Rehearsing a liveable future - PART 2 - Visiting the Neighbours... slow journey AU to EU to save carbon

PART 2. Day 6 to Day 13

Visiting the Neighbours – travelling through South East Asia.

Leaving Darwin

I check in at a kiosk, queue and shuffle my way through immigration and into the sterile environment of Darwin airport, stiflingly hot, even at midnight. The flight is full. Bali is a popular destination for Australians, a cheap alternative to local beachside resorts, and the Balinese people have a reputation for generous hospitality. I first visited Bali when I was a teenager on a return trip from the UK where I had been living with family friends for a year. My mum and I visited Ubud and stayed in the compound of a family of dancers, the girls learning traditional dance from as young as three. They showed us how they habitually push their fingers away from the palm to stretch the muscles and achieve the signature curved hands of the Balinese dancer. Even back then there was a nasty side to the invasion of Australian tourists; esky coolers on Kuta beach loaded by demanding blokes full of beer, resorts catering to aspirational whims of desire, mostly with flagrant disregard for local customs and values. Holidays to 'cheap' destinations inevitably exploit local labour and undermine local customs. Of course, many travellers are deeply interested in exploring local culture, but the sheer number of tourists can overpower and distort the daily lives of locals where tourism has become a mainstay of economic survival.

From the incidental chatter I overhear in the airport lounge I an tell these Aussies expected to be ‘treated like royalty’; served and serviced as they flash their cash. This colonial behaviour, modelled to us by the British, and perpetuated across the world, is how we do global. I like to journey with purpose and find roads less travelled, aware that the cheap flights I’ve enjoyed play a part in this picture. Its the system I am reflecting on during this overland trip. Global inequity, whether for business or pleasure, is reflected in the fabric of international travel.

Australia has interesting relationships with its near neighbours. We are on the doorstep of southeast Asia. The term ‘Australasia’ has a distinctly colonial ring to it, placing Australia in the heart of the region. Oceania describes the continent that incorporates Australia as the largest island of thousands, scattered across the Pacific Ocean, the region between Asia and the Americas. First Nations people, especially Torres Strait Islanders have evidence of trade across this region and into Asia for centuries. The small islands of the Torres Strait, the Indonesian archipelago, and across the pacific basin are experiencing devastating impacts of sea level rise. Torres Strait Island artist, Ghenoa Gela, who I had the privilege of working with some years ago, has centred much of her work on raising awareness of the urgent plight of these islands and their cultures. Her show Gurr Era Op premiered at Sydney Festival this year, featuring four mainland born Torres Strait Islander women as they battle against the rising tide threatening their home, culture and identity. 

Indonesia – Denpasar to Jakarta (Day 6)

Arriving at Denpasar airport at 1.30am is straight forward. We passengers are greeted by a throng of drivers, all vying for business, and signs of greeting to the 10th World Water Forum with the strapline ‘Water shared for Prosperity’. At this desperate time water is an increasingly precious resource. Rivers and lakes are being polluted by industry and full of human and plastic waste, ground water is being destroyed by fracking, and unstable weather brings boom and bust of supply in increasing extremes. Big corporations are trying harder than ever to capitalise and control its flow, when water is vital to our survival. This signage is an arresting start to my Climate motivated journey. One of the challenges of the trip is the necessity to consume bottled water, something I strongly resist doing at home. Of course, we have the privilege of safe drinking water from the tap. What would it take for all people to have access to clean water?

My bus for Jakarta leaves at 6am so I make my way to the departures lounge and an open café where I complete a funding application and visit an ATM to have some local cash. Around 4am I try to find a taxi, but the arrivals hall and adjacent road are eerily silent so I return to departures and flag down a driver dropping someone off. We agree a price and head off into the dark to find my bus.

I am not sure why addresses cause confusion in Indonesia, but I recall this from other visits. We get to the general area easily enough but then the driver can’t find the bus depot. The booking confirmation anticipates this challenge, and we try calling the number they've offered, to no avail. The driver keeps telling me, in his sparse English, to relax and negotiates a higher fee. It is all that I’ve withdrawn from the ATM, not a lot. We communicate on google translate and when he sees the brand of bus company on my booking form, he lights up and drives straight there, arriving in time for the scheduled departure. First international panic over.

Now, when I say bus depot, I mean a dusty vacant lot with a small lean-to shed and another room with crew written in paint on the corrugated steel wall. One of the women was brushing the dirt, sweeping litter into piles, creating a sense of order. A travelling family were being seen off by a dozen young men, clearly friends, their mopeds lined up in the road. Lorena Bus brand colours are green and purple (the feminist colours in my world, but not here) All the male drivers wore matching green uniforms while the jump seat accomplices wore purple. We took off down narrow roads to the sound of upbeat Indonesian pop, catchy tunes with an air of optimism. Around 11am we enter the ferry port then drive onto the boat, pitching and rolling across the Bali Strait to Java on a rusty ferry.

I meet lovely Cristin, a Javanese woman heading home from her holiday with her companion. Her English is great, and we chat families and far away destinations. She works in travel, saving her money to take the next trip. She has travelled throughout Indonesia, across Asia and to Europe. Her sister lives in the Netherlands, one of her daughters in Tokyo, and Cristin loves airplanes, but the cost put her seat on this bus. I reflect on all these global family connections and mass migration aided by cheap flights. What will happen when we can’t travel so easily. Will there be a post mobility era or even a post mobile era that includes our dependence on phones? The pain of separation would certainly impact my family. When my parents emigrated to Australia, they did not expect to return regularly to the UK due to cost and inconvenience. That changed over my lifetime.  Mind you, people have travelled for millennia, my ancestors crossed wild seas from Wales, Scotland, the Netherlands and finally England to settle in New Zealand, Indonesia and Australia as the British and European colonies grew, long before planes carted us long distances. Family letters reveal that my Dutch forebears in Indonesia regularly returned ‘home’ from the quinine plantation they managed in Java. And now I am here in Java for the first time. 

The bus trundles along for many hours on this 24hour adventure. Around 3pm we stop in a food hall for lunch, and everyone lines up. I don’t realise at this stage that the food is free, part of the ticket price. I think the hostess assumes that I don’t like Indonesian food, she gives me chocolate biscuits and a bottle of water. Without cash and with no ATM in sight, Cristin helps me navigate the toilet, paying coins to the attendant for me. We stop again at 10am and then at 4am for meals. Progress is slow. At Surabaya I am unsure that we can get to Jakarta anywhere near the scheduled time. As we drive across Java roads widen and transform to tollways. We arrive only 40 minutes late.

Jakarta – Day 7

I’m dropped on a small side street, on the outskirts of Jakarta, where micro businesses sit under concrete motorways stretched in every direction. After I restore my cash reserve, I take the decision there and then not to jump in a taxi unless its necessary and try to find my way by other means. What are the locals doing? Mopeds are the preferred form of transportation, but my big suitcase makes that impossible. A driver lets me know I am on the wrong side of the road for central Jakarta, so I cross under the motorway to where some people were waiting.  Of course, I am a curiosity in this context, a middle-aged woman with a lot of luggage, dyed red hair and air of determination. One after another, people come  asking ‘mana?’ which my school Indonesian helps me understand means where? I realise that what I might casually have described as hassle is curiosity and a desire to help. I determine to open myself to these encounters. I say ‘Jakarta’ several times and refuse offers of taxis, when a quiet Muslim woman says in clear voice; ‘You come with me’. The first bus is packed and doesn’t stop but the next is relatively empty, air conditioned and we ride grandly into the centre of Jakarta, some 20km way.

Downtown Jakarta is full of skyscrapers, shopping malls and other monuments to progress. The traffic is relentlessly loud, drivers love their horns. Here I am grateful for technology. I’d opted to activate the International roaming on my Australian mobile account with data to find my hotel on maps, a 2.5km walk. This trip means a lot of time sitting on my arse so I will take every opportunity to keep my step count to the 8km a day average that I keep up at home. I find cool leafy avenues, relief from the intense heat and traffic and wend my way.

This Monday I have arranged to meet Ratri Anindyajati, Director of the Indonesian Dance Festival, although as she says, having the same initials as the Israeli Defence Force is somewhat uncomfortable while they wage war on Gaza. Ratri is in the south of the city. I find a tuk tuk, the driver is also challenged to find the address of the café where she’d elected to meet, and I walked the last kilometre. Ratri is part of the IETM Global Connectors program, an ambitious program to make our international network more accessible and inclusive to a range of people from countries across the world. IETM is one of the oldest performing arts networks based in Europe and the Global Connectors have had a significant impact on conversations about decolonisation and the responsibilities of wealthy countries to poorer ones. Ratri comes from a proud family of dancers who started the dance festival, and we talk about the challenges for artists, particularly women artists in Indonesia. This takes precedent, and any work engaging in Climate and Ecological Emergency is side lined. I am well used to this position, and until justice is approached in a systemic way, the Climate and Ecological Emergency remains an ‘extra’, ‘we just don’t have capacity’ problem to solve. Its also much harder to see when other injustices, such as gender equality, are so starkly clear. After a lovely Indonesian lunch, we say our goodbyes, having toured through some of the performing art world’s shared problems; too much bureaucracy, the constraints of government funding, the younger generation’s lack of interest in traditions, and so on, now spilling into our afternoons.

I blindly hop on and off buses and miraculously find my way back to where I started in the centre of Jakarta. Ratri had suggested I get the GRAB app and get on the back of a moped, by far the fastest way to get around, but I am cautious, mindful that my insurance doesn’t cover this mode of transport. I should have ticked that box. I wonder if I am getting ill as pollution aches at the back of my throat. I find a supermarket and buy many bottles to quench an insatiable thirst and watch Aljazeera news in my hotel, where more of the world’s problems in Gaza, Sudan, Brazil drive me to a restless sleep.

Next morning, I am out early, persuaded by hotel staff that a car to the airport is cheaper than the train and a 2km walk. I succumb and arrive at Soekarno-Hatta airport to catch my flight to Singapore. Its a busy morning for flights. I had wanted to get a boat, but online advice was contradictory, and delays common. Travelling towards a hard meeting deadline and strict timetable for entering China I’d reluctantly opted to fly. I aim to set sail on the return journey.

Singapore (Day 8)

I have been to Singapore several times. Changi airport is familiar and full of even more familiar advertising for luxury brands, mostly featuring famous white people. After hours overland beyond the realm of luxury brands, I find this deeply unsettling especially when the cheap flight experience is not much more than long queues, cramped seats and the promise of glamour that never quite delivers.

The subway is clean and easy to navigate. Two women; one Italian, one Chinese, converse in English about the places they have been and the airports they love: ‘you know there is a sleeping in airports website? So much safer than sleazy train stations’. I know what they mean, but prefer to imagine what it might be like if the same effort and attention had been given to maintaining railway infrastructure as has gone into air travel. Now globetrotters tick countries off bucket lists and get transported from one bubble to the next.

A soulful Call to Prayer from the impressive gold adorned Grand Mosque in the Arab quarter stirs my heart as I find the Cube boutique hostel, full of individual pod beds, just for one, in a room of 10. Somehow Singapore manages to have all these enclaves of culture living side by side, celebrating many unique cultural heritage and practices, while maintaining unity. Jeffrey Tan tells me this is by design and achieved through centralised control. When he and I first met back in 2009, I was the performance director for The World Famous show Crackers? Our fireworks show, in the round for 10,000 people, was about the importance of taking risks. We had a cast of 30 volunteer performers and Jeffrey Tan was our liaison person from Singapore Festival. He really bonded with the company and the show, we’d kept in touch ever since. He is a Director and educator with long experience of working with community. When we made Crackers? in the UK and toured it to Australia we understood that both cultures admire and are proud of risk-taking behaviour as part of their cultural identities. Volunteers in these places were attracted to the show, the opportunity to play with fire and celebrate the importance of taking risks. Not so in Singapore, where we found a far more obedient and reticent culture, where safety has been become a means of control. This was 2009 and I think safety has been universally weaponised since then.

Jeffrey and I have a fabulous dinner in Little India and we visit Mustafa’s, a crazy four story warehouse store full of everything you can possibly imagine. It’s the definition of ‘too much stuff’, open 24hours a day, and certainly represents the antithesis of the way I am trying to live… sparingly, mindfully. Jeffrey is full of projects and plans. He reminds me fondly of how dedicated artists are, how much unpaid labour goes into this vocational profession. However, he is not engaged in the Climate Crisis, it’s beyond the scope of the work he is doing with seniors. He’ll let me know if he comes across any artists who are.

Malaysia - Johor Bahru to Butterworth (Day 9)

My alarm went off super early in the little pod bed to get to Woodland’s checkpoint by bus and over the border, Jeffrey and I had checked the place the previous evening. Once there and through the Singapore side, I made the mistake of following the signs that said I could walk into Malaysia but sharing a bike path with peak hour traffic was no safe and I had to return to the border and convince passport control to get me to the buses. Then in Johor Bahru I had trouble with the arrivals form online with poor reception. Repeatedly filling in the online form only to be bumped off wasted an hour. Luckily, I’d got time before the train. Guards prevent anyone from getting onto the platform before the train is ready to leave but then a smooth orderly shuffle onto the train and 5 hour ride to Gemas, a two hour break then a 9 hour ride to Butterworth. Towards the end of that journey I had a remarkable conversation with Norma, a devout Muslim, about ethics and the purpose of my journey, family (she’s a mother of 6) and life after child rearing. She kept apologising for her English, rather good given the philosophical discussion. She related everything to the Quran and her faith while wanting to learn and understand. We agreed that we need to learn about difference for the world to be a better kinder place. She hadn’t thought much about the cause of climate change but was certainly noticing rapid changes to weather and the intense heat. One of her sons is a doctor and he was noticing the health impacts. It was such a beautiful exchange. Two mums on a train.

Then in Butterworth, around 10.40pm I made my way from the train station along deserted streets, a few families still attending their food stalls under ragged umbrellas despite the late hour. I found an ATM and bought some water. There was a faint air of celebration that I learned, much later, was a local Indian Festival. I was excited about this accommodation and had spent a little more money because there was a laundry, a pool and a late check in which I knew I needed because of the train. I was heading towards a tower amongst the low rise buildings and corrugated shelters, with a sports bar downstairs and razor wire atop the sturdy steel gates. At the security box where tenants drive by, I asked about the accommodation I had booked and paid for. Yes, this was the right place, what room am I booked into? Nothing on the confirmation paperwork gave any indication so they couldn’t help and directed me to numbers of various agents on the glass. I couldn’t get hold of the owner on the number provided. The security were sympathetic at first as I stood in the hot dark night desperately trying to figure out what to do but they lost interest. It wasn’t their problem that I was stranded. I was both livid and scared. Where could I go? Butterworth was clearly the poor side of Penang Strait. After more than an hour of insistent calling I walked back past the sports bar and two Indian women took pity on me, pointing me in the direction of a hotel. Their boss offered a lift but I was a little spooked so walked and found the foyer open and unattended. It was clean, well lit, a couple of sofas, a few drinks in an otherwise empty fridge and I waited. I was tempted to curl up on the sofa but the receptionist appeared and I bought a room, a small windowless box with a bed and a shower. So happy! 

George Town (Day 10)

Across the strait from Butterworth is Georgetown, the old capital of Penang Island and a strategic trading hub back in the day. The stamp of British colonial history is all over the monuments and impressive buildings. Courting a shabby chic aesthetic, the place is filled with artisan gelato, trendy shops and stalls. I found a theatre, but it wasn’t open and sadly I couldn’t stay till evening. Then I see huge signs celebrating a 50yesrs old twin city relationship with City of Adelaide. I was there 10 days ago. Who knew? While wandering, I have an online meeting with Jorge Lopes Ramos and Myriam Taylor de Carvalho about the ‘From Creative Practice to Climate Justice Action’ workshop symposium happening in London 1-5 July. Juggling all the communication and meetings for this event with insecure wifi connection and time differences on the move is another part of the adventure and they are very patient with me. 

This day out exploring is a welcome break from all the logistics of travelling. As I board the return ferry all the passengers are concentrated on their phones. Since leaving Australia one thing that overwhelms me daily is human dependence on technology. Whether it’s the impersonal check ins, the crowds all mediating life through their phones, or the moments of failure because of lack of reception or too many faceless interventions, I am appalled by how dependent I am, others are, the world has become. This is eating up power and taking us away from the joy of living in the world we have, instead focused on a virtual one that is killing us all.

I had left space in my schedule to meet a colleague, another Global Connector, E-Jan in Penang but unfortunately, her father was ill and she was in Kuala Lumpa, so I spend the morning working and then head to the ferry and Georgetown. Catching the ferry is through Butterworth Railway station, with a regular service every half hour most of the day.

Butterworth to Padang Besar & Bangkok (Day 11)

Next morning I get some more work done and then head off to the train to Padang Besar. The train I need to catch is cancelled and, worried I will not make the overnight sleeper on time, I negotiate with a taxi driver to take me 150km for $100. By Australian standards that’s not so far and not that expensive, but it is disappointing to be increasing the cost, in dollars and carbon footprint, of my trip.  We make it in good time. Through security and rather insecure passport control at the station, the Thai train is a gorgeous old design, testimony to a bygone industrial age. The bunks are clean and comfortable. We are all in close quarter but the curtains create privacy and I thoroughly enjoy this part of the journey, except the stinky toilets sending waste straight to the tracks. You can’t have everything. 

Bangkok (Day 12)

Arrived well rested Saturday morning and walked from the enormous and rather soulless station towards my hotel following a proposed maps walking route. I’m determined to keep my steps up in spite of the heat which is intense. The first thing I passed was a gardening centre and that gave me pleasure, people just going about their daily lives, shopping for plants and flowers. Then the route directed me to a tiny path along a canal. It was really too small for my bag and I struggled to drag and push and lift the bag. I passed some men sorting through piles of rubbish and nodded by way of respectful greeting, they nodded back This path led me past people’s front doors, with views into tiny dwellings and couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed. Me with my excessively big bag and these tiny homes with meagre infrastructure. One had a camp kitchen leaning over the canal. I thought about what I’ve learned working with First Nations people, most recently @jacobboehme and his Elders on First Nations protocols. This includes asking permission to enter someone’s country. That’s not about government or passport control or making money from tourism. It’s about respect for local traditional owners who look after their country and have responsibility to keep it and strangers safe. The welcome to country ritual is part of that. Then I encountered a dog, my travel doctor’s words running in my ears, that I shouldn’t get close to any animals. The path was blocked. I stood very still and made calming noises. The dog hopped over my bag and went on it’s way with a little snarl of acknowledgement. Jacob created a show called WILD DOG in 2022 about the dingo, one of the sacred native animals, honoured by many First Nations people, including Narungga (Jacob’s country in South Australia). Their song line connects Dingo stories across Australia and into Asia. It’s Australia’s only apex predator that is routinely poisoned and vilified despite being an environmental protector. Maybe this dog was a relative? At my hotel I discovered I’d lost my bank card so retraced my steps to the station but it was gone. Damn. I have other means to get money but I was kicking myself as I’d not been as careful as I should have been. The rest of the day was spent wandering the city. I tried to visit the floating market at Taling Chan by going to the train station of the same name, nowhere near the market. Overcome with exhaustion i made my way to the hotel, swam and joyfully ate vegetables. 

More Bangkok (Day 13)

I’d given myself two days in Bangkok and Sunday was a work day, as I had free WIFI in the hotel. After checkout stayed in the lobby till 6pm to get the full benefit of their facilities. Not very exciting but necessary. Inevitably I’d left Australia with some unfinished tasks, am producing a major event in London in July and have ongoing responsibilities to artists. Thanks to my colleagues for their patience. Great news came through that Create NSW has funded First Nations artist and plant specialist Henrietta Baird to participate in the ‘From Creative Practice to Climate Justice Action workshop symposium in London. https://events.humanitix.com/from-creative-practice-to-climate-action As I walk back to  obsessed with the powerlines in Bangkok, a metaphor for the energy mess we are in. I contacted @amrita_moves who is living in Bangkok but she was out of town. Maybe I’ll see her on the way back! I headed back to the Krung Thep Aphiwat Central Terminal and saw a cute exhibition of all the old tools once used at the old Bang Sue Junction station before everything got electrified, digitised & rebuilt. Typewriters, ticket punchers, fax machines, junction boxes and telephones to name a few, perhaps we shouldn’t be so hasty to throw out the old to make way for progress, it’s literally killing us and many other living things. And I boarded a super modern sleeper, a real contract to the old school industrial one from down south. This time heading for the Laos border.

Laos (Day 14)

We arrive at Nong Kai station at 6.30am, jump on a shuttle to the border, sail through passport control in Thailand then ride over the friendship bridge and Mekong River to Laos (pronounced with a silent s). Once border control I was swarmed by taxi touts offering to take me to Vientiane for 300 Thai baht ($12) then I spied a bus and got into town for 20 (80c). I saw in the Australian media this week that the Queensland government are dropping bus prices to $0.50c to try and encourage people to use them. What is wrong with people? Public transport is awesome and needed for our energy transition. When will we stop pretending we can get to net zero and have it all. We can’t all keep cars, there isn’t enough minerals to go around and a lot of them need to stay in the ground. Plus no plans I have seen include all the clean-up and rebuilding required as severe weather events continue to strike without warning. Its already costing Govt’s enormous sums but invisible to many concerned with public spend on hospitals, schools, aged and childcare. What is alarming about travelling in these so called ‘developing countries’ is that infrastructure is already fragile and not fit for purpose. So what happens to them in a major disaster. And who does that clean up? 

I wander around Vientiane, get my bag sewed by a street vendor as the handle is broken at the seam from strain. This kind of repair service is also needed as we produce and waste less. He was deft with the needle and strong nylon thread, my bag was restored.

Vientiane is a smallish town. From fancy shopping mall to tiny roadside businesses and excessive plastic rubbish everywhere, I feel quite at home here and find a café called Once Upon a Time to spend a few hours working with their wifi..

I’m aware that I’ve not done sufficient research to know enough about the places I am travelling through. I try to at least be able to say please and thank you. Often, I am following my nose, just passing through and hardly spending. I’m evading tourist sites but it also means I don’t learn enough. I resolve to do better. Over lunch I sent the final reminder for the Theatre Network NSW board meeting in 48hours. I don’t think I’ll make it to the meeting, I’ll be on a train in China.

Tofu is wonderfully varied in this part of the world and cooked so well. It’s easy to be veggie here and I wolf down delicious food. A few tables away a western couple try to convince a local man of the benefits of their social enterprise. I walked off into the heat of the afternoon to try and find my way to southern bus station where the bus to Hanoi leaves from. Traipsing down the uneven pavements along a busy road, a lovely man stopped and offered me a lift to a spot where I could get a local bus to the station. The kindness of strangers is overwhelming at times. I aspire to being that kind stranger. After less than 12 hours in Vientiane I board the bus and leave.

The bus is a sleeper, with bunk style beds and glorious purple interior giving it an intimate pimped vibe. I’d upgraded due to the strange warnings I’d received about the semi-sleeper but did not expect this! 

I meet a young Austrian traveller Zoe who had lived in Darwin for 6 months as an Aupair and is tripping through Asia before heading home. She was disappointed that during her time in Australia she couldn’t find a way to learn more about First Nations people and their cultures. Steve and his son Charlie from Middlesbrough, UK were also on this bus. This is really the first time since leaving home, except for Lilyana and Dilly in Australia (see part 1), that I meet and bond with travellers. That’s not for want of trying through exchange in random gestures and broken English but settling into English I notice a shift in myself. We drive into the night ,stop for dinner and pick up some more UK travellers, Lucy, Hannah and Judy - all graduated from biochemistry degrees at the University of Leeds and posting on Insta as @bitchesofausandbeyond. They started in Australia at new year and have been moving around Asia since. I’m jealous that everyone in this group seem free of plans, making decisions day to day, and living as cheaply as they can to make the adventure last. That's not my story, I'm on a long journey to work in Bulgaria and the UK.

I wake at around 1am realising the bus is stationary and in a queue at the Vietnamese border. I sleep through until 4.30am, find a toilet and enjoy some cool fresh air. It’s been sweltering hot on this trip coinciding with a heatwave across southeast Asia. One of my challenges is temperature control, moving from blasting heat and dripping sweat to shivering in chilly aircon. This bus provides fluffy blankets, which was just as well, because I was really cold in the night and have two scarves in my backpack that barely help. 

Bathrooms are an ongoing adventure. Levels of sanitation vary as I go, with a range of squat and basin toilets. The biggest unknown is when I’ll have a chance to use one. The need to drink to cope with the heat and then restrain so I don’t need to pee incessantly remains a balancing act every day. I fear a urinary tract, bladder or kidney infection. So far, I seem to be coping ok.

This border is a little more strict and we are all scrutinised. Rumour has it that the closer we get to China, the closer the scrutiny. It takes a good four hours to get everyone across the border and back onto the bus. A bunch of male passengers disappear, replaced by women and children. Toilet stops are more frequent with an endless routine of putting on and removing our shoes. The recliner seats keep us all horizontal in the daytime as we crawl towards Hanoi and the promise of a shower.

Vietnam – Hanoi (Day 15/ 16)

Are you travelling alone? This is the question I am asked most after an exchange about where I am going. There is shock, amazement and sometimes horror that I am on my own.

But it was seven of us that poured off the bus after 26hours (2 hours late) in Hanoi. Steve gallantly orders a 7-seater taxi. However, with all the luggage it only seats six of us so he jumps onto the back of a moped and speeds off ahead. I didn’t see him to say goodbye, grateful to him, Charlie, the young ‘Bitches of Aus and Beyond’ and Zoe for company and chat on this leg of the journey. Steve and Hannah have an unlikely connection over a roundabout in Middlesborough and it turns out Steve is a sound recordist for TV drama. He fondly remembers Play for Today that my father directed some episodes of, back in the day. Small world! It makes me realise that this trek has been a little lonely. I am good with my own company, but every day is a series of new challenges that I navigate alone. Interestingly I am talking to myself less than usual, I wonder whether that’s the slower pace and less stimulation?

The tourist centre of Hanoi is a maze of neon lights, bars and restaurants, spa’s, street stalls and gross excess. I wander about to get some much needed exercise, then tuck into fried tofu, green vegetables, and beer. The party vibe isn’t really fitting my mood or mission.

Less than 7 hours later I am up super early and walk around the corner to where a minivan will apparently pick me up as I head towards China. No sign on the street, except other travellers & a helpful shop owner, who nods and gestures that this is indeed the place to wait. A minivan appears as promised, stops nearby for two others, and we were on our way, out of Hanoi, towards the Chinese border. About 2hrs in we swap to a car, then the driver is stopped by police and there seems to be a problem. He makes a phone call. Another driver and car arrives to get me the remaining 15km to the border bus station. I realise then that my ticket isn’t to Nanning at all, but the closest point to China. A trolley truck ferries a load of us to the impressive gates at the border. The buildings and guards are intimidating, just what I expected of this powerful nation, a stark contrast to the little windows and flimsy security at the Thai and Laos borders. I am on time and as planned, the visa works. With relative ease I walk into China. 🇨🇳