England is exactly how we imagined it would be. Rolling green hills, windswept moors, craggy peaks, quaint villages, ruined castles, pubs on every corner and all-consuming grey clouds. It’s everything that they write about in the books. But nothing can prepare you for the ceaseless wet... Here’s how we handled it, April 2008 – May 2009.
Tiff and John in London For the first time since leaving home, John was able to use his EU connections and boldly walk where many men had gone before him: through the ‘EU citizens - including Switzerland’ immigration line. Thus leaving Tiff in the shorter ‘All Other Passports’ line.
We were met in London by a friend from Australia, Stacey, who had been living in London for a year. She quickly realized that we were not in the English frame of mind when we asked her to please buy tube tickets for us as we didn’t know how to ask the station attendant for what we wanted. Adding to our confusion was the intense sense of multi-culturalism we were attacked by. We saw Indians, Africans, Asians, we saw black people, white people, fake tanned people. We had to check ourselves for we were feeling truly displaced and never entirely certain that we had gotten off the plane at the right stop. Australia is happily billed as a multi-cultural land, but England is in a totally different league.
Stacey’s advice for England – no one speaks English especially the English, (to prove this you just need to look at the pronunciation of such place names as Gloucester and Worcestershire). And it gets worse the further north you go.
Grammar seems arbitrary. The progressive tense doesn’t exist. It is, “I’ve been sat here all day,” instead of, “I’ve been sitting here all day.” Grrrrrr! Oh the Australian vs. English arguments we had on this point. Old Will Shakespeare would pack his bags for sure.
Stacey and Wes’ engagement party was difficult. In non-english-speaking countries whenever anyone spoke English they were usually speaking to us; so with multiple English conversations going on we thought they were all for us! After a year of teaching English, we also starting speaking in simple language, and had to resist the urge to correct grammar mistakes…
London greeted us with flowers, sunshine, green grass and animals in parks – is the big city really as bad as everyone makes it out to be? We questioned our desire to leave pretty London for the unknown north. Apparently we were being lulled into a false sense of fondness, duped by beautiful weather and the accompanying good-natured people. We were assured by Stacey that everything would return to normal soon. ‘Nah’ we thought…
We spent three days in the big city, setting up bank accounts and exploring. We had to check ourselves from speaking too loudly, remembering that now the surrounding people could understand us. Tiff and John in Manchester
Manchester – our chosen base in England. Supposedly a modern city, recently re-developed, and just half an hour from the Peak District and England’s climbing scene. Also meant to yield a greater selection of jobs for both of us. It was meant to be a lot of things.
We spent three weeks in Hotel International, looking for jobs, going to interviews, and generally being frustrated with very little return for effort. Tiff got an administration job and we moved into a share house. John got a welding job. We lived among chavs (Aussie bogans).
The share house was crazy – a live-in obsessive compulsive landlord and two other young men, a stroppy spoilt cat and a psycho cat. When we went to inspect the house the psycho cat ran outside, hid under a car and the door slammed shut behind the landlord - locking his keys inside. We saw this as a good omen.
We bought our first international car, Pickles: a year 2000 five door Corsa with a huge 1.2L litre engine. A dead-sexy mustard-yellow, baby-poo smear gold colour with sporty sun-roof; a bit ironic in England. This car was built to cruise and pick up chicks, or groceries – one or the other. A handy hatchback to give us freedom. Oh yes! Not being on someone else’s schedule, timetable, stop plan. What a luxury!
We visited the local climbing gym and found an exclusive snobbish crowd. The staff told us that Manchester climbing was hip and trendy, while Sheffield was much more of a laid back Bohemian scene. When we visited Tom, a friend we’d made in Thailand, in Sheffield one weekend, we realized that comparatively, there was no climbing scene in Manchester, and Sheffield was it. We decided to move. The grass was definitely greener in Sheffield, but there is a reason for that, which we didn’t take into consideration just then… Tiff and John in Sheffield
We decided to move once John had a permanent job in Sheffield, which we did, though the ‘permanent’ job lasted only 2.5 days. We were then living in a new sharehouse in Sheffield and jobless again (though this time we were sharing with a drunk Polish man and ham on the floor).
But jobs come and go in Sheffield as quickly as the weather changes, and by the next day John was employed again, and we had found a beautiful apartment of our own to move into. Things were looking up.
Tiff got a job. It’s too long and complicated to explain here, but she managed an office. And worked with a great group of people.
A smile from one beautiful girl at the climbing gym (Michelle) saw us sidle our way into the ‘it’ group in Sheffield climbing – ‘it’ being the Hathersage Massive. This initially consisted of Michelle, her brother, her boyfriend and Tiny Tom Frodo.
What followed was 12 months of several job changes for John, the monotony of work, the oppressive depression of the long dark winter, the sleepless nights of 10pm sun in summer (the only sun they get by the way), freezing cold indoor bouldering where you could see your breath steaming, and huddle in down jackets in between attempts.
Tiff and John in the Peak District
This amazing green belt of land, punctuated by dark thrusts of rough granite, and gently meandering sheep and cows, is a place we fell in love with. To be able to walk across lush moors, along paths lined with heather shrubs, to stare; with teeth gritted against the chill harsh wind, over valleys and into the horizon, was a joy beyond joys after the claustrophobia of Tokyo. This was also a time where we could don the running shoes. For John especially, this was a milestone in the ever-ongoing recovery from accidents past.
The Peak District was meant to be the heart of English climbing / bouldering, but we derived much more joy from running across the moors, up its tors and across its vales.
Oh and we finally understood why the grass is so green here. It rains. It rains and it rains and rains again just for good measure. And when you think you see the sun, it rains again just to make sure you’re really wet. But perhaps rain is too strong a word, because we like rain, as rain-deprived Aussies we like to see a good drop. But English ‘rain’ is altogether different. It is more of a persistent drizzle, which dampens, then soaks, relentlessly striving to piss you off and depress you over an unimaginably long time. Water torture, English water torture, that’s it.
But the funniest thing is how the English cope with said water torture. An indifference, an ambivalence, or a steadfast denial that anything untoward is coming from the sky. A classic example when at midday, after over night and continuous morning ‘rain’, the sun appeared. “Hark!” the English said, “Its dry! Perfect conditions for climbing! Lets go!” “Umm…” we said, “…but surely it will still be wet?” “Good lord, heavens no! Grit, god’s rock, dries ever so quickly!” So off they went, stoically striding through the ‘rain’ as it had started again, bouldering mats getting soggy, but their spirits never dampened as they reached the first of many sopping wet lines. Perhaps god’s rock needs a little more time, we thought, or maybe it’s like the belief in god itself, blind faith, and patience waiting for the miracle of sun to happen…
The climbing didn’t get much better. Needless to say we didn’t get much climbing outdoors done. The cantankerous rock thrives in winter when friction is good (apparently – it was way too cold for a pair of hot Aussies to find out). So day in day out we would watch armies of mad Englishmen march out onto the freezing, grey damp moors ready for a climb.
Oh and rope climbing on the ‘mighty’ Stanage and Burbage edge is a laughable affair. We had seen movies and photos of classic ultra hard stuff being done there. We were psyched. But seeing it for the first time we were more than a little confused as the height didn’t seem to break more than eight meters in most sections. Yet hordes of climbers approached the cliff with huge trad racks and double 60 meter ropes. Only to place one or two bits of gear while the other 52 meters of rope sat sluggishly untouched and coiled at the bottom. And then the higher, harder classic test pieces usually meant death if a climber took a fall as you could never protect it properly.
We never got our heads around the English approach to climbing. So we dreamt of the sweeping sport routes of Thailand and hoped that soon we would see good climbing again, and maybe sun. We like the sun, but could hardly remember what the warmth felt like…
Which of course meant that we spent a lot of time climbing indoors, bouldering in fact. Why bouldering? After Japan, bouldering was where the fun was at for us. In Japan it was fun, egoless, communal and supportive. In Sheffield it was more than a little different at first. Quite the opposite. Until you really got under the other climbers’ skin. Perhaps it is just an English trait. You have to work hard to be accepted, to become known, to break the ice, to learn understanding, and to finally reveal the warm and friendly side. And after all the hard work, we met and made friends that we would dearly miss.
We entered three competition series’ (four rounds each) in Sheffield and had fun being casual about it all. John placed top three in all three series, and Tiff would have too, had she not fallen 2.5m in the third last comp onto a straight arm (damaging her elbow). But they were super fun (and shockingly hard) and social, and that was the main thing.
Possibly the hardest part about living in England was the food. It was also the easiest part. The proliferation of great-tasting, easy-to-get in abundance food made eating a joy, and training a chore.
When we first arrived in Sheffield we were weak after four months of no climbing, but lean from the rigours of travelling. We started training (climbing, running and buying our own in-home weights set) and regained strength quickly. However, this also meant injuries abounded, and with the cold and rain, not as much incidental exercise as we were used to – the weight piled on! We found winter particularly difficult, when we left for and arrived home from work in the dark, and running outdoors became impossible as the freezing air hurt our lungs within seconds. Bits of our extremities even fell off – we think. Eventually we sucked up the money issues and joined a health club – for both our physical and mental wellbeing – and started swimming as well!!!
Climate change made itself felt in Sheffield in February, by dumping a whole heap of snow down on the Peak District and greens of Sheffield. Us visiting Aussies (enamoured of the novelty of snow) made the greatest use of this by sledding down steep hills on an improvised sled (bouldering mat covered in a tarpaulin – John’s put a patent on this). We managed to rope a few friends into doing the same, and ended up with a three-person team crumpling in a heap down a slope. What fun!
One reason we had decided to live and work in England was its proximity to the amazing climbing in Europe. We sampled the delights in Fontainebleau (France) and Chironico and Cresciano (Switzerland), bouldering meccas of Europe. It was a dream come true, both in a climbing sense, and to be in Europe proper for the first time.
Tiff and John in France
On the ferry from England to France, we recalled gazing wistfully at boarding charts in airports around Asia listing European destinations, and wondering how long we would have to wait to arrive there. Our first time driving on the right hand side of the road was interesting, but going back to the left was much more difficult. We were greeted in France with beautiful yellow autumn colours.
The boulders of Font were incredible – the formations surreal and fantastical. The style was unique, and just as we were leaving (after days of being sick in a caravan, rain bucketing down outside, and megatons of croissants consumed) we were just starting to get the hang of it.
On our visit to Font we had a day trip to Paris and walked hand in hand along the Seine, under the Eiffel Tower, around Notre Dame, along the Champs-Elysee and beside the Arc de Triomphe. We were also privileged to have a home-cooked dinner with Liz and Steve, some friends of Tiff’s family, who were living in Paris in an amazing apartment. Liz did some personality profiling and struck chords in both of us with her accuracy. Tiff and John in Switzerland
Chironico was INCREDIBLE. We flew into Milan and hired a (left hand drive) car, taking us to a beautiful little Gite (holiday home) in the Swiss mountains. It was the first time that John had touched the soils of his ancestral home, though it was much more Italian than Swiss-German.
The climbing was amazing – there was snow on the ground and in the air, but we were still climbing in t-shirts in sunshine. Magical! The vistas were as picturesque as any postcard, and the problems actually had holds on them!!!!
Tiff and John’s Family in Sheffield
We had a brilliant visit from Tiff’s sister, Gemma, in July. She spent most of her time reading and running and sleeping while we worked, but having her there – a beloved face from home – made us both amazingly happy, and sadly melancholy. We visited Glen Nevis in Scotland for Stacey’s 30th, to hike Britain’s highest mountain (Ben Nevis, 1344m) and Gem did the hike too. We were SO proud of her!
We had a visit from Louisa (Tiff’s cousin) and her partner Jonathan, had lunch at our favourite Peaks 'gastropub'“The Fox House” and walked the windswept moors together…
Tiff’s dad (Tony) and partner (Jennie) also made their third appearance in the Tiff and John travel itinerary towards the end of our stay in Sheffield. This was handy as we needed help cleaning up the apartment when we moved out. Tiff and John in the Bureaucracy of ‘Ol Mother England
It is hard, unnecessary, complicated and designed to cause as much frustration and confusion as possible.
Holding an Australian Drivers license is acceptable only for one year. At which point you must surrender it for a UK license. Upon doing so you are now considered a ‘new’ license holder and therefore inexperienced, and unable to do the things you have been allowed to do thus far. Idiotic.
One brain doesn’t know what the other hand is doing. Setting up utility accounts became a nightmare of competing companies, misplaced transfer requests, untended orders, cancelled and subsequently re-installed lines. Debt collectors searching for long past tenants unaware that there have been several new tenants and accounts.
But sometimes the total disarray of organisation can work in your favour. A year’s supply of electricity, free….
Tiff and John on Leaving…
But time moves as time does, and the seasons change as they must. For just as we seemed to be truly finding our feet and rhythm, it was time to move on - the main catalyst being Tiff’s working visa running out with zero practical way of extending it.
Saying goodbye to our dear friends, lifestyle, home and Pickles, was harder than we had anticipated, our heart-strings being well and truly yanked. But knowing that we would return in a few months did help to lessen the emotional blow.
One of our long standing dreams was to tour Europe in a van, to live the life of gypsy-ism. So we turned our attention and efforts towards facilitating that.
So we bought BOB. The Big Orange Beast. It’s a van, but not just any van. It is a van that eats most small cars for breakfast then consumes hundreds of miles in a skip. We insulated it, ply lined the interior and painted it warm terracotta (i.e. pink). She was ready to roll. Onwards to Europe and the next adventure…
In Summary
The steel city turned out to be steel-less, the famous English climbing scene was a wash-out, the pound lost value but the taxes didn’t, petrol prices went through the roof and our time in England was not as successful as we hoped it would be. We invested a lot of time, energy and money, and in the end we got very little return save for beautiful memories of sunny green fields and rolling hills; the first little lambs of the season; of the first snow in years; of the long monotonous dark, depressing days; of the faces of beautiful friends; and the not-so-nice people too. But such is the eclectic mix of any and every country we have set foot in.
*It’s funny that the sun only shines when you don’t want it to. Late at night when you are supposed to be asleep.
*To quote the words of a wise drunk Russian man: “Australia, good! (thumbs up) England Phhhht! (thumbs down)”
*To quote an outdoor clothes stall seller: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”
*To quote an English woman on holiday in Spain: “If it’s too hot, we can complain. If it’s too cold, we can complain. If it’s perfect, we can complain that it wasn’t like this yesterday.”
*To quote every international climber we met in Europe: “English climbing is shit – why’d you want to go there?”
*To quote an English climber in Spain: “Man, what the f**k are we doing living in England?”
*To quote a patriotic Englishman in England, quoting the Australian Prime Minister: “If you don’t like it, you can leave.” We left.
*Good friends are hard to come by and are priceless when you find them.
*Australians don’t know every fact about Australia for Pub Quiz purposes.
*Sydney is the biggest city by population in Australia. Who knew!?
*The Aussie sense of humour induces tumbleweed rolling, cricket chirping moments – i.e. dead silence and confused looks.
*Tiff found that Australian women make easy friends, from co-workers in Manchester (Emily), twin sisters (Amanda), peers in language classes (Brook) to employees you hire (Peta).
* A tea break is every five minutes.
*It’s tea time all the time.
*Would you like a cup of tea?
*The worst violence known to Brits is tea-throwing. How could you waste a good cup of tea like that!?!?! (Found in an article about river-punt operators. The rivalry is described through cutting boats in half, knife fights, and worst of all, hurling cups of tea.)
The first leg of our overland journey across the Eurasian continent started in our much-beloved city of Bangkok. Our final destination was London, with five countries and a fistful of visas in between.
The further you get from your travels, the more the experiences evolve into a series of moments. Less “We travelled on a train in Vietnam for six hours between x and x.” and more “A wrinkled, leathery, old Vietnamese man on a train opened the window for a smoke, and when he saw us gazing at the landscape, started pointing things out to us, in Vietnamese of course.”
The appeal of narrative fades and travel becomes verbal recollections of individual fragments of the trip that stick in your mind; one might say the important things - the things that have stayed with you, long after you crossed the border into another adventure.
So here are those kernels of memory that surface like bobbing balls in a wading pool when we think of our lives between January and April 2008. The important things.
Thailand
Returning to a country which is so far removed from your own, and yet comforting none-the-less.
Kamilla. A face of home and also of support and wisdom for our time in Japan just past.
Matt and the observation of a new relationship so far removed from where we are now. (P.S. They are now engaged).
Our familiar Pranee Building Hotel with its blue furniture. It’s impossible to not feel like you’re coming home when you spent six weeks and two birthdays in a place…
Huge air-conditioned shopping centres that are as empty as the ones in Tokyo are full.
Lumphini Park. The heavy air, the yellow shirts, the open-air aerobics, the full stop for the national anthem, the night lights and junk yard gyms. The palm trees. The 100 year old guys who run faster than you. The pretty kratoys that skip along next to you. The soi dogs you feel sorry for.
Going to see Alien vs. Predator in the Gold Screen cinema just for the sake of going to a gold screen cinema, cheaply.
Crunchy pork and crackling with spicy kale and rice for breakfast.
Tom Ka Gai.
Our Lady of the Street Vendor and her life-saving pork skewers and sticky rice.
A Tuk Tuk packed full to bursting with Milli, Matt, Tiff and John. After a hard bargain of course.
The toilet at the train station which reminds you that Thailand is still a third world country.
Discovering that the hockey stick which had been such a necessary companion of John’s in India was still residing at the Pranee Building, where we’d left it nearly a year before. It was posted home to Australia this time.
Arriving at the train station at 4am when everything is still dark. Boarding a train you only think you should be on, and finding a place with your ridiculously huge bags between the foreigners with guitars, the locals with bags of grain, and the children sleeping on the seats.
How invigorating it is to journey on a train through a countryside with the windows open. The smells and sounds become as part of the experience as the sights. And they are shared by all alike on the train.
Missing Thailand the moment you leave it.
Cambodia
Knowing you’re a seasoned traveler when you can spot a well-orchestrated scam 500m from the border – where the tuk tuk dropped us.
Standing in a customs line with your ridiculously huge bags in 38 degree heat, while amazing middle-aged female tourists with your travel tales.
Being told by a Policeman that the visa you need can only be paid for in a currency you don’t have, being taken across the border by a ‘friend’ of an official, to a tiny little money-changing office where the guy checks that the coast is clear before bringing out samples of all the world’s known currencies.
Walking three kilometers in the middle of a Cambodian summer along dusty roads with your ridiculously huge bags, following a sprightly sixty-year old man pulling a suitcase on wheels behind him, in search of a legitimate taxi-stand ‘I just know is around here somewhere’.
John stays put in the shade of a mobile phone stand with our bags, panicking that Tiff has been abducted in the process of bringing back a taxi.
Tiff realizes that the ‘free bus to the taxi stand from the border’ that we didn’t believe in, is actually a ‘free bus to the taxi stand from the border’.
Remembering all the travel advice from every guidebook in existence and having to say ‘no’ when the driver wants to ‘give my friend a lift – very short way’.
Knowing you’re a seasoned traveler when you can fall asleep in the car on the worst road in South East Asia, and perhaps the world – Poiphet to Siem Reap.
Finding out that your hotel really has closed down, it’s not just the remorque-moto driver’s say-so. And he speaks really good English so can understand you when you call him nasty names.
Finding an Aussie-run hotel with a pool table and all – and it being completely booked out.
You know you have more to learn about travelling when you end up at the hotel that the remorque-moto driver suggested originally, in a room with air-conditioning and hot water at twice your budget price.
Ancient Cambodians knew how to make amazing shit.
Standing at the foot of Angkor Wat at sunset, and taking the photo you’ve always dreamt of taking; and having it spoilt by a big green tarpaulin.
Visiting the set of Lara Croft and feeling more like Indiana Jones.
Taking the cheap option and getting more of a ride – remorque-moto for 70km!
Hearing live traditional music being played in the forests around the ruined temples brought them back to life.
Seeing the ethereal monks in their orange robes drift through the eerie green of ancient ruins.
The things countries do for tourism – finding pristine toilets (the best in SE Asia) amongst the ruins.
Expensive Thai garden restaurants in Cambodia are worth it.
Cows on buses, and pigs in weave baskets on bikes half their size.
The pictures of third world villages are right. Wood-planked huts, palm thatch roofs, dirty kids naked from the waist down running around in the yard with their half-starved dogs and chickens. And all you can do is pass by in your remorque-moto, paying your driver’s living expenses for a week, and give thanks for how lucky you are. And notice that when the locals aren’t staring at you, they’re usually laughing.
Phnom Penh is a horrible city. Dirty, dusty and hot. But we were met at our bus with a smile – and a sign that said “Mr John and Tifanvy”.
The Killing Fields are horrific. The tower of skulls gorily staring down with sad, silent screams - haunting in its seemingly peaceful surroundings. After visiting a massacre site, we would advise drivers never to suggest (as ours did to us) going to a shooting range to kill cows, pigs etc. “But you can use a machine gun, hey! Throw a grenade and blow up a cow!”
Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum evokes sickness and outrage. A horrific reminder of how the bloodthirst of a few can effect so many. The whole place has an energy of tragedy and horror. And having just finished a book on the Pol Pot Regime, Tiff was able to describe to John in detail the context of the atrocities. How can humans do these things to each other? How can people with such sadistic tendencies live normal lives between periods of unrest? And how do we allow these people into the position of power where they can live out these violent fantasies on others?
Across the road from one of the most nauseating places on earth, is a tranquil garden restaurant with some of the best food ever.
They keep huge fierce guard dogs in tiny cages during the day, and let them roam on vacant building sites to ‘protect’ them at night.
If the cook is napping and he is woken to make your food, and then gets the order wrong, eat it anyway. Don’t send it back or he’s likely to spit in it. Or worse.
Vietnam
Ho Chi Minh city is full of pretty lights. And motorbikes. And traffic that has you sitting in one spot for half an hour.
Vietnamese coffee ROCKS!
I will not buy books from you if you interrupt my meal! Street sellers also sell in restaurants.
Vietnamese people laugh with you.
Bread sticks are the enduring mark of the French.
You have no idea how much you miss the water until you see it again.
The Mekong Delta is brown, reedy and looks exactly like the setting for a Hollywood ‘Vietnam War movie’. Funny that.
You would not believe how many people have satellite dishes on the Mekong Delta. They have rickety boats, houses on stilts, and dishes that look like they weigh more than the houses they’re perched on.
In the Mekong Delta you can see rice paper and coconut candy being made, wheat being puffed and tourists in pointy hats being poled down a tributary.
We travelled to Nha Trang in search of sun, sea and sand (i.e. our first beach in a year). We got rain and storms.
While sitting on a rainy beach, an umbrella, used like a shield, is the most effective way to ward off weather-indifferent jewellery touts.
German Shepherds in small bookshop-cum-restaurants are nice companions on rainy days.
Hoi An is a beautiful little town with graceful old architecture. And we found some sun too!
Our hotel balcony jutted over a river – a great way to spend a lazy afternoon. However, our room had an unlockable window level with the main staircase – hmmm, not very secure.
Two rusty bikes with no brakes and flat tyres are the best way to see the countryside. Five squeaky kilometres to the nearest beach, through rice fields and views of the pointy Vietnamese hats – yes they really wear them here.
A cold dip in the ocean – liberating.
The My Tom ruins in the Vietnamese highlands are a little anti-climactic compared to the Angkor ruins in Siem Reap and Sukhothai, but the lush, green mountains were beautiful all the same.
Finally feeling confident enough to scour and bargain in a chaotic night market without feeling paranoid is empowering. It’s incredible to think that this kind of thing would have intimidated us no end at the start of our journey in 2006.
Do the train ride from Hoi An to Hanoi during the day - we saw some of the most beautiful and breath-taking mountain and seaside scenery ever. Little fishing enclaves and towering limestone formations alternated before our eyes. The old men smoking out the train windows pointed things out to us as we passed.
Hanoi is a vibrant, pulsing city of 1 million scooters (John only got hit once, which is good considering the odds). Dull grey skies and dirty clogged streets are punctuated by supremely bright flower sellers, lush fresh fruit and flashes of easy-going smiles.
Desperately searching for something other than cold seas and rainy horizons on Halong bay, we and three other tourists took our shirts off at the first sign of sunshine – and ended up sunbathing in the cold.
One glorious afternoon of sun in a sea kayak, paddling gently into a turquoise-watered, cliff-enclosed sea grotto – silence and lapping water – divine.
Overnight in Halong Bay is punctuated by drunk middle-aged Europeans jumping naked into the water. There be whales in Vietnam!!
Being rocked gently to sleep on a junk boat, surrounded by beautiful limestone peaks after watching an iconic sunset is the perfect way to end a good day.
Local women in tiny row boats, weighed down with every imaginable snack made in China, circling like sharks, shriek, “Choco Pie, Choco Pie, You buy my Choco Pie! Why you no buy my Choco Pie? How much you buy my Choco Pie? I die you no buy my Choco Pie!” We reply “Got any Tim Tams?”
Hiking up a hill on an island with the strangest of local guides - who tried to be a monkey (by climbing trees and our tall swedish companion), a soldier (by repeatedly pretending to ambush and shoot us), and a host (by inviting us back to his house and offering us a toke of his strange smoke and…. Bananas).
Vietnamese men are surprisingly good at Pool – finding professional gloves in an open-air, tiled-floor, one-table pool hall on a forest island in the middle of Halong Bay. They are not, however, very good sports. Swedes are better at Pool than Vietnamese men.
Getting bitten by the world’s smallest dog and needing a course of three rabies shots seems a typical way for John to experience a city.
Uncle Ho's Tomb - closed for renovation.
Crossing from Vietnam into no-man’s-land entailed getting all our bags, crossing multiple train tracks, lining up in the middle of the night, at a counter staffed by two people (to process a train-load full of passengers), and waiting in a cold station.
China
Crossing from no-man’s-land into China entailed getting on one train and having multiple attendants process the train full of passengers from the comfort of our bed-berths. The Chinese rail system is a well-oiled machine, run with military precision, the attendants polite and helpful.
However, even the most organized system in the world cannot overcome Mother Nature. And she was chucking a tantrum when we arrived in Nanning. The worst blizzards to hit China in 70 years were in progress and all through trains (like ours, scheduled to go on to Beijing) were cancelled. Most passengers were stranded in a (not uncomfortable) waiting room, while we were given seats on a short train from Nanning to Guilin and refunded the difference between a 1st class seat and a 2nd class sleeper. We were happy and impressed customers, thanking our lucky stars that the track between Nanning and Guilin wasn’t closed.
Guilin train station was our introduction to rural China. Toilets are one long continuous drain inside a room which you squat over, one leg on either side, trying not to notice the next person’s butt, but sometimes with the luxury of having a partition between you and the person behind / in front of you. This gives another perspective to the term ‘Communist Society’ where you share everything with your neighbour.
Yangshuo is a magical place. Quaint cobbled Chinese streets and houses, tourist shops, musical windpipe touts playing their wares, limestone karsts in the background – snow-capped when we arrived to climb. Thus followed three weeks of rain and freezing conditions, four days of superb climbing high over rice fields and duck ponds, an inter-country Pool tournament with our Swedish friends Adam and Frida and introducing them to the Great Meat Pie at an Aussie pub, meeting some Israelis that we really liked, dvds in-room, heaters, hotel changes, street webcam images home and colds.
Asking for a ‘Snickers’ chocolate bar and getting snake wine… close but no, not really what we wanted - more chocolaty goodness and less serpentine diahorrea please.
During one of Tiff’s colds, John roamed the streets amid the Chinese New Year celebrations. Dragons, fireworks, thunderous crackers, music, smiles, dancing, cymbals, drums – everything that you’ve ever seen in your local Chinatown, but all day and on a much bigger scale!
Eating the best oranges ever, freshly picked off the tree by a local, given generously.
Enjoying really cheap Tsing Tao beer.
Loving the first class treatment in 2nd class sleeper rail from Guilin to Chengdu – private waiting rooms with awesome bathrooms and schmick cabins on the train – all to ourselves!
Immediately upon arriving in Chengdu, we made a mad dash to Leshan – the only town in China fabled to do visa extensions in one day (but not if you’re Israeli – poor Omar!).
Eating dinner in the living room of an old couple – the man was giving English lessons to a private student while the woman cooked us dinner. To get to this ‘restaurant’ you must walk down a back alley to the rear of a darkened building, and walk up a pitch black stairwell to the door of a private home, never quite being sure if you’re in the right place.
Oh my Buddha that’s a big Buddha. While waiting for our visas to be processed, we saw the world’s largest carved Buddha. It’s big.
Our first hostel in Chengdu was boutique, with wooden floors and designer furnishings, however we moved because we were getting toxic fume poisoning from the gas heater.
Sims Cozy guest house is the best hostel on the planet!! They have pigs and rabbits and cute little dogs the best food, WiFi, comfy welcoming lounges to hang out in, water gardens to relax in, and rooms with all the things a long-term traveler wants: room under the bed for bag storage, places to hang your essentials, complementary fruit baskets, TV and DVD player with DVDs to borrow, and instructions on the shower so they don’t get bugged a hundred times a day by people saying “my hot water doesn’t work…”.
Of course, noone can go to Chengdu without seeing the pandas. They are amazingly human-like for all their fur and bear-ness. Facial expressions, sneezes, physical behavior. Except they’re very very big; and bear-like.
To go to Tibet, you must have a permit. You can only get this permit through a Tour agency who says you have a tour guide. If asked, you must produce this for the police in Tibet, however you don’t actually get a copy of your permit as your tour guide is supposed to hold it. This creates an extraordinary circumstance for an independent traveler who ‘has’ a permit, but no guide…
Tourists and locals alike were sleeping at the train station, camping out to get tickets to Lhasa. Due to our strict schedule, we didn’t have three weeks to wait, so we flew. Naughty carbon-producing people!
Tibet
Swerving in and around breath-taking mountain peaks from the airport to Lhasa is amazing. Doing it after taking Diamox (an altitude-sickness preventative which is also a super strong diuretic) with a full bladder, is not.
Tibetan landscapes are desert plains and wild rivers, snow capped mountains and bare dirt piles.
When you drive into Lhasa and see the mighty Potala Palace for the first time, you must allow yourself a few tears, and a prayer for the exiled Dalai Lama and his people.
Waking up and seeing fresh snow on the Potala from your hostel roof beats even the first sight.
John suffered with the altitude when climbing the extra couple of hundred metres up to the top of the Potala. Lucky there was an old local handy to give his bum a helpful push up the stairs.
Standing in the Potala thinking, oh my Buddha I’m in the Potala Palace, and speaking to your father / mother back in Australia from the Potala!!
Prayer flags and prayer wheels. Remote-feeling temples. Walking with pilgrims around old ruined buildings, newly-painted buildings, sacred buildings. Children, monks, elders, beggars, Tibetans in traditional everyday dress. Gnarly old goats standing in your path. Colourful Tibetan inscriptions on boulders on desolate dirt mountainsides. Snow in pockets the sun never sees. Prayer flags EVERYWHERE.
Walking the Jokhang Temple circumnavigation alongside pilgrims in the early dawn, ghosting through thick fogs of lush incense, watching gnarled hands finger prayer beads behind stooped backs.
What paraphernalia is needed to worship these days!: hand paddles, cloth mats, knee pads, headbands - to protect body parts and ensure devotion doesn’t fail when sliding repeatedly along the ground in full prostration.
It’s amazing the places you find Pool tables in this world. In Lhasa, Pool tables line the streets, an indication of the Chinese ‘visitors’, felt missing, pockets in strange places, cues of every shape and size – and curve and bend…
Chinatown in Tibet is really a Chinese town – where they’ve stamped hard to make their presence felt.
Watching monks debate is a magical experience. You don’t understand the language, but the concept is fascinating. By debating their sacred texts, their faith becomes stronger. Stamping and clapping, prayer-beads a-swinging, a theological point is made. Smiles abound.
The air is dry in Tibet, so dry. Breathing is painful because your nostrils are dry. Walking and sleeping with mouth and nose covered to re-breathe your own moisture. Your skin gets windburn and everything cracks. I wouldn’t want to be here during the much harsher winter. Oh, and it would help if the heater in the hostel worked…
Loving every minute we were there.
Back to China
Leaving Tibet we took the uber comfy high altitude train to Xian. Say what you will about the motivations and engineering behind the construction of it, it is an amazing ride across the most stunning barren landscapes that stir both imagination and soul. Pristine frozen rivers and lakes are kept company by lonely yaks.
Then we hit China. Where all the ‘pristine’ had been mined into oblivion, where the iron hammer of industry had covered all in dust. Where anything breath-taking would mean a lung full of smog. A developing country in over-drive.
Arriving in Xian saw us land in a sea of misplaced souls leftover from the transport-stop chaos of the blizzard.
Our free ‘pick up’ from the hostel turned out to be a one woman walking escort. 800 meters and four heavy bags later we arrive, greeted by the stoned Jamaican staff telling us to ‘chill’.
Xian = Terracotta warriors! Wicked. Need we say more?
Overnighter train to Beijing – cheap, fast and luxurious. Not bad for cheap, ‘roughing it’ travelers.
Tianamen Square is as large and epic as we had thought. Lined by thousands of red flags and dotted with iconic communal living, hard working, gun slinging, inspiring statues, comes alive at night with bright lights and shades of colour not seen during the day.
Forbidden Palace – closed for renovation.
Summer Palace – lakeside.
Giant Mao pictures guarded by the ultra disciplined, straight-standing, mega-phone wielding Red Army. Mao is everywhere, they love Mao…or seem to….mmmm.
Mao’s tomb – closed for renovation.
Knowing we were heading into ultra-cold Siberia warranted some bargain-hunting at the famous Silk Markets. Cheap brand rip-offs abound; but you have to know the right price. We did. Haggling a price from US$300 down to US$80 with a bottle of water thrown in, is a long, but eventually rewarding process. We saw a tourist contemplating a pair of wind-proof pants for US$50 that we had just bought for the equivalent of US$5. US$50 is still a good price compared with back home but we tipped him off anyway…
We did a day tour with a Beijing-er we had met on our boat tour in Halong Bay - went to a Tao Temple he’d not seen, ate a mega-meal at a food court he’d not been to, and saw the Olympic buildings in construction from the road island in the middle of a motorway (with lots of other people).
Learning that all the wonderful ‘Chinese’ delicacies from Australia, eg. Yum Cha and bakery goods, don’t exist in China.
After many attempts, an hour wait for a bus to leave, followed by two hours in Beijing traffic, we finally got to see the tourist circus which is The Great Wall at Badaling. A garish plastic toy train to the top of the wall, captive sunbears, shops and derelict stalls set the atmosphere of incredibly tacky tourism – until you walked off the beaten track to the steep sections. Then you were alone to contemplate the approach of imaginary enemies, shoot imaginary arrows off the ramparts, and pass artisans selling their wares. Tiff was a tourist attraction in herself – random Chinese tourists asking to have their photos taken with her…
Unfortunately due to time restrictions we didn’t get to go to any other areas of the Great Wall. Because it was time to go to:
Mongolia
The first snow flurry to test our imitation ‘Canada Goose’ jackets was stepping onto Ulaan Bataar station. We were hot!
Ulaan Bataar is a town of soviet buildings, empty building lots filled with Ger tents (traditional round nomadic felt tents with real wooden doors), icky food and shopping(!?).
Our cosy hostel was one floor of a dodgy-looking cement apartment block with heavy iron doors like those of a bomb shelter. It speaks for the neighbourhood – one of the guests was mugged for his camera as he was putting in the entry code to get into the building.
Visa restrictions meant that we could only do one trip into rural Mongolia - Terelj National Park it was. We had intended to do this independently, but our hostel organized trips that were comparable in price and made the travel a helluva lot easier.
The car dropping us in Terelj was then picking up Adam and Frida – the Swedish friends we’d made in Yangshuo. We’d been basically trailing them all through China, but we’d not been able to coordinate a meeting. We had ten minutes to exchange hugs, stories and plans before they were whisked away to their next destination.
We played in the small patches of snow littering the rolling yellow hills. The next day the ground was covered in snow and we danced in it!
Trying to avoid this possible headline may have kept us alive: “Stupid Australians, inexperienced with snow, die while hiking up a steep snow-covered peak 30mins from their Ger tent.”
The most magical horse ride ever is over yellow hills, down into brown valleys, the ground turned silver by snow in the sunlight.
Five days in a Ger tent, horse-riding everyday, hiking the surrounding hills to your heart’s desire, eating the same food as the caretaker family, marveling at the rock formations: Terelj.
Our grumpy little horseman stoked the pot-belly stove every night with all the wood available. We would need to open the door of the Ger to balance the heat (35 degrees inside, -5 outside), but then he would get grumpier and close the door. By the time we woke in the morning the Ger was freezing and no wood would come til mid-morning. And we were not allowed to stoke the fire ourselves. We took to stealing and stockpiling the supply so he couldn’t put so much in at night, and we could warm ourselves up in the morning.
Happy Mongolian warrior on the side of a juice carton.
When we arrived back in Ulaan Bataar we learned of riots in Tibet. We had friends who were still there and we had left not two weeks before. Thank you guiding spirits.
Saving your pee until 10 minutes before the scheduled toilet-close time is not useful if they close the toilets 10 minutes early. If you then have a six hour stop over with closed toilets and no possibility of leaving the train, you would be like Tiff too: sick with needing to pee and ending up crying in distress. Trying to leave the train to pee was not an option either with the whole Russian Army waiting outside…
Smugglers on the train to the Mongolian border meant that women (including the train hostesses) were wearing five layers of clothing and asking to put things in your bag – and getting very shirty when you refused. They were also very sneaky – putting a plastic bag on your bed as if it was an absent-minded placement, but then disappearing when the Russian border guards came through. Oh, and the bag of ‘tea’ they insist (and by insist we mean covertly unpacking your bag and stashing ‘tea’ in the bottom) you carry, is probably not Lipton’s Yellow Label, so it’s best you strongly refuse.
Russia
You know you’re in Russia when the border guards look like they might kill you with laser beams out of their eyes – or the AK47s in their hands.
You know you’re in Russia when an old man comes into your cabin and forces whiskey shots into you within five minutes of crossing the border, accompanied by cow tongue and cream cheese. Said man also thinks: “Australia good” (thumbs up), “England phht” (thumbs down), much to the offense of our English travelling companion (who was now in the cabin with two drunk Australians and a towering drunk Russian getting physical).
We were headed for the tourist hub of Listvyanka. We found a town, frozen and dead as a Russian winter, on the edge of the world’s deepest lake.
We stayed in a beautiful log chalet, run by a middle-aged Russian lady who looked like she wanted to bite your face off - even as she smiled sweetly dressed in a tiny short-skirted maid outfit that really should only be worn someone 20 years younger and about 30 pounds lighter.
Smoked omul, bread sticks, and champagne on the edge of a frozen lake, watching drunk Russians ‘picnic’ in winter furs.
Sitting down in a dog sled means getting snow, mud, dog poo and dog vomit on your face. Exhilarating ride though – who knew they could run so fast carrying two people!?
Learning to snow mobile in Russia from someone who only spoke Russian, consisted of: *motions with hand to rev the engine as in a motorbike* *motions forward movement*; *motions with hand to brake with hand squeeze as in a bicycle* *motions stopping movement*; *thumbs up with a questioning look on face*; *we thumbs up back, smiling* and off we go…
Frozen lake walks are amazing, slippery, and scary as the moving, gnashing ice thunders three metres below your feet.
Omul and champagne for breakfast.
Walking downhill with 30kgs of bags each is not fun when the road has iced over.
On the train from Irkutsk to Abakan, we shared the cabin with a big jolly fat man who snuffled in his sleep and made the ‘limitless’ weight restrictions on bunk beds look questionable.
Eight hour stopovers in the middle of nowhere, with the engine car detaching from the passenger carriages, is not unusual on Russian Railways.
If a big lady boards the train in the middle of the night, is billeted in your cabin, and then proceeds to stay sitting on your feet on your lower bunk bed (while you’re trying to sleep), she probably just doesn’t know how to get to the top bunk. Maybe you should give her some help…
Greasy men in wife-beater singlets and tracksuit pants with hairy chests, gold chains, gold teeth and wedding rings still pick up the chicks. And then leave the train immaculately attired in business suits.
All men in Russia are called Sergei. Of this we are certain.
Shared taxi from Abakan to Kyzl means shared experiences. Passing through a military checkpoint, the soldiers couldn’t figure out why two Australian tourists (spies maybe?) would want to come to Kyzyl; neither could our travelling companions. When we pulled up at a run-down communist concrete block as our final destination, everyone was nervous for the two Aussies. A pat on the shoulder and a serious “good luck” from the driver summed up all our feelings.
Convincing our travelling companions that we were meeting a friend (Tania, a colleague of Tiff’s from Japan) was not helped by being greeted by her sister, someone we’d never met, who was a round Mongolian-looking woman in a tiny short skirt.
The Communist concrete block got worse as the entrance to the stairwell was a 30cm thick metal door with a huge key – like something from Wolfenstein 3D. The stairwell was dirty and filled with rubbish. The door to the apartment where we were staying (Tania’s brother’s house) was steel as well and more like 50cm thick. But it was cozy inside. We wondered how we would get out if there was a fire. Of course on our last night there was a fire in a basement flat. We got ready to jump out the third floor window if need be.
It helps to have friends in a remote city like Kyzyl. It makes buying onward train tickets and learning how to use the supermarket much easier (you have to ask for everything – it’s all behind different kiosk counters – especially difficult if you don’t speak Russian and the servers can’t follow your pointing finger).
Toora Khem is the tiny home village of Tania, deep in Siberia, closer to Mongolia and Kazakhstan than Moscow. The road to it can only be driven on for about four weeks of the year, between the blizzards and metres of snow in Winter, and the thawing of the ice in Spring. Outside this time, you must go in a Russian Army Helicopter – a daunting thought at the best of times. The helicopter was broken when we needed to travel.
Rural Asian toilets are generally a drop hole reached by a hole in a raised wooden platform. Rural Russian toilets are a cube of concrete to shelter from unwelcome eyes. That’s it. No hole, no platform; just standing on other people’s poo. And in the ladies “toilet”, other women’s bloody sanitary items.
So the 4wd to Toora Khem entailed high mountain passes, snow fields as deep as your waist, driving through blizzards and trying to keep ahead or beside it, crossing a frozen river and hoping every second that the ice didn’t break. 100km in 10 hours. Super-props to the driver! What a wicked ride.
We were the first Aussies in Toora Khem!!
Toora Khem is one of those villages you read about, or see in documentaries – you never think they really exist. All wood, central heating is all metal pipes inside the walls, connected to the central fire place, which is also the stove. You have to go to a central pumping station for water, and they have real ‘banyas’ or bath houses in their yards. The banya is basically a big wooden sauna, cracks stuffed with moss, which they heat up in order to be warm enough to get naked and wash themselves. There is no shower, or running water, but the contraptions invented to give the same effect were amazing. A small central electricity plant gave electricity at night. Wow.
We met Aleksandr Sandanovich (Tania’s dad), Vasilij Duvendeevich (Tania’s Grandad), and Andreevna (Tania’s Grandad’s companion). Andreevna was a real Russian Babushka we thought, though she was from the Ukraine. She cried at seeing us, saying “I used to have heart troubles, but I don’t anymore, because I see your faces, smiling all the time, and it makes me so happy.” We were smiling because of her.
We were fed real Russian fare - Reindeer from the surrounding forest, local fish from the frozen river, peroshki, vegetables grown in their garden, Borsch soup - all from this self-contained little village.
On our last night in Toora Khem there was a fire on the opposite end of the block of six houses that Tania’s granddad lived on. They were very lucky that there was no wind that night, and the fire did not spread. The local fire truck was broken and two people died…
We stayed at Tania’s Aunt’s house while she was in Kyzyl, and met a dog. This dog started off growling and being scared and defensive. Little by little we fed him, and John peed (marking his territory?) and Kupi became our friend. We gave him lots of hugs and cuddles and when we left, he made a mark in our memories so strong we can never forget it. He put his paw and his muzzle through the lock hole in the gate, and whimpered. The most heart wrenching good-bye of all.
Then came the 4wd trip out. After the blizzard, the roads were waist-deep in snow and indiscernible from the surrounding countryside. We marveled at the winter wonderland, so foreign to us, but were harshly reminded by the severity of such conditions by seeing multiple troop-carrying trucks bogged in the snow and frozen mud. We found out that they had been carrying families, and had been out in the freezing conditions overnight. Our little 4wd took two kids to the nearest shelter to await their parents and retrieved transport.
We hot-footed it from Kyzyl to Abakan, always mindful of possible delays en route, and arrived four hours early for our three-day train to Moscow. Waiting at the station we thought we’d been transported back in time to the 50s and 80s. Fur coats and colourful hats, mullets and ‘punk fashion’.
Our chant as we entered our cabin was: “Quiet, clean, friendly, non-stinky people; quiet, clean, friendly, non-stinky people.” – our wish for cabin-companions. The universe obviously didn’t hear the “non” to our “stinky” part, as we got a man with rancid B.O. and a bandaged up wound which stank to high heaven. He also had a daughter who was rambunctious, though fell asleep on Tiff’s lap as she was reading ‘War and Peace’ out loud to her (in English). But then, War and Peace would make anyone fall asleep.
As a last desperate measure, John used his deodorant in plain sight of stinky man, and, under the pretense of being ‘friendly and courteous’ offered it to him to use. He respectfully refused, but when we insisted, forcefully, he seemed very unsure of what to do with it; squirting a tiny puff (that wouldn’t even have dusted his aura) to the outside of his shirt under each arm. Perhaps he was afraid of the ‘Lynx Effect’?
Then came Moscow. Ahh, Moscow madness. Hundreds of people – vagabonds, tourists, touts, policemen, fashionistas, businessmen, and two Aussies with giant back packs.
The Moscow subway escalators seem to take you to hell. The sunshine stops at the threshold and the dim olde-worlde lanterns light the grim faces of those come up from the underworld. The gothic architecture is beautiful, though depressing. The most surprising thing about the subway in Moscow was the politeness of the passengers. In subways the world over, people push and shove to board, disembark and fit on the trains. Here we saw people giving way, moving for others, giving up seats two stops early and generally being courteous. What a contrast to the world upstairs!
Russians generally seemed to be either drunk, getting drunk or hungover; picking a fight, in a fight, or beat up after one. This is a generalisation of course.
Russian women are the most beautiful in the world. This is also a generalisation, of course.
In Moscow we found our most expensive hostel to date. It was one floor of a larger hotel. The hotel staff wouldn’t let us check in. There was no staff at the hostel. When they did arrive, we couldn’t check in despite our reservation as we were only two in a room for four. On the advice of the hostel staff we awaited the arrival of our third room-mate ‘Tony’. He was from Melbourne, but didn’t end up showing. Funny that. Oh, and the women who ‘attend’ to guests on each floor are total bitches. This is not a generalisation.
What an amazing place the Red Square is. It contains of course, the Kremlin, which contains many cool buildings with lots of paintings of sorrowful women with halos around their heads; and outside the Kremlin are other cool buildings, such as St Peter’s Basilica. Or was it Saint Stephen, or Saint Basil? Maybe it was even Saint Sergei, or St Tony from Melbourne. Very cool though.
Lenin’s tomb – closed for renovation.
We were so keen to get out of Moscow we arrived at the train station eight hours early. We wiled away the time reading (Tiff was still trying to finish ‘War and Peace’), sleeping (and sharing the benches with homeless men who masturbated while they slept), and trying to make the matrons and their extensive broods realize that we could not sit with our massive backpacks on our laps.
The Super overnight train to St Petersburg was the best ever. Tastefully decked out, carpeted, even the pillow slips and doona covers smelt new. The toilets were clean and plush and were open all the time. It was a pity we slept the whole way of the 12 midnight to 7am train.
Entering St Petersburg, the people of Russia went from angry and hostile to angrier and more hostile.
The architecture was beautiful, and frenchly-gothic, and we would forever after look at architecture in Europe and say, “Hey! That reminds me of St Petersburg!” Clearly what the Russian bourgeoisie and their French obsession had intended to achieve. Bastards.
We saw a cannon fire upon the ramparts of St Peter and Paul’s Fort, and planned an attack upon St Petersburg.
We had a crepe restaurant dinner with Tania and husband before they left to return to Japan. What an experience!
Our hostel customer service was less than ‘below average’. Tiff slayed the manager with words over the prices listed and quoted on the website upon which our reservation was based. John stole eggs from the other places set at the breakfast table by the breakfast nazi – who provided us with old cheese, off eggs, stale bread and cereal.
We also spoke to some English travellers at the breakfast table who had had an awesome experience with Russian people. And then they said that they were much friendlier and helpful than the English customer service people. Wow! We thought, the English must be beasts with pitchforks and horns.
The breakfast table being the centre of all gossip, we heard the night escapades of a fellow traveler who was beaten and robbed (and had a broken nose to prove it). He had however, been drunk and looking to score weed.
We were never out after dark.
Although we appreciated the experience of Russia, we were happy to leave. We had a flight to London with a two hour stopover in Copenhagen, upon which we had our first luggage mishaps. As we checked the luggage we were told that our ‘AV’ (audio-visual) bag was too heavy. In fact it had in it all the things you must take on board and cannot check (e.g. camera, laptop etc.). We had to check our other carry-on bag with other inexpensive valuables. This bag we then saw toppling 10m from the top of the steep loading conveyor belt in the transition between the St Petersburg to Copenhagen plane and the Copenhagen to London plane.
England
The newspaper on the plane on the way to London showed us a beach in Cornwall April 6 2008 as sunny and hot; it then showed the same beach in Cornwall April 6 2009 (the day before) as snowy and freezing. The sun was shining as the plane touched down…
The Rest
Throughout our journey there are the little episodes that travellers take for granted; the little things that keep you on your toes and make everything unpredictable. So much so that you expect nothing to go as planned as the norm: hotel bookings you’ve made but have never been written in the hotel’s records, taxi drivers who ‘don’t have change’ or take the long route to your destination, ticket offices that are not open to foreigners, or just not on the day you need it to be... And then there are the small moments that touch your heart: a local who goes out of their way to help you, the taxi driver who accidentally takes the wrong turn and gets lost but then gives you a discount, the sun shining silver on snow, or making up news headlines that begin “Two Stupid Aussie Tourists…” and nervously laughing and hoping it won’t come true.
We’ve learnt a lot – like we have waaaay too much in our backpacks, that sometimes taking a tour with other people is not the worst way to experience something, and little dogs can bite very hard – and will continue to learn. Always. Forever and ever. Amen.
Tiff and John on Life in Japan For the first time since we had left Australia in February 2006, we had settled down and were living an ordinary life with routines and obligations and monotony and work; in Japan. It feels weird to say that, because life had taken on a normality which you wouldn’t think would exist in a country so different from your own. But once you know a few choice phrases, can navigate the train stations efficiently, and know where to buy your groceries, life settles into the mundanity that only travellers can escape. Therefore, we are writing today as anecdotes. Unlinked and non-temporal. Only related through their existence in our lives in Japan.
Tiff and John on Cities in Japan For all you people back home, imagine the Brisbane CBD is expanded to include Kelvin Grove, Bowen Hills, Milton, West End and South Brisbane. Then imagine that there is another CBD at Ashgrove, one at Breakfast Creek Wharf, one at Auchenflower and one at Annerley. The highrises are neverending in every direction, and are interspersed with surburban areas which have buildings averaging 2-7 levels in height. And then add 12million people with the aroma of sake and fish all heading in the same direction at 9am. Subtract oral hygiene, subtract common sense, subtract physical awareness and the ability to walk in a straight line. This is Tokyo.
Our home: Nakano City, Tokyo, Japan Number of Households: 174,021(Japanese) / 7,421(non-Japanese) (As of December 1, 2007) Population: 310,406people (Japanese 299,387 male 149,954 female 149,433 / non-Japanese 11,019 male 5,223 female 5,796) (As of December 1, 2007) Area: 15.59 km2 Population density: 19,910 people per km2(As of December 1, 2007) Geography: Nakano City ranks 14th in area and makes up approximately 2.63% of Tokyo's 23 wards. The city is situated from 20 to 50 meters above sea level in Western Tokyo, has five rivers running through it and there are five plateaus. Nakano City has a relatively high population of people in their twenties, such as students and single individuals. Industry
As Nakano City has developed primarily as a residential area, there are relatively few business interests in the city. Those that do exist are predominantly in tertiary industries such as commerce and service. Recently, by the influence of population concentration into the neighboring Shinjuku area, the expansion of private enterprises has increased in Nakano City. http://www.city.tokyo-nakano.lg.jp/English/outline-e1.html
Tiff and John on Erections in Japan
There have been a lot of local government erections being run around Tokyo. Do you want to run for local member? How to run in an erection in Japan: 1) Be so old you look senile or so young you look like you’re still in high school. 2) Get a compact white van and three friends – one who can drive and one who owns a loudspeaker and a microphone that you can strap to your van roof; alternatively find a street corner and prop your flag, megaphone, friends and billboard up there. 3) All of you dress up in fluoro orange or fluoro green raincoats (even though you’re in a van and it’s not raining). 4) Get white gloves. Put them on. 5) Yell ‘Ohayo Gozaimas’ (Good Morning) at the top of your lungs into the microphone and have all your friends smile and wave their white gloved hands at the empty streets, closed shop roller doors and vending machines (except for the driver, he has to look serious). 6) Hand out fliers that have the exact same policies on them as every other candidate. 7) When you actually see a person, make eye contact and smile your Jedi smile until they smile and wave back like a manic maniac. And wave their dogs’ paws at you. 8) Circle or stand on the same streets for 18 hours a day and do the same thing tomorrow.
Tiff and John on Fashion in Japan Tokyo, being one of the fashion capitals of the world is obviously well known for its groundbreaking trends. Fashion in a nutshell: too much makeup (or “make”, as they call it here), too much hairspray, the hair looks too much like the Nanny named Fran or a Lion’s mane, the Louis Vuitton handbags are too gaudy, the shoes too pointy, the heels too high, the jeans too tight, the jackets too furry, they spend too much time looking in the mirror and adjusting already strategically positioned wisps of hair – and that’s just the men. But what would we know? We’re just two dags from a big country town down under... But in an ironic twist, flannel is more popular here than in Australia. Who would have thought? Oh, and Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars with heels DO NOT WORK, and even other Japanese people think it’s rude to use a lighter to heat your eyelash curler and use it on the train! Tiff and John on Television in Japan Japanese television is a sight to be seen (literally). If you judged the whole population of Japan on these shows, you would think that Japanese people like getting naked (true, though only in hot springs), they cry ALOT, and they often slap each other on the head disrespectfully. In reality, only Shibuya girls show much flesh (and then there’s not midriffs or shoulders – only legs and cleavage), nobody shows ANY emotion, and even looking at someone else is considered an invasion of personal space. The Japanese have a penchant for wacky game shows on ultra high budgets where the contestants perform outrageous stunts and challenges. See YouTube “Human Tetris” for an example; also, “Ninja Warrior”. Their love of TV challenges has spilled over into the commercial sector, creating a theme park (Muscle Park) where the general public can try out Ninja Warrior obstacles (Arm Bike, Criffhanger, Sarmon Radder and Pipe Srider). We had a go and we are now official “Ninja Warriors”.
Tiff and John in Pursuit of the Horizon in Japan Since arriving in Japan, we had been searching for a spot to see the end of the buildings. In pursuit of the horizon, we visited Odaiba, the manmade island built on refuse and waste in Tokyo bay, but only saw docks. We did however, catch a subjectively 2cm glimpse of flatness where only boats rose above the sightline.
A few weeks later we went to Kamakura, a ‘beach’ side town at the bottom end of Tokyo bay. Famous for its temples and 13m high Buddha statue, we visited on a beautifully clear day and saw the ocean, flat at the end of our vision. Wading in the shallows of chilly water, walking joyfully through forest (marked by plastic ‘wood’ posts), bathing in the sunlight under high blue skies.
Tiff and John on Cherry Blossoms in Japan An excerpt from John’s private ramblings: “Today I just felt like walking. There was the sun, its warmth I have not felt for days, its light I have not touched for weeks; at least it feels that way. I live underground now, in the subways, in the basements, in a small loft, always underground; at least it feels that way. Sometimes I forget that there is a sky; I’m sure it’s blue; I remember it being blue, somewhere, somewhere the sky is blue for those who look, for those who live above the ground; there are days where I say that. I am always surprised when I see the sky and the sun. They don’t really belong in my life at the moment.
I walked under the cherry blossoms. I walked for miles under the cherry blossom trees, pink sky above me, soft petals falling like snow, blankets of petals under foot. I would like to think that the air was sweeter, more fragrant, but I’m not sure it was. Crowds, long strings of passersby, all walking with smiles on their faces, petals on their shoulders. Angel kisses as the petals fall past your cheeks. The young being pushed in prams, the really old in wheelchairs. The prams catch the most petals – little babes sleeping in cherry dreams of what is to come, this is their first blossom season; as do the laps of the old, trundled along gently, dreaming blearily of what has been, how many more seasons for them? Such a vision of life as each passes the other. Everyone was out to enjoy the atmosphere. I had no direction to walk, I had enough direction during the week, I just followed the trees, keeping the pink canopy above me, the crowds around me. I took nothing with me, no camera, no bag, no jacket – it was too warm, no phone. Nothing; save memories. Memories of the other roads, paths, trails, walking on sand dunes in the desert, walking on sand on the beach, walking in snow.... all the places I’ve walked. All the things I’ve walked through, all the things I’ve walked away from, even the things I’ve walked away from at home. All these memories I carried with me as I walked. All these memories taking on a slightly pinkish hue, all the pain softened by the quiet pink fluttering.
And then when there was nowhere else to walk and there seemed like nothing else to do; under a cherry blossom tree I sat down and wept.”
Hanami is the celebration of Cherry Blossoms. Parks are filled with people and food stalls at night, and rubbish and office Juniors minding their boss’ nightspots during the day. For a full two weeks they lasted, then disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. Truly ephemeral. Worthy of a Haiku.
Tiff and John on Work Ethics in Japan If you’re tired work; if you’re hung-over, work; if you’re drunk, work; if you’re sick, work; if you’re dying, work; if you’re dead, make sure you’ve finished your work first.
You are NEVER allowed to leave the office before your boss. Not even if you’ve finished your work.
Firemen practise synchronised hose-unravelling techniques in the middle of a street, late at night.
Construction workers participate in warm-up exercises before work starts everyday. Interestingly none of them are overweight with beer guts spilling out of their singlets, or have butt cracks visible.
Train Station Attendants partake in a highly choreographed set of hand movements, some performed with a gusto and flamboyance which has the (perhaps intended) effect of making the job seem very important. The drivers also seem to talk to themselves.
We have learnt many things from our students – yes, teaching English really does give you an insight into culture – one of which is that, although almost every Japanese person goes to university, rarely does their major define their subsequent job. MBA graduate = McDonald’s Burger Attendant; Physics Major = Public Servant; English Major = Office Lady; Law Degree = Generic Salaryman.
John and Tiff on Teaching English in Japan Teaching has been an interesting experience. John has revealed himself as having a flamboyant, performative teaching style which is a hit with the students. Tiffany’s teaching popularity relies upon her light-coloured hair and dazzling smile. Even so, within three months, we had both declared ourselves ‘over’ this job. The material just repeats itself, and when you are teaching the same content for three 80 minute lessons in a row, the boredom and de-motivation sets in. So it is essential that you see the humorous side.
Classes varied from one-on-ones with housewives, students and businessmen, to 30 five-year-olds in outservice at private kindergardens; and all degrees in between. The most common class was single students or groups of two or three. John taught only adults, and Tiff taught the whole gamut.
Some students are great. You click and the lessons become chats with new friends (with correction of course). But some students make teaching an absolute chore. Grumpy, hungover (frequently), refusing to repeat corrections (do they actually want to learn English?), back talk, smack talk, chat talk, complete gibberish – we heard it all. Some students draw out the most patient, understanding, educational, nurturing side of us, where we strove to facilitate the students’ development. Other students drew out the downright, impatient, nasty troll in all of us. But such is life.
You hear and see some bizarre things in the classroom. For example, “Scratch and Sniff lady” who would (in between questions and thinking of answers) take off her shoes, scratch her feet and smell her fingers. There’s really no delicate way to put it.
Some common English and pronunciation faux pas: *A student, answering the question, “Have you done your homework?”, responded with: “Yes, I know him.” *Teacher: “What did you do this morning?”, Student: “I waked up this morning, I shit in the corner and I eat my husband for breakfast.” *Teacher: “Hello, how are you?”, Student: “How are you?”, Teacher: “No, no, no, how...are...YOU?”, Student: “How...are...you?”, Teacher: “Polly wants a cracker.”, Student: “Porry want clacker.”, Teacher: “Great! 35 minutes left.” (John during one of his finer impatient moments). *Teacher: “Today we will talk about schedules. Do you know the word ‘schedule’?”, Student: “Ahhhh, yes. I know ‘schedule’. Schedule... schedule?”, Teacher: “You don’t know the word ‘schedule’, do you?”, Student: “Noooo.”
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Thank God it’s over. Oh, and after listening to the same mistakes over and over again, our English went downhill. Words started to escape us, tenses became muddled. And who knows what a gerund is anyway?!?!?!?!
John and Tiff on Health in Japan Tiff got sick a lot. Sometimes for six weeks at a time. Lost her voice three times (beating her record of once ever in the rest of her life) and still had to teach. She told her students that they had to do all the talking that lesson...
The air was dirty and it filled pores.
John got a kidney/urinary tract infection and had to go to hospital at 4am one morning after peeing blood. The first hospital wouldn’t admit him because they didn’t have a urologist on staff at that time of day. The next hospital admitted him and asked: Doctor: “So, what’s the problem?” John: “I have blood in my urine.” Doctor: “Oh, OK.” John (sensing with his highly tuned teacher-sense that the doctor didn’t quite understand): “I...have...lots...of...blood...in...my...urine.” Doctor: “OK I see. So, do you have a temperature?” John: “Yes.” Doctor: “And what colour is your urine?” John: “...um...red.” Doctor (sudden realisation): “OHHHHH! Sample please.” Though he was more concerned when he saw John’s tattoo and pierced nipple (one of the signs of the Yakuza – the ‘mob’ - in Japan).
Tiff and John on Moments in Japan Tiffany was asked to teach Kids’ Outservice on irregular Tuesdays and Fridays. This entailed shouting, jumping, running, singing and, of course, speaking English, with 30 five-year-old Japanese kids. By the end of the year, when she approached the school, they would run along the fence line screaming “Hello Tiffany Sensei!!!”
Travelling 1.5hrs on Fridays gave Tiff a lot of meditation time. And nice moments. One time she was sitting on a train at a stop where apparently a whole primary school was sitting on the platform. She caught the eye of one of the kids, and they smiled at each other and waved. Like a ripple through the crowd of kids, by the time the train pulled away, she was waving to the whole platform... Another time, an old lady sitting next to her started chatting to her (in English), and was so kind as to tuck in her clothes tag as she was leaving the train.
On one of the seemingly endless commutes to work on the crowded subway, John was dreaming of the future. Yearning to travel again, to move. Looking around, the present seemed so far from the adventures of 2006. And then, an ad. A picture of a boy, smiling against the red dirt of Africa. Over the coming months, seeing the picture rushing past on the way to the office, it sustained him and reassured him that he will again be out in the world, seeing these sights.
Tiff and John on Appearances in Japan Tiffany must also have an approachable air. Middle-aged women have randomly walked up and told her she’s beautiful, that she has lovely legs, that her face is ‘kawaii’ (cute); and many men have simply walked up and asked her “What about Japan?”. Apparently they want a free Engrish lesson.
John on the other hand, has an “exotic” face; he should never have taught his students about euphemisms.
Tiff and John on Parks in Japan Throughout the course of our time here in Japan, we have searched for, discovered and enjoyed many parks. Many close to our home, one with a bouldering wall, several with dog off-leash areas (which we have used to satisfy our puppy-longing), and the best ones with grass. Lots and lots of green grass. Pockets of grass. The best was definitely Shinjuku Gyoen with a French themed avenue lined with Sycamores. The most versatile was Heiwanomori near our house – great with a measured running track and the site of rough-housing soccer and picnics in the sun.
Tiff and John on Seasons in Japan Spring is superb. Cherry Blossoms falling, green leaves coming and a crispness in the air.
Summer sucks. Scorching heat outside, drenching sweat under choking tie and jacket; then freezing your nipples off in the subway air-con.
Autumn is awesome. The colours are mindblowing. Who knew leaves on Earth could be red and purple?
Winter is wacky. Scorching heat inside the subway, drenching sweat under choking tie and jacket; then freezing your nipples off outside.
The seasons in Japan rock.
Tiff and John on Friends in Japan At work, all our co-workers spoke English, and we were only allowed to speak English in the classroom (and all the train information is in English), therefore the need to learn Japanese was minimal. Many Japanese people wanted to practice their English with us, even when we wanted to speak Japanese with them. And we had started a language exchange earlier in the year, but with all English-speaking friends, the need became even less:
Aaron and Floss, an Aussie couple living in the same apartment block as us, gave up Japan about the time we were getting fed up with work. We went to a very atmospheric restaurant, practiced our Australian-accent Japanese on Aaron (who was very accomplished). He laughed at us. He couldn’t understand our English or our Japanese. We also played some very Japanese electronic darts. Long live sound effects!
Dana, a uni friend of Tiff’s living in Japan, took us out to dinner at a Japanese ‘pub’ (very popular drinking / small meal establishments) and then to karaoke. You’d think the national sport would be a little cheaper!?!?! Very fun though, not at all like Western karaoke where you stand up in front of a room full of strangers. A private little room with thousands of Japanese and Western songs, VERY loud music and two radio mikes so you can dance around as well. Apparently there are themed rooms too.
A Czech climbing girl, Val, was a lot of fun, both on and off the wall. She even taught us how to give the two Aussies Guiness on the house without getting caught.
Shuji and Hiroko were two people we wish we had more time to get to know. We’ve made them promise to come and meet us in Fontainebleu for bouldering this year. Shuji Sensei was John’s strong boulder master (he called John his power master), and Hiroko was one of that rare species of ‘strong female climbers’.
At the year-end breakup of J&S, there was Sake flowing and Japanese snacks abundant. The feeling of inclusion, regardless of language barrier, was so strong. We taught the locals the Australian climbing/drinking games, and they showed us how to keep the Sake down.
Belinda (climbing buddy), and her newly-acquired ‘mate’ Patrick, also showed us how to drink the Sake at our end-of-year/going away dinner together, if not how to keep it down. We tried every range of Sake from -10 to +10 (hard and strong to sweet and soft).
Being in Tokyo, Tiff just HAD to go out clubbing at least once. So, one cold Autumn night, she and friends from work, Kanna, Nicky, Tati and student friends Izumi and Yuka, and of course the lonesome male John, trawled Shibuya for an open club. Yes, we had trouble finding a club that was open and not playing reggae! We found one that satisfied all attendants taste, and had Spiderman playing on the screen for non-dancing John to watch, and stayed out past the last train at 00:30 and even missed the first train at 4:30. Ahhh, what a night!
Wendy was John’s work buddy. Partner in Berlitz crime and fellow Aussie sense of humour person. Ahh, they tore it up. Disgusted other teachers with their low brow, down-to-earth, self-deprecating, others-deprecating jokes.
Tony (Tiff’s dad) and his partner Jennie came to visit us in September. It was happy and sad altogether. We had seen them little more than six months previously so it was a bit strange having that familiarity with us in the new Tokyo ‘home’. Their apartment was bigger than ours (our whole apartment could have fit in their bedroom), and we set off fireworks in the park (only to be ushered out by an extremely polite and humble community watchman).
Towards the end of our stay in Japan we went on our down south tour. Christmas Day was spent in the company of Dan and Lit from back home, in Kyoto. We did what everyone else does in Kyoto, and what we had been doing ourselves for the previous week or so – sightseeing around beautiful temples. But at least we did it in the company of valued and time-tested friends. The bastards then got to go skiing in the beautiful Japan Alps, so we’re a little bitter still!
Tiff and John on Getting in Shape in Japan After John’s accident, we both had a kind of enforced break from physical activity. On March 9, six months to the day, John went for his first run. From there on in, it became a quest to get in shape. Thanks to information from a student, we found a community gym which cost only 210yen (AUD$2.10) per session. We found a climbing gym. We went for runs around our neighbourhood (partially successful – small streets and lots of all sorts of traffic are not conducive to continuous running). Along the road to fitness and huge muscles, John did a record 30 chinups in a row and Tiff did 20 – YAY!
Tiff and John on Climbing in Japan Keen to climb, Tiff teed up with an American girl through the classifieds of the weekly gaijin (foreigner) magazine. They climbed once a week together until John could no longer stand hearing all about it and decided to try out his back in a harness. It was strange to be back after a year, but the technical stuff was never lost. The climbing strength came back gradually. Tiff also met a Czech girl who then took us to a wicked outdoor crag with her boyfriend (the trip included 3 hours of getting lost and lots of “Futagoyama wa doko des ka?”). All of the climbing gyms have excellent bouldering facilities, and there are a number of bouldering-only gyms that put the climbing walls to shame. And there was even one steep artificial boulder in a park, free use, with no graffiti – amazing!
At the beginning of October while walking through our local arcade, we saw, out of the corner of our eyes, climbing holds! Through many gestures and broken Japanese/English we found that it was a new bouldering gym (J&S), which thereafter became our ‘local’. The two managers – Jack and Shuji – are legends. We found that although we didn’t need a common language, this was the first time that we had wanted to be able to communicate in Japanese beyond “Fukuro wa irimasen.” (I don’t need a bag).
It was at this very gym where at the end of a long session that the locals were doing one arm chinup and lock off attempts off a free-hanging Metolius Rock Ring off a double screw-on hold. They beckoned eagerly for John to come and try, because he has ‘Sugoi’ guns. Tiff told him not to because he was very tired. John did anyway. Halfway up his second one arm chinup, the screws holding the hold in place ripped out off the wall and the Rock Ring (compelled by the impetus of gravity, and the full body weight power and force of his ‘sugoi’ guns) smacked John in the mouth. His lip split, swelled up and went purple. This made teaching amusing. We thought he had cracked a tooth, but fortunately this turned out to be an existing condition.
Jack, a founder of the climbing scene in Japan, took us to a bouldering area that he was newly developing. It was autumn and cold and colourful and brilliant. Mizugaki. Then he took us to an ‘onsen’, Japanese hot spring, where yes, John had to get naked in front of other men and Tiff saw many middle-aged boobs and bums.
We also went to the Climbing World Cup round held in Mizo. Very inspiring stuff. We met up with an Aussie girl who used to compete against Tiff, although we arrived too late and didn’t get to see her climb. We were very proud of the fact that in our comps in Queensland, we had done most features of the competition (announcements, videofeed, results projections, competitor marshalling etc.) at the same standard of those at this World-level event.
On January 1, 2008, we went bouldering at Mitake, a series of boulders beside the rushing waters of a river, with Shuji and Hiroko. We sent ‘The Ninja’ (V5), apparently the defining route of climbers in Japan – you are not a real climber til you’ve sent it. So, John onsighted it and spent the rest of the 4 to 0 degrees celcius day working V7s, and Tiff spent the whole time working it and sent it on the last attempt of the day.
Finally, before we left Japan, Jack took some pictures of us which he included in the monthly technique article he writes for Japan RocknSnow. Ironic huh? We never make it into the Australian climbing mags, but less than a year and no understanding of the native language, and we do in Japan. (We think that the Japanese below John’s picture says “This is not the way to do the move.”)
Tiff and John on “Climbing” Mt Fuji in Japan (where else?) Early in the Fuji season, we became pilgrims to the holy peak of Fuji, two hours south of Tokyo. We left our hotel at the bottom of the mountain, on foot, at 7am. We picked up supplies at the local 711 and walked into the official start of the Mt Fuji area, the huge shrine ‘Sengen Jinja’ around 8am, through a lined gravel path and ethereal fog.
The first section was completely green and forested. Dew settled on our clothes and the silence was thick. Until super-psycho-fit trail runners passed our turtle-slow butts.
Mid-afternoon we emerged from the forest onto a red scree path. We heard voices but could not see the bodies they belonged to. Like ghosts the dark shapes through the thick fog slowly made visible human forms, and we met the masses. We were at 6th station, where the majority of people doing the Fuji Summit start the walk from. We now joined the lines of people stepping foot over foot on the red dirt switchbacks, wide enough for a truck. Cow bells on wooden walking sticks scaring the ‘bears’ away. Chatter of people resting. Walk two switchbacks. Rest. Walk two switchbacks. Rest. Eventually we reach 7th station.
We rested beside an open fire-pit, kept aflame to heat the branding irons. No, not for livestock (although sometimes the masses of people walking had that air about them), but for branding wooden souvenir walking sticks. Done at each station up the mountain, the branders were amazed to see our stamp from the very first station (‘Sengen Jinja’). This became a tale for other visitors (in Japanese): ‘These two gaijin started walking from first station. Crazy!’. The comforting smell of the wood branding burning accompanied our four hours sleep in a 10 person wide double bunk bed.
We departed at midnight and feeling good, hiked toward the summit. Suffering from mild altitude sickness at 9th station (and not willing to use the oxygen canisters so readily available and being consumed), we slowed down and realising we weren’t going to make the summit for sunrise, stopped for an hour to see the breaking of the dawn. We battled on and reaching the peak, were met with hoards of people. We never did find the summit as it was covered with Shrines, a post office, vending machines, souvenir stalls and restaurants. Feeling like curling into a little ball, vomiting and never getting up again, we decided we should probably descend pretty quickly. Exhausted but happy we rocked into the bus station at 5th, and slept for an hour on the way back into town.
Magic moments on Fuji: *The fairy light trail of head torches winding their way up the night mountainside to the summit. *Bizarrely finding ourselves completely alone in the pre-dawn above-cloud twilight, turning off our headlamps and seeing more stars than we thought ever existed. *Having a whole 10 person bunk bed to ourselves. *The united roar of ecstasy from the thousands on the mountain when the sun peeked over the cloudline in the dawn. *Using the robotic, high-tech, self-cleaning, self-kitty-littering, self-disposing porta-loos.
Un-magic moments on Fuji: *Those damn bells! *Being passed by a truck going up when you’re walking down. Why bother walking up when you can get a lift?
Tiff and John on Culture in Japan Really, where do we start? How can we possibly sum up all the wonderful cultural experiences we’ve had in Japan, when already we’ve droned on for long enough?
Temples – Buddhist, Shrines – Shinto. They’re everywhere and they rock. They are in every suburb on every corner and they are tranquil havens in hectic Tokyo. The atmosphere is ancient, the people are modern, the festivals are big and crazy and loud. The incense is unique, the statues are exquisite, the traditions genuine.
New Year’s is a huge celebration marked by visits to the local religious corner, fire, 108 bell rings, rung by 108 people, signifying the 108 sins of humanity, sake, mochi, fortune notes, burnt offerings and lots and lots of people.
Tsukiji Fish Market is a wondrous place. Filled with miraculous fishies of the deep and other non-fishy creatures... of the deep. You can find Nemo, meet Moby, sing with Sebastian, and maybe even have a little mermaid. It has the freshest sashimi in the world and the craziest fish-moving-buggy drivers.
Nikko, well, it starts with a story of a monk in the mountains... I’ll tell you another time. It’s beautiful. In summer it’s green, wet and mossy, with idyllically stereotypical ancient shrines lost in the mist. In autumn it’s famous for vibrant red leaves and horseback archery (that’s real zen for ya - frickin AMAZING!!!). Witnessing taiko (Japanese drums) and hearing the tolling of the shrine bell echoing through the old growth forests, transports you hundreds of years from fast-paced modern Tokyo.
Sumo... the big sport for big boys. Though few Japanese actually go to the Sumo Stadium to watch the bouts, it is an experience to remember. The keening wail of the ‘herald’, the slapping and stomping, the strictly behaved umpires and the fastidious decoration really are the products of an older time. We spent the day feeling thin. The elite first class seats that people pay a packet for were only a few odd cushions placed strategically (dangerously?) close to the ring. Kabuki, the theatre form for commoners, was an enjoyable experience. Comedic, colourful, elaborate (plots and sets), and of course with the mandatory moral at the end.
Noh, the theatre form for the upper class, was more like music accompanied by some people being statues and speaking loudly and monotonously. Half the audience were snoring, and most left at the end of the first act – after three hours!
Butoh, the post-war reactive theatre form, although an amazing exhibition of the human body and its capabilities, seemed like a very pretentious drama improvisation class. No Japanese person that Tiff asked had ever heard of it, yet she had studied it at university in Brisbane, Australia.
Hakone, the weekend getaway for visitors to Tokyo, was incredible. We (and Tony) did a circuit which included a funicular ride, train ride, cable car ride and pirate ship ride. En route we visited an outdoor sculpture museum (with lots and lots of green grass!!!! And some good sculptures...), a sulphur outlet in a dormant volcano where eggs are boiled to black in the sulphur pits (said to add seven years to your life, we are living an extra 14), and a big wide view from the top of a stained glass window tower.
Miyajima, a tiny island near Hiroshima, is a Japanese slice of heaven. The deer run freely, the oysters are served hot and boiled in their own juices, the Torii stand glowing emergent from the holy waters of the bay, and the people laugh and smile and walk happily. We were happy here.
The eeriness of tragedy pervades everything about Hiroshima around the A-Bomb dome. Pictures can never prepare you for the impact of seeing with your own eyes. The museums divest a sense of helplessness. The individuals’ stories drive home the personality of the event. The plaques commemorating all the letters the mayors of Hiroshima have written to world-leaders urging them against using atomic bombs are touching but disheartening. How many leaders do you think have listened?
Kyoto, with its abundance of shrines and temples, is the closest you can come to experiencing ancient Japan in the modern age. There are religious places to suit all tastes. Middle Ages, Ancient and Modern, foresty, city-based and everywhere in between. You can walk kilometres through Torii in the trees, or walk into a golden tatami-ed worship room next to a noodle shop. You can go to Starbuck’s and then walk on wooden stilted buildings which creak and sway with the life of the hillside. A real antidote to Tokyo, with modern comforts and traditional charm.
We made a day journey to a mountain temple specifically for one reason. Karmic Cleansing. Renowned for its' clay 'karma' disks, the temple is situated above a river gorge. You buy a standard three disks and try to throw them as far as you can. They are said to dispel bad karma. John bought 30. Let's hope it works...
John and Tiff on Occasions in Japan Our seven year anniversary was spent dressed to the nines at the OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE – a supposedly Aussie chain, run by Americans, and serving American food.
Tiff’s birthday was celebrated, also with food, by buying a pizza. Yes, this was a special occasion, considering it’s about AUD$30 for a large pizza from Domino’s in Tokyo.
John got a public holiday for his birthday. We went bouldering at B-Pump.
The Australian election was an occasion we had had to fight for. Before leaving Australia, we had unenrolled so we didn’t have to vote while travelling. When we heard there was a federal election, we battled bureaucratic red tape to re-enrol in time to help Kevin ‘07. It was of course our votes that tipped the scales. And the visit to the Australian Embassy made us very nostalgic, not least because of the broad accents of the staff.
Christmas was a very special occasion for us, as our Australian-Thai friends Dan and Lit visited us in Kyoto for the day. We walked lots, saw shrines and ate Okonomiyaki at ‘Mr Young Men’. But the real spirit of Christmas comes with the ones you love. It was a blessing to have familiar faces to smile and laugh with on Christmas Day 2007.
But possibly the best occasion worth celebrating, was our first bed since home. Hotels tend to use futons on the ground, and that’s what we had in our apartment. Thin, lumpy pieces of crap on the floor; one year of this. This is modern Japan?!?!?! And you pay extra to have this ‘cultural experience’ in high end hotels. We took the cheap option in Hiroshima and got stellar beds – whole metres off the ground!!! A real bed!!!! There definitely were tears of joy.
John and Tiff on Neighbours in Japan No wonder the Japanese people are so quiet and emotionally repressed. It’s because the walls are so paper-thin that everyone can hear everything happening in every house around them. When your neighbour is a hip-hop-gangsta-rapper-wannabe, who isn’t quiet and Japanese, it turns life into a shithole. Loud music, arguments, crying, screaming and loud sex (sometimes all at the same time!) all make you wish for quiet Japanese neighbours.
Our neighbours above weren’t home except for a stomping match every night between 11pm and 1am, oh and sometimes vacuuming at 2am, and so ear plugs became a permanent fixture. For the last month, we moved into the apartment above hip-hop-gangsta-rapper-wannabe, and as John put it, “If he’s gonna supply the beat, I’m gonna dance.” So he stomped a merry little jig.
John and Tiff on Bureaucracy in Japan John was working on a Working Holiday Visa. Initially for six months, you have to renew, if you want to continue working. We travelled to the only place in Tokyo not accessible by train, queued for 15 minutes to have a counter staff officer check John’s documents, sat for six hours waiting to talk to a counter staff officer for two minutes and submit the documents; then came back three weeks later to have a counter staff officer check John’s mailed notice of pickup, arrive at the pickup counter just as lunch started, and wait for three hours to reach across the counter and leave with his passport.
John and Tiff on Good Things in Japan Japan is known for its’ honesty. Tiff lost her train pass (worth AUD$150) three times. Once it was returned to the ticket office at her local station; once it fell out of her pocket as she was walking, and when she came back panicked, that evening found it sitting propped on a fence; and once a nice old gentleman who spoke English helped her talk to the train station attendant and recover it from another station.
John lost his ticket once and never got it back.
Supermarkets have entrances and exits all over the place. The shopkeepers are so confident that people won't steal that you can exit without going through the checkout.
Tiff returned the honesty one time by handing in a 10,000yen (AUD$100) note to a station attendant. She walked away kicking herself, thinking that the attendant would just pocket it himself, but was re-assured by her students that he would log it in lost property. In Japan, shop workers can turn away from an open till, not fearing that the customer will reach over the counter and steal from them. Ahhh, the breath of fresh goodness.
The train system in Japan is the most efficient, time and cost-effective mode of transportation ever seen in the modern world.
Public toilets are everywhere, are clean, are automatic and have heated seats (and other little buttons which do remarkable things with water sprays).
During the Christmas period, Western carols, most notably Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas”, blare out of the street speakers, imbibing a feeling of goodwill in all who hear them.
John and Tiff on Getting By in Japan We lived in a shoebox, without our families, and we would sometimes go weeks without seeing the sky. Our escapes each Monday (our shared day off) were so important to our sanity. Not understanding Japanese television, everyday we found solace in watching Scrubs DVDs which had been sent to us from home. Thanks Jan. It’s surprising how much comfort can be felt having a good laugh with familiar friends.
We had planned to visit a photography exhibition on our fine-day visit to Odaiba, but when we turned up it looked deserted and we were exhausted and hungry so decided not to go in that day. On the closing night, we came along again, and stood in the queue in the pouring rain for an hour. The exhibition was called Ashes and Snow and the images (sepia-toned of wild Asian animals and humans) were beautiful. However, because the scenes shot seemed to be very constructed, the pleas of realistic photography were a little pretentious.
The other photographic exhibition we went to, this time real honest imagery, was of a German photographer who did a tour of all the deserts of the world on the back of his motorbike (BMW for whoever is interested). The pictures were incredible. Words cannot describe the amazing congruity of his travellers’ tales and the magical images working together. It was great inspiration for us at a time when we were planning our move on; our next leg.
The Monday mornings together of our last three months, were always spent drinking coffee at Starbuck’s (the only place to get a decent cup of coffee, soy, for less than AUD$10), with our trusty laptop, planning the next part of our travels. It’s hard to understand the relief we felt when we started thinking of the future, instead of feeling stuck in the mundanity of the present. As we were planning to visit so many countries, we had to timetable our visa applications so that they wouldn’t expire before we arrived in the country (in three months or so). The Chinese Embassy visit was efficient, the Vietnam Embassy visit was just toooooo easy, the Russian Embassy visit was scary, the UK Embassy visit was expensive and the Mongolian Embassy visit was confusing. All accurate signs of things to come. :)
Buying our plane tickets to Bangkok was a great moment, but set the fears in motion, of change. What fickle creatures we are!
Tiff and John in Dots Points on Japan § Halitosis IS a cureable disease people – just use breath mints and toothpaste. Please. § Podiatrists would make a fortune here if people actually used them. Pigeon-toed-ness, outward and inward rolling ankles and bow legs are more chronic than bad teeth. And that’s saying something. § If you run with straight arms and legs, we can still see that you’re running. And you won’t get there any faster. And now we’re doing it too... § Although the trains during peak hour come about every three minutes, people act as though life on Earth will end if they don’t catch THIS train. § No matter how independent the country, Queen, U2 and Kate Bush will still play in Macca’s. Macca’s culture will always prevail over local culture. § Nowhere else in the world will a random man come up to another random man (ie. John), circle his hands around his bicep and breathe “Sugoooooy!” § Yoshinoya and Matsuya are great cheap eats. BUT eat too much and you won’t poo for a month. § Raw squid is ika.... yes it is. § Good mochi is divine, bad mochi is dangerous. § Pocky Sticks ‘For Men’ make you strong. Sharma eats them. § Polite = Japanese. § Safe = Japanese. § Quirky = Japanese. § Geeky Western guys who could never get laid in their own home country but who are now studs = only in Japan. § Men acceptably cheating on their wives = Japanese. § A week without the sky is a hard week. § A month without the sky makes you mad. § If you’re happy and you know it... § Move to Japan. § Leave Japan. § Put on a black suit and blend in. § Drink sake. § Eat fish. § Get naked and soak. § Boulder with the Japanese masters. § Become a teacher. § If you’re bored, scared, distressed, angry, sad and you know it... § Become a teacher. § Don’t brush your teeth. § Just pee in a cup and show him. § Drink sake. § If you’re bitter and you know it... § Drink sweet sake. § If you miss Japan and you know it... § Clap your hands... *Clap Clap* § If you’ve read all this... § You should get out more. § And clap your hands.
