Mountain train in Interlaken, Switzerland.
This post is specially for banis who insisted I update this little space of a blog. A very special, choked-up thank you, with all my heart.
Here goes.
Life has gone a long way since this carefree travel down the train tracks and I cherish all of it very,very much and have decided to take extra time and care to carefully archive the stories. Although, the longer I wait, the more bittersweet it will be. Such are memories. You turn back to the pictures taken and fall back into the green grass that was once your bed.
Travelling and abruptly ending it all with an infinite stop in the last point of the terminal for a long time is taking more toll on me than I thought it will be. My memorabilia from one month worth of travelling is lodged inside a shoe box – along with maps, receipts and magnets. Opening the box and tracing my finger on top of the pieces of treasures I picked up and kept takes extreme effort. Searching for pictures to put inside this post makes my heart swell with longing.
At one point, there was a bit of hope to begin again. I might do my Bar in the UK after all. I still have another year ahead to more heady travels.
It didn’t happen.
Like Odysseus who returned to the arms of Penelope after the long years of travelling and swallowed his longing for the sea deep inside him, I stored the memories and hope inside the shoe box, within the RAM digital memories of SD cards and laptop, buried.
I am not crying, nor regretting. In fact, I feel at peace. I have stepped into the role I have been expected to – to report for duty at SC, to become my sister’s wedding manager and bridesmaid and taking care of household stuff.
And these are the things that matter most now.
My longing to be away again is not forgotten. It will happen again – at one point, it will.
Now, for the wedding reception 
*
Woww it’s been awhile!
Things are happening at high speed, there is barely space and time to catch a breath before I submerge into a whole new circle of moving and moving. Like an adrenaline rush, this whole new joy of travelling thrills. Packing, unpacking, washing clothes at the Laundry, change currencies from British Pounds to Euro to Crotian Kuna, cramming stuff into rucksack until the seam is about to burst and wearing the same set of clothes day and again, catch the train, catch the bus, go through the whole 3-hours flight preparation, printing ticket after ticket, travel journal sadly overdued, snapping thousands of pictures in my mere 8GB SD card, lugging Nikon D80 around Europe, hunched back from stone-heavy bag, glowing tan, magnets as souvenirs, new people, new languages, mountains, naked statues, cathedrals, paragliding..PHEW!
I am in love with this.
Uninhibited, homeless, changing travelling stories with random people, on-the-go, trying to spend as little as possible and new air, earth, people and view every single day – but missing the same people the every day. I miss Sam – when I am on the go, it is hardly possible to chat and skype. And it is a loss that I feel most 
To Shamin, I do miss you. Very much.
Here’s to a deep breath for another plunge into globetrotting adventure. Eastern Europe – here I come
Today I feel like my soul has wandered all the way to Denizli, in Pamukkale, lazing around the salt-formed pools.
Pamukkale is in, if I imagine it carefully, the Western part of Turkey. It is in between Cappadochia and the Sea. Pamukkale is basically a whole huge hill formed by hardened salt, that formed natural pools which get filled in with natural water every morning by Nature.
We came by really early in the morning, being one of the first to arrive, and it was so fresh and so beautiful, we literally got the place to ourselves!
Which was why my friend Martina thought it will be okay to go inside this prohibited area, but she was caught out – so she walked sexily back to safety, with no sign of sheepish guilt at all! He he! This area is dangerous as it is placed dangerously close to the edge of the hill, and it has uneven bed – which should mean there is more grip for people to walk on but it is actually because it is easier for tourist to break it into pieces when the afternoon visits turn to stampede, up here in Pamukkale.
The Romans used to conquer Pamukkale, they used to come here in Summer to sunbathe ages ago. They ruled this part of town and enjoyed the beauty themselves. It is said that even Cleopatra once visited this place. Which is why they’ve got Cleopatra pool.
Ancient ruins in the pool.
The temple fell.
The Cleopatra pool is this huge swimming pool for the ancient rich people – the place where they clean and pray before going inside the temples. The best part oft his pool is, as you can see from the picture above, the ruins of a temple that fell into the pool during the Crusades area. Both Christian and Islam, who were both at war with each other, and both are against idolism destroyed these temples and even some figures.
Female statues.
They have especially paid special attention to female figurines – to avoid any idolism and any affection that may form towards these ancient stones. They amputated it but didn’t destroy it. I do wonder if it just deliberately done – to leave the beheaded and amputated statues for public eyes. Maybe it is also to instill fear? The Romans slowly pack their bags and leave Pamukkale to the hand of destiny – an eternal dominion of world power that is taking place until the end of time.
Apollo
If you feel like exploring the whole city of Pamukkale, it covers about 10km radius of the top of the hill and mighty tiring – you can see an old theatre, a whole stretch of ancient street beautifully built with archs and temples – really HUGE ones.
The main street where parades and main highway took place.
The theatre – to watch speeches, debates, performances and announcements.
The entrance to main street. A very grand entrance!
They don’t really add any commercial thing in this side of the city, and it is rather far from the main hyped-up centre of the ancient pools, so it is not crowded, and makes it REALLY GREAT. It felt like there is still some spirits breathing there. As I stand and walk past it, it feels like something is stirring, something ancient, waiting to be be freed again, waiting to roam the streets of Pamukkale and to touch the magnificient temples they had built with their bare hands. The city is surrounded by beautiful pine forest, and if you just take your time to sit on one of the huge ancient rocks, and just listen – you can hear whispers in the forest. The trees that has seen all sort of man with all kind of trades walking past, from the ancient faces of the Romans and Egyptians, to the sworded Crusaders and bearded Muslim warriors and now this little South-East Asian girl – probably not a face they have been used to.
The famous ‘cotton castle’ as the Romans fondly called them
The Romans had loved this place as they believed it is holy and pure – so white with clear water running through them every morning. They believe in its healing property and thus take great care of the ritual of bathing in these pools. The picture above is the ‘cotton castle’. It is actually on the steep hill of Pamukkale, dangerously dangling. People used to be able to swim there, but now you cant even go there.
The clear morning water of Pamukkale
The water tasted sweet and clear if you taste it in the morning, if you come in the afternoon the water would be dried up and dirty with lots of people’s dirt in it. We went back to the main pool area in the afternoon and the place was SWARMING with tourists like a public beach! I decided not to put up picture of the swarmed place because it is unsightly. I’d rather remember Pamukkale for its tranquility and beauty.
It is amazing how the water and salt mud dont mix – they form very fine powder and settle onto the bed if you try to mix it – making the water white for awhile like above. People come here and take the mud to put it on their face – natural beauty spa. it was cooling to me, so it was rather fun making face pate in the middle of the sun.
The way to get there is to take any bus from any major cities in Turkey to Denizli. From Denizli, just take any local taxi, dolmus or bus to Pamukkale. It is only about 10 – 15 minutes to the foot of Pamukkale hill and it is cheap. I suggest only a one day trip. It is enough. Just come early in the morning at 8, then chill and have breakfast and freshen up at any hotel (they usually allow guests to keep bags and refresh themselves without checking in to a room) before taking the hike up Pamukkale at 10am – when it opens. The entrance fee is 20lira. Thats about 10 pounds. If you want to take a dip in Cleopatra pool – it would be an extra 18lira. Dang!~
Something amazing sometimes come unexpected
It’s random exam times like this that old memories creep in my brain and take up space that should be exclusively for my LAW DEGREE!! Aaargh!
I suddenly have that silly urge to laugh out loud or cringe when I remember the past.
At this moment, I am fondly recalling my Turkey Summer 2009. Yeah, when your head is filled with anxiety, exam and studying, it gets all annoyed and start shoving images of Turgutreis’s sunset, Bodrum’s ocean and Hagia Sofia. Then you get misty eyed and start daydreaming.
These are some pictures from Besiktas, Istanbul, by the Bosphorus. People don’t generally swim here, but boys being boys, they do it without heed to the people by the river asking them to get out.
Summer to-do
They were a happy bunch. All excited to show off their skills as they slowly gather people round by the riverside laughing at their antics. I later recognized their faces in the Lonely Planet guidebook for Turkey! So, I did managed to rub shoulders with some local celebrities 
The boys were really friendly! I took some candid shots and showed them. They got really excited and started to devise some more elaborate dives to get better pics! I placed myself strategically by the side, dangerously close to the bank, to get the Besiktas Mosque in the background.
Then we learned why elder people were anxious about the boys swimming in the Bosphorus.
Mini-tsunami
A mini tsunami rocked the river, knocking down tables from riverside cafes and causing havoc to the people on the bank. The kids were, luckily, enjoying ice creams when this happened!
When I think of Turkey, I will think of you.
I hope I can visit this place before Summer.
Our first day was filled with a lush awe for the beauty that Edinburgh lavish out to her people. Pebble-stone roads, buildings with that charming old historical facade that line the whole stretch of Royal Mile and thin, crooked, dark and sinister sharp towers stabbing the white sky.
Snow fell heavily when we first stepped there, and dragging a dead weight of a luggage on wheel through the thick snow and icy roads IS SO NOT FUN! It’s like walking a terribly heavy dog that bumps into your back and make you lose your balance on ice or a massive burden on wheels.
But the whole city was beautiful. The snow that fell was those soft, powdery ones unlike the pelts of wet puff snow that falls in London. The dusty nature make pretty walkway as the snow shyly thin out at the edgs like sugar dusting on a pie.And speaking of baking metaphor, Mek dropped a case of eggs while running on ice with her heavy grocery bags.
HAHAHAHAAHHAAH.
The image of her panicking and running to cross the road and the case of eggs neatly plopped itself out of the bag into the snowy road in front of old ladies is really funny. She had to go back and picked them up, with the old ladies voicing their concern over her possibly broken eggs.
Will put up pictures. And continue with our first night which is the torch procession.
Ciao. Off to Festival Hall to get our theatre tickets
Sometimes when I walk alone, or when my thoughts stray, I remember the moment I was on that deck of Hunting Moon, at Turgutreis, Turkey, saying goodbye to Turkish ocean. It was something I didn’t want to forget. I made sure I stood right at the bow of the boat, facing the sunset gleaming over hundreds of other yatch/boats on the marina (where all boats station for supplies) we were at, and made promise with Gosia, this is one moment to remember for life.
The four nights spent on the boat with Captain Nuno, Herdis, Gosia, Weronicka and Hel has its own magic that can make me nostalgic especially when the winter cold bites. For that short period of time, we vowed to be family. They taught me how to swim in the deep ocean – for the first time I managed to swim in the endless depth of blue water. I have never done that before. It was a personal achievement
On one of the night, we stopped by a lonely island, with cave and cove – rowing on Giselle – the little safe-boat that trails behind Hunting Moon most loyally, and always smiling - towards the shore from our boat, anchored in the middle of the ocean. I had helped Nuno to collect firewood in the morning so we made bonfire for a BBQ that night. There were sea rats, by the way, trying to steal our sausages
We ate, sang to Nuno’s guitar and just lie on the sand and stare at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of shooting star. Hunting Moon’s red light towered the ocean before us, as if reminding us not to leave her alone, moored in the dark. I inhaled as much sea breeze as I could - the freshness was ecstasy in itself. We were too tired to clean up after our mess on the beach - so we went back to Hunting Moon and cleared our stuff the next morning – the bliss of just doing exactly what you want, the way you want it
I remembered rather vividly the morning I woke up in Hunting Moon the first time. I had arrived in club district Bodrum the night before and could only see liquid black, and when we were sleeping, Hunting Moon found its way to a cozy, secluded secret lagoon, away from the city. I woke up to soft morning sun, gentle breeze and Hunting Moon rocking slowly with the sea, waving her flag to a neighbour boat.
One of the other night, we went to the city for some good fun. It was like tramping into sin city and dirty,dodgy,claustrophobic space – which was a world’s apart from the serenity of our boat- with men and women dancing on stilts and poles, and a Russian DJ with only a glitter sticker on her nipples each, wobbling. The night faded into morning, and we had to camp on the beach, sleeping in the beach loungers with dogs running around chasing the waves, and seagulls fly above our heads and some men sweep away at the beach, preparing for the fresh hoard of tourist that would soon crowd – while waiting to catch the earliest dolmus (cab) to the warm hub of Hunting Moon.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I close my eyes, and imagine I am still there. Right there on Hunting Moon, swaying in my bed and fall in sync with the soft rolling waves – knowing I would wake up to the smell of fresh omelets and a dip in the great, deep,blue ocean that silence the world around you and you can sink as deeply as you want inside yourself, surrounded by calm and beauty, trailing your finger on the life that escapes your body in bubbles, wondering where it will all go.
Summer 2009 in Turkey was a haze of swirly emotion, with brain-rupturing intoxication amidst splendid new territorial excitement that sticks to my mind like an enigma. A Summer fully cramped with 30 happy things from 19 different countries and a bunch of students, high on sugar and roller-coaster mood swing who would catch you off-guard like a bug flu, a pleasant one that it.
It’s from here on that I experience strange encounters, the joy of independent travel, the irresistible hiatus of one’s paranoid brain system and the humbling thoughts of a masquerade.
the best day
The shocking discovery of self in regards to me not wearing the hijab has left me in a blurry mist, taking from under me the support system which held me thinly together, now broken. Going back to bare-self, luring my soul to seek deeper and deeper into my core and save it for what its worth. An inexplicable journey of which I am still hitch-hiking on, waiting for the next less dodgy driver.Hopefully one who would enlighten too.
The people I met here were simply awesome.
happy things
Knowing I would be with them for a mere 5 weeks made it more amusing to laugh at intolerable bits and enjoy the laughable ones. I love the girls I travel with, and how we got along together. The bond between us is as unforgettable as the male organ-shaped stones that tower in Cappadochia. It would be like a vortex that traps all these delicious memories in my nerve system, ready to pull me up when I slip down Life’s potholes and minefields.
To the happy things of Myself-My World Project Istanbul 2009, we will never meet most of us again, I miss you.
So it’s been almost 3 months, phew!
A lot had obviously happened within those times, that it would be almost impossible to recall them! Such pity though, I was hoping to capture my memories of my times in Turkey and London during Summer, and immortalise them here.
Luckily I have my travel journals. Everywhere I go, I have my travel journals. Journals, because I get new ones to each destination I go to. Like an aligator-theme recycled notebook for my Australian trip. And a red, ottoman-inspired leather-bound notebook for my Turkish trip.
I also like to keep junks from my travellings, and treasure them properly until I get home. And then I would get slightly amused by all the bus tickets, food receipts, tabs of all sort and brochures I took along the way that would head straight into my drawer, abandoned. I try to convince myself that I would do something with it, so they never get thrown away. When the nostalgic mood kicks in, I would cut and paste the papers into their respective travel journals, in memorial. I would post a picture of my Australia’s travel log one day. It’s really pretty
And, of course, I love my passport for all the stamp-marks in it! In Turkey, I even asked the immigration officer to stamp it properly so I could clearly make out the shape, date and mark on the page. He looked at me, annoyed, and stamped really hard until the mark smudged from too much ink splattered from the stamp-thing! Geez, attitude!
Travelling rocks Will update you soon.
p/s: the theme lay-out seems a little bit teenage-y, but I like the clean design and fresh, white page
a day in Cardiff.
walked around the city centre.
a guy was playing violin, bringing to life tunes of scotland folklore, while balancing one foot. on a tightrope.
a crowd watching a kenny roger look alike strumming his beat-up guitar.
a trio of fire charmers. a guy juggling three kerosin-burned batons. a man with glasses and dreadlock with a pole of two fire ends. twirling it in his hand, over his shoulder, behind his ncck, flame hissing frustratingly, missing the clutch of his hair. a young girl, long luscious locks on one side of her side and soft grizzle hair on almost bald head on the other, swinging two chains of fire, looping it over her head making fantastic gypsy dance.
she wore a plastic headband. knocked over it when she twirled her chains. it fell over her eyes. she dance a slow twirl with her chains, hoping to halt her rhytm.
she was blinded, the fire knew. it licked her hair, lighting up flame at the back of her eyes.