Japlagged in Jetlan

Now in Japan, staying in a Japanese Inn (foreigner friendly) around 20 minutes from the CBD.

Within 15 minutes of arriving here - which took 4 hours itself from landing - I was learning how to do a Japanese Tea Ceremony -- Best. Green Tea. Ever.

But I think the next few days are going to be blurry as I recover from jetlag in an alien* country.

* Alien because the people here have manners and are helpful and stuff.

Update cause this didn't work last night.

I had proper Japanese Noodles in this tiny noodle bar late at night surrounded by man reading manga, drinking beer, and listening to j-rock. Some drunk Japanese dude accosted me in the street and started speaking to me in what he thought was English but was just consonants. The only bit I understood was him saying "Drink?" expectantly. I declined cause I was jetlagged.

The Guest Inn is awesome. THey do breakfast for $6AU which would be cheap for a hostel doing bread and cereal. This was a full breakfast of bacon and eggs and cereal and coffee and fruit and so on. Even more impressive, it was properly waited. "Would you like another coffee Sir?" HELL YES. I wanted to extend my stay here cause its just that great, if at a cheap hotel price, but they're booked out. Little wonder. Shame, I would've liked to spend Saturday night in Tokyo rather than Kyoto but I'm working on that.

Anyway, must run and see some of Tokyo. I have no intentions of being Lost In Translation and wallowing in my pitiful parochicalness. Jetlag is easy to deal with if you're used to being tired all the time.

Stretched across chronos' canvas
Parchaments of possibilities pigment
Outlines oblique and opaque
Symbols sketched stenciled
Hints of the hither worlds
Between the breaths of shadows
So much left unseen, unheard, unfelt --
undone.
But always dancing
dancing
dancing
(gone)

The Final Countdown

Just started my 3rd night (of five) in Paris, which my last stop before Paris. I did a sensible thing before I arrived here which was BOOK ACCOMODATION. It took me two hours to find places that were (a) available and (b) not expensive. I ended up having to split the five nights across two places, one in Jourdain (a small suburb past Paris' Chinatown) and the other in Montmarte - the traditional heart of bohemian Paris.

I must say, I'm growing rather fond of France. I mean, they eat chocolate bread for breakfast "it can only escalate from there" (says Dylan from Black Books) and really, they're qutie friendly and welcoming. I think the appearance of arrogance probably comes from their frustration vis a vis not being able to speak English. Most people I met in the Czech Republic or Austria or while hunting wild geese in the fields of Moldovia could speak rather fluent English - enough for a bit of word play and fun. Whereas conversations with the French who can speak English tend to go like this -

Strasbourg, Friday Night at some Rock Club

"So you're a student here?"
"Yes"
"What do you study?"
"Law"
"I'm sorry to hear that"
"Why are you sorry?"
"...|

c.f. a similar conversation with a french-speaking Luxemburger:

"I'm from Sydney"
"Oh, I have a relative in Australia."
"Where abouts?"
"Brisbane"
[unimpressed face]
"I'm sorry to hear that"
"Hahaha. I'll tell her that"
"Sure, send her my regards!"
[giggling]

This was with a PASSPORT INSPECTOR.

See. Unless its not a language issue but a sense of humor issue. But any country whose secret service holiday in the country where they just bombed a boat obviously has a sense of humor. So it can't be that.

Anyhow - other highlight of Paris was the jazz club in an old bunker with a Cole Porter tribute night. Amusing to see the young backpacking girls swing dance witht he old french guys (who wever obviously loving the chance to show their vitality to young wimmen). The band was really great - especially teh drummer, who could keep the ride swinging while pounding out syncopatted snare taps. Tres bien.

A nice bit of serendipity. After I worked out what bus I needed to get to my accomodation, I decided I needed a map - for some reason, I looked at a bin, and whola on teh very top was a map of Paris. In English.

Sweet.