The last time I saw you, you were waving, grinning, the vision of you on a motorbike disappearing over one last hill. We had spent a week on a motorbike together, sharing the road with rusty trucks and elephants. I’d grip your waist, squeeze on one side or the other to direct you. We got lost, every day, and I had never had so much fun doing so.

I met you on one of my first days on the island, under the thatched roof of a bar that served alcohol in buckets. You were ten years older than me, your laugh lines defined, your smile the kind that lit up your face, lit up mine. My hair was so long I could almost sit on it, and you placed one flower behind my ear, my left ear.

“No, no,” I laughed, taking the flower from my left and placing it behind my right. “I’m single. Single women wear flowers behind their right ears.”

There are probably a lot of you who are not going to click this link, and that’s okay. I understand that not everybody else shares my sick fascination with all of the weird and wonderful bugs we encounter along our travels. And while the following stories come from faraway lands, I have just as many stories from home. Hell, I just found a giant spider in my room in London last night.

Other creepy crawlies (I feel like my kindergarten teacher saying that) like snakes, rats, mice, leeches, frogs, and so on, will be saved for later stories (and yes, I do have stories about all of them, sadly). If you are offended by the killing of bugs, I suggest you stop reading now.

Here are, in no particular order and not necessarily with accompanying photographs, some of the grossest, weirdest, cutest (they exist), scariest, most annoying bugs I have ever encountered… Part One.

A couple of months ago, I re-watched the classic comedy Airplane!. I hadn’t seen it in years, but found myself laughing out loud at all of the silly jokes, the ridiculous puns, the over-the-top acting. For those who haven’t seen it (if not, I suggest you do), it depicts the plane ride from hell, one on which nearly everyone, including the pilots, becomes horribly ill. Comedy, and near disaster, ensues.

It got me thinking of all the times I’ve experienced something awful on an airplane. Put people in a confined space for hours on end and something weird is bound to happen. Add to that travel stress, uncomfortable seats, terrible food*, and, for some, a fear of flying, and you have a recipe for trouble.

I thought, initially, that 2013 wasn’t a very eventful year. I watched as other friends travelled the world, got married, had children, got promoted, got published. But upon reflection I realised that this year was really a transition, or, if we should use that German word, a slide into the life I’m creating for myself.

Four days ago, in Zurich, Switzerland, I found my way to my hostel without consulting my map; I had stayed there once before, in the summer of 2006, and I let my feet and my intuition guide me there from the main train station. The trip started off well, and I spent the afternoon with mulled wine and lulled steps, slowly and deliberately making my way through the cobblestoned streets and their Christmas markets. Around 8pm, I went back to the hostel. That was my goal – every night, through Switzerland, Liechtenstein, and Austria, I’d spend at least a few hours writing.

I opened my MacBook Pro, my fingers still slightly numb from the cold. I turned on the computer, its familiar grey screen popping up before me. The little circle spun, spun, spun. Spun. And spun. Nothing.

Photos of one of my favourite cities in the world. And how could it not be one of my favourites, with bangers and mash, graffiti proposals, and snow globes the size of a house?