by Lucy Vine
Karen Gill
Replying to Alice Edwards
| That you’ve been driven to distraction.
Alice Edwards
Replying to Karen Gill
| You drive a hard bargain.
Alice Edwards
Replying to Karen Gill
| PS. I know that last one didn’t work but I’d run out of driving puns.
Eva Slate
| Al, is it a good idea to put the drug thing on here where anyone can see it?
Mark Edwards
Replying to Eva Slate
| I want to publicly distance myself from this blog. I would never take drugs. Ever. Outrageous. Smh.
Here’s a fun challenge: how long can you spend in the back of a car with your sibling without murdering them in cold blood? The question is not rhetorical – really I am looking for methods of execution.
I don’t know whose idea this was, but I am going to destroy Mark because it was his idea. We have just spent an unfathomable number of hours in a taxi, and I’ve thrown up in a bag at least seven times. My stupid brother arranged the whole thing last night, and kept waving his hand at me this morning whenever I asked how long the trip was.
It reminded me of being little, when Mum, me, Mark and Hannah would go on long car journeys to Cornwall in the summer holidays. It was always awful – arguing and elbowing each other in the backseat while Mum shouted that she would ‘turn this car around’ – but the awfulness was also part of the fun. We knew adventures and the seaside were ahead. Even the lunch stop at Little Chef was magic. Then it was all about who could see the sea first and then crying because Hannah – being the tallest – always won. It was nice.
But right now, the three of us are running to catch a ferry, so we can spend a week in a national park, taking a drug that sounds like some kind of stripper.
I am looking forward to it.
I’ve been reading up on the Ayahuasca thing during the car journey, and I’ve decided it’s going to be really interesting. I am going to eat only healthy, wonderful things and meditate every day. Then go puke my guts out drinking tree bark so I can have visions.
I want to get in the Turiya state, which is a complicated thing I read about, where you’re very awake, but also sort of semi-unconscious. It’s all about bringing discipline to bliss-ipline, which is a cool tagline I just made up and have decided to make my motto. Maybe I should get into advertising when I’m back in the UK? I think I have a knack for it.
Either way, I am going to look deep inside myself on this retreat, and truly see me.
And I am going to be one of those awful people who talk like that all the time.
‘Come the fuck on, Bridget!’ Mark shouts at me as he and Joe run to board the ferry. I hitch my enormous rucksack further up my shoulder and half-jog after them.
On board, we are greeted by a bearded Westerner, who introduces himself in a broad Welsh accent as Gary.
Aha, the much-revered drug-smuggler cum guru.
‘Hello there, Alice, I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he says cheerfully, and I briefly wonder what that Welsh tongue is capable of. You need a lot of muscle memory in your mouth to pronounce that language. I wonder what would happen if he went down on me and said that famously long-named Welsh train station, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
I give myself a shake. No more sex on this leg of the trip, thank you. Particularly not after that awful one-night stand. This is about soul-searching, not fun. Soul-searching is not fun, I’m certain of that much.
‘Hello Gary, nice to meet you,’ I say primly.
‘You look like that actress,’ he says, looking at me searchingly. ‘That superhero woman, what’s she called? Jessica Jones!’ he snaps his fingers.
I nod stoically, determined not to be dragged into any flirting nonsense, even though it is the best compliment I’ve ever heard and I am in love with Krysten Ritter.
‘Thanks very much,’ I say, puffing out despite myself. ‘I am also surprisingly strong.’ I pause before adding, ‘You look like . . .’ I am lost for a celebrity look-alike. ‘You look like . . . um, Jesus?’
‘How do you know what Jesus looks like?’ he says, bemused.
‘It’s just the beard,’ I say, trying to sound confident. ‘It’s very Jesus.’
‘Do you feel very surrounded by Jesuses when you’re in East London?’ he says, as Mark grabs my hand.
‘Stop embarrassing yourself,’ he says, yanking me away.
‘See you later,’ Jesus shouts after us, as we go find seats at the front of the boat with the rest of the ‘retreat’ guests.
‘What do we actually know about Gary then?’ I ask suspiciously, sitting down in the wet plastic seat. I can feel the engines beginning to roar beneath us and a surge of excitement pulses through me. We’re officially on our way to the island. It’s really happening.
Joe leans in. ‘Call him Shaman Quam,’ he says in an excitable, confidential tone. He’s reverberating with joy – typical Joe.
‘Why?’ I whisper back.
‘Quam means “shaman” in Turkish, and Gary just got back from Turkey,’ Joe explains, confusingly.
‘So you want me to call him Shaman Shaman?’ I ask, carefully.
Joe nods, wisely. ‘He’s a medicine man. A healer. A life coach.’
Mark leans in. ‘He’s also an accountant. He used to do my accounts, that’s how we know him. So if you need any tax advice while we’re out here, he’s your guy.’
Joe and I giggle, and a man in his mid-fifties within earshot shuffles closer in the row of plastic seats. ‘You guys here for the Ayahuasca retreat?’ he says in a Texan accent.
‘Yep,’ I confirm, eyeing his big hat. Seems a bit of a Texan cliché, but who am I to judge.
‘I’m darned excited,’ he says loudly. ‘I was gon’ go to Peru, but this was cheaper and seemed a little more – how do I put it? – laid back. Plus, I could fit it in around my latest business trip to Bangkok.’ When he says the words ‘business trip’ he winks at Joe and Mark. Mark openly grimaces and Joe looks confused, but the Texan continues oblivious. ‘I think Shaman Quam is the real deal, too. He has, y’know, that transcendental energy about him, and that mysterious, mystical accent.’
‘Welsh?’ I say baldly.
He ignores me. I think he is mostly speaking to himself.
‘I am here for the retreat, as well!’ a woman calls across to our group in a European accent. She joins us, continuing, ‘I am Clara, from Denmark.’ She reaches out to shake my hand and I leap up.
‘It’s you!’ I shout.
Her mouth gapes open. ‘No, it’s YOU!’ We both laugh out loud and I catch Mark and Joe exchanging confused looks.
It’s my friend from the vagina cult in LA. I can’t believe she’s here. This is madness. I giggle again and pull Clara in for a hug.
‘Mark, Joe,’ I say, pulling away. ‘This is Clara and her little friend Garfield.’ She sniggers and curtseys. ‘And how is your giraffe?’ she asks politely.
We both descend into laughter again.
‘How are you here?’ I say, bewildered.
‘I’ve been travelling all over Asia for the last couple of months,’ she explains, taking a seat next to us. I had just finished a few months in America when I saw you at the Sheathology class.’
‘The sheath-what?!’ Mark interrupts and Clara turns to face him. Her mouth and eyes open a little too wide. He smiles nicely, but glances away quickly.
This will sound gross, but my brother is really hot. He’s tall and dark and brooding, all that Mr Darcy stuff. I have seen too many random humans turn to gloop in his wake not to have noticed, so there’s no point pretending it’s not a fact.
Clara and her pal, Garfield, don’t have much of a shot though lololol.
Actually, to be completely honest, no
body really does. My brother never seems to date. Or, if he does, he doesn’t tell me about it. He is decidedly not a sharer when it comes to his romantic endeavours. As far as I know, he’s never had a boyfriend at all. He came out to me way back at his twenty-first birthday and I was like, yeah doi, no shit, but he’s said almost nothing about his love life in the eleven years or so since. For the first few years I just thought he was a slow starter and I didn’t want to push him into talking about that side of his life if he didn’t want to. It had clearly been a big thing for him to come out at all, and I didn’t want to rush him into conversations he didn’t want to have. I thought he should go at his own pace and figure things out, without my big fat face leering over his shoulder or my downloading Grindr onto his phone. Much as I wanted to. But time went by and nothing happened. No one happened.
Sometimes I wonder about Mark and Joe. They would be so brilliant together – they are so brilliant together – but it’s always been completely platonic. I once mentioned the possibility to Mark, years ago. He laughed his head off and then accused me of being one of those cis idiots who assumes just because two people are gay that they will automatically fancy each other. Which is fair enough. People can be just friends for God’s sake! Except sometimes when I’m really drunk I want to kiss Eva a lot. But I think that’s just some kind of complicated, confused cross-contamination of adoration. Sexuality is all on a spectrum, right? I’d say I’m like an eight out of ten on the side of fancying men.
Either way, I’ve never seen anything flirty going on between Joe and Mark, and Joe always seems to have a boyfriend so I don’t think it would ever happen. I don’t understand why nothing happens for Mark though. I have tried to get him to talk to me about his love life. Believe me, I’ve tried. I am always fishing, always saying unsubtle things like, ‘How’s life? Any gossip?’ And sometimes more pointed things like, ‘Is there anyone on the scene?’ And a few times literally, ‘Please tell me about your love life. Please Mark, I’m desperate to know.’ But he always either laughs my questions off, or gives me a vague answer about being too busy with work for a love life.
It makes me sad, but I am also aware that not everyone is as obsessive about oversharing as me or, say, Slutty Sarah. So maybe he’s just not that interested in talking about it. Or maybe he’s having a rampant sex-filled mad secret life that I’m not privy to. I hope it’s the latter, but I would also be sad if that were the case. I want him to feel like he can share all of that with me. Even though my brother having a sex life would of course make me puke.
‘Well, it’s amazing to meet you properly, Clara,’ I say, shaking her hand and laughing again. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. We are obviously meant to be friends. Sorry I ran out of that place in LA so fast, I did not want to see anymore chinchillas.’ She throws back her head and laughs, as I add, ‘Anyway, this is my brother Mark, and that’s Joe over there.’
The Texan leans in. ‘I’m Craig,’ he says, and I freeze. I can never tell if Americans are saying Greg or Craig and it is my worst thing. We all nod at each other, and excitement buzzes around us.
‘WELL then,’ Gary booms, suddenly joining us. ‘I expect you’re all excited to hear what awaits you.’
‘Is there anyone else joining our special group, Shaman Quam?’ Mark asks, and you really have to know him well to hear the amusement in his tone.
Gary surveys the gang. ‘Oh, wait, hold on, there should be a German couple around here somewhere.’ He looks around until he spots an elderly pair huddled together in the furthest corner. ‘Aha,’ he says striding over to them. ‘Hallo, Marie und Anna?’
The women look startled but leap up. They must both be in their late seventies, but seem spritely enough.
‘Willkommen in Koh Chang!’ Gary says happily.
‘You must be Shaman Quam, we are delighted to make your acquaintance,’ one of the women says in perfect, formal English. The pair follow him over to our group and we all wave awkwardly.
‘Hello everyone!’ Marie and Anna say simultaneously. They laugh at the synchronicity, looking at each other affectionately.
I scoot over, making room for them to sit. They are already my favourites in the group. They have a nice energy and kind faces. When I’m puking my guts out in a couple of days, I want them to be right there next to me. I will even let them have first pass at the toilet.
Oh God, there probably won’t be a toilet, will there?
19
AWOL.COM/Alice Edwards’ Travel Blog: Living My Dream and Feeling Very #Blessed
27 May – 8.11 p.m.
Good evening, dream chasers,
I would just like to clarify about my most recent blog post. I know I mentioned taking drugs but that was a misunderstanding, I would never do anything like that. I would never ever jeopardise future employment by publicly writing about taking drugs, because that would be foolish. There are definitely no drugs.
Anyway, we have just arrived at the spiritual retreat but as I mentioned there will be no drugs. Just spiritual chat and meditation. There might be some gongs or something, and probably quite a lot of vegan food. But no drugs. Despite what I said before, I am not going to do anything illegal.
Do not break the law,
Alice xx
#KeepingItLegal #FutureJobProspects #CallMyLawyer #TravelBlogger #GoneAWOL #AliceEdwardsBlog #BloggerLife #Blessed #Brave #DreamChaser
7 Comments · 6 AWOLs · 37 Super Likes
COMMENTS:
Karen Gill
| I would give you a job.
Eva Slate
| Haven’t heard from you since you got to Thailand!! Call me! You are the missing link in my life!
Mark Edwards
Replying to Eva Slate
| She sure is the missing link, Eva.
Danny Boy
| VAPID CUNT
Alice Edwards
Replying to Danny Boy
| YOU’VE GOT ME THERE.
AWOL MODERATOR
Replying to Danny Boy and Alice Edwards
| We love to see people connecting, but please be respectful to each other :) Chilling is better than trolling, right guys?!!! Luke
Danny Boy
Replying to AWOL MODERATOR
| LUKE GO FIST YOURSELF
‘This is how things go on an Ayahuasca retreat,’ Gary is saying sternly, looking round at all of us individually as we sit on benches before him in this tiny hut. ‘Day one is rest and relaxation. Day two is the preparation ceremony, day three is the first of three or four Ayahuasca ceremonies, which then take place every other day. There’s no caffeine, no meat, no alcohol, and there’s a strict diet enforced, in order to avoid introducing toxins into our systems.’
He pauses dramatically, making eye contact with Mark, Joe and me, sitting in a small group at the end of the row, and on to Marie and Anna, huddled beside us holding hands excitedly. Clara sits on the other side of them, looking nervous next to Craig/Greg, who is at the other end of the bench. He is still wearing that hat and it still feels like he’s mocking Texans even though he is one.
‘But . . .’ Gary stops, grinning triumphantly before continuing. ‘Screw all that! We’re the unofficial branch of the Ayahuasca retreat tree. The mavericks, the rebels, the revolutionaries. We are District 12 taking on Capitol City. But with Ayahuasca.’
Clara twitches violently. I suspect she is a Hunger Games fan.
He continues. ‘So let’s all just chill the eff out, drink a bit of tree bark and – as for that no drinking alcohol rule—’ he stops again, slowly pulling out a bottle of absinthe from behind his back. ‘Fuck it! We’ll take some Ayahuasca tonight, as the sun goes down, and in the meantime, let’s get drunk and have some banter, yeah?!’
Oh God.
He said banter.
I am strongly anti-banter.
This is everything I feared it mig
ht be.
I guess I should’ve known when Mark and Joe told me it was their mate running things. Or at least known when Mark said Gary smuggled the drugs in up his bum. How am I here? What am I doing? Is this a total waste of my time here? Should I just leave?
Gary hands the bottle of green stuff to Mark and I watch as he and Joe snigger as they each take a swig.
I reach for it, and pause. Maybe I can still get something out of this process though. Gary and the rest of them don’t have to take this retreat seriously, but I can.
My hand drops and I shake my head at the proffered liquid. It passes me, down to Marie and Anna who gladly take a drink, giggling gleefully at each other. They are just so sweet together, I can’t handle it.
‘Absinthe and Ayahuasca!’ shouts Craig/Greg, woo-hooing as the bottle reaches him. ‘Truly, Shaman Quam, you are a leader among men. Let’s get this party started!’
The group starts chatting excitedly. Clearly, they had more of an idea what they were signing up for than I did. A Thai woman comes in the door of the hut. She offers around bowls of what look suspiciously like Doritos – tangy cheese tortilla flavour – and lingers over Mark, smiling widely. No one is immune to his looks. He politely takes a crisp, ignoring her admiring stare.
‘Hey Jessica Jones,’ Gary flops down on the bench beside me, almost landing in Marie’s lap, who squawks in surprise. ‘Scheiße!’ she says, adding, ‘Achtung.’
They are such healthy-sounding, satisfying words and I am suddenly desperate to learn German. Maybe they can teach me this week? I may as well get something out of my time here. And how long does it take, even, to learn a new language? Probably like a week?
‘How’s it going, Shaman Shaman?’ I say conversationally, shuffling up to make room for him. He fists his hands under his chin, adopting a therapy pose and looking at me deeply.
‘I am pure light and joy, Alice, that’s how it is going. How are YOU though, my new friend?’ he says in a sing-song voice. ‘I feel like maybe you’re not ready to open yourself up to this. I really need you to give yourself over to this process wholeheartedly. I need you to help me help you.’