Mila's Asia

Of course, we were a bit angsty about bringing our 10-month-old away on holiday. Twelve hours on a plane with a baby is a scary thought and when that baby is yours, taking full advantage of the drinks cart and watching a movie is no longer a viable option to drown out the crying. As it turned out (and doesn't it always?) she was great on the plane. Trying to get her to sleep for the night in the hotel that followed the flight, however, was another story...

I'd had this vision of arriving to see our London friends, Azom & Sunny, on a beach in Southern Thailand playing in a loop in my head for some months before our departure. It went something like this: having arrived the day before, our friends would be sunning themselves on the beach, cocktail with pink umbrella and fruity decoration in hand, when a distant wail would disturb their tropical idyll. Sitting up and squinting into the distance, they'd see us. After a 12-hour flight, a night in Bangkok followed by another flight to Krabi, a taxi ride and a longtail to aforementioned beach, we'd approach the beach, the lead boat in a flotilla of longtails, looking like extras from The Walking Dead, Mila in my arms wailing inconsolably. Cue to tight frame of London friends faces with "WTF?" wrtitten all over them.

Thankfully this vision was not realised. Along with my paranoid delusions, the beach didn't exist. It was a mangrove swamp and the tide was out. There was a concrete walkway but it was half submerged and slick with mud. The longtail anchored and I waded, in jeans, carrying Mila and walking painfully slowly in the relentless, sweltering sun as a group of American backpackers making their way out kept a volley of warnings coming at me "Be careful!"/"It's really slippery"/"Oh my god, and with a baby! Make sure you are sooooo careful"/"Don't even walk on the concrete"/"Watch out for rocks!"/"I saw someone fall over"/"Be careful!"/"It is so slippery"/"Be careful!"

We'd known that Thais love babies but let's face it, how much attention do you really pay to a world you don't inhabit? Prior to having kids you don't even occupy the same time zone as people with kids. When Mila and I would go to breakfast at 7am, there they were: all the people with kids. Breakfast ran until 10.30 and Azom & Sunny just scraped in on two mornings out of seven. Each morning, we'd head to breakfast and from the guy raking leaves in the garden to the receptionist to the waiters and waitresses in the restaurant, Mila would soak up her morning dose of adoration.

Yes, Thais really do love babies. And babies with blue eyes and blond hair who smile a lot like our one does are treated like minor celebrities. Everytime we walk down ta street, into a hotel, restaurant, temple, airport or shop, everyone stops for Mila. They coo, they cuddle, they fuss, they smile, they kiss, they play. And she loves it. In fact, she's grown to expect it and on that rare occasion when we are somewhere and it's not forthcoming, she pulls out everything in her baby arsenal of cuteness to reel them in. Cocking her head to the side, shooting smiles out like Spiderman shoots webbing, playing peek-a-boo, cooing and shouting for attention.

In the 40-degree heat of Ko Lanta while Matt had a massage, the staff gave Mila a cool bath. As I held her and she gazed down a line of massage tables, every massuese's eyes were locked on her as they returned her smiles of delight. At Wat Pho in Bangkok when we entered a chamber housing an enormous golden buddha, the devotees turned and suddenly all eyes were on Mila. They cuddled her and got photos taken and our little blonde buddha beamed beatifically.

Vietnam is just the same. The Saigonese passport controller finished his pesky paperwork and then put his arms out for a cuddle with Mila. Matt and I think that she will get back to New Zealand and tell all the other babies about this place she visited, this baby nirvana, and it will become a legend amongst babies - this place at the end of the rainbow where babies are universally adored and all daily demands fall aside for one smile, one moment.

Nothing lasts Benjamin

Matt came home a few months ago after a night out with some new friends and told me he'd had something of a revelation. Over some beers, someone's age came up and so everyone started asking everyone their ages. Matt was the oldest. In fact, he was one of the only ones over 30. He said he suddenly realised "Hey, I'm the old guy. I'm that guy".

In our twenties in London we had a couple of much older friends (those guys). One was in his forties and the other was 50! And they partied with us in warehouses, clubs and flats all over London. And we thought, how crazy that they are still doing this kind of thing at their age.

When we first visited Thailand in 2001, we met a Swiss ex-heroin junkie on Ko Chang (he'd come to Thailand to dry out would you believe?). He was in his forties and was so worldly he blew our innocent little kiwi minds. He had been to Thailand ten years before. We looked at him in awe and asked with bated breath, "What was it like here back then?"

A few days ago I found myself in a cooking class on Ko Lanta with a Danish couple who could barely keep their 20-something-year-old hands off each other and a Texan pair who were visiting Thailand for the first time. I heard myself saying the words "my daughter" and "I came to Ko Lanta 11 years ago" - utterances so ridiculously grown up and from the stable of "my husband", "ten years ago", and "in the 80s" that I can't quite believe they came out of my mouth. And it dawned on me: OMG I am a different generation from these people.Why do I feel like an imposter for saying words that are entirely age appropriate? What next? A one-piece and short hair? Chinos and boat shoes for Matt? And BTW OMG, I am one of those old people that thinks they are talking young (albeit ironically) by saying OMG. Would the real irony please stand up?