Loneliness versus solitude

“I’ve never felt so lonely in my life till I came to Japan,” said J. my newfound friend from Singapore. “But it’s such a refreshing feeling.” He used to be surrounded by pals back home, leading the yuppy life. Even on SGD2000 he could afford to have nice dinners and drinks at Zouk Wine Bar regularly. He left all that and feels he’s become a better man.

Leaving home has been a dream for me for a long time. Perhaps you could liken it to one of those peeps who come from small towns that want to come out of the fish bowl and into the ocean.

While I swam away eagerly, this loneliness is so overwhelming I’m not sure how to contain it. Back home, I lived away from the foggies and with flat mates – our paths barely crossed except for rent and busted light bulbs – and I loved the solitude. After a hard day’s work at the office, it was a relief to retreat into my cave. There were times that I also felt lonely but it was slightly different. I could deal with it. I was lonely for Mr. D, lonely for a good chat with a best bud, and lonely for affection. There were times I felt lost in a heaving crowd or MRT or a bustling supermarket but at the end of the day, I could sleep in peace and wake up feeling rested.

Here, I feel uneasy every moment of the day. Grammar in class is getting more difficult and there are lots to memorise. When I speak to a Japanese person outside when I’m buying things, I forget all that I’ve learned in class. I don’t think I spend my days as productively as I can because I want to log on and talk to my friends from Singapore who tickle my funny bone and bring comfort to me in this strange city thousands of miles away from their smiles and hugs. But that’s not the way to go either. I need to focus on what I need to do. How can I move forward if I keep clinging to those at home? I’ve got a little over 2,000 yen (SGD25) in my pocket and it makes me feel insecure. Mr. D is away in India now. I know I can dip into my emergency stash but I don’t want to be frivolous about cash. I check my Singapore mobile now and again to see if anyone has SMSed me. But of course nobody ever does – I do it out of habit.

I have made a few friends here and still getting referrals from friends to meet their friends. So far, I think I’m doing okay in that department because it takes time to develop friendships but of course nothing beats familiarity of old friends. With new people, you’re always trying to put your best face forward and search for the right things to say. I’m not complaining that life sucks here but it’s this unsettled feeling that is quite a shock to the system.

The hollowness in my soul right now doesn’t seem to have a bottom to it. When I breathe in the chilly air, it cuts through the emptiness with a wistful knife. I wish the wind would sweep away these feelings of loneliness. I read somewhere that one of our greatest fears is being alone. I used to think I was comfortable with solitude and am adept at nursing bouts of loneliness but I don’t really know how to cure myself these days. I cook spaghetti bolognaise because it’s my ultimate comfort food. I can’t have mee pok here obviously but that will do. Another embarrassing confession: I watch an episode of Sex & the City before bed because Japanese TV still makes the home feel foreign (though I am delighting in some programmes where I pick out words I’ve learned in school). I make iced tea with apple juice even though it’s freezing. I chuck down a glass of warm water after that to quell the shivers. I still keep up with a few blogs from Singapore out of habit even though sometimes I do get bored of them. I wear my favourite perfume everyday – Anna Sui by Anna Sui – but I’m a little sad to hear they’ve stopped production of this (hopefully my huge bottle will last at least two years).

Stealing an idea from The Shield, a TV cops and drama series, criminals who tend to be loners need a fixed routine in order to feel a sense of comfort. If you don’t have friends, the stability and consistency of a routine takes away the loneliness. Old people generally have that too. I always wondered why would anyone want to do the same thing over and over everyday? In Singapore I would shake up the mix. I shifted my running times, meal times, things I ate, things I bought…I was always experimenting but I’ve to admit the spaghetti bolognaise never changed :p

I hope I will find my loneliness and solitude refreshing one day.

Onsen indulgence

I’m kicking myself for not taking my camera out to the steaming baths in our hotel, Oodaru Spa Amagisou. Megumi warned us there was no place next to the baths to place our things so we only took our towels and bathrobes.

It must’ve been five degrees out, but the more we soaked in the hot water, the less cold it felt even in just a bikini and a thin flannel robe. Mr. D was keen on a Japanese experience but was skeptical as to how much he’d enjoy taking baths. Let me just say, he was always the last one out and looked surprised when we were going to move on to the next one.

One unforgettable onsen was a fertility cave. The air was humid and warm, unlike the cool outdoor ones, and the water was so hot it took me a few minutes to relax. Also, there was a fertility statue – a smiley old woman who put her arms round a large stone penis. We couldn’t stop laughing and I wish I could’ve taken a picture.

In three hours, we soaked in 12 baths. Another incident that tickled was an old man who refused to wear his swimmers in the public onsens. His son or relative tried in vain to cover him up but the ol’ geezer kept swiping away his towel. In fact, he hobbled into the bath Mr.D and I were in – close to the stone I was sitting on. I had to look away and splashed my way to my kangaroo’s side. His utter lack of self-consciousness was too funny.

After a dip in the indoor bath, we gathered in Scott and Megumi’s room for our dinner spread. Woweee…that’s just the first course.



Check out the shipful of sashimi. It looks as good as it tastes. Going in and out of onsens sure work up a healthy appetite.



That’s my idea of a great spa. Forget beauty treatments and massages. By the way, my skin felt super smooth after this trip.

Where have I been?

Sorry for not posting in a while. I’ve been caught up in several things here. Mood-wise, it’s been a rollercoaster ride. There are days where I feel so lucky to be here but there are others when my mind is in a mess and I wonder how do I make my stay here worth the while or I just feel plain disoriented.

I try to have a skeleton of a routine so I don’t feel so on edge. It’s my first time moving overseas and I don’t know if it’s just Japan but it has a peculiar way of making you feel you’re way out of your comfort zone. A few weeks ago, I felt so beaten because I couldn’t understand what the woman at the ramen shop in Shinagawa was saying. She looked at me funny as I nodded and stuttered my responses to whether I wanted an egg, or tamago, or not. Of course, the stone-cold rejection of my re-entry permission form was sobering. I got lost twice on this day and it’s not fun at all when a two-hour errand becomes five.

Moving in again with Mr. D is proving challenging. I love being together and all but adjusting to our changed schedules and a different apartment poses obstacles I never thought of before. I wonder if it is just the apartment – the small space can get a tad annoying – but I figure just take things as they come. I wish there was a how-to book out there but I think patience and understanding are key to maintaining a loving relationship. What’s going on is the boat is being rocked, and if I had a choice, I don’t want to be doing the same ol’ same ol’ back in Singapore.

Anyway, despite the dips, I’ve had highs, too. One of them was last weekend when Mr. D and I headed down south to Izu, a hot springs region, with Scott and Megumi. Just driving out onto the freeway and zooming past the endless metropolis felt surreal. It was a bit early for catching autumn colours but we did spot some gems like this one.



The landscape of Japan reminds me vaguely of what I saw in Italy — breathtaking mountains, valleys and densely clustered housing in the ‘burbs. Japan’s a little like that but its Japanesey style of architecture puts a unique spin and there aren’t any vineyards of course. Instead, rice padi fields are scattered where there is space. There must be something special in looking at so much red, orange and green in 24 hours because I felt fabulous.

The foggies

Something’s been bugging me at the back of my mind – my folks. When I left, I made a promise to myself I’d email them once a week at least, plus calling. But it hasn’t been easy.

Nobody replies to my emails. I include my sisters in the loop and I thought they would mumble a line or two in return.

I called my mum two Sundays ago.

Me: Helloooo. How are you?
Mummy: Why are you calling? What do you want? (I kid you not)
Me: Just calling to see how you are.
Mummy: Oh.
Me: So how are the dogs?
Mummy: The same lor. Taffy’s eye is permanently blind now (my poor pug suffered a severe ulcer in her left eye two months ago)
Me: Did you go to Greg’s granny’s funeral? (my brother-in-law’s grandmother passed away when I visited them)
Mummy: No, what for?

And this went on for another two minutes. She nagged me to take my vitamins so I won’t fall sick in winter.

Me: Is Daddy there? Can I speak to him?
Mummy: Okay, bye bye.

Dooooooooooooo… I only heard the dial tone and not my dad’s voice.

I know my folks are just being themselves and not ignoring me but it’s very discouraging for me to contact them in this one-sided way. All my life I’ve wondered why my parents are not only typically Asian folks but why can’t they defrost a little? As a teenager I used to read these books on American kids and their families in various fictional series where adults gave their offspring hugs when they felt sad, kind words of encouragement when the going gets rough, open affection was displayed like how the movies showed and people talked about their feelings. I was envious that I didn’t have that kind of family.

Of course, as I grew up, these expectations are just impossible and unrealistic. I realise that whether I am there in the same country or not, I don’t really know my family all that well. I judge them on their behaviour and interpret their actions from my perspective, but do I get them at all?

I will continue to fling my polite and censored versions of my experiences in Japan through cyberspace but I need to muster some strength to make another phone call.

Piss Alley

A lot has been said of this famous Tokyo icon — Piss Alley. It’s a labyrinth of tiny yakitori restaurants that can seat only up to 10 people at a go. I’ve been here twice already. The first was with Sue when she was in town and last Sunday, we met up with my friend Paul and his wife Serena, who were in Tokyo for two nights. They were touring Japan for two weeks. I’ve never met his wife but she’s a great gal to chat with. Mr. D enjoyed talking to Paul.

I met Paul at a Channel 12 pow-wow yonks ago when I was working for a certain women’s magazine. Trapped near the coffee counter, I was dying inside of boredom because I didn’t know a single person, except for a rival magazine’s editor, who was in a snappish mood. As I shifted my weight from foot to foot, a friendly voice said, “Hi, I’m Paul from Canadian Pizza. Nice to meet you. You are?”

It started from there. We kept in touch loosely and talked about our partners. It’s rare to talk to someone who is not girlfriend and we hit it off quite well. Once in a while we’d meet for lunch and before I knew it, he’s in Tokyo with his gal and we’re laughing and talking in a tiny hole-in-the-wall Japanese eatery in Shinjuku.

Can I say I love yakitori. The buffet of barbecued meat chunks and mushies on sticks make me drool. You can choose teriyaki or salt and pepper marinade – I prefer salt ‘n’ pepper where you can savour the real flavour of the food. My top faves are golden mushrooms wrapped in bacon, chicken wings, chicken with leeks, emperor mushrooms, lady’s fingers and quail eggs. Paired with plum wine soda, I was a happy bunny. At 5,000 yen a head, it was a bit expensive. I probably wouldn’t go back there often for yakitori but it’s also the experience of the dark, smoky alley that bustles with tons of peeps.

I’ve got the shivers

It’s going to be six degrees out today. The past week or so has been chilly. Last night Mr. D and I slept without the aircon (it’s usually set at 23 degrees) and with the windows closed. We tried this a few days ago and I asked with a quiver of anxiety, “Is it okay to sleep without any ventilation?”

We’re still alive. In hot and humid Singapore, it’s unthinkable to have the windows shut without the aircon on. It doesn’t even feel stuffy in our 16 square metre room. The cold bites into the skin and nips your nose and ears as the breeze picks up. As I’m typing this, I’m wearing flannel pants, a singlet and a sweater, plus piping-hot green tea by my side.

Adding to the windy weather is my antsy mood. My mid-term exam is today and thought I’d distract myself before some last minute revision. This is crazy that I should even feel a tinge of nervousness. My goal in this course is to learn how to communicate in Japanese well. With confidence, I can tell you I will pass this test but that’s because I’m fairly well-trained in taking exams. The teacher hinted heavily what will come out. Even better, she told us which kanji words would be tested. Chapters one to seven only need to be studied. Last night, I focused on the revision sheets (two sets of quasi exams) given to us.

But I can’t speak for shit. I can order food alright now though yakitori is challenging because of all the different meat parts and vegetables. I only know the word for fruit — kudamono. I don’t think I could give proper directions to a taxi driver yet. Thank goodness we live in an area that is well-known and near to a train station. All I need to say is, “Akasaka-dori, onagaishimasu.” When he reaches our corner, I quickly inform him, “Migi desu.” Then at our apartment, “Ko ko desu.”

I should be more anxious that my SGD2,500 is not well-spent as yet because I haven’t grasped speaking. My sole purpose was to be able to get through daily life without stumbling around in half English and half Japanese. Mr. D said it takes at least seven years for children to master one language, let alone a rusty-brained adult.

It’s been exactly a month and a week of lessons. Wish me luck.

New furniture

We haven’t moved to our new digs but Mr. D had enough of the clutter and a book avalanche so we went to Muji to do some shopping.

The shoebox looks spiffy now with two new shelves and three plastic storage boxes, which means almost zero piles of books and magazines on the floor. There’s space to potter around without sliding over errant clothes, bags or socks. To complete the new look, I vacuumed this morning. Ahh…

First club night in Tokyo

What looked like a quiet Friday night turned into a fun tryst at Womb — a super club in the heart of Shibuya’s love hotel district.

Mike, Mr. D’s friend and business associate, invited us to check out his friend Shane’s DJ set. The kangaroo felt beaten up at work all week so he craved for a piece of ‘steaky’ (Japanese speak for steak). Unfortunately, I don’t have pictures of this night out as the ones I took on my phone suck and my trusty Canon Ixus was sleeping at home.

At 9pm we took off to Hobgoblin, an Irish or English pub we couldn’t decide, nestled within Akasaka’s hub of endless restaurants and bars. The warm, orange glow of the low lights wrapped us up cosy in this cocoon of lager and pub grub. Our sirloins were drizzled in tasty sauce with a generous side of green peas and chunky fries. Mmmmm. I was sorry when the last bite of juicy beef was wiped off my plate.

Over cider (my fave pub drink of the moment) and beer, Mr. D and I compared notes on our days. I love that we are both learning Japanese and we discuss the language all the time. We even say ‘good night’ in nihonggo, “Oyasuminasai!”

I digress. Back to Womb. Apparently, this mega club holds up to 5,000 peeps and has the best sound system in Tokyo. Well, it better be because the good folks here splashed a million bucks on the sound system.

The VIP area was impressive — not in an overwhelming kind of way but it was done up artfully. Lush red velvet lined the walls and funky chandeliers hung from the low ceiling. The music was the best part though. I think Singapore club music desperately needs new inspiration or at least a new attitude. I’m so used to the monotonous offerings that I just wasn’t keen on dancing at places like Zouk and MOS. I thought maybe I’m just over clubbing.

Not till I stepped into Womb. The beats were playful, cheeky, varied and the DJs were in tune with the crowd. They seemed to know when to slow things down or take it up a few notches. They threw surprises in rhythmic curve balls, which delighted the crowd. People dance differently here – kind of like the Robot Man move from the 80s but with more style and fluidity. Sounds silly but everyone looked like they were having a great time. I wasn’t even buzzed but the funky beats beckoned my hips to move. Now that’s cool music.

As usual we rounded up the night with ramen at 3am. Mr. D needed some persuasion though but he couldn’t resist a plate of gyoza. I asked for the bill in Japanese, too, “Checku onagaishimasu.” Cheap thrill but I love it when I get to use what I learn in everyday life.

Below is a picture of shoyu ramen taken when Sue came to visit. We went back to this same shop for our supper last night.

Insomnia blues

Since Saturday night, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep. My mind is alert way after midnight and I wish I could block out the overactive brain activity. Before I know it, it’s dawn and Mr. D’s alarm goes off. Unable to sleep, I get up and potter around. After some brekkie, I sink into the futon for a half-hour catnap.

…1130am rolls around and I wake up in a jolt — only one hour more to leaving the house! I haven’t done any Japanese study and my head feels heavy like I’ve taken one too many cold tablets. I’ve a confession: I’ve been taking Valerian Root pills when I get desperate for some shuteye. The problem is this sleepless remedy takes two to three hours to kick in so by the time I’m going crazy in bed it’s 2am.

Perhaps it’s too much caffeine or I’m suffering a delayed reaction to relocation shock. When I first arrived, I loved the chilly nights because they made snuggling up so much more cosy. Maybe I wasn’t used to a lot of my surroundings and I was exhausted by late afternoon — but i would sink into this blissful, deep sleep and by morning I'd be raring to go.

Even after running 6-7km, I still can’t sleep. I used to switch off in a snap. Today I decided to undo several things: I won’t injest any caffeine (I caved in at 3pm and gulped a small iced tea. Cheers to resisting a big bottle of milky latte); I won’t run this evening because this shoots up energy levels; I won’t drink any alcohol; I won’t eat any ice-cream or chocolate before bed to prevent any kind of sugar rush.

Maybe it’s relationship blues. Everything is okay now but had a rocky patch with the kangaroo. Lots of people tell me reuniting after a long bout of long distance will have teething problems.

Do you ever try to make emotional wish lists? I hope I will sleep well, return to my cheerful, sane self and stop mauling my kangaroo.

Gambatei (Trying my best).

A blast from the past…

Crepes!

I don’t know how many of you remember this craze back in the nineties – Japanese crepes. Filled with anything from bananas to ham, this was a sensation back in Singapore. This snack apparently originated from the streets of Harajuku.

The picture below was taken when I was wandering around Tokyo a few days after I arrived. I was never too fond of it but bought one because it was there and thought I should eat it in the Land of Origin at least once. This year marks the 30th anniversary of the crepe’s inception.

I never thought strawberries, chocolate sauce and whipped cream could taste so good. The soft sweetness was a swirly, delightful sensation on the taste buds. Check out the cheesecake embedded in the crepe – so cute but so weird. Prices start from ¥300 (SGD4).

Onigiri

One of my fave discoveries is onigiri – a rice snack wrapped in seaweed. Stuffed with anything from preserved veggies to salmon, this tasty palm-sized piece of heaven has become almost a daily necessity.

You can buy this at a supermarket, a convenience store and I’ve heard there are shops that just sell onigiri from floor to ceiling. Imagine that – thousands of seaweed wrapped rice balls lining the shelves. The closest I’ve come to witness such onigiri madness is in Shinagawa where I chanced upon a shopping mall food section where there was a counter that had at least a hundred onigiris displayed neatly in the glass cabinet.

Maybe it’s the cold or I’m just exercising more these days but the stomach rumbles for attention every few hours. There are only so many sandwiches I can eat, so onigiri saved my palate from utter boredom.

From plain tuna mayo, I’ve become more adventurous and am trying others. I still can’t read labels for shit (except I can tell ‘hong yu’, or red fish, is salmon) so I’ve taken to just grab a colour I’ve never tried. The only words I can read are written in fancy hiragana that says ‘onigiri’. I’ve tried ones with salmon eggs, cooked salmon strips, eel and a brown gelatin-like pickle (shown below).

It’s genius how they package the onigiri such that the seaweed doesn’t touch the rice. A plastic sheet separates them. How do you open this? There are instructions to guide you such that you can gracefully pull out the plastic – and voila – you get your onigiri with crisp seaweed in your hand.

Washed down with fragrant ocha, this munchie is something I look forward to having. Mmmm…oiishi desu ne….

Quirky stuff in Tokyo

I've been documenting my eating more than anything else, so i'd like to take a moment to talk about other things that make me look twice:

1. Silence in the trains. There are signs to tell you no ringing is allowed. no matter how packed the carriage is, no one talks. They read, play with their mobile phones on silent mode or tune into their mp3 players.

2. Having said that, a lot of "inanimate" objects "talk" to you in public spaces. For example, escalators, car parks, elevators and even traffic lights - though this one is not as common. Not all traffic lights have announcements. So far the one in front of the national theatre has its own monologue. i jumped in fright as I jogged past one night.

3. Bicycles are a point of contention for some. Apparently the police spot check on people who ride bicycles to make sure that is indeed yours - there is a special licence you need to have. The root of this vigorous exercise is because many bikes get stolen. In fact, there's an urban legend that a gaijin borrowed a friend's bike and got booted out of the country as he wasn't able to prove the said machine was not stolen - probably due to his inability to speak any nihongo and he didn't have a mobile phone to contact his friend.

4. Apples that cost SGD5 each. An Indian lady in my class finds this even more appalling than me. Her currency is rupees and she said she used to buy a huge fruit basket for the price of two apples here.

5. Chew har - this is obviously the incorrect spelling. But let me introduce this alcoholic drink - a citrus liquor topped with soda water. It looks like sparkling h2o but incredibly lethal because it's so yummy, refreshing and goes down as easily as fruit juice.

6. Extremely old folk who can sleep on the train and hobble out of the station on their own. Usually such peeps in Singapore are either accompanied by someone or you just don't see them tottering around. Reinforces the power of ocha (green tea).

7. Broccoli on pizza. I just had a pork meatball and broccoli pizza in an Italian restaurant - bizarre but scrumptious. Bastardised western food here is delish. Wait till you try the ones with seaweed. Oops, i'm talking about food again.

8. Adult bookshops that have salarymen browsing in them. There are posters with women and their watermelon boobs screaming at you displayed all over the shop but at the same time you see these suits flipping through porn openly and relaxed like they're in kinokuniya.

I can't remember anything else right now but the beauty of being a foreigner here is you feel like the city spins around you and tosses juicy nuggets of life at you. It may be a hard place to live in but it's got its fabulous points, too.

Meeting new people

Just had an energetic hour cleaning up the mouse hole. It was so filthy I couldn’t leave it the way it was till tomorrow. Dust balls hid in corners on the floor with icky bits of stuff, plus the loo and bed were sorely lacking TLC, too.

While I was busy housekeeping, I kept thinking about how I’ve been faring on the social front. Had a good, long heart-to-heart with my gal pal, Ber, who lives in Orange County and she said I was doing fine. Perhaps I am suffering from the syndrome of trying to achieve too much in too little time and you wind up not doing much at all, really.

To be honest, making friends is really hard. I’ve knocked on a couple of doors but had palm-offs. Nothing personal. This is a truly fast-paced city where you need to prioritise. Ber told me she found that the best friends she made in New York were Singaporeans. It’s like an instant bond and understanding you have that you’ll take care of each other, being from the same country. I noticed Mr. D’s friends in Singapore and Japan are mostly Aussies. Perhaps, it’s the same thing?

The Singapore friends I’ve made can’t really ‘hang out’ because they’ve got other pressing things like work or simply need to save money. I see the two girls, Cai Ling and Alicia, in school almost everyday when they stay back after their morning classes to do their homework or strike up Japanese dialogue with other friends. They are living off their savings and I can see they made the school the centre of their study and social circle. The third Singaporean, Jan, works hard at a small hotel in Asakusa. I understand from one dinner with them that eating out even at small cheap noodle places is a luxury they can’t afford often.

Ber said I should join the Singapore Society, though to some people, that’s loserish. To these new Singaporean friends, they think it’s the worst thing you could do because why did you come to a foreign country – to meet your own people? No! But is it so bad? Maybe they would have other friends to introduce me to? That’s how Ber met her Italian, Spanish, Brazilian and American friends during her one-year stay in NY. So I shouldn't waste yet another opportunity. One thing to add on my to-do list.

I’ve been hashing with the Tokyo Ladies Hash Harriets on Wednesdays. So far, I’ve been to two sessions and I’ve enjoyed myself. I don’t know all their names yet but hope that I will get the chance to. For those who need some introduction to what a hash is: it’s a trail set by two individuals or also called the hares, marked by chalk, for the rest to find. At the end of this 6-8km run, we all gather in a circle to drink beer. Dinner follows at a nearby restaurant at about 3,000 yen per person. There’s usually no dessert as kegs of beer will be drunk. This is a continuation of the circle where they rag each other about the slightest trespass and make it all into a funny joke. The penalty for the trespasser would be to drink an entire glass of beer of course. It could be from making a loud burp to winning a beer competition in the Asia Hash Challenge.

This is where I touch on the subject of survival. I’m normally too quiet and passive in a group setting. I tend to need to watch and wait till I make a few friends then I’ll be more vocal.

At the beginning of the hash last Wednesday, a Japanese physicist introduced himself to me and seemed delighted to have found someone to speak English with. He’s been in this group for 11 years. I thought it was a bit unusual for him to stick with me through the two-hour run and chatted all the way through up hills and down slopes. I could hardly keep up with the rest, let alone a conversation about random things (“Do you know there are many earthquakes in Japan? I lived in Colorado for three months. I am from Nagano” – you get the gist), but I just couldn’t outrun him. I blame all the fish ‘n’ chips I ate in Australia.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we returned because I couldn’t take the choppy convo much longer. Exhausted, I hauled myself to the ladies’ to change. When I entered our private dining room, there he was, reserving a seat next to him. I really wasn’t used to this type of friendliness when I didn’t feel the same about him. Perhaps he thought we clicked but I was being polite by answering all his questions and making necessary noises at crucial points of his monologue.

What did I do? I forced myself to make sparkling conversation with my neighbours – a Californian engineer who lives in Yokohama and a Japanese American who was looking to move to Singapore. On my left, was a British diplomat who teased me about the ‘solicitous’ attention I was getting from the physicist who made sure I received food from every dish and bowl offered at this yakitori eatery. I was flattered but bewildered as to how to palm him off. Even after ignoring much of his company during the meal, he handed me his name card with a bow and said, “I really enjoyed our run together. Please email me tomorrow and I will reply you immediately.” He even waited for me to walk to the train station together while I paid for my share and exchanged numbers with the Japanese American dude. He reiterated the please-email-me spiel and I was more than happy to get onto the train.

I shouldn’t be complaining – at least I’m making friends. Cold calls are the hardest and I decided I won’t venture into that unless the person who is introducing me is pretty close to the other party. There’s a rugby game tomorrow afternoon with Mr. D’s Aussie friends and I’m looking forward to that. After the match, I’m heading to Shinjuku to meet my Canadian friend from class – he’s called Kim Riddick. He’s Chinese but was adopted by Canadians.

For a month, I think I’m not shaping up too badly.

Augusta, WA - the end of the earth

It’s amazing with a new interface, I’m just roaring along with the entries. Let’s continue the Perth adventures right here.

From a late night of partying, we still managed to drag ourselves to the breakfast room for chocolate pastries and orange juice at 945am. Mr. D declared, “I don’t have a hangover – I think I’m still drunk!”

After a hot shower, we felt human again so we jumped into our light blue Hyundai and drove down to Yallingyup Beach. Gorgeous, isn’t it? The blue skies of Oz are always so arresting.



Mr. D wondered, “Why do they call the whole vineyard area Margaret River when the river is way down in the South?” We didn’t find out why but we certainly drove all the way down to the end of the earth.

We found the famous river that is on millions of wine bottles being exported around the world. Since we were pressed for time, this is the picture we got to prove we were there:



Just for kicks, we thought Augusta was just a good spot for some lunch. We had no idea what was in store for us. More sleepy town actually. Mr. D spotted a restaurant that said, “The Last Restaurant Before The Antarctica”. Gotta love that Aussie humour. We didn’t stop there. There was a lighthouse – yay! – a tourist spot for some sightseeing.



Boy, was it pretty. Its claim to fame was that it sat at the point where the South Ocean and Indian Ocean meet. Definitely a picture moment.



Mr. D got us back to Perth City in four hours. We didn’t have a detailed map to find the street his cousin lives on, so he told me to ask a taxi driver to lead us there – and he did, without taking our AUD20 token. There you go – Perth hospitality for you. At Doug’s house, we had another delicious steak dinner and drank the beautiful Mad Fish Pinot Noir Mr. D bought at the actual vineyard that same afternoon. I was satisfied and ready to head home.

Shacking up at the Caves Hotel

We left Ken and Andrea’s at 9am for Margaret River. Ken told us it’ll only take two-and-a-half hours to get there. It took us four hours. We didn’t have a map either. Every petrol station we stopped at didn’t have a map so we depended on instructions from the cashier. After what seemed like miles and miles of shrubs, road and suburbs, we still couldn’t see any signs that said ‘Margaret River’.

Finally, we found a petrol station that sold maps of the area and tada – we were definitely on the right track. With mint choc Arnott biccies in hand, we zoomed along the highway to Mr. D’s thumpy, funky electronica.

The wedding reception was going to be held at Seashells Caves Hotel so it seemed convenient to book a room there and roll back upstairs after the party. It was such a lovely room with a spacious queen-sized bed and a large toilet. We kept marveling, “Our apartment in Tokyo is as big as this loo!”

With delish fish ‘n’ chips in our tums and a speedy 10-minute change of clothes, we were back on the road to find St. Thomas More Catholic Church where the ceremony was held. Josh, Mr. D’s ex-colleague, was getting married to Mandy, a lovely blond girl from Perth. They both live in Sydney but her family lives in Western Australia so they decided it made sense to have their nuptials here. It was short and sweet with a touch of Aussie quirkiness. Check out their car.



By 4pm, the ceremony wrapped up and the hot summerish temperature cooled into crisp spring air. We headed back to our room and snoozed. I was still battling a bout of heartburn but I suppose some rest fixed that and I couldn’t get enough of the smooth, sweet lager that was served on a terrace just outside the dining room.

While Mr. D pow-wowed with a few industry peeps, I breathed in the pretty greenery and admired the colourful frocks the women had on. Most were in tube or halter-neck dresses showing off cleavage. Aussies dress in a pretty flamboyant way, which I like. I was a little jarred because in Tokyo, although the women do wear colour and have funky ensembles, they don’t show much flesh. Megumi told me the Japanese think that baring the back of the neck is the most provocative display of sexuality, so it’s rare to see women ‘undressed’ in this manner. But maybe it’s the weather. With a shiver, I’d like to report it went down to 10 degrees last night. Brr.

I do enjoy the occasional low cut top on myself but I’ve refrained from wearing them because it just didn’t look right. It’s a bit silly to exercise this bit of self-censorship but I guess when in Rome…is always a safe bet.

Dinner was a juicy Sirloin steak. I was craving for one even before I stepped on the plane. Perhaps it’s all very psychological because I don’t think I ate a lot of steak in Singapore. Or beef for that matter. Beef is an extremely expensive commodity in Japan. A scroungy piece of sirloin is SGD20 from the supermarket. I guess that’s affordable by itself but it feels like such a waste when I used to pay SGD7 for a healthy hunk of meat.

Anyway, it was heaven for at least 30 minutes of savoury goodness. Topped with herb-flavoured butter and a fresh salad on the side, my sirloin totally rocked. Man, I can be such a pig.



The night wore on with hilarious speeches, classic Aussie rock, champagne and dancing. It’s been a while since we had a boogie and Mr. D sure can shake his tush. A lady from Melbourne who was sitting at our table, asked me, “Does Mr D dance?” I said, “Yeah, he even took part in an amateur ballroom dancing competition before.” She gave me a secret smile, “He’s a keeper.” There wasn’t any salsa music but we still set the dancefloor on fire.

Perth may be a sleepy town...

But our trip all the way to Margaret River was kickass fun. Due to flights being booked on points, we had to transit in Singapore and then hop onto a plane to Perth.

Just an aside: Getting to Narita Airport from central Tokyo is a longwinded affair. We got onto a 340pm train to the airport, but first you must get yourself to Shibuya, Shinjuku or Tokyo station to get onto the airport express. That’s two and a half hours? Then it’s a seven-and-a-half hour flight to Singapore. We slept for five hours and then it was a five-hour flight to Down Under. Rough eh?

I discovered one thing on this long ride – I miss English language TV and movies more than I thought. When Mr. D is in town, we’ll watch The Shield, an LA cops and robbers show about corrupt policemen, but if he’s not, I tune into Japanese TV, which I hardly understand except for the weather report. Oh and when Janet Jackson came to visit a talk show – I could understand what she said. So I loaded up chick flicks, comedies and Discovery Travel & Living. I should’ve slept more but I was greedy.

Back to my original post: Perth is a slow city. It reminded me of Adelaide. The car we rented was on its way but Mr. D had a conference call to make so the wait was inevitable. Then there wasn’t a detailed road map in book form, like what all rented cars normally have, but we were given a “Sorry about that!” We got a tiny paper map of Perth city instead. After a few wrong turns and three hours later, we found our way to Joondalup, which is in North Perth.

Nothing much was open and nobody was about except for cars on the road. Even Mr. D’s friends, Ken and Andrea, said: “It’s fucking horrible here.” Just a bit of history: Ken and Andrea moved to Perth to try their hand at running a pool business. They are not going to stay here forever. Apparently, Perth has the highest rate of teenage suicides and the suburbs are so quiet you can’t even park on the road.

Despite these comments, I still had a great time. We had Thai for dinner and drank copious amounts of booze. Mr. D reached his ‘invincible’ stage where he started dancing with their Rottweiler, Sascha, and asked for numerous vodka and baileys top ups.

This is a picture of us before we zoomed off to Margaret River for Josh’s wedding.

A new face

After a week of non-stop travelling, I felt exhausted and blurry since my return on Tuesday night. Today is a public holiday in Japan – it’s called Culture Day. Will find out more on this. The last day off we had here was Sports Day. Go figure. Anyway, I had a long, deep sleep and feel extraordinarily refreshed. No jet lag and the cobwebs in my brain have been shaken off.

This amazing snooze made me think, “I’m sick of my multiply blog.” Though for sentimental reasons, I still want to keep it – it’s got some great memories there. But the template looks frumpy and it hangs a little more often than I like. I figured there were too many pages for this network to handle seamlessly, so I made this my new thinking and spewing space. More importantly, a new chapter deserves a blog of its own. It may be premature of me to coin this as a blog about Japan because I might move again, who-knows-where next…But that’s an excuse to start yet another new blog.

Since my arrival in Tokyo a month ago, this is the first time I have the entire day to myself. No Japanese classes, no appointments…and no Mr. D (aka the kangaroo in question, for those who are wondering who the hell is my flat mate right now). I miss my honey buns but it’s also a golden opportunity to surf the Internet like a demon (we only have one outlet for broadband, unfortunately). I’ll also revise my Japanese, which sorely needs attention after missing four days of school, reply all my emails, compose new blog entries, research the job front and ways to earn some pocket money on the side. Maybe an afternoon nap and a quick clean up of the shoebox, too. Yippee.