As a sat in the taxi to Beijing airport I had a feeling that I don’t recall ever having before. Goosebumps and a smile had formed as I allowed the accumulation of experiences from the last eight months to wash over me. It was close to midnight on the final day of my journey. The motorway was quiet, and we drove fast. The immense traffic and grey smog that this city is now infamous for absent in the night. It was a speedy conclusion to a route that had taken me across five continents. There had been slow bus journeys through mountain passes, patient waits in dusty border towns, and more than two dozen departure lounges. Countless hours of thoughts and contemplation. Yet this time, we moved effortless at 100km on a raised highway through this mega city of 20 million people. I willed my memories to swirl around collectively in my near consciousness – I didn’t have time to dwell on each one. Sights, drinks, people, conversations, hikes, languages, and romance.

Hours earlier I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to leave. I carried out a final whistle stop day of sight seeing. A march through some of Beijing’s cultural masterpieces at a pace that thwarted my recently cultivated belief that it was better to travel slow – to dawdle at the great monuments, and to stop for a coffee or a beer at places where I could keep en eye out for kindred conversational souls. In my final afternoon I walked up the great north/south axis of the central city. I wanted to see it all before my care free existence came to an end. The city I know and love best is London, often an organic mess of curved streets and alleyways that has grown unorganised through the centuries. In contrast, Beijing was a place imposed into being by emperors’ grand plans. The Forbidden City sits at it’s heart. A set of grand temples built on a line of perfect symmetry. It’s the largest collection of preserved wooden structures in the world. A UNESCO heritage sight that throngs with crowds from a thousand tour groups every day of the year. The temples surrounded by thick walls, squares, and hundreds of other structures – the bedrooms, kitchens, and libraries that supported the ruling dynasties that called this place home. Just south of its impressive south gate is Tienanmen square. Where Chairman Mao strived to replace the city’s heart with his very own. This expansive space is his imposing architectural legacy, the new centre of the city, bookended on one side by the mausoleum holding his embalmed orange body to public rest, and on the other his giant portrait. I started my afternoon at the square, before dodging through the tour groups in the Forbidden City. I then continued north. Finding food stalls, picturesque mansions, and view points. From the hill of Jin San park the axis cut clear through the grey haze. From the square towards the Bell Towers around Hou Hai lakes a kilometre or two to the north – and potentially beyond, if only the smog would lift.

I followed this up with the quick strides of an evening shopping spree, haggling for porcelain and counterfeit Prada handbags in Hongqiao market. And then a final dinner. Exquisitely fattened Peking duck and beers with other backpackers. The alcohol perhaps supporting my confused chatter as I balanced contentment and regret at bringing my travels to an end. I liked this city, and could have stayed some days more. There was more I wanted to explore. A language I wanted to pick up more of. Local cultural and personal ambitions that I wanted to understand. And a care free life I wanted to continue. I desired to sit back in cafes and write about China. Drink beer and chase girls in the evening. A bohemian in Beijing.

But as the lights of this city by night now blurred past there was also that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Nervous excitement at coming home. Adrenalin as I readied myself for a return. More precisely it’s noradrenalin being pumped around my body. A fight or flight response from the back seat of a cab. Increased heart rate, higher blood pressure, and the pausing of some normal bodily functions – like the stomach’s digestion. Only humans have the capacity to perceive and plan for the future in such a way. To find themselves agitated and excited by thoughts of a future that may or may not come to be. I didn’t simply want to simply keep on banking a whirlwind of memories. I wanted to achieve, and to create. To reunite and enhance friendships. To enthusiastically launch myself back into a career. Perhaps to romance feverishly, and with people that I wouldn’t be leaving in just a couple of days. And for this, I needed a stable place to call home. A small collection of words formed in my mind. Simple words. Yet ideals to keep: honesty, conviction, passion for life, to give, to better. Tiredness from the days frantic footsteps and those beers adding to a amped up sense of emotion.

I thought back to Lima, in Peru. The last time I felt so content in a taxi. I was sitting with a girl called Alessandra, in the early hours Her body was nestled into mine. Comfortably so after drinks, good live music, and our first kisses that night. With a buzz her name appeared on my phone. From thirteen time zones away I’d received a message from her. I don’t believe in serendipity any more – you go to enough places and meet enough people and you open your life up to moments of luck and happy coincidence. Yet I smiled some more. I had enjoyed my time in that country, and that continent, immensely. Learning a language and a culture that liked to have it’s arms open. And most of all it’s people, I was glad that I was on her mind too. There is a lot more to travelling the world than taking photos at the postcard sights.

We pulled up at the airport. I paid the driver and with a word of badly pronounced thanks (“cher cher”) hauled out the 20kg of possessions I had packed across two backpacks – today marginally lighter due to the laundry I’d forgotten to pick up from my hostel. Either way it didn’t matter. I’d be in London again in a few hours. Returning to a place where the wardrobe stayed in the corner of a bedroom, rather than in limited supply on my back. Retuning to somewhere where I could live words, rather than just thinking them.