August 28, 2002
Interlude

Tokyo, Japan.

Waiting for the appropriate time for our repective departures, we listened to favourite Beethoven sonatas, escaping the humidity through delicate arpeggios and grave seventh chords, braving the heat that no amount of iced coffee was able to relieve.

"So this is how it feels like to be roasted," said I. "I feel an affinity with chickens." He laughed.

A calm, quiet morning. I had very little sleep on the bus. I made friends with a lovely French-Kenyan man who was also making his way from Osaka to Tokyo. At 5:30 am, the buses stopped at a service area an hour and a half from our destination. I took the chance to stretch, breathing the fresh, heavy morning air, drinking in the weight of the sleepy mountainside. Then gradually, we wound our way from the cloud-caressed hills to a subdued Tokyo, still waking up under a shroud of smog.

Posted by sniffles at 02:27 PM | Comments (2)

August 27, 2002
By the time I get to Narita

Osaka, Japan.

I got out of bed quite a lot later than I intended to - the tiredness of travelling and not having yet stopped is certainly taking hold.

Last night, after a traditional local dinner, we found our way down to Umeda and visited the floating garden observatory, from which one could witness breath-taking views of Osaka some 170 metres above ground. Maybe I was tired, but at the time I would have preferred being in the streets than viewing all of it from above. Or maybe recently having seen Shibuya from the 25th floor ruined it for me ...

Today, I braved my way to Dotombori, or Dotonbori (no one seems to agree on the spelling, even in the area itself). I'll admit that the glittering sci-fi nightscape reminiscent of Blade Runner tagline caught my attention, though I wanted to see the area during the day. More than once since being in Osaka, I am grateful to be able to read and remember a fair amount of kanji. Some four hours of trekking up and down sidestreets and the shopping strips of Shinsaibashi and Ebisubashi later - having visually feasted on all manner of shops and quaint restaurants - the threatening approach of storm clouds finally drove me home.

No friendly teethless old men today, but I had to push my way past a big crowd of girls who were congregated in front of a particular building. From the posters on a wall and those held by excited, bouncy girls, it looked as if some boy-band was making an appearance. By the time I made my way home, however, the event seem to have wound up - the number of girls pouring down the stairs was a colourful procession of squeals and delight.

Tonight, an eight-hour-or-so bus trip back to Tokyo, then some hours of train, and tomorrow evening, some fifteen-hours-or-so of flying. So, over and out for a day or two. Keep warm, or cool, whichever suits.

Posted by sniffles at 06:31 PM | Comments (1)

August 26, 2002
Wandering minstrel

Osaka, Japan.

I was geographically challenged a couple of times whilst trying to find the route to Osaka Castle, and then a few more times trying to find my way out. The weather was hot, it was like being toasted, roasted and steamed at the same time.

After I wandered around the inside of the main castle building, I paused at some steps just outside (or perhaps it was really a wall) to sort out my maps and work out where I wanted to go next so as to decide which exit I should take. An old man turned up at my shoulder and looked at me shuffling my pile of Web printouts and glossy promotional material. I smiled at him and he flashed me a grin - he had almost none of his original teeth left, though I wasn't fast enough to count the gold caps. With thick glasses and a cream-coloured floppy hat, he looked uncannily like a Japanese tourist that one would be likely to see in Queensland. He hung around for a little while so I showed him what I was looking at. He nodded, grinned some more and left.

A little way towards (what I thought) was a way out, there he was, sitting on a step. I tried to ask if I could take a photograph of him, but instead, he yelled at someone else to take my camera and got me to sit next to him for a photograph(!). Kinda cute, even if it was not what I wanted. I waved goodbye to the old man and his friend, before getting down to the serious business of being hot and lost in the castle gardens.

(The photograph didn't turn out, unfortunately - maybe I should have a disposable camera for such occasions.)

Posted by sniffles at 06:02 PM | Comments (2)

Southern comfort

Osaka, Japan.

The eight-hour bus ride was surprisingly painless. The clutches of buildings became older and more weather-worn the closer we got to Osaka. Some houses looked truly, truly old. Always, we were accompanied by stretches of electricity-laden wires hitched atop gigantic metal scarecrows, the mark of industrialisation, the scars of technology. Lumbering out of Tokyo, the number of expensive sport cars rushing past was impressive - a few Porches, a Ferrari, a red Lamborghini ...

The light had been golden earlier on in the day. I gazed at the passing scenery, feeling oddly at home. Through the scrolling window, I watched the light gradually become dispersed by smog, my own thoughts frayed by humidity, as buildings of mysterious purposes rolled by.

Last night, there were truly amazing fireworks at the last festival of summer where girls everywhere come dolled-up in their summer kimonos. My hosts didn't waste the opportunity to feed me a famous local fare of octopus which, while being a bit seaweedy, wasn't too bad at all.

Posted by sniffles at 11:38 AM | Comments (1)

August 25, 2002
Retrospective

Tokyo, Japan.

After walking around Harajuku armed with our cameras, taking note and photos of goth girls, we trekked around Ebisu, in offbeat areas which seem to be getting increasingly popular, some of which stir up fond memories of Melbourne's Greville Street for me. A simple but sumptuous home-cooked dinner later, we went looking for a particular bar in Shibuya which we finally found hidden in a relatively quiet sidestreet, but we chose to visit the one next door first. Sex on the beach with Charlie Chaplin, then my aural radar picked up the distinctive accents of the three men who were sitting behind us.

"You guys from Australia?" I piped. They looked at me and grinned. So I said I came from Melbourne. The "What are you doing here in a bar in Tokyo?" and "What are you doing here anyway?" type questions followed, of course. Jest, fun, cocktail and books on art.

There was magic in the air, and the people on the street are moved by it, immersed in it. On the way home, we passed a guy fast asleep on the pavement. The night melted away much too fast.

Posted by sniffles at 02:16 AM | Comments (2)

August 24, 2002
Tomato seeds

Tokyo, Japan.

I forgot to mention that when I was flying in on Wednesday, that I was on the same flight with some members of the Australian swimming team making their way to Yokohama for the Pan Pacs meet. Y'know, with the likes of Geoff Huegill, Sarah Ryan and Dyana Calub.

Today it rained. It didn't stop us walking around some parts of Shinjuku and Harajuku, or getting somewhat drenched in Yoyogi park. I might have unwittingly brought Melbourne greyness with me, but I am enjoying the tropical temperature and the (wet) skirt weather. It's just that grey days don't make for good photos.

There is something I have come to realise about Tokyo, which might have occurred to me much later, or not at all, if I weren't an avid photographer. The movement of people makes up the spirit of the city, it flows like an endless stream puddled with eddies. It becomes very difficult, almost impossible, to focus on the personality of one person and accurately capture them. It is as if the mark of one person is dispersed into the rest of the society as a whole, and perhaps it takes the same finely-honed instinct that shouts out when you are about to be run over by a bicycle or a taxi (which I am already acquiring) to be able snare a little bit of the magic that is so deeply hidden here, yet so obviously found everywhere.

Posted by sniffles at 02:07 AM | Comments (2)

August 23, 2002
Herds

Tokyo, Japan.

From Asakusa, I will remember the plastic leaves hanging from streetlights or perhaps the eaves of shops, an education into the fusion of Shinto and Buddhism. From Ueno, I have images of waterlillies and deep conversations about homeless people. The Crown Prince and Princess at the Imperial Palace welcomed by a small crowd of tourists. Of Ginza, the sheer towering lights, the shops, the crowd, an unexpected amount of French - not necessarily correct. Of Shibuya, colour, noise, people. People, people, people. Herds directed by traffic lights. My companions laugh at my paranoia of safely crossing roads.

Posted by sniffles at 02:18 AM | Comments (2)

Needlessly

Tokyo, Japan.

Trains are magic. Trains in a different country are even more so. Through the night we slid, slicing through the humidity with the strength and determination of tarnished metal. It is odd that I feel somewhat at home here even if the people are not my own kind; I do not speak their language, but I could almost blend.

We pass signs, neon signs stacked upon neon signs, and desolately quiet cul-de-sacs where dim square windows of light hint a little of lives tucked neatly in apartments, hidden out of sight.

I say aloud to Olivier, "I love trains" but what I really mean say is I love how much there is to see from here, how blissful it is to be able to hear unsung choruses of the city, even one I've barely set foot in.

Posted by sniffles at 02:07 AM | Comments (1)

August 20, 2002
Taking flight

Children like Frank Perkins know surprisingly early (I'm sure he already knew while loitering on the jetty) that something isn't quite right. In my day not only conversations in the school-yard, but the newspapers, the cinema, the radio and then the television told me that something wasn't quite right. All the other boys were little cubes (that's how I thought about it), sturdy little building-blocks with stable futures, while I'd turned out shaped like a pyramid, a cuttlefish, a party balloon - anything, but not a cube.

-- "Corfu", Robert Dessaix.

I think I'm beyond tired, but the journey is just beginning.

I have scenes of Melbourne crowded into my head, like the old man with a beard that could be nests for several families of birds who was standing in the mall, not really absorbing anything external to himself, seemingly perceiving through a set of senses attuned for a different world. I've seen him many times in the main city streets, but the most perturbing memory I have of him was when a couple of restauranteurs some shops apart made him shuffle to and fro between their cafes, each telling him when he reached them that the other guy will give him free food.

Maybe today I felt a little brave, so I said hello, and he said, "I'm just having a bit of a walk today, it's a nice day. Are you having a good day, love?" In truth, he had been standing in the same spot for more than fifteen minutes.

Tomorrow morning I leave the grey of Melbourne behind for some time, and while I am away, she will don the freshness of spring, then after that, the stark brightness of summer. It is not possible to say farewell to that which you hold dear to your heart, that which has had a hand in shaping your soul.

Posted by sniffles at 11:53 PM | Comments (6)

August 17, 2002
Ground level

When you've already left inside, waiting for your body to catch up, as it were, is nerve-wracking. You want to whip time like a horse, make it fly to where you're already waiting for it further down the road.

-- "Corfu", Robert Dessaix.

I've been busy with last minute things - packing has barely come into the equation. In the past few days, I've been to an optometrist, a podiatrist, a hairdresser, a dentist and a nice financial adviser who's sorting out some superannuation matters for me.

I'm going to miss out on the next Melbourne meetup too - if all goes well, when the gang gathers at the Gin Palace I'll be hovering somewhere over Tokyo in a holding pattern.

Posted by sniffles at 11:56 PM | Comments (5)

August 14, 2002
My heart is drenched in wine

Just when I think I have a little time to lie low and evaporate, toying with ideas for this site and somewhat stale antipasto, this article about blogs by Jenny Sinclair whom I said a passing hello to at the blogmeet has appeared in The Age. (Thanks for the tip, Chris!) I read the article online first, which looks just like any other news item. Then I succumbed to Chris' teasing and picked up a paper copy from the milkbar across the road. What do you know, the article is splashed right on the front page of the culture section. Woo. Allow me to blush for a bit, I'm feeling rather shy.

Does driftwood have feelings? I ventured out into the occasional sunshine today, embarking on a string of errands, and met my aunt for lunch. Reality strikes when sunlight strokes the edge of a leaf. I have vague plans but nothing concrete and it is liberating and frightening at the same time.

Stifled in the steam of a morning shower, I pondered that perhaps what is me has been made from the pieces of the people I know, or rather, those who seem to know me. I had a somewhat English(?) image of a matronly head housekeeper managing a large household, with servants rushing to her for decisions: "no, not that colour, not blue for the Madam's curtains", "yes, Mr Spifzer is a vegetarian, and no he does not eat fish". So in the end, you become the fragments gathered by those around you, you become sculpted by the smaller, finer, insignificant things. Then all that is left is a spark of single-mindedness inside which decides against blue curtains and fish, that which sees sunlight on a leaf simply for what it is.

Posted by sniffles at 05:22 PM | Comments (2)

The interstate visitor

And so I packed up enough clothes for a few days and went and visited Dan, who generously looked after me with a complete package of baked beans, ultra-delicious soup, hot tea, geekspeak and a vicious thump on the head with a soccer ball. I don't think I gave him enough shit about it afterwards, but no hard feelings. Really.

Melbourne is cold, rainy and dreary after the relative warmth of Sydney sun. It seems I will only experience one week of near-summer in almost two years, though that is mostly by choice. Mind you, being able to choose is a good thing.

Posted by sniffles at 12:07 AM | Comments (2)

August 09, 2002
Featured

I forgot to mention that Urbanwire has been very generous and has done a feature on this very site you are looking at. :) Go check out their project, it rocks heaps.

Posted by sniffles at 04:36 PM | Comments (0)

Unfurl

Uncurling from the cocoon of necessary sleep, I awoke to realise that once again I have had to sleep 90 degrees from the night before, having to rearrange the bed to accommodate for the constant shifting state of my bedroom. In the grey light of morning, I noticed that the mess of my belongings at which I was staring hopelessly last night have sorted themselves out into a kind of order: this goes there, this goes there, this in this box, that in that bag. Now I just need to find time to put things where they belong. Before Saturday.

"Be happy," he said, but happiness is not a light one flicks on like a switch. Happiness is the slow burning of a candle, or thousands of candles. For now, I am sponged out, flooded out and tired, and my wicks are too wet to burn. After a little time, a little sunshine, they will again come alight.

Posted by sniffles at 08:51 AM | Comments (0)

August 06, 2002
Hoping

Hectic final days. It didn't help that I only found out today that my boss had gone away for the week without telling me, meaning he won't be around on my last work day. Lovely.

I awoke early this morning - much too early - and I caught the train that I've consistently missed for over two months. I was hoping to see the Chinese lady, though when I got on the train, she wasn't in her usual carriage. I recognised three of her colleagues but she very definitely wasn't there, and she wasn't among the crowd of people filing out at the station. I wanted very much to say, "Hello, how are you?", to hear her pleasant "Good as usual!" then tell her that I will be going away for some months, and have her wish me "Good voyage!" in her sweet accent of her particular region.

Perhaps tomorrow, but there are not many days left. I still don't know her name.

Posted by sniffles at 05:07 PM | Comments (0)

August 05, 2002
Pause

I was looking for an example where a site might be accessible but does not necessarily comply to web standards, and I thought of whitehouse.gov. So I ran it through the HTML validator, Bobby for WCAG 1.0 and Bobby for section 508. The good thing is, it meets WCAG 1.0 Priority 1. The funny thing is, it doesn't seem to meet section 508 according to Bobby. Hmm ...

Posted by sniffles at 05:00 PM | Comments (2)

August 01, 2002
Quiet

Maybe what I have really meant by the term child aunt is child who might write. The three child aunts whom I see at such regular intervals through the year that I have the corner shop man tricked into believing they're my own are the most likely ones to be writerly. These are the children who recall their dreams as the porridge is being stirred, who see images where no one else can.

-- "Paradise Is A Place", Gillian Mears.

A tram derailed on Tuesday at the Domain Interchange and trams were banked from thereon until the Arts Centre, the distance of which is about equal to half an hour's walk. I stopped and took photographs, pausing to speak to a couple of smiling but solemn tram drivers, who kindly told me the trams would be operating again within minutes. There was no point to it, truly, because the city-bound trams were so packed full of people that I wondered how they could breathe.

I'm sorry I've been quiet, nondescript. The days are busy as I finish up at work - desperately needing to dump all my accumulated knowledge at least down on paper because there isn't one person who will be taking over on me. The nights seem to peter away between catching up with friends and my boxes, my forever-boxes, which I will soon worry less about. I bought a new toy, I saw furry things this morning. I forgot to bring my book with me two days in a row. I am perpetually tired and I still wake up before 6 a.m.

Posted by sniffles at 04:32 PM | Comments (1)