To whom it may concern.
I have been trapped on the beach in Puerto Escondido for the past three days with limited internet access. But I think I like it. When watching blazing red and pink sunsets, drinking cold beers and playing beach volleyball are your “commitments” for the day – you know you´re somewhere good. I will write again if I ever escape from here. But for now, it´s time for a swim and some fish tacos.
¡Hast luego!
So South America has a reputation for partying? Yeah - that´s no lie. Last night`s Carnival in Veracruz was testament to that.
As I boarded the bus from nearby Jalapa I was wondering what I should expect. I had some idea, seeing as though I was staying in Japala, a 2 hour bus ride from Veracruz, because there was no accommodation available there. Always the sign of a big party. After the quick trip to Veracruz I jumped off the bus and was greeted by surprisingly warm weather. The dusty, bustling roads of Veracruz were alive with taxis, buses and cars all adding to busy Carnaval atmosphere. After blindly catching a bus in the direction I hoped would be hosting the party I managed to stumble across the main town centre. From there I found the main drag for the evenings proceedings. For those of you reading this that don´t know what a Carnaval is then just imagine the Adelaide christmas pageant. But with much sexier floats, better music, less children and hot salsa dancers.
By 3pm the place was absolutely heaving with people. Food vendors using wheelbarrows as transport strolled from point to point, enticing patrons with their colourful displays of lollies and nuts. Beer vendors lugged large buckets of ice containing long cans of ice cold Sol, while other stands sold oversized plastic bottles of beer that looked as though they held a good two litres. Basically – it was party time long before the floats arrived. As I milled about the place grazing on the delicious party foods – hot dogs wrapped in bacon then served with onions, tomatoes, mayonnaise, mustard and chilli – I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people there were. I must have walked for at least a good 45 minutes without seeing the same thing twice! The main route for the nights parade was sandwiched between stands and seats for the spectators and wound its way down the shoreline. During the day makeshift scaffolding acted as platforms for dancing girls and MCs. By the time night fell and the official party had started, people were more than ready to go. The first floats that arrived contained salsa dancers with elaborate head dresses, dancing wildly to the beat of the accompanying band. Their colourful sequinned clothing shimmering in the dim street light. This was followed by a procession of marching bands, kids floats, more salsa dancers, navy bands and pretty much anything else you could think of. Large paper mache heads and ornaments adorned the never ending parade of beauty pageant ladies, children and dancers - all waving as though they were the proud winners of something. The crowd was without doubt, the most raucous and animated of any I have encountered – shouting and screaming, cheering and whooping at every single float or group that passed. However, sadly, only a few hours into the festivities it was time for me to go. My bus was leaving at 10pm and if I didn´t make that one I´d turn into a pumpkin. I had wisely said adios to my two amigas that I had made during the day and then made my way towards the station. As I started on my walk down the main road beside the floats I dodged trombone players and cross-dressers, braving death by confetti to find a way out. But the further I walked, the more I realised that it was going to take a miracle to make it to the end of this giant happiness serpent. The crowd raged on as I walked faster and faster. Dancing girls flew by in a blur of sequins as I looked for an exit amongst the literally tens of thousands of onlookers. After being refused exit at a couple of points I managed to duck down past a designted pissing area and scale a fence to jump over the back onto the road. I flagged down a taxi and made my way back to the station. And as I sat on the bus headed back to the hostel I brushed the glitter from my hair and realised that I had just experienced partying - Mexican style!
Does it sound like I`m enjoying myself yet?
After the harrowing boredom of Los Angeles, Mexico City is just what I needed. Flying in, this vast megalopolis could be viewed for what it really is. A sprawling city that makes LA look like a country town. Low, flat sheets of buildings spread all the way to the horizon – at least to where the horizon should have been. Thick clouds of smog obscured the line between the earth and the sky creating the illusion that this place really does go on forever. Before arriving I had spoken with my mexican friends I met in Vietnam and they had organised for someone to pick me up. The lovely Paulina greeted me and we set off into the concrete jungle. Despite my expectations, the neighbourhoods we passed through were not nearly as dirty as I was expecting and the temperature was warm, but not unbearable. I spent the better part of the trip trying to make small talk in Spanish which was a little nerve wracking at first. I just realised that it has been five years since I last studied it so I was a little out of my depth. Nonetheless, Paulina and her companion Jose were more than friendly enough to let me bumble my way through conversations about music and travel. It wasn`t until about 2 hours later during a difficult part of the conversation that one of them came out with a whole heap of fluent english to explain their point. Haha.
The next day it was time to cruise. Pack on back, feet in jandalls, camera in hand I set out to see sights. I walked briskly through the main square passing the gigantic Zocalo, a massive Spanish cathedral in the middle of the old city centre. Green VW taxis whizzed passed like coconut beetles while spruikers tried their best to promote their shops. Street stalls stood draped in the daily newspapers – over saturated with graphic images of drug traffickers shot dead in the streets. Each day the front page is adorned with a different murder. Overzealous, young lovers kissed passionately in secluded corners while breakdancers put their skills on show. As I entered the subway I felt as though every last one of the 18 million people that live in this city were right there with me. Shotgun wielding policemen stood on platforms, overseeing the daily activities. All part of the war on drugs I guess. My destination today was the famous Teotihuacan - the pyramids and surrounding complex of a formerly great empire. A few trains and a bus later I was walking towards the historic site. Bypassing the hawkers surrounding the entrance I wandered through the front gates and there, rising up in front of me like Pamela Anderson´s breasts, were the giant pyramids of the sun and moon. The sun beat down as I tried my hardest to avoid the the incessant salesmen on my walk around the complex. The near vertical stairways that lead up the side of the pyramid took the wind out of me. Either that or it was the pollution at that altitude that was making me dizzy. These insane structures were the work of the Mexica people in the central areas and were mindblowing to see. Once again I`m sure my photos don`t do it justice. The views of the surrounding buildings were a site to behold from the top and the sheer scale of these huge temples made me feel very, very insignificant.
So with the first big tourist attraction out of the way and a burnt, red face from my stubborn resistance to buying anything at all from the hawkers (even if I needed that damn hat!) I headed back into town. And as I exited the subway station I noticed that I had been treated to two more Mexican specialties. The first was an indigenous demonstration. Apparently the indigenous people from this area have their own little ceremonies a few times a week. They contain singing, traditional dress, dancing, smoking and music. It was great to see some local culture juxtaposed with the urban landscape of the Plaza de la Constitucion. Apparently these dances had been banned by Spanish colonialists, which forced the native people to incorporate elements of christianity into them – just so they could continue doing them. Nowdays though people tend to refute the fact that there are any christian elements and do them simply to raise awareness.
The second speciality I was treated to was a good old Mexican style political protest! Over the native drumming came the sound of raised voices, chanting a mantra against the government. A huge swarm of people holding signs portraying a political leader as hitler headed into the square shouting and screaming. I kept my distance after reading about the 1968 riots before the Olympics where the police shot 400 people dead. They carry shotguns in the subway here so I can only imagine the kind of heavy artillery they have at the ready for protesters. But, after telling a few people about my protest viewing, I learnt that apparently they have one every day in that square. Aww…I thought I`d seen something special!
In amongst the protests, dead drug dealers, pyramids and friend making, I have had some other cool experiences too. Not least of all was the mezcaliria. Mezcal is a drink that is apparently gaining Tequlia-like recognition down in these parts. To the undistiguished palette (mine) it just tastes like Tequila. But the main thing is that you drink it a little slower. You sip it like a beer rather than shooting it down. Paulina took me out to meet some of her other friends at a mezcaleria where they were having a 2 for 1 special. Which worked out to be around $1.50 Australian per drink. Oh dear. As the mezcals flowed, so did the conversation. It was great to be able to sit in a group of people my own age and have a chat in spanish about what I`m up to and hear stories about their lives as well. It was like being with my own friends but everything was in spanish. Amazingly I can understand a lot more that I previously thought. I often get the jokes and can keep up with the stories – the difficulty really comes in when I have to explain something that contains lots of different tenses. But nonetheless, when we hang out in large groups everybody just speaks to me in spanish – which I really love.
Mexico City is great. Sure there are dangerous areas, but like with any city if you don`t go to the bad parts of town, you don`t get in trouble. Simple as that. I`m not sure I would like to live here but it is a great experience to see yet another one of the world`s largest cities. So today I move on to Xalapa, east of Mexico City. The small town is just a stones throw away from the coastal city of Veracruz which is currently hosting the Mexican Carnival. Fabled as the third biggest in the world behind Rio and somewhere else, I see no reason not to heaad out there for some salsa, tequila and sunshine on the beach. Adelante!
Please don’t mind the random artwork images that have appeared in the photos. They are there because I have just launched my new website! The official URL is nathanlovesdesign.com. It took me forever but it’s finally up. I figured that the amount of Tequila I would be drinking in Mexico would cost me my work ethic, so being the amazingly organised planner that I am – here’s one that I prepared earlier. Enjoy.
It’s the city I live in, The city of angels. As a famous songwriter once wrote. So what to make of the big smoke that is LA. I have heard some Americans say that they don’t want to be judged on what Los Angeles is like. And personally I would have to hope not because if this is what the rest of the country is like it’s no wonder they needed change they could belive in. The city limits sprawl so far and the major centres are so spread out, I don’t see how anyone could be content to take public transport here. And with a pitiful subway system that leans heavily on the bus services, it’s even harder to see how the traffic and population of 12 million make this place livable at all. Nonetheless it must have its charms. I just haven’t been able to find them.
My first couple of days back on the road have reminded me how much backpacking is like school. You arrive and you don’t know anyone. Then you take a chance and just speak to someone that is sitting by themself. You have a decent length conversation and then tend to realise why they were sitting by themselves in the first place. You then talk to some more people who turn out to be a lot more socially compatible with you and you ditch your former comrade, who, unbeknowst to you has already been branded as the social retard. Well, that’s what it was like at some of the schools I went to anyway. My stay here hasn’t quite been like that but I have made myself a friend for the week. Dennis the Dane. A daft, red headed traveller who tends not to have too much to say, but does a lot of talking nonetheless. A danish Thomo if you will. Today we went in search of LA’s chinatown. Failing to pull the chord in time we ended up riding our bus all the way down the freeway to a rather unsavoury looking part of town. It looked like we were in the ghetto. Old dirty streets with large black power lines stretched into the distance and the number of fast food places had increased considerably. Dennis looked excited and suggested that we look around. Hence the ‘daft’ label from earlier.
I have come to realise that I will be disappointed time and again by LA. Yesterday’s trip to Hollywood was the perfect example of how underwhelming this place can be. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was expecting more than a couple of blocks of tacky food and clothing stores characterised by pavers with the names of actors on them. People stood in the streets handing out their rap demos and busking – all looking as though they were waiting for their big break. Waiting to be noticed by an undercover Hollywood executive. The trip there from our hostel to Hollywood took around an hour each way and we could only find half an hour of stuff to do out there! Lame. Even after cruising into the city centre and looking at both Chinatown and Little Tokyo we didn’t manage to bump into anything very eye-catching.
The streets of LA are filled with fast food places and homeless people, with the divide between rich and poor ever noticeable. You can take a tour in a bus to see all the beautiful, million dollar homes of the stars while homeless people stand on every corner you pass, swallowing their pride and asking passersby for food money. I promise not to judge the United States based on this experience. I will give New York a whirl for sure whilst staying in Toronto, but if that fails to impress I think I’ll know why the US exports its culture as a commodity – because there is nothing else that would entice anyone to come here. I think my vision of California was something I have held onto from my teenage years. Hot girls, beautiful, warm weather and skateboarders ripping it up everywhere that you go (apart from the weather – I haven’t seen any of that stuff). Either that or I have just changed my priorities of what I want to see when I travel. And here, that sadly is to my detriment.
There is one thing that is cool about this place. The skate shops have awesome variety in clothing and they tend to have much better designs than a lot of the crap we get in Australia. Oh, and the buses are quite cheap too. But that’s not really enough to make me want to move here.
Anyway – fuck this place. Take me to Mexico!
I’m confused. I arrived in Los Angeles before I left Tokyo! Stupid dateline. I think I might have another go at making Tuesday the 10th of February better than last time I did it. Although I doubt I will find any affordable soba here. We’ll just have to wait and see. Oh, and the first laugh of the day was that the Los Angeles immigration didn’t open until after 8:30am. So when we arrived early at 8:15am we had to wait until they opened the office before we disembarked. Hah. And I thought Vietnam was slack!
Well, what can I say? What words could possibly do justice to the amazing sites, food and experiences I have had here in Japan? I have probably already said all there is to say about this place. And I have nothing but praise for the lifestyle, approach and attitudes of the people here. There is a certain aura about Japan as a country. Something…inexplicable. Something that has to be experienced because it is like nowhere else on earth that I have been. Has anyone ever heard someone say, “yeah, it’s a nice place, it’s kind of like Japan”? I bet they haven’t – this place is just so unique in so many quirky and wonderful ways. I mean, there are squat toilets in the same bathrooms as auto sensor handwashers. There are giant skyscrapers within a stones throw of ancient palaces. There are porno shops that sell computer games and action figurines. We even saw a clothes shop that sold turnips as well. An insane world of opposites that somehow seem to all co-exist. I have always know that I have had a bad case of Japanophilia. Ever since I used to watch Thundercats as a kid I used to think the animation was cool. That was before I even knew what anime was. And after years of dreaming about it, I have come to find that Japan really is everything I was hoping it would be.
I don’t like to rush through countries – otherwise they all blur together. I like sticking around and visiting the whole place from north to south so I can really get to know what it’s like. Learn about the culture, the language and the people. I did it with Spain. I tried to do it with Vietnam. And I think I have done definitely done it with Japan. 10 cities, 6000km of travel, 10 weeks. I think I have seen enough to say – Japan, will you marry me? I am completely smitten. Maybe not this year, but soon enough – I will be back.
So the show rolls on to the USA for 6 days before I cruise to Sudamerica for some tacos and tequila. I must admit I can’t think of anything I really want to see in LA so if anyone has any recommendations, I am all ears. And no I won’t be going to Compton or Long Beach. Not even for a look, so please don’t suggest it Peter.
Would it be a real adventure without one run in with the law? I think not. I’m just glad it happened here instead of having to bribe my way out of a beating at the hands of the Mexican police.
On Friday after realising the lack of foreplanning that had been happening of late, I decided to get my act together and book a bus ticket to Fukuoka. So off I rode into the orange Miyazaki sunset to find the bus station. As I pulled into the station I noticed that there were very limited areas in which I could park my bike. And becoming accustomed to the law abiding ways of the Japanese people I was intent on sticking to the rules. As I was looking around I found myself suddenly flanked by two policemen. The first one mentioned something about my bike. I said back in Japanese “Yes, this is my bike”. Now this is the sticking point of this story because technically it wasn’t my bike – I had liberated it from it’s life of abandon four weeks prior. You see, on our first trip to Miyazaki, Josh and I noticed a bike on the corner that had been tipped over, was rusty and was suffering from two flat tyres. It was in worse shape than Christian Slater. Anyway, I made the decision that if I came back in three weeks time and it was still there then it was safe to assume that the owner didn’t want it. So upon my return, four weeks ago, I took the liberty of adopting said bicycle. I got the tyres fixed up and started using it as my own. Now – back to the story at hand – I could see that the policemen were referring to my bike, and knowing that it wasn’t really mine, I was probably looking a bit nervous. However, I really didn’t understand all of what they were saying. But after a little bit of chat they asked me to follow them. I did as I was told. They took me to the little koban and asked me for my passport. I said I didn’t have it. They asked for my alien card. I didn’t have one. They asked for my brother’s phone number. I didn’t know it. All the while this was being thrashed out in a mixture of broken Japanese and broken English. So after talking our way into a language culdesac despite the best efforts of seven policemen who had congregated to solve the crime, a proper english speaker was brought in. By this time I am almost back to my normal state. The scare of being taken to the police station had worn off and was made all the more comical by the fact that I understood that one of the officers had said in Japanese “Is he dangerous?”. This then prompted more broken english questioning that amounted to “Do you have a knife?”. Um…no. Followed by the equally laughable “Do you have a screwdriver?”. Um…no. So as the english speaking officer arrived he explained to me that the bicycle I was riding had a high school student’s sticker on it (that will teach me for not learning more Kanji!) and that in Japan you need a permit to ride a bike. I made sure that I explained to him very clearly that even though it wasn’t my bike, it was pushed over and abandonded for weeks, so I decided to use it. After he explained that to the others there were a few laughs starting to build up around the place. So they said that I was to accompany them to my house and get my passport so they could photocopy it. Which I was fine with. The only thing that passed through my mind was the fact that Suzanne’s bike was out the front of the house and that too had been liberated around 12 months ago. If they saw that there were two bikes connected to me I would surely be writing this from prison. Somehow as I ran upstairs to grab my passport with the police waiting outside, they didn’t notice the other bike. I managed to nip upstairs, grab it and we headed swiftly back to the station. By this stage the conversation had deteriorated into a casual english class with the middle aged policeman driver telling me (in Japanese) that he liked Olivia Newtown John. And as we stepped out of the car I noticed the finishing touch to this farcical rigmarole. There, hanging from the rearvision mirror of the police car, was an air freshener in the shape of a weed leaf. I had to smile. Anwyay, in the end we all had a big apologising session in which I was the protagonist. I was told to be sure to always keep my passport on me and was sent on my way with only one other request – that I return the bike to where I found it. And as I rode off on my stolen bike I felt as though I had got off a little lightly – but I sure learnt my lesson. After a blissful four weeks together, my bicycle and I parted ways. I returned to to where we had first met on that deserted, concrete corner, set its stand up and slowly walked back down the road towards Peter’s house.
So what did I do today? Well I’m glad you asked! Today I conquered the final frontier. Finally, after two and a half months I have crossed off what some see as their crowning achievement for any trip to Japan. The onsen. But I’m not talking about your average public bath house where the shy use napkins to cover their naughty bits. No, you see the onsen I refer to is the natural outdoor spring high in the mountains. Nonaka-san, once again the architect, organised for his son to take me on one of his regular expeditions to the Kirishima onsen. At first I thought there was a little bit of information being lost in translation (come on, I had to use it once!). Nonaka-san told me that his son, Tatsuhiko, could take me to a natural spring in the mountains. I immediately thought of the torment of having to visit a bath house and be confronted by naked men’s arses as far as the eye could see. However, my gut feeling was that there was some kind of translation hiccup and I decided I’d go. I mean, even if it was men’s arses, it’d still be a story to tell right? Just a much shorter one told with significantly less enthusiasm.
Tatsuhiko picked me up at 10am with his friend Yukio and we set out. I would class this as a journey due to the fact that it was two hours each way – in total making it four hours and thus satisfying my earlier stated criteria for the term. Much to my delight I was told that it wasn’t a public bath, but rather a natural, hot mountain spring. Yes please. We drove until the pockets of urban landscape died down and then began our ascent into the mountains. The road wound around and around as we swayed from left to right in our oh-so-japanese car – a tiny little box with what sounded like a two stroke engine. The small farm houses soon gave way to the infinite sprawl of japanese cedar and occasional bamboo forest. And even in the diffused daylight the shapes they made as their silhouettes became more distant were easy on the eye. Tatsuhiko told me that apparently a few years back the local news channel did a story on how good this place was and it was unsurprisingly inundated with onsen zealots. However, that seemed to have died down – either that or most people are working at 12pm on a Wednesday. I can’t remember, it’s been so long now! Anyway, as we walked toward the sound of gently flowing water the strong odour of sulphur clogged our nostrils with ever increasing intensity, until at last we arrived. Thick plumes of white smoke billowed in the wind, rising from the stream and earth as if it were about to combust. Volcanic ash covered the rocks in the stream with a thin, light grey layer. All around were small rock pools that had obviously been built up by previous visitors. I took a few snaps of the crazy smoking ground and then, without further ado, headed into the water. After a little bit of testing we found the best spot which we measured both by temperature and water flow, and then we chilled…for two and a half hours! The large gaseous opening at the top end of the stream tirelessly poured thick, white clouds into the sky as we lay basking in it’s natural warmth. I lay on my back with my ears under the water as the gentle currents gushed past me. Think of a hot bath, then make it a bit hotter, then add a water current and outdoor mountainous surroundings and that is pretty much what it was like. Just the sound of rushing stream water and nothing else. Pure tranquility. It was such an awesome experience. At one stage I was in a small rock pool that had two water streams constantly flowing into it. On the left the water was almost too hot to handle and on the right the water was just right. So in between sips of my ice cold beer I would just roll from back to front and alternate between the two. I tell you, for people who have the reputation of a strong work ethic – the Japanese sure know how to chill out. I felt as though I was letting the team down when I sat up after two hours and thought to myself that it was probably time to get going. The other two were so relaxed that they looked as though we had just arrived! But as with all good things, we managed to eventually haul ourselves away from the steaming shallows and get back in the car. Reeking of sulphur, but completely and utterly relaxed, we grabbed a quick bowl of tempura soba on the way home. The perfect way to end another amazing day in Kyushu.
Upon receiving an invitation by Peter’s jujitsu trainer (Nonaka-san) to go and visit Aoshima last Saturday, I jumped at the chance to take a day trip – something I haven’t done for quite a while now. Aoshima island is a small island just south of Miyazaki. The island itself is only 1km around but it is home to a beautiful red shrine. The small bridge leading out to the island is surrounded by interesting rocks formations that are distinctive to the Miyzaki and southern Kyushu region. These are known by the locals as the devil’s washboard (please check the fotos for some shots) and apparently run for around 90km. Long uneven lines of rock have been formed into some of the strangest geological shapes I have ever seen. They almost look man made. With the wind whipping the sea into small, choppy waves, we strolled around the island and the shrine. Nonaka-san taught me how to wish for luck at a shrine. Bow, bow, clap, clap and then bow again. My good luck charm apparently had only given me a little bit of luck, but I wished for a little more.
The next stop along our little trip was the Udo shrine. Located a bit further south of Aoshima this shrine was actually quite surprising to me. After visiting so many places with temples and shrines, I never thought I’d see another shrine that could impress me. I was wrong. Udo shrine sits at the seaside, right next to the crashing waves. Layered turquoise waters stretch out as far as the eye can see and when viewed in proximity to the blazing red of the shrine, it is quite stunning. The shrine itself is also quite a marvel. Tucked away inside a cave is a shrine which apparently was the study place of a great swordsman. He locked himself away in this cave to practice a secret sword wielding technique, which I am guessing is still a secret as Nonaka-san didn’t elaborate on it. The cave reaches some ten metres or so in height with an open mouth and a grand view of the ocean. The shrine has been constructed inside this huge opening with a full pointed roof, complete with tiles. Not the most accessible of areas so it does make me ponder the effort that has gone into this construction. So with the sites out of the way, it was time for my favourite part of any trip. Food.
Now before I mention this meal, I have a question; is it arrogant to become tired of eating an endangered species? I certainly think so. You see, I like tuna. I’ve enjoyed it for most of my life. But in Japan, they take it to a whole new level. Lunch on this particular day was served by a highly recommended sashimi restaurant. So highly recommended was it that we had to wait in line for about half an hour. But when we were finally let in, it was certainly worth it. Nonaka-san ordered for us – a platter of tuna sashimi each, tuna miso, tuna belly and a side order of tuna. Oh and a small tune starter. I was in heaven. The only thing was, with every delicious bite I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about the fact that this animal was already being overfished, just so we could do this. And as tasty as it was I got to a point where I was actually getting a little sick of the taste of tuna. There I said it. I never thought I would, but I just did. Nonetheless, it was definitely up there with the best meals I have had in my two and a half months here. The super tasty tuna was melt-in-your-mouth fresh and served with soy and wasabi (of course). Nonaka-san complimented me on my wasabi application technique, stating that I looked like a real connoisseur the way I used my chopsticks to dab the green dynamite on my maguro. I took it in my stride. I didn’t want him to feel like he was wasting his money on some gaijin maguro virgin.
After that little outing I got home and Peter, Suzanne and their friend Straughn were going to some entertainment place. Basically the deal is that you pay a set amount and go and use their amusement apparatus for five hours or so. It was awesome. For around $15 you could play as many games of ten pin bowling as you like, have indoor soccer free kick practice, karaoke or play arcade games. Man, what’s not to like about this country?
|
![[-]](http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2446/4070872882_a4ae60e4c4_t.jpg "[-]")
