No Comparison

I try to write about witty, funny things even if some of them are painful growth on my face, cause me to part with money and actually are insignificant in the larger scheme of things - because I think it’s important to maintain a sense of humour and that it’s OK to laugh at oneself and one’s foolish acts and accept one’s misfortunes. But I was thinking last night after learning of a colleague’s misfortune that my petty complaints, trivial tantrums, angst and worries all may seem so trite, pointless, self-indulgent, lavish and irresponsible even.

A son of this particular colleague contracted an infection which resulted in the child being admitted into a hospital and my colleague spending two nights at the hospital to accompany him. And there I was ‘moaning’ about my lack of sleep - which was actually due to my conscious decision to catch some Euro2008 footie action. The colleague was worried about the son and I was sad and down because Azzurri lost to the Netherlands.

I just could not help comparing the two situations. Losing sleep because one had to sleep in the bright lights of a hospital room caring for one’s sick child and losing sleep because of one’s own choice to watch football. Being worried over one’s child and being worried because a team one supported lost. Agonising over the health and recovery of one’s child and agonising over a medium-sized pustule taking residence on one's face. Golly, I felt like such an irresponsible person and all my concerns, problems and worries seem to pale in comparison; they seem so insignificant.

But of course the two situations are not comparable. It’d be like comparing apples to oranges. While I don’t yet have a child to fret over or a spouse to worry over, I do have other worries of my own. So don’t think bachelorettes like us have no real worries of our own. Because God tests each and everyone of us albeit differently. Trust me, my petty concerns and worries that I choose to disclose in this blog are just the tip of the iceberg of worries that I bear.

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So I shall still be indulgent here and talk a bit on Euro2008. I didn’t watch the Spain v Russia match because it was held at midnight and I may never be able to fall asleep if I stay up (weekends are different as I can afford to sleep in) and was very happy to discover that Fàbregas scored his first international goal for Spain. I’m still not rooting for Spain yet though; they have a record of being underachievers (just like Portugal). All the hype which didn’t materialise in the end. Let’s if Euro2008 will be different. Read more about the match here and here.

Today

I sent the following email to my mate earlier today:

From: adek@xxx.xxx.my
To: xxx@xxx.xxx.my
Subject: Today

I hadn’t yet kept a diary yet then so I can’t confirm but I’m pretty sure that 20 years ago today, my half-sister passed away.

My half-sister and I were never really close probably because of the huge age difference (and maybe because of other reasons). I don’t have a rose-coloured memory of her now simply because she is no longer with us. I know it’s not nice to talk bad of the dead so I won’t start here, suffice to say that I can remember some things she did which she shouldn’t have done.

May God have mercy on her soul and all who have departed this world. Rest in peace and al-Fatiha to them all.

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Emails sent between me and a colleague yesterday evening:

From: xxx@xxx.xxx.my
To: adek@xxx.xxx.my
Subject:

I’m going out 4 a while, just in case u’d like anythin’ from me ;8)

My reply:

From: adek@xxx.xxx.my
To: xxx@xxx.xxx.my
Subject: Re:

I wanna go back on the dot dot today since I’m relying on someone for his goodwill for transport. Plus I wanna sleep early (after House, that’s not exactly early is it) to wake up and watch my boyfriends (note the plural) play footie early tomorrow morning (I’m in the wrong time zone, I tell you).

Translation: Don’t worry; I wouldn’t be disturbing you anymore for the day as I wanted to leave office on time to rest and get up and watch my boyfriends play footie. My Italian boyfriends, that is!

I dragged myself out of bed after 4 am this morning, switched on the TV and watched with growing horror and disbelief as Italy trailed the Netherlands by two goals. The misery was compounded when the latter scored yet another goal. Heck, that was what I got up for? Of course, it was not the same team that won the World Cup a couple of years ago (no Cannavaro, no Nesta) and even the then-defending champion France lost their first 2006 World Cup match. But Azzurri have really got to pull themselves together after this.

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I have this throbbing, medium-sized pimple (or abscess?!) somewhere near my hairline and boy, is it hurting me like crazy, enough to make it the topic of discussion with my friend:

Adek: Do you know the difference between a pimple and an abscess?

She: Hahaha... No idea... but xxx once had a pimple or growth that looked like a pimple (can’t really recall) which lasted for a while ... try asking her.

Adek: I have one now on the edge of my hairline and forehead. Hurts like crazzzyyyy. I accidentally hit it this morning after waking up watching footie and screamed silently for at least 10 minutes. It really hurt OK!!! Everyone says it’s pimple but it hurts like an abscessI

She: Ouuchh ... If it were me, I’d have taken a needle and poke that spot and let whatever pus in there come out whatsoeva hehehehe... but it would leave a scar...

Adek: No, DON’T ever do that! I’m too scared to do that, I’m too scared of pain. OK, I’m a coward.

A few minutes later...

Adek: I can’t think of anything except for this blasted pimple!

Folks, I’m not exaggerating, I’m not (normally) a drama queen, I’m not making all this up to milk sympathy but it is seriously hurting like crazy.

*Ouch!!!*

Money Talk

Some people say bad luck comes in threes. Now I don’t normally subscribe to this kind of ‘belief’ but I’ve had three recent ‘misfortunes’ as follows.

#1: My dad came over to micasa with an Indonesian worker while I was away at work a fortnight ago to cut the grass. He called me later that evening to ask about the back fence which had been cut apart. That was news to me too (yes, I somehow managed not to notice it before) and true enough, the back fence was indeed ripped apart. That probably explained why I felt some unease while I was in Europe.

So now I have to build a brick wall around my backyard to prevent further transgressions in the future. What does all this mean? Yes, I need to fork out money for that (and have to inform the neighbours of the job too).

*$!GH*

#2: I had just finished my ironing chore on Thursday evening when I heard the sound of dripping water from my bathroom. A check revealed that it came from the bidet and while I could turn off the tap which supplies both the cistern and bidet to stop the flow of water, that meant that the water in the cistern would not be replenished... and every time I tried to fill up the cistern, the dripping resumed.

So yes, that called for a plumber and money going down the drain. My mate suggested someone from his residential area over the chap I called to fix the hose to my washing machine. He came yesterday, he looked honest enough and he fixed my bathroom up and cleared the clogged sink as well.

*$!GH*

#3: I lost yet another anklet on Friday – third time unlucky at losing them anklets now! Add that to the broken clasp of my bangle, the twirled bracelet which has been unravelling itself somehow for some time now, and the earrings I broke while sleeping in a cramped tent in Mina during Hajj – which I have to repair or replace – maybe I should just stop wearing jewellery altogether.

Did I ever mention I am high-maintenance? *$!GH*

So I went out on Saturday for retail therapy to cheer myself up. Nothing like some beauty care product and a pair of four-inch open-toe slingback heels to help restore a girl’s spirits.

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I know it’s already ‘stale’ news but I’m sure we’re all still reeling from the shock of the recent fuel hike. Yes, I know it was inevitable, that we could not be depending on subsidy until kingdom come but couldn’t the Government have made it a gradual increase instead? All this after assuring the masses that any fuel price rise would only be made in August.

I can’t help thinking and wondering about all the chain reaction, the super duper price inflation that will ensue in all other aspects of everyday life. Everything will rise in turn, everything but our wages. How will the village folks cope? How will the low middle-income families cope while trying to put some family members into school? And the thing is, we are still a net oil producer. And I read that the US actually has large oil reserves (correct me if I’m wrong) and that the reason for the high price of oil per barrel is because of the depreciating greenback than because of supply problems (again I stand corrected).

So why the recent fuel price hike then? To help the Government pursue its 9MP? How many times have the public had the wool pulled over its eyes? How stupid does the Government take us for? How much longer do we have to take this, be treated like we don’t matter and our voices don’t count? And the very bloody people who are harping on the masses to change our lifestyles are the very ones who won’t be doing anything about changing theirs. As for me, I’ve learnt from a young age how to take public transportation and have already been taking it for as long as I can remember because Abah absolutely loathes being caught in the crazy Jalan Ampang traffic and he takes public transportation as far as possible too. For the record, there’s nothing wrong and nothing to be ashamed of in taking public transportation and yet when I explain to people I take the bus, I’m always met with a blank look, or worse, having to bear the brunt of their irritating jokes. I find it’s those out-of-state ‘settlers’ who settle in KL who don’t take public transportation and who add to the KL traffic woes. And while I won’t be buying a car any time soon (if at all), I’ll still be affected as many more make the change and take the public transportation. But is the public transportation network ready for us?

And to those politicians, stop telling us that our fuel is still among the lowest-priced in the region, that it’s still cheaper compared to Thailand or Singapore because we don’t live in those countries and sure don’t earn their wage!

So shoot us already

For die-hard drivers, check this out for some tips on how to negate fuel price increase.

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And now I shall attempt to end this entry with some cheer (not easy when there seems to be nothing but doom and gloom in this time of high fuel cost and soaring food prices): Euro2008 kicked off at long last after midnight on Saturday. Here’s to three weeks of late nights, early mornings, sleepy days at the office and late-night gorging on chocolates and Häagen-Dazs!

Things I Don’t Understand

Why do people have to make an issue out of something as simple as how one chooses to have one’s meal? I was at a wedding (Malay) very recently and my colleagues and I opted to use cutlery instead of using our hands. Then a couple and two ladies joined our table. They returned from the buffet table with their food and cutlery but one of them (who had to sit next to me) then decided she wanted to use her hand after all and announced it to all and sundry, saying ‘Oh, I think I’ll use my hand. We are Malays anyway.’ Her mate across the table replied, ‘Yea, I think I’ll do the same too. It’ll be more comfortable,’ (they said all this in Malay, of course) and the third lady also followed suit (she was either a ‘copy cat’ or felt similarly uncomfortable with using utensils but didn’t feel the need to broadcast it or both). All this after they had gotten the utensils onto the food (so the poor caterer would still need to wash those hardly-used cutlery).

I sat there quietly eating my food and thinking, what the heck. Who cared if you wanted to use your hand but you didn’t have to announce it so loudly and tactlessly as if to make those of us who used cutlery to actually feel uncomfortable with our choice. After all, cutlery was provided at the two buffet tables and the pot-and-container for hand-washing was also available at each table. Heck, even the husband to the lady who made the first broadcast ate with his cutlery! And besides, does it make those of us who eat with the provided cutlery snobs or any less Malays/Malaysians than those who opted to eat with their hands?

Oh and that reminds me to those times when people actually had to comment when they see me eating my noodle meals with my chopsticks. I mean, like so bloody what? My usual reply to that is ‘I’m a Malaysian.’ But really, why do I even need to reply as if in defense of my choice in cutlery and why is there even a need to comment in the first place?

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Why do some people like to clip or trim their nails in public? I think it’s very disgusting. I mean it’s not sanitary, not cultured and just plain gross. Didn’t anyone ever tell them that clipping one’s blinking nails is something one does at home in the bathroom with the door closed? I don’t appreciate having to listen to people go clip, clip, clip, clipping their nails. C’mon, with all the scratching, digging, plucking, fingernails are surely vile reservoirs for dirt and germs for most people! So unless you’re in the bathroom or in a nail salon, clipping your nails in public is really bad taste!

I also can’t understand why, oh why, why do some people keep their nails (fingernails or toenails) long and not bother to clean them? It’s so disgusting to look down and see someone’s long and dirty toenails poking out. God, it’s only basic hygiene surely and yet people neglect trimming and clipping their nails. I don’t care if anyone wants to keep her nails long, just make sure they’re clean and properly filed.

And yes, powdering one’s face or reapplying one’s lipstick in public is totally acceptable (not that I do it).

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Why do people always have to make a remark, comment or ask when they see me carry my brolly around? Isn’t it obvious enough that a brolly is to protect oneself from the sun and rain? In tropical Malaysia where we get regular torrential rain, most people seem to think brollies are only for protection against the rain.

I picked up the habit of carrying the brolly around on my second visit to Tokyo and thought a good practice like that should be continued. But no, here it’s almost a foreign concept to be walking with your brolly when the sun is out, never mind that it is blazing an unbearable 36C and you’re walking without any sunscreen protection. So now when people ask me (stupidly) why I carry my brolly, I reply sweetly, ‘To protect against the UV,’ which is true anyway. Actually my brolly does more than that: it helps to protect me from would-be snatch thieves, shields me from bird droppings and it can even be used as a self-defense tool.

By the way, I also picked up the habit of carrying a hand-held fan in Tokyo. I did carry it with me on a few occasions here in sweltering KL but there were too many smart alecks making comments about it that I just can’t be bothered to carry it anymore (OK, maybe I’m a coward for not sticking to it and letting what other people say sway my decision but I really can’t be bothered to listen to their stupid remarks).

I mean, really, why can’t people just let others be?!

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Why aren’t our men more gentlemanly? Why can’t they open doors, hold the doors open (instead of letting it slam in our faces), offer to carry our groceries, etc? You don’t do it because I’m a lady; you do it because you’re a gentleman. If you can’t even do it for your mother or female siblings, then I fear you’re a lost cause already. Yes, so women demanded equal rights but that didn’t mean that men have to stop being gentlemen. After all, you’re gifted with strength and muscles and (brains too). I had on a few occasions had to struggle under the weight of my groceries before biting my tongue and asking my friend if he could help me with them. But in England, my British friends would rush and actually grab my things to help carry them, without me having to request for their help.

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Why do people have to comment on other people’s weight, height, skin colour, ethnic background and clothing? It’s never-ending: I’m not thin enough, I’m not fat enough, I’m not dark enough, I’m not fair enough, I’m not Malay enough and yes, I don’t wear traditional clothes (read that to mean I don’t wear my baju kurung or kebaya) to office often enough. But so what? As long as I’m happy with what and who I am and how I dress and as long as what I wear is decent, not revealing and reflect myself as a Muslim, so what? It’s not as if I wear short, tight hot pants or revealing mini skirts or body-hugging clothes to work like some people actually do (and for that, even I want the fashion police to arrest them for not having enough fashion sense).

Oh, there are so many things that I don’t understand (and not sure if I ever will) but let’s just stop at that for now.

Trip Observations

Whenever I travel alone, I keep myself occupied with planning for the sights I intend to visit, reading the map and familiarising myself with it, keeping an eye out for my belongings and indulging myself in people-watching as I soak in the whole experience of a new and different city/country/culture/environment. The following are some of my observations from the recent trip:

# 1: In Stockholm, a couple and their small girl entered the diner I was in. He hardly held the door for her and was oblivious to her struggles with the door and the pram They headed for an empty table close to the entrance and the little girl walked out of her pram and went to one of the child seats – and dragged it back to the table all by herself. The mother was already seated and looked exhausted. The father did nothing to help the girl as he discussed the menu with the mother. Then I saw the father held out his hand for money for the meal from the mother. That was not the first time I saw an Indian man making his wife fork out the money for expenses. A few times here in KL, I’d observed with some surprise Indian men making their wives foot the bill.

#2: A good-looking man boarded the airport bus in Sofia. After a while, I discerned that he was with a lady – she could be his wife, partner or even sister. The seat beside me was vacated shortly after they boarded and he sat down. And by doing so, his rating in my eyes dropped immediately – for he was selfish, inconsiderate and thoughtless enough to claim the seat as his own instead of offering it to the lady. She looked frustrated at having to continue to stand and hang on for dear life and mildly annoyed and embarrassed by his lack of courtesy. And somehow I gathered that that was not the first time that he did not try to be a bit more considerate to her. Of course this happens all the time here and I should no longer be surprised – chivalrous honnête homme are endangered species now – but I always thought that European men are more chivalrous that their Asian counterparts, well, until that morning of course.

#3: While strolling the streets of Vienna, I was aware of a group of young people gathered together. They clearly knew each other and most of them were sitting on the pavement except for two who were standing. Nearby, a little toddler was playing by herself. She clearly looked like she was the child of the standing couple. I wouldn’t have given the scene much thought except for one disturbing thing: the girl was playing in the dirt. There was a small area which looked like it was under repair cordoned off to pedestrians and that was where the girl was playing - with the sand, gravel and asphalt – less than a metre away from her parents who were more intent on conversing with the rest of the gang and enjoying the sunshine than paying any attention to her. I wasn’t the only person who was looking at the scene in growing horror; a mixed couple (she was white and he was black) with their small child also kept glancing back to see whether the toddler playing in the dirt would actually put something, anything, into her mouth and wondering what kind of parents she had.

#4: A lot of people in uniform always act like they are superior than the hoi polloi, and especially so if you are a foreign girl travelling solo. I lost count of the number of the times I had my passport being scrutinised and flipped thoroughly repeatedly for reasons I didn’t know. It normally happened at the immigration but it happened once while I was checking in and the girl behind the counter called the border police or whatever they were called who proceeded to study my passport as if to memorise the pages. I actually asked, ‘Is there any problem?’ and the girl assured me that there was no problem. I wanted to scream and demand the reason why they were so interested in my passport but decided not to bother. Sometimes I wonder if the immigration people or border police think they have x-ray vision to read invisible code in my passport (not that there is any); I dread to think how they would have reacted had my passport borne the stamps of Iraqi, Iranian, Afghan, North Korean or even Cuban immigration. I generally think Bulgarians were very nice people with two exceptions: the chap on the bus above and the immigration girl-in-uniform at the airport. She was so bloody rude and treated me patronisingly, so much so I couldn’t resist saying sarcastically ‘So friendly!’ as I picked my passport that she shoved back and stalked off.

#5: Eastern Europeans are generally more wary of strangers and foreigners. I’d be stopping in my tracks studying my map and no one could be bothered to stop and help. Generally, they also smoke a lot (I especially notice this because I am sensitive to cigarette smoke) and have an unapproachable and hard look. I don’t know if they behave and act as they do because they don’t see too many foreigners or because they dislike foreigners. I tried not to think that they were xenophobic but there were times when I couldn’t help wondering. Maybe they were not comfortable to talk to strangers; maybe they didn’t know enough English to help; or maybe due to their circumstances they were just wary by nature. Of course I did receive help from the chap in Bucharest who was overly kind but that was the exception rather than the norm.

#6: Europeans can also be quite ignorant (so don’t worry if you don’t know the map of Europe!). Those friendly enough would almost always ask where I’m from and when I say I’m from Malaysia, they’d all look surprised as if they’d been expecting me to say I was from the Middle East, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran or even Pakistan. It’s frustrating to say I’m from Murgh–lay–sheer (I never pronounce it as Murgh–lay–zee–ah) and getting blank responses and having to explain where Malaysia is. I always have to add, ‘It’s south/north of Thailand/Singapore. Do you know where Thailand/Singapore is?’. Sometimes they’d get embarrassed and tried to act as if they just realised where Malaysia was - when I know they didn’t have a clue.

#7: Observation on self: I think I did pretty well on my own, alhamdulillah. Not only did I manage to read maps and converse with the locals, I also managed not to lose or misplace tickets, room keys and such (this is a great achievement for scatterbrained me). But I notice that I became less alert when Lin came to visit. I know that whenever I travelled with her, I was less careful with things and more absent-minded. On my own, I only have myself to rely on and somehow I became more alert and aware as I couldn’t afford to be ditsy.

Enough of my trip observations: I have one experience to share. As I was walking to the Emirates Stadium on my return visit, a black lady stopped me and asked me something. I must have looked confused because she then showed me a book and asked if I would be interested in studying it. I looked at it: it read ‘The Bible’. I declined politely, thanked her and said, ‘I’m Muslim’ before continuing on to the stadium. Except for an earlier encounter with a bloke in front of Selfridges preaching loudly to those who cared to listen (and nobody really was, they were more intent to finish their shopping) about how near the end of the world was and why we should save ourselves quickly through by following Jesus, I didn’t expect a direct religious approach, not in London at least. And surely, with my scarf, she should be able to tell that I’m Muslim? After all, the city has more than its fair share of veiled Arab women thronging Oxford Street and Queensway and it was the only city on my trip where I could walk without feeling that I stuck out like a sore thumb, never mind that I don my head cover differently.

And those are just some of my observations and experiences that had me feeling appalled, shocked, annoyed or amused even.

Last Week

I had sleeping problems last week as I usually do when I return from a completely different time zone. I slept well on Sunday night probably because I was so knackered but had problems dozing off on Monday night, the night before I was due to return to office.

I went to work on Tuesday feeling wozzy from lack of sleep and a little self-conscious with my tanned complexion. Went to the clinic and asked for some sleeping pills. The nurse told me she couldn’t give it to me over the counter so I had to make an appointment to see the doctor. She gave me a total of three pills which I was under strict instruction to take before 10 pm or otherwise there’d be a ‘hangover’.

Elle called me from down under that evening and in my excitement, I forgot about the pills. When I finally sat for dinner, it was past 9.30 pm. Never mind, not 10 yet, I thought, and popped one in in between my chews.

Of course I slept soundly that night. So soundly in fact that I vaguely heard my alarm and when I finally opened my eyes, it was almost 7 am! There was a sense of déjà vu of my last morning in Lisbon as I literally jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

I didn’t have much problem falling asleep after that and didn’t take any more pills; see, I was yawning all the way home and apologising repeatedly for it for the next three working days. Once home, it was all I could do to stay awake until bedtime. If I even as much as close my eyes, I’d be dozing off to sleep, yes, even while performing prayers! (The last time I recall dozing off while performing prayers was back at boarding school during tarawikh prayers).

On Friday night, I decided to rest on bed while waiting for prayers, ‘Only for three minutes’, I thought. When I next opened my eyes, an hour had passed; I had dozed off. I was still groggy when Abah called shortly after to inform that they would be coming early Saturday morning to drop off something and that a friend of Mummy’s would be coming along. That call was all it took to jolt me awake – and spur me into action (tidying up the house, cleaning kitchen surfaces etc) – well into the night.

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Thankfully I had some frozen curry puffs in the freezer so I decided I’d fry them on Saturday morning for my early morning guests. Unfortunately though, to my dismay, the curry puffs were sticking to each other and when I tried to pry them apart, I ended up puncturing some of them, exposing the filling. The end result was a semi-burnt plate of curry puffs (blame that on the induction cooker) that didn’t look like they were of the pre-prepared frozen kind; rather they looked like the result of my pathetic attempt at making curry puffs from scratch.

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I came back to the office to find a Facebook friend request from someone from my past, someone I once had a major crush on. Needless to say, things didn’t work out (obviously) but hey, there is a lot of water under the bridge and has been so for a long time now. And so I accepted his friend request because we are still friends even though things didn’t work out.

Then towards the end of the week, I received another friend request from yet another person from my past. I don’t think we parted on good terms and I was convinced she didn’t want to have anything more to do with me. Yes, you read it right: it was a ‘she’. (I’m sure you’ve heard of students from the same-sex boarding schools ‘dating’ each other and this person in question was my pet sister. It was all harmless and it doesn’t mean those involved in this are gays). I did try to follow up on her developments the first few years after leaving school but soon stopped. So it was a pleasant surprise to receive that friend request from her after all these years.

During the week too, yet another person from my past (what was it with people from my past? Maybe there should be a reunion for them all) asked a mutual friend to convey his regards to me and he requested that she informed him of my reaction when she told me about it. I was surprised to say the least and reacted accordingly. I mean, lumme, what was that all about?!

Anyway, there was a very kind and thoughtful gesture from someone from the present – he told another colleague to inform me of it. For the moment though, I’ll just accept and appreciate the gesture instead of reading too much into it.

What a week it was!

P/S: The chap of the Mom-and-Pop stall operator at our food-court passed away on Friday noon shortly after suffering a brief stroke. From what I gathered, not much was done to save him except for the call for an ambulance by the Security initiated by my mate (the ambulance was late in arriving – what do you expect when it had to brave the mad Friday lunchtime traffic?). I was aghast to hear this and dismayed. Yes, I know that his time had come but I feel there should have been more effort put in into saving anyone in similar situation, common stall operator or whatnot.

Not Your Average Traveller

I had decided to go on this trip alone. My travel partner, Lin, is in England at the moment and I couldn’t seem to be able to get anyone else to join me. Hence, before embarking on this trip, I knew that I had a few challenges in store, which include the following:

- I’d have to be even more alert, careful and wary travelling all alone. An Asian girl – make that a Muslim Asian girl - travelling solo would stick out like a sore thumb and might attract unwanted attention. I told myself to be mentally prepared for prejudice, racism and xenophobic reaction. And there would be no Lin to look out for me. Oh my first trips to Prague, Barcelona and Milan were all solo trips too but they were of the 5N 4D kind of trips (though I arrived in Prague and Barcelona at almost midnight too).

- I had to tell my parents about my trip. And I wasn’t too surprised that they didn’t withdraw their permission; I always think they trust me more abroad than if I were in KL - go figure! They did wonder though if it was safe for me. To be honest, I wondered too. But I’d never find out if I didn’t do it. And I didn’t want to cancel the trip just because I didn’t have a travel partner.

- There were two countries that I was sure I’d have communication problems. Poland last year was bad enough.

- I’d be taking a few intra-Europe flights and RyanAir particularly imposes a strict baggage limitation of 15 kg. It was definitely a challenge for me having to pack for a 2.5-week trip with that restriction. Although it’d be good in the long run because I’d have to haul my bag all by myself.

And the following is my account of my trip.

Thursday, May Day 2008: Sleepless in Skavsta

I woke up real early this morning – too early in fact. Abah came at 0530 – he insisted on sending me to KL Sentral - while I was watering the lawn. We left after morning prayers and thankfully the long check-in queue at the KL CAT that we had to endure last year didn’t recur. The plane took off on time and almost 12 hours later, we touched down at Stockholm Arlanda Airport. This time, I’d only be in Sweden for 16 hours – or so I thought. After collecting my luggage, I made my way to the airport chapel which was really a multi-faith prayer room to perform prayers.

Took the airport bus to the City Air Terminal where I bought a ticket to Skavsta airport. I then walked along Barnhusviken and eventually found myself at the Stadshuset (City Hall) which overlooked Riddarfjärden and Rygerfjord, the hotel that Lin and I stayed at last year. After that I returned to the station and went to a nearby kebab resto for an early dinner before boarding the 1940 coach to Skavsta.

We arrived at Skavsta some 80 minutes later. I performed prayers in the baby changing room before settling down for the night. It was a basic airport and (I suspected) built to discourage travellers from sleeping there. Of course sleep didn’t come anyway for me: I could never sleep in planes – even if it was a 24-hour flight – or bright, noisy areas like airports. Couldn’t wait for the early morning flight out where I hoped to catch up on sleep during the scheduled two-hour flight.

Friday, 2 May 2008: The Terminal

Alas, our 0650 flight was delayed due to technical problems. We were made to wait. And wait. And wait. First it was scheduled for 1145 then 1245. I had planned to visit the area surrounding Frankfurt-Hahn but it was not meant to be. Other passengers came and left for their various destinations and we were still there. Finally at 1100, we were served light refreshment at the airport bar.

I was getting restless and increasingly worried as it approached 1245 and there were no sign of imminent departure. See, I had another flight to catch from Frankfurt-Hahn that same evening and if the delay was prolonged, the rest of my plan could derail. I prayed hard and finally we boarded the plane and took off at 1320.

We landed into a light drizzling afternoon at Frankfurt-Hahn at 1510 and I barely had enough time to collect my bag and freshen up before joining another queue to check in for my next destination.

I left German soil barely 2.5 hours later. This time, the flight was packed and my fellow travellers were mainly young adults who were quite noisy. The bloke next to me was especially noisy and barely had I managed to doze off when I was awakened again by his loud voice. A few times I opened my eyes to see his friends standing over us talking to him. Already I was getting bad impression on some Finns.

We finally landed at Tampere Pirkkala Airport shortly after 2100. This was the land of the midnight sun and it was still light outside. But as Tampere is not exactly near the Artic Circle, the sun did set shortly after I boarded the coach for the city. From the railway station where we were dropped off, it was a short walk uphill to my hotel. This was the most expensive lodging I had to pay for my trip: there were a limited number of hostels in Tampere and they had all run out of single rooms as early as February! I was just so glad and thankful to see the welcoming bed.

Saturday, 3 May 2008: Fine Finland

I left the hotel for the railway station just after 0900 and bought return tickets to Helsinki. As I’d missed the earlier Inter-City train (it costs less than the other service but takes slightly longer as it stops at various stations), I wandered along Hämeenkatu street first. The stores were already opened at that hour but they all close at 1800 on Saturdays. It was a mild spring morning with the temperature at 0930 reaching a bearable 18C.

We passed Finnish countryside, farms that were still barren, small towns and breathtaking lakes on the way to Helsinki. After picking some brochures of the city, I hopped onto tram 3T right in front of Rautatieasema (Central Railway Station). Tram 3T takes you around the city and covers a lot of landmarks such as the Lutheran Cathedral (Tuomiokirkko) which is the unofficial symbol of the city, dominating the central Senate Square; Olympia Stadion; and Hakaniemi kauppahalli (Hakaniemen Market Hall). Tram 3B takes the same route but goes the opposite way.

After getting down the tram an hour later, I walked along Mannerheimintie Street (or Mansku for short). It is lined with shops and restaurants. I finally had lunch at Unicafe Ylioppilasaukio which was quite tricky to locate. This was Helsinki and everything cost a premium including food. Unicafe is a student restaurant and cafeteria and if you own a Finnish student card, you pay minimal price for your meal. You need to clear your tray yourself though.

After lunch, I walked to Hakaniemen Market. Unfortunately, most stalls at the market were already closed. The ground floor of the market sells groceries while the first floor sells souvenirs and handicrafts. But like I said, the stalls in the market were mainly closed and I only managed to buy some postcards.

I then walked to the waterfront before returning to Mansku. Oh yes, I also found a halal stall by the name of Habibi serving Middle Eastern food at the food court of the Forum Shopping Centre.

I boarded the 1806 train back to Tampere. It was raining along the way but not in Tampere, I strolled down Hameenkatu again and walked to the Tammerkoski rapids. These rapids run from Lake Nasijarvi in the north to Lake Pyhajarvi in the south via Finlayson historical industrial factory area. The height difference between the two lakes is 18 metres. After some Kodak moments, I took the long way back to the hotel passing Tullintori Shopping Centre and the University of Tampere.

Sunday, 4 May 2008: Werder Bremen/Beautiful Stranger

This morning, I checked out at 0800 and rushed to the railway station to get the coach to the airport for my 1005 flight to Bremen. The airport was really tiny and after checking in your bag, you need to carry it to the conveyor belt all DIY. It was a warm morning when we boarded the plane and I managed to get the second row. I felt a little odd when no one came to sit next to me until a couple that was among the last few passengers to board. For a while, I wondered why: was it because of my skin colour or complexion? Or was it my appearance? The way I looked or how I dressed?

We landed at Bremen at 1115 and after collecting my bag – it was actually the first one out! - I walked out into the sunny weather. I was very happy to discover that just around the airport building was the main airport complex and there was also a tram service to the city centre which only took 11 minutes. Cool! So I hopped onto one, my luggage and all. The city of Bremen is charmingly compact and clean and as most other German cities, it is serviced by an efficient network of ground transportation. German efficiency at its best again.

At the city centre, I snapped photos of St Petri Dom (St Peter’s Cathedral), Rathaus (Town Hall), Bremer Roland (Roland Statue), Bremer Stadtmusikanten (Bremen Town Musicians), the west side of Marktplatz (Market Place) and Böttercherstraße. The city centre tour over, I headed for a kebab resto near the tram stop for lunch.

I arrived back at the Bremen airport just in time to check in for my flight to Milan Orio al Serio or Milan Bergamo (the locals call Milan ‘Mailand’). Actually, I could have taken a direct flight from Tampere to Milan Bergamo but it cost more even after taxes and charges, hence I decided to break my journey at Bremen. And I am glad I did so as I enjoyed Bremen.

We arrived at Milan 10 minutes early and I had about three hours to kill before my next flight out. I thought of checking out Bergamo city but the bus to town takes about 20-30 minutes and runs only every 30 minutes. After working it out, I realised that I’d have very little time to explore the town due to the bus times and plus it was a Sunday so services may even be less frequent and reliable. So I stayed in the airport and performed prayers in the airport chapel. And this time, it was really a chapel so I borrowed a few square metres of the chapel for my prayers.

The flight out of Milan was delayed so we arrived half an hour later than scheduled at Bucharest-Baneasa airport. There was a very long queue of about two hundred people ahead of us so it was another long wait before we cleared immigration (and even longer for me since I wasn’t a local). There was only one conveyor belt (as at Tampere) and after waiting a few more minutes, I was finally reunited with my bag and emerged out of the airport into the dark Bucharest night; it had obviously been raining hard before for the ground was wet and there were puddles of water everywhere. Not exactly an encouraging welcome, I thought, and ignoring all the cabs (what little I read of Bucharest warned against taking the cab from the airport) and struggling to ask people for directions, I put on a bold look and marched to find the bus stop as described in my hostel page. Of course this was all a front but to appear scared and timid would no doubt make me an easier prey.

After a few minutes, two chaps came up and I asked if they could speak English. One replied in affirmative so I asked him where I could get the bus to Gara de Nord. He consulted his friend and they told me they didn’t know where the bus stop for that particular bus was and in any case, it was possible that the bus had finished its service for the day.

A bus came along and the chap who spoke English invited me along, saying they were going to ride the bus to somewhere and try to get a cab from there. The cabs at the airport were all intent on ripping people off and one actually quoted 10 Euros to get to Gara de Nord when it should only be 5 or 6 Euros. I threw caution to the wind and went along with them. Heck, what choice did I have anyway.

At some square, we got down from the bus and hailed a cab (we had agreed to share the cab and split the cost). I decided to ask the English-speaking guy to tell the cabbie to bring me direct to where my hostel was instead and off we went. Bucharest was obviously a massive city because we were driving on and on and I was beginning to feel anxious as it was nearing midnight. At one point, the guy even turned to me and said I shouldn’t trust everyone I meet and I replied, well I had to try my luck and pray for the best. Then I thought, what if they decided to kidnap me? I don’t speak the language and very few of the locals evidently speak English. I wondered aloud how much further we needed to go and the chap (I never did get his name but he was kinda cute, cuter than his mate) told me that Bucharest was indeed a big city.

Finally we came to a series of old Communist-style identical-looking apartment blocks. My heart sank at the sight of them. The chap offered to help me locate the right block and so there we were, at almost midnight, going around avoiding puddles and peering into the dark starless night for the right block. It was a good five minutes later when we finally located it at another group of apartment blocks. And so I arrived safe and sound at last and without any Dracula bites on my neck. The flat was surprisingly neat and modern despite the outward appearance of the block. Thank God for that.

Monday, 5 May 2008: Steaua Bucureşti

I met three other lodgers (they all shared a big room that fit three bunk beds) at breakfast. I only set off into the city well after 10 am. And as I walked to the metro station, I was glad that I had taken the cab directly to the hostel the night before instead of taking it to Gara de Nord and taking the metro and walking from the station to the hostel for I doubt I would have been able to find the hostel that way. The area was indeed a typical Communist-style neighbourhood with grim buildings and shop houses. And I’d read of the stray dogs of Bucharest but thankfully, I didn’t meet many of them.

I took the metro to Gara de Nord to buy train ticket for tonight. As Romania is still very much reliant on cash economy, I had to scout for a moneychanger first to change further Euros into Lei before buying the train ticket. Thank God the lady behind the counter could speak English (we’d had problems communicating in Bratislava and Krakow before).

After all that was settled, I took the metro to Palatul Parlamentului (Parliament Palace). It is a huge massive gigantic structure and is actually the second largest building in the world after the Pentagon. After checking out the surrounding area – there were very lovely buildings around the place! - I decided to take the English tour at 1400.

The tour lasted for almost an hour. There are 15 storeys to the building including five underground levels and it is presently 90% completed. It took 20,000 people on 24-hour shifts six years to build it – until the dictator Ceauşescu was thrown over. He bulldozed 1/6 of Bucharest to accommodate the massive building and had the people relocated into apartment blocks (no surprises there). The resources to build the palace were mainly local – marbles, velvet curtains weighing tonnes, long carpets also weighing tonnes, glasses for the chandeliers, wood for panelling, etc, etc, etc. The insides were quite bare though (our tour only took us to 4% of the building!). I thought it was such a shame to have such a gigantic building built from Romania’s finest resources and yet have its citizens living in ugly apartment blocks.

After the tour, I strolled around the area to the opera and then took the metro to Eroii Revolutiei to search for the Turkish mosque I read was located there. I finally found it with the help of a local girl; it was a small mosque alright. I couldn’t enter the mosque though and there weren’t any signs of Muslims about either.

I took the metro back to the hostel and after performing prayers and freshening up, I left the hostel and took the metro to Gara de Nord. After an early dinner at a Turkish kebab resto, I returned to the station and boarded the 1953 train for my next destination. I shared my sleeper cabin with a girl from Sofia and thankfully got the lower bunk. It was quite fun travelling by train that way although I didn’t manage to sleep well as usual. The border police came on twice to check our passports.

Tuesday, 6 May 2008: The City of Wisdom

We arrived at Sofia Gare Centrale at 0605. An overfriendly elderly guy was insistent I followed him to the Information Centre but after a while, I got wary of him. There were suspicious-looking characters in the station at that early hour and there were some who looked like gypsies too. The Info Centre opened late – apparently the lady misplaced the office keys. After changing some Euros into Bulgarian Lev, I took the tram to my hostel . It was a bit challenging as Bulgarians use the Cyrillic alphabet (like Russians) but I managed to locate the hotel after figuring out the early initials of street names. It was on the tram when I figured it was a special day as the tram had to stop for quite a while to let army tankers pass. It was at the hostel when I discovered that Bulgarians celebrate Gergyovden (St George’s Day) or the Day of the Bulgarian Army on 6 May every year.

After checking in, shower and breakfast, I left the hostel and headed for Hram-pametnik Aleksandar Nevski (Alexander Nevski Memorial Church), passing the Pametnik Tsar Osvoboditel (Monument to the Tsar Liberator – it honours the Tsar who, by declaring war on the Ottoman Empire in 1877, liberated Bulgaria). Then I walked to Dzhamia Banya Bashi (Banya Bashi Mosque) which is the last surviving mosque in Sofia; Tsurkva Sveta Petka Samardzhiyska (Church of St Petka of the Saddlemakers which is a fourteenth-century church in the middle of a semi-submerged mall); Statuya na Sveta Sofia (Monument to Holy Wisdom); Rotonda Sveti Gerogi (Rotunda of St George) located in a courtyard behind the Sheraton Hotel; Naroden teatar (National Theatre); Natsionalna hudozhestvena galeriya (National Gallery) and Tsurkva Sveta Sofia (Church of St Sofia). Some of the churches were at some point used as mosques during the Ottoman reign.

I was starting to feel a headache due to lack of sleep and after having lunch at a vegetarian resto (not easy to locate), I headed back to the hostel to rest. I ordered a lot for lunch and had the resto pack the unfinished portion for dinner. I ended up chatting to Iana, a Bulgarian girl who now resides in Canada and was back in the country for holidays.

Wednesday, 7 May 2008: Strangers in the Night

Another early morning today. Checked out at 0700 and walked to a bus stop at a nearby park to catch the airport bus. I was flying off to another destination but had to transit for a few hours in Vienna.

Having been in Vienna twice before, I knew the city was darn expensive and yet I managed to spend. Oh dear! Took the airport bus to Schwedenplatz and walked to Hofsburg. Met a Malaysian couple there too. After that, I walked to Heldenplatz, Alberttina, Staatsoper (Opera House) and crossed over to Naschmarkt where I had lunch. There were a few halal stalls at the market.

After lunch, I strolled along Karnther Strasse to Stephansdom (which is like the landmark of Vienna) and even walked to Donaukanal. I returned to the airport and checked in at almost 8 pm. Looked frantically for the airport chapel but couldn’t locate it so performed prayers in the baby changing room instead. Boarded the 2130 plane to my next destination, not realising it would be a 3.5-hour trip as the country was an hour behind the rest of Western Europe.

We arrived at the Lisbon airport at midnight and I was a bit apprehensive, as I knew there were no more airport buses running at that hour. I chatted up a fellow passenger as we were waiting for our bags and she told me she had someone meeting her. Well, I had prepared myself mentally to take the cab but I just didn’t fancy being cheated and besides, I don’t even take cabs that late at night in KL.

I was checking some information at the kiosk when the lady I talked to earlier approached and asked if I wanted to get a lift from her friend. I was so thankful for that offer and accepted it gratefully. There I was, an Asian girl, feeling shunned at times as everyone went to sit elsewhere but beside me or everyone looked at and then ignored (or so I felt) and suddenly I got an offer of a ride when I needed it most by people I didn’t even know.

It was only a twenty-minute ride to the city and the kind driver, a Yankee who had already been residing in Lisbon for some time from the sound of his lingo, dropped me near my hostel.

Thursday, 8 May 2008: Sporting Lisbon

I left a bit late today and it was already bright when I left the hostel. The city was a bit windy but other than that, it was a mild early summer day. I took pictures at Praça D. Pedro before walking down to the Tourist Info Centre at Praça do Comercio, passing Elevador de Santa Justa on the way (Lisbon is built on seven hills just like Rome hence elevators like these come in handy so one doesn’t need to climb those hills). After getting useful advice from the lady at the Tourist Info Centre – the lady was in Malaysia a few months ago on her honeymoon and was gushing on about the warm hospitality of Malaysians, the efficient way we do things (eh? This should serve as a hint as to how they do things in Portugal) and the wonderful service of MAS. I just couldn’t help feeling warm and proud.

I then took tram 28 up to Castelo de São Jorge. The chap at the castle ticket office asked if I had a student card (!) which of course I didn’t regretfully (dang!). He was an eye-candy and in my opinion, wasted sitting in there. Anyway, back to the castle: it was built by Muslims atop a hill near Alfama and from there, you could get a bird’s eye view over Lisbon, Rio Tejo (Tagus River) and the Ponte 25 de Abril (25 April Bridge, which is the sister bridge of the Golden Gate in San Francisco).

After exploring the castle, I explored the Alfama neighbourhood before having a late lunch. I then took tram 25 to Belem to the Padrão dos Descobrimentos (Monument to the Discoveries), Mosteiros dos Jerónimos (Jeronimos Monastery) and Torre de Belém (Belem Tower).

Before leaving Belem, I popped over to the infamous Pastéis de Belém for the famed pastries (also featured on Samantha Brown’s Passport to Europe when she visited Lisbon).

As if that walking around wasn’t enough, I took the metro to San Sebastio to find Mesquita Central de Lisboa (Central Mosque of Lisbon). Before taking the metro back, I shopped for groceries at El Cortes Ingles. I then tried out the elevator (not Santa Justa though) before returning to the hostel.

Friday, 9 May 2008: Scintillating Sintra

I decided to take the train to Sintra today. Sintra is a UNESCO World Heritage town a 38-minute train ride away from Lisbon. From the station, I boarded the tourist bus to Palacio Nacional da Pena (Pena National Palace). The ticket was expensive so I only bought the ticket to the park. Then I walked to Castelo dos Mouros (Moorish Castle) and spent time climbing the ruins. It drizzled on and off in Sintra but not enough to dampen my spirits (pun intended!). It was almost four by the time I took the bus back to the town centre. I finally boarded the 1800 train back to Lisbon.

Saturday, 10 May 2008: A Sort Of Homecoming

I overslept by 40 minutes this morning – I must have somehow slept through the alarm or turned it off without realising it – and hurried like crazy packing my stuff. That was something I didn’t consider – sleeping through the alarm (although I slept through many alarm clocks during my varsity days that even the clocks gave up on me and just stopped ringing)! The airport bus came just after 0800 and when I arrived at the airport, it was crazy, I just had time to check in, go through immigration (oh the stupid queue) and another stupid queue to board the plane.

We landed at Luton Airport at noon and I was lucky to be able to get through immigration and got reunited with my bag quickly. I was able to catch the 1236 coach to Marble Arch and walked to my hotel in Bayswater. It was a beautiful and unusually warm spring day for London.

Left the hotel at 1600 and went to Oxford Street – there were 2.3785 million serious shoppers thronging Oxford Street that day all with shopping bags – Oxford Circus and even walked to Leicester Square (all the way from Marble Arch). Like I told my mates later, I wasn’t sure if my feet were killing me or if I was killing my feet!

Sunday, 11 May 2008: Day At The Museums

Another fine cloudless Beautiful Day today. I walked across Kensington Gardens to Exhibition Road in Knightsbridge and headed for the Victoria & Albert Museum. Met up with Fifi, Adam, Farah and Nor shortly after and we spent time in the Natural History Museum across the street. After that, we split up: they headed to the Science Museum and I headed back to V&A. We met again after 4 pm and took the tube to Bayswater. Had a late lunch at a Chinese resto serving halal food (except for the duck). We parted after that but would meet again the next day. I spent time walking up and down Queensway before heading back to my new room (changed room today).

Monday, 12 May 2008: Another Day At The Museum

This morning, I took the bus to the British Museum at Russell Square. Spent some time there before making my way to Covent Garden. I missed a few turnings which cost me 20 minutes. Met up with Fifi, the twins and Nor again and we walked to Trafalgar Square before walking down to the Westminster Bridge, crossing River Thames. Spent some time in the park near the London Eye and walked along the river to the Tate Gallery where we had another rest. I noticed two small ‘beaches’ along River Thames and there were a few people down there sunning themselves, kicking sand and dipping into the river. The sand was surprisingly almost white. It was low tide then.

After the rest, we crossed the Millennium Bridge and walked to the Tower Bridge before parting ways at the Tower Hill tube station.

Tuesday, 13 May 2008: The King And Us

Lin came over this morning and we left after 10 for The O2 in North Greenwich to check out the King Tut exhibition. Thankfully the crowd wasn’t large today. I enjoyed it and thought it was worth every penny.

We then took the tube and London Overground to Hackney to check out the Burberry outlet there. We left empty-handed though. After lunch, we took the London Overground to Highbury & Islington and walked to the Emirates Stadium. It was almost 6 pm then and very windy around the stadium too.

Wednesday, 14 May 2008: A-R-S-E-N-A-L!

We took the tube before 0900 today; Lin headed back to Coventry and I went back to the Emirates Stadium. There was only one tour today, the Legends Tour by Charlie George. I was debating whether I should part with my dosh and finally thought, what the heck. I was already there, I actually returned back to the stadium with every intention of joining a tour although I was hoping to join the standard tour. And so I swiped my plastic (it wasn’t cheap, not for me because I’m not earning pound sterling or even Euros) for the ticket and joined the 75-minute tour.

We were taken to the Directors Box, the dressing room, the tunnel, the pitch, the press room... and the ticket also entitled us a tour of the Arsenal museum. Cor! Too bad Fàbregas wasn’t there.

I left some hours later – savouring the time around the stadium and in the museum – and took the tube to Harrods. Didn’t spend long there though and headed back to Oxford Street (incidentally a site for murder just two days earlier). Had my long-awaited jacket potato late lunch before heading back to the hotel to pack.

Thursday, 15 May 2008: Farewell London

Woke up real early this morning – I feared I might oversleep again – well, actually I slept poorly. It was chilly the night before and I was trying hard to get warm under the duvet. Was surprised to find the radiator warm this morning – the first time since I got in London.

Left at the ungodly hour of 0320 and took the bus to Marble Arch. Because of road construction, I had no choice but to use subway to cross over to Hyde Park Corner. Scary but what was a girl to do. It was deserted and I tried to push the thought of someone walking behind me.

Took the 0350 coach to Luton Airport. We arrived just before 0500. There was a group of crazy British lads all decked out in beach wear and beach gear: one had on snorkelling mask; one had on toy inflatable arm grips; a few had on beach towels; one was topless but for a pair of plastic coconut shells covering his chest and Hawaiian aloha skirt over his Bermuda shorts. They were a sight alright and I couldn’t help smiling at the sight of them (wonder how they’d get through immigration at their destination though).

Our flight took off late – almost an hour after scheduled time so we only landed at Rome Ciampino at 1140. Took the coach to Roma Termini – the driver was an eye-candy and seriously did not belong behind the wheel. From Termini, I went to my B&B at via Principe Amedeo. It was on the fourth floor – thank God there was a lift! – and my room was charmingly and tastefully decorated. As in London, I had to change room the next day.

I left the B&B at 2 something and had a late lunch. Took the metro to Flaminio and walked through Piazza del Papolo down via del Corso; detoured to Piazza di Spagna, Piazza Colonna and Fontana di Trevi before walking down to Colonna Traiana, Mercati Traianei, Foro Romano, Colosseo and Arco di Constantino. I just love ruins and Rome is full of them. The city is like an open-air museum to me.

After that, I walked back to the hotel taking Via Cavour. Had a pizza dinner near Termini.

Friday, 16 May 2008: Rome Roam

Had breakfast at the lovely breakfast room. An American fellow lodger told us he got pickpocketed the day before in the subway. Left at 1030 – I was in no hurry really. Took the metro to Spagna and walked to Mausoleo Augusto but the area was cordoned off. Walked down to Piazza Navona but the Fontana dei Quattro Fuimi was under restoration. What a shame as my last photo there was taken in the rain. Walked down to Campo de Fiori and after spending time there (Fàbregas Arsenal jersey only cost 10 Euros there!), I went to the Pantheon. Had gelato for lunch from the Gelaterie Buccianti at via Giustiniani as usual.

The sun finally struggled out from behind the clouds but it was still a bit cloudy by the time I left Pantheon at around 4. Even Tempio Adrianno was under restoration. Walked over to Fontana di Trevi – who knows when I would next visit Rome? – and walked back to the B&B,passing the four fountains at Quattro Fontane. Grabbed some pizza for tea on the way back too.

Saturday, 17 May 2008: Ciao Roma

Left shortly after 10 and took the express train to Rome Fiumicino. Golly, time seemed to have flown and now it was time to return home. As usual, couldn’t sleep on the plane.

Sunday, 18 May 2008: Home Sweet Home

Arrived at KLIA at 0735. Thank you God. I did it, God, I did it! I travelled solo, I got help from strangers when I least expected them and needed them most. I managed to catch up with my mates in London too who kindly came down to meet me. Nine countries and 2.5 weeks later and I am now back home.

OK, this is a seriously long post. I need to catch up on sleep and readjust myself to the local time!