Jun 2008

Japan is now entering its rainy season, so I thought Id settle down in Tokyo rather than be caught hitchhiking in the pouring rain everyday. Naturally, ever since I made this decision, the weather has been beautiful and sunny. So here I am, in the worlds greatest metropolis, staying with one of my previous host families.

Settling down has allowed me to check the bad habits that grew whilst I travelled. For example, my standards of hygiene have improved greatly since having access to a shower every day, and a reasonable sized towel. When travelling, I only take a Japanese sized towel which is absolutely tiny, and the thought of standing in a shower cubicle padding myself with a damp towel for half an hour is often enough to turn me away from the shower; instead, I would resolve to not stand very close to anyone for the rest of the day.

I have also finally found a way to keep my snacking habits under control. The habit started in Eihei-ji, where the reverence for food and half hour long pre-eating rituals made me lust for certain snack foods, especially anything with the taste of chocolate or sugar, which did not feature very much in the temple food. Upon leaving, I subsequently found myself eating snacks very regularly, wherever I went. My greatest achilles heel was soft serve ice cream - It costs around 300 yen ($3), does nothing at all to fill you up, and tastes absolutely fantastic. In Takayama, they helpfully put out a gigantic plastic replica of soft serve ice cream at every store that sold out - Come on, even smokers dont have to put up with gigantic replica cigarettes when they walk down the street! The Takayama `free samples` didnt do much to help either, and very quickly my snacking habits had a depressing effect on my budget. Now, at my host families house, I have found the perfect solution - free snacks! There are plenty of potato chips, chocolate, ice cream, and also healthy Japanese snacks such as the delicious Inari-Zushi (I might go and eat some now in fact), so I barely spend anything on snacks anymore!

Most importantly though, it is here in Tokyo that I can try to earn some money! Money is a very important nutrient for travellers, and Money Deficiency Syndrome (MDS) can create serious problems. Symptoms include eating the same microwave curry every night for a week, refusing to drink at pubs, standing outside tourist attraction gates looking indecisive, trying to sell off their shoelaces for the best possible price, and general depression.

If there is a job to be found in Japan, Tokyo is the place to find it. And if there is a job to be found in Tokyo, Roppongi Hills is the place to find it. Roppongi Hills is meant to represent Beverly Hills - it is very trendy, very expensive, and crowded with the young, rich and stupid alike.

I do not have any time to waste looking for a job in the traditional way, picking one career path and following it. Rather, I attempt to follow four career paths at once, and see which one ends up working out the best - English teaching, Japanese teaching, Modelling for Fashion/TV, and working in cafes. I wander the trendy streets of Roppongi, spending half my time bowing to restaurant managers, and the other half of my time striking poses for modelling registrations (feeling like a twit, but loving it). I indulge in plentiful snacks on the way in lieu of lunch. The Japanese onomatapoeia for someone eating chips is `Kari Kari`- Yes, they do have a noise for everything!

Settling down also means a chance to enjoy Japanese culture. Tokyo is everything it is cracked up to be - the future here in the present, the quintessence of urbanity, a towering, gleaming megapolis which perfectly defines what life in a city means.

Nobody sleeps; my host mum goes to bed sometime past midnight (I fall asleep around then, I am yet to ever actually see her go to bed!). Everybody works; at one of my modelling interviews, the guy interviewing me is a perfect stereotype for the ridiculously busy Japanese person, and he literally phone hopped from one phone to the other, apologizing to me in between. The climax of this was when the doorbell rang - the next appointment was here, and the interviewer skilfully managed to conduct two interviews at once, at the same time as answering calls on his mobile, landline, and making sure the computer was behaving itself.

Perhaps this sort of lifestyle awaits me in the future; will I end up running down the streets of Tokyo trying to remove my `Outback Cafe`apron so I can be on time for my appointment to smile next to a Coca-Cola bottle? Or (more likely), will I end up sitting around watching Japanese soap-operas on my host families gigantic TV, flipping through classic Manga and haunting the local library? Only time will tell...

In order to leave Takayama, I first have to walk out of town to a good spot for hitchhiking (having blown so much money on sweets and tourist traps in Takayama, I refuse to fork out for the bus), which is a good half an hour away. At first I felt lucky that the weather was so good, but soon the friendly sun becomes a mortal enemy as it rises higher and higher in the sky. It does indeed feel good walking through the countryside though, past thatched roofs and rice paddies...already I am experiencing travelling, and I havent even got my first ride! My first ride coems within about 30 seconds, a young man and woman with a baby, and we drive through the alps to the sound of `Finding Nemo` (the babys favourite movie, without which she becomes very agitated). I get dropped of at Hirayu onsen, near the ropeway, and the scenery is spectacular as I wait with my thumb out on a road where not a single car comes. I wander around town for about 2 hours (in the midday sun with a gigantic pack, not a good idea) looking for a better spot, and naturally I end up going back to exactly the same place in the end. My next lift is a 68 year old removalist coming back from Takayama to his home town of Matsumoto, in Nagano district. At one point I realize that his age means he would have been a child at the conclusion of world war 2, and grew up in the postwar chaos, and I marvel at his kindness in helping out a foreigner in spite of this (many of his age still have a serious grudge against all foreigners). Hitchhiking truly is the greatest form of travel - we soar over turqouise lakes and on the top of giant hydrolectric dams; if only I could have got a photo of the mountain canyons.

When we arrive I am stuck once more, but this time a little closer to my destination. I feel that there is no better way to truly appreciate ones location than by being stuck there, alone and on foot. Here I circumnavigate the city for another half an hour, eating convenience store sushi (one of the best meals I have ever eaten), until I find a perfect place for hitchhiking. A thousand cars a minute going onto a major expressway, I am clearly visible and there are plenty of places to stop - it is the perfect place, except for the fact that not a single car stops. I wait for an hour, with the sun gradually getting lower as I do. I do not think I am asking too much, my sign says `anywhere in the direction of Tokyo`. Eventually a young couple stops, and are going all the way to Tokyo! They are 21 years old (it is the girls 21st birthday, but it is not such a big deal in Japan), and are both studying psychology at university. We talk animatedly for the several hour trip (my duty as a hitchhiker is to keep the driver awake with interesting conversation - after a full day of hitch-hiking it becomes a bit difficult!), and about halfway there Mt.Fuji greets me in the distance. I never, ever get used to the sight of Fuji, sitting so majestically above the cities.

Finally, I arrive at the bustling megapolis that is Shinjuku station. I laugh a very satisfied laugh - I made it!
By the grace of a family, a removalist, and two university students I traversed the mountains and arrived at my destination, and the challenge of getting there has made arriving all the sweeter. I cannot believe just how far I have come in a day:

In the morning I was walking past rice fields in sleepy Takayama.


At noon I was looking over the the Japanese Alps.


In the evening I was standing next to a highway in Nagano district.


As the twilight fades, I am looking over the neon jungle of Shinjuku.

It begins with food. I am hungry (as I sometimes do become) and am looking for a particular restuarant when the street I am on suddenly ends in darkness, and looks very depressing. I notice a bar nearby however, well lit and with lots of English menus out the front and all sorts of foreigner-welcoming signs. The menu is about 20 pages long, and I assume that it is more of a restaurant than a bar, and it promises free internet access and even a special gift for foreigners. Well, I am hungry!

Of course, too much English, and too much friendliness is a sure sign of a tourist trap, but the little pixie on my shoulder forgot to tell me that at the time. He looks confused when I dont want any alcohol (just water is fine), and it turns out that the sign out the front did indeed say that internet was free to those who drink here, not those who eat, and it would otherwise cost 300 yen ($3...in your dreams!). The tempura price is a bit pricey (1000 yen, $10), but has a far greater variety than most places, so I decide to just give up on my budget and order it. Then he tells me that the tempura price really is just for the tempura, and if I want rice with it, that will cost extra. I pay another 300 yen for half a bowl of rice, and tuck into a bucket of tempura most likely meant for more than one person (I think most of the meals here are meant to be shared among drunk friends). When I go to pay, the bill doesnt quite seem to add up, until I realize that my glass of water cost another 200 yen. As I leave, I get the special gift that I had completely forgotten about - a brown, depressed looking banana.

I get back to the youth hostel to a very cosmopolitan crew of foreigners (who had cleverly used the kitchen facilities to cook cup noodles and other very cheap meals), and we spend most of the night sitting around the table chatting. Two guys from Connecticut, USA (is that how you spell it? And where is it for that matter?), another two guys from Israel, and an older man from Scotland all exchange hilarious stories about strange, crazy Japan. One person swears he saw a train employee bowing to an empty train carriage, and another one tells of a town where absolutely every shop shut at 5pm, and he was forced to have beer and chocolate for dinner as that was all he could find in vending machines. They too are victims of the Gods of Irony it seems, as museums and shops have completely random holidays (Sorry, we are closed on Wednesdays), and they arrive in towns just in time to see the mess from the years biggest festival, which was of course the day before they arrived. We also muse over the strange phenomenon whereby Japanese buses manage to arrive at least an hour later than a car going to the same place. By nights` end the topic of conversation is the Israeli `textile factory` (which definitely, definitely does not make nuclear weapons) and for some reason, advanced mathematics. When we got onto the topic of the different types of infinity and other abstract mathematics, Eytan, one of the Israeli guys who has a degree in pure mathematics, grabs a peice of chalk and starts writing up mathematical symbols on a blackboard. I wonder what in gods name a blackboard is doing in the kitchen...perhaps its just in case someone ever wants to teach maths at 1am?

In every guide to packing, there is the disclaimer that you will always forget to pack one thing you really should have, and pack one thing you really shouldnt have. For me, here were the two:
I definitely should have brought a toboggan
I definitely should not have brought insect repellent

I wake up bright and early for my trip to Japan`s hiking Mecca, Kamikochi. Well, I wake up bright, with the sun shining through my room, but not exactly early. The night before (at the `big piss up`), my phone ran out of batteries, and I was forced to use my iPod as an alarm clock instead. It did seem to have an alarm function, and putting every bit of faith in it, I set the alarm for 8am. I knew it wouldnt let me down, that somehow it would wake me up at the time I wished to be woken up, the trusty little iPod that it is. However, it never occurred to me that to use an iPod alarm, you need to leave the headphones in your ears...

I wake up at 9 30am, and stumble out of bed rushing to put some clothes on, then onward toward the bus stop in a sleepy haze. Unfortunately, I miss the 9 40 bus, and have to wait another hour for the next one. Damn you iPod!
However, the weather forecast as of yesterday was cloud and rain, so I was not overly fussed about getting there quickly, as I figured the hiking conditions would be below average anyway. Of course, now that I am running late, the Gods of Irony quickly play their part, and I sit on the bus for an hour and a half watching the beautiful blue sky and sunshine out the dirty bus window.

Arriving at 12 30, I am determined to get a full day of hiking in before the last bus leaves at 5pm. Buried about 50km into a national park, and unreachable except by special buses, Kamikochi has indeed earnt its reputation as one of Japan`s most beautiful places. With the sun shining down upon me, it is indeed heaven. The waters are tinted an alluring turquoise, and I fill my water bottle up along the way with water so crystal clear you can see the bottom of the lake several metres below without a trace of murkiness, and so cool and delicious I wanted to take it home and sell it to myself for $5 a bottle. And when you look up, you are completely surrounded by massive snow-covered alps, the kind of rocky mountains you see on advertisements for SUVs. Basically, anywhere you look, it is breathtaking.

As lovely as the scenery on the ground is, I did not come here to amble along the riverside like most tourists do. I have an insatiable desire to be at altitude, to be looking down at everything that surrounds me from a craggy mountains peak. I positively bound up a mountain track, sometimes even literally running up the steep inclines, powered by an unquenchable energy in my legs that I can only call youth. Two hours later, I am indeed very, very high up. Having reached the snowline long ago, I am now looking down at the turqoise lakes in the distance, and the tiny little model town where I came from. The alpine scenery of sharp rocks and perfect white snow, where not a single tree grows...all of a sudden I am there, amongst it. The clouds rush by not too far from my head...I feel satisfied with the altitude I have reached, and though I am only halfway up the massive 2900m peak I decide I have gone far enough. It is not so much the time constraint, or the pain in my legs, as the fact that the gradient has become far too steep, and climbing on icy snow at such an incline is becoming very, very dangerous. I knock a rock off and it falls...and just keeps falling, gaining speed as it goes down the slope. My shoes do their best, but simply cannot get a grip on the snow, and any time I do get a decent foothold the snow collapses beneath me and I fall knee deep into it.

There is one thing you should know about snowy inclines - they are twice as difficult to descend as they are to ascend. After a few unbelievably difficult steps, attempting to keep myself from falling down the mountain, I decide that simply walking down is literally impossible. I do not wish to attempt a different route down either, as there are bears on this mountain, and I do not wish to meet any of them. Of course, there is an ovbious, simple solution - use my backpack as a makeshift toboggan!

My first run is not particularly succesful. Having padded my valuables within spare clothing, I jump on my backpack and point down the steep white slope, and begin to gain speed. And gain more speed. And gain more speed. I had neglected to think of any way to brake, or steer, and as I rocket down the slope my backpack decides that it is only fair that we swap places halfway. Suddenly I am the toboggan, and the backpack is on top of me as I skid down in a dirty, snowy mess. I eventually do come to a stop, but only by plunging my hands into the freezing snow as a form of braking - it is many, many hours before my hands forgive me for this, and they sting the whole way down.

However, I soon learn the basics of makeshift tobboganing, and come up with a method of securing my backpack to myself. I still have absolutely no control of steering, and I just head in whichever direction the bag wants to go, as it always ends up going downhill in one way or another. Braking is relatively simple - I gain speed until I run into a tree or bush, which quickly brings me to a stop. The snow is forgiving, soft and powdery, and even the tree branches are springy enough for me to avoid injury, and at some point the whole experience does indeed become quite fun. The birdsongs are mingled with an unfamiliar sound - `Wheee!`

Eventually my ride ends, and I make it to the rocky trail again in one piece. However, another suprise awaits me when I open my bag...DAMN YOU INSECT REPELLANT! I had put my sunscreen tube in a plastic zip lock bag, but didnt bother with the insect repellant as it was still unopened, and was foil sealed with the lid on tightly. The foil seal did indeed remain intact - the repellant simply came out the other end when the entire tube exploded. All my belongings were now covered in a sticky fluid resembling clag glue, and smelling far, far worse. I hadn`t even had a chance to use it on the hike; though there were vast clouds of insects, it seemed they could be repelled by stern looks alone.

Luckily though, my snacks remained intact (a local concoction resembling biscuits of caramel and peanuts), and I had something to munch on my way down. I arrive at the bottom, bag covered with snow and emitting a strange smell, and my pants covered with mud and dirt from my tumbles down the slopes. But looking back up at the mountains, I feel satisfied with my stupidity, and happy with my adventure. I treat myself to a local beer, then hop into the local onsen for a blissfully hot bath (snow is cold, and after a day of snow hot water is heaven). Soaking in the volcanic waters with the mountains in the distance, I look on the bright side - no bugs will ever come near any of my belongings again.

A stranger is just a friend who haven`t met
I was wandering the streets looking for a place to get a very plain breakfast of rice and miso soup. Suddenly, I end up in a very fancy french-style cafe, talking to a beautiful woman over rice and miso with a vast variety of side dishes and coffee. I assume she is the waitress, since she was the one who brought me the menu, and wonder how she can get away with sitting and chatting with me while shes working. Then she introduces herself as 'rie' (at last, I know a name!). I notice that the name of the restaurant is Devinci Rie, and put two and two together.

I help her translate things to put on the signs in English, and by the end of the meal I am acting as chief advisor for an English/Irish style bar she would like to build. When she tells me she could build it in a week, I decide its time to tell her that I actually have no idea out bars, business, or anything really, and that she should almost certainly not put any of my thoughts into practice. The conversation after this is just as interesting however, and as we talk about Australian lifestyles and Japanese backpacking travel, she decides that my lifestyle is very `graceful`. I burst out laughing, and decide to explain with gestures...Over HERE is graceful, and all the way over HERE is me and my lifestyle. Still, she likes the word, and I am told repeatedly that backpacking is graceful, that the Australian style of cooking on a barbeque while drinking beer is graceful, and when I show her photos of my friends, she describes them as `graceful` too (HA! I have to laugh at that one :P). I still go there every morning and receive a huge breakfast, for the price of a cup of coffee...

Not everything is as it seems
I meet some American English teachers through couch surfing, and one of them just happens to have been an Environmental Engineer for many years, which seems like an interesting basis for a conversation! We converse over dinner, and during this conversation I learn a startling fact - Takayama is Japan`s biggest city!
Looking around, at the hills and hillbillies, it might not seem so. Yes, its population is less than 100,000. But in terms of surface area, it is larger than Tokyo. Due to a strange quirk of politics, Takayama has amalgamated with nearby villages for budget purposes, turning it into a gigantic super city which takes about 2 hours to cross from one side of the other.

Alps means `large mountains`
I had heard that the hiking around here is very good, so I bought a book of hiking trails and began to plan out how I could hike through some of the nearby mountains in the Japanese Alps. Eventually, I decide I will just catch a bus out there, and see which one looks the easiest to climb. As soon as we get out of town, I see a white-capped peak impossibly high in the sky about 100km away. Oh....ALPS!

All my thoughts of hiking so much as a foothill evaporate into thin air. Instead, I spend my time goggling at the gigantic mountains in the freezing 9 degree afternoon (its summer at ground level, but not up here!). I travel for a few kilometres on a spectacular ropeway, play around in the snow (theres still plenty, no-one has told the snow its summer) and spend some time on the tourist-filled observation deck. From here I can see all types of mountains - peaceful looking giants with snow wrapped around them like a white blanket, evil looking crags (one of which actually represents hell in mythological Japan), steaming volcanoes and plain old regular green slopes. I plan to climb none of them.

Even the water here is Ironic
After freezing off parts of my body that I would rather not freeze off, I head down to the countryside once more, where there are more hot springs than I can poke a stick at (trust me, I tried). I decide on one with a view on the alps, and as I sit in the steamy volcanic water, I notice that the key ingredient of this water seems to be iron, instead of the usual sulphur. You could say that the water was very ironic indeed :D

Free samples are never free
Takayama is the city of free samples, and I was positively delighted at their stupidity in offering hundreds of lollies, biscuits in little boxes for people to try. There were so many different kinds to choose, I figured I could just try one of each and walk away with a full stomach, without paying a cent. Those naive shopkeepers!

Since then I have spent upwards of $50 on the lollies at those shops, having tasted something which I could subsequently not live without. Those shopkeepers had the last laugh after all...

Always alone, but never alone
Walking through Takama`s most lively district on a Saturday night (I was just looking for some noodles!), I notice a sign with the words `Big Piss Up!` followed by a picture of Australia. Intrigued, I figure this is a good enough reason to go inside. The owner has been to Australia once before, and someone obviously told her that `piss up` means `party`, and I suppose that is true enough! It is a small bar, perfect for conversation with a friend. Now, all I need is a friend...

I end up spending hours chatting to a 25 year old guy from Italy, who is working as a chemist making polycarbonates for Mitsubishi. He is currently on a 6 month internship after finishing his masters degree, researching methods of making materials with certain optical properties (e.g. for CDs) from renewable materials such as biomass. I find the topic of his research and exactly how he does it absolutely fascinating (Grace, you would have loved it as well!). Unfortunately, we are constantly being districted by a group of women in their mid-20s who find us irresistably attractive, but we are far more interested in our conversation, and stay huddled in the corner getting excited about the by-products of fermentation while they sing love songs to us via karaoke.

A very positive person, he practically emits a glow when he smiles (which is most of the time). He loves the ridiculous disorganization of my travelling, and every time I say something like `Im not really sure where Ill go next, maybe Kyoto? Or maybe Tokyo?` he grins and declares it `Fantastic!`. I speak in an Italian accent for most of the night, something which I tend to do when I speak to someone from another country for too long by myself (I find it difficult to stop speaking in an accent the next day however, and have to put in a considerable effort to get back to my normal tone of voice). We have had some similiar experiences travelling, and both of us are travelling alone. Gesturing to the pub full of people, I come up with a catchphrase `we are always alone, but we are never alone`, which he once again declares `Fantastic!` with an smile so huge I worry his head might explode. As the night grows late, we decide it is time for Karaoke. Choosing a song, we find `Good Riddance` (aka `Time of Your Life`), and get very excited.
`I hope you have the time of your life travelling!`
`Yes, and you too!`
`This will be our song!`
`OUR SONG!`

Practically arm in arm, we plug the song into the machine and wait. The owner tells us that there is a queue for the karaoke machine, and we will have to wait about 15 minutes.
`I think we should go`
`Yes, me too...it will be our song next time`