Rachey’s Ramblings

I passed my driving test this week. 126 hours, £2,712, 5 instructors and 3 attempts later. Enjoy having me on the roads then. In my defense, 3 of those instructors and about 80 hours were with the shittest company ever. And the remaining hours were spent re-teaching me how to actually drive properly. And who the hell invented roundabouts anyway?! But nobody really needs to worry about me being unleashed on the roads yet anyway, given that I can’t really afford the insurance. Or petrol. Or tax. Or, in fact, car. £1200 a year for bloody insurance?! What, do they think I’m a liability or something?!

Another ‘achievement’ of mine this week has been writing 14,857 words of Introductory chapter. Also, funnily enough, the 3rd attempt. During the process of which, I came to conclude that I have some kind of condition in which I read things, don’t understand a damn word, somehow process that ignorance into beautifully written pages, and then don’t understand a damn word of those either. Which would all be very well if a PhD just involved submitting my 80,000 odd (very odd) words of bullshit and letting that be an end to it but, apparently, I’m meant to defend this stuff. And I’m not sure “Because I said so” is actually gonna wash. Oh crap.

And that’s been about it this week. Unusually, I’m now having a Saturday night in, minus any alcohol. Well, I have a car to save up for don’t I…

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New Year’s Resolutions don’t work.

Which is why I aint’ bothering. And, given that I haven’t updated since mid November, you’d think I had something of interest to say. Not so much. Still teaching. Still running (a bit). Still PhD-ing. Still dreaming of being a Cardiothoracic surgeon. Still maintaining high levels of alcohol consumption (usually in cocktail form) with my wonderful friends. And still trying to keep tabs on my various selves, most of whom can’t agree on anything and drive me a bit insane.

Christmas with the family was lush. All together in The Great North at last now that my parents have crossed the border. But now we’re into January and I am officially a 3rd year. Shiiiiiiiit. So the girl got serious (for the last week anyway) and it’s allllll about the thesis this year. Haven’t even booked any exotic holidays. Yet. Now there’s dedication to the cause. But it probably is time to get serious, eh?! And although I’ve managed to make quite a career out of it thus far, I can’t be a student forever. A Career with a capital C may have to be on the horizon. Along with some other grown up things. Gulp.

So, actually, I guess, in a way, I have made one resolution for this year: To grow up. By the time 2013 strikes, aged 32, Rachey will be An Adult. Or one of my selves should be anyway. I’ve got a year to work on it. And, hey, there is some consolation because the one thing that adults can do is drink right?! Saving graces and all that…

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Did you know, I ran a marathon last Sunday?! More to the point, I completed a marathon last Sunday. In under 4.5 hours, no less. What with it being The marathon course, it was pretty inspirational actually, despite the hills. And the bit where we ran past the tomb of the dude who died at the end. That bit was perhaps slightly less inspiring. Still, I might go so far as to say I actually enjoyed this one. Especially that whole crossing-the-finish-line-into-the-Ancient-stadium bit. Proud of myselves. Never mind the shock of having made it to the end though, I think I’m more gobsmacked over the organisation of it all. Here was me expecting a delayed start because Giorgos was drinking his frappe, the baggage buses going on strike and there only being enough medals for the first few hundred finishers but, who would have thought, the whole thing ran like clockwork. Un. Believable. What’s also unbelievable were my team of friends who were, from the moment I arrived in Athens until the minute I flew home (actually, before and after that, if you include Mandy & Andrew, my saviours with the cozy bed and hot tea), on hand to feed me, keep me warm, chauffeur me around, cheer me on and generally be amazing. Thank you soooooooo much my lovelies.
Back in England meanwhile, my legs are back to being functional again and I’ve pretty much spent the last 2 days solid laughing with my lovely Maria as we (and 786,645 other people) went to explore the delights of Lumiere over in The Village. And then ‘accidentally’ ended up drinking. Rather a lot. Well, a girl has to celebrate running a marathon somehow doesn’t she?!

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The week ahead is either going to be one that goes down in history as an ‘epic fail’ or will be up there with my list of achievements for many years to come. Not gonna jinx myself by saying any more. Watch this space next Monday. Because next week will feel like the week from hell though, I decided to see this one out with a bang. Which involved a wicked night out with Maria in The Village on Thursday, complete with sailors doing the YMCA, champagne & chorizo, and fishbowls of cocktail. You can fill in the gaps. Somehow, despite the hangover, I then managed to bag my first (and last, before D Day) 18 mile run since the last marathon I did. Once again, the extra 8 miles is gonna have to look after itself. Uhuh. All of this was then finished with a typically ‘sensible’ day with my sis & co. yesterday, which, obviously, featured a sparkler, fireworks, loads of food and XFactor. What else?! But now it’s time to get real. Rachey shall be abstaining from alcohol for an entire week and let’s see where that gets me. See you on the Other Side folks…
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This will be a short and sweet update on account of the fact that I just ran 15 miles and am technically dead. Life would be so much easier if each of my 7 selves had a pair of knees. One pair for 8 of us really isn’t sufficient. I’m also slightly dubious as to how I’m going to add another 11 miles on when I really couldn’t run another step but let’s just hope some of my selves got left at home today and will be there to pull their weight on marathon day eh?! Which is 2 weeks today. Oh shit.

Other than running and PhD-ing, not much has been happening. Plenty of girly time with lovely friends, generally featuring alcohol. Had a week’s ‘trial run’ of what it will be like when my parents move up here, as they came to stay at Wonky’s place this last week. Loved it. Can’t wait for them to move for real. And have been having quite a few ‘Bridget Jones’ moments, what with being 31 and all, where I have questioned everything and anything going, come up with no answers whatsoever, annoyed the crap out of certain people in the process and decided not to question anything ever again. Smart. Anyway, given that I am now dead, it’s time for me to be quiet. That’ll be the day eh?!

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Again, I know, I’ve been crap at blogging. But you’ve not missed much: Just lots of alcohol related events, my naughty self’s 30th birthday (which my amazing friends and family made so much more fun than I could have hoped), having my 2nd year report shredded in my review (but passed anyway), and being back into my running, with a couple of 12 mile fury runs and general panic that I have 4 weeks left to add on another 14. Been at a Williams Syndrome Convention this weekend, via ‘getting spoilt time’ with the parents back down in the smelly South, where I almost orgasmed at a talk about cardiological problems and actually did a bit of networking. That didn’t involve vodka. Imagine.
On the topic of being back home, it did make me very nostalgic actually as my parents are due to move north in a month so I was aware this was probably my last visit to Cambridge for a long time. And whilst I consider my ‘home’ to absolutely be in Newcastle now, I still have a million memories of the place I grew up in. Most of those memories are fantastic. But a chunk of them, actually, are pretty awful and I guess a part of me wondered this weekend if now might be the time to leave them behind for good. So there has been a lot of soul searching gone on in the last few days. About the person I used to be. If perhaps one of my selves might still be that person (I really hope not!). About the impression I give to people now in the things I say and do and if they really know what’s going on underneath. About the kind of person I want to be, and how I can get there. Deep stuff. But important stuff. I guess it’s all a bit of a work in progress…

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…not really been arsed to update my blog. So, in a nutshell:

Done shitloads of work. 2nd year report currently in progress. Cue lots of hairpulling and tantrums at my laptop. Annual review coming up in 2 weeks. Oh crap. Gave a talk at a conference. Seemed to convince people I know what I’m doing. Went to Athens for the first time in 2 years. Was great. Caught up with everybody I love. Ate all the foods I love. Went to the places I love. Was lush. Went out and got a bit mortalled last night with one of the wicked friends I met at the Durham Gradschool thing. Was great. Put a big smile on my face. Much needed. As for what the rest of September has in store, really, just wake me up when it ends…

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For the last 10 days or so, me and my selves have been all over the place. All 7 of us only went and got ill at once didn’t we, so much of this time has been spent lying on the sofa, thinking far too much about far too little, generally feeling sorry for ourselves. We’ve even been off chocolate. Had I not been so poorly, I would probably have been a lot more opinionated about the ‘England riots’ which have, quite frankly, left me wishing I actually was the Greek I pretend to be. My initial reaction to them was disgust that a bunch of kids were just using some distant police-related incident as an excuse to get a whole load of free stuff. But then, when I thought about it, there has to be some deeper root to that doesn’t there?! Because the kind of kids who think it’s actually okay to go out and do that have clearly missed out on some kind of education somewhere. Whether that’s from school or a lack of role models or because all they know is violence and disrespect. And, yes, it’s easy to label them as ‘scum’ and look for all kinds of harsh punishments. But what if the lives they’re leading are punishment enough and anything is better than what they’ve already got? At the end of the day, most of them at least, are kids. Really, really sad.
On a chirpier note, I finally got my photos from the U.S (can’t believe it was nearly a year ago!) online. That brought back some very happy memories and reminded me that my 7 selves can actually have a good time by ourselves too. Because, whilst it was lovely to see very dear friends that holiday, and whilst I do love holidays with other people, I did spend a lot of it alone, thinking, looking, just wandering really, and it was really, really good for me. Refreshing. I’ve done a lot of that from my sofa these last days too: Thinking. Reminiscing, I guess it would be more accurately called. Contemplating where I’ve come from, what the different chunks of my life so far have taught me. What I regret. What I’d do all over again. What kind of person all of this has made me. Where I’m going. What I want. Deep stuff. And a bit of a work in progress I guess. Phew. Having 7 selves sure gets complicated…

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‘Informal networking’ is more refreshing than a day at a spa.

I thought that last weekend’s spa adventures had left me feeling like a new person. But this week’s ‘Communications+’ workshop that I’ve been on has left all 7 of my selves feeling brand new. I’ve always thought that these ‘teambuilding’ events are a whole load of bollocks, quite honestly. And when I have been forced to do the whole networking, residential thing in the past, I’ve hidden away in my room as much as is humanly possible with my emergency bar of chocolate. But this week just came at a time when I was craving a change of scene and a bit of new conversation. So I gave it a go. And loved it. It was pretty intense, with activities from 09:00 until teatime and then ‘informal networking’ (read ~6 vodka cranberry juices and a lot of laughing) until the early hours, but I really feel like I’ve come away, pardon the cliche, a new person. Well, 7 new people actually. I haven’t quite managed to figure out what the hell I want to do next and I have come away with quite a few questions and confusions that my 7 selves are gonna have to um and ah over for a while but I do now know that, actually, I’m quite a sociable kinda person, strangers like me, I can be confident if I put my mind to it and I have a whole bunch of skills that had been very well hidden somewhere under the bushels of my shyest self. More importantly than any of that though, I met some amazing people who I just adored to pieces and am really delighted to now count as friends. So this year, the emergency chocolate bar got shared. And I’m really, really, really glad it did…

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Four and a half weeks after getting back from the land of the orangutans and I’m finally blogging about it. I’ve been waiting to be in the right frame of mind to do the trip justice. But PhD-ing has got a bit in the way of re-conjuring those magical moments. Thanks to a weekend of being pampered at Seaham Hall Hotel though, those memories of what it’s like to be floating in a carefree bubble, every sense intoxicated with new snippets of a different world have returned and now, It Is Time. Cushions ready people?…

Kuala Lumpur: Round 1
Australia is not a country I will ever see. Because Kuala Lumpur, after 15 hours of flights via a quick stop-over (and compulsory, according to Mark, Burger King) in Dubai, was quite far enough, thank you very much. This was also the first holiday I had taken (bar visits to friends abroad) where the lovely hotel rep wasn’t waiting at the airport to whisk me off in a coach to my oh-so-predictable beach resort. Which meant doing-it-ourselves from the airport onto a train into the stifling humidity of Kuala Lumpur onto a monorail back onto the steaming streets, up and down a couple of flights of stairs with suitcases in tow and finally to the sanctuary of our airconditioned hotel. I was definitely feeling out of my comfort zone. I don’t do cities, and I especially don’t do cities with 99% humidity, 34 degrees and 17 kg of suitcase in tow. Had I been there by myself, I would probably have spent the rest of that day cowering under the draft of aircon in my, very lovely, hotel room, convincing myself that I could see everything I needed from the panoramic windows of the 19th floor. But, lucky for me, I wasn’t there by myself. So after a quick freshen up, off Mark took us to have our first taste of this smouldering city. And I don’t use the term ‘taste’ metaphorically. Our first ‘meal’ would more accurately be described as a ‘feast’, the highlight of which, in our search for culinary authenticity, was pork knuckles. Enough to feed, oh, I would imagine 87% of Kuala Lumpur’s residents. That was perhaps the only ‘authentic’ experience our first night afforded us as the route between the hotel and this restaurant was, well, really very Western. By bedtime we knew where the nearest Nando’s, Starbucks, Debenhams and Krispy Kreme were. Oh, and Tiffanys. Of course.
No rest for the jet-lagged, we were up and out on Tuesday morning to submerge ourselves in what Kuala Lumpur had to offer. Our plan was to go up the Petronas Towers, where we’d been told we’d need to arrive early in order to get tickets. In our head, 10:00 was early. Turns out that ‘early’ in Kuala Lumpur means before sunrise. Ouch. So with our plans scuppered, we found ourselves with a whole day free to explore as we wished. And with no guide-book (we weren’t that organised) dictating to us what we ‘should’ see, we just wandered. Seeing as how we were there anyway, we started with the iconic Petronas Towers, photographing them to capture their imposing arch over the city, refusing to do the whole “I’m pushing the towers” pose that the other 9,725 tourists were queuing up on the steps to take. Then off we went, strolling along streets where the buildings changed from high-rise to Hindu temples to the jutting turrets of mosques all within 50 footsteps. Just as the answer to the question ‘What’s Malay food?’ evaded me at every Chinese, Indian, Lebanese and MacDonalds we saw, so did the answer to the question ‘What is Kuala Lumpur?’ A mish-mash of religions, buildings, green and concrete, China-town running into giant malls boasting Gucci and Prada, meeting run-down roads you’d probably rather not walk down, the only unifying element was that stifling heat. Later in the day, when that heat was beating us, we found refuge in the Lake gardens. This in itself was no mean feat, with us having to search for a pedestrianised route to the green sanctuary raised up above the city, what with KL definitely being meant more for cars than people. No wonder the green man on the few pedestrian crossings there were was running and not walking. But once there, we were greeted by monkeys, running loose in the streets and helping themselves to people’s left over Coke bottles, and the most exotic collection of birds I’d ever seen at the Kuala Lumpur aviary. Parrots? Pish. Try one giant hornbill and one other fellow who even joined us for lunch, helping himself to my left over papaya. Ahhh. So this was Kuala Lumpur. I was gonna have to hold that thought though, as it was bags re-packed and off on another flight to the state of Sarawak and the town of Kuching the next morning. Yet another flight for a girl who really isn’t a fan of flying, not a good thing. The KitKat and Magnum we got on the plane though, now that was something special…

Kuching
I had thought that Kuala Lumpur was hot and humid. Ha. Kuching laughs in the face of Kuala Lumpur. Set on the banks of a very beautiful sweeping river, Kuching is a musty, moody town of absolute local charm. No Tiffanys or Krispy Kreme here. And even I was glad of that. Unfortunately, we made the mistake on our first night of only venturing 10 minutes from our hotel and concluding that Kuching didn’t have much to offer by way of food and returning to eat at the Hilton restaurant. We perhaps should have realised that a town with a river at its heart and soul would have some pretty good offerings by way of seafood. Not a mistake we would make twice. Our hotel room had giant windows that looked directly out onto this stunning river, that served as the much more serene equivalent of one of KL’s chaotic roads: Evening rowers, fishermen, water taxis, constantly zipping up and down. The next day we were given a walking tour along its banks, and the tranquil magic of Kuching began to settle on me. We watched local carpenters going about their daily work, wandered through the local markets with their pungent and colourful spices, took one of the water taxis across the river to see a Malay village: Smiling people, kids playing carefree in the streets, simple wooden huts raised on stilts with that magnificent river as their backdrop. For the first time, I really felt that I was in Malaysia. That afternoon we were feeling lazy enough to just sunbathe by the pool. This was a holiday, after all. That was cut short however by the most almighty storm just designed for those massive hotel room windows. 3 hours later and I had finally managed to get the lightening shot I wanted. The rains finally passed, leaving their palmy breath hanging in the air and we went for tea in the balmy, sultry night. Proper food that night, followed by a lovely evening walk along by that river, lights from the local stalls reflecting happily in the night’s water. Blissful.

The next morning we were off for the visit I’d been waiting for: The orangutan sanctuary. As soon as we walked into the forest, shade and quiet settling, the goosebumps prickled. And then there they were: Those great auburn beasts, swinging up in the tree-tops, devouring whole bunches of bananas in a single mouthful. No sentences I could string together nor any of the streams of photos I took could capture the majesty of those orangutans. So amazing to see them in their natural habitat and not behind bars, just going about their daily routine. Beautiful. I would happily have stayed in that place for ever but tourists were not welcome past feeding time so we were off to Serian market, en route to our next destination in Batang Ai. This was our guide’s home so as he went off for a chat with his mates, we had a scout about the somewhat stinky marketplace full of chicken feet, dried fish and overpowering chillis. Somewhere near here we were told that we should buy gifts for the Iban tribe, who we would be visiting the next day. “Soap or something”, the guide advised us. In the shop, it transpired that by ‘soap’ he meant 37 bars of the stuff, specifically. One for each member of the tribe. Okaaaaaaaay then. Then it was back into our minibus for one of the most scenic drives I’ve ever had. Mountains shadowed the distance but the immediate vicinity was crowded with lush rainforests framing windy country roads. “This is Borneo” the postcard would read…

Batang Ai
A beautiful sunny afternoon welcomed us to the Batang Ai lake resort that would be our home for the next two nights. If Kuching had been serene, this was tranquility itself. Designed in the style of a wooden longhouse and set on this shimmering lake, the longhouse was isolated from roads, traffic, noise. With the exception of the very annoying group of Dutch tourists with someone who may very well have modeled himself on Hitler as their guide, it was peacefulness defined. As dusk settled in, silhouetting the neighbouring hills and casting shades that Pantone would have been envious of across the water, I could probably have been heard to sigh with absolute pleasure.
I couldn’t tell you what day it now was, as time had become immaterial but the next day we were taken by longboat, 37 bars of soap in hand, to visit the Iban people. I would like to say that this was a glimpse into how a true Malay tribe lived. To be fair, the longhouse they were living in was authentic enough and really interesting to see. And they probably did live off the land and sea. But they also lived off the tourists. As their iPods, multiple widescreen TVs and mobile phones might testify. So after the ‘performance’ of the warrior dance, us tourists were invited to try on the ceremonial hat and ‘join in’ before the various bars of soap, crayons, sweets and who knows what else other tourists had come bearing, were divvied out to every member of the tribe in what looked like some kind of adult-version of a primary school’s circle time. Slightly bizarre. After this spectacle, we were invited to the chief’s hut for lunch, which was pretty tasty and then, having been taught how to kill an enemy with a blowpipe (as you do), it was time to leave. Certainly a memorable experience, if not for the right reasons.

Back at the resort that afternoon, we took a ‘walk’ (more like a hike, if you ask me) up into the rainforest that was just sitting there on our doorstep. The canopy walk was slightly higher than I might have liked but it always has been my dream to live with the monkeys so it had to be done. I just didn’t look down. Much. And that was, all too quickly that, bedtime and off back the way we came the next day to Kuching. Where we stopped at Serian market again and ate lunch this time, tucking into curry consisting of the very same chicken that we’d seen the flies making their home on a couple of days before. Tasted good though.

Kuching revisited
Having been in full tourist mode during our visit to the Iban people, we decided not to break the habit and took a cruise along Kuching river that night. It would be proper to say that the highlight was the colourful fishing boats bobbing along the shore or the contrast between the humble Malay huts and the imposing parliament building, or the sight of Kuching milling along in the rose-tinted pink dusk. But the highlight, if I’m being perfectly honest, was the cake we were served onboard. At the risk of being made to walk the plank, I snuck a second slice. That’s how good it was.

Our last day in Kuching (where was the time going?!) turned out to be the best as we were taken to visit Bako National Park, an amazing mass of tangled rainforests, beach and wildlife all thrown together. Had I not started the day by smacking my head into the door of the minibus and having a concussion, I might have had a slightly less blurry view of what can only be described as something out of Jurassic Park, as we came in by boat. We were greeted by a wild boar and a snake, just to set the scene, and then, sweat beading out of orifices I didn’t even know existed, we were thrown into the epitome of tropical rainforest. Hard to describe, really, the feeling of walking through trees that have lived there like something in the land that time forgot, roots a million years old snaking beneath our feet. By the time we left the National Park that day, it didn’t seem strange to see macaques flying by our ears or Proboscis monkeys taking their lunch on trees not 20 metres away. Concrete houses, the routine of work, the sound of cars, were a million miles away. That night, back in Kuching, we enjoyed what had become our ‘regular’ evening stroll by the river and breathed in the last of that balmy, sultry air. One week in and we had seen so many snippets and contrasts of the melting-pot that is Malaysia. What would we see next?!

Kota Kinabalu
What we’d see next, it turned out, was beach. Beach, a lush hotel room facing the rainforest and a quite definite feeling of ‘being away from it all’. This was me right back into my comfort zone. Although I had rather enjoyed being out of it. Our hotel was so posh that our arrival was announced by the banging of a gong. Seriously. It was also so posh that the £13 that had bought us a veritable feast back in Kuching would barely get us a side-dish in any of the hotel’s 354 (slight exaggeration) restaurants. Still, with the views we had and the great music that was played in the bar every night, who needed food anyway?!

The next three days ran on a loop: Huge breakfast, lying by the pool when the sun came out (there’s a reason it’s called the ‘rain’forest), lounging on the balcony when it didn’t, romantic sunset walks at dusk complete with Mark’s spontaneous monkey noises and my cartwheels, massive amounts of food at dinnertime and laughing our heads off at a bunch of drunk Aussies dancing like madmen in the bar at night. Louder than the average holiday-making American, they made the cast of Neighbours look like colleagues of Einstein. Turns out that they were all newly-weds, as our hotel was a honeymoon haven. If that’s what marriage does for you, I don’t want it. Come the weekend, for a break from the ‘routine’, we headed into the town of Kota Kinabalu to meet up with an old Uni friend of Mark’s. It wasn’t too much of a departure from the routine, mind you, with island hopping and seafood by the harbour on the agenda. Oh, and, much to Mark’s utter delight, lots and lots of wedding talk. I like Mark’s old Uni friends.

With time slipping through our fingers, it was already our last day by the sea and a morning trip to visit more orangutans, who were being rehabilitated in the very grounds of our hotel. These ones were cheekier than those we’d visited in Sarawak, with one of them even having a full on tantrum when it was time for us to leave. Adorable. And such a shame I wasn’t allowed to take one home. The rest of that day unfolded into a last-minute tanning mission, the invention of the orangutan stroke, delightful spa pedicure and incredibly posh meal to see us off. All too sad that it was time to leave the sand and rainforest behind…

Kuala Lumpur: Round 2
The city, after all of those serene moments, ocean, rainforest and the constant smells of flowers, seemed crazy. Arriving at moreorless the same time we had 2 weeks before and having to take the same humid trek back to the hotel, I wanted to escape right back to that meandering river and my new orangutan friends. The giant malls, commercialised restaurants and frantic hubub seemed nothing more than an insult to the beauty that the rest of the country had shown us. Stuffing ourselves silly on Lebanese food that night, I went to bed unsure of how much more of this city I wanted to see and so it was a tentative me that set out on our final day.

Leaving the heart of the city behind, we took a train out to the Batu caves, a Hindu temple frequented by some very scary macaque monkeys who would take your hand off for a slice of coconut. And such a contrast again to the city reminded me of how diverse Kuala Lumpur is. On our way back we stopped some more at the Lake Gardens and I found myself forgiving KL for being so noisy and busy elsewhere when it offered the birds, monkeys and flowers of this little corner. And from the top of the KL tower, as the sun set on our holiday, last rays of light jumping from mosque to temple to shiny new hotel, I realised that this cauldron avoiding definition summed up the breadth of the rest of what we’d seen. A country difficult to place. But a place you would happily come back to. Fitting then, that we finished our stay with a meal at the same restaurant we’d been to on our very first night, naive ignorance of what was in store now replaced with a thousand memories. Now Mark, my lovely travel companion whose presence had made everything smell that little bit sweeter, look that little bit brighter and who this trip could never have been what it was without, really would have to drag me away. So 3,017 words later, it was time to go home. More’s the pity…

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