It’s all the chopstick’s fault

Corruption is rife in China and with police salaries supplemented by up to 80% by bribes or tourists led in to traps, it’s clearly something that the government has had little luck getting a strangle-hold on. Having met a Chinese-born, Taiwan-immigrant and eventual Las Vegas settler, we’d discussed all manner of things; the most prevalent of which was a ruse for ensuring sleeper seats on the train from Xi’An bound for Shanghai.

The plan was as follows; head to the ticket office at the train station and present British Passport along with existing seated tickets (the closer the departure time came, the worse the idea of sitting for 14 hours seemed). Ask my “translator” to explain that a meeting was occurring the following morning, necessitating sleep. When the clerk gave expected resistance, I was to slam my fist and demand to speak with her manager. Magically, a pair of hard-sleeper seats materialised and having paid a little over the odds, it’s better than sitting in the sardine-class carriage all night. Threatening it seems, is acceptable behaviour also.

Whilst far from the luxury of a T or Z-class soft-sleeper, my six-berth hard-sleeper is comfortable enough to facilitate some slumber. Contemplating the tools I’ve just unwrapped and using to eat my 20Y train food – which is about as salty as distilled anchovies covered in a sprinkling of Malden’s sea salt – I think I’ve had a revelation. These things are ridiculously complex implements for eating the main foodstuff of Asia; rice, which actively moves as you try to pick it up. Even with a spoon, it’s the Eisenberg’s uncertainty principal of food.

With such difficult utensils for consuming rice (which I hear is actually technically a fruit), the only possible way to get a mouthful is to slurp and suck it in. It’s both an eye and ear-sore each time consumption commences; hunched over bowls of rice in order to minimise distance between nourishment and piehole, hands move quickly to extract contents. Perhaps a spoon would better serve the purpose? They do have those here, though with a lipped shape it’s scientifically impossible to fit your gaping and starving rice-abyss around it comfortably. The generally accepted behaviour of exposing mouthful of churned matter whilst speaking, and making chomping noises you might sample for a children’s TV show, will surely then revert your appetite. If you’re able to continue, watch as unwanted bones and cartilage are expelled from food gateway directly to the table. And hence these noises must have become acceptable. It’s the same with noodles; stupid dangly things that can only be eaten with a fork and a twirling motion. Invent a written language they did; but paid little attention to the need to eat.

A cascade of manners must have occurred; if slurping is acceptable then why not other bodily noises too? Drank too much pop and need to expel gas – yes, burping is fine. Itch inside your nose and need to sneeze, better out than in after all so spray over your fellow man happily. Locals are content to accommodate this behaviour and continue breathing, yet cover mouths with handkerchiefs when walking along a busy road. Last time I checked, diesel fumes didn’t carry airborne viruses. I’ve seen things that make Glastonbury toilets seem clean in comparison; watched as flying hacked oral projectiles paint the floor in varying shades of Khaki colours; held my breath as locals have opened mouths or exposed armpits that surely must harbour the same kinds of bacteria that schoolchildren grow in Petri dishes. It’s utterly horrible and indescribably disgusting and it all started with a stupid pair of wooden sticks.

Whereas in the Western world, if something isn’t fit for purpose; it’s redesigned, reengineered or improved upon until it is – here things have remained static for thousands of years. How’s that for world-leading class and excellence. Perhaps it’s jealousy on my part; I’m new to the world of difficult eating. I am, however, practiced enough to command these timber tools of misery better than many friends I’ve made. It doesn’t need a great deal of dexterity to direct a knife and fork; we even bequeath toddlers with plastic replicas before they can speak. Hand over a pair of twigs of banging and all you’d have is a generation of drummers.

Stuffed in the middle I’m considering those chopsticks again; if they might serve as an impaling instrument of doom to quieten the snoring, farting, snorting, stinking male to my left. I’m not convinced, a knife and fork would far better suit my purpose; that’s not Western arrogance, just a simple fact.

Dropped as a baby

A long long time ago, in a country far far away. The evil Emperor has commissioned an Army of clones that will help to ensure his security in the afterlife. Impossibly tall (for the time), 1.80m statues will be constructed in the thousands, along with weapons, horses and armour to be placed underground for precisely no one to see, never to be heard of again and a complete waste of time. That is, had a farmer not randomly discovered it all. The government moved in swiftly to construct a site of tat shops to dodge, restaurants and cafes to ignore and tourists the world over to drool over.

In all honesty the Teracotta Warriors has thus far made for the most interesting excursion in China. With three pits of varying size, there’s at least a few hours of visiting time on offer – more if you can manage some pictures in the deliberately dimly lit and tripod-banned areas. It reminds me of the salty peanuts in pubs ploy – it keeps the punters coming after all. Good thing that pits 2 and 3 offer convenient shelves for propping camera up then, so that long exposures are facilitated. Either way you look at it though, other than giving the people something to do with their lives rather than start wars or have babies, let’s be honest this is utter madness; the evil Emporer must have been dropped as a baby.


Head to the museum offering plenty to view and realise shortly after entering that – much like everything in China – it’s all replicas, copies and fakes. I’d prefer to watch the excavation work in progress and see how they go about extracting the pottery from the now mainly collapsed holding cells. It’s a shame to see that they’re about as hard-working as British road-workers, with too many people standing around twiddling thumbs, but getting paid nonetheless.


I suggest spending more time in the city; once you’ve succeeded in avoiding all the numerous tourist traps and con-artists roaming the street. The 14K wall that surrounds the old city is more-or-less a perfect square, though in incredible humidity it’s not something I fancy running, so I’ll rent a bicycle for the tour instead. With 100 minutes to circumnavigate and a 5Y chargeable for every additional 5 minutes, you’d better get a move on; but it does make for some interesting sights and a relaxing jaunt.

It’s a fairly modern city, which I can’t help but feel has benefitted from such a large tourist-drawing attraction. Whilst not worth sleeping on the floor for fourteen hours to visit, there are plenty of shopping opportunities and other sights, such as the bell towers and “Muslim” street. Plenty of tat for sale there if you want to fill any gaps remaining in your bag. Come the evening and head toward the south gate, finding the main drinking street for all to enjoy a beer or nine whilst watching the Football and neglecting to converse. Most require a minimum purchase of bottles, drinks or coinage paid up front so be prepared to pay what ended up being London prices for Tsingtao; bargain.

I can’t believe it; he’s using the same broom

I’m currently brooding over the day’s events, like a brooding mother Hen in full-on egg brood mode that studied brooding at Oxford. Twenty minutes more and I’d have made the run back from the hotel to the subway station exit C, reuniting with travel buddy and jumping on the subway Line 2 bound for Military Museum. With just enough time remaining, we’d have managed the ten minute walk to Beijing West Railway Station and caught our train bound for Xi’An. Running with a 14.9 kilo bag dangling from my right shoulder, bashing in to locals as I panted back to the subway and glancing at my watch; I knew there was little hope at the time. In actuality, those twenty lost minutes at Simatai – whether fending off tatchants, taking a few more shots or waiting for the next cable-car cabin to come around – meant biting one huge bullet and slumming it on the floor for the night: I missed my train.

The Chinese railway has three main classes of sleeper train: K, T and Z in ascending order of luxury. I’m currently sat on the floor of the T-class sedentary carriage number 2 and with fourteen hours to kill, there’s plenty of time to count heads. The sign at either end states no more than 126 passengers are permitted, though ensuring as much cash is extracted as possible from punters, we were forced in to purchase of “standing” tickets for transit this evening. One hundred and sixty or thereabouts, is what I can see looking up and down the carriage, with some 3-seat berths occupying 5 lucky bodies and the rest either standing or sat crumpled on the floor; legs somehow wedged underneath the privileged seated customers.

Tiredness and I mix about as well as opposing pHs, with both examples generating a great deal of heat when combined. And having spent the previous two hours playing “I-spy”, it’s now approaching midnight. Yesterday I entered the GPS coordinates for Xi’An Railway Station in to my watch and it currently tells me that we’re heading in a straight line with around 5 hours till arrival. I’m hopeful, though I do seem to remember the previous tickets stating a 12 hour journey.

Come 4am and I’m about ready to become a “mushroom cloud laying mother fucker, mother fucker”, as the Serotonin levels have reached maximum output. Try as I might it’s impossible to sleep on the floor, with locals pushing and barging past to get to the toilet every twenty minutes, tapping me on the shoulder as they step over, or needing to stand in order to let the trolley-man through selling noodles. So I’ll try to stay awake instead and check my watch again. At one point I wondered whether we’d ever get any closer than 424km, with the compass actually pointing in the opposing direction to Xi’An. It’s pointless and futile; much like staring at the microwave when impatiently hungry and tapping your finger – it won’t cook any faster. I’m scanning through settings hoping that the “speed” display gets to something like the Shinkansen, instead of a paltry 80km/h and the “dist. to dest.” drops faster the harder my blood-shot eyes stare at it.

As the sun rises it’s a race to hit the lavatory; if it can be called such a thing. Having fasted for the entire night to reduce visitation frequency to an absolute minimum and with parched mouth, carpeted teeth and grimey hands in tow; it’s my turn to step over bodies and find the queue. My advice is to get there early; should the water supply run out (and it will rapidly), you’ll be forced to use a broom wedged in the corner to remove stubborn log formations. It’s as disgusting as it is amusing (you simply have to laugh at this point), although worse still is what was yet to come.

Back to my glorious floor space, there are only a few hours to go. Most people are awakening and heading to the boiling water tap in order to fill their noodle pot; ignoring any kind of safety by clambering over people with scolding hot water, narrowly missing spills that would surely cause disfiguring burns should any mistake be made. Just add water for instant noodles? I’ll add some water to your balls in a minute, if you don’t fuck off and leave us alone.

With less than a hundred kilometres to go the goal is in sight. And good thing too as most people are awake; engaging in mobile phone and shouting conversations from one end of the coach to the other. It’s time to stand again as the guard is approaching sweeping the floor; glancing down I’m in shock and quick to stand up, pulling my buddy with me. I can’t believe it; he’s using the same broom from the toilet to collect rubbish. The sooner this nightmare is over the better; London Underground at rush hour in the height of Summer will forever seem a cakewalk in comparison.

The fit one is used as bait

Beijing, China

Red Alert number one! I’m back in China for the second time, planning to see the major sites in the Northern part of this behemoth rice paddy. Stepping from the ‘plane at the airport, it’s clear where I am – already the scams have started and inflated prices just for me (shucks you shouldn’t), as “Lao Wei” is spoken toward me with distain in their tone. It’s every man, woman and child for himself as barging and pushing people – not raised by parents but dragged up instead – refuse to follow any kind of order or manner and invade my personal space so closely it’s borderline sexual harassment.

I’ve my shields up and at full charge; thankfully locals are in front of me queuing (and I use the term lightly), for bus tickets to town. So I can see what they’re paying and that makes me less of a target; 15 Yuan to take me from the Airport directly to hotel and I think it’s actually rather cheap. Once checked-in and having paid an extortionate £1.20 to print off my hotel voucher, I’m off to explore sites.

Olympics 2008! The Beijing Bird’s Nest! The biggest Olympic Park ever! Well no, actually it’s more of a disused sports ground now, where little or no attention was paid in foresight to the end of the Olympic proceedings. It now serves merely as a tourist attraction; so why don’t the Beijing locals use it for sport you ask? To practice and get some exercise in? Because the Chinese are about as energetic as stoned Sloths and with most wearing sport apparel that never actually sees cardio-earned sweat, an ironic bunch too.

I’m fairly certain the area was built simply to be named the “largest” facility in the world (a suspect size complex no doubt), but either way it’s a scammers delight as they swoop around your assumed rich toasted-carcass trying to sell inflated tickets. My shields are holding Cap’n and I’m buggered if I’ll be funding these useless males; too lazy to learn a skill and earn money honestly. It’s “very very far” they say to purchase the originals, and seemingly the architects designed the place to facilitate their very existence; hiding the ticket stall down a long path with not a single sign.



Instead, head to Tiananmen Square and marvel as paranoia reaches fever pitch; with an X-Ray scanner and accompanying guards placed at every point of ingress. Once you’re in, there’s very little to look at as it is quite simply; a large rectangle with an Obelisk (that you cannot reach), two beautiful propaganda statues (that are cordoned off), and an enormous screen displaying images and blaring sounds that any Doctor of brainwashing would be proud. The numerous guards dotted around stand ludicrously still for random periods of time and also facing in random directions; for no apparent random reason, which I assume is a sign of respect to Uncle Mao, whose picture hangs across the road at the entrance to the Forbidden City.


Entering the aforementioned, I’m a little surprised having to pay almost 9 quid. That’s some serious cheddar for what effectively is a fractal of architecture, where the repeating tedium of design has little to display except poor maintenance and fading colours. Ooh but look, there’s the room where the King and Queen got busy. And there’s another building housing yet more dusty armchairs and ornaments. And another. And another. To the end and a small park begs your attention for about the same amount of time that it takes to – walk straight through – so all in all, around half an hour will do the trick. So far my shields are still holding, but my enthusiasm levels are rapidly depleting. I need Geordie to see what magic he can work.


Shields down to 89% captain, I’m being bombarded by girls from Risa and whilst some are seriously attractive it has to be said; in general the Northern Chinese are horridly fugly. The few hotties that do exist all seem to have been recruited as part of scamming groups, who usually approach with the ruse that they would like to “practice Engrish”. That sounds great, but at an average of 7.3 seconds between first glance and first stroke of arm, and 12.9 seconds to say “you’re so handsome” (these are measured averages from the sheer amount trying it on), I’m pretty sure there’s something awry here. There’s no “boom boom” on offer; this would be the tea, coffee, beer or food scam.

The fit one is used as bait, with the other one or two (always at least a pair), most likely better English speakers but far less attractive (who’d have thunk that one), and able to try and manipulate a few hundred (or thousand if you’re unlucky enough), Yuan from your wallet for a simple cuppa. I’ve read up and aint no punk, sukka so my advice is to simply state that you’ve “heard about too many scams like that and I’m sure you’re all lovely and wouldn’t dream of taking my money, would you?” Deflector shield activated and they’ll bounce away like the balls on a Newton pendulum. The alternative is to speak something other than English – try German or Afrikaans for example; works a treat too.

So thus far my experiences in China have been less than impressive to say the least. I’ll skip over any details of the Summer Palace, which is actually an enormous park of silly attractions (the marble boat being the biggest waste of money ever to have been signed off), and lack of signage, making it easy to get lost and aggravated at the 10Y “Map of Uselessness”. The Temple of Heaven is inside a Park, which is so memorable I’ve completely forgotten what it’s all about. And that’s about all the major attractions that Beijing has to offer. But wait! There’s more? Something about brick layers and Mongolians I think.

Indeed, if you really want to feel the widening of back passage, head to Simatai to visit the Great Wall. Pay 4Y on the tube to get to the bus station and then 15Y to head out of Beijing, 50K North East. Pay 200Y to a taxi driver to take you a further 60K NE to the site of the park, which would be better served by construction of say – a train line – to better extract cash from overweight Californians that can barely lift their own bodyweight up the hundreds of steps to the mountain-top. Speaking of their weight, it’s a wonder the 30Y cable car is still able to function; with this much rust I’m already both brown and yellow from the worry that a major component is heading for imminent failure and looking down; the drop will mangle me in to a rather wretched mess.


Taking me half way up towards this part of the wall, which according to all “guides” is the “best” place to see it, I’m then expected to hike the remaining half, or take a pully car, which costing another 30Y is a little steep in both price and elevation and only takes me a further half of a half way to the wall. Any more of this exponential commuting and I’ll never reach it. The final hike of a few hundred steps is marred by tatchants (my slang lingo for tat-merchants), who thankfully are rather slow off the mark and can’t keep up. Which is good as once at the top, except for the wonderful view, there’s very little to see; on to Xi’An.

Finest damn brick layers

I’m no architect, just calling what I like as I see it. The millennium building just down the road from my hotel is impressive and must have taken some care and attention to erect. That’s modern day computer-aided design, which comes with ease compared to the grit and hard graft of centuries past.

The Chinese surely stand out as the best builders in the world. Not in terms of design and certainly not quality, more their brute force approach; the finest damn brick layers the trade’s ever seen. Here in Suwon, my OCD for lapped routes is appealed to greatly; the perimeter of the Fortress covering 7.2K. Although I hadn’t made it all the way around when initially visiting, it looked easy enough for a few laps.

Around “two hours” to walk the circumference according to the ladies at the information desk, though being just over a measured 5K course, it’d be more like a quarter of that when running. And so I set off from the tube for a 24 stop, 45 minute journey from hotel to the nearest station, finally requiring a mile’s hike to reach the start.

My new watch is great; locate a place on Google Earth and enter the coordinates in to its memory. It’s then a case of telling it to point me in the right direction and follow the arrow. It’s difficult to get lost this way and with accuracy down to a few metres, no need to worry about random spasms of say, a TomTom. Departing at just before 6pm, I’m ready to go for just after 7; its rapidly approaching dusk and I hope the two water bottles will suffice. One I hide behind a tree at the start for the second lap or end, should I need it and the other – as is typical fashion – comes along for the ride.

The wrong shoes; I should have worn my cross-country ones. The wrong lighting; the flat paths are fully lit, the break-neck stairs lacking. I do my best pouncing from one large rock to the next, but am always glad to reach a flat section. Along with me for my run is Mr. Sod, who is busily recounting why photography would have been fantastic at night had I brought my kit instead of running. But his words are moot; photo opportunities are rife when running and I’m now accustomed to the disappointment.

The end of the lap and having traversed the road intersecting an entrance temple, I am presented with the steepest climb in history. It’s all stairs and try as I might, simply impossible to continue lifting my body from the ground with each step; I’m forced to hike. Upon realising it’s a paltry 5K lap, I resolve for at least another, which would have been the second of three had I not met an English student wishing to practice; a runner himself.

10K around the wall of Hwaseong Fortress

Trying to force-feed religion to me

South Korea




From a very timely barrier opening as my “limousine” bus speeds me from the airport to city centre (a delay of a few tenths of a second more and we’d have smashed through it), to the culinary delight of pickled and spicy vegetables; it’s clear I’m half way between China and Japan. There’s an interesting mixture of cultures here, a permanent thorn placed firmly in the side of each local in the form of the country’s divide and a plethora of American Military and Canadian English teachers taking Korean wives for themselves.


It is, however, an interesting locale and with a large portion of evangelical Christians rapping and singing their way to clinical madness – somewhere that deserves further investigation than the five days I’ve afforded myself. Wander around for a kilometre and you’ll see that the coffee crowd will certainly be kept happy with a torrent of shops to satisfy their metabolism accelerating desires; with some Starbucks located opposite each other due to demand. The remaining shops all seem to be sponsored or owned by the two dominating companies of South Korea. I’m fairly certain that just about everyone is employed by either LG or Samsung; the most notable stores including “Samsung Fashion” and the “Samsung Art Gallery”. It’s a strange economy driven by electronic giants, who regularly contort to fix the prices of certain goods.

More relaxed than Japan in terms of manners and politeness, it’s a shock to my supposedly enlightened way of holding myself of the last three weeks. I’ve struggled to drop the nod and “Hai” of Japan and keep thinking of the numbers in their language (it really is the easiest to pick up thus far), instead of attempting to learn even basic Korean. It’s a difficult language certainly, but a few days will potentially allow your ear time to adjust and pick out some of the nuances between the two. There are more questioning tones used, it sounds more aggressive – like Cantonese does when compared with Mandarin. Thankfully there’s little need to learn here, as the vast majority speak English, though in somewhat typical fashion will occasionally demonstrate shyness when conversing. I am saddened, however, by the majority American and Canadian English teachers who perpetuate such an agony-inducing accent; the whine and atrocious destruction of English must stop now.

Head to one of the five main historic attractions and don’t set your expectations too high. Nothing can possibly top the temples and shrines of Japan, which for all intents and purposes are perfectly maintained due to the people’s own love of tourism. There are, however, some similarities in design and also hints of Chinese architecture too. It makes sense considering the geographical location, though thus far the major difference with Japan and similarity with China has been a large use of green and red paint. Each awning is also protected by a specifically odd number of guardian statues; ranging from 3 to 11 with an increasing number demonstrating the significance of the building and also clearly – the space available for placement.

Until yesterday afternoon I’m embarrassed to admit that my only contact with South Korea had been through the two characters in the disappointing and time wasting “Lost” series. Though it has provided something of a basis for comparison; and being Hollywood has used the most typical elements of culture, which I must say have been seen frequently. What wasn’t made abundantly clear is the hysteria which has infected a growing number of South Koreans, and like a scourge of humanity it is a blot on the landscape.

I am referring of course to religion; specifically Christianity in this case. In 6 months and 8 countries I have never experienced a single Buddhist trying to force-feed religion to me, sing and rap it with accompanying dancers, carry plaques on front and back whilst screaming through a megaphone, or aimlessly wandering a train intimidating innocent civvies. It’s a war as far as they’re concerned; hiding under a veil of false pretence that “doing God’s work” is justification for the madness and bullying. Much like Islam, there is a sinister undertone encouraging conversion through unwritten rules; rather than respecting others and wishing only for enlightenment. For the first time since leaving London I genuinely feel angry (possibly due to my own “official” faith being the same), and as the train doors announce imminent closing, my foot is poised ready to boot a moron from the train. I’ve a burning desire to prevent any further bullying of the young girls he seems to take delight in targeting. Whether a sexual thrill for him or any other reason; I see no justification here. These kind of scum serve no purpose and contaminate the gene pool by simply existing; they must be neutered to prevent further degradation.


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Another Tower to tick off



It’s a tower with a view. I’d have to think about it for a minute to count the number of these I’ve gone up. This one is placed firmly atop a mountain and at 371m in elevation provides a scenic, if glass-shielded view of Seoul. This many towers and it’s become like the temple visiting. It’s a city; there’re some houses, offices, trees and roads. Maybe an occasional river or bridge, but let’s be honest – what else could there possibly be? Taiwan did it best; the 101 is an incredible feat of geekery and provides plenty to watch, read and learn about. Most towers provide simply a view, some tat for sale and overpriced beverages; my advice is only visit if you’re kicking heels.

According to some guide books, Koreans don’t smile much. I couldn’t disagree more if you tried to convince me that god exists. Not only that but I am treated very amiably. And I use the first person here because a few locals have stipulated that Koreans are only friendly to me because of my race, rather than it being a general attitude. For me this is a huge disappointment and makes me question motives once more. In Japan Western men are seen as fashion items to women; trophies to lord over fellow competitors. Here perhaps the same is true – the phrase goes “Chinese women take a week, Japanese a day, Korean just a KFC”. This goes some way to explaining the vast number of fugly State-side men with Korean beauties that they would simply never dream of acquiring at home. Moobs aren’t particularly attractive after all.

Going walkabout and it’s as developed and modern as anywhere I’ve seen; in some regards moreso. Thanks in no small part to the electronic giants you’ll find high-resolution touchscreen LCDs with access to all sorts of useful information in he tube stations, free high speed wireless able to pull down the latest episode of whatever poison you’re faithful to in minutes and far too many shops selling gadgetry to make any coherent sense of it all. This theme continues in to architecture and city planning, making for some good bokeh opportunities.

From 03 Jun 2010

Rivals as large as Celtic and Rangers; neither South Korea or Japan ever want to lose a baseball game when pitted against each other. Pick up an audio guide and listen as stories of atrocities committed by the “Imperialistic Japanese” are regailed. Considering the honour and nobility the country is now known for, it’s a shame that this chapter had to be written before anything was learned. It’s easy to see why Japan sided with the Germans so easily, with so many similarities and desires for world domination. Once you’ve heard all the tales of sorrow you can handle, return the PDA with GPS-activated narration to the front desk.

Japan’s swan song

Scanning through my Picasa collection of the last three weeks, I’m reminiscing on what a trip it’s been; from the Temples and Shrines, to the lacklustre portion sizes; from respectful and law-abiding citizens to women that cause spontaneous drooling; from ludicrously expensive food and drinks to making friends so easily that I never felt like a solo traveller; from crazy youth culture to sex-crazed middle-aged men – Japan is an extraordinary place and I miss it profoundly.

A brief three day stint to Sendai before returning for my flight and a day trip to the coastal town of Matsushima was a relaxing way to wrap up my tour. A short train ride away and there are sights aplenty; the islands dotted around (some connected by bridge), and Mausoleums constructed to standards so high it would take inspection with magnifying glass to pick out the detail are interesting enough, though my pick was the only Onsen in the area. Following a hike trail to the top of a nearby mountain and taking a right, there’s a small hotel where separate gender baths await brave souls. I say as much because the water is positively scolding hot, enough to not only kill, but utterly annihilate any bacteria unlucky enough to be lingering on your skin. Better still was the affable and generous locals, who were kind enough to pass a towel and share their cleaning products.




It’s not really the sights and attractions that you’ll remember when travelling, which have all been shot from just about every conceivable angle, lighting, D.O.F. and bokeh you can imagine; more the people you meet. Regardless of anyone stating “you must try the {insert food}”, or “you have to visit the {sight of many tourists}”; it’s firmly in your own hands to decide for yourself. Care not what other people recommend and stay the course; resolve to go somewhere and are told it’s not worth your while – ignore and head anyway. Have one bad experience with a pushy salesman, rude local or otherwise and suddenly the entire attraction, city or worse still – country – becomes tainted singularly. In Japan, however, I firmly challenge anyone to have a bad trip.


There’s little to dislike and everything to enjoy. It’s the safest place on Earth I’m sure of it, and with friendly people teeming everywhere, beautiful women (Oh My God, the women), what’s not to like? Well for one; the manners, which can seem a little theatrical if I’m brutally honest (one cleaning lady refusing to stop bowing and talking to me the second she noticed me exiting my room), with most shop assistants screaming “Welcome!” in your face until you acknowledge them. And for two; their approach to sport. In to Baseball (that’s Rounders for overweight adults to us Brits – and most definitely a game, not a sport), then ensure you purchase every conceivable accessory going and then adorn it all in order to play; perhaps once or twice a month. When the Japanese are in to something, boy they really get in to it.

One word of advice should you decide to head off around the world for an extended period of time – get fit. If you want to see everything on offer, expect to walk at least 5k a day, my average over the last three weeks in Japan being 9.2. You’ll need plenty more funds to facilitate the same distances covered if you even slightly resemble a Sumo; taxis and buses all cost after all.

And so it is that I’m leaving this beautiful country, though funds permitting I’d purchase another 3 week railpass and head straight back. There’s a thought; hello overdraft. The flight to Seoul is only a few hours away and already in the Airport I’m being accosted by groups of school girls, who noticed me as I entered the viewing area. It’s no wonder men fantasise over school uniforms, with these pleated skirts so short as to easily facilitate plenty of pictures heading to the nearest “up-skirt” website in your bookmarks. Perhaps my ego has been stroked somewhat and my expectations for what tourism should be set so high, that nowhere else will be able to compete. Either way I should prefer not to board my ‘plane and say さようなら (Sayōnara), and stay a little while longer. Or perhaps learn Japanese and see what opportunities there are here – The Vapors said it best; I think I’m turning Japanese.