Notes from the Grand Tour

The passing of the seasons....

2007-10-15T21:23:00.001-07:00

My - it has been a long time between posts! Ever since the esteemed fellows at Blogger shipped their trading over to the rapscallions at Yahoo, I have found little in the way of incentives for updating.

So as the story goes - the good men and women at Fisher have given me a permanent job within the reputable walls of Badham Library and I must say that I am thoroughly enjoying it.

And whilst the dear wife is sowing her academic seeds at Rutgers, we have been managing the occasional visit to bolster the spirits. I recently spent two weeks in New York taking in the sights and airs and having a grand time. We even took an open trap around the Massachusetts area to check out the changing leaves (summer to autumn you know).

The little furry one - Withnail - appeared to miss me in my absence which is comforting at least. One would hate to think of oneself as having no more meaning to their pet than an automatic can opener.

The little fellow does cut a dashing figure in his scarf eh what!

However - watching TV with the lads still remains his most favoured past time

Introducing Withnail

2007-06-07T16:38:00.000-07:00

I would like to introduce Withnail.
He shall be coming to reside with me at the Winchester on the 22nd of the month.
Do make him feel welcome.

New Haircut

2007-03-21T18:04:00.000-07:00

For all those eagerly hanging of my every snip, here is the latest incarnation:

I was attempting to smile but it came out as a grimace....

Meet your new Librarian!

2007-03-21T07:07:00.000-07:00

As mentioned, I have been rather quiet of late as I have been working on a few things.

First and foremost, I had a phone interview for the position of Faculty Liaison Librarian for the Department of Agriculture at the University of Sydney. It's a temporary position till November 15th - but the salary and career building potential are very good.

Today, I just received an email notification that I am their preffered candidate.

I will be starting on the 16th of April.

Huzzah!

Chameleons revamped

2007-03-20T22:23:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the long silences between posts, but I've been working on something that should be absolutely smashing if it grows to fruition.

But more on that later.

Tonight, I have just returned from Maxwell's in Hoboken where I saw Mark Burgess (of Chameleons UK) perform in his new band 'Bird'.

And whilst this appears to be his first reincarnation since Chameleons, he paid his fans their due by performing 'Perfume Garden' and 'Second Skin'.

And if that was not remarkable enough - it was in a venue smaller than the Annandale Hotel with a crowd of 70 or so people.

I even had a chat with him before the show and bought him a coffee *insert fan boy swoon*.

I can now die happy.

(Mark Burgess is far left)

The winter that was

2007-02-21T11:47:00.000-08:00

As the thermometer climbs into the set of numbers above zero, I would like to remember the winter that was past (and pray that it doesn't return again soon).

Last wednesday we had about 3 inches of snow which proceeded to hang around all week like that guest from England who just won't get the hint that at some stage you will need your lounge back.

The good Doctor and I went for a walk in the snow and attempted to make New Jersey look pretty. The layers of snow covering the street helped quite a bit.

The light rail station at the bottom of the hill leading into Hoboken

The Park in Jersey City Heights that overlooks Manhattan and Hoboken

A view from Jersey City Heights over Hoboken (it's out there somewhere)

The good Doctor trying to keep warm

Nothing is more important in the snow than a stout pair of leather boots

I would like to thank the following for making this winter possible;

Grandmother and Mrs Watson for seeking out and sending the stout leathers, Mother for the very warm and much used hand knitted woolen scarf, and lastly the good Doctor herself for the most vital winter jacket complete with furry bits.

Sgt M

Superbowl

2007-02-05T09:10:00.000-08:00

It was Superbowl Sunday over the weekend, and if one believes the hype, it is the biggest party of the year (as it would appear that the parties are more important than the game itself).

For those of you who are unaware of what the Superbowl is, I shall explain;

The most macho of American sports is called football. But lets not get confused here. When they call it football they are not referring to Soccer, AFL, ARL or Rugby League. They are instead referring to American Gridiron.

So how does Gridiron work?

Two teams of big, burly men don skintight spandex, shoulder pads and helmets, then prance around on the field trying hug each other to catch each others balls. Every time someone hugs someone else, they all stop play, walk around a little bit then line up in a row facing each other.

One gentleman called a "tight end" bends over and throws a ball between his legs which another team-mate catches and then throws away. Hopefully someone from his same team will be there to catch it so they don't have to get another ball. The person who caught the ball then gets a big hug from the opposite team and the whole process starts all over again.

And just to make sure they make the most of their time on the field, they stop the clock ach time the ball stops during play. You may notice that the game has been going on for 15 minutes, but only 4 minutes have passed on the clock. They really love their game.

So how did the good Doctor and I celebrate the Superbowl?

We went to an Australian Bar and watched the cricket. Huzzah!!

All that ails ye!

2007-02-05T08:58:00.000-08:00

What the deuce?

I have been struck down by the wicked hand of illness! The minus 10 degree weather (minus 20 if you count the windchill - and yes, that is an accurate figure) has caused me to become inundated with all of the symptoms of that dreaded fiend; the common cold.

It has been decided that it would be pertinent to avoid the infirmary in this country, as one is likely to go in with a head cold and leave minus an arm and leg. The only prescription then would appear to be bed rest and plenty of fluids, to which I go now.

Adieu

Snow!!

2007-01-29T14:22:00.000-08:00

As I stepped out of the doors of Sir Branson's Phonograph Emporium into the chill air of Monday morning, I was greeted by a flurry of soft white snow. By Jove! This was my very first snow storm that I had the pleasure of walking through.

The early hour (12:30 am to be precise) of the morning meant that the slick and cold New York streets were relatively deserted, allowing me the opportunity to savour the experience. The flakes fell quite thickly, swirling and dancing around me like cotton from the thresher.

I caught the locomotive out to Jersey City and had the pleasure of seeing the mean and dirty streets of the Heights transformed into a pristine white landscape - sparkling under the yellow street lamps. As I trudged home I was thankful of the efforts of both my Grandmother and Mrs. W in locating and sending over my stout leather boots. At least an inch thick on the ground, the snow fluffed, flurried and crunched under my feet as I walked.

And while the going wasn't without peril (at least four times I was threatened with near slips on areas of icy footpath) I couldn't help but imagine what it was like for the early explorers seeing their own footprints break through fresh snow as they trekked the American landscape during their incessant march west.

I didn't meet a soul on the way home, and it felt very peaceful wandering the cold, crisp streets blanketed under fresh snow.

About the weather...

2007-01-25T19:01:00.000-08:00

...it would appear that it is cold.

Much colder than I have ever experienced before.

Note the (fake) fur collar...I assure you that it is quite indespensible.

-14 degrees!!!!!

2007-01-22T12:35:00.000-08:00

To Lt. B Smitherton,

A Barracks,
Sydney Cove,
Australia.

Well dear chap, it seems one of us has the better post! When time came up to serve in the colonies I should have read the fine print closer. The 'Americas' is not the sunny, sandy beaches and scantily clad serving girls in halved coconuts as we were led to believe by 'Soldiering Weekly', almost the polar opposite. It also appears that there is a significant difference between 'America' and 'Central America'. Well, I guess it is these experiences that make us the elite of the Corps eh what?

The weather has taken a turn for the colder in the last week, with a fresh fall of snow and more due by the end of the week. If the thermometer is also working it appears that we have been seeing -3 degrees for most of the week (personally I do not put much store in these 'thermometers', but instead stay by the tried and true method of timing how long it takes to defrost your underwear in front of the fireplace).

The wife and I took some R & R over the weekend (after a full week of work - it seems the chaps down at Sir Branson's Union Square shop have finally found something for me to do - underpaid of course!) with a trip to the metropolitan Museum of Art for a gander at the Tiffany collection. It seems that the old silversmith family have donated a few things from out of the attic of the country estate for the viewing public.
The old fellow certainly new how to blow glass, I'll give him that. Whilst we were not allowed to take any daguerreotypes I managed to purchase a couple of post cards at the gift shop for you.

As we were so close to Central Park we decided to have a look at the ice rink. I've included a few photographs so you can see how frozen the park was!

This is the Conservatory Water where the old men race their model boats of an afternoon. As you can guess, they were not in residence on this day - the surface was frozen solid!

Whilst it had snowed earlier during the week, it didn't stay around for long. There is still snow on the ground back at the fort in Journal Heights which is nice as it appears to hide the worst of the garbage that gets blown around.

This is the famous Alice in Wonderland sculpture in Central Park (note the pre-Disney features!) by JosÃ© de Creeft.

And here we have the Ice Rink at the southern end of the park. The little lady and I resisted the temptation to break in a pair of skates as we were both still feeling the affects of a rambunctious night in the Village and were not quite up to seeing how cold the ice would feel on our behinds.

At that point it was unanimously agreed that a cup of tea was in order and we retired to the rural abode in the Hills of New Jersey. Whilst the cold air is enough to turn one positively frigid, it is surprising how fresh and clean it makes one feel. We have discovered that it is positively vital that one keeps their chapstick handy (no Smitherton, the other chapstick). I spent a painful few days regretting its absence.

Keep well Smitherton, and remember to keep out of the sun during the day. Hopefully we shall be granted leave for Christmas next year when I hope we can convalesce in warmer climes.

Till then,

Yours

Sgt. M

Nothing Much

2007-01-11T16:17:00.000-08:00

To the avid word fan (or Reader as we like to call them), my blog would seem a bit of a let down. It's not that I don't like writing in it, rather that there is a distinct lack of anything decent to write in it. That is, unless one would like to read about my complaints which I'm quite sure gets old very quickly.

Essentially, there has been little change in my situation since I arrived, apart from being rather much poorer and definitely much colder. It is starting to become a bit of a bore really.

One is spending their time learning about networking (in the computing sense), how to draw fashion illustrations and attempting to learn how to sew (this one is proving a little more difficult as the resources can be costly). One is also spending much of their time going to the local gymnasium for callisthenics. I'm not sure the last thing is having much of an effect but it keeps one out of trouble.

So there isn't much to like here at this point in time so my entries have been rather short. I've decided that this should probably be rectified and so I am going to write about a couple of things that I actually like about America (and I'm afraid you can count them on one hand, or paw).

Squirrels
That's right. The little blighters are furry and manic but are a pleasant sight to see scurrying around the suburban (and even city) streets. The variety that we have here are the Eastern Grey Squirrel (pictured)

although you occasionally see critters that are dark or reddish in colour (however I am reliably informed that they are the same species, just a recessive phenotype).
It always brings a smile to my face to see these little fellows bounding along the road as if the very devil himself is at his heels.

Bagels
Good Lord! The Americans have made a bread product that is not so full of corn syrup that it makes your toes curl in your shoes. They come in a variety of flavours and believe me - they are good.

Cheap Stuff
Cheap stuff? What the deuce is he talking about?
It's amazing really. Most things are cheap here - about half the price they are back home.
Now, when I say stuff and things, I am not talking about stuff that is important - those things cost alot. Stuff like cds, televisions, furniture, whitegoods, computers, clothings, etc etc are actually quite cheap. The things you need to survive (healthcare, insurance , etc) is quite expensive, and on many occasions out of reach of the everyday folk.
Couple the fact that things are cheap with the fact that there is an incredibly large selection of things to buy - you can see why America is a shoppers dream! All I need now is money (I know it exists, I've seen pictures of it on television).

Gin

The range of gins available is enough to make a grown man (they would have to be a martini lover) cry. Astronomical! And so incredibly affordable: $30 for a 1.5 litre bottle of Bombay Sapphire (and here, that is considered to be a fairly substandard gin - so you can see what sort of heaven I'm in...). Amazing!

So there you have it, a very short list of things I like - but a list nonetheless.
Till things get rosier....

Smoke me a kipper.

Sgt M

Social Security and all things pale

2007-01-06T13:51:00.000-08:00

Well, it finally has happened. The US government has decided I exist for taxation purposes and has issued me with my very own ~~barcode~~ ~~tracking device~~ social security number. This will make getting work much, much easier!

And another thing that has made our existence here so much better. We have discovered, as of today, that the local ShopRite (10 blocks away and down the hill) stocks Coopers Pale Ale!

Pass the Panadol, Dear.

2006-12-12T07:32:00.000-08:00

Well, the fellows down at the secret handshake club have finally decided to take pity on me and have issued my permit. A short communication was received today indicating that they had popped it in an envelope and employed an Argentinian Albino Dwarf to walk it down to the local mailbox. I'm expecting to receive it in approximately 3 weeks.

So Huzzah! I will have a work permit for christmas!

Now to work on that 'getting a job' malarky.

Sgt M.

And now for the double headache

2006-12-07T15:49:00.000-08:00

Just a quick scribble in the old diary as to recent developments.

Today I rang the sterling chaps at the USCIS (the United States Citizenship and Immigration Service....or disservice as the case may be) because I am officially official in that since the last time the fellows at the office sent me a correspondance has exceeded 60 days (so now we have it...over 90 days since original application filed and 60 days since any correspondance was received) which means that big things can happen....supposedly.

"I was told to call back when 60 days had passed without any correspondance."
"Ok Sir, I shall put a request into the system."
"Jolly good there Miss."
"Actually, it does say you already have a request in the system. I can't physically enter a new request until 45 days has passed since this request was entered. The computer will not le me do it."
"Righto. When would that be then?"
"December 20th."
"So if nothing happens, I can call back after December 20th?"
"Yes."

Now I shant bore you with all of my misgiving (there is now a list longer than my arm) but I am not sure what the act of putting a request into the system really gets you. In my experience it seems to get one a false sense of something being done when in actual fact it seems to be a way of getting you off the phone. If they do not process the first request, I don't see why they will listen to the second, considering that in this country I have as much recourse to any justice as a tortoise has to a holiday on the moon.

So we wait....again...

yours in patience,

Sgt M

A Headache And A Half

2006-11-30T12:25:00.000-08:00

I toddled down to my District Office appointment in sunny downtown Newark today to get my temporary work permit issued (as I had been advised by the USCIS customer service center after my 4th call to them to find out what the deuce had happened to my permit) as I was on the understanding that it was outside the regular processing time and now serious things must be done.
I arrived and after filling out multiple forms and seeing 3 different people was then told by the silly bint behind the counter that a J2 visa does not allow one to work.

I remonstrated "I have a piece of paper here, a manual put out by the Department of Homeland Security that explicitly states that I can."

Well, this woman would have none of it, and I went back twice. She had some slip of paper that she had gotten from an internet site that claims that I can't work. Lets not dwell on the fact that she toldme this information was available online and we have not been able to find it.

Well bollocks to her, and bollocks to the whole darn country I thought. In the face of rightous ignorance one can only play the gentlemen and leave quietly.

I called the USCIS customer service center and was informed that YES! I can work.

"Huzzah!" I exclaimed. "So how does one get a temporary permit when the woman at the office refuses to sign the piece of paper?" (we will just ignore the fact that she had said it would probably take 3 weeks for the temproary permit to be issued and focus on the matter at hand)

I was informed that there wasn't much that could be done, and possibly the lady wouldn't issue the temporary permit as it is something they are trying to phase out (they are easily forgeable or some such malarky) and that I would need to wait 2 weeks before I could them back and have something done.

Well bollocks to the lot of them I thought.

There is one comforting thought. I can leave the country during the processing of my work permit without any affect on the process.

Job's ahoy!

2006-11-14T18:50:00.000-08:00

Well, last Friday was an action-packed mayhem-filled charge on the front lines.

I had a job interview for the position of Librarian with the esteemed fellows at the Laboratory Institute of Merchandising. It was a strange interview, conducted in two parts (and in two different places, firstly on 52nd st and then down to 45th st) and lasted a good 90 minutes all up. They still had people to interview so I am not expecting to hear anything back until November 27th.

I'm not sure how well the dashing Sgt M went in the face of their relentless questioning (particularly since I balked at their 'name your strengths and weaknesses question') but I'm moderately optimistic as I believe you don't waste 90 minutes on a complete prat.

I also managed to talk to the POP (Persons Of Importance) at the Virgin Megastore at Union Square (14th Ave) - the result of knowing someone who knows someone - and today had a call back that confirmed they want to put me on and will do so as soon as I have a work permit.

Which puts one in a strange position. I essentially have a job but no work permit. I suppose stranger things have happened.

Sir G came over on Friday evening and we all clambered aboard a wild taxi ride into Newark city at night (oooerr!) for a pleasantly surprising club called QXT's (and I think we shall be going back) where we saw the band Razed In Black.

Unfortunately, this was also the weekend that saw the Reverend Horton Heat, Bloc Party and the Gotham Girls Roller Derby in NYC....but I guess some sacrifices must be made.

Attached is a photo of the band, courtesy of Sir G.

Hell-o-weenie

2006-11-03T07:32:00.000-08:00

Ms T and I were very curious about Halloween in the country that invented the costumed trick-or-treat so it was with much enthusiasm that we ventured out on Halloween night to see the Halloween Parade down 6th Ave in the Village.

We were uncostumed as the cash flow from the tea plantations in Ceylon was a trite stifled but went armed with camera and smile.

We met Msr Golby and acquaintances in the Slaughtered Lamb (a mere block away from the parade) for some libations and Halloween cheer. This was the highlight of the night (and was very enjoyable). Everybody gets into party mood (regardless of the fact it was Tuesday night) and the streets are thronged with costumed lunacy. There were some very inventive outfits but unfortunately the wrong choice of lens meant that the photographs did not come out as desired.

We then attempted to view the parade.

It is possibly my naivete, brought on by watching American films, that a parade in New York City is a grand and stately affair, with huge floats, giant balloons tethered to slow trundling cars whilst extravagantly dressed people wave from lofty perches.

I have yet to see anything in NYC that resembles this.

The parade consisted of a handful of flat bed trucks with some poorly designed things sitting on the back. There were plenty of people marching for the parade (or sauntering..whichever..), the only disappointing thing was that they were all the same people you could see stumbling around the streets. The most exciting part of the parade was the white shirted policeman who kept control by screaming into his megaphone which he would hold 1 inch away from the person he was talking to. Quite amusing.

Shaving graces

2006-11-03T07:26:00.000-08:00

For the last 10 days I have been on a shaving strike until my work permit was presented.

Well, I prematurely shaved. I was under the mistaken impression that the information you get from the government website was accurate. I foolishly believed that after 90 days since my initial application I was able to get an interim work permit.

"We don't do that anymore."

Apparently I either go to Chicago (I have no idea what she meant by that!) or I just wait. I subsequent phone call also did little to improve my mood with a mention of 60 days since new information was recieved, and another mention of "if you don't hear anything in 45 days please call me back".

It's kind of annoying to think it has taken so long I actually need to seriously consider a contingency plan. The 24th of November is the crunch date. If no permit is presented by this time I am booking my flight home. I shall work in Australia till Ms T comes over next April for her cousins wedding and then I shall be looking at getting a job in Canada (yes...it seems to be much easier to move permanently to Canada than get a temporary work permit for the United States) or England.

Anyway, for those of you who are curious as to what I would like with a goatee...this one's for you.

I actually like this next one, but Ms T would not acknowledge my existence until it was removed....

The Temple and the Handshake

2006-10-11T13:09:00.000-07:00

On Sunday past, Ms T and I attended the open house day of the Mason's Grand Lodge in New York City. Every year they throw their doors open and try to convince the dubious public that they have no secrets (apart from their handshake of course).

Well, the Grand Lodge in NYC is very, very grand. Essentially, the Mason's wealth and power comes from the fact that it one big boys club, which makes it a wonderful networking association. You need someone to renovate your business? Well, if you are a Mason, you are likely to give the contract to a fellow Mason right? With 3 million Masons worldwide, 2/3rds of which are in America, you can see why Masons crop up everywhere in US history.

What Tamara and I found humorous was the fact that when they had to renovate the Lodge fifty odd years ago, instead of spending the money they generate for charities (which is the primary function of the Mason's today), they received donations from other charities for that function instead. Most bizarre.

Another interesting fact is that two subjects are vetoed in the meeting rooms (and bringing them up can get you forcibly removed from the room). These are politics and religion. This seems surprising since I always thought the Masons had a religious theme however, membership only requires that you believe in a higher being (the great architect perhaps?) rather than any particular god.

The Lodge is comprises of two buildings, the second building is rented out as commercial space which generates income for the Temple. In the temple are 14 floors of meeting rooms, each one laid out to a fairly standard pattern (with pipe organ, seating along the walls and several symbolic fixtures) but decorated to a specific style. The tour started in the Egyptian Room and ended in the Grand Hall.

The Mason's that conducted the tour were a humorous bunch of old chaps and full of interesting stories. One fellow (who I suspect may have been a closet Civil War Re-enactor) had a fabulous twirled moustache and cropped beard. An indication of the gentlemanly reserve of these fellows is illustrated by an incident in the Renaissance room (one of the rooms pictured). He entered the room with two men and a young boy. He was giving his introduction; ..." and this is the Renaissance Room..." At that point, the ignorant pleb there with the young boy piped up in his grating accent "Oh? Why is that then?" (and I should point out that this man has just been through about eight themed rooms by this point). As any gentleman would, the Mason calmly continued his ramble and completely ignored the plebian, thus saving an unwarranted embarrassment for all.

We are the Robots

2006-10-02T14:21:00.000-07:00

Its been an interesting week all round. The course is well underway and fairly intensive at that. We are learning draping, patternmaking, drawing, sewing, and design. Each class runs for 2 1/2 hours but generally they end up going for three hours without a break - so you have some idea of how intensive they are!

The fun stuff.

We saw Ladytron play at Webster Hall on Thursday night. They generally rocked the pants of the establishment with most of the greats getting a play. I particularily enjoy hearing the songs you know with a little ad lib or variation in sound - which is what these guys did. Supposedly Debra Harry was in the audience (the only likely area being the roped-off corner of the balcony) which meant we were potentially 25 metres away from the Queen of New Wave and Punk Disco.

Because we wanted to see the Wired NextFest on sunday we didn't have the funds to attend the Dark Arts Festival (which featured SNOG, Rotersand, Covenant and others) but I'm sure Goldfrapp in three weeks time will make up for that.

Wired NextFest was interesting - supposedly showing the latest and greatest in technology - but it was far from impressive. Most of the signage was dumb-downed and the technology appeared to be variations or enhancements on existing technology, so it was difficult to get too excited by some of it. There was a fairly impressive robot head that had convincing realism as well as some interesting biohousing ideas (using cardboard for furniture....hmmmmmm).

Lovecraftian New York

2006-09-21T15:42:00.000-07:00

I'm in the land of H.P. Lovecraft which is very exciting. Back in the days of Dymocks I had planned to do a tour of New England with a friend and visit all the significant sites that features in his short horror stories. It was to be our terror trip across America.

Now I am here I have started to read Lovecraft's short stories again and was struck by his very accurate description of New York City that echoes what I have felt about it ever since I arrived here. One must remember that Lovecraft wrote this story in the 1930s.

....garish daylight shewed only squalor and alienage and the noxious elephantiasis of climbing, spreading stone where the moon had hinted of loveliness and elder magic......and I saw at last a fearful truth which no one had ever dared to breathe before - the unwhisperable secret of secrets - the fact that this city of stone and stridor is not a sentient perpetuation of Old New York as London is of Old London and Paris of Old Paris, but that it is in fact quite dead, its sprawling body imperfectly embalmed and infested with queer animate things which have nothing to do with it as it was in life.
He by H.P. Lovecraft.

It is very true. Take away the people and the city is dead. There is no history or character that gives the city its own life the same way that London or Paris has. America seems obsessed with destroying the old and making as much money out of every inch they can. Rather sad really.

I visited the location mentioned in the story He. At the end of the novel the protagonist is found, broken and bleeding on Perry Street, having emerged from a black courtyard. I walked the breadth of Perry street and whilst it is a nice tree lined street in the West Village, it does not give one much of a feel for the Perry street of the 1930s apart from a small section of cobbled road and the occasional flourish that the residents have added to their entrances.

Slaughtering Lambs

2006-09-11T06:34:00.000-07:00

To continue on the theme of horror movies, I would like to mention a little pub (or bar as they like to call them here) a stones throw from the Christopher street Path station on the corner of Barrow and Jones. Its THE SLAUGHTERED LAMB. This bar was introduced to us last week by Scott who then took us to the Jekyll and Hyde themed restaurant (it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience - the animatronic shows and actorial distractions must be witnessed for their sheer B grade tackiness). We were so impressed by the pub that we returned on Saturday for a bottle of Witchwood Breweries Scarecrow (a tasty Golden Pale Ale) that unfortunately turned out to be much more expensive than we expected by enjoyed nonetheless.

The denizens of THE SLAUGHTERED LAMB are the usual mob you would find in any American bar, but it is the cramped little pub that makes the experience the most enjoyable. When I say cramped, I am exaggerating - there is not that much space. If the door to the gents bathroom is left slightly ajar the door to the ladies becomes wedged and vice versa. Its quite a delightful little bar to spend an afternoon drinking and watching people walking up and down one of West Villages side streets. It is completely wooden paneled, dark, low ceilinged, and every nook and cranny is festooned with little collectible memorabilia such as bobsleds, cricket bats, old bottles and the like.

Cricket bats? May well you be shocked! As Scott pointed out, this may be the only bar in New York that contains a cricket bat. But why?

For those horror buffs out there. They will have twigged at the name of the bar. Yes, that's right, THE SLAUGHTERED LAMB is the name of the lone pub standing on the misty Yorkshire moors in the movie AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON. To that effect, movie posters and scene photographs can be found in the pub in the most unlikely places. The wonderful part about the pub in the movie for those with a good memory, is that Rik Mayall plays a drunken and surly Yorkshireman who warns the hero about the evil menace that prowls the moors at night.

Moving on from the bar we get to American beer. Unfortunately, like American coffee, it is quite terrible. About the best you will find is Millers draft, everything else leaves much to be desired on the palate. This would explain why everyone drinks Coronas here, even though it is a second rate Mexican beer. We managed to find a fairly decent pale ale on tap called Blue Moon, but in keeping with American's inability to make a decent drop its brewed in Canada.
What I wouldn't give for a nice pint of Cascade Pale.

Parades

2006-09-11T06:26:00.000-07:00

I started the Fashion Design course last week, and although it was merely an introduction class, it looks like it will be very enjoyable. On saturday we went into the city to buy some art supplies that I needed (namely a sketch board, newprint and charcoals). It actually felt good to walk around carrying a portfolio bag and have a legitimate reason to. I should also be able to spend plenty of time working on this course as the US department responsible for processing my work permit is only up to applications submitted at the start of June (I submitted mine at the start of August).

On saturday we caught the Deitch Projects Art Parade, only largely compelling because Fischerspooner was playing on a float. As you can see from the photos, there was some very interesting, if not occasionally bizarre attractions. They ranged from the well thought out and spectacular displays (such as Fischerspooner's float that spewed glitter out into the crowds from air cannons, a bunch of toilet bicycles, and Brooklyn high school marching band) to the disturbingly lame (unfortunately I have no examples, they have been erased from my mind).

Bugs Ahoy!

2006-08-26T18:47:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-22T17:51:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-22T17:44:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-14T16:49:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

Harajuku Park

2006-08-04T10:16:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-04T10:13:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-04T10:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-04T10:01:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-04T09:59:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-04T09:51:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-03T07:28:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-03T07:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-01T14:00:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-01T13:56:00.000-07:00

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

2006-08-01T13:50:00.000-07:00

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!

Diary Entry #2

2006-07-31T16:55:00.000-07:00

July 15^th

Saturday in Tottori! A short walk around the town and an even shorter climb up the local mountain (Mt. Kyusho) was about the extent of our physical exertions in the hot humid climate that is Japan in summer. We strolled the gardens of the JINPUKAKU, a Victorian era house built entirely out of cedar and costing nearly the same amount for its construction as the entire yearly budget of the town of Tottori. This beautiful mansion was built during the height of Japan’s obsession with modernism and the west and it is a strange contrast to wander barefoot (yes, even here!) through a Victorian house with a views of a Japanese garden.

Sir S and I then marvelled at the bizarre creatures ensconced within the Tottori Prefectural Museum, among which were pickled giant newts that looked like they call swallow babies whole, preserved giant squid, and the full assortment of stuffed local wildlife including the Tanaki, a small beast that resembles a raccoon.

Now all of this culture was enough to give a man a thirst, so we headed back to the hotel to refresh before meeting two more locals – Kana and Hiroko – for Izakaya. It just so happened that our Tottori stay coincided with a summer festival and we managed to witness some local J-rock bands performing their hearts out near the station. Their fans were quite amusing. Where one would expect the front row to start a mosh pit, these groupies had a set pattern of hand movements that they all performed in unison. More surprising was that at some point during one of their songs, the crowd suddenly started waving their fans at the band, to great effect.

Most amusing.

What I would like to say about Japan is that they don’t let archaic ideas of machismo get in the way of sensibilities. It is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to have a fold out fan for alleviating the stifling heat or carrying a small towel for the dabbing of one’s beaded brow. I look forward to the day when western cultures give up on the useless concept of ‘being manly’ over comfort.

But I digress! This is the part of the tale where I enjoy my first (lets just say first three) martinis of my Japanese trip. We took a few rickety stairs up to an unimposing bar called the ODEON. What we discovered upon entering was a delightful room of circular tables, each provided with its own privacy via curtains that surrounded each table. A small button on each table summoned a waiter who quickly and efficiently took our orders and returned promptly with our food/drinks. The food was delicious and the martinis were quite acceptable (and to my pleasure, served in smaller glasses which is more in keeping with the traditional measure of the martini) although lacking any olives.

Diary entry #1

2006-07-31T16:49:00.000-07:00

July 14^th

After the dismal tourism failure that was Osaka, I packed my small house onto my back and boarded the express train for Tottori. My spirits (to quote the honourable Mr. Bowie) were at an all time low, my shoulders were aching and my feet blistered (who ever said you didn’t need to break in thongs?). But lo! As soon as the train pulled away from the hulking, grey-concrete monoliths that passed for architecture in Osaka and slipped through the wild forested hills inland my heart lifted. The landscape was dynamic, green and verdant. There are hills everywhere, the train passing through innumerable tunnels to emerge into valleys dotted with quaint houses and ordered rice paddies. The train quite often crossed many swollen rivers as it dashed inland and the wispy low-clouds that sporadically showered the bamboo and cedared hills with light rain made me feel glad to be in Japan. This is the country that I came to see, not the stinking dirty city.

Sir S met me at Tottori station and quickly debriefed me on the situation. We would spend a few days orientating me to the Japanese countryside with several planned meeting with natives willing to give us the insights needed for our big push on the capital in a week and a half’s time.

It sounded superb.

We caught a local train to Sir S’ dormitory in the University town of Koyama (two stops from Tottori) where we stored my over sized bags. A pleasant afternoon bike ride drove home the pleasant simplicity of Japanese country life (I should note here that I have heard Tottori described by locals as one of the most boring towns in Japan). The country is well designed for cycling, with most of the settled areas being flat, making the lack of gears on the bicycle totally irrelevant. Our afternoon of cycle was one of those rare Studio Ghibli moments (My Neighbour Totoro) and was possibly the highlight of the trip.

Heading back to Tottori we booked into the local Super Hotel (I highly recommend this chain to anyone visiting Japan – it is a little tricky to book as reservations are made online and in Japanese but they are clean, cheap and include breakfast) and meet two locals – Hiroki and a new friend Yuki for Izakaya (think Tapas, but Japanese).

A Testing Day

2006-07-12T18:22:00.000-07:00

Having a hangover (thank you Brett for reminding me why I don`t usually follow a few beers with a few glasses of wine) does not make one very well equiped to deal with the rigors of 14 hrs of flight, two airports, an 11pm hostel curfew, 28 degrees and humid or trying to lug a suitcase weighing 32kg, a backpack weighing 20kg, a laptop that is a desktop in disguise and a 10kg cabin bag around three train stations that do not have lifts.

Needless to say - after starting out at 5:30 am and arriving at 11:45 pm I was very sweaty, tired and highly irritable. The fact that I made it into a hostel room at all was due to the assistance of a lovely Japanese woman at Osaka who assisted me in the ticket and platform location process and my sweet talking the Hostel worker through the intercom 45 min after curfew. Bless them all.

Osaka is very interesting. Unlike Tokyo people do stare at foreigners and I only saw 2 other caucasians during my nightmare ride from Kansai airport to the Hostel in Osaka. The people are still very nice though, and I had no problems getting accurate directions from people - unlike the many instances in China with Sir S where the response was either alot of chin stroking and then directing in the wrong direction or to run away screaming (quite alarming I can tell you).

Another interesting observation I made, which is something that is not seen in European cities (or Australian for that matter) is that there was still a good number of people rushing around the trains (of all ages and sexes) at 11:30 pm on a Tuesday night. Not as many as in peak hour I wager but still a testament to the old traditions of long working hours (or at least spending alot of time away from home socialising with your boss or work colleagues)

Anyway - a short basin wash and a stumble around the dorm later (the lights were off - I can only thank divine providence that I found a spare bed in the pitch darkness) I was asleep, eagerly awaiting 6 am when the bathrooms reopened so that I could expunge the filth from my body (but unfortunately not my mind - that grime is firmly entrenched).

So today I shall attempt to buy a decent coffee and possibly do a small amount of sightseeing - possibly take in the local ambience and read a few more pages of Rik Mayall`s biography: Bigger than Hitler, Better than Jesus.

Oh - I might also attempt to find a computer with a back slash key that I can make work so that I can check my email.

So, ja mata as the say.

The Departure

2006-07-11T13:28:00.000-07:00

This morning I leave for Japan.
If there is one thing that one should remember as they travel through life is that drinking with one's brother the night before departure does not lend itself to a happy trip.

Drink for the Orient

2006-06-28T23:49:00.000-07:00

I have decided (though I must admit that it was very much a no-brainer) that my drink of choice for the Japanese leg of my journey shall be none other than the Sake Martini.

3 parts Gin to 1 part Sake

I believe one can garnish this with cucumber but I'm thinking a lemon peel might go down better.

Bravo I say!

The Trials of Air Travel

2006-06-09T17:43:00.000-07:00

Embarking upon a journey into unknown territories, as many an experienced traveller will tell you, is riddled with trials and tribulations. The sheer joy of travelling and discovering new exoticisms generally outweighs those nagging inconveniences, but I thought it might be amusing to relate a few of the inconveniences one has to deal with before the journey commences.

Money: The root of all evil and the source of untold fun. No journey would be possible without it (unless you are one of the more creative members of my readership). The only problem is those foreign devils don't seem to be interested in our good old sturdy cash and prefer to trade for goods and services in their own flimsy currencies. This leads the merry traveller to the individual only hated slightly less than taxmen and politicians: The money changer. I'm not sure who decides on the magical number that appears on the wall of the money changers business like a cryptic cypher, but it certainly doesn't reflect the amount that the offical channels would have you believe we are worth (and in general, dear reader, it makes ones currency appear somewhat less valuable amongst our international peers). The drippy sod behind the counter then demands an exorbanant fee for the privelage of changing your currency at a ridiculously low rate. Really, the Continentals had the right idea with the Euro.

Weight Allowance: "Excuse me sir - is this were I checkin my travelling trunk?" "What do you mean it's too heavy? Surely you don't expect me to go on holiday and leave my entire back collection of 'The Chap' magazine behind? Absolutely scandalous".
I do believe that in the future if we don't stand up for our rights we may be limited to one change of clothes and a battered copy of HQ to share amongst six passengers.
"But I need my portable martini set!!"

Security Checks: Need I say more? The thought of being rubbed down by a ruffian just to prove I have no ill placed thoughts about the destination of the plane is really intolerable. They could just ask. I would lie of course, largely on principle.
The sign reads: Security checks are mandatory, and jokes will be treated as serious by staff
Well, if one has to check their sense of humour in with the luggage I do think we are all in for an unpleasant journey.

Children: Don't get me wrong - I love the little ankle biters (in a purely platonic way of course). I just don't like other peoples children. There should be a special cargo hold just for small children. It would be just like a large nursery where they can be placed to "sleep off" the journey.

Immigration: No. I do not have anything to declare, apart that I'm tired and hungry and have been standing in this accursed line for over an hour. If I had something illegal I would not show it to you anyway. Oh? You would like me to come into the backroom would you? Very well...

Airline safety: I do feel so much more secure in the knowledge that I have a life vest stowed under my seat. On the off chance that the plane falls out of the sky, I'm sure I would much rather disembarking the plan at a few thousand feet with a parachute than to wait for it to hit the ground.

Airports: Just being in an airport raises the price of everything by 15%. I deduce its in order to get you used to the idea of paying ridiculous prices wherever you go, just because you are a tourist.

But these are just mere trifles. If time permits I may create an entry on the tibulations of travel

Stay tuned, I'm smoking a kipper for you.