I had three days in Barcelona. Then I spent some time in Berlin with a friend from Singapore who's living in Lubeck. Two weeks in Croatia with Izzy et al: Split, Brac, Hvar, Korčula, Dubrovnik (clubbing with Izzy and Vicky, time of my life and no chemicals). That was OK, that was brilliant.
From those heady days in the sun and rain, I came back for two weeks work in Thailand; Chiang Mai, Khon Kaen, Bangkok. Stepped off the plane then and turned around for two weeks in Australia: Sydney, Brisbane, Sydney again and back for a day in the Gold Coast.
I've just finished(? No i haven't!) packing for the next trip, five days in Tokyo. After that it's three days in Bangkok. And after that three weeks in Australia. Followed by another week in Bangkok giving training on a product I won't have played with except for one of the three days coming up...
I tried to count the Singapore (home) days in this period but I have too many fingers to get a number even close.
Once upon a time I would have been astounded by a schedule like this, and yes, the Europe trip was off the edge of the Holy Scale of Greatness, but this jumping around for work is a pain.
I can't do any tourist stuff (not that un-jaded enough to really care about that - one more night market and I'll go... somewhere else) and I am usually left to my own devices.
That is dangerous because I tend to turn my thoughts inwards and get philosophical. OK, I get a bit ... I was going to say depressed, but that's harsh. Things are sad when you are by yourself for a extended periods in the evenings in unfamiliar hotels. You feel sad. Lonely. If it wasn't for the constant sex it would be depressing.
A boy from little old Geelong going to all these places? Amazing. Sometime I lie by the pool, any pool, anywhere, but preferably and rarely by the pool at my apartment, and smile for no obvious reason, even permit myself a small giggle. This is my expat life, how can I complain?
A drive to Melbourne, Colac (mother's family's home town) or Ballarat was a big deal when I was kid. When a cousin moved to Queensland, there were hushed debates and whispered discussions at family gatherings (the usual hatches, matches and dispatches). Bit funny, that. Why would you go all the way to Brisbane? Strange man.
btw: Sex for sale in Geelong was to be had at Lorraine Starr's massage parlour and exclusive (homeless bums usually not permitted) brothel. Several of my cricket team members held gold cards for the place.
OK, it's midnight, enough waffling (to keep myself off Facebook), back to packing as the flight is at 9am. Trying to decide what I'll forget this time. [My Suica card - Japan rail card with stored credit.]
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