15. The First Real Wobble

For the first time since leaving London, something darker crept in.

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15. The First Real Wobble

After reuniting with my backpack back the evening before, I headed out again towards Khao San Road for my second night in Bangkok.

By then the streets already felt a little more familiar.

Less overwhelming.

Still chaotic, still alive, but familiar enough that I wasn’t just observing anymore — I was starting to move with it.

I found a place for dinner and ordered a chicken Massaman curry.

And it was incredible.

Rich, slightly sweet, full of flavour, with chicken, potatoes, peanuts and a sauce I’d never tasted anything quite like before.

Served with rice, it was one of those meals you remember not because it was fancy, but because it was tied to a moment.

And this felt, again, like one of those moments.

While I was eating, I got talking to a few guys on the table next to me.

They were from Australia.

Easygoing, open, the kind of people you seem to meet naturally when you travel.

They had been on the road for a few weeks and were heading home soon, so they had stories to tell.

They spoke about the islands in the south.

About Chiang Mai.

About motorbike trips in the north and nights out that had turned into mornings.

I listened, asked questions, and mentally filed away places I might go myself.

Again, I had no plan.

But these chance conversations kept dropping possibilities in front of me.

After dinner, we headed out together and drifted into a loose bar crawl through Khao San.

A few bars.

Live music again.

More Chang beers than I probably needed.

Then some Sangsom and Coke — my first taste of the Thai rum that seemed to fuel half the backpackers in Bangkok.

The night rolled on.

Music, conversation, laughter, the usual traveller questions — where have you been, where are you going, how long are you away for.

And every time I answered, “I don’t know,” it felt strangely freeing.

By around one in the morning, I called it.

Second night in Bangkok done.

Another good night.

Another reminder of how easy it could be to meet people when you throw yourself into places like this.

I walked back to my room slightly drunk, but happy.

I went to bed thinking things were going well.

Really well.

And then the next morning came.

And everything changed.

I woke up with a hangover like nothing I’d felt in years.

But it wasn’t just the hangover.

It was the jet lag too.

Delayed, but arriving in full force.

I felt awful.

Heavy.

Foggy.

Drained.

And for the first time since leaving London, something darker crept in.

Doubt.

I lay there staring at the ceiling of my room, not moving much, and thoughts started coming that I hadn’t had before.

Have I made a mistake?

Have I really walked away from a good life for this?

A decent job.

A clear path.

A home.

Friends.

Familiarity.

What exactly am I doing here?

It was strange, because only the day before I had felt so alive.

So certain.

And now suddenly I was questioning everything.

Maybe it was just exhaustion.

Maybe too much drink.

Maybe the crash after all the adrenaline.

Maybe all of it.

But in that room, in that moment, it felt real.

For the first time on the trip, I didn’t feel excited.

I felt lost.

And what made it worse was knowing my time in this hotel was nearly up.

This would be my final night here.

And after that?

I still had no idea where I was going.

No next booking.

No route.

No answers.

I lay there for what was probably only a couple of hours, but it felt much longer.

Turning things over in my head.

Questioning the decision I had made months earlier.

Questioning whether I had romanticised this whole idea of freedom.

Questioning whether I had really been brave…

Or just reckless.

And as those thoughts circled, I was left with one feeling I hadn’t yet known on this journey.

I didn’t know what I was going to do next.

And for the first time since getting on that bus to Heathrow…

That scared me.

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