Hopeless adult

09:49 am, 9 Dec
Me

"Dawg, I went to the ATM this morning to get my new cleaner some $$. It was out of order. So I had to raid the piggy bank. 15 EU in coins. ( Plenty of 5 cent coins included) I am such a hopeless adult. "


10:47, 9 Dec
Friend

"I don't agree. You adapted admirably to an unforseen situation. Thinking on your feet. Bravo!"

Even if they turn the lights out, the show is going on...

" Never ever put 'em down,


You just lift your arms higher,


Raise them til your arms tired


Let em know you're there


That you're struggling, survivin'


That you gon persevere


Ain't nobody leavin'


Nobody goin' home


Even if they turn the lights out,


The show is goin' on..."






I fell off my bike. In the middle of Dam Square. On a Saturday night/Sunday morning.


It was raining. I was leaving a bar. It was 3.30am. You make the connections.

Vulnerable was my middle name at that moment in time.

But, you got to pick yourself up, and dust yourself off, and keep cycling.

Because these things happen. And all you can learn from it is that once in a while, shit happens.

It hurt. I'm still hurting. I wonder if there was something I could have done differently to change what happened.

But I know if I had my time again, it would have all happened anyway. Some thing are inevitable, and you can't avoid it, no matter how many precautionary measures you take, or no matter how much experience in bike riding you have, you are sometimes going to fall. Hard. In public.

It was only a matter of time before it happened again.

It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

The lowdown on Italy aka A recap on defying death

Apart from almost dying in Cinque Terre, Italy is underwhelming me.

Yes, UNDERwhelming me.

I don't really know what else to ask for; brilliant weather, 3 days of sea views in the cutest little apartment in Corniglia, local tips on where to eat creating some of the most lipsmacking memories I'll ever have, and a double cone of gelati every day, sublime friends to share these experiences with, and now, my own studio apartment in Florence for the night (at a bargain basement price) before I head to Hamburg.

How could this be? What's wrong with me?

Could it have something to do with the fact that the second day I started my holiday, I caught a cold? Or that I almost drowned in Manarola on Sunday?

After hiking from Corniglia to Manarola, then to Riomaggiore, then back to Manarola, Tim, Lauren, Sarah and I peered from over the edge of the cliff face into the little boat harbour/rock pool swimming area.

"It's a bit of a washing machine out there?" Sarah mused as we watched waves crash in and out from every direction.

"I don't think I'm strong enough to swim in that, but I'll sit by the edge with someone." I said.

We headed down the ramp.

10 minutes later, I'm bikini-clad by the edge, and I sit on a wet part of the boat ramp, 30 cms infront of Lauren. Sarah comes to join me. I squeal as some waves crash onto us, and chat with Sarah as some don't even make it near us.

Next thing I know, a wave comes in and I am laughing, and then the next nanosecond, I am being D-R-A-G-G-E-D out to some rocks by the force of the tide going out. Apparently everyone at the dock and on the rocks stood up and gasped and pointed at me.
I got pulled under. I tried to swim back to Lauren and Sarah, meanwhile they are screaming out to me to swim back out. Waves are crashing. My head gets pulled under. And it bobs back up. And goes under again. I have no idea how, but I somehow manage to make it out to a safe patch and a guy is swimming towards me, motioning for me to follow him, so I do.

I climb out of the water via the ladder, and sit on the rocks for a minute, trying to process what just happened. Little children are staring at me. In fact, everyone is staring at me. I'm shaking, but laughing at the same time. This lasts for about an hour. Then we make our way back home to Corniglia and I fall asleep pretty much straight after dinner.

My wrist hurts. And I have cuts on my feet and my hips. But my head and bones are still in tact.

Something out there is looking out for me.

Or, I've found my purpose in life - to serve as a constant warning to others.

Miss Communication

I've been having this really odd week, where people are talking to me - in english - and I have no idea what they are trying to say to me.

It seems everyone is trying to tell me something. Colleagues, bosses, boys, shopkeepers; Critical information is flowing and I am on receiving end. But I'm just not getting it.

I'm watching their body language, listening to the words coming out of their mouths, asking them to repeat themselves- everything to try and understand what the mercury is going on, but it's like the antenna's broken and I can't seem to unscramble the white noise and process it into intelligible meaning.

What do you people want? What am I supposed to do? How do you want me to react?

For someone who is a born communicator, this is highly frustrating.

Stupidity prevails

Sometimes I think I'm doing really well with the dutch language. That is, until a native screws up their face when they're listening to me, and says, 'Wat?!'

Considering I'm not doing formal lessons here, i'm quite proud of myself. The dutch are a little bit, peculiar, and, particular about their mother tongue. You can read more about it here, from another expat's point of view. ( which i completely concur with. )

They make it impossible to practice and are very good at shutting you down, if they hear a slight accent. Hence, self esteem can plummet, and having been indirectly mocked for putting yourself out of your comfort zone, you don't feel the need to keep trying. It's largely all about ego. They think that they're language is so complex, that only the creme de la creme of intellectuals can possibly get it. 'So don't bother trying, basically', is the message they send when they switch to english, or correct your dutch with a smirk on their face. 'We can speak better english, than your sorry attempt at dutch, it would be easier for all involved if we all just did this verbal transaction in english. Because, we're pretty smart.'

But, I persist, even indulging in a little self congratulatory smugness when I walk away from a successful conversation. (admittedly, "successful" defined as, "I got what I needed out of that transaction without any blank stares or visible laughter from the other person".)

"They thought I was native! Ha! Take that you cheese head! I'll master your language yet!'

Then I was getting ready to get off my train from work the other day. There are two buttons to the left of the train door, you need to push one, to open the doors as they aren't automatic. I just punched both of them, not really thinking, nor did I pay much attention to the writing above them. People around me stared at me as I was punching between the two of them, annoyed that nothing was happening, somewhat thinking, "I'm local, I can do this, at least they don't think I am a tourist that thinks that these doors open automatically."

Then the guy behind me pushed one of the buttons and seconds later, the doors hissed open. I looked over to him and he smiled at me, as if to say "There you go, honey, that's the way it's done." (Shock! A smile?! He couldn't have been dutch!) and then with a "clang", they settled into position and commuters piled off the rail carriage, sweeping me along with them, but not before I read the words above the buttons and the diagrams that sat underneath them.

"Openen" (diagram of doors parting)
"Gesloten" (diagram of doors shutting)

What a shut down.

Friday night flashback

Me: So we were sitting at this club, and the others I was with had just gone to the toilet, and I was sitting there and I started talking to the guy next to me.

Laura: Who was he?

Me: I don't know. He was just sitting there next to me, so I started talking to him. I think he said he worked for MTV or something. Turns out he was having some drinks with his colleagues.

Laura: Oh that's interesting, what did he do there?

Me: Senior something commercial something, I think. I don't know, I'd had a few wines. In fact, I think my exact words when he told me that were " do you feel like a whore?"

Laura: What?!? You asked him what?? ..... Why??? What did he say?!

Me: I can't remember, but I'm pretty sure he took it it quite well. Yeah, I think he was ok with it... might even go as far to say that he was mildly amused.

Laura: Are you sure? Why would you say that?

Me: I don't know. It seemed like the right thing to ask at the time. You know, selling your soul for the corporate world...

Laura: You're weird.

Me: I guess he'll never forget me right? How many times in your life do you get asked if you feel like a whore, after you tell someone what you do?

Laura: I don't know what to say to that.

Better than a native speaker

I know you have been in this situation before - perhaps this exact one, perhaps not, but definitely the awkward social circumstance I'm about to describe.

You're in a bar. In this instance a large bar. It's pretty cool - not overly hip, it's just been one of those steady cool bars. It didn't peak too early in it's "just opened, overhyped and over reviewed as the epitomy of trendy" phase, nor did it attract the diehard trendoids with the desperate "scene queen" air about them. When its popularity started to ween off, a loyal crowd of students and underground influentials still frequented it on weekends, and stabilised it's street rep, and an older, more mature but still rebellious crowd was attracted to it, thereby cementing it's existance in the city's bar scene.

It's the Friday night before Christmas. The bar is pumping with people celebrating the end of year a cometh, and you are there for the birthday drinks of a friend of a friend. You know about 5 people at this very very large party, and to say you "know" them is an overstatement. They are all occupied with their old friends, laughing, drinking, joking, cartwheeling, kissing, hugging, punching each other. It's a tight knit circle of friends. Funky music that you would never know the name of the artist of is playing and you notice it's that completely non offensive, very suave, global, somewhat acoustic, but sort of electric, toe tapping kind of music. You are holding possibly the most awkward physical stance possible; standing in your typical hunched over posture, one hand shoved in pocket, one hand clutching a beer, not really knowing what to do, who to talk to, and noone is giving any friendly "come join" signals.

Then you make eye contact with a guy you have met a couple of times before through these friends, and you have made small talk (possibly mixed with a history of awkward flirtations) previously in similar circumstances . You can assess that it would be a seriously awkward situation if he were to come and talk to you, or vice versa, but it's too late, he has already made stride over to where you stand with your insecure/bored body language.

Fake smiles, and dutch kisses exchanged later, you have already done the "how are you?" conversation that takes about 3 seconds, and you realise the inoffensive music has just gotten louder. A lot louder. And the volume of beer in your glass is getting smaller. Much smaller, as you just took a big gulp to fill in that really strange nanosecond when you realised that you have no idea what to say next.

You: So.... aren't you going travelling soon? Isn't that what everyone does in January here?

Him: Yeah, but I'm leaving a bit later than I originally planned.

You: Oh really? Why? I thought you had your ticket all booked.

This is where it's dawned on you that the music is significantly louder than comfortable conversation level. And you're having trouble hearing the complete sentences he's uttering, and some slightly crucial words as well. It should explained, that the dutch have almost near perfect English. It is unbelievable how good their english language skills are. (It astounds me daily.) There's no such thing as lost in translation here, well, rarely does it happen. And if you compare their english language skills to the french, spanish, italians or even the germans, The only things that they might get confused with are saying the word "learn" instead of "teach". eg. "So you can learn that to him when he comes back into the office." But these mistakes are few and far between, and not only that, they understand english through every type of accent; Irish, English, Australian, South African, Kiwi, thick asian accents, thick middle eastern accents. (I would even go as far to say that their language skills are better than the Nordic countries.)

Him: I decided to wait, I want to get out of here but meanwhile I'm ....(muffled uttering) ... rain.

You: Well, yeah, I can understand that you want to get out of here, because rain equals pain right? (At about now your Internal voice is saying: WHAAAT?!? What did you just say ?! RAIN equals PAIN? Who ARE YOU? Dr Suess?!)

Him: (patient but strange look on his face)

You: I mean with rain, it's a pain to cycle everywhere. And it's also windy, and now, with the snow...

This is where I should also point out that noone is joking when they say the dutch are direct. They'll point out when you're having a bad hair day, when you're makeup is smudged, you're clothes are creased, when you have food on your face, when they don't agree with you, and when you've misunderstood what they are saying. If you think it's socially awkward to do or say something, and would rather be polite and not say anything or dodge around it, the dutch will do the complete opposite. They are just ... direct. They don't see anything wrong with telling things straight up.

Him: I think we are talking about different things.

You: No, I mean it makes sense. Rain? Pain? (For the love of god, just shut your mouth, and walk to the bar.)

Him: I still think we may be talking about different things.

You: What do you mean?

Him: I said I'm waiting for more of my pay to go through.

You: Oh. Right.

Needless to say, you don't want to follow up one awkward conversation with another, so you don't really talk again that night.

I know I look about 16, but....

Cathay Pacific Flight CX 272 - AMS - HKG

(1.5 hours into the flight)

Me: May I have another glass of champagne please? (staring at my third empty glass)
Flight atttendant: Certainly Miss Rani**...(pause) You are over 18 right?
Me: Errrr,Yes.
Flight attendant: Great, here's a top up.

What I really wanted to say was "Yes, I'm actually 27, I've just never been in Business Class before, so just keep the champagne flowing."

** After mulitple attempts at trying to say my last name, I told her to forget about it and just call me Rani.

On the right track? Wrong track? Frozen tracks? Making tracks!!

“Hi, Boss?Yeah, um, I’m going to be a bit late this morning – I’m on an express train to Enkhuizen and it won’t let me off until I get to Hoorn. Yes, I realise that this is the opposite direction to the office, but not sure how long I’ll be…..Oh. Really? An hour North from the office? Riiiight. Ok. See you before lunch.”


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Apparently every December 14th/15th, the train schedules get a complete overhaul. So when a train that looks like yours, leaves the same platform you usually get your train from every morning, at the same time as your usual train, you would think that it's YOUR train. But, it wasn't.

APPARENTLY it's something that every dutch person knows about, inherent information that just gets passed on through the generations, just like when the seasons start, or you know, how to ride a bike.

BUT I wasn't the only one at the office caught out... another girl I had never seen before in my life, hops on the train to Amsterdam, and I look at her and she looks at me, and I said " you thought you were going to Schipol too right?"

and she said "Yeah, what is WITH that? I have a 9 o'clock meeting at Hoofddorp and now I'm late!"

"Hoofddorp? Where do you work?"

"(insert name of my company here)."

"Me too! What area?"

"Finance."

"Building 2, level 2?!"

"Yeah! Funny, I've never seen you there before!"

Glad I wasn't the only one stuck in the same situation. She was nice, from New York, but she had been living in Australia for 6 years.

I arrived at work at 10.30 (when i left my house at 7.45), to see my boss and 2 colleagues, with highly amused faces, as I walked into the room.

All day long I was ridiculed with:

"Oh, that's a nice scarf you're wearing - did you pick it up while you were in Hoorn this morning?"

"I left a visitor's guide for Hoorn on your desk, just in case you are planning a repeat day trip tomorrow."

"What time are you leaving tonight? Need me to print out the train schedule for you, and highlight the most direct train routes for you, or are you planning an overnighter in Hoorn?"

Ha. Ha. Soooo funny. Forever will be known as the crazy Australian girl that went 1 hour in the wrong direction on a train to work. Or just, the crazy Australian girl.

Winter doesn't officially start here til 21st December but it just TURNED on Saturday morning. A beautiful sunny day when you look out the window and then BAM! - cold as ice! Then Saturday night, and Sunday...COLD COLD COLD. Like, my feet are cold in boots. Somebody pass me the gluhwein.

Lucky I got a special, awesome, fantastic survival package in the mail on Saturday consisting of Toobs, Vegemite,Burger rings, Haighs chocolates galore, a Violet Crumble Rasberry bullets, a wool hat, a wool scarf, and Merino wool gloves... SO SPECIAL!! Thanks Pam, Tom, and Andrei! xxxxx

Today??? Minus 2 degrees. All day. No wind, no rain ( Oh! A bonus!) but no snow either.

A great day to be standing at the train station of a F***ing Dutch Village, waiting for a train to take you back to the city... then getting on the UNHEATED train and it stops in the middle of the tracks for 20 minutes, waiting for the confusion to pass because apparently noone that drives a train in this country KNOWS WHAT THEY ARE DOING.

The other day I got on the my train and the driver took us down the wrong tracks, and had to reverse the train, to get on the right ones. 45 minutes later... I was back on track to get to work. Can you imagine?? The driver became absent minded for a minute and thought he was taking us to Belgium or something, instead of the little village/office park outside of Schipol.

Reee-dee-coo-lous. Freaking ridiculous.

So, the weekend that was;

Saturday night, I went to the markets in the Jordaan area with Laura, and we drank Gluwein, and ate ham and saurkraut rolls, and then went to Laura's house where she made more gluhwein, then to a party on my friend Pia's houseboat (which I move into on Wednesday for a week of housesitting!! Yipppeee!! Then back there for 3 weeks in January!), then out with Karl the Irish chef to see a funk/jazz band in Spui, a funky little street in the centre of the city where Laura and I danced the night away til 5 in the morning. Upon the cycle back to my place, I tried to jump the curb on my bike. It didn't work. Bike fall number# 3. I think i hurt my wrist internally.

All Laura could do when she saw me sprawled on the pavement was cover her mouth in shock. I laughed and picked myself up and dusted myself off and kept cycling again. She stood there for about 3 minutes staring after me, and then finally she just repeatedly said "are you ok? no seriously, are you ok? Rani, you know that was never going to work!" She just couldn't believe it didn't hurt that much because she said it looked terrible. I was surprised it didn't hurt as much.

Sunday, we woke up at 1pm, and made our way to some Christmas markets in Westerpark, where we drank more Gluhwein into the evening. Great weekend!

Roll out the Red Carpet London, with your grizzly border control and buckets of rain

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13.35 hours on a flight, with a good seat ... I needn't have worried too much, i had the right hand side front row of economy class, right next to the emergency exit... leg room a plenty.

The guy to the right hand side of me struck up a conversation early on in the flight - he was a Pro Rugby League player from New Zealand (but actually Tongan), living in France, playing for their team. He was sweet, and a little bit quiet, but offered to share his french fries from burger king with me. I politely declined. We chatted a little bit. When I told him I was from Adelaide, he told me his girlfriend was from Mount Gambier, and asked me if i knew her.

"Quite possibly..." I mused. We chatted a little bit more, but I quickly tuned into my headphones, not wanting to be stuck in awkward conversation for the next 13 hours.

Otherwise, a very uneventful flight, which was fantastic, however, my only complaint being that my sleeping pills didn't knock me out hard enough. (When I got to London, Michael said "his name wasn't Sunny was it? That guy was in some sort of sex scandal recently..." - come to think of it, He was mumbled his name a little bit when we introduced ourselves, and when i thought long and hard about it, it did sound like Sunny or Sian or something.... hmmmm)

Just as the plane was about to land, the girl to my left struck up a conversation with me. She was pretty nice, from Sydney, she was in publishing but studying psychology and visiting her best friend in London for a month.

When we disembarked the plane, and got to Immigration, I was a trifle concerned that I hadn't memorised Lauren and Michael's address to put on my immigration card. I was no fool, I had seen 'Border Control', I was gearing myself up for a possibly heated inquisition.

I tried to call Lauren from the pay phone at the immigration reception, but it didn't work. The lady overseeing the que told me not to worry, if they really cared, I could just give them Lauren's number, and they would call her for me.

So, stepping up, I was cool, calm and collected, until I saw the woman that was going to be processing my arrival.

"Errrr..hi. I have a slight problem. I don't know the address of where I am staying."

She glared at me.

I awkwardly tried to smile, and continued. " Ah ha, well you see, I am staying with a friend of mine, in Hammersmith."

She was burning a hole through my forehead with that glare.

" Whadchya mean, you dunno where you are stayin? She pickin you up?"
" Uhhh, he he, well, I'm not really sure... our plans were a little loose...(awkward pause) Oh! I have her mobile number here, I just tried to call her and the payphone isn't working, just ask that other lady over there...."
"What are you going to do if she's not here to pick you up?"
"I was going to catch the tube to Hammersmith."
"Then what? You think its safe for a girl like you to be 'angin round a tube stop by youself. What's her name then? This friend of yours?"
I told her.
" How do you know her?"
"We went to highschool together...."
She flicks through my passport. " Where?"
"St Aloysius College?" I muttered, searching for some sort of pathos in her eyes.
She rolled her eyes.
" Yeah, where's that?"
"South Australia....?" I was starting to doubt my own answers.
"So, you planning to work here? It says here that you are an... Advertising person or something?"
"No, no, I'm just here on holiday for 3 weeks, and then I'm off to the Netherlands."
"Right." She sighed.
A momentary glance at me, and silence, before the rustling of passport papers and the thump of a stamp connecting with paper.

I've arrived.

I was slightlt surprised to stroll through customs and see NO ONE there and all the Xray machines turned off. Eeri. It was quite the contrast to Singapore that had body heat scanners at every arrival hall, and scary looking uniformed people, dying to rifle through your luggage. I know I arrived early in the morning (5.45 am) but surely the english are not that lazy that they don't care about disease, contraban, and other nasty surprises that may lurk in one's baggage?

A quick tube ride from the airport to Hammersmith station, and I was welcomed by Lauren's big bright smile, and a walk from the station to her gorgeous flat. On the drizzly walk to her flat (I was stupid to think that Summer here would mean anything other than umbrellas and jumpers),
I loved everything about her suburb from the moment I set eyes on it, however there was a moment where I stopped dead in my tracks. The little park on the way to her house, Brook Green, was so familiar. It was a seriously weird sense of de ja vu, it gave me tingles up and down my spine. I couldn't stop staring at the houses that face the park, I swore that I had been in one of them before.

Anyway, after some gossip, tea and cereal, we headed to her 'high street', where she introduced me to Primark(?) - possibly the cheapest store in the world, filled to the brim with .... STUFF! Lots of STUFF! It was like a trendy Valley Girl meets Target, and it was ridiculously cheap. It was just like the old days, when Lauren and I used to hang out for a full Saturday afternoon in Target and Big W, and spend hours just trying stuff on, flicking through cookbooks and telling each other we were going to go home and make the recipes with full knowledge that neither of us knew how to cook properly, tell each other funny make believe stories about the people that were shopping in the store, trying more stuff on, goading each other to buy stupid shit and buy each other little chocolates, and leave with big smiles on our faces, and little momento of our afternoons.

Then, we went to.... Westfield, about 10 minutes walk from her house.

I found it hilarious, that I had just left the land of the monstrous malls, and arrived to the other side of the world, to in fact, go to another Mall. But I was tired, and didn't want to venture far from home.

Needless to say; Lauren was excited to be there, since it supposed to be a big deal in England since they don't have much of a mall culture (and good on them I say), saying, "Look, a champagne bar, Look, Marks and Spencer.", enthusiastically pointing out all the things that are different to what is in Westfield in Australia. I am so desensitised to Malls and brands after a month in Jakarta, all I wanted to do was go to H&M for the first time, and trawl Top Shop quickly. The rest was just... a mall. But a mall without any fast food places ( so as not to attract unwanted gangs of teenybopper thugs), but what looked to be a very expensive food court. I was more excited that I had found a Pho restaurant inside the mall, than the plethora of designer shoe shops and european and english brands that were around.

As we left Westfield, we met our friend Georgina, and met Michael (Lauren's boyf) halfway home.

"Wow, those clouds look dark", George mused as she looked up.
"Let's beat the rain home" I said, worried about our lack of umbrella.

We didn't make it, and two thirds of the way home, the heavens opened, and poured a bucket of water on us. We stopped at the closes pub, and had a cider each, waiting for the rain to stop.

After a big day out, Lauren made wild mushroom ravioli pasta, and I swiftly fell asleep on the blow up mattress as the others watched 'Katie (Price) and Peter(Andre)' on itv. All in all, what a wonderful introduction to London life!

"This is the final call for Rani to haul ass to Gate 7..."

"You don't need the maracas" my sister said


" I know I don't need them, but I want them..."

Ok, so the urge to take the maracas was clearly the part of Rani that just couldn't leave home without the kitchen sink... or the 29th top... or the blue eyeshadow palette that I have never worn, but thought might be useful, should I need to trade or barter with a drag queen door bitch in my travels (" if you let me into this club for free, i'll give you this limited edition eyeshadow palette with ocean dreams shadow AND turquoise waters....")



Unfortunately I was left with no choice but to leave the maracas, and 9 tops, a belt, 2 eyeshadow palettes, 2 pairs of shoes ( i guess 4 pairs are enough), and a whole lot of other random shit behind with my sister, because the suitcase I said I would not fill to capacity, I actually didn't fill to capacity, but still managed to weigh about 28.9 kilos. My ticket allowed for a generous 23 kilos. I negotiated with the very kind Qantas check in dude to allow me to take 23.6 kilos.



Adelaide to Sydney was pretty uneventful, although i did notice a particularly kind flight attendant called 'James Tongue', who gave me a bottle of water with a wink and a smile after notcing my blotchy, puffy eyes, and noticeably distressed sniffles as i boarded the plane. Note to self; must write to Qantas advising them that he derserves a promotion.



When I got to Sydney Airport,I thought perhaps a breather was in order, and proceeded to go outside where I met a nice couple; Richard and his girlfriend Mel.

"So what do you do when you're not travelling, Rani?"
"I used to work in Advertising." (DAMN, that felt good to say!)
" Oh really? I'm an Account Manager at BWM here in Sydney."

More career chit chat, and it turns out they are going to Bali. A quick exchange of travel tips, and I looked at my watch. Hmmm... 3pm. I do believe I have a flight at 3.50pm. A quick time calculation leads me to offer a rushed goodbye as it dawns on me that my watch is still on Adelaide time, and it's actually 3.30pm . Shit.

I run to immigration, and go through security where a german family of 6 are talking to a security guard about how much water they can take on board, and slowly unpacking their bags. S.L.O.W.L.Y.

Finally I get through security, and make it to the duty free shop, and remember that I promised my little cousins in Singapore some Australian chocolates. No time, so I run for Gate 7. I make it with minutes to spare.

7 hours, 3 bad chick flicks later (2 of which I didn't finish watching), I arrive in Singapore. Hauling my suitcase onto a bus on phase 1 of journey to cousin's house was embarrassing. Mainly because I couldn't do it, and the annoyed bus driver just stared at me until I looked at him helplessly, before he grunted and picked it up and flung it to the middle of the bus. He then told me he only took exact change for the fare, and he didn't distribute change, and I would have to ask the other passengers on the to change my $5 note.

"Does anyone have any change for five dollars?" I mumbled around the bus. Pretty much everyone stared at me, except for a group of three girls in their twenties that kindly fished around in their purses and between them, found me the right money.

Phase 2 meant catching the MRT train to his apartment, where I got off at the right station but couldn't remember what to do after that. Luckily my great sense of direction based on nothing more than the memory of going there about 4 years ago, led me straight to his front door.

Apart from that, I am proud to say that I didn't get lost AT ALL getting to my cousin's apartment. I might be really good at this travelling thing after all.