There & Back Again

Some people travel for a year or several, some people never return home, gripped with the bug of exploration and ever seeking out new experiences. 3 months is more than enough for me. I won’t pretend that I’m some young intrepid explorer intent on scouring the far corners of the world in the pursuit of answers or enlightenment, on some sort of personal pilgrimage or quest with no regard for a steady life back home. Fuck that. I love my life back home. I was never trying to escape anything, to seek answers or ‘find myself’. I enjoyed the ritual, the daily routine. I make the most of my life back home – I work hard, play hard, have brilliant friends and a loving family. But I’ve always wanted to travel, to see the world, to visit exotic, different lands, to widen my horizons, to gain knowledge and wisdom perhaps. I’m curious. It’s nice to shake things up a bit, and 3 months on the other side of the globe with my life crammed in a backpack was a good way to accomplish that!

I’m not sure why I chose the destinations I did, or why 3 months instead of 2, or 6. I had to quit my mob, but with the most profound luck they’re hiring me back within a few days of setting foot on British soil. I’ve flown on 12 planes, traveling countless miles and playing my small part in Global Warming along the way. I’ve stayed in over 26 different beds and only twice spent the night in a room by myself – hence why I can’t wait to hop in my own cosy king-size soon! I worked my ass off for 6 months to save money for this trip, it’s cost me thousands, and it’s been worth every single penny. It’s easily been the best 3 months of my life.

If I had to pick a highlight, I couldn’t. It could be watching the sun rise from the dawn mists atop a volcano, or swimming with sharks in Karimun Jawa; trying my hand at wine tasting in the Barossa Valley, cruising the Australian coasts in Sheila, last night drunken hostel frolics, relaxing on the tranquil beaches of Magnetic Island and really getting to know Alice, or diving the Great Barrier Reef; perhaps the sumo in Tokyo or a day in geek heaven at the Game Show. It wouldn’t have been the same without the memorable company and great times shared along the way. In particular Michael, Sarah and Alice in Australia. I can guarantee that my time down under wouldn’t have been half as fun without the companionship of such a hilarious and twisted, but caring crew.

Although this adventure certainly wasn’t intended to be a soul-searching mission, I’ve definitely learnt a lot about myself and the cocoon of my daily life, and have cleared some of the fog surrounding my future. Although it’s been exhausting, most certainly not a ‘holiday’ in the traditional sense; it’s been refreshing, invigorating. It’s as if I’ve flicked a reset switch – I’m charged, ready to move onto the next stage of the bigger adventure of life. There never was a destination, I doubt there ever will be a destination, at least not reachable, but perhaps just stages and targets along the way. I’m beginning to realise that the journey itself is the destination, life’s not stationary, it’s forever in flux and if I can’t retain the momentum to satisfy my desires and ambitions then I’ll find myself stuck in a rut. Which is not the end of the world, and will happen many times in the future as it has many times before. But for the time being I’m recharged and filled with a restored vigour to get back to the real world and start tackling the challenges that lay ahead.

Ironically, whilst on the other side of the world I’ve realised a lot about back home. Things I was perhaps to close to, or stubborn or ignorant to acknowledge before. The UK is a remarkable country. Home is great. I used to bitch and moan about the weather, the public transport system, the NHS, immigration, government policies, ‘political correctness’ and Health & Safety gone mad, the apalling state of the youth of today etc, like a grumpy old bastard. Yet it was whilst on the beach on Magnetic Island one night with Alice, the sun long set and the lapping waves shrouded in darkness, that my epiphany occurred. Sure there’s a lot to winge and moan about back home, as there is anywhere. Besides it’s in the British blood to curse and complain! But even in the wonderful land of Oz I’d never trade that night on the beach with what I have back home: long, drunken nights at the Norfolk with the lads; dragging myself out to go skateboarding at the park in Marple; widdling out the solo to ‘Hotel California’ full blast with my bedroom window open; summer evenings on Werneth Low, or on the beach in Abersoch watching the sun shrink from the red sky behind the Welsh mountains; lunchtime beers with the team from work; cold, wet Winter nights snuggled in front of the toasty log fire playing Playstation and watching old James Bond movies… the list is endless. Nothing could, or ever will replace what I have back home. But it took a quarter of a year away from it all to realise what I was missing, what I take for granted every day.

I feel like I’ve learnt a lot about the lands my travels have taken me to. Yet I struggle to list such things. It’s not so much the textbook stuff you could pick up from other sources, but more ethereal, more spiritual perhaps. Poring over Wikipedia on the history and stats of Borobudur Temple in Java is no substitute for actually being there and clambering around it yourself. It’s difficult to put on paper what I’ve actually learnt about the places I’ve visited and the people and lifestyles I’ve encountered, but I’ve experienced it, it’s inside me, honest and unforgettable.

However I’ve also learnt a lot about myself, unsurprisingly. I’ve picked out flaws, areas to improve on. I’m happy with the direction my life is currently taking me (or the direction in which I’m taking my life), but before the future was foggy – I really didn’t know what lay ahead. Now I’ve had time to collect my thoughts, re-evaluate my position and form new, exciting plans and share and dicuss these plans. Some may seem trivial, like taking up drum lessons again or getting a motorbike license, but some are practically life changing; such as getting my own place, perhaps even taking out a mortgage if possible and enrolling at the Open University to work towards an English degree. Some of these plans may or may not take shape, but the seeds are planted and the ambition and intense excitement considering the future is bubbling inside, and will hopefully continue to drive me forwards.

Anyway, enough sentimental self-indulgent bollocks – I’m fucking off home, getting a take-away pizza and catching up with everyone and getting back to the real world. This journal, and in turn blog has been the most appropriate of forms through which to chronicle my adventures and record the many memorable experiences that have culminated this adventure. I’m sure they’ll make for humorous, if not shameful, reading when I look back in a few years. And to everyone who’s followed my progress or commented – thank you. The kind and constructive feedback has inspired me to keep writing and updating online. All in all many hours and a fair amount of ink has gone into scribbling, hunchback, over these pages. Whether or not it’s been worth it is irrelevant – it’s been fun, it’s been interesting and even educational. And one day my words will hopefully find their way to the bookshelves, but that’s a plan for another day!

“We have an infuriating habit of divine discontent with our performance. It’s an antidote to smugness.”
David Ogilvy

The constant pursuit of perfection – it reminds me of myself and a few others I know! I don’t think I’ll ever be content unless I’m moving, advancing, evolving, learning. Forwards and sideways is ok, as long as I’m not moving backwards.

With that brief thought, and promise, I lay down my pen, close this book and this chapter of my life, and bid farewell.

Thanks again,

Nathan

The Tokyo Game Show is an annual convention exposing the latest news, upcoming releases and technologies in the video games industry. It’s the 2nd biggest computer games event in the world, after America’s E3; and it just so happened to be rolling into town on my last weekend in Japan. My inner geek screamed to be let out, hell I’ve not touched a games console in 3 months. How could I not go?

For those of you who couldn’t care less, feel free to skip the next couple of paragraphs. The show as held at a huge convention centre outside of the city, prompting one last excuse to use my rail pass on Saturday before it ran out. In my naivety I’d grossly underestimated the expected attendance and spent over half an hour queueing among hundreds, if not thousands of other gaming fans to get into the complex. Japanese and foreigners, males and females and all ages huddled expectantly towards the main doors. The admission fee was perfectly rational and after a security check I entered through the grand entrance into a domain of pleasurable bedlam; an electric energy weaving through the air carrying the sounds of countless game trailers flashing across vast screens and the pandemonium of masses of excited geeks swarming everywhere. Casts of cosplay artists adorned the vacant spaces, posing for photos. Game developers and reps hosted talks and Q&As from exhibition stages around the hall and row upon row of all manner of games consoles lay in wait for anticipated young gamers to sample a taste of the exciting up and coming releases.

It was actually a rather intense day, believe it or not. When I wasn’t queueing to try out games or hardware I was shoved about amongst the throngs of people shuffling around the hall. It was a circus! For several hours I gawped at the latest game trailers on mini-cinema screens, mingled in lines for a fateful 5 minute sample of games that will be out before Christmas anyway and huddled with the crowds listening to presentations, not understanding a word of what was said. But I did manage to catch a presentation from Hideo Kojima (a bit of a personal hero) and the Konami crew, on the up-and-coming Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker. I still didn’t have the faintest clue what was said, but at least I was there!

Another tiring day led to an evening on the couch watching TV, which led to a long sleep and a full day, my last day, of doing pretty much fuck all. It may seem absurd that I spent my final day in Japan slobbing out on the couch, and perhaps it is. But for nearly 2 weeks I’ve flown about Tokyo, Kyoto and Osaka, absorbing, exploring and learning as much as I could be bothered to about this fascinating country. Upon my return to the capital, aside from the TGS I’ve bestowed little inclination to explore any more. Part of me wants to avoid spending money for the sake of it, but more than anything it’s because I’ve seen and done all I care to see and do. I’m tired. It’s simply a matter of counting down the hours till I return home.

I’ll surely miss Japan. I’ve had a wonderful time here; it’s been a truly enlightening experience and a fantastic place to end and evaluate my travels thus far. I’ll miss it’s definitive idiosyncrasies: the extremely polite but shy people with their quaint mannerisms; the multi-storey zoos of technology and manga and the avenues of light and neon; the wacky street fashion and youth culture, the torrents of abstract teens drooling over their mobile phones and handheld games consoles; the explicitly punctual train and subway networks; the electric heated toilet seats (that’s right!); the sweet little shrines found in the oddest and unexpected of places, and so much more…

2 weeks is by no means enough time to get to know Japan, it’s not even a handshake. But I’ve at least dabbled in a weird and wonderful world that has interested and intruiged me for many years, my cravings satisfied, for now. I don’t doubt that I’l be back, whether in 4 years or 40. Japan is far away and there’s a lot more waiting in store for me elsewhere around the globe, but this country is simply too god darn appealing to close off for good. So maybe next time, when I’m in the neighbourhood, I’ll stop by.

But now I’m going home, laving the land of the rising sun and returning to the west. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to it. In 24 hours I’ll be reciting tales of my adventures and dolling out the souvenirs. I can’t wait.

Yesterday was possibly my favourite day yet in Japan. All the homesick blues I’ve been feeling were swiftly erased, now replaced with the exciting notion that I’ll indeed be back home sooner than I care to realise, and starting to execute some of the many various plans that I’ve formed in my head over the last 3 months. In an odd way, this trip is merely the start of an even bigger journey when I return home. I’m not entirely sure what triggered this slight epiphany, but yesterday was indeed a good day.

I arose early; more than anything due to the hot sun blazing through the window, and left for Osaka. By half 10 I was off the trains and meandering around the grounds of the Osaka Castle Park, a beautiful area made even better by the great weather. For a small fee I entered the renovated castle itself, rather a majestic building, that housed a museum of it’s history. The museum itself proved irrelevant as I didn’t understand a word of any of the hieroglyphics on the plaques and I didn’t particularly care anyway. The views of Osaka city from the top floor balcony were, however, well worth the admission fee.

After a pleasant morning exploring the castle grounds I caught a train to the Tennoji area in the south of the city and through the day gradually made my way the several miles north back to Osaka station where I’d started; completing nearly a full circle of the city. Not bad for a days work/walk, but Christ did my feet and hips let me know about it! I’m surprised I could crawl out of bed this morning.

I struggled to suppress the urge to spend money; Osaka is a fantastic city for breaking the bank. My only spent pennies went on coffee, a spot of arcade gaming (come on – when in Japan!) and some last souvenirs. I drooled over guitars and effects pedals in the many large music stores and somehow restrained myself from the all-you-can-eat ‘Viking Restaurant’. For whatever reason the many hours of gleeful window shopping put me in a very content mood, prompting imaginary shopping lists for the first pay cheque when I return home!

Osaka is a rather beautiful city, as I tend to find is the case with many cities built on the water. It’s clean, green and fairly spacious but packs a lot into a fairly small space. I could happily spend another day there but I know, without a doubt, that I certainly made the most of my short time in the city.

Today was what I refer to as a ‘throwaway’ day. My body couldn’t take another day of trekking, or bike-riding, and I didn’t particularly care to see any more of Kyoto – a city I feel I’ve already exhausted in 2 days. So I whiled the time away in the sun in the Imperial Palace Gardens with a John Grisham novel, packed and snacked and made my way to the station to board my bullet train back to Tokyo, where I now sit comfortably, watching small towns and villages blur by and the distant mountains fade to silhouettes as the sun settles down behind me. Japan surely is a beautiful country; you see when you escape the cities. So was Australia, so was Indonesia.

But nowhere quite beats back home!

I arrived in Kyoto early yesterday afternoon and eventually, after quite a struggle, found my accommodation; a cramped, wood-paneled little affair in what I gathered was quite out of the centre of town. It was dead, the facilities aren’t the best and didn’t give me the best vibes. In retrospect it’s not a bad place, it’s actually quite cosy but I suppose I was just in a bad mood at the time.

After dumping my bags I grabbed a complimentary city map, marked a route, and hit the town. Both today and yesterday the weather’s been hot and muggy, a terrible combination that does little to raise one’s mood. I headed for ‘Ninjo’ Castle, about 20 minutes south of the hostel, and wandered around the grounds and main buildings. It’s a fantastic structure; I tried to dispel the crowds of tourists and imagine I was a ninja creeping round, hiding between screen doors and in the thick-beamed rafters! Beside my imaginary games I started thinking a lot about home, my friends and family and even the daily routine that everyone complains about and wishes they could break out of. I’m really starting to miss it – to miss home. It’s sad, almost pathetic, I know. I’m lucky enough to have the opportunity to indulge myself in this great country and deep culture and I want to go home?! It’s a thought that keeps creeping up in my mind more and more often, it’s by no means tainting my experience here but I have a nasty habit of counting down the days and wishing they’d pass ever so quicker. But I’ve only a days left anyway, my time in Japan is flying by and these petty, childish worries will probably seem ridiculous when I look back!

I’m not particularly enamored of Kyoto. The temples are certainly impressive; most majestic and beautiful. But the city itself, everything ‘in between’ is rather drab, grey, even dirty. It’s not that it’s a dirty city, but it just doesn’t feel clean, fresh or airy. Perhaps the close weather’s to blame.

For hours and hours I walked and walked till my feet are aching, every muscle in my legs is stiff and my dodgy hips constantly complain. I keep saying I’ll return to the Physio with my hips one day, whenever that may be! I visited temple after shrine after temple, the names all blurring into each other after a while; they just about all end with the suffix ‘-ji’. As impressive as they are; once you’ve seen one or two you’ve pretty much seen them all. Kyoto is famous for it’s temples, with good reason, but there’s only so much I can care to endure!

Judging by my map I’ve covered well over half the city on foot, which is fairly impressive, and explains the agony in my legs. Aside from temples and the like I nipped into the Manga Museum yesterday evening. It’s no understatement to say that the Japanese love manga – they’re loony about it! Although the museum was little more than a glorified library it was worth the entrance fee just to realise how much manga there actually is out there. Droves of fans, from infants through to the elderly, were lounging around on the lawns or huddled in corners, doorways and corridors with literally stacks of manga paperbacks. It was all rather fun; I even took an hour out myself to dust off an English version of the ‘Battle Royale’ finale!

So far the only other major highlights of Kyoto were stumbling across an incredibly talented guitar and fiddle duo at the Culture Festival, whipping out some of the finest Latin music I’ve ever heard. They were mesmerising; I stood with my jaw dropped for a good half hour. I also spotted a couple of real-life working Geisha today! That was awesome…

When I arrived back at the hostel last night, exhausted, I was pleasantly surprised to find a good crowd milling around and duly spent a few hours making decent conversation over a few beers and sake. Things are rarely as bad as they may at first seem! Hopefully they’ll be good company tonight; if anything it will help take my mind off home.

My inordinately overpriced Japanese 7 day rail pass kicked in on Sunday. My plan had been to get out and see some more of the country other than Tokyo for a few days – namely the cities of Kyoto and Osaka. Although costing nearly half my initial budget, the rail pass still works out cheaper than a return journey to Osaka, so as well as making sense it also provided me with a couple of days of extra free train travel. I’d initially aimed to take advantage of this by tripping out to the town of Nikko, a couple of hours north of Tokyo, on Sunday, and out to see Mt. Fuji on Monday. Unfortunately, largely due to a lack of research and selfish fund conservation, that plan didn’t go accordingly but the time hasn’t been wasted. Today, Tuesday, I’m lounging back in the comfort of a Shinkansen bullet train bound for Kyoto. It’s by far the most impressive train I’ve yet to travel on; whisking me along at speeds faster than almost any other train on the planet, and yet as smooth as if we were still sat stationary. As I stretch out in the plentiful space we’ve just glided past the mist-covered monolith of Mt. Fuji on the cruise west. This isn’t a bad way to travel.

On Sunday morning I got suited and booted in my classic tourist look; maps hanging out of my pocket, camera slung around my neck, with the intention of visiting Nikko, a tourist hotspot famed for beautiful lakes, waterfalls, temples and shrines (of course) and forested mountain walks. I wasn’t really all that interested in going, it was just an excuse to get out of the city for the day. With such a mentality, when I got turned down at the station with the explanation that my special pass only worked on main ‘JR’ lines, I immediately gave up. It was a Sunday, I was worn out from my previous hectic days and wasn’t at all in the mood. Narrowly opting against going back to slob out at the hostel all day (which would have been a foolish waste of my short time here), I grabbed a subway train to one of the few recommended districts of the city I’d yet to visit and wandered around for a few hours.

I bobbed up to the World Trade Centre Observatory to catch some clear, sunny views of the Tokyo metropolis from the skies, and to pass the time and waste some yen. It’s such a ridiculously huge city you can’t even see one side from the other. I managed to flitter away another couple of hours in the sun catching up on some reading in a park, meandered west via a couple of temples into the Roppongi area, picked up some supplies for dinner and ended up at the Tokyo Midtown Complex, a glittering multi-use behemoth of shops, restaurants, offices and the like. Roppongi is the most ‘international’ area of Tokyo I’ve discovered, with a more noticeable abundance of Western cuisine, bars and many Caucasians driving cars. I could have spent hours exploring but soon gave up, heading back to the hostel before dark to laze around doing something I haven’t had the opportunity to do in months – watch TV!

Although yesterdays plan had been to head out to Fuji, a scour of the Internet on Sunday night found that my rail pass would only take me halfway, that the rest of the journey was quite and effort and very expensive, and my chances of actually getting a clear glimpse of the revered Japanese natural icon were slim due to the mists that often surround it. Fuck it. With a little more digging I realised I could get to Nikko with my pass by grabbing a Shinkansen train from another station. Success! So yesterday I set off early, getting a little lost along the way (which is very easy to do in Japanese train stations, and Japan in general), but finally ending up in the quaint hilly village of Nikko. At least it would have been ‘quaint’ if it hadn’t have been overrun with tourists. It was disappointing, even quite demoralising, to have made the effort only to find myself trapped in great throngs of snap-happy, slow-paced Japanese and foreign tourists. It was a circus.

I got chatty with a Londoner, one of the few Brits I’ve met on my travels. He was pleasant enough, I can’t remember his daft name though. After an hour or so I got fed up, he was slowing me down, so I found an excuse to ditch him and the gawping tourist crowds and powered off up some rough, worn walking paths steep into the hills.

For several hours I stormed up and down the hillsides through shady forests, along rivers and by secluded shrines, gasping at the fresh mountain air. I was on fire! I must have covered a good 15-20km and was sweating severely by the time I returned to the train station later than afternoon. It was a good day; I’d exhausted myself again.

Now I look forward to a few more days of good walking and sightseeing around Kyoto and Osaka before returning back to Tokyo. It’s going to be tireless work.

I’m exhausted. Tokyo does that to you. This place isn’t a city; it’s a small country of hyper-active manga and technology crazy kids and industrious suited salarymen crammed into a sprawling, endless (and I really mean endless) metropolis. It’s non-stop, it’s alive with the energy of ancient culture, life and neon. Around every corner it contradicts itself, throws a curveball; continually amazing, enthralling and immersing you. One minute you’re admiring an ancient Buddhist temple, then all of a sudden you’re stumbling through a pedestrian zoo, head lolled back in awe at the giant, flashing neon signs and 60ft tall manga characters sprawled across the sides of buildings. Before you know it you’ve lost yourself in a tranquil, shady park without the faintest idea which way’s north and what possible world you may stumble upon next. Every road turned down offers a new, unique and truly bewildering experience. This is Tokyo. I love it!

My first 3 days here have been so rammed, by my own desire to make the most of my short time in Japan, that it would exhaust my memory, my wrist and the ink in my pen to deliver in full detail my escapades so far. I’ve walked blisters onto my feet and absorbed enough of this fascinating city to make my head spin!

On Thursday I set off, donning the true tourist look with shorts, backpack and camera slung round my neck. I plodded north to admire the Sensoji Temple and Nakamise mall in the ‘old downtown’ of Asakusa, then lost my way heading west through rambling sidestreets to the ponds and secluded shrines of the expansive Ueno Park. I even paid a small fee to stop in the Tokyo National Museum, but quickly discovered I wasn’t by any means in the mood and escaped to the sunshine after half an hour, heading south along the crowded alleys of Ameyoko, eventually finding myself in the neon buzz of the famous Akihabara district. Giant manga billboards graced the sides of almost every building and the high pitched frenzy of computer game music blared from the open shopfronts. Young Japanese beauties in Cosplay outfits handed out vouchers and flyers for every type of electrical and media outlet selling anything digital you could possibly need. For me, it was a small slice of heaven!

The next couple of hours took their toll as I eventually, after loosing myself and walking in circles several times, reached the elegant and stylish district of Ginza, where I intriguingly treated myself to a show of Kabuki theatre.

I had to give Kabuki, the traditional legend-based theatre, ago whilst in Japan. As much as I tried to appreciate it from an artistic, spiritual or even theatrical point of view; it’s still bloody hard work. There’s little movement, a lot of weird drawn-out winging and long, tense scenes that manage, rather successfully, to drag a 5 minute folks tale out for an hour and a half. Sure, the make-up and costumes are fantastic and the actors stage presence is rather effective; but you’d have to do little short of dragging me there for me to endure Kabuki again!

Yesterday I hopped on the subway to the famous shopping and teen hub of Shibuya. Immediately out of the station I excitedly joined the troops crossing the world’s busiest intersection. If you catch any promo or travel film about Tokyo it will almost definitely contain a clip of the manic Shibuya crossing. From there I idly meandered in a northerly direction; sidestreets constantly grabbing my attention and whipping me away into a world of Japanese wonders. I gradually made my way up to the colossal Shinkjuku Station and the crazy hub of entertainment and skyscrapers surrounding it. Quite frankly, it’s more of a small city than a transport depot; with over 2 million people passing through every day!

I decided it was worth a trip up to the free Observatory deck in the Tokyo Metropolitan Government building. Although only 45 stories up, it provided decent enough views of the city, slowly disappearing under the blanket of descending rainy mists. Surprisingly, for such a phenomenally huge city; Tokyo isn’t all that tall. It doesn’t really boast much of a skyline. For some reason this comforted me, but I don’t know why.

I tidied up my days trip by returning south through Yoyogi Park, briefly stopping by the sacred Meiji Jingu temple, to the Shibuya intersection to enjoy a spot of crowd watching from the 2nd floor of Starbucks over a delicious Creme Brule frappuccino. The sun set, the grey skies quickly turned to black and virtually every building facade sprang to life with flashing neon and giant video screens blasting out vivid J-Pop videos and commercials. Energy flowed through the air so thick you could almost see it – it was immensely elevating.

Last night, upon returning to the hostel after another physically and mentally exhausting day, I got chatty with a Canadian lass with whome I decided to head out early this morning to get hold of the rapidly-selling Sumo Tournament tickets. After breakfast we parted ways for several hours; I rented a bike and whizzed down busy main roads and anonymous sidestreets, stopping off for another hit of the electric city of Akihabara on my way to the Imperial Palace. I wasn’t in the mood to investigate inside and get collared into departing with my shrinking wad of Yen, so I snapped a few tourist shots and relaxed with a book in the green Palace Gardens.

After loosing track of time I flew back across town, narrowly avoiding death several times, dumped the rental bike and, sweaty and breathless, made my way to the Sumo tournament. I found a spot in the cheap seats, as far away from the action as possible but as expensive as I could afford, and somehow ran into Lesley, the Canadian girl. For 2 hours we sat, engrossed, watching obese men stomp around then grapple with each others nappies, wrestling and throwing each other out of the ring. It was fucking fantastic! The atmosphere was exciting and uplifting and the entire ritual (the fights themselves rarely lasting longer than 5-10 seconds) was so intense and engaging, almost hilariously so.

Suffice to say the Sumo was worth the spend; I’d happily go again. Lesley and I grabbed a light dinner back at what is now my old hostel as I had to change, rather disappointingly, to another down the street. It was, much to my initial surprise, one of the cosiest, homeliest places I’ve stayed in my entire trip. We’ll have to see how the new temporary pad fares.

I’m very much looking forward to the comfort of my own bed now. Carting my life around in a rucksack and sleeping in a different dormitory every night is growing tedious. Traveling, ironically, is almost becoming tedious. As fantastic a time as I’m having, I’m seriously starting to look forward to returning home. I suppose it’s a good thing it’s just over a week away now!

As is the way with such things; my time in Australia has finally come to an end. The last 6 weeks down under have been some of the best in my young life; shared in the company of amazing friends, new and old, exploring and tripping around some of surely the finest landscapes and cities in the world and embarking on many hilarious adventures, fuelled by alcohol or pure mirth, along the way.

Alas now, as the sun descends one last time (for me) over the golden coasts, red deserts and lush green mountains of this wonderful land; I travel far north over the warm equatorial islands and seas of the Western Pacific, back into the Northern Hemisphere, to the land of the rising sun; home of the samurai, sumo and sake, to enter the final phase of this wondrous journey!

My final days in Oz haven’t been brimming with the fast-paced excitement of my first weeks. It seems the laid-back attitude infectious of Queensland and particularly concentrated in Cairns has got the better of me. The city itself is a nice enough place, although I openly confess to barely traveling out from the 4 or 5 square blocks that constitutes the city centre. Despite my initial disinterest at being there I’ve come around to the opinion that it’s a pleasant little area, full of relaxed, friendly people simply content with life; yet at the same time there are the underlying vibes of youthful energy that save it from sharing the same placid, monotonous fate of a city such as Adelaide. And it most certainly displaces my pointed view of Queenslanders as I described in my previous post. Perhaps that particular breed of barbarians remain solely in the Townsville region. My bad.

The close reef access, attractive nearby beaches and bohemian atmosphere of backpackers and life-long stragglers help to transform Cairns into a steady middleground without the ‘big city’ buzz of Sydney and Melbourne, nor the dissapointing commercialisation of the Gold Coast, yet without it crumbling into little more than a mundane coastal retirement village.

The laid-back lagoon area boasting fire buskers and street artists, the sweeping Esplande graced with joggers, sunbathers and content old couples sharing the sea views; the mixture of friendly locals and energetic young passing travelers; the casually trendy Italian cafes lining the boulevard amongst a sprinkling of Asian and chargrilled Australian cuisine; all set against a backdrop of rolling dark green hills wrap Cairns up in a sweet, tidy package. And all in all rather a lovely place to conclude my travels in Australia; quite literally, at the end of the road.

The hostel Alice and I stayed in accommodated well for our budget, providing a free meal ticket on top of a bed for the night for little more than you’d pay for a meal itself. Thus we gobbled our nightly fills at the lively Woolshed pub, probably the main venue for shoestring backpackers and cheap party-goers in Cairns. On Sunday night, what began as a free pasta dish and nostalgic pint of Guinness soon turned into a rather raucous affair. The affordable ale flowed, conversation faded into drunken laughter, wallets were emptied and by 11pm we were dancing on the tables! Not long after the beer fund ran dry and we decided to leave, already more than drunk enough. A typical stumble home took a peculiar turn when we encountered a barely intoxicated lad parading around, pant-less, with his (rather unimpressive) wang out for the world to see! I, naturally, in a streak of primitive male competitiveness, stripped to my boxers as well, sparing the embarrassment of full nudity, and Alice in good spirit decided to join me. We strutted down the Esplanade, joking with passers-by, coating each other with a sticky plastic sheeting peeled from a PVC wall, climbed over cars and posed for a few tourist snaps. What animals! Purely outrageous banter! A mindless drunken interrogation of a poor Dutch girl over a scoff of fruit yoghurt led to bed, and an almighty hangover.

Indeed that was the highlight of our drunken antics; the rest of our time in Cairns spent rather conservatively. On my last night, yesterday, we treated ourselves to an upgraded dinner and one last Aussie beer whilst enjoying the tunes of a rather talented flamenco busker. Personally I couldn’t have asked for more than the company of a good friend, great music and a fine Tasmanian beer on the Cairns Esplanade.

Of course you can’t get so close to the Barrier Reef and ot go take a glimpse, regardless of the diminishing bank balance. Yesterday, my last full day to experience a true wonder of Australia (and no doubt of the world), I took a day trip out to Turtle and Upolu Reef. It’s a damn shame Alice couldn’t join me due to her own rather perilous financial situation, but I’m glad I did it. We set sail at around half 8 and by 11am I was snorkeling around in the lively, colourful reef amongst all manner of weird and wonderful fish, miscellaneous sea life and an incredible, beautiful variety of coral. What the hell is coral really? Is it a rock, is a tree? One minute you’re navigating around a large, blue, holey boulder before you nearly plough head on into an orange sponge sprouted next to white stark tree skeletons. It’s all so mystical, so fascinating.

I also took a scuba dive which included feeling up a giant clam and coming close to a stingray (or something similar, I can never be too careful after the fate of poor Steve Irwin). I should really get my PADI someday – it would save me money on all these ‘introductory dives’.

A filling buffet lunch, a spot of sunbathing, more snorkeling on the Upolo Reef, another quick sunbathe and a complimentary glass of champagne as we chased the sun back to shore completed a great day.

I think that just about wraps everything up for Australia. 6 weeks of mischievous mayhem, enlightenment and everything else in between. I’ll save all the mushy, insightful stuff for my next flight; the final flight home. Tokyo here I come!

Our last few days on Magnetic Island were arbitrarily spent exploring the crumbling, rugged Island footpaths; peeking up at cuddly, motionless koalas in their natural habitat, eyeing up the undergrowth for snakes and casting our gaze over the magnificent sights offered atop the abandoned Forts watchtower, over some of the most splendid bays and tropical mountainous landscape to surely grace the eastern seaboard. Words, or at least my words, struggle to effectively describe how modest, but consistently beautiful, Magnetic Island is.

We’d extended our stay for a couple of days, partly because we saw no immediate rush to move along, but primarily to catch the opening evening of an annual jazz festival held on the island on Friday night. In the interest of conserving our rapidly diminishing funds we decided to share a box of goon at the hostel before we set off, hoping to achieve a level of intoxication that would still permit us entry to the evening’s entertainment, without us having to purchase another drink all night.

As events unfolded, the company by the pool tables grew merrier and my vision became blurrier, time passed and before we knew it we’d given up on the jazz, instead ordering a take-away pizza and making our own live entertainment with an acoustic till the early hours. As it happens, it was rather a sweet and humble way to wrap up our stay on the island.

Yesterday we arose fairly early, hunted down coffee and checked out with the intention of reaching Cairns, some 360km north, whilst spending as little money as possible, by the end of the day. It was a relatively ambitious challenge that led to a serious of adventures, culminating in a long and tiring, but fascinating and exciting day.

Rather hungover, we lugged ourselves onto the coach to the ferry, then swayed about for 20 minutes (which, I can assure you, did not compliment the alcohol still swishing around inside me) until we reached the mainland. We pondered about for a while, quite unsure of how we were going to tackle our mission. The first step, naturally, was to make a nice large sign reading ‘Cairns’, but considering we were still sat at the ferry terminal, that wasn’t going to get us very far.

Eventually a kind gentleman offered us the advice of catching a bus to the Bruce Highway, which we duly did, landing on a dusty, flat stretch of highway outside Townsville 2 buses and an hour later. What the dim-witted bus driver had failed to mention was that he’d abandoned us on the south side of town, so the majority of traffic was presumably heading ‘into’ Townsville, whereas we realistically required friendly folk driving north from the city instead.

On the subject of slow locals; allow me to detour onto the topic of Queenslanders for a moment. They’re a peculiar people; although separated by only a few hundred kilometres of diverse landscape from New South Wales, it’s almost as if you’ve entered a different country (which, in an area the size of Australia, I suppose, is a given). It gets progressively worse the further north you go; Townsville and Magnetic Island in particular seem to breed a pedigree class of Queenslander. They’re friendly enough, providing you say nothing to offend or annoy them, but their foul language and incomprehensible spitting and alcohol-fuelled slurring easily leads one to believe they’re launching a malicious attack of verbal abuse at you. To cut to the chase they are, or at least give the impression of being, slow and ignorant, ‘backwards’, foul and filthy, careless creatures. Not in all cases, of course, but many, especially in more rural areas. I even tempt the notion that a majority of them are the product of inbreeding, but I only speculate, perhaps rather rashly. My words my paint the picture of animals, degenerates and social ‘throwbacks’. They’re not. They are genuine, honest and for the larger part lovely people, once you peel back the vulgar exterior. But I could never live in such a place; not because of the locals, but for fear of ending up like them! I digress.

After just over half an hour of being mocked and ignored by passing vehicles, a kind soul named Paul finally picked us up on his way home from work. How exciting – my first experience of hitch-hiking! Alice had insisted that most people polite enough to provide us a free ride had probably been in the same situation themselves at some point, which did indeed seem to be the case. Paul was a Kiwi who’d emigrated to Australia in the 90’s, following jobs around and now working on the roads south of Townsville. He’d hitched a lot himself in his youth in New Zealand and empathised with us. He took us out of his way to a service station on the Bruce Highway north of the city, where we’d stand a better chance of hitching a ride up the coast. We thanked him profusely and grabbed a hearty late lunch to try and nullify the pangs of hunger and hangover.

On our second attempt getting blown over by the side of the road, we waited less than 10 minutes before an odd-looking youth called Evan picked us up. He was returning home to Ingham, about an hour north of Townsville, for the weekend. After exchanging the statutory pleasantries (Hi, where you from? Where you been? Where you going? Do you often pick up scraggly hitch-hikers? Have you ever hit a kangaroo? etc.), we spent the rest of the trip indulging in loud, bass-driven, angry metal and dance music. It was a noisy change to the peace of Magnetic Island!

Evan dropped us off on the north side of Ingham, a non-descript, small town, such as many others you’ll find dotted along the coastal highways. It was approaching mid-afternoon and we still had over 200km to cover, but I remained hopeful. A lovely woman by the name of Jessica gave us a lift 15 minutes up the road. It was almost more effort than it was worth, but you can hardly turn down a free ride when you’re hitch-hiking. To be frank I was happy to hop out when I realised she was a religious hippie who lived on a campsite, named her children after prophets in the bible and offered us a disturbing, but rather hilarious leaflet on the 10 Commandments, which basically insisted that we’re all going to hell. What a load of bollocks.

Immediately after she dropped us off a kind-hearted ruffian, Daryl, picked us up. He was drinking and driving (I took note that he failed to offer me a beer), rolling up and smoking whilst swerving all over the place, but he was interesting and got us another 50km or so up the road. He played the role of tour guide, pulling up every now and then to show off the views and his knowledge of the area. He barely came up for air the whole journey. He left us in Cardwell, before tripping off to deliver some cowboy boots to a friend and heading back for the Rodeo in Ingham!

Rainclouds approached and the sun threatened to leave soon. The traffic was sparse and things were beginning to look bleak. A police car pulled over and the sympathetic but dutiful cop explained that hitch-hiking was illegal, although sometimes permissible if done from the pavement. I’m not entirely sure how he intended to punish us if he caught us again but we apologised and skulked off – the last bus for Cairns had departed and I really didn’t want to stay stranded overnight in such a desolate, lifeless hole. We persisted, huddled at the side of the road with our lives in our bags and our destination scrawled on a brown paper bag. 40 minutes later we were mercifully saved by a pair of English University mates on summer holiday, driving up the coast to Cairns.

We crammed in, the dark of night drawing over us, and in less than 2 hours finally reached our destination – waving the lads off on the rest of their trip. 5 different vehicles and chauffeurs, several insights into other people’s lives, like glimpsing momentarily through their windows, each so different from one and other. 360km covered at no expense, only a couple of hours spent by the side of the road with our thumbs out and hopeful smiles on our faces. The entire day was a fascinating experience, most certainly one I’d happily repeat here, perhaps even back home or elsewhere in the world.

Hitch-hiking is really not that difficult, ot that scary after your first lift and although may harbour an element of danger – I suppose that’s a risk worth taking, it adds to the thrill! All that’s required is a streak of confidence and a dash of perseverance, and the benefits are most rewarding.

Alas we’re now in Cairns, the last major city on the East Coast and the place from where I’ll be departing Australia for Japan in a few days. To be honest I boast no interest in the place. For whatever reason I can’t explain I’ve no inspiration to really explore; I’m ready to move on now, it’s time to start the final chapter. But that remains 3 days and an 8 hour flight away, so I better find something to do to pass the time!

Toad Racing, that is. A most peculiar ’sport’, if that’s what you can call it. The premise is simpleenough; a gobby, spitting, incomprehensible Queenslander hosts the show, warbling off all manner of slur as he paces around the ‘ring’, auctioning off each of 8 toads to the anticipated crowd members. Once every toad’s been accounted for by those of the audience with more money than sense, they’re released from their plastic prison in the center of the circle and teh action begins. In fact the enclosure of onlookers probably act more like animals than the poor creatures themselves – whose sole purpose is to escape the 16ft ring. First amphibian out wins, lucky owner takes home some swag and everyone else foolish enough to part with their cash feels a little silly.

This process is repeated a few times, intermingled with a dashing of Australian sports-related trivia. It’s mildly entertaining, but more bemusing. What’s intruiging is not so much the toad racing itself, but the great crowd that turns out to witness it. I’ve never seen so many people since I landed on the Island a week ago – they must really crawl out of the woodwork for this spectacle! Aside from toads I’ve done little else worth note apart from having a wondrous wind-down.

Michael departed our company yesterday for a ridiculously strung-out trip home via Townsville, Brisbane, Melbourne, Kuala Lumpur, Jakarta, Singapore and eventually back to London in the space of 48 hours – that’s a lot of airtime! We’ve had a fucking great crack over the past 10 weeks together; so many memories, some recorded in this journal, others that will probably be lost to time. I know I’ll see him again when I return home, which is a date looming closer and closer, so there’s far more to look forward to. I’m not the sentimental type!

In the interest of preserving funds, with the knowledge that Townsville holds no real reasons to waste time there, and more than anything because we’ve stumbled upon a relaxing haven here on Magnetic Island where time stands still; I think we’ll be staying a little longer than expected.

Although initially planning to leave the Island accompanying Michael on the 9th, we may indeed have to say our farewells at the Ferry Terminal. By the time he lands back in Blighty in a few days time we’ll still be here; lounging by the pool, strumming the guitar on the beach, frolicking in the warm waters of the Pacific Ocean and doing little else but relax and reflect.

My list, so far, of ways to pass time on this sea-straggled getaway:

• Lie-in, everyday. What’s the rush to get up? It’s not like you have to go to work or anything is it?
• The hammock is your friend. Hammocks are NOT overrated – they are the perfect medium for full-body lolling.
• Play and joke around in the pool Do not try to swim lengths or work on your technique, have a laugh, save the serious swimming for back home.
• Hire mopeds and explore the Island. Enough said – they’re far more fun than you realise. A day scooting around the hilly coastal roads of this scenic paradise is a day well spent. Wear a helmet folks – safety first!
• Find your way to Florence or Radical Bay, 2 of the most stunning, tranquil, undisturbed beaches surely to grace Mother Earth.
• Take a guitar and a box of goon to the beach under the light of a full moon. Drink, smoke, joke, sing, dance and take a midnight skinny dip in the ocean to experience and unleash a natural freedom that surely no drug could achieve.

The above is an alternative summation of our time spent on Magnetic Island so far. It certainly doesn’t amount to much, especially compared to the ever-hectic days we’ve been ploughing through over the past month; but of course that’s the entire point.

I’ve completely lost track of time and the world outside our cosy microcosm. I have to sit down and mentally engage myself to figure out the date, the day or even how long we’ve been here.

I went for a haircut yesterday and only after 10 minutes of typical salon small talk was it made apparent that it was a Saturday, and the place was dead! If I’m not careful I may fall victim to culture shock when I return to the mainland, whenever that may be!