Chris and I began our round-the-world trip with a tandem vomit in the pre dawn Wells st backyard. Many tears ( on my part), car ride, breakfast and check in later we were in the air & consuming as many new release movies and whatever airline food we could get our hands on (yes it can taste like shit but its free free freeeeeeeee).
Touching down at Narita airport, Tokyo, our plane cruised past a sign immaculately displaying the towns name - complete with plane crash debre spread carefully around it. We moved quickly through a swine flue paranoid customs ( I had the sniffles but told no one) and packed ourselves plus our 50kg of luggage into an advertisement soaked train to Tokyo.
Climbing out at Asakusa train station felt like climbing Everest, there is a definite lack of lifts, and I think we took every set of stairs possible. After roughly 50 requests for directions and much winding, turning and crossing back through the tiny shop crammed streets we finally made it to our accommodation - Sakura hostel.
Once we checked into our private double room ( with the added benefit of 6 bunk beds crammed in) we headed out to the previously spotted restaurant 'Mr Danger' to consume a meat orientated meal. Apparently Mr Danger is a very very strict carnivore. On the way home we paused for a tourist shot in front of a neon lit hotel complete with bubbling water feature. A laughing local took the shot for us and all the locals riding past called out. No Tokyo's not that friendly, we were unknowings posing in front of a love hotel!
The next day we wandered the rainy streets of Asakusa, stumbling upon some homeless people by the river who were engrossed in studying the largest library I've seen outside a building. Again braving the Tokyo subway system/maze we headed for Shinjuku and lost ourselves in the seemingly infinite floors of the man department stores. The best by far was 'Don Quixote' (Not sure of the link between the story and the store). Everything from USB humping dogs to all the imaginable lengths of fake eyelashes were crammed into the shiny overspilling isles.
A little more wandering and we found ourselves in the next suburb over - which happened to be the red light district. Pre-recorded orgasms called out to us from every doorway nd men in suits with amazing hairstyles seemed to be the only other occupants of the district.
We decided to lift our standards a little and head to the suburb of Ginza, and upon arrival realized we had lifted them too high. Amazing buildings were designed to reflect whatever out-of-our-price-range label dwelled within. we looked but dared not enter any.
The next day due to bad weather and huge waves the ferry to Niijima was cancelled. Chris was missing the sporting life so we left rain soaked Tokyo to find an indoor snowboarding centre about 1 1/2 hours away in the town 'Tsurumi'. One glance at the ice-packed runs told me it wasn't for beginners, so I positioned myself in the viewing room with a big steaming cup-noodle-soup (one of our staple food groups while in Japan). Chris had a great time throwing himself down the half pipe and we returned to Tokyo happy - and with one purple & bruised bum.
The next morning a 6 we were told that the ferry was running, however seats were limited and you had to book at the port. We did a mad dash (as much as it was possible at that hour/with our luggage/with no breakfast/with no sleep [damn you lusty teenagers in our dorm]). After being thrown into despondency when told seats to Niijima were sold out, we were very relieved to learn that by taking another ferry and changing at an alternate island we could still go. Our bright pink and white striped jet boat (stallion) sped us across the waters and had the best audio announcement I have ever heard. Apparently the marine life is abundant and plentifull around the islands, however our super awesome jet boat is so amazingly special & super fast that we might just hit a dolphin or two so 'please buckle up'. Cue ominous thumps and bumps for the rest of the ride.
When we arrived at Niijima we discovered that due to bad weather we had actually docked on the opposite side of the island from the main town. Somehow everyone except us knew this and had a lift, so Chris began asking around for some help.
Enter goddess like saviour tourist information center super friend. With tetris like accuracy she somehow packed Chris and I, with our luggage, into her miniature car with son & dog in the front set. When she dropped us off at the camp ground she presented us with massive bento boxes and treats, more food than we had consumed in the past 3 days.
Our campsite was incredible. A huge, luscious sloping field surrounded by forest and the best surf beach (Habushi) right across the road. BBQ's everywhere, heaps of sinks with detergent and scrubbers, well lit, and with a big central kitchen area with a table, pots and pans, more BBQ's and sinks, and a large supply of chopsticks. All for free!
Once we had set up our tent/home for the next two weeks we walked into town on a mission to hire bicycles. Niijima has a population of 1500 and you can ride everywhere within 15 minutes. However, it can seem like a ghost town. Those 1500 people hide themselves pretty damn well, and after entering 4 seemingly deserted bike paces we discovered you actually had to call the owner to come and help you. He arrived, took one look at us, and announced that all of these bikes were too expensive for us, but he had some back at his workshop (the local garage) which wold fit our budget. Chris' bike was aptly named 'The Simple'.
We retired to our campsite to drink with two lads from Tokyo, two of the only 3 people who briefly camped there during our two week stay. We nicknamed our only other constant neighbor 'The Hermit'. He was quite young, incredibly quiet and totally mysterious. The Tokyo lads informed us that he had said he was staying until August. That is the most we would ever find out about him. No one in town knew of him and whenever we saw him he would refuse to make eye contact. Most days he would put the stand down on his bike out the front of his tent, then balance, for hours curled up in a little ball on the seat.
Our days in Niijima quickly fell into a pattern. An early start as the sun rose at 5:30 and the local wildlife would never allow us to sleep in past seven. Chris would do a quick surf check and I would make some breakfast, usually white bread with Vegemite or cheese and tomato for a treat.
We would then head down to the local rec center. Oh holiest of holy back packing meccas this place was amazing. Free wireless and as much Japanese cable tv as you could handle. A mini bowling alley, ping pong room, and of course karaoke system. It also had an incredible play room through which we met many of the local kids and mums who seemed to be the only other people using the facilities.
Oh and the toilets! The lights would flicker on as you entered the door and slipped off your shoes to replace them with bathroom slippers (embroidered with the word 'bathroom' to prevent confusion). then a you enter a stall, an automated flushing sound would come on to ensure no one heard your shameful bowel movements. the seats were heated and here were as many buttons on the arm rest as on your average tv remote.
I think the people who worked there adopted us a you would a stray dog, they would always welcome us with confused and pittying smiles as we bounded in the door, often rain soaked and underslept.
Lunch varied but was always sourced from a local supermarket. If we were being budget conscious it was cup noodles, if we were feeling rich it was the ever exciting and saliva inducing bento boxes which held a surprise in every compartment.
Post lunch would involve a variety of activities depending on our mood/the surf/the night before. It would always involve cycling. We visited all the islands tourist attractions, rationing ourselves to only one a day so we could stretch them out over the two weeks.
Both the glass workshop/gallery and the town's museum were in amazingly shaped blindingly white buildings. The glass works were positioned on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Inside was a display room filled with green glass (unique to Niijima) and through the door was the workshop where students would give free demonstrations of their art. They blew delicate glass bubbles and then shocked us by smashing them on the ground.
As we sat out the front examining our brochures post-glass viewing we saw Andre the giant. He waved his steak hand and sausage fingers 'I love you!' he cheerfully called out.
We had met Andre the night before at a restaurant where we were eating with our new American friends Danny & Erin. Andre wasn't his real name, but that was OK because he had also given us new names. Well more specifically, he had pointed at me as we joined the alcohol soaked dinner party for the local island group's postmen. 'KATERIN (we assumed Catherine) KATERIN I LOVE YOU' he roared. Once informed I was unfortunately dating Chris he waved one of his tree trunk arms menacingly, his giant body trembling with rage 'I KILL HIM, I LOVE YOU' he thundered.
I had gotten off lightly, the Niijima postman who had originally dragged us to their table dealt with our departure by motioning fisting Erin's vagina and slapping Chris' testicles. We later discovered all island post men are renowned drunks.
The main teacher at the glass workshop had given us instructions to get to the museum, which was a giant white pyramid. Niijima's history/geology was on the bottom floor and the (joy of joys for Chris) a surf museum was above that. We learnt that originally Niijima was where exiles were sent. However, they were mainly political prisoners & as a result the island was blessed with court artists and scholars.
The surf museum had early surf boards made by locals in the 1960's , as a new board would have cost them 150 00 Yen and the average uni graduate only earnt 20 000 a month. They made them from wooden planks & set up a local surf club.
Our second night on the island we met he head of the Niijima surf club in the 80's or 'the boss' as he is known. He has his own resteraunt and while we were there Chirs struck up a conversation with some of the local surfers (this is how we met the majority of locals, surfers are quick to befriend anyone else with a wave obsession ). They invited us to join them and plied us with the local spirit Sho Chu, which tastes a little like whisky and is mixed with ice and water.
We discovered that they were all successful Niijimanties, one was a well known DJ, one on the town council, and one a famous actor ( a Tokyo girl and her partner attached them selves to our table as annoying groupy - she spent the night whispering to me how famous he was and staring at him doey eyes while her partner got incredibly drunk). The boys were visiting their friends ( one was called potato ) for a couple of days and were in the mood to celebrate. The dinner progressed into a wasabi/chillie eating contest, a sashimi prep class and much much much more sho chu. At the end of the evening they presented us with a local speciality, quarters of lobster in miso soup. To bad Chris is allergic.
While Chris was busy making friends/surfing in the afternoon I would head to the onsen. It was on a point overlooking the ocean and Niijima's main port. There were 7 different baths with varying temperatures, the natural hot spring was pumped into the central one and then flowed into the others, getting cooler as it went. I was always in the coolest, while the 6 oclock regulars (all over 60) gossiped in the hottest.
On the first night I started badly with the grey haired crew. My uncle James was interested in the seats used in Japanese showers so I tried to slyly glance at a lady showering to discover what she was using. My sly glance was unfortunately met with a full on stare, so I tried a friendly 'konichua' which resulted in a glare and the shower curtain pulled angrily across. My confidence shaken I spent the next week desperately trying to avoid all eye contact so as not to offend anyone else.
My saviour was an elderly ( but quite young for the onsen crew) lady who saw me at the supermarket grumpily making a cup of noodles. She cautiously approached.
'Are you camp?' she asked
'yes, I'm camping'
'Are you not sad?'
I smiled and blushed, 'no no, I'm not sad!'
Our friend Rob, an American teaching English a the high school, later explained that the Japanese words for sad and lonely were quite similar, so after seeing me soaking on my own for an hour each day at the onsen she had wanted to know if I was lonely.
I was actually always blissfully happy quietly contemplating my thoughts and watching the sun set over the ocean as I basked in the heat, however I made sure to say good evening to her each time after that, and through her others began to acknowledge me. My true moment of acceptance came in the form of a lolly let in my bag while I was soaking. I sucked it proudly out the front of the onsen as a badge of honour and acceptance.
Rob was our key to understanding so much about the island. the first night we met him he invited us to dine with him that week, cycling out to our campsite when he missed our calls to confirm a night. We decided to cook Mexican together at Rob's apartment, and he invited some of the teachers from the high schools. Ken was a New Zealander here for ten years and married to a Japanese lady with a baby on the way. 'Mr K' , 'Sugi' and two female teacher combined to make a great dinner party. We drank Ken' sho cho which he had infused with local mulberries, and the girls fed us (laughingly) one of the local specialities, fermented soy beans which smelt like foot odor and looked like they were bound together by mucus.
As the night progressed there was a dress up parade, ukulele sing along, swing dancing and so much food. Tacos, quesadillas, fried rice, local fish, dried squid and more chocolate than you could poke a chocolate covered stick at.
The first night we had met Rob we had been going from restaurant to restaurant and finding them all closed or full. In their typical Japanese way everyone was overly polite about it, crossing their arms 'no deal' style, but then smiling and presenting us with fresh apples as compensation.
Rob told us to head to the 'Puff n'Puff' which we had dismissed earlier based on the name and mural depicting a quarter moon smoking. Rob informed us that Yoishi, the owner, was the only openly gay guy on the island. As soon as I entered the restaurant I felt right at home. Pictures of sultry 1940'/1950's actresses and singers were on the walls and the stereo. Above and around the bar were pictures of naked men, one with a love heart sticker over his bum crack.
Yoishi's menu was limited, you chose between pasta or pizza, however his boyfriend in Tokyo meant he had ingredients not found elsewhere on the island and Rob said he never cooked the same thing twice. the meal was heavenly and Yoishi playful, I was on cloud nine.
After dinner we got talking with the only other couple there (our hermit briefly came and went but studiously ignored us so doesn't count) . the woman was a surfer and so of course loved Chris. We were discussing the impending rain and she offered us rooms in her home. We might have except she kept punctuating every sentance with her hands clasped and an almost orgasmic 'PLEEEEEEEEEEEAAAASE'.
'PLLLLEEEEAAAAAAASEEE you must stay with me PLEEEEEEEEAAAASEEEE no money PLLLEEEEEEEEEAAAAASSSSSEEE'.
After deciding that we couldn't keep a straight face in her presence long enough to inhabit a room with her, when the rain did hit (and oh boy did it hit, 42 hours non-stop) we checked into the Habushi Surf Station hotel.
Oh the beds, hot water, tv, kitchenette, it had it all! We ate our cup noodles in blissful silence mesmerized by the talking box . Our favourite show 'You gotta Quintet' taught kids' about music through muppets. Two incredibly expensive nights later (Chris actually got a discount as he looked so shocked when presented with the bill) we emerged with the sun and returned to camping.
the only other natural disaster that befell us while camping occurred one windy day. Returning form an outing Chris rushed ahead of me to grab his surfing gear. When I arrived at the entrance to our field I heard him yelling my name. I ran to our site to discover our tent had flipped over onto the BBQ, with all my luggage and our food and bedding inside. There was no point reconstructing it as the gale force winds rushing up the slope meant we would have to move it next to some trees to create a windbreak. We simply pulled out the poles and picked up the whole damn lot, struggling every meter against the wind to set it up again. If you stood at the top of the field on that day and jumped into the air you felt like you could almost fly.
Next to the campsite was one of the tow skate parks on the island. With a population of 1500 Niijima has 4 skateboarders and two skate parks. Actually only 3 skaters as one is really a 'moll' and barely ever attempts a trick but rather sits and smokes while drinking iced tea and cheering on the others.
Taku, the main skateboarder Chris befriended was incredibly excited to have a new skateboarder on the island. He took Chris to the half pipe his friend had built in his grandparents back shed. the walls were adorned with skateboards and apart from meeting some local wildlife in the form of a spider as big as your fist, Chris enjoyed breaking his body on the equipment.
As a result of said fun Chris was late meeting me at the onsen. Our friend, christened 'Old Jim', let Chris know I was already there in his usual fashion. Half standing from his plastic chair, belly bulging, he would call out 'HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY! HOOOOOOOOOOOY! (insert Japanese sentence) VICTORIA ONSEN!!' Apparently I had also been given the name Victoria while on the island.
We had met old Jim on our second day. He was sitting out the front of his shop/home with his bbq fired up, already entertaining a Norwegian boy and Tokyo girl. He called us over to feed us what he had caught that day and to direct a constant stream of conversation at us, none of which we could understand. When we asked other locals about him all anyone could say was that he was a really nice guy. No one knew anything else about him, just that he would always feed whoever was around when he was cooking, and that he loved to give lifts in his old beat up pannel van. Chris and I would ride past him 2 or more times a day and everytime he would call out to us 'HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY!' and gesture to the seats beside him.
Other than 'my' onsen the only other public one was at a hotel which offered 'hot sand baths'. I decided one windy day to check it out while Chris was (again) surfing). Upon arival I was dressed in a big kimono and lead by my two female attendants into the sand room. It was as hot as a sauna and there was what looked like a kid's swimming pool filled with hot, black sand. They had dug a shallow trench for me with a towels where my head was to rest and another for my hips. Once I lay down they covered me in a sand giving the sensation of being slowly crushed. One of the ladies gave me instructions a s best as she could, then told me I would be in thee for 50 minutes. I panicked slightly and tried to clarify, however the answer was lost in translation.
They left and I was alone in my almost sufocating sand bath. She had said that if I got too hot I should stick out one hand. By the end of 100 minutes I had both hands and both feet well abouve the sand. As I lay there sweat was cascading down my face and I was starting to feel woozy. I began to worry and watch the clock, how could anyone endure this for 50 minutes? I was sure I would pass out. Then like a beakon of light and goodness my older attendant appeared to tell me the 15 minute treatment was over - not 50!!
Relieved I tried to sit up (which is surprisingly difficult when covered in hot sand) and I swear that when I finally made it upright, at least a glass of sweat fell from my kimono. Stumbling into the bathroom I showered and then in the change room discovered that they did not provide a towel. I tried to subtly dry myself with my un-needed swimmers but felt the lady next to me glancing at me questioningly. To my relief she finally unburdened herself, to tell me that there was an onsen in the next room which I was suposed to use after my sand bath. Gleefully I emerced myself in the heat for another 20 minutes, emerging to an empty changeroom where I was free to dry myself with the rug on the floor.
There was antoher town on the island , Wakago, who's port Chris and I had originaly docked into. On Danny and Erin's last day we decided to explore it. We had to get a lift with their hotel owner as you couldn't walk or bicylcle through the multi million dollar tunnel that connected the two towns (who the heck funded it? about 50 cars a day maximum used it...).
We got dropped of at the beach, which was small with small waves. Chris and Danny (both obsessive surfers) imediately decided to throw themselves in. The weather not being amazing, Erin and I decided to head into the main part of town. We hadn't thought it was possible for a town to appear more deserted than Niijima, but here it was. It was like walking around a place that had just been hit by the plague or something. As we walked the silent streets we only saw tfour other people, three of them shop keepers. Even the school was completely silent.
The one person we did talk to was a policeman. On the whole island of Niijima there are 17 policeman and not even the local could tellus what they did. 'What do they do?' our friend Anna said throwing her hands in the air when we asked her one day. ' No one knows what they do. there is no crime here.' Chris and I would leave our bags in our bicylce baskets and wander around town, we never locked our tent, and we never ever saw any crime. The police station, the biggest and flashiest building on the island just stood there, with the shinniest flashiest cars lined up out the front, and nothing to do.
Danny and Erin left after Wakago and some bakery treats (oh the bakery, oh glories of glory, fresh hot bread can seem truly amazing after a cold camping morining), however Chris and I still had over a week left on the island. Through the remaining days and nights we amassed a group of friends. Yoshi, Anna and Dave (surfers), Rob and Ken (teachers), Taky and Kay (skateboarders).
On our last night on the island we decided to all meet at Nihombashi for a farewell dinner. We had a good mix of locals and foreign translators which allowed the conversation to flow relatively freely. Yoshi & Anna were asked to order and tried to freak us out by ordering an island special of garlic fried chicken cartlidge. Little did they know it's my favourite part of a chicken, I ate the whole plate!
The beers flowed freely as people came & whent. Yoshi and his guitar provided a sing a long, and when the resteraunt provided us with kareoke mikes Rob did a startingly good rendition of Eminem. Anna presented us with an increadible fruit cake, bread sticks, and hand made soap from her work. As we wobbled our way home we had a reall sense of belonging to this place in the world and a definate saddness to leave it.
We didn't say goodbye to anyone that night as they all said they would - and did, turn up to wave us off at the pier. I felt like we were stating our trip all over again.
We were thrown into Tokyo night time maddness with people and bikes crowding the streets as we struggled to again locate our hostel. As a reward for our navigational success we treated ourselves to kebabs from Saray's which we ate in silence except for the occasional apruciative noise.
We checked out of hostel early next morning and stored our baggage so we could begin our action packed day at Harujuku. On our way through the Asakusa shrin park we came across Chris' holy grail - Takoyaki. we had been searching for it ever since touch down, but had been told it was mainly a fetival food and found it hard to come by.
However there he was, amoungst the line of food carts, our Takoyaki man who promised we could achieve our goal in just three minutes. Over the next half hour I learnt exactly how to make them. The hotplate is covered with half spherical little cups which are heated and greased. Then the batter is poured in (looks kinda like pancake mix) and the fillings (octopus, ginger, onion, mystery dried fish thingy) are sprinkled over the top making what looks like a vomit pancake. The cook then cuts around each cup, and with two tiny sticks they rotate the mixture and add batter untill a lime sized ball is formed. This is then served in a plastic container ( of course - the Japanese are obsessed with packaging everything. No matter how much you fight it they will firmly smile and encase whatever you are buying). The balls are topped with Buffalo sauce, mayonase and shallots. they were definately worth the wait.
Post Takoyaki we rushed to Harajuku, getting of at the closest stop on our line and hurrying through the streets. We knew we were getting closer as the clothes shops started getting more frequent and cooler.
You don't wander up & down the main street of Harajuku, you get carried by the crowd, fighting and squeezing your way out at any shop you wish to enter. Girls in outfits which boggle the fashion mind call to you as you pass their stores and African fake goods dealers will sing out at you in competition.
We headed straight for the park, where last time I had seen an amazing array of Tokyo fruits parading their fashion. we were disapointed to find the park filled only with other confused looking tourists, cameras in hand. The kids were obviously having a day off, to bad it was the day we decided to come. The next time we checked at the end of the day a few had appeared, enough to wet the appetite but not enough to satisfy. They were all dressed in the gothic style and black was definately the colour of the day.
After our first attempt at fruit viewing we decided to visit Chris' mecca, the Carheart store. It was at the other end of town and as we moved back through the streets we were happy to see many girls dressed up for us to observe, just no photo oppetunities.
the boys at the Carheart store immediately befriended Chris and they chatted happily while I skulked around the uber cool wooden designer store. they told him about anothe shop he just HAD to visit, FTC, so we headed of to find it with promises that i would get my shopping fix afterwards.
The Carheart boys had drawn us a map, however in typical Japanese style it had very little to do with the reality of getting there. From our first horrendous serch for our hostel and through every request for help after that we discovered that the Japanese give very difficult to follow directions. They are always so eager to help a lost tourist and will study your map for ages making important looking gestures and noises. They will then give you 5 minutes worth of instructions, and evenwalk you the next five meters, but when they leave you youfind yourself more confused than ever.
Chris again had a great time befriending the staff and getting free stickers, but I was overwhelmed with homesickness. I missed my girl friends and my aunt, all who would have loved to be there and been able to share the day with me in a way Chris couldn't. After a cry and a hug we agreed that the rest of the day was mine to dictate and Chris would do his best to be more interested in kitch shops.
I headed straight for Kiddland, with so many cool and cute things you think all of your senses will explode trying to absorb it all. I could try to explain the wonders of that treasure box of a store, however I could never do them justice so I won't even try.
We trawled the streets some more before deciding we were famished. Sadly our budget was very tight at this time and we needed quantity for cash, which lead u to the golden arches. It was madness inside, and totally worth the horrible food to see that many young Japanese girls crammed into the one basement eating area. We chewed in silence and stared around us at all the colours of the school girl rainbow. Punk, cute, glam, they were all wedged around timy table delicately consuming their meals and always giggling. Our favourite was a girl in school uniform who had about 50 plastic encased key ring photos of male Japanese pop stars hanging from her phone.
Exhausted and over-stimulated we rushed back to our hostel to then rush to the airport, arriving only 1 1/2 hours before our flight left. That still gave us time for dinner and again we were blessed with a tiny takoyaki bar which we crammed ourselves into, enjoying as many of the hot & gooey balls as time allowed.
As our plane took off I was definately very sad to leave Japan. It had managed to be increadibly different to everything in Australia, yet still made us feel at home. All in all, an amazing start.
