"Would you really rush out, for me now..."

Well, as my last night in Tokyo starts winding down... and my eyelids start their ceremonious evening drooping- I figure it's a pretty good time to start getting Japan on 'paper' before it has slipped through my fingers.

I arrived in this magical paradise four nights ago. It was not the most auspicious of beginnings in a country- although with me, it never really seems to be.

This leg of the journey is one I'm undertaking well and truly solo. Brooke has headed home. Her journey was complete enough. And ever since the decision was made it has seemed very right to me that I should explore this place alone. For so many years Japan has been the 'place of my dreams' that land of wonder that I let my mind scurry off to during moments when I needed to escape, or to be moved, or to be inspired. How long I have dreamed of this! And here I am... already five days into it and with only 15 to go!!

So, Brooke and I arrived in Tokyo airport, bleary eyed and weary from our epic commute from Toulouse in France to our destination. Here came the farewell, and I managed to balls it all up through my terrible aversion to goodbyes. After months of sharing pretty much everything two people can share (apart from their bodies!) our parting came down to an awkward and clumsy slurring of words and pretty much a pat on the back... oh dear. If she weren't my friend, I'd be worried about the impression I made!
Anyway, I ran away from Brooke and hustled onto the train. And then the fiasco began. I had booked my hostel and had the directions all written out nice and safe in my trusty little notebook. I followed the directions from the Japan Rail lady, changing trains a good three times until I arrived at the station I assumed was the one I needed. But no, it wasn't. I have a Japan Rail pass, so I can catch any Japan Rail line for free. But I'll be darned if all the lines are JR! Ofcourse they aren't! No, Japan has about seven hundred and fifty million train lines... and the station I needed was not on a JR line. So... first I wandered about aimlessly like a sheep that had lost its herd- with my ridiculous bag hanging off my back like a freaking corpse. I stared at the maps with my eyes glazed so thick I may as well have had them closed. I tried to figure out if I could walk the distance between wherever the heck I was and where I needed to be... but I didn't even know where I was, and I sure couldn't read the signs! The key factor here is that I had failed to get any money out, and so I couldn't actually but the ticket to get to the station I needed.
Then it was an Indiana Jones style quest for cash. I walked around for what felt like a lifetime looking for an ATM, and when I finally stumbled on one- glowing on the horizon like a mystical mirage of salvation- it rejected my card.
So, then came the desperate attempts to communicate with people when I had bothered to learn a big fat zero of their language. I pulled out my bank card, repeated "yen" over and over and shrugged a lot. When the woman replied with three fingers and a giant cross made with her arms accompianied by "Three o'clock NO MONEY!" I figured it was a lost cause.

Then the tears came. I choked and spluttered and avoided people's eye contact as I wandered ever more aimlessly trying to think of what I could do. Back down into the subway I went, and with the tears still glistening in my eyes, I sidled up to the conductor, told him the stop I needed, showed him the inside of my empty wallet, and he quickly hustled me through the gate with a makeshift ticket in my hand. What a hero.
And from that moment on, I knew I was home, and I knew I was safe. I walked up the stairs of the station, and staring down at me like a vision from god was my hero- my absolute, honest to god king of all heroes- Takeshi Kitano from the inside of an ad for... I don't know... something Japanese! Boy, any place that has Takeshi Kitano on the subway walls is my kind of place!

So, I was in Japan.

My first day was spent a little hap-dashedly. I didn't have a map, and was still pretty hung over from my jetlag and total lack of recupperation. I just kind of walked around... stopping occassionaly to stare wide eyed at one of the area maps by the side of the road to make sure I wasn't walking up to Hokkaido or something... I stumbled upon Tokyo Tower and up I went in the elevator- fully equipped with a disco-ball-esque light and many uniformed Japanese girls to smile and guide the way. I walked down to Ginza... I was on a mission to locate Kabuki. And I did, and as of that moment, my next day was planned!

My day watching Kabuki Theatre... pretty spectacular! I saw four shows, all of which showcased different kinds of Kabuki- comedy, drama, dance, a love suicide and an introductory sort of actor display...
I have seen some Kabuki before- on screen obviously rather than in flesh- and these renditions didn't make my soul quake and crack like I thought it would based on other experiences. But boy was it still rich! It was so achingly beautiful! The attention to detail, the deep and sombre reverence for tradition, the passion. But the passion isn't that wild passion that spirals out of control like a hurricane. I have found the Japanese to be the most incredibly emotional, deep, profound people. They are so very in touch with their deepest feelings- which has surprised me because I always thought them to be quite repressed. But they are anything but. It is my impression that they have these incredibly rich and textured experiences and feelings... but they also have these incredibly structured and concentrated and controlled manners in which they express this. They have these traditions- these incredibly powerful and all pervading traditions- which are present in society, art, culture, religion... and these traditions spell out how the people express what is in their incredibly open hearts. Some traditions are ancient, and some are modern... but they have their guidelines as to how to behave... and how to express themselves. Or so I have felt!
Anyway, what all this means, is that when you are viewing some art or culture like Kabuki, what you get is this incredibly concentrated bullet of power and emotion. These people take everything that is inside of them, and channel it into this medium which has been perfected within an inch of its life and it just explodes on the stage in this unbelievable, magical performance. It is so gutteral, so visceral, and everyone in that hall understands it. It is so human and so instinctual... yet so taloured and controlled and rigid.
Japan sometimes feels like a living, breathing contradiction... but I think that actually it is just to dense for me to really understand what is going on!
I loved it!
I had my little english earpeice diligently translating not only the words the actors were saying, but also these ancient stage symbols and conventions like a purple headband indicating an ill character, and what really astounded and inspired me about that, was that everyone watching knew that. They are so in touch with tradition and their history and past. In one play, a character was pretending to be a samurai, and the fact that he was not legitimate was communicated to the audience by the fact that he forgot to remove one of his swords before he sat down... seriously... how could they know that!
Anyway, the love and pain and rage and fear that I saw exploding off the stage yesterday blew me away... and I really felt like they meant every tonal-rollercoaster of it, from the depths of their hearts.

Then, after a pretty rich cultural experience of traditional Japanese theatre, it was off to meet Traish and sleaze the night away in a maid cafe! Traish has been on a Rotary exchange here in Japan since January, and she goes home this coming January. I have missed her like my left foot, and it was so special to see her here. Pretty amazing too, to just, you know, meet up with your friend from back in the Blue Mountains in Tokyo...
Her host family had brought her to Tokyo for the weekend, and we were allowed a few hours together! So she took me to a maid cafe. We went up the lift to the fourth floor- dedicated to this distinctly Japanese establishment. Decked out entirely in bright pink- the tables shaped like hearts- Japanese girls with their hair in high-topped pig tails wearing the shortest and frilliest maid outfits imaginable greet you with more enthusiasm than you would think possible in their tiny little frames. They do magic tricks for you as you order, they sing songs and dance on the pink heart-shaped stage. It is quite a spectacle. I was assured by Traish that the men who visit these cafes get a great deal sleazier than our companions, and I don't doubt it!
It was a pretty incredible experience. One I could only ever have in Japan, that is for sure!

I set out the next day to try and see Fuji-san- that epic mountain which has inspired so many. I went to a town in the five lakes district and started to climb a little mountain in the hope of getting a decent view. The moment I stepped up into the leaves and trees and fresh air, I was hit like a mallet my this incredible sensation of "Holy christ... I'm here". I was just so moved and so relieved and so deeply happy that I was here, in this amazing, beautiful, incredible place... and I may have cried a little... and as I walked up that mountain, I could see where myths and legends of forest spirits and tree gods had come from. It really felt alive, those woods. I felt as though I was walking amongst a living, breathing entity. I could feel it tingling along my skin, sometimes it felt like it was laughing or snickering... teasing me a little. When I did finally get to the top... Fuji was hiding from me. I guess even when you are worshipped and revered you can still have self-esteem issues! So I had to make do with my brief glimpse of the mountain out of the train window on my way into tow- before he retreated behind a veil of clouds... Oh well, next time we will get better acquainted.

And today I jumped on the train and off I went to Nikko. So stunning I thought my heart would explode. The autumn leaves were raging like little star shaped fires. Every which way you look there are mountains jutting up into the sky- encasing you with their tree covered facades, the different staged leaves making it look as though someone has spilled a set of autumnal paints down the slopes. Oh my god, it was so splendid! And then as you walk more, there are rivers and streams which carve out their paths through the mountains and the trees, sailing over glistening river stones- the crystal blue of the water set wonderfully against the rich green of the moss at its edge.
Nikko is famous for its shrines and temples. They are world heritage listed... which I think they are pretty proud of, because they take every opportunity to remind you of it.
But there is a reason they are. There are a large number of these shrines and temples, nestled in amongst the forest. The towering trees soar perfectly vertically up above, the moss creeps along the tangled roots, the japanese maples crackle and burn- all shades from dull and resigned orange to a brilliant heart-wrenching vermillion- and the temples/shrines pulse with presence and character.
Nikko was spectacular. It moved me so very much... It made me realise how little time I have left, and how hard I will now push to make sure I can soak up as much as possible.

Japan is my dreamworld it is a fairy land. I am so happy here!

I have been thinking about my trip in terms of someone's favourite song... Wyoming was that first riff, that first little trill that really grabs you and makes your hair stand on end. The rest of America was that part in the first verse, where the song is sort of still getting going. You've grown to love that section because you adore the song... but you always want it to hurry up and get to the good bit when you're playing it to a friend, because you're scared they'll quit before it really picks up and they'll never know how good it could have been. Holland was the chorus. You can sing it over and over and over and it will never lose its resonance. Not even for a second. And everytime you hear it, a little part of you lights up. Italy was your favourite verse, the one with the lyrics you like the best. France was that bit where it dies down for a second... nothing much happens, it goes quiet... because it is leading up to something. And Japan, Japan is that something. You know that moment in a song, that one where something snaps and everything just explodes in pure perfection. It is that part of the song you are secretly waiting for all along, where the singer bends their voice just right, or there is a spectacular piano trill, or the drums and trumpets start up. That part that makes your heart jump into your throat when it happens. That is Japan.

So, that is how I would describe my trip... and being so close to the end, I don't think I can say "so far" anymore... but you never know I guess...

That's all...

"Betty said she prayed today, for the sky to blow away, or maybe stay, she wasn't sure..."

Sitting now in Avignon, France, writing on a ridiculous French keyboard, I realise how much I have to write, and how excrutiating it will be with all letters and punctuation in very much the 'wrong' place in front of me...

But, I need to cast my mind back to Florence now, where I left off last time. That was quite a while ago!!

The first night in Florence, after meeting up with Brooke again, we found the best pizza on the planet, which was extrodinarily cheap, and like Heaven in my mouth. A few days later we went in search of that illusive place for hours, wandering the streets like some kind of zombie type creature, but we never found it. It just appeared for us that one night, like a magical mirage that we could reach out and touvh only for a fleeting moment!

The hostel we stayed in in Florence deserves its own blog, dedicated simply to hashing out the bizzare, surreal details. I'll leave it hanging there, and maybe sometime soon that blog will come. Or maybe it is better to leave it to imaginations...

In Florence there was quite a lot to see. Unfortunately, these sites are all too aware that they are worth seeing, and no expense is spared. Money fell out of my pockets as though I didn't have any pockets... The spectacular cathedral in the centre of the city pulsated as if alive with its green, pink and white marble and melted and dripped with the most intricate and nuanced detail. We huffed our way up the 463 stairs to the peak of the Duomo where we looked out over terracotta rooves which flowed out towards the horizon and then slowly, delicately inched their way up and lightly dotted the hills in the distance. Florence was beautiful. It was stunning, but not like Venice or Chianti or the soon to come Cinque Terre. For me, it was pleasing and pretty and amazing, but not in the heart-wrenching way of other places I have seen. And I estimate the ratio of tourists to local inhabitants to be about 85:1. No kidding, I heard more American voices than Italian.
Sometimes Florence felt a little impersonal. It felt a little tired. Like it is always having to hold up this exterior to keep the masses satisfied, but the effort has drained it and it's stopped caring a little now. It's a bit half-hearted, everything a force of habit and routine rather than passion or commitment or investment. That is not to say I didn't love it to pieces! It just didn't touch me, which is a bit of a pity. I think the city holds so very, very much. It is so multi-faceted and rich, but all its layers are taken for granted from every possible direction and so its lost some of its impact and density.

Gallery day came. We lined up for just over an hour to see my pal David- Michelangelo's David that is... if you didn't get it!
And what an incredible experience that was. I've never seen anything like it in my life. So many of the other 'big' artworks I've seen, the ones drenched in hype and up-talking, they haven't manage to stand up to their name for me. I mean, I couldn't do it... but I hadn't been feeling it. But David is everything he's meant to be and more!!
There he stood; towering over us and he washuge already, but his presence fills every empty space in that room. The skill, the detail, the passion that must have gone into it... You could almost see the blood flowing through the veins which run so astonishingly under his marble skin. I wanted so badly to hold his hand, or give him a massive hug! He feels so alive, the tension fizzes all over his body and he looks like he'll step off the podium at any second! His face was so beautiful, his eyes holding so much fear, so much innocence.
It was perfect.

Then we lined up for pushing on two hours for the Uffizi gallery. It was pretty neat to see Botticelli's 'Birth of Venus' dominating its massive wall and his 'Spring' absolutely blew me away on such a massive, tangible scale.

Then, after a day of culture and art I was ready to plunge myself down into depravity... ha ha ha.
We made some wonderful new friends in the hostel, Rosie from England, Sarah from North Carolina, Aelfwyn from Oregon, Josie from Melbourne... some others came later. Anyway, cheap supermarket wine and drinking games led me down a path ending in embarrassment as I puked all over the place and spent the morning after cleaning up after myself. What a sorry sight. But it was fun, before vomit and raging shame came into the picture. We did meet some lovely people in Forence, and I realised that I have reached a place in my life now in which I can pull it off pretty well. I can handle it, I'm not a social invalid anymore! It's a fair bit more fun this way!

Recovery day followed, but Rosie, Josie, Brooke and I decided to cook and eat dinner together that night which was nice- we had our own little family going.

The next day we crossed the Ponte Vecchio and headed to the Palazzo Pitti, where we wandered the beautiful Bobli Gardens for hours.
I got very lost in the deserted corners of Florence, and felt better that I had gotten to those places, if only for a breath.
That evening we hiked up to Pizza Michelangelo, where we sat overlooking the city and watched the sun slowly inch towards the horizon and flare and blaze in its last hoorah before it ducked behind the hills for the night. We sat, surrounded by the mosy natiral, relaxed, soothing atmosphere, looking out at the entire city and the river, with casual guitar music wafting loosly in the air. It was pretty fab.

The next evening- my last in Florence- Brooke Rosie and I headed to the centre of the Ponte Vecchio to meet Sarah and off we trotted to the Florence Wine Event. 10 euros bought you a wine glass and a tasting card and for three consecutive days you could meandre through the various wine stalls and sample the hundreds of varities that lay under the white, domed mini-tents. We cruised along, with all the other wine tasters- some the full blown and incredibly wanky 'knowledgable' type, and others shameless cheap booze fiends- and chatted contentedly about our lives, the wine, the world, sipping our Italian wine, in Florence. Good times.
I did enjoy Florence immensly. There is a part of me that still feels like I wasn't really there, like I missed something. I didn't spend as much time absorbing the place as I have in the past, because I was busy with people. I guess Florence was just something different for me, and I experienced the city in a different way to the others. There would be no use in having the same experiences over and over again. Florence was different, and it was good!!

Then I was off on my own again. Brooke stayed in Florence for a while, and then her and Rosie went together back to Rome where Brooke met up fleetingly with her family, who are currently touring Europe. She then went back to Florence, and we met again on the bus to Nice.
I however, moved about differently.
I wanted to see Perugia, so I booked a hostel in Torricella, about 20 km from Perugia. It was such a gem of a hostel; Heaven by the lake!
It was a pain to get there on a Madonna-crazy Italian Sunday, but after being screwed over by the train timetable a few times, and shedding a few desperate tears (really only a few!), I got there and the pain of the journey melted away!
The hostel was on the edge of a massive, beautiful lake- Trasimeno. I had moved from Tuscany to Umbria. The people there were beyond lovely and so welcoming- inviting me to eat dinner with them not only on the nights all guests shared the free home-cooked meal with the employees, but even when they ate alone. I got free bike access, free breakfast, free dinner each night (beautiful, fresh, Italian home-cooked food), and if I stayed three nights, I could stay a fourth for free. What a place! So, obviously I changed my plans and stayed four nights instead of two.
My first full day by Lake Trasimeno, I jumped on the bike and cycled 65 km around the circumfrance of the lake. I'm never happier and lore content than when I'm on a bike!! The route took me through various medieval towns and villages which are still operating today. One of the villages was so perfect, so wonderful, going along, minding its own business, nestled in the heart of this medieval citadel on the top of a hill.
Round I went, through the beautiful rolling hills, the calm lake my constant companion to the side- the dull blue of the water almost indecsernable from that of the distant hills, and in turn, the hills from the open sky above me. It was heavenly.

The next day I jumped the train to Perugia. I spent an age climbing the massive hill to the peak, following the endless signs leading to the city centre in what felt like an epic, endless, vertical goose-chase. I finally found an escalator (yes, you could still go FURTHER up!) and up I went, finding myself then in an underground fortress from the middle ages. This is how you get to the city centre, by going up through an ancient underground city! These people who live and work there, every day they come up through the belly of the mountain, using ancient underground tunnel systems to reach the pizzerias, geleterias and supermarkets which perch above them. Holy Hell,what a world they inhabit! What lives they lead...
And boy was it beautiful! There I was, way up on the top of this massive mound of earth, with alleyways and steep staircases worming their way up from all directions. The layout of the city actually makes me think of a Pollock painting in 3d- buildings, streets, pathways all dripped down atop this mountain, some stacking up, some leaking and cascading down the slope.

My next stop was Cinque Terre, my final destination in a country I had grown to love very, very dearly. I definitely would not feel as fondly toward Italy had I not cracked open our basic itinerary and laced the gaps with some diversity.
My time in Cinque Terre had its pock-marks. I was greeted with a large dose of confusion and stress when the hostel I had booked into was everything I would hope to avoid in a place to stay and I had to look for alternatives. It was expensive, damn expensive, but it was worth it in the end. I stayed Rio,aggiore, the first of the five villages, and I think it turned out to be my favourite also. The buildings, the rainbow hued houses are perched up in the curves and folds of the cliff face and spill doan like candies toward the edge of the water. I had to trek half way up and effing mountain to get to my room, but once I got up there, heaving and sweating and weak at the knees, I was rewarded with a glorious view of the ocean.
I would eat dinner each night, perched out on the massive stones which dam the marina and relax, surrounded by the crystal blue waters as the sun sank into its wet bed.
The first day I hiked the trail which links the five villages, stopping in each to explore and recover. I walked along the cliff-face, the sea pulsing next to me doan below. Each town was equally as breathtaking, and quaint seems almost patronising, but it's what they were!

There were trillions of tourists, but I did get some brief glimpses of local life. Once, I walked past a church, and sitting on the step was a nonna in her apron, bouncing her baby grandson on her knee, singing passionately to him. Pretty special!
I only had two full days in Cinque Terra, the second was spent lazing at the beach, and hiking a little and eating my dinner again by the ocean as I watched the sea endlessy pound at the rocks, without a moments reprise. I felt so exhausted looking at the ocean that night, and I realised how important it is to rest a little, to let the blood pump slower for a while- ease the pressure so you don't burst.

So that was what Nice was for. I did nothing the entire time we were there. I lay by the beach, I lay in bed, I read and I ate baguettes.
Japan is coming up in a week now, and I have looked forward to it for too long to arrive there and realise I haven't the energy to make the damn most of it!
We met some FABULOUS people in Nice; The first night, Brooke, Erin from Wagga and Josie from Missouri and I sat huddled around Erin's mac watching American Warewolf in Paris and laughing our asses off. The next night we all went to 'Chez Wayne's' where the bartender was Aussie, and the only word in French was 'Sortie' (or Exit) so the locals know how to get the Hell out. But we had a lot of fun, and they were wonderful girls. We had gone in a futile search for mal-advertised bingo, which we were pretty epically dissapointed to find was not offered. What a rip.
Kyle from California came the next day after Josie left and settled pretty comfortably into our little Nice crew. We all got along incredibly well, and had a lot of fun together. But I really did very little there.
Now I'm in Avignon, and in about 8 days I fly to Japan, and I plan to do very little while I am here also. Take that society!

And I think that is about it...

Until next time...