The Itinerary Fairy
is was my vain attempt at explaining my original route.
Ok so, come June 2007 [actually, woah woah woah, you might wanna fix yourself a brew, this is gonna be a long old piece] I will skip over to the swinging ‘gateway’ that is, Bangkok where I’ll get my fantasy fix of Thai boxing prior to invading ‘Nam. While I’m down there (in South East Asia) I’ll put the ‘Bo’ in Cambodia while cruising down the Mekong. After all that exertion, I’ll lay down in Laos before realising “it’s August already?”. Once I let this revelation settle in, I’ll pack up my mud hut and trek across the Himalayas (albeit by plane) to New Delhi (or thereabouts) and wander aimlessly through the slums of the Birmingham of the East. I’ll hopefully have avoided the monsoon, which will have given the whole place a good clean, washing away the infamous Delhi Belhi. Touch wood. Or Bamboo. Or China, that’s not too far. I’ll endure glorious sunsets in Everest’s shadow in Nepal, munch finger lickin’ Bombay Chicken in Mumbai, before sloping down to see Sir Lanka, the great big, ummm… banker.
So, in theory that should take me up to October ’07, and high time for a “wa u waan?”, “a number 69 please?” at the Chinese Takeaway, after which I’ll be going mental-mental-chicken-oriental, and will scoot across the border with a couple of chopsticks in my back burner before heading, “WHERE?! Outer Mongolia!”. Yes, Outer Mongolia, I might venture to the inner sanctum too, to drink some goats milk and gobble up a couple of lambs [did you ever get that brew?]. All will be good by now, because on the way I’ll have tried my best to Free Tibet from Ching Chang Chinaman, so will be rewarded with Eternal Enlightenment by the boss man, DJ Lama. November ’07 will have crept in, and I’ll be a portly Sumo Wrestler rolling down a volcano into Japan to slim up/down on sushi and ‘find myself’ some more (well, what’s left of me). I’ll then take the new, slim-line me on a flight down to Indonesia where I’ll be compelled to surf à la Kelly Slater in Sumbawa and the surrounding hotspots. The fact I have never surfed should, apparently not deter me from my ‘Point Break‘ dream.
In fact, come December ’07 I might surf all the way to Australia’s forgotten West coast, before admitting I want to be on the tourist ridden East coast. I figure instead of surfing it, hiring a camper van and attracting a few Scandinavian girls to navigate is a much more suitable method. Soon, we’ll all make it round to Sydney via the Great Barrier Reef and all the Big Things in between on board our Viking Truck of Love. After staying there far to long, we/I will wrench ourselves away to New Zealand to absorb the kind hearted souls that make up my sister and her gorgeoso family. In fact I’ll probably do this before I cruise around with the Scando’s as that will mean I’ll spend Christmas ’07 with me Sis. We’ll see my friend, we’ll see. That is the beauty of a flexible round-the-word ticket.
So, from New Zealand (or Oz) I’ll take my chances around mid April ’08, and stamp a cruel carbon footprint on the South Pacific en route to South America, primarily Chile. Acting as a human form of El Nino I’ll rise through the continent causing havoc and mischief along the way. Spending around 4 months trekking by llama to Lima, by fairy to Buenos Aires and maybe even attempt it aboard a mosquito, to Quito (or bus. In fact, probably bus!). I’ll be drifting through Argentina, Brazil, Peru and the Caribbean before finally going loco down in, umm… Cuba. Fully expecting to be carnivalled out, but pumped full of illegal inspiration I’ll burst mid-August ‘08 into one last blast of Latino Americano. For no good reason I’ll be singing “I wanna live in America, I wanna liiiive in America”, but will in fact find myself in Me’hico (or Mexico, as Google would have you believe). A deep breath through the Havana-induced smokers cough and a rousing drum roll please, this steam train of lyrical engineering is just getting going.
Fully charged, and as yet unshowered I will tear through the USA, pulling various wrestling moves on unsuspecting inhabitants while taking in the obligatory postcard sights. New Orleans, San Fran, LA, Las Vegas- they’re all on the list, and all have a point to prove. Despite having already consumed it twice, The Big Apple tops the list for North America lusts. Why? Because, that’s where Matt (my brother) and Jules (my sister-in-law, his wife, my nieces Aunty) live and that means I get a proper bed (albeit, of the sofa variety), a hot shower and a few bottles of Bud while I regale, my Trail. After super-sizing myself to near extinction I’ll tumble, somewhat ungracefully into the Grand Canyon before tunneling under it’s dizzy heights and to find myself in “O Canada!. Our home and native land!”. With a (small) maple leaf hiding my decency I’ll see every Mountie in every county before befriending a parlez-vous-anglais bear, for a free ride out of there… to a town called Belair (sorry, couldn’t resist).
Upon his grizzly back in Jan ‘09 I’ll drift to every geysers dream, Iceland. I’ll stalk Bjork and take delight in the Northern Lights before they boot me and my crippled passport back to my native Europe, hopefully via the not-so-Egyptian, Faeroe Islands.
But worry not England, by now it’s Feb ‘09 so there’s still a few months for me to fill before I return. So, from Feb to Apr ’09 I’ll be sampling Europe’s finest culinary offerings (along with at least one of the Scando’s from way-back-when), staying in the finest places known to poor backpackers. I’ll blow the last few Euros drinking Heineken until I believe I can speak Dutch, and I the Scando on my arm is really there. I’m not planning to bring 1 penny, yen, dime, cent or rupee back for Mr Brown & Co to snaffle, this is a Celebration of Opportunity and you’re all invited to follow, The Trail of Ant’s.