol and felt better.

The next night some skank grabbed my cut up leg while I fucked her.

Foreign fluids on my dry blood. Oh no. Yuckies.

I stood in the shower, wall tap running on the worst of my gashes, broken shower head too.

The only nice place I'd been in this country was Tacloban. The only place I wanted to spend any more time here was Tacloban.

Thoughts of HoodGirl were starting to pop up.

Usually phone application girls are phone application girls. They come, they cum, they go. But HoodGirl was starting to be mythologised. A dangerous thing. So dangerous that after a night and a half in Cebu I booked a ticket back to Tac to see her again.

Because I wanted it. I wanted more of her. More high quality sex with something similar to feeling. More nights and mornings like those.

I moved to a new hotel and focused my thoughts on my return to Tacloban and finishing this giant trip in style.

I ticked off the few things I knew I wanted to see in the city and then that was that. Cebu was done.

I went back to stay the final night in the first hotel and saw a beautiful dead dog on the sidewalk.

My heart broke.

I didn't hate Cebu but it just wasn't the time. This wasn't our time, this time around. It started by falling into that storm drain and it ended with that dead dog. I made the right decision in leaving, in going back to what I wanted.

It was a risk though. Heading back to see a girl so soon after leaving can be romantic or doom anything further. I was confident I could turn things in my favour.

The risk ended in reward.

We watched Money Heist, fucked like the Earth was falling over and on the last full day before I left we went to her family home and made a Fillipino chicken dish.

Who knows why. Some people are special. Even if just for a little while.

I pulled her in for goodbye kisses and she left once more by jeepney.

Re-rendered. Re-vanished.

...continue reading

Asia Trip 7 Part IV - Makati Madness, Tacloban Fairytales, Sentosa Spaceship

Published March 27, 2024

Country 58 - Philippines: Dirt, Sex, Fairytales

I sat down in my seat to K-pop classics blasting from the plane's speakers.

Twice, IU.

Nice touch.

A woman and her young son sat next to me. Despite the father across the aisle, she was flirty and giving me eyes, lots of eyes, fuck me here, it's fine, it's fine eyes.

I rather enjoyed it.

My worry of falling out of the sky and into oblivion left me long ago, but one place I still feel angsty is flying in this area of the world. There's something about the triangle trapezoid from Taiwan to Singapore to Darwin to Taiwan. Tropical monsters fly the skies here and they get hungry.

It was a mostly peaceful flight, until I closed my eyes on descent and opened them as we were coming into land.

'We're going to crash.' I calmly said to myself.

The plane was coming in too fast and at a deadly angle.

Just a second after I finished the thought, we took back off into the sky.

My first missed approach and my first go-around.

12 years of hardcore world travel and so many flights, and here I was, heading back into the sky, undercarriage retracting, into the darkness of the clouds. Nearly dead, not dead, land the fucking thing,,,

CRAZY SHIT, FUN STUFF, BRADEARTH FOREVER

The drive into the city was fucking horrible.

The traffic moved slower than a snail full o' pie.

. . .a snail full o’pie. Yahuh!

I didn't connect with the city I saw out the window.

I spent many days in Makati. And my time in Makati will be written as a poem.

Here is the poem... --- >>>

love hotel, fuck hotel

fancy hotel, dildos a-chargin', dildo's stuck on the TV

dicks and tits and ARSE

makati avenue

av

en

ue

the dirty little children beggin’

the dirty little adults doing the same

dirty, dirty

filthy

foock makadi

A few days in I developed a cough. I blamed it on the pollution and limited my daily excursions to once a day for food.

At Christmas a large chunk of the population headed home, back off to the suburbs, back off to the provinces and I cranked up the AC. The cold artificial wind made me feel better, so did the absence of filipinos n' filipinas and all their motor smoke.

On Christmas Eve morning some kind of human elf monster whore woke me up screaming hell at 5am. An unpaid hooker or surprise ladyboy rejected by some sex tourist prolly. I flipped the pillow to the col’ side and fell back asleep.

The screaming in the darkness down the hall at some point became calming. I dreamed and I dreamt of boats in space in regions with no pain.

I fucking hated the Philippines. I just wanted to be in bed, away from the fumes and the very sad hordes of dirty street people, especially the little ones, the little dirty street people, running up beside me beg-beg-begging for dat coin-coin-coin, coming way too close to my bags of Jolliebee and 7-Eleven snacks.

Tut, Tut, Tut.

It's a sad reality, the Philippines is a helicopter country. One to jump from spot to spot and avoid what's on the floor. I was already bored now, and tired, I wanted more than anything the end of December and the time until mid-January to pass and for me to be on that flight to Singapore, to smell that 'spicy perfume', eat kaya, see some old spots and some new ones before flying off to beautiful cold England.

I reserved one day to see the little of Manila of any interest.

In the morning I walked across the bridge and to the river ferry station. Apparently this plastic bathtub, thrown together, children's art supplies for windows ferry needed a passport to ride. I walked back to the hotel and got my passport for a ferry boat.

The river was a dirt brown. The brown of the Thames looks sugary, a delightful chocolate milk, this brown was a murky diarrhoea with deep trash lining the bowl.

As we crossed into the Malacañang Palace, the boat's engines throttled back and we floated quietly through the Philippine presidential bubble. I took out my phone to record, this precipitated a meltdown of the crew on board.

With the one exception of Malacañang, the poverty along the river was horrid. Further cementing the view that there is something deeply wrong with the Philippines.

The day finally came to leave Manilla for Tacloban. A city that most visitors to the Philippines don't even consider. I wanted to see it. The entire city was destroyed ten years ago, flattened by the strongest typhoon in history. That was more interesting to me than a polluted beach.

The plane to Tac met wall after wall of cloud.

I love the feeling of hitting the clouds. The anticipation.

The punch to the gut and the madness inside the plastic that follows.

At the airport a girl was waiting for me.

We squeezed into a jeepney full of Filipinos and Filipinas and rode to my hotel.

Tacloban City had an odd mix of highlights.

In terms of tourism, the two things it had going for it was its own destruction and General Douglas MacArthur.

After new years, me and the airport girl headed on jeepneys and tricycles to Palo to see the famous statue of MacArthur and Friends and the flood wall built to keep back the ocean after the typhoon.

We had sex in the afternoon and then I stopped messaging her and I didn't see her again.

I didn't dislike her, but in person there wasn't much there.

I had quite a few interesting women in Tac. A doctor working in the ICU, infectious diseases… she bought me a big packet of medicines as a gift, which was nice. Another was a virgin and then not a virgin. Fun stuff.

But it was time for a fairytale too. It had been a while since I wrote a fairytale.

She walked confidently through the dark parking lot. Hood up.

I stood on the balcony above the stairs.

'Blue shirt?' she messaged.

As we entered the shared space outside my room, I turned and looked at her.

It wasn't a 'love-at-first-sight WOWZERS, but it was one of those hard to describe moments, there was a pause in time. Some kind of realisation, a lost love in some other galaxy, some other timeline. It was a familiarity.

There was an elegance and ease to this hood girl that I rather enjoyed. She was also the best sex I'd had in a while, and even a contender for the top spot of all time.

Let that sink in.

A Contender For The Top Spot of All Time.

After HoodGirl left I ate some crisps, turned on the TV and began an evening pacing session.

The Man from U. N. C. L. E. was on and they were in room 304 and I was in room 304 and I first watched this movie in a cinema in Victoria, British Columbia and the woman in the film was called Victoria. Fun Stuff, Fun Stuff!

The last morning in Tacloban HoodGirl returned. Another session of top notch, super sex. Gold medalists. Well done us.

When we were finished, I think we both felt a little sad.

She zipped up her perfect brown tits behind her black hoodie and asked if I wanted to get lunch. I had time before the airport so I took her to KFC.

KFC was built for the romantic. A romantic like me.

When I got back to the table she asked if I ordered

I said yes

She had already ordered for both of us and paid for the meals. So I had two and I ate two.

An hour later we stood outside the catholic church digesting our chicken, the skies teasing rain.

She came to the airport with me.

I hadn't felt sad about a girl disappearing into the nothingness for years. But I felt a bit sad about it. Maybe I liked her. Maybe she was just great at sex. Maybe I should render her again.

I flew to Cebu on a propeller plane and left those thoughts behind.

But, then…

Cebu was melty-trash. Cebu was pus-shit.

I got off the bus and was walking the dark highway to my hotel when I fell into a storm drain.

I power-walked away with deep scratch-like cuts and the toes of my left foot nearly sheared off.

The main concern was rabies and then tetanus.

It all looked dirty.

I tore off my clothes and showered and soaped the injuries.

I get paranoid about these things, breaks to the skin. But I should. We all should. I carefully placed my broken toes into my stolen flip flops and went to the 7-Eleven at the corner of the street. I bought rubbing alcohol and felt better.

The next night some skank grabbed my cut up leg while I fucked her.

Foreign fluids on my dry blood. Oh no. Yuckies.

I stood in the shower, wall tap running on the worst of my gashes, broken shower head too.

The only nice place I'd been in this country was Tacloban. The only place I wanted to spend any more time here was Tacloban.

Thoughts of HoodGirl were starting to pop up.

Usually phone application girls are phone application girls. They come, they cum, they go. But HoodGirl was starting to be mythologised. A dangerous thing. So dangerous that after a night and a half in Cebu I booked a ticket back to Tac to see her again.

Because I wanted it. I wanted more of her. More high quality sex with something similar to feeling. More nights and mornings like those.

I moved to a new hotel and focused my thoughts on my return to Tacloban and finishing this giant trip in style.

I ticked off the few things I knew I wanted to see in the city and then that was that. Cebu was done.

I went back to stay the final night in the first hotel and saw a beautiful dead dog on the sidewalk.

My heart broke.

I didn't hate Cebu but it just wasn't the time. This wasn't our time, this time around. It started by falling into that storm drain and it ended with that dead dog. I made the right decision in leaving, in going back to what I wanted.

It was a risk though. Heading back to see a girl so soon after leaving can be romantic or doom anything further. I was confident I could turn things in my favour.

The risk ended in reward.

We watched Money Heist, fucked like the Earth was falling over and on the last full day before I left we went to her family home and made a Fillipino chicken dish.

Who knows why. Some people are special. Even if just for a little while.

I pulled her in for goodbye kisses and she left once more by jeepney.

Re-rendered. Re-vanished.

...continue reading

Asia Trip 7 Part III - Through Borneo

Published March 26, 2024

KL Again

By the time I boarded the flight to Kuala Lumpur, it was hard to tell which way it would go - 70% I'll be better by the time I'm in bed in Chinatown, 30% medical evacuation, incubated, fighting for life.

The flight was relaxing, the green wing tips grooved the line and I sat there in my hat. Day and night. Light and dark. I took some dick pissing pics in the bathroom and dreamed.

We landed in the hot dark. Malaysia again. I had a long night, morning and day ahead.

As I was inflating and deflating my lungs, 'Seize the day' by Avenged Sevenfold started playing from the store next to me and a beautiful Chinese-Malay girl began swinging her leg my way.

I popped a lozenge and sent my mind into my chest for a talk. And so to the soundtrack of 2006 rock and roll I rallied the troops for the fight.

I was sick for most of that time in KL, only finally starting to come out of the soup on my last full day in the city.

I repeated my new mantra often - REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

I had been in Malaysia early in the year at the end of ‘An Asia Trip’ and the previous year for the beginning of ‘An Asia Trip’, I was also here four years before, before the pandemic. KL was becoming my main home in Asia.

The highlight this time around was a walk I took in the warm afternoon rain. Still sick, still coughing…

I set that all aside for a few hours though and enjoyed some time in one of my joyful places.

I walked every floor at least twice. Probably more, looking for a kaya toast joint not stacked to the ceiling with humans.

Looking for the best choice for some real toast.

I was now better and walking around the vastly unnecessary but fucking fantastic airport mall of Klia2.

I found a branch of The Old Town White Coffee without too many sweaty crust-munching people and went inside. They have three? of these things in the same mall, just like they have three? of everything in the same mall.

I enjoyed my 'enriched' hot chocolate and kaya toast with thick finger sticks of butter before going through security. The amount of butter in this thing was super-fucking-overkill. For the artery plaque budget, it's a once a year indulgent injection, maybe once a decade.

...continue reading

Asia Trip 7 Part III - Through Borneo

Published March 26, 2024

KL Again

By the time I boarded the flight to Kuala Lumpur, it was hard to tell which way it would go - 70% I'll be better by the time I'm in bed in Chinatown, 30% medical evacuation, incubated, fighting for life.

The flight was relaxing, the green wing tips grooved the line and I sat there in my hat. Day and night. Light and dark. I took some dick pissing pics in the bathroom and dreamed.

We landed in the hot dark. Malaysia again. I had a long night, morning and day ahead.

As I was inflating and deflating my lungs, 'Seize the day' by Avenged Sevenfold started playing from the store next to me and a beautiful Chinese-Malay girl began swinging her leg my way.

I popped a lozenge and sent my mind into my chest for a talk. And so to the soundtrack of 2006 rock and roll I rallied the troops for the fight.

I was sick for most of that time in KL, only finally starting to come out of the soup on my last full day in the city.

I repeated my new mantra often - REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

REST. RELAX. RECOVER.

I had been in Malaysia early in the year at the end of ‘An Asia Trip’ and the previous year for the beginning of ‘An Asia Trip’, I was also here four years before, before the pandemic. KL was becoming my main home in Asia.

The highlight this time around was a walk I took in the warm afternoon rain. Still sick, still coughing…

I set that all aside for a few hours though and enjoyed some time in one of my joyful places.

I walked every floor at least twice. Probably more, looking for a kaya toast joint not stacked to the ceiling with humans.

Looking for the best choice for some real toast.

I was now better and walking around the vastly unnecessary but fucking fantastic airport mall of Klia2.

I found a branch of The Old Town White Coffee without too many sweaty crust-munching people and went inside. They have three? of these things in the same mall, just like they have three? of everything in the same mall.

I enjoyed my 'enriched' hot chocolate and kaya toast with thick finger sticks of butter before going through security. The amount of butter in this thing was super-fucking-overkill. For the artery plaque budget, it's a once a year indulgent injection, maybe once a decade.

...continue reading

Asia Trip 7 Part II - Georgia to Yerevan to Dubai to Oman

Published March 25, 2024

Tbilisi and The Night Train to Yerevan

Tbilisi was better. Most of it looks like a Latvian warehouse, but not in an entirely terrible way. It had some feeling to it, feeling was the thing missing in Batumi.

I went back to the same accommodation, the small rooms near the train station.

After a few days enjoying my tiny room and the streets around it, I went out to see everything I wanted of the Georgian capital.

I started at the cathedral, one of the nicest, the golden sand colour of its exterior was a majestic statement from the country itself. If only my son wasn't hanging on a cross inside it. They did have one nice non-crucifixion painting of him though, I did appreciate that.

After the cathedral I walked through the centre of the city to the fortress up on the hill.

A denim-wearing Russian offered me coke or cock or something up on the hillside. I pushed past him and continued on the snaking path. At the end of it was a blank space, a platform to look at some depressed trees. I turned around and walked back to the entrance of the crumbling fortress.

Inside stood a dark, disturbed church and a pit of powdery orange. It would be a sugary scramble to the top for one of Earth's great urban views.

I smashed my hand into the broken rocks and a large shard of glass embedded in my hand. I looked at it, irritated, knowing all the possibilities. Luckily, my iron skin had protected me, what at first looked dirty and diseased, quickly turned a non-issue.

At the tippy top I caught sight of what that snaking path had been for… the Mother of Georgia.

Fuck. Cunt.

Cunt. Fuck.

Another trip, back the same direction.

To stare at her giant arse and giant tits and then call it a day.

I was hurt and hungry. It was dark when I left the metro. I bought ramen from the store and a large stick of bread. Breaking it, dipping it, slurping it. The steam in my eyes and up my nose.

True healing.

On the last day a film crew rudely tried to stop me and others from using the public street. I walked into the street anyway, Georgian production staff running after me, screaming, some crying, grown men crying.

Public streets should never be used for filming unless I'm in the production, then yeah and fuck the public.

After seeing a few more things in the capital I grew bored and developed a mystery fever. I headed back to the central station early for my night train to Yerevan.

Before the train I ate a large pasty and creamy pasta at the station's dining hall. For an old Soviet station, beaten black and blue, this was a nice surprise. The green-walled hall was spacious and had a dystopian tech start-up feel to it, and the food wasn't bad.

After dinner I took the steps to the platforms and walked in darkness between two old trains, both seemingly abandoned. The one to the right looked more suited for an international overnight journey but it was the little train, only a few carriages long, with the Armenian railways logo faded into it, that would claim the honour.

I had a top berth, but for now I sat down on the lower. A Russian couple appeared opposite me. They looked nervous, something I've found of Russians since the war began. The girl was somewhat beautiful, perhaps even beautiful.

She had the biggest lips I'd ever seen on a girl…

two swollen

wet shiny

sticky pink

boiled sausages

yet they somehow fit her face.

The train stopped just as Beautiful Big Lips had slipped into her pyjamas and tucked into bed.

I stepped off the train to three barking dogs. A mix of wild and mascot within them.

We lined up on the cold platform for the passport exit stamps out of Georgia.

The dogs jumped and play bit my fellow passengers while I stood ready to kill.

My mind replayed last December and this January and the international rabies vaccination hunt that commenced after a dog attacked me in Northeast Thailand. I didn't want another saga of chasing injections, like I had in Laos and Vietnam.

I approached the window, some fingers flicked around inside my passport. Passports are funny things. Both authoritarian and romantic. And a soon to be relic of international travel.

I pocketed the burgundy book, avoided a bite and got back on the train to sleep until Yerevan.

...continue reading

Asia Trip 7 Part I - Bucharest, Istanbul, Tbilisi, Batumi

Published March 24, 2024

GO! England to Romania

It started as Happy Birthday and evolved into a not-too-terrible but still pretty kack-handed rendition of My Heart Will Go On. Late night, LUTON! People tend to hate this airport, but I find nothing egregious here, except maybe for the fucking piano. Don't put a fucking piano in an airport. If you do, lock the lid at night, or at least electrify the keys.

There was no sleep to be had until the afternoon of the next day when I arrived at my hostel in Bucharest, which was actually a hotel but called itself a hostel. This was the beginning of Asia Trip 7, in Romania, a very non-asian country, but fuck you, I make the rules 🙂

The main goal of the trip was hitting my 20th new country of the year and 58th country overall. I had been deliberating, moving things this way and then that for months. As I packed and ran the bath, only hours before leaving for the airport, everything was still up in the air with each possible path featuring several big annoyances.

That was all until I got in the bath, relaxed into the hot water and finally found the perfect route. I conjured up a ridiculous £28 flight from Yerevan to Abu Dhabi out of thin air and laughed my arse off with glee.

I decided to throw away my booked flight from Bucharest to Abu Dhabi and head on through Türkiye and the Caucasus instead.

Romania, Türkiye, Georgia, Armenia, UAE, Oman, Malaysia, Brunei, Malaysia, Philippines

I would be embarking on a sword slash across the planet Earth.

Bucharest wasn't what I was expecting. Bucharest, Romania, Eastern Europe. Another one of those.

The Bucharest in my mind was a mix between the Balkan countries I had visited in September and maybe Hungary. It turned out more like Paris. Beautiful. Different. Beautiful.

Bucharest wasn't a city of dazzling attractions, but walking the streets is often one of the more enjoyable ways to spend time and these streets had something to them.

I saw the main tourist attractions over two mornings and spent the rest of the time wandering.

The rain pelted the concrete as I stepped outside the door. I went back upstairs and grabbed my baseball cap. The amount of protection a simple cap offers you is something that needs to be studied.

I crunched the faded orange and yellow leaves underneath my running shoes. The weather was somewhere between bubbly warm and tickly cool. I was walking to the parliament, one of only two landmarks I wanted to see. It was supposedly 'The heaviest building in the world'.

I saw it. And I also saw the shitty travelling fairground stuck in front of it.

I walked around and got the best videos and photos I could with this fairground bullshit.

It was a situation both Gay and homo-sexual, and not the positive kind of either.

3 outta ten, a DISGRACE!

Didn't even look that heavy.

Steam rose from manhole covers buried in the black streets. Trees, brown and green whispered kindness. Wet soggy asphalt. The hint of rain and hallmarks of fall held me close.

It was a nice Buchy, nice!

The next morning I went to visit the fake Arc de Triomphe, not as bad in person as it looks in the pictures. The best knock-off is still the one in Vientiane, Laos. It looks ancient and infected. The Romanian copy is a fading yellow.

As I walked back down the long avenue with the obligatory homeless for each bench, I quickened my pace.

I was running late for my flight to Istanbul.

But being me I refused to be running late for anything. So I slowed down and enjoyed the air, enjoyed the trees. It was beautiful here and it was a beautiful time of year

I decided to alter time to my favour, far better than the alternative of rushing about in a silly panic.

I left Romania with better thoughts of the place than its reputation suggested. Nice when that happens.

The first country of this global assault course, done.

...continue reading

Asia Trip 7 Part I - Bucharest, Istanbul, Tbilisi, Batumi

Published March 24, 2024

GO! England to Romania

It started as Happy Birthday and evolved into a not-too-terrible but still pretty kack-handed rendition of My Heart Will Go On. Late night, LUTON! People tend to hate this airport, but I find nothing egregious here, except maybe for the fucking piano. Don't put a fucking piano in an airport. If you do, lock the lid at night, or at least electrify the keys.

There was no sleep to be had until the afternoon of the next day when I arrived at my hostel in Bucharest, which was actually a hotel but called itself a hostel. This was the beginning of Asia Trip 7, in Romania, a very non-asian country, but fuck you, I make the rules 🙂

The main goal of the trip was hitting my 20th new country of the year and 58th country overall. I had been deliberating, moving things this way and then that for months. As I packed and ran the bath, only hours before leaving for the airport, everything was still up in the air with each possible path featuring several big annoyances.

That was all until I got in the bath, relaxed into the hot water and finally found the perfect route. I conjured up a ridiculous £28 flight from Yerevan to Abu Dhabi out of thin air and laughed my arse off with glee.

I decided to throw away my booked flight from Bucharest to Abu Dhabi and head on through Türkiye and the Caucasus instead.

Romania, Türkiye, Georgia, Armenia, UAE, Oman, Malaysia, Brunei, Malaysia, Philippines

I would be embarking on a sword slash across the planet Earth.

Bucharest wasn't what I was expecting. Bucharest, Romania, Eastern Europe. Another one of those.

The Bucharest in my mind was a mix between the Balkan countries I had visited in September and maybe Hungary. It turned out more like Paris. Beautiful. Different. Beautiful.

Bucharest wasn't a city of dazzling attractions, but walking the streets is often one of the more enjoyable ways to spend time and these streets had something to them.

I saw the main tourist attractions over two mornings and spent the rest of the time wandering.

The rain pelted the concrete as I stepped outside the door. I went back upstairs and grabbed my baseball cap. The amount of protection a simple cap offers you is something that needs to be studied.

I crunched the faded orange and yellow leaves underneath my running shoes. The weather was somewhere between bubbly warm and tickly cool. I was walking to the parliament, one of only two landmarks I wanted to see. It was supposedly 'The heaviest building in the world'.

I saw it. And I also saw the shitty travelling fairground stuck in front of it.

I walked around and got the best videos and photos I could with this fairground bullshit.

It was a situation both Gay and homo-sexual, and not the positive kind of either.

3 outta ten, a DISGRACE!

Didn't even look that heavy.

Steam rose from manhole covers buried in the black streets. Trees, brown and green whispered kindness. Wet soggy asphalt. The hint of rain and hallmarks of fall held me close.

It was a nice Buchy, nice!

The next morning I went to visit the fake Arc de Triomphe, not as bad in person as it looks in the pictures. The best knock-off is still the one in Vientiane, Laos. It looks ancient and infected. The Romanian copy is a fading yellow.

As I walked back down the long avenue with the obligatory homeless for each bench, I quickened my pace.

I was running late for my flight to Istanbul.

But being me I refused to be running late for anything. So I slowed down and enjoyed the air, enjoyed the trees. It was beautiful here and it was a beautiful time of year

I decided to alter time to my favour, far better than the alternative of rushing about in a silly panic.

I left Romania with better thoughts of the place than its reputation suggested. Nice when that happens.

The first country of this global assault course, done.

...continue reading

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© Brad Nicholls