Bugs Ahoy!

Ok - like most cities, NYC has it's share of bugs to annoy and aggravate.

Tonight I threw one of these fellows out of the flat. I didn't kill it because they apparently eat cockroaches

This guy is about five centimetres long, the full write up is as follows:







What'’s that bug? House centipede
Latin name Scutigera coleoptrata
Where they lurk Usually found on bathroom or bedroom walls, or trapped in the sink
How they breed Female centipede lays 63-150 eggs. When hatched, can live 3-–7 years.
Amazing skill Willing to lose one of its 30 legs if attacked. The trembling appendage usually captivates an enemy long enough for the bug to flee.
Most disgusting habit Their rapid crawling frightens people, as they appear to be gliding like a snake.
Misconception Believed to bite and excrete a poisonous venom. Rarely do they bite; venom is lethal only to insects.
Killing them Let them live! They eat roaches.

They still don't beat Sydney's giant flying cockroaches, but they sure are freaky!

Spending Time

When one has the days to themselves, without the annoyance of work, they quickly come to realize what a wonderful distraction work really is. The result is that you have to invent ways to 'spend' the time that you have. Unfortunately, spending time also requires spending money if it is to be the slightest bit interesting - but luckily I had been working previous to my overseas jaunt and therefore have a little stash to tide me over until the American Government declares me fit to take their money.

How have I been spending my time?

At first it was torturous. There was a heatwave for the first two weeks, so walking around the concrete jungle was a ridiculous idea. Before we bought bikes (wonderful fold-up contraptions - see picture), getting around the local area ended in very sore feet and possibly heatstroke (we are a little way from the interesting bits), and I was just too unsure of myself to understand anyone around me to venture far.

But eventually I regained my confidence, and after we became members of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art and I managed to get a piece of paper that proved the address of my habitation (thus enabling me to open a bank account and obtain a library card - the two weeks without reading material (or a t.v.) were sheer hell) things began to look up.

So my days are spent doing the household chores, reading, writing, and visiting the Met (the highlight so far was seeing the coat that David Bowie wore on the cover of his Earthling album). I have many observances on the strange, the different, or the just plain bizarre, but hey can wait until another day. But I warn you, be prepared for the baggy trousers walk, goth clubbing in NY, friendly locals (yes there are some), the problem with sound volume and American accents, and the insanity that is American signage.

Landing in America

I have been acclimatizing for three and a half weeks now, trying to attune myself to this made world they call America. Location-wise, it is not so bad. The photograph is the view from the park 10 minutes up the road from our apartment, or 'condo' as they like to call them. For the curious, that is Manhattan Island, about where Central Park would be. You can see the Empire State Building in the background. So it is that we are quite close to America's economic centre. Those building's are about 20 minutes away by public transport, and its quite alarming to think that is a completely different State to the one I'm standing in with its own laws, taxes and even accents.

Ah yes, the accents. One of the biggest stumbling blocks I came across in my steady acclimatization (and I do not say that to be humorous - you do need to adjust to this country) was trying to understand what anybody was saying. Yes, it is English - but for the life of me it would be more understandable if they were speaking Swahili. Never have I been in an English speaking country and wished that I had a phrase book! There are certain individuals that I just cannot understand, and regardless of the number of times the phrase is repeated I still have absolutely no idea what they have just said. Heaven forbid I should go anywhere a true American accent is employed - say Georgia, for instance. And I must say, the coin flips both ways. Quite often the reaction to a non-American accent will be the subtle glazing of the eyes and you know from that point its probably best to just point. Personally I think that I speak English quite well. I believe that I don't mumble and my vowels are clear - but apparently not.
But I do try, and my ear has slowly been getting used to the American tongue as it murders the English language (oh dear - did I just say murder? Surely I meant pronounce in a regional dialect) and I thought that I was on top of things until I went to a cafe on the weekend. I had ordered a regular sized coffee but requested a double shot (because American coffee is quite terrible, and even an espresso is weak and flavourless). What I ended up getting was two regular coffees and I couldn't, for the life of me, understand what the lass was trying to say. In the end I just nodded, smiled and said 'O.K.' (see I'm a local already) much as I would when a Japanese person was trying to convey something to me that went past the bounds of 'hello'. What the poor girl was trying to tell me was that they got my order wrong. Oh yes indeed! They also forgot the bacon with my breakfast and it was cold...but we will not go there, that is a complaint for another day!

So there we have it. I am slowly coming to grips with this country. My application to work has hit the American Brick Wall (it's called bureaucracy - the British invented it and the American's perfected it), but the University semester begins in two weeks and I'm eagerly looking forward to it. For those without the knowledge, I am starting a two year, non-credit certificate course in Fashion Design. Thanks to my industrious grandmother who could create an entire wardrobe for the cast of The King and I on nothing more than an aging Singer, fifteen yards of green stretch nylon and a single role of black satin ribbon - I have absolutely no fear of the sewing machine and the wonders it can do. Coupled with my desire for an interesting line of male fashion and the cold hard fact that I spent more time using Tamara's sewing machine than she did, it was a forgone conclusion.

Leaving Tokyo

Leaving Tokyo was a very difficult thing to do - it signalled the end of highly enjoyable trip and I have to say that this time I really fell in love with Japan. The rest of the country is nothing like Tokyo and I missed a great deal by not seeing it on my previous trips.

So, with a heavy heart I shouldered my bags and headed for Narita airport. It was here that the dissappointment started.

The simple act of checking in my bags became a drama - they actually charged me an extra 3000 yen because my bags were over the 20 kg limit (you heard right - you can have 32 kg, but you must pay if you have more than 20). Why am I paying this now I asked? I certainly didn't have to pay any extra luggage charges when I left Australia. I was outraged! So I did what every self respecting Australian would do in this situation.

I payed the extra fee without a fuss.

I just didn't have the fight left in me. I slinked off to find one last Japanese meal before I hit the land of the jellied donut. Braised Eel, washed down with a lovely draught of Kirin beer. I understand it was only just 3 pm, but I figured it was after 5 somewhere in the world. It was an enjoyable lunch and it would be the last time I experienced attentive and courtious service.

One thing I enjoy about air travel (and there is usually only one thing about screaming through the air at 4000 feet that is enjoyable) is that no matter how uncomfortable or crabby you feel - the air stewards and stewardesses are there, looking after you, making sure you get your meal, your complementary G&T and peanuts, your extra blanket etc., all with a smile and manner which makes you feel like you are actually getting your money's worth out of your ticket.

For some unknown reason - against all logic - I chose to fly American Airlines. Now I know why Tammy sniggered.

The food was terrible, but that can be forgiven. The movies were the same I saw coming over, but that can't really be helped. The stewards/ess' were considerably older than you might expect (and it was Tammy that said her first thoughts upon seeing them was that they were really lowering the bench for air hostesses the world over - not me (I wouldn't actually ever vocalise it)), but that is not necessarily a bad thing.

No - what really made me decide that AA would be best avoided in the future is that the service was surly.
Inattentive I can handle, but not when it is coupled with surly. I would like to know when the plane ran over their collective dog - because that is certainly what it felt like. Personally, I don't think sarcasm should ever be employed 9 hours into a flight when the passenger asks if it would be alright to have some milk in his tea.

Anyway - I am here.

From the park just up the road you have an uninterrupted view of Manhattan Island - its quite nice to see the sun turn the skyscrappers golden as it sets behind you.

Jersey City isn't so bad when you come to realise that the walk gangster hip hop wannabe's use back home to try and look intimidating is just the way people walk around here. I think it has something to do with all the chlorine in the water - I'll keep you posted on my findings.

More images from Mitaki

Harajuku Park

What has almost become an institution these days is the hangout that is Harajuku park. On a Sunday, locals come out in their droves to dress up in Cosplay and have their photos taken, or participate in other groups such as the Rockabillies who dance tirelessly all day or the women who sticks her cat up a pole. No body asks for money, but its interesting to think that seeing the kids dressed up at Harajuku has become such a tourism landmark with every foreigner in existence shoving a camera in their faces, its not surprising that they occasionally snap and start yelling for people to go away. A nice Tokyo twist to the tale however, is that while Sir S and I were standing on the bridge watching the shenanigans, an Japanese gentleman came up and asked if he could take a photo of us!

Internet Café’s

Internet café’s are very interesting things in Tokyo. Think of a darkened roomed filled with office carrels and that is pretty much it. Internet café’s double as nerd central, and one can rent the private booths by the hour and use the internet, watch anime from their extensive collection, read manga, play games, or sleep in the comfy chairs (and indeed, as I was typing away in an email a loud snoring was emanating from the booth next door). Quite often you need to become a member to use the facilities as I did in Ikebukuro, but generally one can find a café where it is not necessary. These places are also 24 hours, so when you miss the last train home (they generally stop at 1am) you have several options. You can go and find an all night Izakaya, a capsule hotel or rent a booth at an internet café. They even have towels and pyjamas available!

Midnight Mess

A goth club in Tokyo was an absolute must while we were there, and the only night whilst we were in town was Midnight Mess. Apart from the excessive cover charge (about $35 AUD) and the initial shock on the number of foreigners there we settled in (the other disappointing fact was that it started at midnight – so there was much time to kill beforehand). After not too long some locals turned up and the music being played was actually not too bad. It was going well. We didn’t manage to talk to any of the locals however a lovely Swedish girl chatted to me a bit, but I fear the conversation became stilted when she realised that we were only passing through. The music then promptly died down to make way for an industrial band playing on stage. It was loud and piercing, pretty much in the vain of all vocal-less industrial music and as such, got quite tedious after the first three songs. The music that returned to the dancefloor afterwards was, I fear quite substandard and the night then took a turn for the worse. I believed the word ‘fetish’ that was included on the flyer was merely designed to cover all bases, but sadly it wasn’t. The stage was over-run by a fetish performance and unfortunately, whether the participants are willing or not, I abhor sexualised violence so retreated to an area where I wouldn’t have to watch. If one is interested on the details of the performance I believe that both Sir S (flashy kyuuki) and Miss E (miss ember) wrote about it in their blogs. The fetish show pretty much dominated the rest of the night so, about as bored as Graham Norton would be in Hooters, we decided to head for the first train home.

We were very surprised to note that the sky was already beginning to lighten as we headed home at 4:30am, and a soft drizzle of rain against the dynamic skyline was very pleasing.

Free breakfast or no, we decided to sleep in.

The Arpeggio Bar

On the first day of our exploits we were planning a trip back into Shinjuku to attend a night of bands, but our exhaustion after 10 hrs of shopping resulted in a quiet drink closer to home. So it was that we found ourselves at the Arpeggio bar – a small, well furnished and private little bar like many that dot the country. One thing that you must be aware of is that many bars can have a table or cover charge, but do not be perturbed as the experience is often quite positive. The Arpeggio Bar was no exception to this rule. The martinis were exquisite, Sir S’ White Ladies were very well made, and Miss E’s Gin Fizz exactly that. The room was quiet and the bar staff very discreet yet attentive. When Miss E and I produced the cigars we had purchased earlier during the day I thought it would be prudent to make sure the smell did not offend any other patrons so I turned to the waitress and asked “Kore wa dai jobu des ka?” (which I believe, if my Japanese was improving any meant I just asked if this was any problem). At this, she produced a cigar ashtray, cigar matches and a cutter, and offered to trim our cigars. So this is what it feels like to be a rich bastard I thought.

So the evening went swimmingly, and so were we by the time we left. Unfortunately it was an expensive night (about $50 - $60 AUD each) but well worth every misplaced penny.

So, when in Ikebukuro, do drop in…..

The Shopping

My oh my, never has an old veteran like myself seen such a range of interesting and well fitting gentlemens clothing. There are some benefits to a country where the myth of the macho does not exist, and this is one of them. It is not shameful or sexually ambiguous to dress well, and the clothing available reflects this belief. Some of the Tokyo lads are so well dressed and groomed, it practically stunning. And to my amazement, they have large department stalls divided into mens and womens buildings, and the mens building rivals the womens on size. There are so many shops dvoted entirely to men that cater for tastes past the chino and collared shirt that it almost brings a tear to ones eye to think that I shall have to return to a western country, where interest in dressing well results in assumptions of homosexuality. So there it is lads. For a serious shopping and for sales that actually offer what they promise – Japan should be your first port of call. Just be careful one isn’t distracted by the Charisma Man effect.

Diary Entry #8

July 21 – 24

Tokyo was blur of lights, shopping and packed subways. For shopping, one cannot go past Harajuku. There is so much available there, it almost defies heading elsewhere, but we did. The troops were in formation and we launched consecutive attacks on the ‘sparkling sales 30-70% off’ of Shinjuku, Shibuya, and Akihabara. As one may or may not know, Shibuya is the area with Japan’s busiest subway station and the flashing lights, whilst Akihabara is the heart of all things geeky; electronics, anime maid café’s and cameras. It was a tiring campaign, and I believe all were a little relieved when the bugle sounded the retreat on Monday. The experience of the city of Tokyo was much the same over the three days we were there, so I thought the time would be best illustrated by dividing this section into the significant events that were experienced.

Diary Entry #7

July 20

Shinkansen

I have mentioned that I caught the Shinkansen a few times in Japan already, and also mentioned that they are fast. Unfortunately this description does no justice to glorious form of transport that they are. It would be like saying hummingbirds are small and flap their wings a lot.

The Shinkansen is extremely fast, doing the trip from Hiroshima to Tokyo in about 4 or 5 hours and the trip is very smooth and the leg room more than ample. It is quite a sight to see the landscape speeding past as one tucks into their Bento box with synthpop playing on their headphones. Incidentally, it has been discussed and agreed that synthpop is the perfect music to listen to whilst in Japan.

So Tokyo was reached without much fuss, and the Super Hotel in Ikebukoro found without any difficulty.

Diary Entry #6

July 19^th

Mitaki

When I look back into my diary at the entry for this day, there is one word - scrawled rather than written – and a full stop. Seedy.

I don’t mean that I decided, in light of the beautiful allotments outside the window, to indulge in a spot of gardening. Rather I was feeling a little under the weather on account of a late night and the number of drinks required to remain alert into the wee hours.

But we did not let this little hindrance waylay our plans. Miss E and I stalwartly headed to Hiroshima Train station for a trip to Mitaki. After a quick coffee to revive our lagging senses we boarded a local train and headed two stops outside of the city.

Mitaki is a lovely area, being older and possibly more expensive than the areas I had seen. But this is not why we had come! Mitaki also has an incredibly beautiful Buddhist temple and gardens built into the side of a hill (and when I say hill, I mean a mountain that forgot to grow up). These gardens stretched over about a kilometre (upwards) and the staggering beauty of the place is difficult to do justice with photographs. There was not another soul about so we were able to explore at our leisure (and thankfully so – I dropped my umbrella into the wishing pond and had to climb down to retrieve it). There were pagodas, statues, waterfalls, contemplation gardens and temple cats aplenty (who, like temple cats the world around have managed to master the art of Zen meditation).

With Mitaki conquered we headed back into town (and should I mention that in train stations in Hiroshima they have a high pitched alarm that sounds when your train is about 5 minutes away and does not relent until the train arrives at the platform – not good for headaches I’m afraid) where Miss E introduced me to the amazing restorative properties of the hangover okonomiyaki (this time with udon noodles). This fabulous dish comes with copious amounts of melted cheese making it the best hangover cure yet (next to KFC of course – thank you Brian).

A quick fly by the shops for a few items and then back to Miss E’s apartment for dinner and a quick viewing of Shaun of the Dead. This nights entertainment was far more subdued than the previous nights with just a few very well made martinis at a small bar (with olives) before walking back for an early night. Tomorrow was to be a big day of travel.

Diary Entry #5

July 18th

A sleep-in and a scrambled egg breakfast where very much in order after the last few days of travel and we set of just before lunch into the heart of Hiroshima’s shopping district. Miss E would have to go to work in the afternoon so she spent an hour or two orientating me to the local shops. And this, my friends, is where I performed my first ditsy act of the trip (and in doing so created the catch phrase of our journey to Tokyo). Now one may shudder to think that we frequented big name coffee chains whilst in Japan, but believe me when I say that they are the only decent places to get espresso coffee. So there we were, standing in Tully’s ordering coffee and that’s when my rudimentary grasp of the language failed me entirely. I turned to the glass counter and pointing, uttered the words: “pretzel des” (ie; “it’s a pretzel”). Never before have I been so correct in my assumptions, unfortunately I was trying to ask for it, not declare its existence to the world *sigh*.

So Miss E left me and headed of to work. I decided I shall have a little look in the shops and then head off up the road to check out Hiroshima castle. That’s when the time warp hit me and when I next glanced at my watch it was nearly dinner time. There was no time for Castle hijinks now. It was dinner, then back to Miss E’s flat to freshen before meeting her at 9 for a few drinks with her work colleagues. I wandered into a little restaurant that was merely a few chairs pulled up around a giant hotplate, and that is when I discovered my favourite Japanese dish: Okonomiyaki (with soba noodles). This dish is delicious, and consists of cabbage, thin slices of pork and soba noodles between two pancakes and smothered in okonomiyaki sauce (pictured). Miss E swears by this dish as the ultimate hangover cure (and we were to get an ample opportunity to test this theory the next morning). If one happens to be in Japan, do try this dish. It is most delightful.

I met Miss E at the appropriate hour and we retired to a small bar (run by a foreigner no less!) where we had a couple of drinks (I had to teach the bar man how to make a martini, and it was served in a wine glass) before meeting other English teachers at a restaurant for more food and beer. It was an interesting evening, with loud wait staff and the odd costumed fool, and when we left the restaurant it was both raining heavily and 4 am in the morning. This surprised me as it was a Tuesday night, and the restaurant was still crowded and going strong when we left – truly this was a 24 hour city.

Diary Entry #4

July 17th Hiroshima

A local train and a shinkansen later I found myself at Hiroshima, meeting the lovely Miss E. It was about 4 in the afternoon and still muggy, but that was never going to get in the way of a good time. Miss E and I took a taxi back to her delightful 1 bedroom flat to deposit the luggage and have a quick change and a cold drink. Miss E’s flat is the top floor of a two flat building. It is down a rambling dirt path, well off from the main road, which is festooned with elderly Japanese idly digging up vegetables or lounging in chairs, and her windows afford a magnificent view of the allotments across the path. It is like having your own private garden view – and the climate being as it is, the locals pretty much throw seeds willy-nilly into the air and a veritable jungle sprouts. Amongst the climbers and cabbages, dragonflies flit and feral cats prowl. It is very soothing, and as one must open the windows to avoid dying of heat exhaustion, it provides a delightful backdrop to your daily tasks. Once again I am astounded by the simplistic beauty of Japanese buildings (images of Miss Embers flat can be viewed on her blog) and the fact that all the wood is cedar (one may come to the conclusion at this stage that I have a special like of cedar, and they would be right).

A short rest and a quick ablute later (yes, I am fully aware that is not a word but this is, after all, my blog and I’ll use any words I see fit too) we strolled to the local 100 yen shop ($1.20 AUD) for an extra umbrella and then to the local groggery (again, it’s my blog) for some evening libations. To my astonishment, I discovered that spirits are incredibly cheap in this country, a bottle of Bombay Sapphire (or That-Which-Is-Given-By-Heaven) costs a mere $19 AUD compared to $44 AUD in Australia. The penny dropped. Now I understood why all cocktails in Japan cost between $8 and $12, regardless of content.

After a quick dinner of cold soba noodles we grabbed a small bag of explosives and a couple of cold drinks and wandered into town towards the A-dome and Peace Park. I’m sure you are all aware of the terrible price the citizens of Hiroshima and Nagasaki paid during the Second World War, and the park remains as a reminder of the folly of man. The A-dome (pictured) was one of two buildings remaining after the devastating bomb and has been turned into a museum (the other building I have been told was demolished). There is also a peace flame (not pictured as I did not take my tripod) that will remain lit until all nuclear weapons are disarmed. Sadly, I think the only thing that would result in that happening is if they found some other, more devastating, method for killing.

So, we sat in the park, next to the canal and drank our cold drinks, listened to people playing music on the bridge and lit our sparklers (pictured).

As we wandered back along the canal we amused ourselves by gawping at the many love hotels that line the river (pictured) and the humorous names they chose (such has Hotel Parsley, and Hotel Banana). For those who are unaware, Love hotels are famous because they are discreet, and rooms are generally themed and can be hired by the half hour.

The Onsen

The Onsen

Now the onsen is particularly strange. We have a mixed bath down by the river in full view of all who pass-by (I lie, there was a very small bamboo screen that one could get changed behind, but that was it). As it is, the Japanese have a remarkable ability to not be too concerned about nudity, yet cleverly go about the business of concealing the privates during the entire procedure. One has a little towel – let us call it the modesty towel, although what modesty one can retain when their buttocks is showing is beyond me – with which one uses to firstly cover their genitalia when lounging above the high tide mark, and to drape over ones head when submerged. You use a small tub to slosh hot water over your body (done in a crouched fashion so that ones modesty is supposedly retained) in a vague attempt to wash the daily grime from your body before slipping into the warm pond. And believe me when I say these onsen are warm. The water pouring out from the rock is so warm they have a cold water tap on continuously to cool it down. There is a legend for the area of Misasa (translated from a statue by Hiroki and Kaori), in that a hunter roaming the area spotted a white wolf. He was about to shoot this wolf, but for some reason decided not to and consequently was visited in his dreams but the same wolf who, in thanks for sparing his life revealed the location of the hot springs.

After the soak, we dressed and had dinner. I cannot remember what I ate, for we were all very lethargic after our hot soak, but I do recall trying a small amount of Okonomiyaki (the local version) that Hiroki and Kaori ordered. This is a particularly spectacular dish that I shall go into more detail when I recount of my time in Hiroshima.

This was a fabulous end to the Tottori leg of the trip. The next morning would see me struggle through rain and storm to retrieve my luggage from Koyama before express Shinkansen (bullet train) to Hiroshima to meet the delightful Miss Ember. But for now we were very relaxed and I can say that Tottori is a lovely place to spend some time.

Misasa Town

The Town

The town of Misasa was very picturesque as can be seen from the photographs. Small winding laneways around tradtional house were marked by quant shops such as the one selling antique frog cages (they were kept in a similar fashion to crickets or nightingales), small foot onsens (as can be seen in the illustration with the seated couple) and small temples. Visiting the temple with Hiroki and Kaori we managed to witness and then discuss the religious practices of the natives. It would appear that neither of our guides is religious – however certain social customs govern their lives (such as clapping your hands and uttering itadakimas – an action that essentially offers thanks for the food) which extends to Buddhist temples. One washes their hands at the small fountain, rings the bell and then offer prayers of good wishes, health and prosperity. These actions are not necessarily seen as showing a religious bent. Fascinating indeed!

The Evening

July 16^th

The Evening

What a marvellous day. At Kurayoshi we stopped for coffee and a chat in a lovely coffee house that had a private view of a meditation garden.

After we had refreshed we headed onto Misasa, a small resort town based around hot springs. The reason for this little expedition was that to experience a traditional Japanese onsen (hot springs) we had to travel to a public onsen where Sir S and I would not be impeded entry due to the dodgy skin markings that we acquired under the needle during the Burmese Campaign. So Misasa it was. What no one explained to me was that not only were these particular springs public, they were also mixed and highly visible to everyone who decided to walk across the main bridge in the town. But crafty Hiroki had a plan. We would enter the baths at dusk and lounge in the warm water as the stars rose over the hills of Misasa. Fantastic!

For clarity I have divided this entry into the trials of the onsen and the description of the town.

Diary Entry #3

July 16^th

The Morning

What better way to start a day than with a free breakfast? A casual stroll around Tottori during the morning finished at a small internet café where we encountered Madonna Girl. I’m sure Madonna Girl has a real name but to us she will always be that. It is quite interesting to see little bubbles of obsession amongst Japanese people and entertaining when they wish to share them with others. Madonna Girl ran the internet café and was, according to Sir S, fascinated by my eighties fringe prompting her to quickly put on her favourite music once we had settled – that’s right; Madonna. She was dressed as if an extra on Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion and when we revealed we were researching nightclubs in Tokyo she mimed a little dance – all new-romantic and eighties of course.

Lunch was fantastic. Hiroki and his girlfriend Kaori took Sir S and I to an amazing sushi restaurant in Koyama. Pat your index and middle finger of your right hand down into the cupped palm of your left hand. That my dear friend is the ancient symbol of the sushi chef and rightly so are the given such veneration. When we say we have had sushi train in Australia what we really mean is the same as saying I have seen a photograph of the Mona Lisa but never been to the Louvre. There is only one word for Japanese Sushi: Oyshi!!! Raw fish never tasted so good (although I should warn you to stay away from Natto – that is one Japanese dish that defies logic, smell and taste, unless of course fermented (rather I would say rotting) soy beans is your thing). The price too is amazing; 8 dishes of amazing sushi only came to $20 AUD.

But the day does not end here. After lunch Hiroki drove us in his car to Kurayoshi (we would have taken Kaori’s car but apparently the rear seats have been removed to make way for speakers). We stopped at a lookout where I snapped pictures of our lovely guides and the verdant coastline. To illustrate the wonderfully peaceful and trusting nature of country life in Japan we started to wander down the hill from the car. I suggested that I should go back and retrieve my bag (that contained my passport) from the back seat. Hiroki told me the doors were unlocked. Well, not only were the doors unlocked but the keys were in the ignition and the car was still running – at a relatively busy lookout he had no qualms about wandering off for ten or more minutes! What a wonderful contrast to our society where one must bolt things down lest they are removed, and even then that may not be enough!