Almost Home – The End

After two days on aircraft and the generic spaces within i am here, home, back in the UK – whatever that means. The train heads north from London, home bound. Eight months exactly from the day the train headed south towards london; towards the first flight right at the very beginning. A train with clean glass windows and smooth seemingly soft silent tracks.

Almost as silent as the carriage. No eye contact, no words, even from the people less than a metre away across the table. I smile, say hi. Nothing, however i am aware that i look ridicules in my red woollen hat, vintage yellow Burmese shades and shaking with the cold.

The great british public. The race who don’t speak to strangers. Silence, head in books, looking at mobiles, staring into laptops. Distraction to avoid conversation, interaction anything? I join the head down massive and write, whilst interacting with the distant view beyond the window instead. Words sprinkling out in between gazing through the glass at the running cable lines bouncing and the blue sky epically built with glowing structures of cloud. Heading backwards, horses, countryside, studded with trees, space, remnants of industry past but brick formations present. Spiny leafless deciduous trees shooting their first signs of spring; not that i can see from this distance and at this speed.

No hanging out of open doors smoking, no pushing shoving screeming Indians ( sigh ), no Burmese music videos, to tiny Laos bed bus’, no Thai hostesses looking really bored – all replaced with silence, the occasional Geordie accent and the train announcements, which i can hear! However it is comfortable. Rolling green being the biggest contrast to the barren desert of Doha, only yesterday. I will come to pine for this contrast.

Less than two hours and we pull into the station. Friends and family waiting. A rather special meet and greet i am sure. Sad for whatever the last eight months has been to be over. Reflection coming when reality sets in, or is that just it, over, done finished. That was yesterday. Exhausted but horizontal is over the horizon.


  1. Sanjiv Khamgaonkar

    Your observation on “The great british public”.

    Reminds me of a line from a song – Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way … (time/dark side of the moon/pink floyd)


  2. earthdrifter

    First world England. Those riots that I saw on TV a while back sure didn’t make your beloved mother land appear to be a first world country. The international media made England out to be a land where half the population was losing their shit and looting for no good reason. HAHA…
    I’m from New England, same shite, peeps reading and not talking like in the warm climates, except of course on Friday and Saturday night when people are in a better mood…

  3. we are fractions

    I felt the same way when I returned to Vancouver BC from India several years ago. It was so void of color and smiling faces. I also felt great depression when I came to realize how privileged and melancholy the west is compared to how those on the brink of starvation can still find the emotional strength to dance and laugh together, which is what I experienced a lot of in the East. I miss India and I hope it doesn’t take you long to adapt back to the West.

    • missxooley

      I felt the same way returning from my first trip to Senegal West Africa. I cried everyday for two months not knowing truly where the sadness was coming from. Then I finally realized it was because (although surrounded by humanity) I was lonely.

    • pinkybinks

      I am with you on that. Returning is not so bad so far, but thinking of a way to head back to Asia already after two weeks. Its is such a contrast of reality. I hope you make it back to India x


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