All Right Here?

Having recently moved from the UK to South East Asia, a lot of people have asked me: "So, what's it like, then?" This is my attempt to answer that question.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Moving Too Fast

I can't keep up with life at the moment. I start writing about something for this blog that's about to happen, or that might happen in a while, then it happens before I finish writing about it. I then either have to rejig what I've written or scrap it.

I can't believe how little time I've had to do anything since September. Life is rushing by. I've been reading the same book for four weeks, which is unheard of. All I seem to do is work, eat and sleep. And write sketchy blogs that never see the light of day.

September to December really are the killer months. In fact, looking at last year's blogging, the only time I blogged regularly was when I was at home doing nothing because I'd had major knee surgery. I went to the dentist yesterday who says I need a wisdom tooth out, so there'll be three days of blog action coming up soon, I reckon.

What I want to know is, how do people find the time to write these things every day? And read loads of other ones? And watch telly and go out to gigs and socialise and play sport and read books all at the same time? Sure, I'm generally at work for 12 hours, but I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

Blogs I've started but not finished recently include:

The one about the condition of my knee - my doc says I can play football next month.

The one about my new regime of cycling to work. I've lost some weight and everything.

The one about going to the dentist.

The one about my week-long migraine.

The one about trying to buy electrical goods when I don't have a clue about them.

The one about how salespeople here lie through their teeth - or talk without thinking - when trying to convince me to buy stuff.

I like life to be busy, but I'd like to be able to write more than two blogs in six months. With my schedule over the next few weeks, that doesn't look likely...

So those are my excuses.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Properly Clipped On Like A Peg Should

By popular request (well, Andy mentioned it once), here's my very belated run down of my Summer. In order to do this, I need to go all the way back to July. Bear with me, though, because it's not going to be like your boring old uncle talking through his holiday snaps.

That last sentence isn't true.


The last thing I told you about my trip to Sydney was this - an account of why I love Aussie Rules referees. Well, as you may’ve read on Jonny’s blog, we also went to the Sydney Opera House for a bit of the old Shostakovich. Even though we were in the cheap seats, we had a great view. Indeed, as Jonny explained at the time, we got in for the under-30s' price, even though only H is under-30. I let Jonny do the talking, because he's really rather good at it, and he did a superb job of charming our ticket-seller into believing that two balding, wrinkly men, one of whom was walking with the aid of a walking stick, were still in the first (or possibly second) flush of youth. Although thinking about it, perhaps she thought we were senile OAPs and were therefore concessions anyway.


Usually I wouldn't bother trying to get in for a cheaper price, but Jonny was out of work at the time and didn't seem to mind people thinking that we were students, so I allowed myself to be carried along on the crest of his penny-pinching wave. On the night, we made sure that our trousers were hanging below our underwear in the style of the youth of today, just in case. Anyway, here's Oprah's House from within:

And without:

The next day we went whale-watching, which prompted lots of Welsh accents, although there were no whales. If you don't see whales you get your money back, so we got a voucher for another boat trip. I'm going back to visit H and J at Chrimbo, so, unless Jonny's flogged the voucher for a profit(!), we'll be going on another boat trip of some kind.

Even though there were no whales, we saw zillions of dolphins. According to our jocular whale-watch guide, dolphins are part of the whale family, which I hadn't realised, but they didn't count as whales when it came to getting our money back. This all seemed rather generous to me, and I felt as if I didn't deserve such generosity since the previous day I'd listened to classical music with deceitfully youthful ears.

Anyway, I failed miserably to take photos of any dolphins because they simply refused to pause in mid-air while I got my camera ready. Somewhat predictably, I did get some good pictures of the sky. Regular readers will know that I have a bit of a sky fixation:

Did loads of other great stuff in Sydney too, all of which Jonny has mentioned, including climbing all the way up to the bridge a mere month after knee ligament surgery. Jonny counted the steps, which really helped. Finally, I bid a sad farewell to Jonny:

And H:

Sydney was brill, and I'm looking forward to seeing it without a crocked knee and when it's not freezing cold. Thanks again, H and J. Only a month to go! Writing this has brought back some top memories. There's now less time ahead of me until I next go than there is behind me since I last went.

I like that last sentence, because it only just makes sense.

After Sydney, I went back to Singapore and moved house. I realised that we have too much stuff:

After a couple of days spent unpacking boxes, I went back to England. I met one niece for the first time:
And got reacquainted with another:

No summer would be complete without playing Pegs™, the rules of which have changed since my last visit. Andy has described the rules at length, but really all there is to it is lobbing pegs, corks and various bones that are lying around in your back garden into some receptacles at the other end of the garden. You get points according to which receptacle your projectile lands in. One of the receptacles is a wire mesh (known as 'the four-two mesh', because you get four points if your peg stays in the mesh, and two if it drops down to the pot beneath). It produced one of my favourite phrases of the summer. Andy went to inspect whether one of his pegs had landed in the mesh, and he informed us that it was in fact 'properly clipped on like a peg should.' This, I decided, was a good metaphor to describe things going well. If, for example, people ask me if I'm having a good time, I now reply that I'm properly clipped on like a peg should, thanks for asking. The latest Killers album is properly clipped on like a peg should, too. I'm sure you get the idea. It takes a bit longer to say than 'fine, thanks,' or 'really good,' but so what.

This is one of those pleasing sentences that I referred to here, when I pointed out the probable uniqueness of the sentence 'we were led through the labyrinthine innards of the bamboo structure by the euphoniumist'. It's one of those sentences where the words make sense, but they can surely never have been combined in such an obscure order before throughout history. Indeed, one could go so far as to say that those sentences themselves are properly clipped on like pegs should (be).

I do realise how silly all this is, by the way.

Anyway, here are Chewie, Andy and Joe in a very obviously posed photograph, looking as if they're about to play Pegs:

One gloriously grey, blustery day, I went to the seaside - Clevedon, no less - with my parents and one of the nieces. There's a pier there. Going on this pier made me realise that, even with no amusements on them, piers are brilliant, and other countries that don’t have them, or call them disappointing things like 'jetties', are rubbish. Save our piers! They’re architecturally pleasing to the eye! You can fish off them! Some of them have turnstiles and you have to pay stupidly small, quaint amounts of pence to get on them! Most importantly of all, they jut out into the sea and everything!

Indeed, in September, four of my friends who I’ve been in bands with in the past were supposed to be playing a gig on this very pier. Having been in trendy guitar or hip-hop bands, they’re now in a ukulele band – ukulele being the new guitar, or something - and are playing things like “I Predict A Riot”, “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” and, of course, “When I’m Cleaning Windows” (known only as "Windows" in any conversation I had with the band about it) on the uke. So good luck to Joe, Neil, Ieuan and Mike. When I return home, please can I join in? If any of you are reading this gibber, did the gig on the pier happen?

Here’s the pier:

This snap was taken at the end of the pier and is perhaps a symbol of our times, if not politically, then certainly footballingly after the last World Cup:

Whilst in England, I saw the best sunset that I’ve seen in the last two years. Sunsets just don’t seem to happen in the same way in my part of the world. Bristol still rules as sunset capital in my book. This from my brother’s back garden:

I caught up with some people I hadn’t seen in years at Mark’s 30th. I had a brilliant weekend with them all. The main thing I can remember about it is laughing long and hard. I managed to get this photo of Em with an international athlete, whose autograph I will ask for next time I see him, Jonny:

And I got this one, too, which ranks as one of the most extraordinary photos I’ve ever taken. All I said was, “Let’s make this a cheesy one, please” and Andy and Chewie’s faces seemed to turn to rubber. A case of Mr Hyde and Mr Hyde:

Andy and I both took photos of Sam drinking brandy or something rather late in the evening, looking every inch the Victorian gent:

In other news, baby Ben was born to Neil and Cath about a week into my trip home. He was over 10lb when he was born, and I found myself calling him “champ” automatically as soon as I met him. Ben had an operation on his heart a couple of days before I came back to Singapore. It went very well and Ben is now in rather good shape, so I gather. The day before the operation, I went in to see the three of them in hospital and said ‘goodbye’ because I was leaving for Singapore two days later. That was horrible. Fortunately, after Ben’s op, Neil and Cath came out on my last night, despite having had very little rest and having been through all that stress, and we were able to have a much nicer ‘goodbye’. Winner:

9 years on and Funky Onion is still going strong, with Dave and Joe Onion still doing for House Music what Teddy Sheringham is doing for West Ham United:

Dave and I were at the Oval on that fateful day when Pakistan cheated, or didn’t, as the case may be. You know those flats that overlook the ground? The ones the TV cameras always show cos people are on the balconies watching the game from there? You know how you wish you knew someone who lives in one of those flats? Well, we know someone who lives there and so we saw a crazy, historic day of cricket for free! Although, of course, we had no idea what was going on because we were inside the flat having a spot of lunch at the time. Anyway, here's the proof that we were there:

And here's that historic scoreboard:

Finally, I also went to Wookey Hole for the first time ever. Here I am with Pen, sister-in-law extraordinaire, and the children. Photo taken illegally by Dave. Apparently, flash photography scares the bats. There were no bats in this section anyway. At least, not after the flash photography:

I had a brilliant summer, and I've only not written about it sooner because I was helping Ella finish her MA, then we had 8 weeks of guests in a row. That was brilliant, too, but it meant that instead of writing I've been sightseeing. My trip home was all too short this year and it gets harder every year to leave. Still, you can't have your cake and eat it, can you? Whatever that means.

Finally finally, every time I switched on the radio in England, they were playing 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol. Is that still the case?

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Chicken Bandages



Since that unusual Thursday night, lots has happened, but let me home straight in on half-term when I went to Japan. This was the first trip I’d taken entirely alone. Unlike everywhere else I’ve been to in Asia over the last couple of years, hardly anyone in Japan tried to speak to me in English. This made it an odd week, because I was surrounded by people the entire time, but I was silent most of the time. I was in a state of solitude whilst surrounded by a multitude.

Let’s start with the bullet train, or the shinkansen, which, in my own little silent bubble, quickly became the ‘shin cancer’ for some reason. The bullet train is notorious for being incredibly efficient and leaving on the absolute dot. However, on the day I left Tokyo to go to Kyoto (which sounds like a song title), the bullet train was two hours late. Although all the signs at the stations are in English as well as Japanese, all the announcements, including two changes of platform, were in Japanese only, so I had the unnerving experience of watching my train disappear from the screen twice. Fortunately, a Japanese guy came and stood next to me on the platform. He asked me, in rather good English, whether they’d said what was going on. I said, very slowly and clearly, that I didn’t know what was going on because ‘all announcements in Japanese. Me not speak Japanese.’
‘I don’t speak much either,’ he replied. He revealed that he was born in Tokyo, but moved to California when he was 3.

I spoke to him very occasionally over the next two hours, and with the little Japanese he understood, he helped me get to the right platform. Imagine the luck! A quiet American! Apparently, someone had thrown themselves in front of a bullet train just outside the station, which had caused the delay. I thanked him, we got on the train, and I never saw him again.

My first three nights were in Tokyo. It was Autumn, so there was an unrelenting drizzle, but the temperature was pleasant. I spent three days under a see-through umbrella, trying to avoid being poked in the eye by considerably shorter people also holding see-through umbrellas. I stayed in Shinjuku, where Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson stayed in Lost In Translation, although my hotel was rather less swanky. I did some of the same stuff – wandering around with a surprised look on my face, stumbling into amusement arcades where people were doing very strange things, like playing some kind of vertical pinball game, which, despite a long period of observation, I still couldn’t understand.

There was a virtual horseracing game, too. This, I suppose, is an upgrade of those plastic horseracing games you can bet on at the end of a pier. This one was made by Sega and was on a huge screen. There must have been 10 punters sat at computer consoles, feverishly making notes about, and placing bets on, pixels that looked like horses. I watched a race and there was a very close finish. Somebody looked like he’d won a lot of money on it from his reaction. Another guy immediately set about making notes on form, I guess.

Hyperreal, man.

Tokyo’s also good for temples,


markets,

people-watching and skyscrapers,

but somehow the amusement arcades are much more interesting to write about. As is the food.

Ordering food was problematic. Fortunately, a lot of restaurants have pictures of the food, or incredibly realistic plastic representations of the food, displayed outside. The display of desserts above, for example, is all plastic. Sometimes I’d go into a restaurant and would have to go back outside with a waiter to point at what I wanted. Quite often I had no idea what I’d eaten, even after I’d eaten it.

Being on my own made going to restaurants awkward because, in a lot of places, the portions are for two or more people to share. I discovered this when I took the plunge on my second night and picked a restaurant at random which didn’t have any pictures outside. I went downstairs and was greeted at the door by a waitress who spoke in Japanese for a few moments, while I nodded, occasionally asking whether I should take my shoes off in English. A bloke popped his head round the door and said ‘No English… only Japanese,’ to me, which I took to mean that they only had Japanese food. By this time I was already halfway through taking off my shoes, so despite this slightly lukewarm welcome, I felt that I had already crossed the point of no return, even after I realised that he actually meant they had no English menu. Nor did they have any pictures on their menu. It crossed my mind that perhaps he had meant ‘no English people,’ too.

Eventually shoeless, I was ushered into a small pod-like booth with a door to shut me off from the rest of the restaurant. This was, if you will, a microcosm of my experience in Japan. I could hear the raucous conversations and laughter of my fellow diners, but, at the same time, I was detached. Solitude in the multitude. Together while apart. Faraway, so close.

I've finished now.

My little dining capsule had a table for two, which would have been very romantic had it not been a ‘menage a un’. Pointlessly, I turned the pages of the menu. It was as bewildering as my GCSE maths exam after I’d got past the first five easy questions, or reading Ulysses. I managed to order a beer by saying ‘beer’, which seems to be pretty much globally understood, and when the waitress returned with my drink I shrugged and pointed at the menu with a smile on my face. She spoke to me in Japanese for a bit. I took the plunge. ‘Tempura?’ I asked. I knew I was on to a winner when she repeated the word ‘tempura’. She continued to speak, pointing at things on the menu, seemingly trying to explain something to me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I nodded a lot and she pressed a few buttons on her ordering keypad and seemed to go off happy.

Initially, I was given a small potato cake. If this was all I was going to get, I thought, I’d eat it, pay the bill, and go and get some noodles somewhere with a plastic food display outside. My tempura soon arrived, though. It was clearly a dish designed for people to share as I was almost sick by the time I’d finished. Although not the most balanced meal I’ve ever had, it was delicious. Sometimes, even the point-at-a-picture method yielded unexpected results. The following night I went to some kind of barbecue type place and pointed at some delicious looking beef. I was fortunate enough to have an English-speaking waiter, who informed me I’d pointed at beef tongue. Beef tongue isn’t my favourite dish, I have to say. I pointed at something else, which my waiter told me was ‘barbecued beef’. This was much more like the kind of non-specific dish I was after.

One of the things I particularly enjoyed doing in Japan was watching businessmen part company. Once I watched a group of 8 businessmen saying goodbye to each other in the street, oblivious to all the people trying to get past them. They stood in a kind of big circle, facing each other, and bowing, and it seemed to be some kind of contest to see who could bow the lowest, with everybody bowing at everybody else several times. What with there being 8 of them, and them all bowing to each other at least three times, there must have been at least 147 bows within 20 seconds, if my calculations are correct (unlikely).

Once the bowing finished, one of them said something to another, which meant that the last spell of saying goodbye and bowing didn’t count, so another round of bowing commenced. By this time I'd found a nice lamppost to lean on so that I could watch the spectacle unfold. Another chap made a wisecrack, which they all chuckled at, which, of course, resulted in more bowing. It reminded me of when I was a kid in assembly trying to get the last clap when someone’s being applauded. If someone else joins in, the clapping goes on until a teacher glares at you. With no glaring teacher to referee the bowing game, it amazes me that these businessmen ever part company at all.

Lots of waiters bowed at me while I was ordering stuff, and I would, of course, bow back, only clashing heads twice.

Being on my own and not saying anything enabled me to do lots of thinking and lots of staring. No one seemed to stare back. The Japanese seem to be either excessively chic or excessively bohemian. Even though you might think that wearing striped stockings above the knee or huge ‘cat in the hat’ hats is just stupid, whether weird, smart or scruffy, they seem to carry it off.

When I stopped thinking about what I was seeing and started thinking about myself, I discovered that, instead of thinking about the future, I thought about the past. I found myself going over the things I’d done in the past that I wished I hadn’t done and that make me cringe to think about them. I also found myself remembering things that I had completely forgotten about that happened at school or university. Perhaps I was giving myself some kind of non-consensual internal therapy-by-stealth.

On my last day, when I was looking at five large mushrooms in a market which were selling for about 300 quid, a woman approached me and told me that the mushrooms were expensive. I agreed. This was only the second time in a week that a Japanese person had approached me and spoken to me in English. I was conversationally rusty, so she kept the conversation going. Her last question was, ‘Are you in Japans doing sig-hut-si-ing-ger?’ It took me a while to work out that she was asking me if I was sightseeing, but was pronouncing every letter with great care. Shrooms:I had a similar experience at the airport, when a guy asking security questions asked me how many chicken bandages I’d had. Initially, I thought he was being sociable and was asking me whether I’d eaten some obscure chicken dish while I’d been in Japan. Before I answered, I fortunately worked out that he was asking me how many check-in baggages I had.

I realise I haven’t said much about what stuff looked like, but that’s what photos are for. It’s a stunning place, and I know I say this whenever I go away, but it’s the most interesting place I’ve been to yet, and I have to go back. Next time, hopefully, Ella will be able to come too. Here are some photos of Tokyo, and its anagram, Kyoto.

These wooden 'vocatives' were outside a shrine in Tokyo. People write their prayer requests on them:

One down, two to go! Get in! Come on you Spurs etc. I didn't write this one, honest:

These, too, were outside the same shrine. Loads of sake casks, for reasons unknown, I'm afraid, but they look nice:

Altogether now:
Red street by night:

Kyoto Station - an amazing place:

Looking at the view 11 floors up at Kyoto Station:

Kyoto Tower:

Reflections:

Shrine:

Raked gravel:

Emptiness:

These are fortunes (I think) which people get at shrines. They tie them to a tree so their fortune doesn't blow away (I think, again - I don't speak the language, you know):


The sky proves, once again, that it's the best thing ever:

I was really glad I went here. I walked up a hill (some would say mountain) for 4km through these toril, or shrine gates. They went all the way up. I took a million photos. Here's one:

At the top of the hill there was a great view of Kyoto and a shrine with lots of mini-toril, with prayers (or something) written on them:


Another beautiful sky with a castle or something in the way:


And finally, more great sky. I liked this one despite, or maybe because of, the coaches:


And that's quite enough for now.