Auckland, New Zealand - Thursday, 11am

Twenty four hours ago I was wading through cold water in a pitch black cave, gawping upwards like a star struck fool at greenish constellations scattered in their thousands. Glow worms. Today is my last day in New Zealand and my long journey home begins here; Auckland airport. Having bid farewell to my rented Granny Mazda half an hour ago I am perusing the first of many duty free lounges I'll be visiting over the next few days. Stuffed kiwi birds and sheepskin rugs are the popular fare here, and sharply dressed saleswomen mill about pretending to be busy with their hundred-watt, lip-glossed smiles at the ready.

On board QF112, Sydney airport, Australia - Thursday, 4pm

I am on defence alert. Keen to protect the two empty seats next to me from invasion I hold my breath as the last few passengers board the plane. They amble blindly down the aisle looking for their allocated places before eventually heading straight past me. Phew. Call me anti-social but a long-haul flight is no place to make friends. What could be more dangerous than excessive claustrophobia and unlimited free alcohol? Frankly, considering this is my second flight of the day I need all the help I can get and a 'stretch limo'-style ride to Singapore would do nicely thank you. The carriage is a brand new double-decker Boeing something something something; a great hulking beast of a thing, towering over everything else on the runway like the fat bully in the playground. Nevertheless, I am glad to be sprawled out in its gluttonous underbelly, waiting for the seat belt sign to disappear so I can order my first drink.

It's a strange feeling stopping for a few hours on Australian turf. Looking through the thick glass window I can imagine the sun melting the tarmac of the runway but can't actually get out and smell the Aussie BBQ. I guess this is how captive goldfish feel. I spent the afternoon quarantined in the Sydney departure lounge waiting for my connecting flight, again surrounded by an onslaught of plastic souvenirs and overpriced bars of chocolate. The stuffed kiwi birds have been replaced with stuffed koalas; the sheepskin rugs with aboriginal style painted boomerangs. There are the same hundred-watt smiles patrolling every shop front but they speak with slightly different accents here and hold their heads a little higher...

Little India, Singapore - Friday, 9am

It's easy to feel lost as a female traveller in male dominated Singapore. This is a city of trade and money and having neither to offer I am out of place. Particularly considering I am wandering around the confusing streets of Little India with my 16kg backpack in search of a poorly signposted bus station. I am being over-examined by some male passersby and completely ignored by others. Plus I am adjusting to being in a very uncomfortable and consistent state of moist. Ever since I stepped out of Singapore airport last night the heat and humidity hit me like a sweaty washcloth. Someone else's sweaty washcloth at that. Memories of South East Asia three years ago come flooding back (literally). When I finally find the bus station I am directed towards the Melaka ticket desk by several stony faced men. They barely move from under their massive sunbrellas, waiting with their petty cash boxes for travellers going in the right direction, i.e. not me.

10am

I board the bus full of Malaysians heading home for the New Year celebrations with my overpriced bus ticket (holiday rates...typical) and soak it all in. Smelly, grubby, sneaky, noisy Asia; a nostalgic feast for the senses. God I've missed it.

Melaka, Malaysia - 3:30pm

And just like that I am racing along a highway in outer Melaka in the backseat of a very nice gold Toyota driven by a 23 year-old Malaysian guy called Leon. Massive aviator glasses, a striped Stockbroker-style shirt and a chestnut-dyed Justin Beiber barnet. When I find out he is a travelling salesman it all makes sense, until it's revealed that what he trades in is live poultry and chicken feed.
His friend and he are chatting away in their twangy Chinese-Malay dialect whilst playing on their iPhone 5's. I sit in the back seat, quietly marvelling at the unpredictability of solo travel; you never know at the beginning of the day where or with whom you'll end up. Beiber's friend and I met on the bus and he generously offered to take me into town to save me the hassle of getting a connecting bus. They're on the case of finding me a good hostel and want to take me out for a traditional Malay meal this evening. Although I am fully aware that being a female has something to do with their hospitality I can't believe my luck.

Melaka bus station, Malaysia - Sunday, 11:30am

I have been allocated the exact same seat on the bus back to Singapore as I had during my outbound journey. Particularly strange considering I booked with two different companies. Perhaps they always stick foreigners at the back of local buses to get us out of the way. I'm half tempted to get all Rosa-Parks-on-their-ass, but after this weekend nothing could put Malaysia in my bad books.

These are some highlights of my thirty six hours in Melka :

• Hung out in a bar with an outlawed Italian mafia mogul, New Jersey born and bred, who regaled me with tales of 'the good old days' growing up with the real Jersey Boys and getting away with murder (I'm guessing he wasn't being figurative). Between cigar puffs he announced that if he was fifty years younger and not on his second marriage I'd be the girl for him. At least I've got options.

• Inherited a pair of Malaysian parents running the hostel I was staying in and put on three pounds from consuming too many homemade cakes and goodies.

• Fell in love with Melaka's old city and its crumbling Peranakan architecture.

• Rung in the Chinese New Year of the snake with fireworks, confetti and men in giant lion costumes flailing about. Got swept into a heaving temple packed with people praying and clouds of incense.

• Found the best Tandoori place this side of the Indian Ocean and couldn't comprehend how life could possibly go on for about an hour afterwards.

Chinatown, Singapore - Sunday, 3pm

Two passport stamps later and I'm back in Singapore, though I may as well be in Beijing as I survey the sea of blank faces on this local bus to Chinatown. I am the only Caucasian passenger, made all the more obvious by the confusion that arose trying to buy a ticket from the non-English speaking (and non-English liking) bus driver. Thank goodness for the helpful young Chinese lad who volunteered his bilingual skills and even arranged my point of departure with the grumpy bus driver. The streets are empty on this public holiday but evidence of Chinese New Year is everywhere in the colourful decorations; the largest being an enormous yellow snake made of hanging lanterns winding its way down South Bridge Road above the traffic. It's absurdly innocent expression dominates the streetscape just like the giant Stay Puff Man in Ghostbusters, blissfully unaware of what's going on at street level.

Orchard Road, Singapore - Monday, 5pm

Determined to do as little as possible on my last day in Singapore I am perched rather self-consciously in the window of a Filipino beauty salon having the dead skin of five months of backpacking in flip flops bitten off by a tank full of hungry fish. My feet tingle like they are being tasered and I try to ignore the little fish corpse that's floating about in the water. Lovely. Pedestrians stop and peer in at the underwater food fest in progress and I smile at them through the glass. Back to feeling like a goldfish.

London, UK - Tuesday, 5am

We disembark at Heathrow T3 with the chapped lips and pallid complexions of people who've been living in a vacuum for the past fourteen hours. Zombie invasion. Nothing like a bit of freezing English weather to knock the sense into you I suppose. That, and the giant faces of smiling uniformed Beefeaters and London taxi drivers that line the corridors. In fact, the tourist board propaganda is so excessive that I'm half expecting some lady impersonating the Queen to greet me at Customs with her signature wave and a welcome sign.

Back to reality... :)