Hairy Hollies

2006-09-24T04:02:00.000-07:00

Hiroshima surprised me with it's beauty. I had a preconception of another towering post-war Japanese urbania,ry more towering buildings set around narrow streets like parts of Tokyo or Nagoya, but perhaps due to it's geography it's quite an open, pleasant city. And no, not just because it has a big hole in it. Originally called Go-kamura (5 villages) it is more or less constructed around a river delta. Most of the rivers have quite verdent landscaped banks, and Peace Boulevard, one of the major roads in Hiroshima, is delightful. I guess it gets it's name from passing through Peace Park. There's a whole lot of peace in Hiroshima. Jesus, the fist place I tried to stay was called the World Friendship Centre (I'm glad they were full! Fuckin' Hippies...).
Due to the watery nature of the city, bridges abound. At one point a very interesting T-shaped bridge joining 3 islands together. Unfortunately, it's unique shape was the reason it was chosen as the target for the A bomb. T marks the spot. It is very close to ground zero. In fact, the bridge, Peace Boulevard and the Peace Park are all built around one structure, A-Bomb Dome, the twisted ruin of a building which remained standing during the blast simply because it was almost directly beneath it. This of course was no consolation to the people within the then Hiroshima Exchange, who were vapourised. The building is v evocative. The twisted, gutted structure seems a little unreal enhabitting such vital surroundings.

Miyajima island is the other great tourist desination in the area. About 20 minutes by ferry from Hiroshima, it is home to the famous O-Torii, the gate in the sea. It is also home to hundreds of boisterous deer who pester visitors for food. I particularly enjoyed watching a group of Aussie tourists attempting to get a deer into their group photo, only to have the animal eat one of their bags and do a runner. Good on you, Bambi, fight the tourist machine.

Deer aren't the only tame-wildlife attraction. Fearless hawks fly all around the west side of the island, and snakes and spiders can be found all over the trails up the mountain, Misen-San.

Aside from wildlife the main attraction of Miyajima (if you're anything like me) will be the views from up the mountain on the north-west side. The view is of the inland sea, the body of water between Honshu, Japan's main island, and Shikoku, one of it's three smaller neighbours. If the walk up doesn't take your breath away, the view will.

2006-09-24T03:31:00.000-07:00

What to say about Kyoto? The old capital of Japan has a lot to show for it's historically important past. In contrast to Amritsar, it boasts not only a building of which the name translates as "Golden Temple", but also a Silver Temple. Also in contrast to the Golden Temple at Amritsar, which shines brilliantly and majestically, the Kyoto-bound retirement home by the same name is horribly gaudy. I say retirement home because this was it's original Purpose. Kinkakuji as it is called in Japanese was built as a retirement home for a 13th century Shogun. Unfortunately the opulance expressed in coating the building with gold seems to have allowed the designer to neglect quality of the surroundings. Though once the sheer decadance of Kinkakuji may once have dazzled, in an age of 99p shiny gold wrapping paper it is more reminiscent of an oversized gaudy christmas bauble.

Kinkakuji - Less lovely than it looks....

I'm not just being dismissive of one of Kyoto's greatest tourist attractions for the fun of being contrary (though it is fun). Ginkakuji, the Silver Temple, was magnificent. And no, it isn't plated in silver. Admittedly my enjoyment was enhanced by the presence of a group of university students offering free tours in order to practise their english, however the joy of Ginkakuji was that it stood out by not standing out. It's appeal was in understatement. Well wurf a look, luv.

Ginkakuji - More lovely than it looks....

At the youth hostel K's house Kyoto, I also had the fortune to run into a few very nice people (though you do everywhere, these people I pay the compliment too especially). My companions on the last night out in Kyoto were Jennie, another Durham Alum who is currently a NOVA Teacher in Yamaguchi, Raymond, a Norwegian who hopes to make travel films about Norway and Japan, and also wishes to move here to be wih his girlfriend, and Stephanie, an Austrian who studies Japanese, hopes to move to Tokyo soon and sings 99 Luftballon very well. We started out simply wanting a singsong at the karaoke bar, however after a couple of beers smuggled in unsubtley our attitudes had changed and we were up for a longer night out. Thanks to Stephanie's knowledge of Kyoto we found ourselves in a Moonwalk bar- all the drinks were 200 yen (90p), and the place was tiny allowing both me and Raymond to buy a round for the bar (including the barman) at £10 each. I don't think I lost out, not even economically- The attention these rounds drew had the both of us drinking free drinks courtesty of suddenly chatty patrons until around 5AM. In the mean time Jennie and Stephanie ended up unwilling judges in an all-japanese handsomeness contest.

The whole experience was a delight. Alcohol fueled confidence allowed exchanges in poor English and poor Japanese to happen without embarassment. A couple of good english speakers got us past any hurdles that couldn't be overcome by gesticulation, dramatics, or another drink. Though getting up for checkout 3 hours after going to sleep was unpleasant, lunch the next day with Matsuko was a great cure for drunken self-pity. I had a plate of mayonaise sandwiches! It was a very suny day a we enjoyed it on the roof of Kyoto station before I decided I had best head off to deposit my luggage at Yamasa, the School in Nagoya which I will be attending.

2006-09-23T08:06:00.000-07:00

Most of our last day in Tokyo was spend looking for friends. Hours of painful marching around a crowded train stations, in Tokyo station in the morning and again at Shinjuku later on. Eventually a meeting was affected. Having been united with Rich and Matsuko (and very briefly Mamiko) we made a move to a karaoke bar 12 stories high. The evening was a lot of camp fun. It was for the most part out-of-tune choral camp classics. We enjoyed a four-person Gangsta's Paradise, some Bonnie Tyler, and we played that funky music, whiteboy. The next day we made a move to Sendai, which was made at a staggering average speed of a little under 200 kph (We were on the slower Hikari Shinkansen. Nozomi get up to speeds of 256 kph making them the speediest thing on rails). The cooler climate and more manageable size were a joy, relieving after facing these two unpleasant features of Tokyo. We checked into our Ryokan and went almost straight back out in order to meet Tomoko at Masamune, the half-blind seventeenth-century stone samurai. For dinner we were taken to (of all places) an irish bar. Fish and chips and stout on the menu.

Having said that, as I write this post I must confess that I don't really like Japanese food all that much. Bar a couple of very tasty things it's not all that appealing. It's not so much the food, though, it's the fuss- I know several ways of asking about the meat-content of food- is there meat? Does this contain meat? Is this made from meat? Unfortunately 'does this contain meat?' seems to become 'Is this a steak?' in the minds of many whom I have asked. Today I decided I'd be safer avoiding japanese food for breakfast and went to a bakery. After asking my questions and then biting into my cheese and onion bake I discovered to my amazement that ham is not meat. At least, not as far as the girl at the till was aware.
Japanese attitudes to western food are also strange. Almost anything from a western style bakery will be sweet, even if its english counterpart is not. For example, Tom complained that his ham and cheese pizza was sweeter than cake. Sandwiches are also somewhat misunderstood (or perhaps just butchered). Always in bland white bread, I might best describe them by telling you that, before I eat another cafe-made sandwich I will have to learn how to say "mayonnaise is a condiment, not a filling".

Maybe Stephen Mann would like them.....

On our last full day in Sendai we went up to the ruins of an old castle, one of the few Sendai-based tourist attractions. We got to the castle by taking a ourist bus emaculately decked in fake wood panneling and brass handrails. It was called Loople Sendai. In spite of her quite impessive grasp of Enlish, Tomoko simply assumed that Loople was an english word she didn't know, and wondered why the bus had evoked such a giggly response.
The castle was a fairly attractive wall and not much else, but the best part of the trip was the view across the city. In the distance across the rooftops a giant white Buddha could be seen, taller than most of the buildings in Sendai. If anyone reading goes to Sendai I reccomend that you catch a Loople Sendai up to the castle. The view is worth the 200-odd yen fare.

Many of Sendai's streets are covered like arcades and some markets at home. They really are undercover streets, full of shops pachinko halls, maid cafes, etc. etc. etc. The morning before we left Sendai Tomoko and Emi took us to breakfast in a maid cafe in such an arcade. It was realy quite perculiar- horribly girly, with piped-in music so sweet it had you reaching for a razorblade. The maids were surprisingly modestly dressed, all wearing long beling dresses and tiaras. Tom thought that the girlyness was really sick and hinted at something paedophillic, but I didn't think that the air was especially sexual- I more saw it as an indulgence for those who have a skewed and unreal view of women. It was less about lust and more about a feeling of care or comfort. An odd fantasy world, and a pretty damned sad one at that.

2006-09-12T00:44:00.000-07:00

I'm now sitting (drunk) after my third day in Japan. It's been quite a lazy day in comparison to the last two. Tom and I went for a wander round the gardens of the Imperial Palace. We didn't spot any heirs, but we did't look all the hard. I had ice cream rice dumplings from a vending machine. As I was buying them I was approached and talked to by a Jap for the first time. She pointed and said that they're very tasty. After our spot of tourism at the Palace we went for a meal and had the worst tie so far in trying to order vegetarian food. I don't think I've had a meal so far that hasn't involved fish- and I DO know how to say "I'm vegetarian" in Japanese. When I ordered by bento box this morning I got asked if pork was alright. Jeysus.

Yesterday we went to Harujuku and saw a load of weird cosplay girls. Little bo-peep seems to be a common theme. We tried to find a good restaraunt for breakfast, but the Rough Guide's advice led us to a hard-to-reach place and an incredible misunderstanding- what we took to mean "we have a guest entrance" in fact meant "we're too busy at the moment". We ended up in a cafe in a park eating noodles. They were fucking disgusting.

The park did contain a rather splendid temple. An enjoyable smattering of ritual had us washing our hands in holy water before entering. I got to watch people praying after throwing coins down slots in a box wishing-well style. There was a lovely little hand-jive and bow included in the prayer.

We went to the Pancakes and hotplates place for tea and I was laughed at for the way I spread oil on the hotplate before cooking. The woman laughing dropped her food which only seemed to make things funnier- I did hear her say "first time". I wondered what the problem was and so watched someone else do it. They did it the same damn way I did. The food was very good at least.

After dinner we went on to Roppongi Hills, an enormous tower that pulses like it's the Warp Core of Tokyo, surrounded by expensive shops, bars, and an enormous spider statue. and went to see the film Gedo Senki (which I believe means 'The Wizard Ged'). With the fact that I have read all of the Earthsea books aiding my sparse knowledge of Japanese I did manage to follow the plot- I now know how to say Sparrowhawk as well. In standard Ghibli style only evil chracters are ugly, and so Tehanu has turned from a severe burns victim into a girl with a bit of a red face. Another aesthetic problem is that all the characters are white (Ursula's biggest complaint about the film), though gladly only Tenar is blonde. It starts very much like The Farthest shore- with Arren and Sparrowhawk in Hoort town, watching the druggies and slavers- even has the scene where Sparrowhawk rescues Arren from the slavers who capture him- after that, however, it deviates massively from the known plot. They do rather seem to conflate all of the places, however. I didn't know that Hoort Town was only a quick llama ride from the house on Gont where Tenar lives.

We got a fair few critical looks once the lights came up at the end of the movie- we'd only started talking once the credits rolled anyhow- is that 'not the done thing'? That sentiment does seem quite strong- it doesn't matter if you actions make sense, they just have to fit in with the norm. A shop assistant wouldn't accept money from me until I put it into a little tray from which they could pick it up. Maybe it's offensive to be white during a Japanese film?

The film finished late. Tom an I got quite a late train back along the line toward kurumae. At one of the stops a guy ran down the train shooing us and a load of drunk japnese guys off. After a low-vocabulary talk to one of the officials we found out that it was just knocking-off time and that the train driver was just going home. An hour's walk saw us back to the backpackers at 2AM. After a bit of a crack on with the people who were still up, bed.

Signing off.

2006-09-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

I've awoken after my first night's sleep in Japan. I'm sitting in the top bunk of a twin room in K's house Tokyo. The bottom bunk is Tom's for the next 3 nights, but he's just left in favour of a shower. Maybe it's because I've been calling him fatty.
The atmosphere (what I is breevin') reminds me somewhat of Singapore. Summertime Tokyo makes me feel like I've been jumped on by a warm, damp dog whenever I step outside. There's a quite distinct smell to the place which, though not unpleasant, is certainly different. This wasn't quite so much the case on the street on which I had lunch yesterday, where the smell was unpleasant, and very familiar. I love the smell of urine at lunchtime. Smells like last night's party travelling to the bladder more quickly than expected.
The backpackers' hostel is in Asakusa. It's apparently known as a traditional area. Tom thinks it's just the lack of enormous TV screens built into the sides of buildings that makes it traditional. I might think to add the rarity of 40+ story buildings with gigantic neon hats. It's nice enough around here, and I enjoyed finding my way to the hostel. I asked a woman passing by where this place is in well composed Japanese and in reply got a long confusing (very speedy) reply. I did understand two words. The first was new, which indeed this place is. I found it encouraging that she did seem to know about the hostel. That made the second word, difficult, worse. It was a better reaction to my japanese, though, than my previous attempt when changing trains. I tried to ask the conductor "Is this train going to Kuramae?" which got me a confused smile. So I just changed to "Kuramae?" and that got me a much better reaction. Once the train was moving the conductor came out and then began to explain to me in Japanese where we were and how many stops it would be. At this point I was totally lost. I just pretended I understood and asked an english bloke when he went away. I'm enjoying using it though. I also asked a couple of women walking down the stret in Kimono if I could take a photo of them, asked a woman in Shibuya underground station where Hachiko the dog could be found, and asked an asistant in a shop if they stocked Brokeback Mountain (which apparently comes out on the DVD market on the 22nd). Incidentally, I've never taken as much joy in saying "Bumsex" as I did in that crowded DVD shop.
Tom and I went out to a sort-of-traditional Japanese restaurant for lunch- shoes of at the door and so on. We had pancakes- you get all the batter mixed up in a bowl and cook it yourself on the hotplate in the middle of the table. All the tables are very low- it's all done kneeling/siting cross legged. We both drank Ramune, which is a sugary Japanese soft drink. Eating out is damn cheap too- we both ate pretty damn well for under a fiver.
An afternoon in the Ginza allowed Tom to introduce me to the famous crossing which is always used in 'Busy Tokyo' shots.
We went out for the evening in Shibuya, where all the young people meet by the brass dog Hachiko (read Greyfriars Bobby. He waited at Shibuya for his master for 9 years and when he died a brass statue of him was erected in his place). Hachiko gave us a meeting point for Mamiko and Emi, friends from Durham. We tried to find a restaraunt which was good for veggies, and I gave in on the fish-stock thing. Miso soup, mushroom rice and some odd sauced up vegetables. The beer in a bar afterwards was damned pricey though. It was still a fun evening, i occasionally a we bit difficult due to the laguage barrier- I made a tit of myself trying to open doors by pushing them in the bar. We talked a lot about Ayumi Hamasaki an her enormous eyes, and Tom laughed an awful lot about the pumpkin sundae (it looked like a penis). After that we went to bed very early.

2005-09-21T01:38:00.000-07:00

ll they keys on this keyboard are labelled in japanese so I'm having to guess where some stuff is on it. Rightm where was I?

Sunny Melaka:

What to saym what to say. As I've already mentioned, it's something of a one horse town, and I was booked in to brodger the horse the first day I was there. Seriously, you can walk across melaka in an hour and a half, and see all the sites in a day. That's why I stayed for 3. Hurrah!

I was booked into a double room (seems daft, but it was all that was left. Besides it cost me 40p more a night, maybe) in an islamic hostel in little india. Little india is very little, it's practically just a restaurant. I ate most of my meals there. About 2 pounds for a main, a rice, and a naan. And I only trusted one of the chinese restaurants to believe that dead pig isn't vegetarian just because the live pig was.

I did a cemetery tour on my second day. The old dutch fort full of christian tombstones was tranquil, but the most beautiful was the modern day islamic cemetery. The graves varied in form so much, and the flowers planted about were stunning. Is it morbid to have enjoyed these sites? I do hope so.

I also visited the "historic centre" which contains the oldest dutch buildings outside of holland. They're all painted red. Kind of pretty, but after sitting there for 5 minutes going "Oh, lovely" you're done. There's not too much more to see in the centre.

I also visited the chinatown sunday market. Puzzle boxes galore to be solved oh-so-quickly, toy soldiers, electric hand-fans that didn't work, golden waving cats that didn't work etc. etc. that didn't work.

The exciting thing about any place is of course the people. On my first night I stood on the balcony of my room, and started talking to the guy on the balcony of the next one. He was clearly malaysian, and when I quizzed him on where he was from he answered "here". The wool over my eyes became transparent quite quickly when I saw his freinds and the women they had brought with them. There were to be no prizes for guessing how those girls earned a living. I chatted a little longer, and was told which sites to go and see. I proceeded to see those I hadn't the next day, but proceeded to bed amidst whooping and whipping next door.

I got cracking with one of the other backpackers quite quickly. He was great. From Brummigham, doncha know. He had been travelling for 3 years, and was full of stories. Often about pretending he had a work permit and ripping off middle-class aussies. Also a mine of information about the cullinary habits of the chinese, and appreciative of jokes told in poor taste. Ahem.

The final person I need to mention was the miniature chinese karate champion, who was peddling something akin to liquid tiger balm. In spite of his shouting in hokkien, you could tell what he was saying. It was like watching only fools and horses. The whole sales pitch hinged on his prooving the potency of the elixir by putting his finger through a coconut. I was a little noisy urging him to get on with it, so he roped me into helping him. He did manage with the first coconut, and handed me a second to throw at him. The idea was he'd spear it in the air. But before I threw him the heavy lump, I was first given a whip, and asked to whip apart a newspaper. He underestimated the length of my arms, and I caught his hand. Take that, you little chinky bastard. When I finally threw him the coconut he caught it rather than try to spear it, and gave me some of his magic elixir for my troubles.

I'll rewrite this post when i don't have hypocritical germans staring daggers at me.

2005-09-08T01:35:00.000-07:00

Fruits and Flies:

So, I believe we were off to Kualar Selangor to see fireflies when last I parted a computer. I'll bore you, the reader, with details of this leg of my steamy-hot malaysian extravagansa, but first I'll make mention of something that happened prior to my leaving KL. I first tried Durian whilst on my way home from my Malaysian gambling friends. The KL smell isn't great, so the overpowering stench of this grotesque cheesefruit wasn't much of a shock to the system when I passed the stalls selling it. I bought a pack of durian segments, which for those of you who wish to know look like cheap safeway chicken breasts painted yellow, and began my feast. After 3 segments (which in terms of flavour is 4 mangos mashed into a swiss-cheese, placed in a tub and left in the sun for 12 days) I gave in. It was too much. Perhaps it would be good if diluted. Vastly. Right, now onto the post KL part of the tale. I was accompanied by an Brisbanite couple who were staying in a very posh hotel in KL, and by a chinese man who neither spoke nor read any chinese. Marvelous. He was a roman catholic too. First off, he took us to see some monkeys, which due to the delays caused by the KL traffic were fast asleep when we arrived. We stared briefly up darkened trees, hoping to spot a simian silhouette. Ho Hum. I watched the branches move from time to time, possibly under their weight, possibly with the wind. The more wonderful part of the experience was the view across the bay. God knows what I was looking at over the water. Onward we very quickly went, to a restaurant that discovered my suffering the disease of vegetarianism, that grave social disorder that only manifests at mealtimes, and tried to fill me with prawns as a cure. No worries, though (No worries! Well, I am in Australia!), I ate too much in KL that day. And some of that was durian. Onward, to the main attraction, to the fireflies! The queues for this were quite extensive, and mainly made up of school children. This gave me a fleeting glimpse of the fireflies, nothing more than giant plastic theme-park insects with big, friendly eyes and lights on their arses. But only for a moment. We were soon in safety jackets and floating up a river. The banks of the river are foliated with a plant that fireflies thrive on. Perhaps its phosphorous rich, or some such thing. The banks glowed with new, forever shifting constellations. When I wet my hand in the river (probably unhealthy, but I didn't come down with anything) and brushed an infested bush, fireflies stuck to my palm. As my hand dried out they rose like sparks and flew away. I spent half an hour watching stars dance their courtship dance on the trees, accompanied by the sound of subdued voices and the gentle rhythm of the sculling.

The next day I moved on to the ancient Malaysian capital, Melaka, once an Islamic trading giant, now a small town with a rich colonial heratage. But that's for the next post.

2005-09-05T18:02:00.000-07:00

Just a brief update on my situation

I Got the VISA!!! Wooooooooooooooooooo! Wooooooooooooooooooooo! I'm off for a few pints, because I told Becky I'd kiss the person behind the desk if it came through today and I need some dutch courage.

Byebye, all.

2005-08-25T04:05:00.000-07:00

So, dear reader, where did I arrive last time I typed? Ah, yes, I believe I had entered my room at the Colluseum in rainy KL. Strictly speaking I missed out the chapter in which Alistair and I went out for beer and curry (the garlic naan was crusted white with the herb in question). As I recall, the whole lobby was geared to give the impression of some sort of class. The place had times-of-the-world clocks. They were all pointing to the same hour as well. When I went to the toilet, the facade was utterly broken.

Now, after a breakfast in KL Sentral, the main train station, Alistair and I parted company and he jetted off to London and out of this story. He left a ripple, however, in his suggestions of tourist sites to visit. I headed off into the sunny blue yonder (a kind way of saying the simmering city of stench) and got a taxi to Plaza Low Yat, which I had been advised would be the best place in which to procure a camera. This I did at some moderate expense, and with the pretence that someone two floors down had offered the same thing at the same price, and with a bigger memory card.

From here I headed off to see the most famous site in the city, which dominates the skyline from anywhere that isn't next to any other of the myriad tall buildings. Yep, its the Petronas Towers.
To go to the skybridge you require a ticket. These are free. They are also supplied in limited numbers on a first come first served basis. I, suffice to say, did not come first, and satisfied myself with bitter comments about only getting halfway up if you have one. At this point, I remembered the wise words of Alistair, "Menara KL". This is simply Malaysian for KL Tower. And its a damned good thing to visit. I spent an hour loitering on the observation deck: the highest point to which you can climb in KL. Despite not being as tall, Menara KL has the advantage in height, as it sits happily at the top of a hill, giving it the edge over the more famous twins of the city skyline. Absurd as it is, I felt like this was a victory of the underdog which was to be celebrated. Of course this was in no way linked to my failure to climb the more famous towers of KL....

On the streets I met a group of Malaysians whom I sparked up a conversation with. They were strikingly good at English, and strikingly sociable. Then they started asking a lot about my means back in Blighty (interested in a family member who was to study nursing in Manchester- are there student nurses in Manchester?), and my financing this trip. I became a little dubious, and claimed to be eating next year's student loan in its entirety. They took me for a drink at a roadside stall. Very pleasant, I enjoyed the crack with another guy who was there (and was totally unrelated). They asked me about my family's means. More dubiously, I claimed to have an older brother (not wanting to be eldest nor only son) who was massively in student debt. In a wonderful fit of paranoia, I started checking each of their stories for consistency with all the others. Is he from Sabbah? Did she really only arrive 3 days ago? What did you say the name of your sister was?
Then they asked me to come home with them. Panic! Holy Moo-hamed! They're going to run off with me and post my genitals back to Blighty! I agreed to walk as far as Chinatown, where I would take my leave.
They were still friendly, despite my firm insistence to go no further. They penny dropped down a mineshaft when finally one of them told me that if I came back he could teach me to win every time at Blackjack. Ahh, now I see. Well, I'd love to teach that trick to the masses. How does a secret like that stay secret? Do you have to tell dumb white guys how to do it in order to keep it from leaking out?
I kindly refused, claiming that gambling had never been a vice I was drawn to, and took my leave of the family.

I spent another night in the wonderful Colluseum (described in the guidebook as oozing character, though oozing may be unfair as most of the rot was quite dry). I appreciated the stray cats, which came in through- well, I can't exactly say windows, but the building certainly had openings of a sort. Perhaps it would be better to say that the upper story simply had no walls. In any case, the cats were eating cockroaches, which are far more offensive to the senses.
On my way back from the shower/toilet (the former was a bucket and a ladle, rather than in fact a shower) I met a PRC chinese man residing next door, who after a brief chat asked me to stay in KL a week to teach him to speak English. I thought about how much I would be berated by Nick to refuse such a chance. And then promptly did so.

Shut your whining cripple-mouth!

I moved location the next night, to a backpacker hostel. Not out of fear of the power of the Communist Party following my polite refusal of service, simply a desire to see fireflies in Kualar Selangor. On receiving the bill for this tour, I headed promptly to a cashpoint down the road, and Lo! My wallet had gone! Fucking robbing malaysian bastards, they'll just take anyone for anything, the dirty bloody- oh wait its in my arse pocket isn't it?

-Shame Shame Shame Shame Shame-

I payed and then wandered around the block to a 7/11 looking for a phonecard (I think- I'm not certain). An old man approached me and asked me where I was from. I replied in earnest, and he proceeded to tell me that his daughter was going to be studying in Manchester to become a nurse. Hmm. No, thankyou sir, I don't have time to come home with you and meet her.

I returned to the hostel and payed for my firefly spotting trip, and the bus to Melaka the next day, which the chinky-at-the-desk said he would fetch the tickets for. Brilliant. For 1 ringit (14p) I can get a man to run down the road to a bus stop. Feel the white colonial power! Mwahaha!

With a couple of spare hours, I visited the butterfly park, Taman Rama Rama (if only to make my lepidoptrist companion Nesbit jealous- I bought her a T-shirt though!) which was really quite delightful, and took a quick break and a cup-of-tea-in-a-bag in a roadside eatery next to it. This was a very enjoyable phenomina- the drink-in-a-bag. Great stuff. So brilliantly asian- cheap and undoubtedly quite wasteful. After a rushed trip back to the hostel for the fireflies (which following my panicked taxi hire proceeded at a painful 4 miles an hour) I was introduced to my guide, and to the aussie couple who were to be my companions on this next leg of my Malaysian adventure.

2005-08-24T02:28:00.000-07:00

My first last night in Singapore:

Three days after my arrival in Singapore, Alistair was due to leave for London, via KL. I decided that as I had seen very little of him thusfar I would go with him at least as far as the Malaysian capital and enjoy the joyfully asain smell of rotten rubbish in the company of the best of Thatcherite ex-housemates. As I have two to choose from I'll compliment James with a joint-title. After dinner in a food court on Orchard Road, Singapore's principal shopping centre for those of with a more discerning //bank manager// eye, the company (consisting of myself, James, Alistair, Jenna and Becky) retired to get dressed for a night in Equinox, a skyscraping bar where the prices are up as high as the patrons. Here we were met by Eddie, a friend of JAlistair (a collective noun for 41 Claypath's economists), and another UWC Singapore graduate.
The views of nighttime Singapore were quite sight. The sweeping halogen-starred panorama from the seventy-somethingth floor of the Stamford Swisshotel was interupted by nothing but a few neighbouring buildings of size, and by end of happy hour. It was pricey enough before the rise. With that in mind the company set forth to a bar named cheekymonkeys. Oh, if only I'd realised what the reader does at hearing this name, and had cut my losses!
James and Alistair decided to walk, leaving Eddie to guide the rest of us. I think we ended up getting the MRT and still walking as far. JAlistair had had a round before we arrived, whereupon we got several jugs of liquid inebriation and a bottle of vodka to finish us off. At this point I draw your attention to this. The dancing occurs in the venue in question. Incidentally, the panoramic city view just before said dancing are from Equinox, and the drunken looking fools adjacent (one or more of whom my friends and family may recognise) occupy it.
After an excess of 80s music and inaproppriate dancing (both of which have some relation to other excesses indulged in the establishment) we retired to an indian restaurant somewhere in singapore. The photos following the dancing detail my state of 'mind' at this location better than my loquacity will ever allow.
I awoke the next morning feeling a litle the worse for wear. Not in any pain, nor cogniscent of any social faux-pas, it was more what I shall describe as existential embarrassment. After another rather uneventful day in singapore (as I recall, at least) I joined Alistair and we departed the country.
Amusingly to us, the bus company pretended to be an airline and described all travel as flight. There were in'flight' announcements, seatbelt signs, in'flight' food. I suppose there has to be some amusing pretension to help you pass 5 hours on a bus. That being so, why couldn't the driver have pretended to be 'Pope' instead of 'Captain'. The catering woman would've looked better in a habit.
After a 6 hour road journey we arrived in a Rainy KL evening. Having put a little distance between ourselves and the bus stop by foot to avoid taxifares-for-tourists, we flagged down a cab and got an actually metered fare to the Colluseum Hotel. Huddled under an awning for protection form the elements, we knocked on the shabby steel door to which it belonged. The door was answered by an old chinese man wearing what shall be delicately described as "Pappies Nappies" - in short, our oriental companion had modelled his dress sense on Ghandi, but had neglected even some of those modest coverings.
We asked for a room, which had been booked, and he grunted and pointed upstairs. We entered room number 3, a spacious though dusty triple room with light switches that sparked brightly when used and air conditioning as loud as a motorbike engine. Presently we were joined in room number 3 by another chinese man, who had with him a dusty great tome which looked like it might have been recovered from the first british sailing ship to be wrecked off the coast of Peninsular Malaysia. He proceeded to enter our names into this grimoire of the ages, along with a few of our other particulars, and then closed the book, forever catching us in the annals of history.

2005-08-07T04:37:00.000-07:00

Singapore Continued:

Two of the main tourist destinations within the city are Little India and Chinatown, both are supposedly shows of the amazing ethnic diversity of Singapore, and as fits with the singaporean attitude to business, both are really just big markets.

An aside on the attitudes of Singapore- a singaporean friend of Becky's parents asked what the children did at uni, and was very pleased to hear that becky studied biology, as a new biotech firm had opened in Singapore that year. On hearing that Edward studied music, she said "And you allowed this?".

Little india's main joy for me is food. I don't like jewelry, and I'd look a prat in a sari, so thats ther rest ruled out. On my first trip there, after a browse in the markets (where people will give you 'special discount just for you' before you've asked the price) I visited an indian restaurant called Komala Villas, which is a very indian restaurant (rather than the english variety, which was invented in Birmingham along with tikka masala). You get a dish dented in a few places with some dahl, and a little curry-like sauce, possibly some yoghurt, and then select a bread. So thats exactly what I did. On the picture on the menu it took up most of the plate. When it arrived, it took up most of the table. If I had finished that gargantuan meal I would have violated that most sacred rule 'Never eat anything biger than your head'.

The hindu temple on the main street in Little India is a wonderful statue to the variety of hindu faith. I'd be impressed by a hindu that could name just the gods frozen-in-stone on the front. Who is that riding the peacock? Who is that riding the lion? How many arms does he have again? I'm sure I used to know who that is with the 5 faces.
I feel rather ignorant about hindu mythology. Especially so considering I'm on Bali as I type this (although Indian hinduism is very very different to Balinese).

Chinatown is wonderful. From the signs telling about the old sites for the deathhouses, to the myriad shops selling exactly the same things at exactly the same prices, to the hawker centre with its 5 dollar bottles of Tiger, its quite a scene. The architecture is like a mexican wild west set painted by an acid casualty, and you're forever being persued by Indian talors (yes, indian taylors in chinatown- though I saw none in Little India) who will make 'Cheap suit taylor made just for you'. Good to know it would be for me. I'd look stupid in Marlon Brando's. How would I get the butter stains out?

While on my second visit to Chinatown I got quite drunk and chatted to a couple of middle-aged Aussie travellers called Norm and Lyle, two of the friendliest people I've met (certainly the friendliest australians). After an hour or so chatting about various places, they offered me a place to stay in Brisbane (which should be pretty useful) and told me about a few things I had yet to see that were worth a visit in Singapore.

I'm not entirely sure that staying with a middle aged (probably) gay couple I hardly know is the perfect way to spend my time in Oz, but I'm fairly sure its harmless, and its at least very cheap. Just so long as I'm not expected to prostitue myself as payment.

Another destination of mine within Singapore (but off singapore island) was a place called Puala Ubin. I'm guessing Ubin means island, as the names of all singapore island's bastard children seemed to include 'Ubin'. It's a small island, easily navigatable by bicycle, and is extremely pretty. It might weell be a nature reserve- the myriad birds and beasts would attest to that. Cycling round spotting weird wildlife- I think that of all the things I've done, this is what Alan would most enjoy. The hornbill and the big monitor lizard were good highlights. The human highlight was the drinks stop. It was at the house of the headman of Puala Ubin, a 100-year old man who runs all the local's farms on the island and owns an ostrich. We were given 2 bags full of freshly picked Rambutan to take on our way. I felt humbled. Now thats graciousness.

Oh, and a rambutan is very similar to a lychee, but comes in a hairy sack which you have to push into with your thumbs and twist open. I was spotten just trying to tear the thing, and was shown the technique!

Well, thats it from Tweedy for this post. Hopefully there will be more soon.

2005-08-06T18:53:00.000-07:00

People will start badgering me excessively if I remain as lazy as I have been so far, so I'll post on the topic of pacifying the loved ones. By which, I of course mean Singapore.

On Singapore:

Singapore, a lovely island nation that got itself removed from malaysia for being too rich (which just pissed everyone off in both nations) is a great place to visit. Its clean, friendly, and very easy to navigate. Nick asked if I'd learned any foreign words- well, most of them involve food. Around SE asia its cheap, readily available, and often pretty good.

Two of the first Bahasa Malaya words I learned were 'Mee' and 'Goreng', because I ate a Mee Goreng the second day I was in Singapore. The words mean 'Noodle' and 'Fried' respectively. Nasi Goreng is fried rice, similarly.
Malaysian food is pretty damned spicy. Its quite nice if you can put up with the heat, but sadly in the company of Becky Nesbit finding food becomes a little harder.
This can be easily sorted by a visit to any Food Court or Hawker Centre. These are places where food of all sorts of kinds (indian, japanese, chinese - the tame version, with no dog, nor snake blood, malaysian, western) is cheap and cheerful. Juice is another great pleasure- the fruit is juiced infront of you (quite a show of fresness, that) and some taste incredible. Favourates so far have been Pear, Soursop, and Orange (the best orange juice I've ever had was from a market stall outside the singapore underground station 'Lavendar'). I thought that mango was grotesque, but james and Becky liked it. And drank it.

Dessert is another matter. The jellies are just plain weird- they taste of nothing and feel like you're chewing brittle rubber. Eis Kachang is a desert made of ice and a little coconut, topped with anything- I've had black jelly, green jelly, sweetcorn, pickled kidney beans, tapioca balls in brine....

Not really a very nice experience.

The mass transit system is divine. Everyone uses EZLink cards (ee-zee-link). Just put it in your wallet, and then waft said wallet over the barrier at any MRT (Mass Rapid Transit- The Underground) to get in. Bloody Marvelous. I feel like a wizard. My special power, removing barriers with a leather brick. Works on buses too. It speeds things up no end (London has this too, but no-one uses it so its just a fuss. Swansea is also part of the leather-brick-magic-circle, I've been informed). Also its very cheap- if you want to go to the end to the line on any Singapore service it won't even cost you a pound. As a result, relatively few people drive in Singapore.
Taxi is a fairly cheap option too, if you're going somewhere off the MRT-beaten path. From easy to west in singapore (someting like a 20 mile drive I think) cost 20 dollars- 7 quid. Not bad, eh?

Drinking is damned expensive. In many bars its about 10 dollars for a beer (over 3 quid) in happy hour. In hawker centres where there's no service charge or VAT it's probably half that, which isn't so bad, but try getting an ex-pat to go somewhere cheap.

To be continued...

2005-07-21T20:53:00.000-07:00

I always have trouble with beginnings. I don't know quite how to start telling the story, so I should state the facts. I said my goodbyes at Newcastle Central station and the train, heaving with drunks heading back to durham from a night on the toon, chundles away into the night.

Things were fairly uneventful prior to Leeds station. At York, we stopped for half an hour while half the train got taken away (6 carriages, 8 people- it was a bit silly). A woman one seat down from me started describing the people on the train down the phone to a friend of hers. I don't think she realised everyone could hear her. She was sweetness and light when she got on, and then slagged most people off. I think I got away lightly with "And theres a funny guy in a panama hat"
There was also a man with feck-loud music on his headpohnes sitting on the able opposite mine. Cunt. Invading my space with his musical defication. I hate that man. I'll call him twatface. Then I got chatting to him. He was mint- comes from Chester-le-street, and was visiting his girlfriend in Kent. We arrived at Leeds station, as the sun was just lightening the sky, and it was chily as owt, plus we both were exausted. We searched high and low for a tea/coffee machine to no avail, and then happened upon a rail-workers office and we shared a cup with him. Then it was onto London (in a stupidly phallic train) with a newfound friend. After some travel, a couple of london commuters, determined to occupy their assigned seats, plonked themselves right next to us on an otherwise unoccupied train (which was so long you couldn't get off at Kings Cross in the back two carriages). They soon moved due to the swapping of off-colour jokes. Pansy southerners.

So, to Heathrow with me on the tube. Uneventful, thankfully. I was worried I'd get accused of having the whole of Al-Quaida in my backpack or something. I got chatting to some other airport-bound folk, who were going walking in spain, following some famous dead catholic of somesuch. I checked in at Heathrow terminal 3 (which is a huge, gross shopping mall) and then I set about trying to kill 4 hours till my flight.

Hour 1- wandering. Not so bad, but my back aches a little. Maybe I'll sit in the bogs where no-one will bother me.
Hour 2- buy a Roddy Doyle book and start reading. Pretty good stuff, "The woman who walked into doors" - an abused housewife in Dublin in case you cannae guess!
Hour 3- christ, I'm tired. Roddy doyle is just entering my dreams, I nearly called the japanese bloke next to me a little bollox. Maybe I'll got and get tea.
Hour 4- Wired on my excessive tea consumption, its time to get onto the plane!

Wired? I fell asleep after 10 minutes. I'd swapped seats with a bloke who looked creastfallen that he'd been seperated from his girlfriend, and was woken to find him waving a veggie meal in my face. I woke up shortly before Dubai and got chatting to the pakistani man next to me. He worked in NYC as a "software architect", but was visiting his parents in Karatchi. Nice guy. I got the order "capcap", which meant take off your hat (not smile and look confused as I learned from the angry reaction of the arab security guard).

Dubai departure lounge? Another big shopping centre. Though I must remember to get some nuts (5kg bags!), and some tea in squigly writing when I come back here. Roddy doyle again, I think. Oh, that man is giving me a hacky look. Well fuck you! I'm bringing my good money into your country. Yes, not as much as you do. Probably not as much as you do into mine, but fuck off!
Ohh, must find out if the queen's face has power here. And it does! Huzzah! Mmm, sandwich.
The Indonisians going to Jakarta on my flight were really rude bastards. One of them slapped me with a baby. Just to get further in the queue. Jesus, how do you recon with that?

Who am I next to? Interesting indian bloke again? Mad chinese woman? Nope, its an american brat. Oh dear. More sleep for me then.

I woke again for meals, but aparently when Emirates are east of Dubai the concept of vegetarianism vanishes. I told them I didn't want the fish or the chicken because of my vegetarianism, and so they brought me a ham salad. Luckily, travel doesn't make me hungry.

A breif strech at Colombo, which looks from above to be a big tea plantation, a short (4 hour) hop, and I am off the plane and into the arrival bay of Singapore Chiangi Airport.