Getting to Siem Reap, Cambodia from Phuket, Thailand, involved a flight to Bangkok Suvarmabhuni Airport, and then onwards to Cambodia’s second largest city.
Sunrise at Angkor Wat
Cambodia was an extra to the holiday at the planning stage. Back in 2020 during the throes of lockdown I decided that in 2021 I would travel to Southeast Asia once life had returned to normal. Thailand was the destination – I had friends who’d travelled there and recommended it. As this was such a far flung destination I wanted to add in another country to visit while on the trip – who knows when or if I’d get the opportunity to return. Vietnam was the choice for my second stop – I could picture myself on a boat sailing down the Mekong River. At the booking stage I realised that time restraints meant that Cambodia would be an easier option to navigate timewise than Vietnam. And in particular Siem Reap – the city renowned for its array of ancient Buddhist and Hindu Temples.
The flight from Bangkok took only an hour. After getting my passport stamped with an entry visa I went to the Foreign Exchange desk to buy some Cambodian Riel. The riel is a currency that only seems to be recognised by Cambodia’s neighbours on the peninsula. US dollars are the preferred currency, but riel apparently offered lower prices. I bought one hundred dollars worth – almost half a million riel.
I stepped outside my front door to be greeted by an icy fog. Limerick was cold and misty today. As always I was doing my Sunday constitutional which always takes me first to the legendary Milk Market. I ordered a super-complete pancake and coffee for my lunch. This pancake is bacon; cheese; mushroom and egg. Not the healthiest perhaps, but my exertions would take care of that. The heated seats at the market were pleasant.
St. Mary’s Cathedtral
My original intention that frosty Sunday had been to walk along the canal and river out to the University. My motivation was lacking . My hair was already wet – fog is just resting rain, so of course it was. The walk to the university is scenic but not in this weather. It’s also a route where if it starts raining there is no escape route. Instead I decided that I would walk the circumference of the King’s Island – the old part of town where King John’s Castle; St. Mary’s Cathedral; the old bishop’s palace and the mural of Dolores O’Riordan are located. Before the Georgian part of Limerick was built in the eighteenth century, the Island had been the city centre. It is a part of town with enormous tourist potential. Limerick City Council really need to make an effort to make this happen.
My first trip to Italy was in February 2020 – mere weeks before lockdown. It was a revelation. So much culture, history, food, beauty. You can close your eyes and pick anywhere on the map of that country, and you’ll likely find yourself in a beautiful place steeped in splendour. Since that time, I have returned to visit Naples, Florence, Lecce, Pisa, Siena, Bergamo, and – most memorably to Venice.
My journey to Venice was a once in a lifetime experience. October 2020 – the world was locked down. But airplanes were flying from Dublin to Venice and me, along with five other passengers visited the fabled city. A city that in normal times suffocates through tourism, was largely empty. No cruise ship passengers or budget airline city-breakers, no day-trippers. That week, the city was left to Italian tourists and me. To be able to witness Venice in those circumstances was special, and likely never to be repeated.
Riomaggiore
This year’s trip was taking me to the Cinque Terre and onwards to Genoa. The Cinque Terre (Five Lands) is a coastal stretch in Liguria, in northwest of Italy. It comprises of five villages: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. The villages lie to the west of the city of La Spezia . Part of the Italian Riviera the Cinque Terre is regarded as one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world.
I landed at 9pm in Pisa Airport and took the train to Central Station where a high speed Frecciabianca would get me to La Spezia by 10.15pm. Not quite. The train was an hour late, so it was close to midnight when I rang the bells to the B&B where the landlord who was reeking of stale wine, showed me to my room.
Monterosso Al Mare
The following morning, I rose early to have an Italian coffee and pastry before heading back to my room to do a morning’s work. This was inconvenient but unavoidable. Having gone quite overboard when it comes to travel in 2023 my remaining holidays were insufficient to cover my travels. Meaning I was accompanied by my work laptop – which thankfully this time I managed not to leave in airport security at Dublin.
At midday I logged off and went to La Spezia central station where I purchased a forty-eight-hour Cinque Terre ticket which would allow unlimited travel between each of the villages. I was keen to do this on the Friday, calculating that as a workday the crowds would be thinner than the following day. I boarded a jam-packed to the furthest of the villages – Monterosso al Mare. My plan was to visit each one, coming closer to La Spezia with each stop.
The villages are spectacularly beautiful – multi-coloured houses built into the mountainside surrounded by a UNESCO World heritage park with vineyards dotting the landscape. The middle village Corniglia was the most challenging as it required a steep climb to reach it. All are hundreds of years old and have been perfectly preserved. An enchanting place to spend six hours walking.
Early in the year there was a newspaper article outlining Ryanair’s plan to offer two new routes from Shannon Airport – the destinations were Naples and Porto. Having relocated back to Limerick last year after twenty-seven years away, this news piqued my interest. The travel options from Shannon are more limited than those from Dublin Airport (which for some unfathomable reason accounts for 90% of flight to and from Ireland –but without a train service to Dublin city centre). I had visited Naples last year but had never been to Porto. I booked it instantly – a credit card is a dangerous weapon in my hand on pay day.
It’s a city I knew little about. My two previous trips to Portugal had been to the capital Lisbon. Porto is the country’s second city, and the country is named after it(or maybe it’s the other way round – either way Porto is an older city than Lisbon. Today it is home to more than a million people in its metropolitan area and it straddles the Douro River as it meets the sea.
Porto on the Douro River
My friend was arriving from London two hours after my flight landed. I decided to use this time to work. My travels this year meant that I had very few actual holidays left, so I needed to bring the work laptop to minimise official time off. When he arrived, we took the Metro to the Bolhao region in the city centre. We emerged to the sight of a beautiful, blue-tiled church called the Chapel of Souls. These blue-tiled building are dotted all over the city and in olden days blue tiles worked as status symbols for wealth. All churches are covered in these intricately designed tiles.
Sunday 18th September 10pm – KLM flight KL0588 We started boarding our flight home to Ireland at 21.45 on Sunday. Take-off from Lagos was scheduled for 10.05pm with an expected arrival time in Schiphol Airport Amsterdam at 5.40am and then our onward connecting flight to Dublin at 7.40am. Progress was slow. Three security agents were performing a last manual check of our bags before we could board the plane. With 294 passengers on the fully booked Boeing 777 they were busy. I was sitting in a dreaded middle seat – 38J – on the right-hand side of the plane, about five rows behind the middle galley where a set of customer toilets, and flight attendant refreshment trolleys were located. Take off was delayed by an hour thanks to slow progress in boarding. So far that made three out of three delayed flights on this expedition– Air France and KLM (airlines that are part of the same company) weren’t covering themselves in glory so far this trip.
Eventually we took off at about 11pm for which the pilot apologised and promised to try to make up some lost time on the journey back.
It was raining heavily outside the window.
Plane diversion
Take-off was smooth, but ten minutes into the flight just as I was about to settle in to watch ‘Crazy Rich Asians’ on my TV screen the plane lurched forward. The passengers screamed in terror. This wasn’t some mild turbulence that often happens in flights – this was turbulence that displaced items from tray-tops. Suddenly the plane lurched again. I had the seat top in front of me clasped in a vice like grip. The woman on the seat to my left started praying out loud.
On Friday morning I dressed myself in the blue ankara that had been supplied to me. Ankara is a style of clothing that prints traditional Nigerian designs, patterns, and symbols on cotton using a wax-based process. Mine was a kaleidoscope of blue. We drove to T’s parents’ house where we were formally introduced. Part of this involved me prostrating myself on the ground in front of T’s Dad to show respect and humility. I had practised this the night before. The wisest advice came from T’s brother who sagely informed me ‘Listen you end up on the floor – you can’t miss really’.
Male church outfit
A quick trip back to the hotel to change into the engagement agbada. Agbada is a four-piece male attire found among the Yoruba people of Nigeria (T’s family are Yoruban). It consists of a large, free-flowing outer robe a knee-length undervest, a pair of long trousers and a hat. It was a stunningly beautiful set of garments that witty, online commentators at home said it made me look like a bishop. I didn’t care – I loved it. The outer robe was made of heavy tweed which in the 32 degree heat (with 80% humidity) was quite uncomfortable. As we arrived at the engagement hall we were welcomed by a drummer band who loudly announced our arrival. T’s sister handed each of us a wad of Naira (Nigerian currency) to appreciate the musicians and MCs as required.
T’s parents were seated on a sofa on a slightly elevated stage at the top of the hall. C and I along with some of T’s family friends danced to the sound of an African drumbeat up the aisle where we were assigned a sofa facing T’s parents. I had to lie prostrate again in front of T’s parents to show respect.
Enter D who along with his best man, danced up the aisle to the same rhythms.
In October 2021, when it appeared that the worst of the coronavirus pandemic was over, my brother D, and his fiancée T – who met in college in Ireland and who now live in the United States – announced that they were getting married in January. This was later than intended because of the pandemic. The location was the bride-to-be’s hometown of Ibadan in Nigeria. Ibadan is the third largest city in Nigeria with a population of six million people. Home to Nigeria’s first university, it is located approximately two hours drive north of the coastal capital Lagos. My family and I were thrilled and a group of six of us confirmed our interest in travelling – flights were purchased and planning got underway.
Except then the omicron variant arrived in all its toxic glory, which scuppered the wedding plans. Further lockdowns and restrictions in travel meant it would be impossible to proceed with the ceremony in Nigeria. Instead the couple travelled to Puerto Rico for a beach wedding with just a couple of witnesses. That was the end of our glorious African adventure, we thought.
One year later – in January this year – while I was lolling about like a sack of meal, beside the swimming pool in Tenerife, I received a text to say that the bride’s family intended to hold the traditional Yoruba ceremony in June and I was invited. I instantly accepted – this was a chance of a lifetime to see my brother get married in such an exotic location. Unfortunately the number of interested Irish passengers had dwindled in the intervening year, and my sister C and I were the family representatives that would be travelling.
We arranged our visas and vaccines in advance of travel (the yellow fever vaccine is the only compulsory vaccine but I also took the recommended tetanus, polio, diphteria, hepatitis A shots. A pricy but probably wise precaution.)
London is a reliable city for a weekend visit. Close and well connected to Ireland it’s possible to take a Friday to Sunday trip and still have ample opportunity to have a good time. It is too vast a metropolis to absorb in a single visit obviously, so it’s better to select your intentions for each visit and focus on those alone. The rest of the city will still be there when you return. I have visited the city dozens of times – but never for longer than three nights. It remains an ever-exciting destination.
London
My trip last weekend was from Shannon to Stansted Airport in the Republic of Essex. The flight from Shannon Airport was on time and upon arrival I boarded the National Express busw which dropped me outside Bethnal Green tube station. Located in the East End of London this feels like my part of town having visited on multiple occasions over the past decade. I walked along the Regent’s Canal to the house in Shoreditch where my friend lives, resisting the urge to yell ‘You ain’t my muvva!!! Yes I AAAAHM’ a la Kat Slater in Eastenders, at various passers-by. I felt that might be slightly inappropriate.
The sun was shining and it was 7pm. We strolled over to Broadway Market – a Victorian market street that divides Shoreditch from Hackney, located beside the canal. There’s a variety of cafes and bars and food stalls on this road- but not one of them are part of a chain. We chose the Koya-Ko restaurant where a rice bowl cost an eye-watering fourteen pounds and a beer cost eight quid. Cost of living crisis etc.
The Eurovision Song Contest takes place in Lisbon this coming Saturday. Ireland is sending a heterosexual singer called Ryan O’Shaughnessy, who loves to talk about his girlfriend Ailbhe. His song ‘Together’ tells a gay love story, with the video to match. Apparently Russia is considering a broadcast ban on the song for breaching its gay propaganda law. You’d think they’d be more concerned with the fake re-election of Putin. Then again, what do I know?
midnightmurphy 