IN BETWEEN DAYS

The Past Week in Images (words to come)

2008-09-24T21:40:00.012+09:00

Vancouver the Sequel

2008-09-20T21:03:00.000+09:00

Originally posted July 25, 2008.

A few weeks ago, I was starting to lose it.

School, which consisted - and still consists - of many hours of e-mail checking, perezhilton reading and a minimal amount of thesising, was begining to feel like an endless jail sentence, as I imprisoned myself in a windowless corner of the damp, dark library, in the hopes that the discomfort would inspire me to write faster. It didn't.

Meanwhile, in the tropic-like humidity of Montreal, my personal life seemed to be spiraling out of control. A ridiculous melodrama, I suspect partially induced by the heat, had consumed my daily life and friendships and had me walking around the city like a fugitive, fearful of who I might run into.

Laying in bed one night, aimlessly reading 'missed connections' on Craigslist, I realized I had to get out. I remembered my last trip on the way home from Japan, when I stopped in Vancouver to visit my friend Akari, ease back into Canadian society, and generally take a break from reality. Before I knew it, I was taking out my credit card, booking a flight to Vancouver that I couldn't afford, and a few days later, I found myself once again on the other side of the country.

It took a week, but some quality time with friends Akari and Julie-Anne helped to clear my head. Among the most memorable moments -

1. Pissing off new-age hippies (arn't those people supposed to be all zen or something?) by wearing a bikini on a nude beach. They have serious predjudices against the clothed. When I tried to take a picture of myself with Akari on the beach (with no one else in the shot), an angry marijuana saleswoman, wearing nothing but hiking boots, sweatsocks and a backpack, started yelling at us about our 'disrespect.' I would've yelled back (something along the lines of her disrespect by assaulting my eyes), but felt vastly outnumbered by beligerent naked people.

2. Akari re-opening her bar for me at 4AM to make me a sandwhich. Now that's a friend!

3. Biking around the sea coast, calling out answers to Would You Rather (my favourite: Would you rather lose a limb, or have a third breast?).

4. Walking through one of Vancouver's richest areas, Gastown, filled with tourists, cutsie cafes, yoga centres and expensive health food stores, to Vancouver's poorest area, Hastings Street, where I saw a woman shooting up, a man searching for crack between the side-walk slabs, an aboriginal man yelling that he signed no treaty, and an emaciated young lady wearing life-size plastic breasts as a necklace, and holding a bucket with a face on it as a baby. (In all seriousness, it was quite tragic, though oddly fascinating, kind of like a car wreck, when everyone slows down to get a look).

5. My last night in Van, playing euchre and strolling down a deserted beach at 3AM, when out of nowhere, I turned and saw a friend running towards the moonlit water, giggling like a schoolgirl in her skivies. Admitedly, we all followed suit, though soon regretted it, as we clamboured into a cab, sopping wet and shivering with cold.

Anyway, I decided to post my pics here, instead of the ever-impersonal Facebook.... be prepared, since I tend to prefer people shots, it is pretty much the Tam and Akari show.

Haven't talked to many of the former (2 or 3) readers of this blog in a long, long time. Hope all of you are well.

Tiniest cards ever.

After a few drinks playing euchre... this shot makes me laugh.

Last Glimpses of Berlin

2008-09-20T21:01:00.001+09:00

Second Chance for a BBQ

2008-09-20T21:00:00.000+09:00

Originally posted August 17, 2007.

A couple of weekends ago, my roommate Nicole and I decided to have another go at the old “grille” with some of her friends. It was incredibly refreshing to finally hang out with some actual Germans though I confess, I only spoke a small amount of their native language. And, although I was one of the co-planners of the BBQ, I didn’t help with any of the cooking, cleaning, prep, set-up or take-down of the event. As it turned out, I had only one duty that evening: to look after the beer.

And look after it, I did. I went on a 2 hour (failed) mission to find the one shop in Berlin that sells ice, carted home 30 giant bottles of warm beer and champagne, made 3 solo trips back to the apartment to lug more beer from the freezer, and somewhere during it all, I managed to get wildly drunk, steal poor Tunai's hat (see below) and make a general spectacle of myself as I careened around with my cooler.

In other words, a fantastic evening.

Nicole and I in the begining of the night...

This is Tonai. Tunai is my hero because he wore this outfit for the sole reason that it is ironic and hilarious. Normally, he is a mild-mannered artist, sporting subdued, somber threads and a sketch book. On this particular day, a metro friend of his styled him with the latest “fashions” of Berlin.

He came with me on my ice/beer trek, during which we were the source of much mockery and amusement. A couple of alcoholics muttered as we walked past, “These damn tourists. They’re polluting Berlin.” “I was born here! Tunai cheerfully yelled back at them, “I’m a Berliner!” Later, on the way out of the train station, a street punk pretended to steal Tunai’s hat, claiming loudly that it must have been the power of the cap that got Tunai a nice girl. Throughout it all, Tunai laughed it off and wore the cap resolutely all night. Great guy.

With Raphel, by the end of the night, with stolen cap.

Back on the Up and Up

2008-09-20T20:59:00.000+09:00

Originally posted August 15, 2007.

I won’t lie, my spirits were crushingly low last week. I quit school, started spending A LOT of time by myself, took 13 naps a day and generally behaved like a miserable sack of potatoes. I’m not quite sure how I spiralled so far out of control but suffice it to say, I was dealing with a bitter disappointment that had nothing and everything to do with Berlin. In my melodramatic state of mind, the world was black and I was counting the minutes until my flight home to Canada. It was for this reason that I refrained from posting much of anything, for fear that I would burden my 3 faithful readers with an endless rant about my angsty existence.

I am happy to report however, that I have snapped out of my self-pity and joined the land of the living yet again. I made some new friends, went back to school, cut back on my siestas to once a day and, as evidenced by the hundreds of pics that I took over the last weekend, got excited about being in Berlin again.

Last week, I spent most of my time with new friends from school, Luz, Hiroko and Alba, and with my wonderful roommate Nicole. We danced at the sketchy clubs in my neighbourhood, “swam” on the Spree river, checked out the local flea market, went to the strangest “art” gallery I have ever seen and took a loooooong bikeride around the city, visiting all the historical sites. I’ve never really been one for “site-seeing” but I was pretty riveted with what I saw and heard.

Here is what I retained:

All those conspiracy theories about Hitler being alive, hanging out with Elvis and Tupac, are completely false. In fact, the Soviets found his jaw bone immediately upon their occupation of Berlin, but hid it for 30 years in order to keep the people in a perpetual state of fear. Hmmm…

Hitler’s bunker site is underneath a parking lot, without so much as picket sign to mark the spot, for fear that neo-Nazis might use it as a shrine.

The Allies bombed roughly 90% of Berlin, including Hitler’s prized Opera house (twice). Where they chose not to bomb? The German military's aircraft base. The gloomy building still stands today.

Best way that an Eastern German ever snuck across the Berlin Wall: bought a cow costume, climbed inside and trotted through the gate – no joke!

David Hasslehoff (aka The Hoff) actually believes that he is responsible for the fall of the Berlin Wall, since he happened to give a “peace” concert in East Berlin, 1989. He is currently petitioning for a plaque.

Just one week left here in Berlin... And I'm only now starting to get to know this city!

2008-09-20T20:58:00.002+09:00

2008-09-20T20:58:00.001+09:00

"Swimming" pool / Bar / Unabashed Meat Market on the Spree.

Misty Alexander Platz (aka Wannabe CN Tower).

Wandering around in the rain with Hiroko and Luz.

Lost and disoriented within the labyrinth of the Hollocaust Memorial.

With roommate Nicole. Slightly out of it.

2008-09-20T20:57:00.003+09:00

Crazy sandbox bar, in the middle of the city, and surrounded by ritzy 19th century department stores-turned squatter houses-turned alternative art gallery. At night, the place is aglow with bonfires, beer kiosks, and dancing Berliners. Health and Safety appears to have no meaning here.

With Hiroko, Luth and Alba.

This bar looks pretty tame by day...

...but at night, it's a magical place. Don't be fooled by this crappy picture.

Remember that movie Run Lola Run, where Lola has to save her boyfriend Morritz or Klaus or whatever from sudden death? Well, I happened upon the bank from the movie set and couldn't resist doing a little re-enactment... I think I caught it rather well, don't you?

Berlin

2008-09-20T20:57:00.001+09:00

School

2008-09-20T20:56:00.001+09:00

Originally posted August 8th, 2007.

I admit, I'm tiring slightly of the whole "International Community." I am one of a small number of native English speakers, the only Canadian, and feel somehow that if I'm not being chatised by someone or other for speaking English, I'm forced to endure the most superficial conversation on the planet (which is all my measly Deutsch will allow). Still, I have made a few good friends, so I thought I'd throw up a few pics...

Courtyard.

My class. Don't we look so eager to learn?

In the Lounge.

Sickie

2008-09-20T20:55:00.001+09:00

Originally posted August 1st, 2007.

I have been feeling irritible for the past couple of days and realized today that my poor spirits are most likely the result of the start of a nasty flu. I could barely make it through class this morning, despite my 8 hours of sleep the night before. Kooky teacher kept looking at me angrily, saying "Tamara, German class is not for sleeping!"

Feeling depressed today because:

-Body wracked with aches and drained of energy. Forced to spend day in bed, wasting precious Berlin time.
-German still ridiculously bad\non-existant. Got laughed out of a Kebab shop today.
-Grey skies yet again.
-Romantic interest has "turned Japanese." IE: has dropped off the face of the planet.
-Harry Potter 7 = terrible disppointment.

I still heart Berlin though.

The Deutsch Patrol

2008-09-20T20:54:00.002+09:00

Originally posted July 31, 2007.

So every Monday at school we have a pubnight called the "Stammtisch," to welcome new students and drink cheapish beer. The Stamm has become a regular event for my friends and I and though I rarely seem to meet new students, it is a nice little routine for what is otherwise the depressing end to the weekend.

Last week, I was speaking with a German guy who works at school and was quite pleased with myself since I conducted the entire conversation in Deutsch/hand gestures and actually managed to cover a lot of ground. I was particularly proud since he actually seemed interested and engaged in my badly-translated stories and he continually complimented me on my "excellent" grasp of the language.

Last night, I was at yet another Stammtisch and found myself in conversation with the same fellow. He didn't seem to remember me but was just as attentive and friendly as before, so I thought nothing of it until it occurred to me that I didn't actually know what he did at the school. He said that he was a "controller" which didn't make much sense, so I asked him what he did genau (exactly). After some coaxing and extrapolating, I soon learned that his job is actually to come to parties and strike up German conversations with the students. I looked around and realized that there are several such incognito "spys" there, paid by the conversation to pretend as if they're just 'mingling' with the crowd.

In a very low moment, I exited the conversation as gracefully as possible (which was difficult since my face was red with shame).

Wien

2008-09-20T20:53:00.001+09:00

Originally posted July 30, 2007.

I decided to go to Vienna last weekend to see two friends, Anna and Norbert, who are both living in the city. I left straight after class on Friday and spent most of the weekend wandering through the impressive streets and catching up with my friends. It was a pleasant little weekend, and I am ashamed/proud to admit that I did not go to a single museum, exhibit or attraction.

While she suffers some limitations, including high prices, a negligible nightlife and a virtual city-wide shut-down on Sundays, I have to say that Vienna is the European city par excellence. Indeed, Vienna rivals Paris for architectural grandeur and London for historic interest yet unlike the latter two cities, Vienna’s streets are wide, airy and free of garbage, hideous modern buildings and, most importantly, tourists. It seems that the enclosed city center, a Disneyland-like shopping district, attracts and contains the tourists, leaving other amazing sights virtually deserted. At night, even at the Imperial Palace, we were often the only people strolling about under the full moon. I have really never seen anything like it and wish, as always, that I could have captured it on film. Alas, it was not meant to be and I only managed to get a few shots...

Anna and Norbert, being "natural" for the camera

Rose garden.

2008-09-20T20:52:00.001+09:00

Crazy-lady on bike.

Worst BBQ in History

2008-09-20T20:50:00.000+09:00

Originally posted July 28, 2007.

I have been wanting to have a parkside BBQ since I got to Berlin. It seems to be the thing to do here. The park by my apartment is really quite lovely and due to the scorching hot weather, the grassy crater has been filled with students and families, soaking up the sun, drinking beer and cooking up delicacies on little hibachis.

I have befriended a little crew of international students at school and in a moment of spontaneity, invited them all to my neighbourhood for a BBQ. Unfortunately, we set our BBQ date for Tuesday, which as luck would have it, was the only cold day since I arrived in Berlin. When I went to meet everyone in the train station, they were already shivering in their jackets and as soon as we got to the park, it began to rain. The group insisted on staying but everyone was so miserable that they sat in dismal silence. In desperation, I began to guzzle beers like there was no tomorrow, creating something of a one-woman show, since I was the only one tipsy enough to actually enjoy myself.

The worst part however, was that without the balmy weather, my beloved park is really little more than a grim patch of grass, inhabited by the underbelly of Berlin society. I don’t believe I saw a single normal looking person in the park that day. In fact, one stinky vagabond decided to join us uninvited, stretching himself out in the middle of our circle and waggling his eyebrows suggestively whenever my gaze had the misfortune of gliding past him. I suppose he was better than our second uninvited guest, a rather aggressive crack addict, who began to threaten our group and only disappeared when stinky vagabond man pushed him off “his” turf. We also fell prey to the interest of a few roaming youth gangs, which would pause for a moment as they saw us, boom-boxes in hand, to give us a terrifying gaze and some – presumably – intimidating words.

When it finally stopped raining, and we had eaten the last of our hot dogs (burnt on the outside, raw on the inside), and we were all cocooning ourselves in damp sweaters, trying to stay warm, the little Italian girl in our group finally burst out, “Can we just get the hell out of here now???” And within 5 minutes, we were running out of the park to the cackling laughter of a mad-man at the gate.

And that, chers amis, is the Worst BBQ in History. Dont believe the smiles below - they are 90% fake.

Doesnt it look lovely??

Canadian Invasion

2008-09-20T20:47:00.000+09:00

Originally posted July 28, 2007.

Within my first few days here, Cary and Jeramy came to Berlin and like me, became quite enchanted with the place. The Bro stayed for about a week, during which time, life was a whirlwind of nightclubs and BBQs, and sightseeing and emergency siestas. Amazingly, I actually managed to make it to class everyday for 9am, though the amount of Deutsche I retained is questionable. Anyway, though I was utterly exhausted by the end of the week, I was quite sorry to see them go, since we really did have an amazing time. Sadly, this holiday within a holiday has yielded very few post-worthy photos… So disappointing but I find it hard to get good photos here, possibly because most of our activities took place in the middle of the night. Anyway, here are a few representative photos of the lot.

Check-point Charlie

My new favourite bar is the wonderfully named, Bastard, featuring DJ Death by Pop, an event which Cary and I stumbled upon on our way back from a Beer Garden. Every Friday night, they play retro and Brit Pop (the good stuff, not Coldplay) all night and everybody dresses in ridiculous 80s outfits. Best of all, the men all sport hilarious feathered hair and humouously self-important smiles.

Went on a pub crawl our first night together which, though not exactly a cultural experience, was an incredible night. We were four of about 60 crawlers, little more than a drunken, international mob, moving from bar to bar. As we migrated from each location, hired shot-givers poured us free shots from a holster and yelled at the drunkards, “Keep Walking, Keep Walking.” As we would approach a bar, the local clientele would look at us with fear in their eyes and indeed, our arrival was something like a bomb of crass foreigners. At one point, I looked back at a bar we had just left, which had been so busy that I’d had to queue 45 minutes for the toilet. It now looked like a ghost town, it was so deserted.

In any case, we got a real taste for some different Berlin nightlife, moving from a ghetto basement bar, a canal-side beer hut, a luxurious 18^th century style lounge and finally, to a gigantic adult sand box, directly in the middle of the city, filled with bonfires, playground equipment, beer kiosks and surrounded by imposing, graphiti covered warehouses with a bar and art show on each floor. I have never seen anything like it and will have to go back to take a picture.

Man-pris. Something all self-respecting men should avoid.

2008-09-20T20:46:00.002+09:00

Originally posted July 27, 2007.

Some Thoughts on Berlin

2008-09-20T20:45:00.001+09:00

Originally posted July 25, 2007.

Already my trip is 1/3 over and I am quite behind in this blogging business. Not really surprising considering my track record. This time however, my lack of posts is not so much the result of laziness but rather, the consequence of a frenzy of activity. Berlin is not a city for idlers and I have certainly stepped out of character here, staying out late, spending money like a mad-woman and stopping only in the late afternoon to take an exhausted siesta. Hard as it is to believe, my life as a Berliner is a far cry from my sleepy routine in Guelph.

Anyway, the best place to start is with Berlin itself… not an easy task, but I’ll do my best.

To begin, I can say that I have never seen anything quite like it. The city is a collection of eclectic apartment buildings – I have yet to see a single, solitary house - of all colours, sizes and styles. The streets are wide, overflowing with café terraces and from posh buildings to the most humble dwelling, everything is covered in graphitti. The quality of the street art ranges, with impressive 20 meter high murals juxtaposed against crass slogans sprayed haphazardly on a shop front. Apparently, the abundance of this artform stems from resistance graphitti on the Wall and has become the most recognizable feature of the face of Berlin, one that is encouraged by civilians and officials alike.

I have to say though, most striking for a European city, is the incredible newness of all the infrastructure (we can thank the bomb-happy Allies for that) which at times, still bears the undeniable scars of a devastating war and the communist aesthetic. A park near my house for example, is simply a grass covered crater, and judging from the looks of a ruined bridge in the center, was the site of a massive bomb. Likewise, on a “historic” boat tour with my Bro last week, there were so few old buildings to point out (the oldest was a reconstructed 19th century church), that the tour guide took to pointing out Soviet-era apartment blocks that make Japanese apartment buildings look like Versailles. Indeed, while the non-Soviet urban planners did a wonderful job with reconstructing the city, Berlin is far from the most beautiful place I have seen – a real problem when it comes to digging up inspiring photos for this blog. Yet in spite of her flaws, or perhaps because of them, the city has a rough charm that is unparalleled in better preserved cities.

I suppose what makes this city truly spectacular, is the vibrance and joie de vivre of its inhabitants, which is evident in the splendour of cafes and shops and young people filling the streets. At all times in Berlin, whether it be frolicking by the river (in a European style Speedo, no less), BBQ-ing in the park, listening to some live music in a café, or going to some of the amazing nightclubs, there is always something fun to do and some interesting people to meet. My apartment is in a quiter location – somewhat off the beaten path, with its large number of Turkish families and few tourists; but even here, the city never seems to rest. The other afternoon, I heard a swelling of music from down the road and, assuming it to be a festival, dashed out to take a look. I soon discovered however, that although the noise filled the entire neighbourhood, the event consisted of but 4 people still dancing away in a parking lot after-party.

I find this attitude towards life quite endearing and Germans, warm, friendly and open-minded, if a bit eccentric. That said, this post would not be complete without a few reproaches, listed as follows:

1. Germans smoke like chimneys in the most holy of locations (the cinema, the internet café, the train station, elevators, public washrooms) and it makes me want to vomit (I have recently developed an acute aversion to second-hand smoke).

2. That stereotype about Germans having no sense of humour – while this may not be strictly true, I clearly don’t understand the German funny bone yet. Most of my jokes seem to be met with a bewildered look and an awkward silence, followed by uncomfortable laughter (coming from me). Likewise, I have been slightly scathed by more than a few cruel barbs, which I assume must be light and funny quips here in Germany.

3. Shop keepers here allow pervy men to masturbate beside bewildered foreigners in internet cafes. Okay, this could have happened anywhere. But it happened to me here (come to think of it, it also happened to me in France and a friend of mine, in London).

4. The men are the perpetrators of a number of androgynous fashion crimes including: the man-pri, spaghetti-strap tank-tops, male skinny jeans that must do irreparable damage to reproductive organs and, worst of all, boy short-shorts. No one should have to look at a man wearing these items. It’s just wrong.

Despite these *issues* with German culture, I would say that Berlin is one of those cities that you must see at least once and by which neither my photos nor my writing do justice. Hope I can paint a more comprehensive picture in the weeks to come.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My

2008-09-20T20:43:00.000+09:00

Originally posted July 22, 2007.

Well, we didn't actually see any lions, tigers or bears. But we did go to the Berlin Zoo, a giant open-air park that uses moats to separate the animals without encaging them. It was wonderful to be able to visit the zoo without the usual guilt...

My First Night in Berlin

2008-09-20T20:40:00.000+09:00

Originally posted Friday, July 13, 2007.

I seem to have gotten off to an awkward start here in Berlin.

The trip began with the usual Easy Jet hassles (NEVER take this airline folks… I am blacklisting it), an exhausting series of queues, fees and cattle herding. I was so hungry and tired and pissed off that it wasn’t until I heard the captain say the magic words, “We are now preparing for landing,” that it suddenly occurred to me that I had made it to my final destination. Inexplicably, an ominous feeling developed in the pit of my stomach, and a little voice in my head screamed, “Turn Back, Turn Back.” Perhaps it was just fatigue and nerves wreaking havoc with my mental state but I couldn’t help but think, somewhat irrationally, if I were a fictional character in a novel, this gut feeling would foreshadow some horrible plot twist down the road.

After landing and finding one of my bags ripped to shreds beyond reason (thank you again Easy Jet!), I managed to find a bus, then a train then a taxi, finally bringing me to the darkened doorstep of a large, post WWII apartment block on a deserted, graphiti-filled street. It was 2AM and I was 2 hours late thanks to a flight delay. I had booked this apartment entirely on the internet, sight unseen, since it was cheap and convenient and the Subletee, a German drama student named V, seemed nice enough. I thought that it would be good for me to live with Germans, rather than other international students. I’m not entirely sure what I expected… I suppose that I figured that they would be as anxious to meet me as I was them.

I rang the buzzer three times before someone up above finally activated the electronic locks. Inside, I was met with a cold silence, impenetrable darkness and an endless staircase. Hoisting my bags on my shoulders, I began my perilous ascent into the unknown.

After 4 dizzying flights of stairs, a light appeared and a friendly face peeked his head over the railing. Without a word, he took my Easy-Jet shredded bag out of my hands, turned around and led me up the stairs. “Hi,” I said somewhat after the fact and with the smile he gave me, I knew that I had just committed my first faux pas, by waking the neighbours with my overt chattiness.
From what I could see, the apartment itself looked quite nice – airy and large and comfortable. However, the rooms, like the entrance way, were eerily dark and silent. He led me to the bedroom and put on a dim shaded lamp. The light revealed a girl on the bed who moaned and wriggled at the light like a cat awoken from its afternoon nap. V instantly turned out the light and explained. “That’s my girlfriend,” he said. “We just need to stay the night. You can sleep on that mattress on the floor.” I was wide awake and with the excitement of being in a new place, knew I wouldn’t sleep for hours. “Well, maybe I’ll go out a bit… see the city.” I said. “No No,” exclaimed V, “Tonight, you can just relax.” “But I really –“ “Relax.” He said with a tone of finality. I tried opening up my laptop and doing a bit of work but the slightest noise elicited further moans from the Girlfriend and a subsequent teeth sucking noise from V.

So, there was little choice but for me to lay down in all my clothes, teeth unbrushed, and pretend to sleep.

It was a pity I had to pretend. Five minutes after hitting his pillow, V began to emit a symphony duet of snoring and farting, the likes of which I have never before heard. The noise filled the large room like a fog horn and a machine gun in stereo, soon to be joined by the Girlfriend, who started up with the moaning again, tossing and turning in her sleep. The two of them were at it tirelessly for what seemed like hours, until a particularly explosive noise from V woke them both up with a start. For my part, I buried myself in my sleeping bag, suppressing my laughter and eventually dozing off.

At 8AM, the three of us were woken by an overwhelmingly pungent stench. V blamed the garbage trucks outside, probably with good cause, though he cracked a joke, “Or maybe it’s just me.” I laughed at a little inside joke with myself.

The apartment looked far more beautiful in the morning light, large and bright and with a stunning view of an old church across the street. Also revealed in the cruel light of day were some odd details in the bedroom which I couldn’t help but wonder at. A half smoked cigarette dangling off a chair, dirty laundry strewn about the floor, and a half-eaten plate of chicken, sitting by the BBQ on the balcony. It did not appear as though V had really prepared for a subletter, kind as he was to me. I felt as though I had just crashed the apartment of a complete stranger for no reason, which, I suppose I had.

Before leaving, V and I had one of those terribly awkward conversations in the kitchen that one does when you know you’ll never see the other person again… sort of small-talky and uninvested but trying to hide it. It was morning, I was tired and the Girlfriend was still dozing and occasionally moaning on the bed. V was hitchhiking to Italy for some sort of workshop and bid us both adieu. The Girlfriend smiled at me warmly before cocooning herself under the covers in a drowsy oblivion. Apparently she had decided to have a lie in.

So here I am, hiding out at a café down the street, hoping that the Girlfriend will leave soon so that I can tidy my new apartment and unpack. I feel like a bit of a fish out of water with my feeble German and vulnerable disposition but I’m trying not to worry about it. In any case, it feels good to vent, even if it is just between me and my laptop.

The Room.

View from the balcony.

Balcony.

The Motherland

2008-09-20T20:37:00.001+09:00

Originally posted Friday, July 13, 2007.

I decided to make a small stop to England on my way to Berlin, to make a long overdue visit to family here. I am staying at my grandfather’s house in Wallington, a small English town, little more than one high street, surrounded by 1920s townhouses, so typical of the landscape in the South. The house has not changed one iota since my first conscious visit here when I was 8. From the feline placemats, to the floral-patterned couches to a few near-nude baby photos of me at the beach with my grandma, everything is familiar, old and reeking of childhood memories.

At 92, my grandfather himself is something of a historical relic - and as a student of history, I mean that in the most complimentary sense! He can clearly remember back to the begining of the last century and most of our discussions are punctuated by long narratives of bygone eras and distant relatives.

If nothing else, the yawning cultural and generational gap between us has made for some colourful misunderstandings. On my first day here, I asked him if he had the internet. He said he wasn’t sure and asked me what it looked like – was it bigger than a breadbox? Today at the pub, he was telling me about my Scottish roots and explained that one uncle bears the name “Bruce.” “Oh,” I said and, not knowing what to say next, added conversationally, “that’s a Scottish name, eh?” My question was met with stunned silence, a shocked expression and finally a weary, “Oh Dear.” Nevertheless, we seem to find common ground somewhere, perhaps in our shared genealogical tree or perhaps in the vast quantities of red wine in which we both like to indulge from 5pm onwards (to which my Granddad always exclaims an “ohh very naughty, very naughty.”). Whatever it is, we seem to be getting along famously – no doubt a sign of my maturing and his mellowing out…

For the most part, I have filled my days lazily, zigzagging back and forth between the internet café, Sainsbury’s, the pub and my grandfather’s home. I'm weary these days, from my long working days in Guelph, and feel as though I simply need a restful transition. Last night, I finally pulled myself together and met my lovely cousin Kate for dinner & drinks out in central London. Amid all the chaos and confusion, I suddenly remembered why I had come to Europe in the first place. Big crazy cities seem to bring me to life somehow.

Anyway, here are the limited number of pics that I took in England (an indication, I suppose, of the limited number of activities I undertook)...

Pub with Granddad & Uncle John.

Granddad Gates, on our way to the pub.

My only shot of cousin Kate, out at dinner (camera died).

Wimbledon.

At the pub again with Granddad & Uncle John.

My dad's old playground.

To Begin

2008-09-20T06:23:00.003+09:00

Originally posted Friday, July 13, 2007.

I am currently hurtling through the air in a cramped little British airplane, en route to Berlin. As I write this, we are experiencing some bad turbulence yet no one seems to have noticed, choosing instead to focus on the little flat panel T.V.’s glued to the back of each seat. A bald head is thrust onto my lap and I am sitting like a piece of tightly-folded origami in my cruelly undersized seat. There have been rumours of a meal soon to be served yet hours into our voyage, I have not seen so much as a salted pretzel. Ah, the joys of flying!

I’m not quite sure what got me to this point… years ago, I took a little road trip through Germany from France and was instantly enchanted by how… well… un-French everything was. People seemed happy, friendly and slightly less inclined to despise speakers of the English language. I met some nice people, saw some interesting sights, had some unforgettable adventures. After one week, decided that this was a place that I had to live for a while.

So, a few weeks ago, on something of a whim, I decided to book a language course in Berlin. For the first time in my life, I arranged everything on the internet, from my plane tickets, to the school, to my soon-to-be apartment. I have yet to set eyes on any of the features that will, if all goes well, become familiar benchmarks of my daily life… a fact which is both completely daunting and exciting all at once. I have never leaped into something so blindly and up till now, have led a fairly regimented, careful life, despite my nomad-like existence.

Anyway, I decided that it was time to create a new baby blog, for the sole purpose of cataloguing all my misadventures throughout the next six weeks. After all, there is nothing like a bit of one-sided, self-indulgent rambling, broken up by the odd photo, for keeping in touch.

A little synopsis of my past four months:

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1. Bored everyone around me with countless anecdotes and cultural references to Japan.

2. Moved into a house right beside the local Tim Hortons. Got completely addicted to their coffee. My house is now a shrine to their paper cups.

3. Also moved in next to: the Salvation Army, the Mission (needle drop-off centre), two homeless shelters, an abandoned squatters apartment block and a drug rehabilitation centre. What a neighbourhood! I have become entirely accustomed to singing drunkards and leery men hovering outside my doorstep at 7am as I make my way to class.

4. Got my wisdom teeth removed. Left the dentist's office, high as a kite and Mum manhandled me into a cab. Returned home, only to find my insane landlord roaming about the house.

5. Got a job working at the University Ceremonies and Events Office. Was reminded of what a timid mouse I am when surrounded by Francophones. Left hundreds of TMAMITW (The Most Awkward Messages In The World) on the voice mail boxes of Canada's elite. Got yelled at by a Frenchwoman for bastardising her language.

6. Met Jean Chretien at one of our events. Well, actually, being a timid mouse, I stood six feet away from Jean Chretien and tried to jump in front of the cameraman to capture me and the former PM in a photo. He's very tall.

7. Ate a quail at the same event. As I picked at the pathetic little carcass, I couldn't help but think of Yosuke. A very disturbing experience.

8. Took a class on the history of disability. Contrary to my expectations, we didn't learn about the history of wheelchair ramps. Learned interesting conversation-starters, such as the meaning of the word, 'drapetomania,' (a "disease" which gave black slaves the urge to run away) or the sexual characteristics of the Hottentots.

9. Spent days at the National Archives reading 19th century love letters. Fell for one of the writers until I learned that he re-married at 90 (to a twenty year old girl). It was for the best I suppose - he died 110 years ago.

Pics to come.

Done!

2006-12-17T07:15:00.000+09:00

As of 11 minutes ago, I am an official B.A. Fare the well Ottawa U...

Part II

2006-12-17T07:09:00.000+09:00

Dear Blog,

I miss you! How about a fresh start?

Tam

Footnotes

2006-09-26T12:03:00.000+09:00

"I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me." (Jack Burger, Post-it Note)

OR, if you prefer the classic:

"It's not you. It's me."

It's true. It took a lot of soul-searching but I finally decided that my blogging heyday has come to an end. I deleted the new blog.

It's not that I don't appreciate all the good times, the rage-venting, the quips and commenting, the blogger wars... But lately things have felt strained. We can't seem to recapture the old magic. I think that we need a break. Maybe not forever, but for now.

Bye for now!
Tam

2006-09-15T07:28:00.000+09:00

SEE YOUUUUU!!!

Epilogue

2006-09-15T07:21:00.000+09:00

Four weeks back in

Canada

and

Japan

is a hazy dream, compartmentalised, air-brushed and distant like all my other memories. Looking back at my old photos and stories, I feel a pang of nostalgia and sadness that a whole chapter of my life could be so effectively over. In spite of all my complaining, my despondency, my cynical observations and my moody rants… I miss

Japan

As if to punctuate the end of an era, my last day in Beijing was unexpectedly horrific. Two hours before my flight, a crazy cabbie abandoned me in the middle of nowhere, I got lost in the alleyways around Tiananmen Square and a tricycle-tour man threatened to kill me if I didn’t give him $50. It was only thanks to a 6 hour delay that I managed to catch my flight at all. Eighteen sleepless hours later, as I finally walked through the doors of Vancouver airport, I was little more than a ghost of my former self. But the sound of English-speaking officials, the startling sight of other “foreigners” and the smell of a Tim Horton’s coffee stand filled my eyes with tears of relief. It was good to be home.

Of course, wonderful as it is, the novelty of home is slowly fading. I no longer do a double-take whenever I see a non-Nipponese person on the street. My fragile Japanese has degenerated just as the ease of English conversation has become mundane. I take for granted all the conveniences of the city and the variety of cultures, languages and food. Yet in the back of my mind, I still can’t help but compare this country to the one that I just left and feel a consequent sense of disconnection and disillusionment. As a perpetual nomad, I suppose that I always will.

At the moment, I’m in a state of transition. I still can’t begin to figure out what last year meant to me nor can I contemplate on what the future will bring… but I do promise my **three** faithful readers that I will continue to write a blog. From now on, you can hear about all the banal trivialities of life in Ottawa HERE.

The End The End The End

Things that I miss about Japan (so far):

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Hearing/Speaking/writing barely passable Japanese
90degree old ladies
Bad haircuts and Degrassi Junior High Fashions
Bowing drivers
Frightening pumpkin-heads in the grocery store
Hearing my name being blurted out by a mystery person as a car cruises past me
Driving through the rice fields on my way to work, blaring my one and only mixed CD
Salespeople screaming “Irrashimase” every time I enter a shop
Sado’s giant birds (the wild Eagles, not those lame encaged Tokis)
Hearing the Sado Okesa song as I arrive in the ferry terminal after another exhausting weekend away
Using words like: maa-maa, notoka, sumimasening, NE, dame, sawago, sodacha, sugoi, kakoii, gaijin-groupie etc. in everyday conversation
Drinking chu-hi and laughing with Laura on the ferry
Drinking tea and playing cards with my favourite Principal
My favourite sushi place, complete with young, over-eager sushi chefs (though I don’t particularly miss the unbelievably AWKWARD gaijin-groupie hostess)
Tutoring Yoshi and Teru
Dancing the Hokey Kokey with my favourite half-pints at recess
In the winter: huddling for warmth around a tiny heater with my best friends (incidentally, this would also be in my “things I don’t miss” list)
Onsens, Ramen, heated blankets and tables, heating pads and all those other creature comforts that make winter more bearable.
Huddling around someone’s computer, watching youtube and reading celebrity blogs.
Road trips with Bean, blasting the Can Con and requesting OLP one too many times.
The look on a passer-by’s face when he/she suddenly realises that I’m not Japanese
School Lunch
Royal Host, oddly enough… especially drink bar.
Cycling through the paddies, singing “La Vie en Rose” at the top of my lungs (with the blissful knowledge that there was no one for miles)
Peace signing Special-kun while he’s staring at me and watching as he runs away in terror
Genki-kun’s little cleaning-time dances
Karaoke
Cold beer and yakiniku (BBQ’d meat)
Seeing another foreigner on the streets and the staring-contest that ensues
Low clouds, ever-changing rice-fields

Images from Guelph (home)

2006-09-01T04:49:00.000+09:00

at home

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mum - rainy day at the beach

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MJ - shopping in the T-dot.

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g.ts on the streets of guelph. wish i could remember taking this photo.

2006-08-27T02:50:00.000+09:00

Our Lady

2006-08-27T02:46:00.000+09:00

Stratford Festival, Stratford-upon-Avon (not the original)

2006-08-27T02:38:00.000+09:00

(I'll be in) the Albion

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With Kye

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The Family, Guelph's main landmark.

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Marijke Jane. At the Dutch Toko, shopping for our fave imported licorice.

BC

2006-08-20T06:06:00.000+09:00

Me n' Akari, First Night in Canada

2006-08-20T06:05:00.000+09:00

Me n' pauvre sleepy Monique

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Vancouver, English Bay

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Vancouver, English Bay

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Akari-chan, Canada's next top model

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Katimavictims reunite (first time in 5 years)

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Harrison Hotsprings

2006-08-20T05:48:00.000+09:00

Harrison Hotsprings

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Swimming, Kamloops

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Monique on the trampoleen in desert-like Kamloops countryside

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Kamloops, sunset

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Akari, apaato

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Statue

Beijing Doll

2006-08-13T13:25:00.000+09:00

Already, Asia feels so far away. I haven't completely adjusted back into my Canadian lifestyle yet it is hard to believe that just two weeks ago, I lived elsewhere. I think often of my strange little rice field existence, and it is as if I am imagining someone else's life. As such, memories of Beijing, my chosen bridge between Japan and Canada, are cloudy and coloured by my new perspective here in Vancouver. For the sake of this dying blog, I will try to sift through my jumbled thoughts and come up with an adequate summary.

Here goes...

My first reactions to China's capital were ones of surprise and curious amazement. Early in the morning, I walked through the dusty old city streets, the sky a misty white haze of smog, construction dust and monsoon-season clouds. The sounds of blaring car horns rattled my ears as innumerable tuk-tuk drivers tried to coerce me into taking a ride. Using barely recognizable English, ragged old sales women called out at me and shoving their wares in front of my face. In the blazing heat, men of all ages strutted around; sweaty shirts rolled up above their chests, Buddha bellies protruding ostentatiously beneath. From both the men and the women, there was a constant chorus of hork-filled spitting onto the city streets.

Beijing is not a place for the faint of heart and after an emotional goodbye to my life in Niigata, I was perhaps not in the most adventurous of spirits. Compared to the quiet civility of the Japanese, on the surface, the Chinese appeared loud, crass and aggressive. Nonetheless, initially, I felt charmed by this drastically different world and the human frankness for which I had longed in Japan. I spent my time touring around exotic temples, eating greasy Peking duck, drinking way too much lukewarm beer and taking in a spectacular Kung Fu show. I made random friends with other backpackers and even a few Chinese kids that lived in the neighbourhood.

Soon however, Beijing's urban excesses began to wear on me. While in Japan the locals had ogled me with a highly developed form of peripheral vision, the Chinese blatantly stared, pointed and took photos of me. People pushed and shoved me in the crowded subways and at all times, I felt like a blond bank machine, as pickpockets, vendors and beggars harassed me for money. Even the other backpackers quickly tired me, unaccustomed as I was to dealing with large numbers of other Westerners and the monotony of English small-talk. I wiled away the hours in lonely solitude, shopping in Beijing's labyrinth-like silk and pearl markets and reading my book at ho-hum tourist sites.

One night, I found myself wandering aimlessly through the narrow alleyways of my neighbourhood when I accidentally bumped into yet another backpacker, an economist from Paris. He was surprisingly irritating and, marching through the streets, we argued about random topics for some time, namely the World Bank, his favourite global institution. It was my first interesting conversation for days and, at the risk of sounding cheesy, the moment was a bit of a turning-point, as far as my trip was concerned. I remembered the mild boredom that had often plagued me in Japan and suddenly realised that a new world of like-minded souls had opened up to me (albeit like-minded souls that support the World Bank). With a few new friends, I headed to our neighbourhood's one and only nightclub to watch a Chinese stand-up comic. The man spoke only in Chinese, and made a few jokes at our expense, but his ability to walk on sword blades and light his own pants on fire was highly entertaining. It was at that moment that I knew for sure that I had made the right decision in coming to Beijing.

The following day, I got up bright and early and went on a tour of the Great Wall, deep within the countryside, 2 hours out of Beijing. This part of the Wall was fairly ruinous and thus, had the added perk of being utterly deserted. We saw but five other people on the Wall that day: a couple of Chinese farmers, leading some mules and three Chinese women, tilling some sort of field. The sun was high and the mountains, lush, green and vast, made it an extremely pleasant hike. Our portly little guide spoke not a word of English as he huffed and puffed up the overgrown cobblestones and as a result, I fell into a bit of a (hung-over) daze as I looked at the beautiful surrounds. I saw a much calmer side of China that day that belied all my ready-made judgements and reminded me just how little I knew of this gigantic country. But at that point I knew: it was time to go home.

La Fin

2006-08-13T13:23:00.000+09:00

Dusty Streets of Beijing

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Rainy Day

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Chinese Resto

2006-08-13T13:20:00.000+09:00

View from the Wall

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View from the wall

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The Wall

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The Giantess and the Great Wall

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The famed Peking duck, sold at every street corner.

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Raining

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Ladies

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Beijing Baby

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Kung Fu show

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Incense

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Buddha

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Me, looking simple

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Bench

2006-08-13T13:11:00.000+09:00

Last Post (for the moment)

2006-07-27T16:30:00.000+09:00

I have been posting like a madwoman today, since I know that this Japan blog is all but finished - in 24 hours, I will be boarding a plane to Beijing.

To all the incredible people that I have gotten to know over the past year: Big hug and a sad Sayonara... Can't wait to see you again on the other side of the world!

Evidence

2006-07-27T16:08:00.000+09:00

Just to prove to you that I do actually live in Japan, I have posted a few pics from a tea ceremony lesson that I went to today, with my friend Kate. It was one of the most culturally 'Japanese' days that I have had here... and incidentally, it was also my last.

(I will spare you a description, lest I sound anything like a JET Journal author).

A couple of giants:

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Lunch with the-most-Japanese-woman-that-I-have-ever-met (in a good way!).

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Gulping down some tea...

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Kate and I looking like wax dolls

Final Glimpses of Sado

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Final trip to the Sado sushi bar

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Some of my favourite Junior High Girls, farewell ceremony

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Sashimi spread at my farewell enkai. The fish heads appeared to be for ornamental purposes only.

Sado-ga-shima: Saigo no hi

2006-07-26T13:55:00.000+09:00

Goodbye parties, farewell ceremonies, hellish packing, furious cleaning... all finished. My last day on Sado was action-packed, exhausting and strangely reminiscent of my first day on the island. Homeless, confused and sleep-deprived, I drove with my supervisor in silence, taking in my last glimpses of Sado, just as I had taken in my first.

The day was not without the usual dose of bizarre Japanese moments. I had bid adieu to my apartment and waved goodbye to a mild-mannered office worker and two random old ladies, who had offered to sort out the garbage bags that I had set outside of my doorway. I drove off with my supervisor to do a few last minute errands.

About an hour later, as we were headed to the port, I suddenly realised that I had left some omiyage (gift) chocolate in my fridge. Imagine my shock when I stepped back into my apartment to behold the following scene: One woman was vigorously scrubbing all the surfaces that I had spent 12 hours cleaning. An arsenal of cleaning products lay at her feet. Another woman was busy throwing out all of the useful items that I had left for my successor: spices, dishes, a rainjacket, house slippers, a brand new hairdryer, books and even the welcome letter that I had laid out on the (otherwise empty) desk. My office colleague was overseeing their work, while he busily stuffed my omiyage chocolates into his mouth.

I think that I managed to convey to them NOT to trash any more of my successor's household items, make them feel sheepish for re-cleaning the apartment and snatch the chocolates out of Office-man's hands, all within the span of five minutes. I brought the have eaten chocolates to my friend at the port and we all had a good laugh at the K Board of Ed's expense.

Saying goodbye at the port was difficult. An eclectic mix of people had come to wave me off as I lumbered onto the ferry deck with all my bags. Most of them, I knew, I would never see again. As I passed the ticket master and he muttered the usual "arigatou gozaimashita," it suddenly dawned on me that this was it - I was really leaving and one chapter of my life was over. The finality of it all struck me hard and I ran as fast as I could onto the deck, trying not to think about the inevitable. Even now, I have a hard time believing that in 24 hours, I will be boarding a plane en route to the other side of the world.

A Few Odds and Ends

2006-07-24T11:14:00.000+09:00

Ahhhhhhhhhhh... !!!

why oh why oh why must I always leave packing until the last minute??? My apartment is in shambles, souvenirs, clothing and garbage scattered across every surface. It's hellish just to be inside it and the thought that I must make this landfill zone pristine before 2pm tommorow, is unthinkable.

Just had my final goodbye ceremony with K Junior High School. Despite the fact that the 15-minute ceremony ran 10 minutes late, I think that it went quite well. I gave my bilingual speech without too much fumbling and even teared up a little when my favourite student gave me a little English goodbye speech. Unfortunately, they tacked my farewell ceremony onto their own "End-of-term" ceremony meaning that I had to stand there, flowers in hand, smiling and nodding, like the runner-up of some small-town beauty pagent, for another 40 minutes of utter boredom.

Anyway, here are a few shots from this weekend, during my breaks from packing.

On Friday night, I went out with one of my teachers for a night out on the "town." With three 50 year olds, I drank way too much beer and danced in a karaoke bar while the bartender tactlessly took cell phone pictures of me as if I were some sort of D-list celebrity. I stayed overnight at my teacher's ryokan-like home and the next morning, in spite of her hangover, she made me a huge western-style breakfast before driving me home.

On Saturday, I attended the final Sado ALT get-together - a bonfire barbeque on a remote little beach. It was incredibly beautiful - in addition to the alcove of mountains and a full sky of stars, we could see the faint glimmers of the squid boats in the distance. It was hard to leave behind...

2006-07-24T11:10:00.001+09:00

Inside the shelter...

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Makeshift Beach Shelter

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Japanese Resto... Already I look a little out of it.

Will it never end?

2006-07-21T15:52:00.000+09:00

Today

Tommorow

Sunday

Monday

On my way back from lunch, sporting my now trademark blindingly fluorescent yellow rainjacket (the one which prompted Laura to take one look at me and say, "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"), I had an unfortunate incident. My umbrella flew back into a tulip shape and whipped into the spokes of my bike, causing me to violently keel over into a muddy rice field ditch. My umbrella met an untimely end, ripped to shreds as it was, the skeleton bent and broken into various dangerous-looking spikes. I escaped with only a few scapes but had to walk the rest of the way to work. By the time I arrived back at the office, I was 10 minutes late and soaked to the skin.

I have spent the rest of my day reading BigDaikon, the ultimate outlet for crass, geeky Gaijins. Despite myself, I find it mildly entertaining. I blame the accident.

One More Random Fact

2006-07-19T13:14:00.000+09:00

I have known about this for a while, but I thought that I may as well add the below article to my "semi-interesting facts about Sado Island" post.

The Long Mistake

The Jenkins family now lives on Sado and Jenkins himself attends a language class with one of the Sado ALTs. Thanks to MJ for the article!

2006-07-18T08:05:00.000+09:00

Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Muuuuuuummmmm...
Happy Birthday to you!
Can't wait to see you soon Mum!

Tokyo and Back Again

2006-07-17T20:57:00.000+09:00

My trip to Tokyo and back was a strange whirlwind of intense highs, staggering lows and subsequent pop-psychology epiphanies. Going to Tokyo gave me an idea of what life might be like outside of JET; life without the security of my friends but life with the prospect of something new. Coming back reminded me of both the wonderful and the difficult features of my time here, and all that I will leave behind.

After work on Friday, I ran to the port to make the afternoon ferry. Since it was the beginning of a long weekend, the ship was stuffed with family daytrippers, salarymen (off, it seemed, to enjoy a weekend bender at the hostess bars of Niigata) and old ladies. Hoards of people stood outside on deck, alternately feeding and pelting food at the oncoming gulls that accompany the ship to Niigata. I caused quite a stir merely by standing out there with them, taking photos and occasionally taking part in the feeding frenzy.

A group of middle-aged women took an avid interest in me and kept running over to give me some food to feed the beach rats. They would giggle hysterically every time and took a few pictures of me. The fuss was undeniably annoying but harmless... or so I thought. Later on, a few of them approached me apprehensively. They asked me about my job and I told them that I was an English teacher on Sado. With looks of incredulity, they then asked me if I was from Russia. For those of you back home, you have to understand that asking a foreigner in Niigata if he/she is Russian is tantamount to asking one of two questions:

a) Are you a criminal who pimps out his wife and steals my car tires? (If the foreigner is male)

OR

b) Are you a prostitute, whose husband is a tire-stealing pimp? (If the foreigner if female)

When I told them that I, in fact, was from Canada, they gave me one last look of disbelief and walked away disappointed. Sure, they could have genuinely thought that I was a Russian English teacher but something about their disrespectful tone told me otherwise... Nothing like a bit of mild racism to kick-start your weekend!

After my encounter with these middle-aged simpletons, I headed as fast as I could to the train station. In spite of all odds, I managed to miss the 7 O'clock train and was forced to spend an hour, fuming and seething with frustration, outside of Niigata station. When I finally boarded the 8 O'clock train, I was in a rain cloud of a mood and without a glance to my seatmates, I put my sweater over my head and feigned sleep.

It is strange how in my own self-absorption, I can often dehumanize the people around me here. It's a bad habit, and certainly one of which I'm not proud. For most of the ride, the people beside me remained faceless strangers that I would easily forget two minutes after arrival. However, sometime during the last 2 minutes of the journey, I suddenly realised that I had no idea how to find my hostel. Slightly panicky, I turned to the girl who had been all but invisible to me for the entire ride, and asked her for directions.

How I love random meetings! The formerly faceless stranger, turned out to be the hilarious Asumi, a 5th year med student who spoke flawless English. She jumped up and after a bit of detective-work, took me straight to my platform. We made plans for the next day and thanks to her, I had one of my best nights out in Tokyo. So crazy to think that if I had come to Tokyo with friends or had I made the 7pm train, I would not have met her and would have left Japan without having made a single Japanese friend on my own.

In any case, I got up bright and early on Saturday to see all those tourist things that I had meant to do all year. I went to the Tsukiji fish market though I failed to see any of the legendary giant tuna. I then headed to Ueno Park, where though I saw little greenery, I did see more homeless people in 1 hour than I have in the past year. At one point, I even wandered into a sort of enclosed homeless encampment, where 3 sketchy-looking men were snoozing on some handmade cardboard beds (shoes off, of course). As I walked into the clearing, one of the men awoke, sat up and eyed me forebodingly. Not knowing quite what to do, I backed away slowly, in an affected nonchalance, saying with my eyes, "Well... I guess I'd better hit the road..." As soon as I was hidden by the trees, I broke into a run of sheer terror.

From the turf of Tokyo's poorest I headed straight to the land of Tokyo's rich and glamorous - Ginza Shopping District. It felt incredible to be in an urban land again and I reveled in the crowds, the lights, the fancy window displays and of course, Starbucks. After a few guilty purchases, I decided to head back to my hostel for a nap.

In my post-consumerism high however, I managed to lose my way once again. I stopped to ask directions from a seemingly average, middle-aged pedestrian who was facing away from me. However, as he turned around, it occurred to me that perhaps I had asked the wrong person... the man clearly suffered from severe mental illness, down-syndrome or a similar affliction and even as I asked my question, I began to back away slowly in embarrassment (much in the same fashion as in the homeless encampment). However, to my surprise, he took my hand, smiled and said that we could walk there together.

In one of those situations in which you know not whether to laugh or cry, we walked hand and hand through the streets of Asakusa. I was greatly amused to watch the unmitigated staring from both locals and tourists alike. The man stopped every few minutes to laugh, point and comment amiably on how "ipaii" (full; crowded; busy) it all was. As we approached the famous temples of the area, he insisted on taking my picture in front of the various landmarks along the way and stopped at the main temple for a pray.

Finally, it occurred to me that he had no intention of taking me to my hostel as he started to beg me to join him out for a beer. He continued to push me towards the beer tents until he realised that I had no money. Making a gesture that roughly translated as, "Oh, to hell with you!" he bid me adieu and just like that, my special guide disappeared into the crowds. Thankfully, it was right at that moment that I spotted my hostel in the distance.

In the evening, I met up with Asumi and Satoshi, her friend from University. We had an amazing time, doing all of my favourite Tokyo/Japan activities - eating yakiniku (Japanese BBQ) on love hotel hill, singing and dancing in a tiny karaoke room for 3 and finally, ending up at a themed prison/medical horror isakaya (Japanese pub). This particular bar even had live entertainment... Mid-way through the night, all the lights went out and evil doctors and escaped patients (ie: bartenders) began running into each cell, yelling, screaming, dancing etc. The climax of the show was when one "patient" (ie: customer) was dragged out of his cell, thrown onto the ground and forced to accept a tranquilizer with a giant mock syringe. The doctor then saw me hovering in the corner and begin gyrating, half-naked, in front of me. I love Tokyo!

On Sunday, I made my way back to Niigata for the final ALT party. I had been anticipating this party for some time with a mixture of excitement and dread, for all the people that I would see again and all the goodbyes that I would have to say. In retrospect, I must admit that the party felt slightly off... Or maybe it was just me. Or maybe, as Melissa contends, it was the disproporationate amount of middle-aged white men and "Japanese chicks reeking of desperation to find a white boyfriend." What I do know for sure is that the sight of certain individuals from my past and the goodbyes with others, really threw me off and I ended up sitting at the bar at 5am, depressed as hell after making a fool of myself several times over. Thankfully, in the clear light of day, I was able to laugh at the previous nights shenanigans as the alcohol slowly left my system and my melodramatic mood faded away.

Coming home on the ferry, it dawned on me that this trip from Niigata to Sado would be my last. Of the 5.2 days of my life that I will have spent aboard this ship (yes, I calculated that!), I had but 2.5 hours left to go. I couldn't help but recall all the up and down memories that I've had on this ship and marvel at the fact that they're all but over... A scary yet exhilarating thought.

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Feeding the ferry gulls.

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Tsukiji Fish Market... I got there too late to see any of the legendary giant tuna and to be honest, the market was a bit of a disappointment. Hundreds of tourists miled around the stalls in the blazing sun but there was hardly anything there that I wouldn't have seen at the local supermarket. This is my token shot of the morning...

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Ueno Park... oh so typical japan shot.

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Wish I could have captured this moment a little more deftly... A traditional Japanese wedding procession passed me by in the streets of Tokyo.. sooo beautiful.

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Meeting in Shibuya

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Fried lamb... mmmmmmm, I'm hungry!

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Karaoke time

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Our bloody jailor/nurse

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Cellmate

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Cellmate

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The doctors and nurses give a disobediant customer some tranks

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Self-p: Bored on the subway

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Me, Lindsay, Baby Kat, Kate and the red eyes