Hit the Road

My pores had all closed down. Bangkok simmers at 34 degrees celsius, in this humid tropical heat no one is spared from sweating profusely and yet I find myself basking jubilantly under the heat of the noon day sun while genially appraising the lack of oozing salt water from my body, congratulations to me! I am now summer-proof! London winter may have done pleasant alterations, all the freezing walks and thawing once you step inside heated buildings may have done the trick akin to the Japanese tradition of stripping butt naked in the snow and immediately dipping into hot mineral springs to minimise pore openings. I hate it when I sweat, I had to carry with me a hanky all the time to wipe off the perspiration. Just imagine the bacteria that accumulates in between the cloth fibers. eck. Had I been a hypochondriac, the stress of this news can highly likely be the cause of death rather than actually dying from a disease. 

There’s a sense of renewed vigour that pulsates from my calloused soles to the tip of my twitchy ears. The unsteady rhythm from walking on unpaved roads and the cacophony of sounds that permeate the humid air realigns me to the beat, humdrum and smell typical of the Asian mega cities. Manila is not much different, peeling the veneer of tangible cultural variances, Bangkok and my home city may well be the same. London, another home in the other side of the world offers to me a different sense of being- of someone lost in the vastness of space, opportunities, liberty and choices. It dumbs me down, waters down my senses to near asceticism and the comfort brought by the absence of thoughts was fiercely seductive and I willingly gave in without any consequent regrets. It was exceedingly comfortable to the point of laziness, and if you’re fortunate enough surrounded with fantastic people who brings merriment and reason in generous helpings every single time, the curse of lethargy will slowly creep in. This momentary pause however is not meant to last. While engrossed in the daily grind, a mind which has always been accustomed to flitting and a perennial victim to wanderlust, will break away from the constancy of senses to try looking for something different, anything but different. Before I know it I was set on going to Cambodia. My mind regressed through a time when the fascination to Angkorean culture was the only thing that drove me to attend design history classes, when the clippings that hang on my wall were black and white photocopies of temple images juxtaposed with maps and aerial shots. The thought of going around these temples on my very own yellow bicycle is becoming more and more real, and as if on priory drugs I heaved from one deja vus to the next heralding a season of fantastic discoveries. Of temples. Of bicycles. Of people. Of self. 


The practicalities of travel hassles me. Coming out of a stupor, more like a state of dependency, it takes time to stretch the mental limbs and take stock of things. My mind is still myopic and it can only see the choices for the next meal. Delightfully simplistic. My concern right now, at this very moment on a sidebar in my mind while writing is how to survive the 5 hour train to the Thai-Khmer border village of Aranya Prathet without my ipod, having lost it to the rabid pickpocket gangs of Barcelona.