Ken Duncan Photography - Memories from Cairns, Australia

One day Rhi and I were mooching around the side alleys of Cairns and we stumbled across a small, immaculately turned out art gallery exhibiting the most awesome photos we've ever seen. There were huge prints of amazing landscapes and unbelievable scenes from Australia and many other countries around the world and I thought, 'we have to save up and get one of these when we have a house of our own'. One of the largest prints (above) really caught my attention and seeing it on the internet really reminds me of standing in that gallery, a few days after we found out that Rhi was pregnant and with all the excitement of knowing that our lives had just taken on a new significance.  

Now, 8 months on from when we first looked at these pictures, we have our house, Bump is expected to make an appearance next Monday and I have started to think about the journey we've made together since our travels ended. Looking back at these photos recently has highlighted how far we've come, and I can't wait to earn enough to afford to put a piece of our memories on the wall of our house - perhaps in the nursery, so that Bump will always see some of where they have been and the journey that they have made with us.

Ken Duncan's photographs can be found at: http://www.kenduncan.com/

Malaysia: Our entrance to Melaka 10/03/10

After a fairly short, peaceful coach trip from the bright lights and bustle of Kuala Lumpur’s metropolitan atmosphere we arrived in Melaka Sentral (the main terminal bus station for the area) at 11 o’clock and sleepily collected out bags. We headed through the bus terminal avoiding eye contact with all the bus company hawkers and tried to make our way to the ticket booths. It must be noted that no matter how much ‘eye contact avoidance’ you practice in an attempt to look like you know what you’re doing, being the only white couple in the area and blundering into the station through the ‘exit’, clutching maps and lugging the worlds heaviest, most western looking backpacks, one can only achieve a certain level of nonchalance and incongruity. So, despite our best efforts, we were mobbed and pushed our way against the tide looking for tickets to the town centre.

We headed purposefully towards the busiest counter hoping to secure the next days ticket to Singapore early and managed after a quick exchange to acquire two tickets for eleven the next morning. Buoyed by our ticket success we headed through the terminal towards the domestic bus depot hoping to discover easy to read straightforward maps and instructions on how to get to Chinatown. Needless to say these were not apparent and so after a quick investigative sweep and brief interrogation of a number of drivers we found the bus we needed - bus 17 headed for Central Square. We made our way to a large rickety ‘17’ sign hovering precariously over a bus that looked almost as if it used to be a tractor and boarded awkwardly, clutching bags and possessions in a space that seemed a couple of centimetres smaller that we required and perched precariously on the stair as I attempted to find the right change.

We squeezed along the aisle and wedged ourselves into our seats as the driver reversed out of the parking bay. We stared out the window uncertainly trying to see where it was we should attempt the disembarkation. The first stop was still out of town so we stayed put, hoping that ‘Chinatown’ would be announced to us when we reached the correct stop. Suddenly the bus pulled up the kerb and the bus driver turned around and shouted ‘off!’ loudly down the bus. He ushered us off the bus and we stood in the muggy heat on the side of the road confused and trying to work out if we had been ejected at the right spot or if the driver had just got fed up with us taking up all the room on his bus. We were in a quaint town centre; a clock tower and municipal buildings rose in front of us, all painted in terracotta reds and brilliant whites. It looked generally more European and well kept than we expected, just like a recently refurbished quaint French square. A river ran along the west side of the square and an ornate bridge spanned the gently flowing waters.

After an extensive geographical appraisal, we set off across the bridge and walked past a vibrant, colourful line of shops and stalls. Jonker’s Walk, as it is known, illustrates Melaka’s Dutch influenced past lead us relatively straightforwardly towards Melaka Tech School, opposite which we would apparently find Ringo’s Foyer.

....tbc

My first Blog. An introduction.

This blog has been in the pipeline for a long time; it has always been something I have thought I should do but never thought I would actually make myself find time for. This year, however, has been the busiest, most amazing, far-reaching year of my life and I have decided that if I don't put at least some of it down in writing now, it will slowly fade until it becomes lost in the nostalgic mists of time.

In order for this blog to make some sense, allow me to set the scene...

I am Will, a 22 year old from Newport, South Wales. I have an amazing girlfriend, Rhiannon, whom I have known throughout school since we were a couple of seven year olds (pigtails and bowl cuts abound!). We spent two years away at university before realising what we were missing back home and finally became 'Will and Rhi' during our third year. We graduated from Warwick and Reading respectively and embarked on our travels at the beginning of this year. Now, ten months on from that evening on the 21st January when we stepped into the brightly lit world of Heathrow Terminal Three, we are decorating our new house in Newport, Rhi is 30 weeks pregnant, I am working hard at my first 'real' job in Bristol and we are pinching ourselves - have we really done all this!? I have never done so much and had so much still to be so excited about.

I expect I will jump around; memories from here and there vying to escape first, but eventually, I want to slowly build up a montage picture of our most amazing year - one that, hopefully, will be interesting enough to use when thinking of bedtime stories for bump.

I know that in a few years Rhi and I will look back at this year and smile.

So here it is... let the floodgates open!