Thursday 24 May 2012

Welcome home weary traveller!


At last, the official release of the long awaited book. It will be available to buy from 1st June 2012, !


ISBN: 978-0-9572645-0-2 

Distributors website link: YPD Books

Cost: £9.99 + P&P

Book signing venues:

Bangor Public Library - Saturday 9th June, 9.30 - 13.00
Cafe Caban, Bryn Refail, Nr Llanberis - Sunday 10th June, 10.00 - 15.00
Blue Sky Cafe, High St, Bangor - Monday 11th June, 10.00 - 15.00



 It will be available from any book supplier, so ordering can be done at your local bookstore or the large town centre chainstore. Of course by ordering it from a store you'll save P&P, but it will take a while for the order to go through. I'm urging people to buy it from the on-line distributor simply because I cover more of my costs this way. Having self published it's my own money invested in the book, and the retail suppliers take such a large cut of the cover price it can actually mean I lose money on every book sold through them. What a shame, I'd much rather put money their way and see high street shops remain open. Unfortunately I have to try and protect my own investment on this one, I've put heart and soul into the production of this book and would like to recoup some of the financial side of the endeavour. (Photo: Nant Ffrancon, from Ogwen Cottage - North Wales)


So things happen fast once the ball starts rolling. My focus since getting home has been on seeing the book onto the printing press, delays getting over jet lag and getting my bike back on the road were inevitable though. But it's pleasant spending time with family again, I'm also aware of how important they see this too, that's reassuring. In all honesty though I've been really bad for making myself accessible for the majority of friends and family, not intentionally, it's just the way it happens. After eleven months away it does feel strange being back, if only it was winter I could legitimately hibernate. No chance of that, the sun is and everyone's gearing up for festivals and holidays. Typically British, expectations are high and people reach new highs in religious fervour, preying for nice weather. Let's face facts, sunshine or a lack of it can be make or break for any outdoor gig in Britain. If we got to grips with this concept of a water festivities we'd not have a problem. We have no shortage of water in North Wales, it's the perfect type of festival for here. The fist week back it rained virtually every day, I felt glad to be in the garage working on the bike rather than out in the elements riding it. Normally it doesn't faze me, i ride whatever the weather, not this time though. You couldn't really call it cold, but neither could you kid yourself it was warm. I wore multiple thermal layers, and needed waterproofs for the first two weeks of being back. That's a thing of the past now though, the sun is shining and everyone's happy, summer is here. (Photo: Bryn Bella bridges - Tregarth, North Wales)

Before leaving Asia I was unbearably keen to be back on the bike, so it came as a shock to find myself deliberating over how positive the experience actually was. The first time I rode it again the BMW felt top heavy and cumbersome, the overall impression was of riding an unresponsive, wallowing brute. It took some getting used to, whereas I generally adapt quickly to different vehicles, and only improved after many minor tweaks to the tyres and suspension. A slow puncture didn't help, nor the realisation of how sensitive the BMW is to incorrect tyre pressures. There's a vast improvement now they're adjusted within the narrow parameters of operation. I thought it was me, too long on flyweight little machines, but it had been set for carrying a heavy load, the weight distribution of the two axles was all wrong, and didn't it just show. How could I have manhandled that lumbering hulk across the Gobi, was there any surprise I'd reached my limits? (Photo: Penrhyn Quarry - Bethesda, North Wales)

 All the birds are nesting and the hedgerows are thickened nicely. Sitting in a friends garden I identified seven different types of birdsong, basking in the sun, with my eyes closed it was heaven, one of the loveliest welcomes imaginable for my return. We may not have any big game but there sure is plenty of nature. There are buzzards soaring high rather than vultures or eagles, they still look as marvellous though. Our mountains may not reach the lofty heights of the Himalayas, but they never fail to impress. Riding my favourite short circuit through the hills takes me over Pen y Pass and back along Nant Ffrancon, a glorious ride by any standard. Wet roads hindered progress a touch, a fidgety front end ensured a lot more caution than normal. Maybe it's just a sign of getting wiser with age, if it is I'd better worry, I might be growing up at long last. (Photo: Busy bees - Newborough, Anglesey)

A proclivity for isolation was outweighed by the excitement of finally being published. Nothing was going to get in the way of promoting it's release. when the proofbound copy was ready I didn't hesitate, within the hour I set off for the four hour journey to York to pick it up. I haven't read it though, which I do mean to. How stupid of me to think I'd be inured to the emotional effect it might have. It will always be an emotional jolt for me to relive those moments, they are more manageable though. The overall affect is positive, worries about how good my story telling is have largely been overshadowed by praise from the few people who have read it, whether in part or as a completed work. Holding the one and only copy in my hands was a magic moment in itself, there was no denying my sense of achievement. It could have rained all the way back home without dampening my spirits, and just to prove my point it did just that. I may have been knackered when I finally arrived back in North Wales at nearly mid-night, but it was with a contented sigh that I lowered my head on the pillow and fell swiftly asleep. (Photo: Malltreath railway bridge - Anglesey, North Wales)

Saturday 5 May 2012

Topping off the trip


If comparing a double bus ride, a total of over sixteen hours, with some I’ve done in the past, it isn’t so drastic. But when boarding the bus for the second leg of the jaunt, I knew it wasn’t going to be the easiest of journeys. Sprawled across the whole two seats was the fattest bucket of lard on the bus, why, oh why, was I the one having to share a seat with her? Not only could her ungainly bulk defy the laws of physics and fit into a single seat, she also had two bags wedged between her and the window, leaving me with the thinnest of margin to park my rather slim backside on. But even I’m not that slim! Anyway, I believe it setting the standard before misconceptions can take over. So I politely gestured for her to move over so I could sit down, and she politely did, all of an inch or two. Then I had nearly a third of a seat to luxuriate in, no way, I persisted and gained another couple of inches. Unfortunately with a large roll of flab still taking up much of my valuable space she set her face in an expression that read quite clearly, that’s your lot buddy. (Photo: Porking down the beach - Kgwe Saung, Myanmar)

I’d hate people to think I have an unreasonable bias against obese people, if someone chooses to gain so much they become unhealthily ungainly that is their privilege. But when it proves to be to the detriment of others, especially me, I get niggled about it. I wouldn’t relent, therefore the whole six hours was pretty much a fight for seat space. It didn’t matter that I showed clearly that she was half over my seating space, however often I tried she kept a gap of a few inches between here and the window at all times, wedging her knee into the back of the chair in front to ensure I couldn’t lever her over. Was I unreasonable? I don’t think so, with my arse numb from the metal bar that bordered the outer edge of my seat, it was very uncomfortable. I wasn’t a happy bunny, and didn’t handle the situation too well. Not that I got angry, not openly anyway, but inside I seethed for six hours while maintaining the pressure against her flabby thigh. Wasn’t I ever glad when we arrived at our destination! She was the first and only obnoxious Burmese person I had the displeasure of meeting, in many ways it surprised me, almost without fail they go out of their way to please visitors.  (Photo: One of many beautiful sunsets - Kgwe Saung, Myanmar)

Being weary of public transport that episode could easily have put me into a foul mood, but it didn’t. Relieved with an end to my purgatory, I gratefully sank into the first trishaw offered. Myanmar is the first country I’ve carried a guidebook with me, so I knew exactly where I was headed, a quiet beach resort with good quality luxury rooms. Just the place to relax for my last week of a long, and sometimes arduous, journey. I didn’t baulk at paying $40 for a near palatial beach fronted room. And what a beach, all thirteen miles of it. Waves rolled onto the shore, constant breakers to hurl myself into, which I wasted no time in doing so. With temperatures around 40o the water was certainly the place to be, and I love playing in crashing waves anyway. It looked like I’d made the correct choice, lonely planet’s choice next door certainly had cheaper options, but the whole compound was more cramped, with smaller bungalows squeezed in tighter than I’d been with blubber guts on the bus.  (Photo: Never ending sand - Kgwe Saung, Myanmar)

As with all the other Asian countries I’ve visited this time round, domestic tourism is thriving. Myanmar may well be one of the poorest countries on this continent but they have a very prosperous sector of society. With an average salary of less than $100 pm room prices in the bigger resorts were staggeringly high, at hundreds of dollars per night. Bearing that in mind I didn’t expect to find them so well frequented, but the wealthy do like to flaunt their wealth. Between Yangon and the coast there’s nothing but small scale farming, rush built shacks house extended families, dressed in threadbare, dirty caste offs. Agricultural wages are very low, wherever possible family members will travel long distances for the chance at working in the tourist industry. The seasons work in their favour, high season on the coast is a slack working period in the countryside. For those lucky enough to gain a position in the resorts, it requires living apart from their families. Talking to most guys this is a great hardship, the family is still very important here, they’ll make incredibly long journeys to spend a few days with their wives and kids.  (Photo: Fun as the sun goes down on me - Kgwe Saung, Myanmar)

My last week in Myanmar, and the last of this trip, was pretty much about lazing around. The sun was too strong to linger for long in the open, most days I spent an hour at most topping up my tan. For hours I’d sit in the shade, catching a balmy sea breeze, while reading books and watching the world go by. Not that there was a lot of it passing by, the highlight of each day had to be the glorious sunsets. Little else happened, except for the tide going in and out. In itself that’s nothing unusual, but they weren’t to be misjudged. At low tide it’s possible to paddle over to a small island where a makeshift set up sells basic meals. If you misjudged the excursion, it got a touch wetter than you’d banked on. You couldn’t judge the oncoming waves either, because they came from two directions, from each side of the island. And there was the risk of getting run over by at low tide too, The holidaying Yangonites have a habit of joyriding along the newly exposed hard sand. You’d get some young guys posing as they rode along, simple stunts to attract admiring looks, pleased as punch for being such daredevils. It brought back memories of my own antics as a teenager on my first bike, and caused reflection on Cai and his joy of the simple pleasures of bike riding.  (Photo: Another magnificent display - Kgwe Saung, Myanmar)

Generally I didn’t mingle very much, I was content left to my own devices. It was a time of contemplation, after eleven months returning home is a big event. The process wasn’t wracked with emotion, I’m pleased to say. In fact the strongest emotion I had was jealousy. Jealous of the couples wandering happily along the shoreline, splashing in the water together, they made me want some companionship. It made me wish I had someone to share my experiences with. I’m not feeling particularly lonely, it’s not that I’m desperate to jump into a relationship. It lead me to realise that I no longer feel frightened to delve into the realms of emotional involvement. After the loss and emotional upheaval of recent years that underlying fear has stayed with me, I’ve been unable to shake it. It’s the effect bereavement had on me, magnifying a reluctance for emotional commitment. Basically I was frightened to hold anything precious in my heart, frightened to lose it again. I now feel more wholesome, maybe I’m ready to risk loving again.  (Photo: Back to the deprivations of Bangkok)