Can't... do... it.... !!X¿¿

My internet is very iffy lately. Usually I can't connect. Thus, I can't communicate with people. Also, I can't communicate with tech support because they only speak Japanese. My friend Monjun is giving them a call for me now. I hope this gets sorted out.

Vietnam Photo Journal

Part II of the photo journal is Vietnam. All of these pictures are from Hanoi, which is the big city in the north. I'm embarrassed to say I don't even know if it's the capital, or if that's Ho Chi Minh in the south. I'll find out. I also spent some time in Nha Trang and Hoi An, two cities further south.


Ha Long bay, near Hanoi, Vietnam. The view from the steps to the cave.


Me and my backyard - Ha Long Bay.


Our luxurious Junk.


Relaxing at the Puku cafe. From left it's Steffi (the German), Michelle (the Scott), Me (the Martian) and Veronica (the Canadian). Puku was so wonderfully chill and had good food, friendly people and funky music. I spent many hours there reading Grisham pulp.


A railway that passes right through a narrow residential road.


The delicious Tamarind cafe, where we ate far too many meals because it was veggie and we had many vegetarians and it was cheap. Steffi and Veronica are accosted by one of the ubiquitous fruit merchants who walk the streets. Michelle observes, amused.


A busy but normal street in Hanoi. I almost got hit by a motorcycle that day. She stopped with the tire touching my toe.


Unsanitary meat. I guess that was my lunch the next day.


Michelle, Steffi and Veronica eating on the street. Dirty-licious!

Freezing my ass off in Ishiyama

It is really incredible how cold it is indoors. It's got to be close to zero degrees in Veronica's apartment. I'm sitting with a heater aproximately 6 inches from my ass and my flanks are cold!

The gang of Mike D, Shannon, Warren and I came down south to Ishiyama tonight (on a schoolnight!) to watch a movie and - to my surprise - eat dinner. Veronica prepared a lovely stir fry and potato furai (fries) and some salad, but I wasn't sure if there would be dinner so I ate nikuman on the way. How boorish of me. Nikuman are these doughy balls that have meat in the middle and are only available in the winter in Japan. They sell them in the combinis for 100 yen (convenience stores for a dollar). So I was only half hungry but I enjoyed the well-prepared feast, and then we all sat down and flipped through some of the dvds I bought in Vietnam for a dollar each. We ended up choosing "The Whole Ten Yards" which was filmed in the theatre by someone with a video camera, and the sound would cut low every time gunshots happened. Also it was one of the most rambling, pointless movies I've seen. The evil Hungarian boss was funny though. "You want a slice of the pee?" etc. in a non-Hungarian way.

I got a slight reprieve in my work hours tomorrow morning so that I don't have to get up at 5:30 to catch an early train from Ishiyama to Nagahama. I'll be able to get a regular sleep, which is good because I need it.

Started reading Atwood's "The Blind Assassin" today. It's nice to read about Toronto, makes me feel at home even in far-away Japan. I can't help thinking Atwood was consciously referring to the other Margaret's "The Stone Angel" in some parts, and to "A Bird in the House" in others. This is what taking a Margaret Laurence seminar does to one.

Did I mention it's cold?

Ah, those were the days...

Having picnics and chasing butterflies on green lawns in the sunshine, beneath the humming power lines at the suburban park, I remember all too fondly my days in Ajax and wonder if almost anything can be romanticized with the passing of time. It's what I grew up with and one day I'll have to return there, maybe not to the suburbs, but at least to live in Toronto when I'm old if I never go back while I'm young. But I think fond memories favour the summers, though I can recall the winters well enough, and even some heart-pumping snowball matches with Sarain and the local kids at James S. Bell, and the few good shots I got in. Sarain was always on my side because I was never a good enough shot to go it alone, and she could be counted on for the right amount of indignation if someone started packing iceballs instead of snowballs. The kids usually listened to that, I think. But summer days beat the wintertime hands down, and that's why I'd better live in a warm clime - maybe France or mild England though it's got it's share of rain for sure - and make some memories there. Then I can be nostalgic for those places when I'm older, and how much better is that than chilly old Nagahama?

Went back to school today and distributed Vietnamese candies and some bowls to the very special four people who got them by virtue or by station. My tantosha definitely got hers by station. She didn't even welcome me back or ask about the tsunami, though everyone else did, including teachers who had never spoken to me before. I told the story so many times it's getting to be a little polished. I'm having fun with it. I have my first solo class tomorrow - long overdue - but I'm not eager for it. Photocopied activities from the book. I'm sure they'll love it.

Return to Nagahama

I'm back in the 'Hama, safe and cold again in my apartment. Veronica visited for the afternoon because we were both lonely. How sad to be lonely so quickly, but it really is isolating being in Japan in the wintertime. People don't go out much. I don't even feel like walking in my kitchen, the floor is so cold. Where are those slippers?

School tomorrow morning. Bed now.

p.s. I slept fifteen hours after getting in yesterday.

Tidal Wave Photo Journal

This fateful day fell almost midway in my vacation in south-east Asia. Since the second day I had been at odds with most of the group I was travelling with. Ben, Dan and, to a lesser extent, Mike (not Mike Dobkin - other Mike) had established a kind of power triumvirate and had ceased listening to outside input. Unfortunately I had already bought tickets to Ao Nang and reserved a room at the guest house. I should have gone my own way after Chiang Mai. On December 26th we decided to go on a snorkelling trip. I was tempted to do something else, just to have time away from them, but the thought of snorkelling compelled me to come along.

Remember, you can click on the picture to enlarge it.


We went out in a longtail boat, trying to ignore the tension in our group.


The coastline is rugged and beautiful. Many strange rock formations dot the coast.


This was our captain, who went by the curious name of Mr. Yes. After the tidal wave hit he walked several kilometres over mountainous terrain back to civilization.


A peaceful Phra Nang beach and our longtail boat. Twenty minutes later as we were climbing in the boat to take off Mr. Yes spotted the tidal wave.


The wave begins sucking in boats. In the background you can see the mast of a small sailboat whose fate I don't know.


The wave overpowers the captains and they have to give up their boats.


The boats abandoned, we retreat from the wave.


We ran up a mountain, a shaken band of sunbathers and Thai resort workers. In the chaos, Ben, Dan and Mike went their own way. I made sure to stay close to Richelle. She didn't have any shoes and the mountain was rough.


Confusion on the mountain. Information was unreliable and there were at least six different languages among us.


We had to sit on the lava rocks or a sliding dirt hill. Many people had no shoes. This couple is Czech and their 16 year old daughter was in tears a couple of feet away.


The Thai's took the highest ground, clambering nimbly up lava rock.


Richelle and I emerge from the jungle after rappelling down the mountainside along with children, injured people and all others. It was very dangerous.


A map of where we were. We started out on Phra Nang beach but crossed the mountain after 6 hours crouching and waiting for news.


Fish in the sidewalk, about 200 metres from the beach on the other side of the mountain from Phra Nang (where we started).


The resort at Railay beach. The pool is unnaturally full and has a deck chair in it. It felt strange that the evening sky was clear and beautiful.


Everything loose was picked up and thrown back somewhere else.


Boats were piled everywhere on their sides, upside down, and some where smashed. None were seaworthy to get us out of there.


We trekked up a hill to a safe resort between the mountains that evening. This is a view of the refugees from the Good View bar and hotel in the hills. They were still serving beer and overcharging for food when the refugees settled in.


The lawn in front of the hotel was filled with people who spent the night out there. Richelle and I slept on a wooden deck due to her grass allergy, and I had a concrete beam jutting beneath my back.


The next morning, hundreds gathered on a boat-strewn beach to await evacuation.


Richelle waiting for the rescue boat. She really didn't want me to take this picture but it was too late. It had been taken. Now she's glad.


I'm waiting for rescue boats on Railay beach. In the end we crossed to another beach because the waves were too fierce here. Really? Fierce?

Hanoi, Day 21

I'm in Hanoi, Vietnam where I've been for the past four days. I've been travelling around with a group of JETs, all female, who have been doing humanitarian work in Vietnam, and most importantly with Veronica. I dropped in during the vacation phase of their tour (avoiding the hard part, yes) and we've done a few of the major tourist things in Vietnam, working our way northwards along the coast from Nha Trang.

Ha Noi, a tourist town about 8 hours from Nha Trang by train was full of shops and tailors. Veronica had a jacket and jeans custom tailored for her and Michelle and Rachel also had clothes made. I considered it, especially for custom shoes, but decided that money and bag space were issues. Besides, I didn't want it to become entirely a shopping experience. Despite that intention I spent many hours in the used bookstores negotiating over an exchange of my old Lonely Planet Thailand for a cheap photocopy of a novel. The bookstores in Vietnam are rife with cheap photocopies - or should I say ridiculously overpriced at about 7 dollars a book. Most places didn't want my book, but I eventually got an exchange for some light reading - "The King of Torts" by Grisham.

Later we took off for a tour of the Chang temple ruins - a very exciting look into thousand year-old ruins that are still in use today by the Chang people. There were many yonis and lingams which are used as symbols of fertility - large stone cisterns and pillars. The place was crawling with tourists so it was hard to get good shots, but maybe it's okay to have photos of the ruins with lots of German, Italian and Israeli tourists, because that was what I saw there. Coming back from the ruins we took a boat along the Red river (no, not the one near Winnipeg) and visited a few local settlements with handicraft economies. Tourist traps they were, and one little boy was relentless in pushing his clay whistles on all the tourists, frowning and saying "5000 dong for four. You buy. You buy. 5000 dong for four." At one point I was going to buy it but at the last second he said "10 000 dong" so I declined. It's difficult to know what to feel - sure I felt a bit annoyed but this kid is trying to eke out a living, not make big profits. Veronica and I and a few Italian tourists got lost in the village and when we got to the boat everyone was waiting lined up on their seats, looking at us. We did it again later in Ha Long, but what can I say, I like looking around and they don't give us all that much time.

When we got back from My Son (the Chang ruins) we took a taxi to the Da Nang airport, and then flew to Hanoi. In Hanoi we did the Ha Long Bay boat tour for two days, and slept aboard a luxurious Junk. Yes, Junk can be luxurious. We saw the famous caves - huge caverns of stalactites lit up with many-coloured lights, and a concrete path running through for about 600 metres or so. The caverns were covered with an undulating stone roof that had been formed by the lapping of waves centuries earlier - perhaps millenia. It was definitely a dead cave, meaning that it had dried out and the stalactites were frozen in their current state. This is something I learned from a Danish man while on my hill tribe trek in Chiang Mai. After the cave tour we went back to the boat, which was anchored in a bay surrounded by rock hills rising from the water, and filled with many other wooden sea boats of Asian design. The view is spectacular, and is considered as one of the unofficial wonders of the world. Later that night we played cards and drank beer in the dining room of our boat, and had great fun.

These past few days since Ha Long we've spent in Hanoi, seeing the famous Water Puppet show - it's crazy! the stage is a pool of water and the puppets are dragons and fishermen and leopards that climb trees - and generally walking around. We visited Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum - he was the communist leader of Vietnam and their liberator - although that's a contentious interpretation, especially in the south. They made us walk single file down a broad paved road to get to the tomb, and took away our posessions, and hushed us when we talked. Very Foucaultian control of the body.

Now I'm awaiting my flight, my stupid flight back to Bangkok before I fly back to Seoul and then Osaka. I tried to change it to a more direct flight to Seoul but the ticket was a discount one, and not negotiable. Looking for omiyage, the gifts that are expected in Japan when I return from a vacation abroad.

Tidal Wave - Alive in Thailand

I am alive and well in Bangkok, although I've spent a pretty rough couple of days. I was on Phra Nang beach in southern Thailand when the tidal wave hit. We were in a small boat when our Thai guide said "I think there's a big wave coming", rather casually. Then he said "GETOUT! GETOUT!" and we got the hell out. We watched as the first series of waves wreaked havoc on the longtail boats. Then the next waves started coming, larger than the first ones, and we ran for shelter. We ran up the mountain, every man, woman and child, some of them in bare feet. I was looking out for another JET, Richelle, and she had no shoes which was hellish. We ran over sharp rocks and through slashing bushes. Some of the tourists had been picked up by the wave and thrown through the bushes, and were now cut up. We waited a long time in the mountains - six hours - and there was a lot of panic and misinformation. They kept urging us to go higher, though we must have been about 150 metres up. I kept thinking "what kind of wave could possibly get this high?", but I followed the crowd led by Thais. Some had walkie-talkies and they were in contact with emergency personnel who kept warning of further tidal waves. But in fact this had never happened before, and the emergency personnel didn't know much more than any of us. It was a 9 on the Richter scale - an earthquake of this magnitude has happened only four other times in world history.

We spent five hours in the mountains. An American-Thai woman was helpful in translating. Her husband, an American, was all cut up as he had been thrown through the trees. She sometimes talked about the boats full of people that she had seen out on the water, and cried. The wave had hit around 11 am and we stayed on the mountain till 5:30, when we began our treacherous descent down the other side. It was really unsafe, almost vertical in some places with no foothold - only the water pipe and a rope which they had tied to a tree on the top. I helped Richelle over the most difficult spots as she didn't have shoes.

That afternoon we followed massive groups of emigrating tourists and locals. The resorts were smashed and flooded. We eventually congregated at a very posh resort up a long path in a high valley between mountains. There were about a thousand of us there, and they were operating the resort as though it was business as usual. They were selling beer and overcharging for food. All my money was away at my guest house, and Richelle was hurt. She's hypoglycemic and needed food, or she would start shaking and getting ill. I was pretty pissed off at the attitude, but I asked at the bar and they said food would be coming in one hour. They were giving out free water, and said we'd have to sleep on the lawn. We ended up spending the night on the wooden deck draped in a towel borrowed from some friendly Thais. My back was on a concrete block that was cleverly built into the deck. The tourists were very wealthy and several had cellphones. One guy was talking for about half an hour to his friend, describing what had happened. After he finished I asked him if I could make a short call to my home to tell them I was okay. He refused! He said he wanted to save batteries. I kept asking and finally he relented, saying "as long as it's literally just one second". Fucker. I left a message with my father - as it turns out he was in Ottawa and my family remained worried till I phoned again, about ten hours later.

The next morning we tromped off to the beaches, hearing different reports about rescue boats. Although we were on the mainland, it's inaccessible by road because of the mountains, so it might as well be an island. We waited on one beach but the waters were too dangerous on that side, so we all marched off to the other side. Several hours later two large boats moored out a ways in the bay, each with a capacity of 250 people, and the migration of hundreds of tourists began.

I only just made it to Bangkok this morning, 48 hours after the tidal wave hit. I'm going to Vien Tien, Laos tonight by bus. I'll try to make it to Hanoi, Vietnam on my remaining money, then back to Bangkok on January 8th to catch my flight. If anyone knows how to get cash from a credit card (td visa) please tell me.

I hope you are all safe and sound.

Love, Anthony

Thailand, Day 5

We arrived in Ao Nang Bay, a small beach town, this morning. We took a night bus for eight hours from Chiang Mai in the North to Bangkok in the middle, then a flight early this morning from Bangkok to the famous Krabi. It's not quite Koh Phang An which is the island of the massive Full Moon Party happening on the 27th. I thought of going there but then realized I'd rather spend a quieter time on the beach, so I chose the west coast instead of the east.

Originally the plan was to stay at a somewhat secluded gorgeous beach called West Railay, near Krabi, but we found that our guest house was really quite nice so we decided to book three nights here. It's called the Andaman Inn, and I really should get some pictures of the place posted. There's this shifty looking Thai man who helps run the inn who goes by the name of Oddly Beckham, and always wears Beckham jerseys. His first name is Thai and I suspect he adopted Beckham so that tourists would recognize him more easily. He's quite nice and helps us out with getting into town and pretty much anything we need. the Andaman Inn is not in town, you see, it's across a river and around a large rock outcropping, and we must take a "longtail" water taxi to get there.

The scenery is basically white sand beaches, jungle, clear blue waters and monolithic rock formations in impossible shapes. It is just gorgeous here and I heartily recommend it to everyone who isn't a boor, which means everyone who is reading this pinnacle of literary acheivement, obviously. I haven't gone into the water yet, as I've spent most of my day trekking around Ao Nang trying to get a feel for the place. It's very touristy and the main things to do in Ao Nang are shop, book tours, drink, or get a massage. I think there might be other things you can get in Ao Nang, but I'm not into trading my self respect for cheap thrills. As far as I know, no one in the group I've been travelling with is into that either.

Ao Nang is arranged as a long street lined with shops on one side and a beautiful beach on the other. Toward the south it curves inland, away from the beach, and becomes less touristy and more local. Much construction is going on here, and I came across a local market in which raw beef and chicken was on display in the sun for all the flies to feast on. Mmmm delicious. I suppose that's what I eat when I get chicken and noodles in a restaurant. I also went down a side street because it looked more run-down and therefore less touristy. It turned out to be an alley of bars full of Thai whores. They called to me but I was too scared, until one of them started asking about where I was from and so on, and this is a question I can rarely refuse. For some reason I like people to know I'm Canadian. I told her and she asked where I was going, and I explained but she didn't seem to understand, so I left. Walking out of the alley I saw that the last place was a "restaurant" consisting of a cart and a shack, and several tables under an awning. A family was having lunch there, so I decided it was safe. It was safe, except for the full hot green peppers they put into the rice and chicken, sneakily masquerading as normal green peppers.

With a burning belly I ventured further along Ao Nang and had a broken English conversation with a Thai policeman. It was about 10 minutes in when a tour guide came up and he immediately called to her and told her in Thai that he didn't understand what I was saying. Very polite and friendly fellow, though. He really had me convinced that he understood.

Tonight is Christmas eve and we JETs have played some card games - a game called shithead mainly. It's pretty fun and I was only the shithead a couple of times. Then they all drank at the bar and I watched a bit of "Home Alone 2" which was playing in the restaurant area of the hostel, and then went to bed.

Thailand, Days 2 to 4

After taking the train into Chiang Mai we found a place to stay at the Family Trekking Inn. They were very friendly and the high-energy lady at the desk, located on a tiled porch that blurred the distinction between inside and outside, organized our airfare down to the beaches in the south. But first we went on the trek!

The trek was loads of fun and I made friends with a number of other travellers, especially an Italian couple named Stefano and Eliza, two U.K. girls named Laura and Viviane, and an Israeli guy named Noam. For the first day of the trek I called him Norm by mistake. There were many other trekkers there, including some Germans - oops I mean Austrians, I kept calling them German - with whom I bathed naked in the river after a day's trek. The river bath was refreshing, but getting out and standing on the viny, leafy, bushy bank while putting on my shorts I was attacked by an army of mean red ants. Also there was a cricket in my shorts that seriously gave me a surprise. I whipped those shorts off quickly, let me tell you!

But that was day two of the trek - or was it? It's all getting confused and will have to be sorted out by the pictures which are date-stamped. I remember walking along treacherous trails wearing my black dress shoes, purchased at City Shoes in the Eaton's Centre. They're pretty much dead now and I think I'll buy some trekking shoes in Thailand for cheap. I also remember speaking lots of different languages with people from all over the world - some German, some French with Stefano, and of course the universal language - English. I'm somewhat embarrassed by the prevalence of English because it forces everyone else in the world to learn my language. I think everyone ought to learn one extra language - but frankly it's quite convenient to have everyone learn the same second language. It means that Germans can talk with Italians who can talk with Thais and so on. All the instructions were given in English by our tour guide, the intrepid and ever-smiling Deng.

The first day was a simple hike up into a small village of the Mong hill tribe, which is a semi-nomadic tribe from China. Our guide, Deng, is from the Mong people but he is very internationalized. They pressed bead bracelets on us for 10 baht each, which is about 30 cents. I bought a bracelet and two necklaces. The bracelet I don't wear because it's too small for me, but the necklaces are now my constant adornment. I think they make me look rather touristy - if the "Bangkok, Thailand" hat doesn't quite do the trick. I explored around the camp by myself when I got in, and met up with some Germans (ethnically Chinese - surprise!) with whom I had a long discussion in German. It was nice to speak in the language, and they clearly appreciated finding someone else who spoke German. I couldn't do the same with the Austrians as their German is very different from the one I learned in school. That night I decided to partake in the rum-drinking activities with my JET companions. Deng performed magic tricks with pink plastic packing string and cards. Then he showed us how to do them and we tried. We tried and failed. I drank a full mini bottle of rum - perhaps 220 mL - and became happily intoxicated. However when I went to lie down in the bamboo hut I felt ill, and I was in and out of the hut all night with the nauseau and the vomiting in the clear jungle moonlight. How romantic.

Day two of the trek I was hung over, but surprisingly, trekking actually helped me to feel better. I had managed to get about 5 or 6 hours of sleep - not bad considering the night I had. This was the day of wide open canyons and forested mountains. It was also the day of stopping at a waterfall and swimming.

Day three of the trek involved a rafting experience down the river on bamboo rafts - which were literally just a bunch of bamboo lashed together. I used a large bamboo pole to guide the raft, in alternation with Noam - although really the native rafter did most of the guidance from the front. The two English girls rafted with Noam and I. I find that most of the time I spent with the other tourist outside my "JET group". At the end of the rafting jaunt - in which we occasionally slammed into rocks and once I even fell full on my face - haha - we arrived at the elephants! The elephants were to be our transportation for the next segment of our journey. Noam and I shared an elephant and we traded cameras with Laura and Vivienne (I don't know how to spell her name so I figure I'll change it each time). We took many bumpy photos of each other in the fading battery power of our digicams. Noam actually sat up on the elephant's head, but I decided to stay in the chariot of steel mounted on his back. At the end we gave the elephants bananas and sugar cane, and they would sneak up behind us and ambush us in search of these treats. And yes, an elephant can actually sneak up behind you and ambush you. Clever little devils. On the way back to Chiang Mai we watched a snake show. The snake show is an exciting event in which the "snake charmer" abuses the snakes by chucking them around the ring in order to arouse their anger. Meanwhile an announcer booms over a mike - I don't know why he did this as there were only about 20 people there - about how the snake charmer is brave and then makes off-colour jokes about snake love. I resolve not to see another.

Thailand, Day Two

I landed in Thailand day before yesterday and spent the night in Bangkok near the infamous Khao San road. Many tails to tell about this place, I have. Speak like Yoda, I do. You want to avoid tuk-tuks, as a general rule, or really you should use them with careful bargaining in advance. They are these little three wheeled vehicles somewhere between a motorcycle and a tiny truck. They burn some kind of really noxious diesel and weave crazily across lanes. Oncoming traffic is not that daunting to these tuk-tuk drivers and several times we headed right for it. I'm travelling with a group of 5 JETs, by the way, Ben, Mike (not Dobkin - he headed south on his own yesterday), Dan and Richelle. So far. We pack two and three to a tuk-tuk and get lost around the city and the tuk-tuk drivers try to scam us. This is what you do. They love to bring you to suit stores and gem stores that you didn't for because they get a comission for every tourist they bring in. When there's little chance of you going there, there's little chance of getting a tuk-tuk.

We decided to head to Chiang Mai and experience elephant rides, trekking through the jungle and river rafting before heading down to the beaches. Chiang Mai is in the North, the beaches are in the south - which means there will be a long day of travel in between when we decide to head down there. We decided to take the overnight train to Chiang Mai, somewhat more expensive than the bus but it affords a sleeping berth. We all went to this office we had seen on the tourist map from the airport called the Tourist Authority of Thailand (TAT). Lonely Planet recommended it as more reliable than tour places on Khao San road. We arranged the trek and train tickets around noon and were told to come back to the TAT at 4:30 to pick up our train tickets for the 7:40 train. He gave us a business card and said "Don't lose this card" a number of times. We didn't know why but found out later. After shopping along Khao San road for a while - I bought a giant backpack for a great price; now I don't have to lug around that gym bag anymore - we decided to head back to the TAT. We tried getting tuk-tuks but they didn't know where the TAT was or they wanted to charge 20 times their usual fare (no chance of a diversionary side-trip with comission). So we found a couple of taxis that would take us there and went off. I got in the cab with Ben and Richelle, which proved fortuitous as Ben was carrying the TAT card. We didn't recognize the cab driver's route, and our nervousness increased when he stopped at an office that said TAT on the sign but was completely unfamiliar to us. "No no! Not this TAT. Other TAT" we told the driver. Luckily Ben remembered he had the card and we got there, but Mike and Dan were not so lucky. They ended up cruising around the city in tuk-tuks and taxis, getting more desperate all the time. The drivers would pretend to know where they were going, then stop in the middle of a random intersection and let them out. Eventually the cab driver asked a random stranger where the TAT is, and he happened to be an employee of the very one they were looking for. Ben, Richelle and I were sweating about their fate in the meantime, and we went ahead to the train station, hoping they'd arrive. Which they did.

Now we know to have backup meeting places if the group gets seperated. Simple lesson which we might have realized beforehand. Today I plan on exploring Chiang Mai in a relaxed way for a while. Richelle will probably take a Thai cooking lesson and the other three are thinking of drinking. Always thinking of drinking. (We downed a couple of bottles of rum and a litre of coke on the train over last night). Oh yes, quick train story. We offered the conductor a drink of our rum to placate him, in case it wasn't allowed. He didn't want it, but he did accept some shrimp chips. Thereafter, every time he walked by our group he would simply reach over and grab very generous handfuls of whatever food we were eating while staring one of us directly in the eyes, kind of surly-like. Then he'd say thank you in a sarcastic way. We are noticing some biiiiig differences between the Thai and the Japanese.

I'll keep you posted as to further developments. Right now we're having a blast.

Leaving on a JET plane.
don't know when I'll be back again.
well maybe I'll refrain
from lying in the name
of this little poetry game.

A Winter Morning in My Kitchen

Typing an email to Ilir, I realized upon describing my attire that this was a perfect Fuji moment. And so I set up my camera in timer mode, placed it on my fridge and stood in my makeshift skirt.

A winter morning in my kitchen
That's A-OK though. I'm going to Thailand tomorrow with Mike, Richelle, Big John, Ben and Dan. Who knows what will happen with our merry band? Will we split up instantly in Bangkok? Fairly likely. Stay tuned folks, and I'll try to keep the posts coming for the next three weeks.

Taniguchi revisited

Every JET (for anyone just joining, a JET is an English teacher in Japan) has to write an essay and submit it to the JET Journal which is published in the spring, or sometime or other. It's limited to half a page and the other half page is a Japanese translation. Since it's so short I figured I would just dash off something generic about how surprised I was by the lack of Samurai in Japan - silly nonsense and general gape-jawed admiration of a foreign culture. Little did I know I had strayed into the realm of controversy by saying this:

"I arrived with the stereotype that Japanese people are the very model of industrious hyper-efficiency. I should have realized that the truth is a dilution of the ideal. Japanese teachers work long hours and work hard, but I've come to realize that much of that time is spent in community socialization. The difference between here and home is not in work ethic, but rather in the boundaries of free time, work time and work relationships."

My tantosha (supervisor) came to me after translating it [side note: she didn't translate it - she gave it to Nick to translate and then looked it over] and remarked that the teachers will read this and that they will be offended. She asked if I meant that they spend a lot of time just talking. I said yes, but I also think you work very hard. Nick and I concur on this point: much of the time the teachers are just doing whatever they like, though we didn't say so in front of our tantosha just then. Taniguchi sensei did not seem pleased at all and said that in Japanese it sounds bad. So I asked her if she could change the translation.
"The whole thing? I don't think so."
"No, just the part that sounds rude."
"No. I don't know what to say."
"I'll write it in English and you can translate that."
"No, I don't know how to do it."
She doesn't know how to..... !!! She speaks English fluently and is the best translator in the room.
"The other teachers will be reading this," she said, "and they will not like you."
"Well why don't you change it then?"
"Hmmmm. I don't think I can do it."
Pause.
"It's rude to the teachers. They will think you are calling them lazy."
"If you can't change it, then just leave it, OK?"
Why is she haranguing me if she's not going to change it? She returns to her desk and sits down. Angrily, I continue correcting English compositions. Then two minutes later she calls me over, asking "How should I change it?"
"I'll write it down."
"Don't write it down."
We're having this conversation across the room. My neighbour, Kitazawa sensei asks whats going on. "I really don't know," I say, and walk over with a pen and paper. Taniguchi sensei is talking to me but I just write the sentence and say "Please translate this sentence."
Finally she assents. Moments later she's all smiles and inquiring about my viewpoint and cultural differences, etc, etc. May I just say "What The Fuck?"

thank you Beatles, CC top and Calhoun Tribune

I listened to some music, the beatles "within you, without you", and some other nice soothing music, read Claire's and Crissy's blogs and now I feel so much better. Relaxing, slowly... relaxing ... and .. getting ready.. for bed. sluuummmp. So much good can come from reading the shared thoughts of these two people.

I did have an hour long conversation with Veronica tonight so I suppose her nonblogging is fine. WRITE. please.

And I should have written down my dream because now I've forgotten it, and it contained the seed of a story I wanted to write. No big loss. I remember it wasn't going to be that great of a story. I'd better think up a great story soon though. Perhaps tomorrow I'll sit down and concentrate for 10 minutes at a time between classes. Or better yet, during lengthy Japanese grammar explanations during class.

. . . . . . time passes
Veronica our conversation was equally refreshing to my soul - thank you ever so much for your vivacity. I realize this entry kind of came off sounding like the blogs were good and the conversation was mediocre but that definitely was not the case.
-the editor

Don't watch Dawn of the Dead

I just watched Dawn of the Dead and it was brutal and sickening. There was no benefit in watching that. Don't watch it. It made me sad and angry for wasting my time and peace of mind.

Castles in the sand & Woburne

Soon, oh so very soon, I'll be boarding a jet plane - destination Bangkok - short stopover in Soeul. And then, oh yes, then, it's sandcastles and sun, full-moon parties and starlight, jungle raves and vine-twisted temples. And of course over it all the insidious doom of "terrorists", "insurgents", "Islamic militants". I come to think that the Japanese are like us in our views of foreign developing economies as lands of lurking treachery. It's the discourse of the non-European, the islamic, the exotic and it's simply fear-mongering.

But before I claim that Japan is the sanitized society I have to tell you about my tap water. Echoes of Walkerton ring through my memory as I read my latest book, "A Civil Action", which is the true tale of the town of Woburne, it's water supply tainted by tetrachloroethylene, it's residents afflicted by cancer, neurological disorders, nauseas, rashes and headaches. This highly detailed account describes the medical discovery leading up to trial, and outlines the symptoms and presentation of the tainted water in the population. It smells like bleach. My tap water smells like bleach - I bought a water filter in my first week here. It causes headaches. In my time here I've had an increased incidence of headaches. And the pollutant, TCE, is a common degreaser used in machine shops to clean metal parts. There is an auto repair shop within 200 feet of my building. Sometimes the strong odour of industrial solvents and airborne paints wafts from there.

Before you freak out, although I do drink the tap water, the filter removes the taste of bleach. I don't know if this means the water is properly clean, though. However, in the investigation of how the TCE entered the body it was discovered that 60 times the concentration of TCE from drinking water entered during hot showers, as vapour absorbed in the lungs and as molecules through the skin's heat-enlarged pores. Yet the residents of Woburne complained of burning eyes during showers, and I don't think I've had that experience at all.

I told Nick about the water situation today and he was interested. I'm going to tell all the other JETs in the building and ask what their water experiences are. I would like to organize to have the water tested by a lab and be done with it - just find out whether it contains any contaminants. I'll just be glad to be in clean, safe Thailand for a while.

Some Limits of Reason

The heart has its reasons that the mind knows nothing of.
So said Blaise Pascal. What are the limits of reason, I wonder, and especially in reference to the emotions or intuition? So much of our experience comes hard-wired into us, rather than rationally constructed through chains of reasoning. Optically, we know that an object is defined by the lines that enclose it, and we know this at a neural level that is unlearned. When an infant is able to focus his eyes he reacts to objects as separate from each other, indicating that object-recognition is hard-wired into our perceptual systems. Similarly, the other perceptual modalities are highly inborn and mediate our experiences of the world. These experiences are not rational, yet they do influence action and inform belief and understanding in ways similar to reason.

As for intuitions, they might be the product of background processing in the mind, and could lead to better choices in certain circumstances than pre-frontal cortical reasoning. As you can see I'm approaching this philosophical question from a scientific perspective. I'm doing this because it's a field that I know and because the question can be answered this way. It can be approached other ways, such as from the perspective of tastes and aesthetics, which can provide unreasoned reasons, though they don't necessarily do so (especially if you're in the habit of making aesthetic decisions after prolonged analysis).

Perhaps you're wondering why I put this in my blog at all. It's because I find it difficult to think through the problems posed by my "Introduction to Philosophy" by Pojman without resorting to verbal expression. As McLuhan says, the text inspires passive responses.

The Mid-Year Seminar

Thursday and Friday I was in Otsu along with one hundred other JETs for the mid-year seminar. Speeches and seminars were afoot. Mainly it was exciting to be able to walk down the street and accidentally overhear English. In the interest of brevity, I will summarize my experience at the seminar in a best / worst list.

Worst point:
When we all rushed over to the mall, Parco, to eat our lunches during lunch break. The lunch counter was overwhelmed and there were long waits. It was a strange lunch purchase system: first you buy a ticket from a machine, indicating which meal you want; then you wait in line at the counter to give them your ticket; when they get your ticket, they start making the lunch, and they give you a remote beeper; you sit at a table until the beep, then get up and receive your steaming plate of... whatever. I got to the waiting in line with my ticket stage, spent about 20 minutes in line, and just as the chef was taking the tickets of everyone and my hopes were up, he says 'no' to me. They ran out of rice. Go over there and refund your ticket. Wait in another line. Buy more tickets... I don't have the time!! So I left Parco, leaving my beeper for a curry bun behind (150 yen) in search of a super-quick lunch at a combini (convenience store). No money. Lent 300 yen to some guy, I think it was a guy named Guy. As I'm searching for a bank machine and a lunch, everyone is streaming back to the seminars, asking me if I forgot something, and I'm surly and hungry. Did I eat lunch? Yes, but it sucked.

Best Point:
Friday at 5:00 pm a large group of us head over to the German pub, Kupper's Kolsch, for happy hour. Ahhhh. Such heavenly good fun! Beer was a flowing, JETs were making asses of themselves, and conversations both serious and lewd went on and on. As Veronica and I were leaving the pub around 10pm, with the party still going strong I might add, the aforementioned Guy accosts me from his perch on a barstool. "Don't go too far south." he drawls in an Aussie accent, indicating my crotch. "What???" I reply, confused as hell. "When you're 80% there, don't give up on the last 20 or 30 percent," he says, as though in explanation. "OHHH. I GET IT," I say. Was he talking about sexual stamina? Not quite sure. I bumped into him this morning (Saturday), as I was getting into the Nagahama train station and he was running for his train. Odd fellow. I like him.

Rowing Your Boat

Today I taught Row, Row, Row Your Boat to the developmentally disabled class. It consists of four, sometimes five students, all but one are boys. Who knew that I had such a lovely singing voice? I think I'm a tenor. And yet, those high notes, like when the "merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily" kicks in, there's usually some voice cracking. I've got one of those voices that is neither high enough nor low enough for singing. Limited range. But still - whoah - good singing. The kids were good too, I guess.

Ahhh. I would never have guessed that I'd be singing the rowboat and Old Macdonald when I finished my degree. And reading Foucault in my spare time. That bugger is difficult. Oh yes, my history of images professor, Paul Rutherford, said he'd recommend me for a graduate program in communication/media studies. This is heartening mainly because it means that the other profs whose recommendations I despaired of getting will probably recommend me. I had more interaction with Tafarodi, O'Conner and Bagby than I did with Rutherford, and I think their recommendations will paint a more flattering picture of me. Oh this is exciting! I sometimes think of what graduate school will be like, and the opportunities it will open up. I basically conduct my own course of post-graduate studies right now, so I won't be too disappointed if I don't make it in.