Sleep Is For The Weak

I forced myself to use the currently and sadly underused New Post button to bring you this update. Since My last rather woeful post, posted in Siam Reap after a long day at the Angkor Temples, (yes I went to Angkor, it blew my mind). I was there for 3 days lookin at temples and doing little else. It was so worth it. Although when attending the obligatory "sunrise over angkor" day I missed the whole rather overrated affair photographing (badly due to shitty lenses) dragonflies on a lake in front of the temple complex, again, worth it. I also caught a frog that day. awesome.

Since Cambodia, where it is worth mentioning that the torture camp, s-23 I think it is called (forgive my memory it has been a long day, we will get to that later) is the most horriffic thing I have seen. Amazingly scary.

Since Cambodia I have traveled to Koh Lanta where I currently reside in a wonderful little bungalow a few minutes walk to the white sand beach facing sunset, and 2 doors down from a dive shop where I am attempting to get various certifications regarding the diving practice. Today was my second day diving, we did two dives to about 12 meters for around 50 minutes each, I also had to do a short swim test which accounts for my present fatuiged condidion.

Anyway diving seems to be the most awesome thing ever ever times infinity no comebacks, ever, and I am enjoying it immensely. Today I saw octopus, barracuda, cuttlefish, parrotfish, angelfish, damselfish, clownfish, nudibranch, sea cubumber, moray eel, long taily fish i forget the name of, brain coral, sea fans, cleaner fish, puffer fish, star fish, crown of thorns and a heap of other fish I cannot name, let alone corals (hard and soft) anenomies (spelling is too tired) and planty things.
Tomorrow I dive twice more and sit a test, and if i pass everything I have my first level cerification.

life is good.

more details when i settle without strenuus excersixze.

Traveler Sickness

Traveler Sickness is when one gets sick of conversing andor communicating, "hanging out", "jammin" or spending time in a social context with other travelers. This sickness is caught after extended periods of travel in areas frequented by other travelers, these must see areas (Ankor Wat in this case) are places where tourists of all kinds congregate to see or experience something of great importance. The direct cause is unknown but its symptoms are simply being sick of other travelers.
Signs of Traveller Sickness approaching include:

Being able to tell how long someone has been away from home at a glance

Therefore knowing exactly where this traveler has been in the last month

Being asked the same set of questions repeatedly

Not caring that you make up all your answers so in the end it makes no sense whatsoever (dolphin trainer/alchemist looking for an ancient lost manuscript on the ultimate dolphin training technique seems to crop up often).

Cure for Travelers Sickness is currently being investigated, the most likely cure seems to be a prolonged stay in areas seldom frequented by the dime-a-dozen lonely planet backpacker, or long talks about said backpackers with an individual that has also contracted Travelers Sickness

Paying for internets is irritating

I am in Laos, and because of the distinct and unsurprising lack of any Wifi I have not been posting here, but I have been taking notes in a sort of impromptu diary so fear not, I will update properly probably when I get back to Thailand, which will not be for a few weeks yet as I will be in Cambodia within the week. But in my present painfully picturesque locale, lack of internet is not a worry that keeps me up at night.
I am in Si Pan Don, literally 4000 islands about 30km north of the border to Cambodia, a backpackers mecca full of very relaxed locals and the more adventurous of the soft-core backpacking crowd.
It is amazingly quiet here, there is no power beyond generators and they go off at 10, no street lights and no cars. My first day was a sleep in, breakfast of banana pancakes followed by a walk where the highlight was a pig that rolled over once sufficiently petted, (a theory thoroughly tried and tested) and a game of asshole (a card game for the, sadly, uninitiated) with some random swiss at a little cafe/guesthouse a few km south of our residence.

I will remain in this sleepy burg for a few days invesigating the surrounding waterfalls, dolphins (apparently) and pigs until jumping south to see what beaches cambodia has to offer. But until I find better internet, expect nothing more than ramblings such as this from this sketchy "blog".

Bigger is better

Hong Kong is fantabulously brilltastic.

This statement, one you have no doubt heard at least once a day since you could comprehend speech, is one I can safely say is as true as other true things I have uttered those times I uttered true things. It has everything really, great transport, cheap yet bmx cool food, sickmad museums, the largest buddha that happens to be sitting and free tai chi lessons every second day during the working week.
People are friendly and know you don't have a clue how to speak their language, and are ok with that. There is always something to do no matter the hour, be it go to the beach or just chillax in a rad cool park watching a totally extreme tops kung fu demo.

I enjoyed my time in the H to the K, it was a solo flight, although I couchsurfed with a very international group of english teachers they worked, and did their thing, and I did my, (far more awesome), thing.
I find solo much easier for exploratating, photographeration and street-marketing-it-up, as my pace was the inspiration for the Tortoise I feel bad for waiting 3 minutes for lights to change so I can get a street shot without the bus in the way. But, as I now trawl through the mess of thousands of unsorted photos i find my favorite are often taken with company...

To conclude another long late night rant about little, I left Hong Kong hardly having touched my to-see/do list but happy that I saw the crazy town, and now I am in Bangkok.

You know its time to think about going home when you want to use the airline codes for all the city names.

Rush Hour

Morocco, surprisingly, was not as hot as my present locale, it brushing the top end of the 30s here in Hong Kong. Hong Kong? You exclaim! But you were meant to write about sand raiders and lost tombs and whatnot from your magic wireless in the desert! Alas, my friends I lost my magic wireless somewhere in Berlin after a bad poker hand.
But even with no magical wireless internets, and often no internets at all (shock horror!) a marvellous time was had by all. Morocco was filled with amazing sights and sounds, often awful smells and seemingly endless touts and hawkers who were summarily ignored, and shooed away with the ever useful No-stare.

Everything about morocco is different to what I have encountered elsewhere on my travels, the people, food, architecture, and even how often they eat (I do not suggest going during ramadan). Alas my visitation to north africa was cut short by lack of working phone numbers for the finn air Paris desk, thus I had to return to try to change the flight or, failing that, catch it (not liliputian style) and go where the pilot decides to take me. Obviously I could not change it, and the pilot decided to do what he was told and go to Hong Kong.

So here I am, in Hong Kong with a slight cold (it seems whenever I go to Asia I am with cold just before I arrive, thus freaking out the quarrantine minions at the airport and wasting valuable asia time. Luckily this time I avoided quarrantine, it was like frogger).
I am very happy to be here, as a fan of Hong Kong cinema (well the kung fu/police movie bits)I am simply happy to be where Jackie Chan might have been. I keep expecting to see running battles between rival Kung Fu clans or a lone fighter taking on a horde of hooligans in a back alley complete with slow mo replays and awesomely cheesy 80s soundtracks. Although this has not yet occoured, I remain hopeful.

A(n?) European Eviction

Arrival in Brussels, after a suitably horrible flight, was eventful. At the border to Brussillian lands I was asked to accompany a police officer to a back room after my passport was scrutinized at length. I was then informed in somewhat broken english that I had 3 days left on my schengen visa before I risk capture by roving bands of passport chekering police and I had to go with the be-bearded officer to phone to call my travel agent in Australia (which would have been closed at the time) to change my flight out of the EU to a more suitable time.

After managing to convince the simple fellow of my intentions to leave post haste he decided not to inform the immigration office of my predicament, which has since been allieviated by going to Morocco, where arabic keyboqrds make mockery of my spelling skillz, ramadan makes eating a game of hide and seek (i seek an open restaurant, which despite their size, hide very well) and awesome sights come in spades.

I keep this short dear readers as I must be off to scrounge for food before embarking south, towards the grand and famed sahara where there will be camels and, assuming global warming has not played its hand again, sand in simply silly amounts.

Era

The Irish Era of the expedition is drawing its curtain, the actors retiring, and props going into storage, for I (its star) am going to Brussels, a city I passed through on my way from Paris to Amsterdam on a bus. Unfortunately I did not really notice it, as I was engrossed in Neil Gaimans Neverwhere at the time, but if I had I am sure I would have something more to say about it.

Ireland has been good. Simply that.
I have enjoyed my tenure here immensely. I can now tell a horse the general direction in which I would like to travel and with a certain amount of luck the horse should then set off in said direction. I am also very well acquainted with the leavings of said horse. I have learnt that if someone says "Wheres the crack?" in ireland it means "Wheres the Craic?" or wheres the fun? in normal english, of which there seems a distinct lack in these here hills.
I have also seen more water falling from the sky then I have witnessed in six months back home.

I do leave with regret however, as I do with most destinations I have called upon, because I have seen little of this startlingly green country besides the farm and Dublin, and have met more Canadians than Irish. But as with any problems encountered while traveling, you must look to your goal, stick to your plan and find the next horizon.

Irish Summer Rain

The pony camp is over. Leaving me utterly tired, and left once more to my little world during the day. The camp was fun, the children got on beautifully, learnt to ride much better and many ended up doing a show jumping 'run' or whatever it is called on the final day.

And apparently I am a natural rider.

Of course, being me, I am naturally amazing at many things, but horses is a surprise. Although being amazing at things unfortunately means I also happen to be amazing at cleaning stables, which is a daily occurrence.

But shoveling piles of poop and sweeping out puddles of piss really is not as bad as it sounds, once the job is done I have 9 (or 10 I have not actually counted) clean stables ready for tomorrows piles to be deposited for me to clear away again.

I wouldn't mind being a stable hand if I could ride better.

Defecation, A.D.D. and Goldfish

Arrival at the farm of tipperary was achieved on a friday. After a wander through Thrules, where a book and a meal were acquired I was unceremoniously picked up by the boss lady with a honk of the horn and a 'come hither post haste' wave followed by what could have been a hollywood chase scene through the irish countryside, zipping around tractors and slow drivers in the mistubishi lancer, only we were only being chased by lateness and persuing lost time.

The farm itself is simply that, not flashy in any sense at first glance, quite typical, it seems, of the surrounds. It is a farm based on 17 or so horses that are bred, sold and used to teach riding skill and for horse rides through the shire-esque (of hobbit fame) green rolling hills, little paved lanes canopied with leaves and green fields dotted with ancient walls and mounds covering ruins long forgot.
'This sounds wonderful!' one might say, 'Absolutely divine, how lucky you are to be in such a place!' one might amble on.
Yes it is pretty and horses are very nice, if you like irish weather which consists of constant cloud and the perpetual rain, if not in typical 'rain' form, then in humidity, on the ground in the latest puddle design or 'my clothes are still wet from three days ago' shape. And of course its wonderful if you like horses.
I liken them to cats, rather fickle, a bit unpredictable and irritable. While I like (most) cats, imagine a cat that is 300kg, has muscle to match and does not want to move from its bed, even though it has defecated everywhere (... everywhere), and it decides its grumpy today.

While I do not have much experience with horses it seems the effort involved with keeping them (over 10 at least) far outweighs the fun. I would rather a husky team, dogs are so much simpler.

Anyway, I am learning much about horses and how to handle them, which is going slower then i would like, as I am looking on while helping out with a Pony Camp.
After the day of cleaning, running round with humans half my age that seem to never stop talking on completly inane and pointless subjects, have the attention spans of a goldfish sadly afflicted with severe A.D.D. and keep stating facts like they are discoveries (Its Raining! Thats a big horse! I Fell! etc) I retreat to my caravan unit thing and cook too much bad food and queue up old music on this tiny laptop with its crappy speakers. For I am the only worker here doin the wwoofin gig since the two others left so once again I must keep myself sane by myself. I dunno if i can last 4 weeks.

That said, I am having a pretty good time.

In other news I must decide whether to return to my much loved country after a detour in Asia and be home before christmas, or try to get a job in Scotland, most likely forfeiting my ticket home and come back in january, in the next few days.

Hmm!!

Wwoofing

I am in Ireland on a farm, being a (somewhat) Willing (sometimes) Worker On (mostly) Organic (not really a) Farm. The farm in question is actually an equine based business where you learn to ride horses, I dont really consider this a farm but who am I, a complete non farmer, to judge?
As I am here, in stable accommodation with foods and whatnots, I thought this a good opportunity to resurrect this rather dead and now stinky blog from the metaphorical ashes of obscurity that comes with neglect and lack of interesting things to write about.

Although the second point probably wont change.

I will also endeavor to take some photos every day and post them here or link to them.

Hopefully this will work and get me tattering away again with the inane and often mindless chatter that so soaks this page like ever present irish rain through my single pair of jeans.

Needing wants

When I began this errand into the wide blue, I expected the unexpected around every corner, or at east around every second corner, characterful characters that would take me under their smelly sleeve and whist me off on wildly wandering adventures, never wanting for needs or needing wants but living for the awakened moments where you see that the sun shines brighter when you have a smile and a smile to smile at. I thought that my town, sleepy and quiet, was quiet because it lacked the unexpected around the corners and the characters that made the rest of the world so exciting. My errand was to find these things, these magical places and fantasticational (people that educate you with their fantasticalness) people and find out how they worked, and then be able to create them anywhere.

As it turns out corners are really quite predictable...

And I have not encountered a mad hatter with smelly sleeves...

I don't seem to be one that attracts the unexpected and the unconventional, or is it that I don't do the unexpected or be unconventional? I am quite sure it is the latter. It is probably said, by some one some where that you create your own reality, so it seems that I am a blind man looking for red.

I am in London, after what was an unexcuseably lazy week in Menorca, a sick few days in Brighton and a day or so in Bristol. It is nice here, far north london. It is like being at home. Which is worrying as I am again doing so little. Speaking with Jonathan in between movies and sleep-ins, my equally relaxed host who just got back from a 6 month journey, I wonder what it will be like when I do return, as plans for change seem to be easily forgotten.

best laid plans

I am heading to menorca, after an unexpected interlude in Berlin and another shorter one in Barcelona. It seems that trips require at least some forethought for plans to be laid in their strongest and most likely to not not work. My previous rock solid plans of becoming an edinburghian have slipped south a bit as I met some londoners who know someone who works in a pub. A rather long shot but I may be checking it out if I can find suitable (Cheap) accommodation in the London Locale.
So far, as the mainland europe saga of this epic draws to a close, I conclude that I am not good at this travelling business. I need more structure to get the most out of where ever I happen to be, research to give the structure purpose and at least 2 extra ears so I can boast of my research and plans and be heard. Also next time I must try to cover less distance, as my method of travel (whimsical fancy) does not accommodate my want to spend a week minimum in one place, as it tends to be expensive when you book transport the day before.
My next stop (could possibly) will be (after the GURU IN UK series) eastern africa. That will be sickmad, as I will take the lessons learnt in this, sometimes regrettable episode and make the next one even more fantastical then possibly imaginable by a human person.

More soon, I must arrange, organise and set straight, travel, acquire appropriate lodging and begin the wind down from travelers disorganisation to workers general disorganisation.

Rainslick Road of Uncertainty

I write from a large couch, made square with the assistance of a footrest, quite comfortable as a bed or seat in an apartment in Amsterdam. I wrote last from Helsinki, quite some time ago and since have been to Paris.
For the exorbant lateness of this submission, I apologise and cite serious lack of writing inspiration and too many late nights as pitiful excuse. (Although I write this mostly to avoid making decisions regarding when I should depart for my next destination, what mode of transport should be utilized to depart and of course to what locus this mode of transport should bear me. These decisions all seem quite easy in theory, "for one on an expedition must always have a plan". Ha! I throw out your conservative and derivative opinions of expedition planification! Plans are to be made by the skin of someones tooths on the rainslick road of uncertainty rather then in a safe mohogany drawing room! And I never had my mohogany drawing room finished so I didn't plan too far...)

In anycase Paris is Paris, what more needs to be said? Streets are distinctly Parisian to anyone who has seen a movie or read a book, people are distinctly French but not nearly as horrid as the stories claim and it is very simply an enchanting, enthralling and expensive place to be. It has everything you could want in gross profusion and far too much of everything to see and photograph in one lifetime. So I leave that up to you to sign your best Paris pictures over to me.
Your collective effort, my intrepid reader(s?), will be noted in the back pages of my books of course, just don't look too hard and trust your names are there.
Paris is certainly a somwhere I would love to return to, but alas I fear there is no time to see but once all the things one must see, let alone the time to go backwards to somewhere already trod. So as I trod around Paris quite a bit (and some other locales surrounding Paris but I may touch on those at a later date) I am in Amsterdam, and as I have stated before of many other places (and will no doubt state again) it is one of the most breathtaking places I have seen.

The canals are startlingly idyllic and the patchwork assortment of buildings, no two alike, crowd the streets like a crammed bookshelf, the names of books being coffee shops or shops selling books that arent metaphorical, this (metaphorical book) feeling heightened by the way many abodes seem crooked and hastily stuffed tween two others and none being quite able to agree on a comfortable arrangement and just settling where they are dispite their complete lack of adherence to any law of neatness, match or form. At night little bridge arches light up, their reflection on the water along with the many pretty street lamps and often curtainless lit windows creating scenes one should only see in dreams and films, for seeing these scenes in person seems a crime to all those who will never witness it.
Of course Amsterdam is not without its, messynessess. Mostly in the form of bald, somewhat short and stocky, drunken bands of roaming tourists of the british variety stalking the painfully gaudy and superficial red light district for anything that seems amusing through the cloying fog of excess cannibis and alcohol.
That said, the messynessess add to the character of the Dam (as it is apparently, colloquially known) and the good certainly outweighs the bad.

I have not actually seen too much of the Dam rather then a widening assortment of coffee shops and a somewhat shorter list of bars as I have been spending my time with H at said coffee shops and bars. Our initial meeting was as verbose as it was long, and as enjoyable as those two factors multiplied by 10. Since then we have kept up our acquaintence on a quite regular basis, much to my delight. This is also one reason I avoid the decisions mentioned previously, for, this being a good thing, it is doomed to end at some point.

So my next beginning on my hodgepodge tour of Europe will probably be Hannover, the mode of transport will probably be thumb, and I might depart on montyoosdayish. (say it out loud)

I do not recall if I mentioned previously dear subscriber, that I have a wish to study Spanish in Spain. This requires much research and whatnot so it is as yet completely undecided. But I also find the urge to travel to cheaper climes growing as my credit with my bank shrinks so I may end up just saying "Bugger it all"and buying the next ticket to Phnom Penh. Europe seems just too close, safe, easy and the very antithesis of the reasons why I conjured up this mad plunge so long ago.

Also, after Hannover I must dash to Spain to catch the famed Running of the Bills. In which they release 6 people called Bill who chase a few hundred people who aren't Bills into an arena where the Bills are tortured and then killed. This strange custom would certainly be something to behold, as long as you aren't a Bill of course.

And as I am certainly not a Bill, I will behold it!

Legacy of Herbert Tiggleston, PHD, GURU

My often epileptic gallivantations have finally brought me to Helsinki. A city that I have come to love. This may be because of the concert I just attended: A free classical concert, (two firsts) where i heard Beethoven's Triple Concerto and another piece by a composer whos name I cannot be resigned to looking up, (I do recall he is/was Russian), never the less it was incredible. I have decided that I really must fulfill a longstanding dream and learn the violin.

So much has happened since I last send word. I went to Kyoto and saw many nameless temples and shrines, many beautiful but most grew increasingly meaningless as I saw more and more of them. I witnessed the legendary Sakura bloom of japan, it was every bit as fantastic as they say it is. I saw the two biggest bronze buddhas in japan and took many photos (of varying quality), and on the way to and from my base of Tokyo I just watched the landscape roll by, it was incredible the changes from coastal passages flat and infested with houses and people to the rolling mountain ranges with small villages clinging to the river banks and ankles of the hills, the houses never stopped but the architectural and physical changes in the landscape where almost musical.

I spent a week in Taiwan, staying with a friend I hosted and climbed the highest peak in the Taipei area (around 1300m) with a high fever and a cold, went to night markets and enjoyed cheap delicious food.

Back in Japan with few days remaining I made a day trip to the island of Enoshima and took a ridiculous amount of photos, some of which I actually like! (Although I do admit I am probably too critical of myself, or not critical enough...). I missed a flight to Hong Kong so pushed my flight to Helsinki forward and here I am.
So far I have walked around the city, I adore the architecture here, tall, square and often flat faced make them seem grand and old. Streets are full of character with shops hawking everything form 1948 newspapers to harmonicas between the local kebab shop and heavy metal bar. I love the markets full of strange and delightful sweets, meats, smiles, where wares of odd construction and unknown function abound. This city is like nothing I have seen, it is small and one is able to walk everywhere of interest (or of mention) in no less then an hour, it has few inhabitants for a capital, but not an insignificant number at around 500,000 and yet when I walked its broad straight streets today (it being satuday and the walk beginning at 1pm) I often found my self completely alone save the birds and my incredibly witty and knowledgable finnish friend and guide Juha.

Old buildings stand alongside new buildings and every corner presents another row of fascinatingly individual boutiques, each asking to be photographed and entered, begging me to explore its exotic wares, but never purchase as it is super expensive. I love the forgotten statues that adorn parks, a tribute to a war or hero I have no knowledge of. The people here are generally silent and, well, Finnish, but every Fin I have talked to has been an absolute delight, not even counting their incredibly bright eyes. Keen to drink beer and yell at football on TV after a black coffee in a cafe with charm and beauty.

If this city is a good representation of what the rest of Europe has to offer, or indeed the world I doubt I will ever return home.

I cannot describe my excitement when I ponder the possibilities of Germany, France, Spain, Canada (Quebec in particular), Poland and, well, anywhere...

Dispite all the parks, temples, wonderful libraries and churches, squares and restaurants I have found that the thing I value most is meeting people and finding out about their lives and how they think. I have met indescribably fascinating, friendly and beautiful people who have all created a memory and changed the way I perceive my world, my place in it and my ability to change who I am, what I do and the world around me.

I do hope this inspiration to change and follow my dreams grows and matures, and not, sadly wither and crumble as habitually occurs.

I have also noticed the persona of Dr Herbert Tiggleston, Guru. has taken a back seat to rather conversational missives to you from simply: me (if in a manner that I could never conjure up in any social setting). I had thoughts of using Guru with much metaphore and various subtle allusions to sociological and philospohical standings and questions, but he seems to have been lost in the back streets of Narita, with no slave porters (who really just feel sorry for him) to guide him out. I do hope he returns.

I am moving on from Helsinki, and Finland on the wednesday to come. I am not sure whether this is a terribly good idea as there is much here to do and see that I have not yet done or seen, but I fear that if I stay here I will just stay here and not do or see in other places.

I will attempt to recall stories and places of note in future missives but I do not really enjoy writing about random days. As it is this blog is scattered and unorganised enough, which poetically, reflects its author quite well.

Ah! I failed to tell you to where I am headed. I will be in Paris by Thursday. The fact that I can say that still tickles me pink.

The Next

I am in Europe.

As this is something that has not happened to occur to me on a terribly regular basis I am finding the whole occasion rather novel. I currently sit on what seems to be a couch made mostly from foam, in a flat on level 3 (although here in backwards land the sun sets at 11pm, they drive on the right [wrong] side of the road and they call the ground floor level 1, a terribly befuddling place at the best of times) of a building in the suburb of Kallio in Helsinki; a city that has stolen my heart and somehow left me alive and well without a gaping hole in my torso.

Maybe it has a copy of my heart grown from DNA samples obtained in an amazingly intricate series of events and psuedo-coincidence masterminded by the faerie people that embody the ultimate but oft hard-to-discern will of the entity named Helsinki. But it will turn out that the sooth sayers that divine the commands of Helsini are just making things up but didnt want to say anything as to not dissapoint everyone, and besides this they like the perks that come with being the mouth of a divine being.
So my cloned heart will turn into a novelty, relegated to an unloved and unattended back room of a museum only the faerie roaches frequent until the museum is lost to faerie fire in late june and the heart passes from memory completely.

Edge of the Next

Here i sit, sated after a meal worthy of a prince on my last night in Japan.

In the beginning, Japan was just an interlude, breaking up my flight to Paris, a stopover and a curiosity. That was on the 3rd of march, 7 weeks later (including one week in Taiwan and one week in Takayama, Kyoto/Nara) I want stay longer, or at least be able to come back soon. I have seen ancient swords, bronze Buddhas, exquisite temples and grand mountains. Heard beautiful new music, grappled with the beginnings of another language and eaten exotic delicacies, but I want to come back just because of a handful of people I happened to meet.

Each amazing in their own right with their own lovable quirks and a surprising lack of irritating habits they have been what has made this leg of my journey so memorable.

But I look forward to europe, although I trade increasingly warm and sunny weather for the rather chilly climes of northern europa, new languages, architecture, plants and animals and new people all to be photographed AMAZINGLY AWESOMELY by me are just over the horizon (a few times over I think, in an 8 hour flight).

Observation or introspection?

I can write about what has occurred on this oh so odd odyssey with quips, quirks and what i find wonderful wit, (I am sure that only 3 people, me, myself and my mother agree on this), or I can put into prose my ponderings on the meandering machinations of my mind during this, my first foray into the far reaches of this exhilarant earth. But I cannot do both. I would like to regale you with tales of my daring deeds while commenting on the nature of duality inherent in Japanese culture, but I do not have the time nor the attention span to complete such a mighty undertaking.

So dear reader, please let me know which you would prefer, one, the other or snippets of both. i am not saying you have the final word on the matter, but your input is valued none the less.

Now, I will let you know what is going on in regard to actualities and localities. I am in Tokyo, back from (mis) adventures in Taiwan. I missed my flight to Hong Kong through lack of sleep and forgetfulness and so I am once again on the as yet untrodden path to Helsinki, the journey beginning (counting the adventures so far as a pit stop) monday the 27th.

I tire of consciousness as it is at the moment 46 minutes past the hour of 2. I will endeavor to provide you, most faithful of readers, with a more exhaustive update on the morrow.

Until then, keep dreaming.

Meandering Gallivantations

My previous intentions of gallivanting to the far-off winterland utopia of Helsinki have been postponed as I have been talked into a jaunt to Taipei by my ever loved host Keii, which pushed back the date of the Helsinki flight to at least the 19th, unfortunately after booking the ticket to Taipei I found that all flights to Helsinki are fully booked until the 6th of May, leaving a few weeks unaccounted for before Helsinki, so another ticket was quickly found for 10 days in Hong Kong after Taipei.

I write you now from said city on the isle of Taiwan slowly recovering from high fever and coughs that have wracked my muscular, sculpted, herculean body for the last few days. Taipei seems to be a mixture of Japan (I still hit my head at least once a day) and Thailand (markets everywhere, fruit and food is cheap, I hit my head). But I get ahead of myself, when last I inscribed on this hallowed tome I was heading for Kyoto, by way of Takayama...

Accommodation did indeed rear its stinky head so I booked my rooms and was pleased. I arrived after about 9 hours on the train (I also accidentally caught a special rapid train which ended up costing me 3000 yen ($45) but got there several hours earlier) at about 7pm and realized I had not written down the name of the temple where I was staying. So I called the ever faithful Keii who informed me that it was Zoichi ji (I think....) and all was well again.

Until I inquired as to the location of the temple, the attendant replied Nara, with a barely stifled smirk. Nara being about 9 hours away by train I asked if there was another one in the local area, the answer, after a quick conversation with a colleague, full of grins worthy of the cheshire cat, I was told: no.

I obtained the location of an internet cafe to look up the location myself and trodded off south through deserted playgrounds, swings creaking in the mist created by the water fountains, contruction yards with silent machinery like slumbering transformers ready to spring to life and save the world, and found that the internet cafe was closed.
Trodding back north, my backpack now gaining weight with every step I pondered my options and realised I have the temples number in my called list on my mobile. I called and asked where they are, they then said they have no record of my reservation and that they were full and to try Todai Ji. I found a map, turns out Todai Ji is on the very north side of the town so I set off, backpack now a mighty boulder strapped to my frail (but still hawt) form.

I reached the warm lights of he temple at about 9pm, tired and hungry and they had a room. All was well again

Organisation vs Procrastination

One of these things is not like the other, (remember that song from sesamie street? If you dont I am sorely dissapointed in your distinct lack of SOUL) one of these things I am really bad at. Unfortunately this thing seems to be the thing that makes traveling the farthest reaches of this speck of dust hurtling through the void that we call the world much easier.

You see, the time has come, my little friend, to see some other things. Trains, temples and shinto shrines, and the castles of ancient kings. And since the weather is freezing cold, (my body built for other things), Caloo Callay, South! I say! To see the castles of ancient Kings. The eternal neon glow of tokyo has turned cold, its rush uncaring and irritating. So onward I tread to greener (and hopefully warmer) pastures. Kyoto is where my path has turned, like the nose of a wandering hound, who is slightly senile and has no sense of smell.
I hope to leave within the week after much drunken karaoke (which makes my singing marvelous rather then horrendous) and seeing the famed Imperial Gardens in the physical and metaphorical heart of Tokyo.

If suitable (affordable) accomodation does not rear its slightly stinky head in the next few days I will have to resort to sleeping in all night internet cafes where you can shower, play video games, surf the net and watch movies till dawn for the princely sum of 1000 円、about 15 dollars. Should be fun.

Then after my jaunt in the south I am heading to one of the northern-most capitals on earth; Helsinki. Where once again I will be cold. Have I mentioned I am not partial to such climes? I am just not a cold person, nor am I equpped for gallavanting about in -10 degree conditions and I challenge anyone to fit such inane items into a single backpack along with necessary items like literature and camera gear.
But the blog must go on so I must travel to this city and its less then ideal weather, for you, my reader.

If I dont return, (falling into an ice lake, bear attacks, moose attacks and hypothermia are all apparently quite lethal) burn my things and set my sewer-people servants free, the key is under the mat.

Fuju Yama San!

For everyone who will travel to Japan, or speak to the Japanese, it is Fuju San. Fuji yama is a mistranslation of the kanji 山. Which is literally mountain, but can apparently be pronounced as San, or Yama. Anyhoo on my recent trek of 4 days through forest and undergrowth, living off rare birds and racoons caught with snares I reached the massive mighty mountain that is Fuji san. It is certainly worthy of its reputation of eye watering beauty. Unfortunately I did not get a chance to gaze upon its majestic form often as I was at Fuju-Q, the amusement park near the foot of its namesake.

I have decided I dislike amusement parks, for after the amazingly expensive daypass has been purchased and is held tightly in my hot, gigantuan hand,
(it was astoundingly cold at the time but I was actually referring to a saying my father had, of something [usually of importance to me and only me] being held in my hot, sweaty little hand.)
you line up for 2 hours to have the ride be declared broken. Every ride or amusement is preceeded by a line of people waiting for hours for their 3 minutes of very expensive screaming time. Such playgrounds of staccato enjoyment perpetuated by legato monotony seem to me to be an utter waste of a day and a small fortune in dimes and nickels. I rename them Parks of Infrequent Terror. I dont much care for terror.

I much prefer walks in parks, photographs of strangers doing strange things in stranger places, and eating my fill of watever precious pastries I can find on a backpackers wage. Speaking of which there are many fantastical stangers in the city. I see people dressed in the strangest ways, (photos I will find out how to add at a later date) I saw a man walking in circles arms spread, so I watched him for maybe 10 minutes before giving up. He seemed at peace doing what ever it was that he was doing so I did not inquire as to what that actually was and left him to his quirky task.

I almost wish i did ask...

Its certainly easier to have an awkward conversation then to regret a conversation you never have, unless of course you are trying to talk to someone who does not understand english, then it is much harder to have an awkward conversation..

the large expanse of land that compromises the place that I am in

That being the land of Japan and the place I am in, being not very specifically, near Tachikawa station, in the sprawling, seething mass of concrete, people-meat and occasional shrines in charming parks that is: Tokyo.

I must say that `tis rather cold here. Luckily I thought ahead and packed warm clothes, useful/awesome accessories such as scarves and gloves in addition to extra socks.
Oh wait! No I didnt!!
The japanese seem to have a natural resistance to cold, I have seen countless girls in short skirts and high boots walking round in icy rain with temperatures hovering around 0 degrees, where it has been for the last few days... maybe they have a secret ninja technique only taught to girls with great legs...

Despite my amazing lack of foresight, any semblance of organisation or planning and my innate ability to make even simple tasks as difficult as inhumanly possible I am having a pretty good time. I am staying with a student who goes by the name Keiichiro. He can cook amazingly well, is training to be a nurse at the hospital and likes to travel to south east asia to teach english in small villages. I am sorry ladies, he is taken by a parisian girl who is coming to visit soon. He is also teaching me to juggle, which is inhumanly difficult.

Tokyo is a very interesting berg, as you would expect from the capital of the notoriously hip, with-it and super stylin Japanese. If I got a job I could live here as there is just so much to see and do. Unfortunately it is also very expensive and simply going to the city and back is about $15.
To make up for this obvious oversight the Japanese made themselves very helpful and taught themselves english. While a Ohayo gozaimasu/sumimasen is the best way to start, english is all thats needed if you stick the beaten path, simply because 1000 tourists more obnoxious and demanding then you have asked the same person the same question before.

Coming here as a 6"5` beanpole was going to be interesting at best, but I can say now I dont fit into this country in any sense, I duck through the train doors and hit my head on railings, swinging ads, and many other items that seem to be put there just for my head-bone to collide with. Luckliy I know a few japanese swear words. I am an alien here and even if I become fluent in Japanese I will remain a foreigner. Japanese culture tolerates foreigners and even welcomes them but they will always remain That Guy/Girl From ...

I dont think I am a city person. There are many cool photo opportunities and many interesting people but it is hard to get around and I am always getting lost, which isnt that bad as there is always someone to ask for directions.

Dameda! (an interesting word/phrase that can be used in many situations like dammit, crap, bloody hell, shit, but seems to have a slightly different meaning which I have yet to fathom) It is 2am and I must go to Harajuku tomorrow to see crazy teens dress up and parade around for apparently no reason. It is a strange world we live in.

Pre-Take-Off Chill-Out-Sessions

The weekend preceding the event that is my departure to new horizons has been equal parts eventful and awesome. Drinks flow like swiftly flowing rivers, and laughter rings like loud... telephones. Very happy at the turnout of the delicious dinner/drinks. A character with charm and intelligence was able to attend and I had a ruddy good time being unseasonably social and talkative.

There were awkward moments brought on by the mad labyrinth that is the female mind, hearing whispers and nurturing brooding thoughts of betrayals that never occurred, all the while running from a ravenous mythical beast of their own creation.

Apparently this insane beast has now been calmed. Whether any harm was done or the beast will rear its wild-eyed head again remains to be seen.

All excitement over leaving has now gone. I am over the same few questions people ask and reaaly need to book accomodation. Sooner I get the leaving part over the better.

2am is not the time to write anything remotely coherent or sensemakabilityness

The Beginning

Soon I will embark on a great flying machine (A-330 I think) to far off, strange outlandish lands to explore fantastical landscapes, learn peculiar languages and have a ruddy good time while I'm at it.

I had packed 12 cases of nick-nackerations and doohickeries to help document and record my tales of travel but then my porters went missing! So in leiu of capturing 12 more sewer people and training them in the ways of the "Up-Worlders", (for which I have no time in any case) I have separated the proverbial wheat from the chaff and am now taking but one backpack, but it is ready to go! (Rather then all the things I will, no doubt, forget).

Approaching the end of my lease on life in this sleepy berg I feel regret, like drinking chocolate milk and realising it is sour only after finishing. Not regret for leaving this place, but for having to leave without getting to know a whole host of characters: eccentric, charming, brilliant and just old fasioned fun, that I have met in the last few months. A few in particular.

But! C'est la vie et ce comme ca, and how ever many other vague cliches you can apply to: Life Goes On!
And indeed it does, and I look foward to the coming days of my own life with great anticipation...