tokyo

Maria's photoblog #262 of 365

overwhelming

Day 1, and we are exhausted already. Maria has collapsed for a late afternoon nap (or at least trying with me mucking around with devices in the background) and I have a serious case of 'tourist leg'.

The train and subway systems are immense in this town, and we found it tricky getting around because so far we haven't figured out a simple way to determine which stations have both, which is pretty important when, as was the case today, it seemed everywhere we wanted to go required multiple changes b/w the above and below ground systems. Our travel card took a beating today as we mixed mindless wandering, going on a goose chase for a telco store that didn't seem to exist, and a couple of mandatory touristy things like going to Tokyo Tower. There is something about getting high above a city to get ones bearings that helps in the first days being somewhere new.

As is my want, I spend plenty of time planning the connectivity before we travel. The harsh reality so far is that plan A (a visitor SIM in my portable Wi-Fi device) is not working, nor is the backup plan (a global data SIM that we can use in the iPad while out and about). One final effort to fix it tomorrow, but it might leave me connection free during the day when away from the hotel. Horror of horrors.

Meanwhile, Tokyo kind of overwhelms you, and we haven't even scratched the surface. Wandering around Ginza and then later at Akihabara, a whole district dedicated to electronics with colour and lights bombarding the senses, left me feeling decidedly outside, a mere spectator in a mammoth commercial system. No chance to process properly, tomorrow we'll be a bit more competent getting around and hopefully Maria will be less frustrated with my fluffing around with maps and gadgets.

recurring dream

I used to have a recurring dream where I walked down a city block past vaguely familiar shops. Not much happened in the dream except an incredible sense of anticipation. Its not often you get to live out a dream like this, but that’s exactly what I’ll be doing in a week or so.

In 1981 I was 17 years old. I had lived all my life in a little town on the north west coast of Tasmania. My family made a big deal of holidays, so I had travelled relatively well along the eastern seaboard and even an excursion to New Zealand, but my world view was shaped by my secure, conservative upbringing in Ulverstone.

Gifu was, by Japanese standards a country town. But for this green teenager, 400,000 people getting around  on an integrated public transport system was a metropolis. The culture change was broad and deep. I still remember my very first morning, being served a fried egg which I chased around my plate with the chop sticks, the only utensils on offer. In the height of summer I enjoyed rice from the pervious evening meal in cold green tea to start the day. No coco pops in sight?

One year later I had grown up. I had begun to appreciate that my view of reality was simply that, a view. I was stunned by a growing recognition that in the scheme of things, Australia, let alone Tasmania, was an insignificant player on the world stage. Australia had novelty, but Japan was a player. I had begun to see the world through another language, I had made friends.

As the year went on, I had started to imagine a reinvigorated life back home. I was determined to make choices about how to live and who to be, rather than follow the path of least resistance. My diary entries changed from recording events and activities to reflections and desires.

I had lived with a few families over the 12 months, but two were significantly more formative and the memories of the places are seared in my memory forever. Murai-san was my first host father. He owned a luggage and bag shop in the centre of town and his small family lived above it. He was a kind hearted man whose family lived less affluently than was typical for Rotary Club members of that era in Japan. I loved that bag shop.

Of my 12 months in Gifu, I lived 5 of them with the Kunitates. By Japanese standards they lived in a palace. Four easy going teenage children and generous parents meant I had an extravagant domestic experience. But more significantly, I have enduring recollections of sitting cross-legged at the kotatsu (small table with heater underneath and quilts around the edges) writing in my journal. I shared a room with Katsuhito, who will pick us up from our hotel next week and take us to visit his parents, still living in the same house. I am beside myself with nervous excitement.

In my recurring dream I am walking along the street, past the bag shop, around the corner to a tiny coffee shop where I made friends with a bunch of ‘radical’ Japanese surfers. I really, really hope that bag shop is still there and I will be in total rapture if that little coffee shop has survived. Either way, it will no longer be a wondering dream.

muted enthusiasm

There is little I enjoy more than the feeling of heading off on a travel adventure with Maria. Tonight we trekked south in our old Patrol ready for a morning flight direct from Collangatta to Narita (Tokyo).

However, we have just learned that the company I have invested so much into is being taken over by the PNG Government. You can read more in todays National although the article only anticipates the worst case scenario which has eventuated this evening. Devasated.

I was going to write a little reflection on our travel mantra; savour the hour, respect the locals, what happens, happens.I will be pondering this a bit tomorrow on the flight ...

Byron Bay 13

what fantasy?

Alain De Botton’s Art of Travel is a great little book.

“Few activities seem to promise as much happiness as going travelling: taking off for somewhere else, somewhere far from home, a place with more interesting weather, customs and landscapes. But although we are inundated with advice on where to travel to, we seldom ask why we go and how we might become more fulfilled by doing so. With the help of a selection of writers, artists and thinkers - including Flaubert, Edward Hopper, Wordsworth and Van Gogh - Alain de Botton's bestselling The Art of Travel provides invaluable insights into everything from holiday romance to hotel minibars, airports to sightseeing. The perfect antidote to those guides that tell us what to do when we get there, The Art of Travel tries to explain why we really went in the first place - and helpfully suggests how we might be happier on our journeys.” (Amazon’s brief)

Sometimes (perhaps even often) our travels are filled with idyllic experiences. But this last two weeks in Byron Bay has reminded me of De Botton’s wisdom. One of our friends broke down towing his ‘new’ caravan on its maiden voyage at Mittagong, and after a couple of days ended up getting the car and van shipped back to Melbourne. The trouper that he is, he hired a car and continued to Byron Bay. Just this morning I learned of other friends who broke down yesterday on their first day on the road.

At least 7 of our friends have been ill (some violently so) over the last week or so. A tent or caravan is not the best place to be with gastro!! The waterlogged days have given way to clouds, despite the promise of sunshine, which has only fleetingly tantalized us.

As De Botton reminds us, the problem with fantasy holidays is that we take ourselves. Life travels with us. Cars break down (as, by the way, ours did yesterday), the weather can be rubbish, and our bodies get sick. The real peace and joy in life comes from inside rather than via external realities.

I’ve admired the resilience of people this last two weeks. Smiles never failing. My view, for what its worth, is that people remain strong not despite the lack of fantasy style holidaying but because of inner strength.

When our kids were young, Maria and I decided not to use the word ‘holiday’ to describe what we did when we went away. With 4 children, the work never stopped. I wonder more generally if we need another concept, other than what the commercial world defines as holiday.

Sometimes holidays simply means ‘away from work’. While this is practically accurate, I’m not sure its helpful. The old fashioned idea of ‘Sabbath’ included the idea of regeneration – I like that. The beauty of the Sabbath was how it was integrated into life; 1 day a week for people, and even 1 year out of 7 for the land.

I reckon we should figure out how to integrate ‘regeneration’ into our lives. What do we need to do every week, every month, every quarter, every year – to make sure we are rested in a way that refreshes us.

Going away ‘on holiday’ would better be understood as a quarterly or annual change of scenery that refreshes our inner worlds, rather than a fantasy escape from the drudgery of work.

mixed bag

Plus - there was some patchy blue sky and sunshine today



Minus - there's gastro going around and the car is in the garage



Plus - we have so far avoided the gastro and Pat required only a minor repair



Minus - lots of washing required to get rid of the damp smell from clothes, towels and tent bedding



Plus - colour in the sky and reflections in the water at sunset make it a better day