Day 93 - Luck

The upper deck of an A380 (which, by the way, looks a lot like the lower deck of an A380) is a fitting location to write these final words on what will hopefully be Part 1 of 2 of this blog. Without much to say of a very rainy final day in Saigon - apart from a visit to the very cool Cafe Apartments, a building destined to be demolished that was instead turned into a cluster of small independent shops and cafes, and a quick stop at the very colonial post office to buy stamps so I can send one postcard to the one person I know who still cares about postcards - I will do my best to finish off without too many clichés or too much sentimentalism despite my pretty pathetic emotional state at this point.

I had obviously never travelled for this amount of time before and I must confess that the day I got on a 6.30am TAP flight in Lisbon feels like about a decade ago, but at the same time I also have to admit I am not quite ready to call it a day. My next stop would have been Australia and New Zealand, where I would have most definitely had to work for a month or two just so I had enough to survive until the New Year - while I probably would have travelled quite differently had I been properly unemployed and travelling for twelve months, I also feel like I have underestimated just how much in the toilet the Great British Pound is at the moment… In any case, Oceania would have almost definitely been radically different from India, Southeast Asia and Japan, and most of all I sincerely hope I actually make it down there next time around.

As I have mentioned before, India was my favourite stop on this trip. It is hard to name one reason why, although its vastness and diversity, the complex character of its people or the sheer natural beauty that surrounds the numerous examples of exquisite Mogul architecture would probably make a good top three. Travelling around by train was a great way to appreciate the lesser seen parts of the country, and the hours I spent hanging from open doors trying to get one decent snapshot of the scenery that surrounded us were certainly well spent. Despite the constant hassling from people on the street, some of whom trying to be helpful and others quite the opposite, the Indians I got to know along the way were kind-hearted, warm and appreciative of life in a way that a lot of us “white people” should probably learn a thing or two from. While I feel like I have got a decent grasp of places like Varanasi and Jaipur, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I left regions like Goa and Ladakh reluctantly and eager to come back for a lot longer than three days. Combined with the fact that Ana and I pretty much missed the whole of Mumbai (but can tell our grandchildren we witnessed the worst floods in over a decade!), this leaves me pretty confident I will be back in the country of Gandhi, Cricket and Paneer Butter Masala before long.

Walking amongst the skyscrapers in Tokyo only a couple of months after leaving the chaos of India could have been a big shock to the system, but thankfully I had a smooth transition via Southeast Asia. The reasons Japan is number two on my list could not be more different from why India is number one. The Japanese people’s honesty, integrity (the Yakuza aside) and pride in their work made our short tour an absolute pleasure, but at the same time Pete and I could not help but feeling we may have caused some suicides along the way - you know, for inadvertently leaving a tip or making an evidently unreasonable request that cannot be fulfilled. While India was beautiful in its bi-polar monsoon weather, either suffocatingly hot and humid or pouring it down with rain, Japan’s almost constant drizzle made it just like I had imagined it while still giving us a couple of brief breaks and a pair of beautiful hazy sunsets with Mount Fuji in the background. Together with Pete’s company (I challenge anyone to spend a week travelling with him and name a better partner) and my first Typhoon experience, all this made Japan an utterly memorable venture.

Myanmar is Southeast Asia’s soon-to-be-discovered pearl and I count myself lucky to have seen it before it is. The staggeringly beautiful landscapes of Bagan, with an infinitude of stupas poking out of the forest until the horizon, the serenity and traditional lakeside life of Inle and the trip back in time on the train to Thazi felt like the perfect antidote to Vietnam - places that are so special just as they are, no one should be allowed to touch them. Another outstanding travel partner in Renu, who always offered a different (and often hilarious) perspective and somehow managed to lift my spirits when things nearly went terribly wrong (a few hours after nearly killing me for taking her on a 14-hour train trip), helped a lot but, to the Burmese people’s credit, sitting in the Yangon circular train for three hours doing nothing but people-watching was the perfect way to transition to my meagre few days of solo-travelling. 

Having endured nearly half a century of civil war and being hit by a Tsunami towards the end of it for good measure, the constant kind and mellow smile on the face of nearly every Sri Lankan person Ana and I came across will never cease to amaze me. Do not get me wrong - the beautiful country that survived the aforementioned half-century of hell would be more than enough to warrant a visit, be it the stunning tea-country landscapes of Ella and Kandy, the colonial charm of Galle or the wild purity of the Yala natural reserve, but Ana and I could not get over thefact that its people’s hospitality and sweetness are Sri Lanka’s biggest assets. The fact my sister fell in love with the locals as soon as we arrived made travelling with her as pleasurable as any of our previous trips together.

Much like Japan was a bit of a shock to the system for someone coming from Burma (going from a train trundling at 20kph for 14 hours to one firing away at 200kph is something else), arriving in Singapore was equally overwhelming. Comparing it to Japan is probably unfair, since there is only so much you can fit in an area comparable to a small suburb of Tokyo, but for the race week we spent there it was a thoroughly enjoyable place to be. As Amar and Alice poetically described in their own blog, jumping between the concrete jungle of the city centre and the monkey-filled real jungle that surrounds it was undoubtedly great fun. Watching 17 of the World’s best race car drivers (plus Jolyon Palmer, Lance Stroll and Marcus Ericsson) pushing their cars’ limits only a few metres in front of us, dancing to Calvin Harris and ending our night at a club atop the most iconic hotel in the city? Simply surreal.

The Khmer people’s second half of the twentieth century was every bit as brutal as any place in the World, and despite that (much like the adorable Sri Lankans) everyone has a smile for you, whether you are loitering around the countryside at sunset or sleepily trying to make it to Angkor Wat for sunrise. The temples are impressive and impressively crowded (even in the low season), but the remnants of the horrors of the Khmer Rouge were definitely what will stick with me the longest. This also marked the last part of the trip I had the pleasure of Ben’s company, who possesses the perfect combination of an easy-going attitude and an almost unrivalled availability to party at a minute’s notice.

Finally, there is very little I can say about Vietnam that will come as a surprise to you. A classic backpacker destination ever since the country started opening itself to the World after four decades of nearly uninterrupted conflict, it is undoubtedly a country with beautiful places and kind people. While until this second stop I felt like the backpacker culture has taken a lot of its authenticity away, I now feel like it actually brought it a different charm - but at this point I still feel like the country has gone too far in adapting to the needs of travellers. Nevertheless it was still a pleasant experience, with Ben and Mari’s company bringing plenty of added value.

For those of you who have not (and cannot be) bothered reading the previous 92 posts (I do not blame you), this one should at least give you a half-decent idea of what is in them - or maybe even make you want to actually go back and binge (although I must warn you - they are no Game of Thrones). In any case, I must thank those who did bother reading some of it and I hope it has been at least half as enjoyable for you as writing it was for me. I also hold a faint slither of hope that my words and pictures have motivated you to maybe plan your own trip one day, or at least awakened the travelling bug that I believe is somewhere inside all of us.

As I have mentioned recently, many of my British friends mockingly wished me luck “finding myself” as we said goodbye. That was never the point - I do not think I would like to know myself any better than I do, especially since I like being surprised every now and then. Moreover, I feel like I come back to Europe with more questions than answers and most of all with a realisation that may sound cliché, but is nevertheless indisputable  - the circumstances in which I was born are the single biggest player in defining the circumstances in which I am now. On one hand, that makes me feel like a fool for ever thinking I had played any more than a very minor role on how I got to this point, and on the other it makes me feel pretty bloody lucky to have been born where and to whom I was. If my lucky run continues for another few years I will do all I can to make this blog live up to its title one day. Until then…

Cheers,

J-Wowww

Dia 92 - Encanto

Acordar com a notícia do cancelamento de um voo é sempre agradável, mas a realidade de que o mau tempo nos vai custar uma noite em Da Lat depois de várias mudanças de horário dá-me a certeza de que a Vietnam Airlines é, das duas uma, amaldiçoada por um qualquer demónio ou simplesmente incompetente. Felizmente conseguimos alterar a nossa reserva para o último voo de hoje (uma vez que a alternativa, o ultimo voo de amanhã, me deixaria com a tarefa ingrata de inventar uma máquina do tempo se quisesse apanhar o meu voo de volta a casa) e ainda teríamos algumas horas para explorar os arredores de Da Lat antes de voltarmos a HCMC.

Arranjar quem nos levasse até às Cascatas do Elefante (assim baptizadas por nascerem numa montanha que alegadamente se parece com o simpático mamífero) foi uma tarefa complicada, já que a comunicação em Inglês por estes lados não é tão fácil como nos outros sítios onde tínhamos estado. Após um par de tentativas acabámos num hostel, onde as acções do rapaz da recepção pareciam indicar que nos podia ajudar, apesar de as palavras dizerem pouco. Com efeito, o rapaz acabou por chamar dois “Easy Riders”, guias locais que levam passageiros à pendura nas suas motas pelas zonas campestres que rodeiam a cidade de Da Lat. Visto que a Mari não achava grande piada à ideia de andarmos seis horas à pendura de desconhecidos num dia que prometia chuva e vento acabámos por lhes pedir para irmos de carro e, pela hora de almoço, estávamos a caminho das cascatas. Como é inevitável nestas viagens fomos parando aqui e ali, ora para apreciar a excelente vista ora para nos ser mostrada a produção de Son Tinh, licor feito a partir da destilação de vinho de arroz que os locais preferem à cerveja pela imbatível relação embriaguez/preço.

Antes de chegarmos ao nosso destino fizemos ainda uma paragem num templo budista, o maior na região de Da Lat.  Creio ser do conhecimento dos caros leitores que, desde há umas semanas a esta parte, tenho começado a desenvolver sinais de estar ligeiramente farto de templos - budistas ou do que quer que seja. Ainda assim foi-me impossível ficar indiferente à estátua de um Buda gigante nas traseiras do templo, cuja expressão contagiante de alegria e gozo foi suficiente para me deixar de melhor humor depois de uma manhã um tanto ou quanto frustrante. A chegada às cascatas, tão próximas do templo que mais valia termos ido a pé, deixou-nos suficientemente satisfeitos e justificou perfeitamente a hora e meia de caminho para lá chegarmos.

O exercício de saltar entre as pedras escorregadias agarrados a corrimãos metálicos (raramente fixos a coisa alguma) para chegarmos mais perto das cascatas, imersos na espécie de nevoeiro de chuva miudinha característico de sítios onde água cai de uma altura de quase uma centena de metros, foi um bom substituto para a corrida à volta do lago que não dei esta manhã. Depois de me meter num caminho sem saída mas com uma enorme poça de lama, onde enterrei a totalidade do meu pé esquerdo, e de apreciarmos a cascata e a paisagem que a rodeia voltámos a Da Lat com mais uma curta paragem numa plantação de café, que apesar de se situar numa colina vistosa não tinha grande interesse para quem não é apreciador de doninhas enjauladas.

Após um duche rápido e de jantarmos na pizzaria que na noite anterior tinha esgotado o seu stock de pizzas seguimos para o aeroporto, onde embarcámos para o nosso voo antecipado para Saigão, tão curto que o sinal de apertar os cintos de segurança esteve desligado cerca de cinco minutos entre a subida e a descida. A minha última noite antes de regressar à Europa (é verdade…) foi relativamente calma apesar de a rua Bui Vien, o centro da cena “backpacker” em HCMC, estar bastante mais animada do que quando cá tinha estado com o Ben - talvez por ser sexta à noite ou por a época das chuvas estar a chegar ao fim.

Ainda assim acabámos por voltar ao bar com música ao vivo onde eu e o Ben bebemos um par de cervejas há mês e meio, repetindo o ritual enquanto assistíamos a covers que variavam do muito bom (as que eram executadas pelos músicos, que apesar de parecerem ter quinze anos eram afinadotes) ao doloroso (a da senhora que tentou cantar Adele para o namorado aniversariante e acabou por gerar uma manifestação geral de vergonha alheia ainda maior do que o rapaz do cabelo azul tinha conseguido na noite anterior).

Antes de ir dormir voltei à rua cinco minutos para tirar fotografias e acabei por ficar meia hora a observar a mistura de miúdos vietnamitas a celebrar o fim da semana, viajantes a aproveitar a sua liberdade temporária e pais com bebés ao colo a fazer sabe-se lá o quê. Apesar de ter acontecido por acaso, passar os últimos momentos noctívagos desta viagem a observar o que se passava na rua cheia de vendedores ambulantes e luzes de néon foi a maneira ideal de me despedir do Vietname, deixando-me curioso sobre como seria Saigão quando os primeiros “backpackers” inauguraram o caminho hoje em dia percorrido por meio Mundo de mochila às costas. O Vietname pode ser o sítio de que menos gostei nesta viagem, mas ainda assim tenho de admitir que esta rua, neste dia e a esta hora não deixa de ter um certo encanto.

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 91 - Crazy

If anyone has managed to stay interested in this blog after the past three posts, which were as exciting as hearing Prince Charles reading a phone book, I have good news for you - today was actually worth writing about! Even though the (very) early hours were a bit of a haze, we made it to Da Lat by 10am and luckily our homestay let us check in and freshen up before heading out to explore South Vietnam’s summer capital. Our host recommended that we spent our first day exploring the city and checked out the surroundings tomorrow, which happened to be exactly what we had in mind.

Our first stop was Crazy House, probably the most accurate name for a building I have ever come across. A personal project by the architect Dang Viet Nga, the daughter of a former Prime Minister who was inspired by artists like Antoni Gaudi or Salvador Dali, it was designed by non-professional local craftsmen based on paintings produced by the author. The result is a set of buildings that sometimes look to resemble giant trees connected by branch-like bridges, but most of the time just look like a product of someone’s feverish dream. To help minimising the financial burden on the author, who incurred in millions of dong (yup, still makes me giggle) in debt in order to complete the project, it functions as a guest house were several empty rooms are on show for the visitors.

My favourite bit was when Mari found a door that no one seemed to have noticed, leading to an incomplete room with an aquatic theme which looks destined to eventually become an oceanic ballroom. Having the place to ourselves was unexpected given the number of times we got stuck in a traffic jam of Russian visitors elsewhere in the house, but being surrounded by paintings and sculptures of heavily stylised marine creatures was as surreal as the rest of the building. This was not the only part of the complex that was not quite finished yet, as several other areas were still very clearly under construction but still accessible, with the terrace atop the tallest tower providing a pretty epic view over the city of Da Lat.

From there we planned to check the King Palace but, as we struggled to find it and eventually realised it was a 45-minute walk away, we instead decided to take the cable car to the Truc Lam Pagoda, an active monastery not far from Da Lat. A quick snack at a cute cafe near the terminal prepared us for an absolutely epic 15-minute journey, with the views over the tree-covered hills and valleys almost making Mari forget her fear of heights. The word “almost” is crucial here, with her nerves growing towards the end as we dived towards the terminal while I dealt with a mixture of concern for her and amazement at the stunning scenery of the lakes and mountains that laid right in front of us.

The monastery itself was an incredibly peaceful place, where not even the young children running around the place managed to affect the tranquility we felt while walking around it. Although none of the structures were particularly impressive, especially given the shremple overload I have been through over the past month, the whole complex and its surroundings were the ideal place to spend a couple of hours away from the rest of the World. Sadly we only lasted about 45 minutes as we still wanted to check a couple of places before sunset, including Ga Da Lat - the only train station where I have ever been where the number of wheels on the trains in service (exactly zero) was smaller than the number of people posing for photos (definitely nonzero).

After a satisfactory sunset at the Xuan Huong lake (no Mount Fuji in the background) we headed home for a power-nap before dinner. Our first attempt was at a pizzeria which had run out of pizza, so we headed to a cafe near the live music bar we wanted to check out afterwards. As it turns out, the two venues are connected and the name Curtis King was all over the cafe, otherwise populated by its employees and a weird couple consisting of an old white man and a bored younger Vietnamese lading. Upon arriving to the bar we noticed a distinct lack of live music, which led me to TripAdvisor to try and find out how frequently it happened. A quick scan of the reviews revealed that Curtis King, the American musician who owned Escape Bar and led the live band, was no longer welcome in Da Lat after a number of drunk incidents on stage, all of which well documented online. Nevertheless, a fairly competent live band did start playing a few minutes later, and after a couple of songs they were joined on stage by a customer with blue hair and a baseball cap, whose contribution to the performance of “Buffalo Soldiers” was something that resembled Mike Shinoda’s lines from “In The End”. After informing everyone he was the lead singer’s “bro for like 10 years” he returned to his seat and we thought that would be it. We were wrong.

As the band continued playing, sometimes accompanied by one of the waitresses who can definitely sing, weird baseball cap dude would step in at his own leisure, sometimes just making grunting sounds but on two more occasions interrupting perfectly sound performances to inform us that in the end, it does not even matter. I am not sure who told this guy he could rap or that the words to “In The End” are like Sean Paul (add a little bit of it to any song and you have a single) but that person needs to stop giving his or her opinions right now. In any case, blue-haired person made this a very entertaining night and I must say I am almost tempted to try a broken Linkin Park rap at the next open mic session I happen to be at. Once again, “almost” is the key word here.

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 90 - Glorioso

A minha segunda despedida de Hoi An foi menos frenética do que a primeira já que, apesar da ligeira melhora do tempo durante a noite, não teríamos muito tempo para tirar proveito das tréguas de chuva devido ao check-out do hotel e check-in para o voo de Da Nang para Saigão (cuja hora foi alterada tantas vezes que até estar sentado no avião foi difícil ter a certeza de que ia mesmo acontecer). Como tal, fui desenferrujar os braços na piscina do hotel (tão pequena que acabou por ser mais um exercício de viragens do que outra coisa) antes de recuperar as calorias gratuitas desperdiçadas no pequeno almoço de ontem enfardando compulsivamente no de hoje.

O staff do hotel foi extremamente simpático à saída, talvez à pesca de uma boa review no Tripadvisor (que tivemos de escrever na hora, incluindo os nomes das senhoras que nos fizeram o check-out) mas nada de surpreendente depois de serem incrivelmente prestáveis durante toda a nossa estadia. Ainda assim, dizerem à Mari que é parecida com a Miranda Kerr e oferecerem-nos uma gravata e um lenço foi tão agradável quanto bizarro, mas quem somos nós para nos queixarmos? Uma viagem rápida no autocarro do hotel até ao aeroporto deu-nos tempo para despacharmos a mala e darmos um salto a Da Nang para almoçarmos num restaurante de street food onde tinha ido com o Ben na minha primeira passagem por estas paragens.

A chegada a Ho Chi Minh City marcou o regresso do calor abafado que a minha mente associa ao Vietname, ainda que numa variante bastante mais suportável do que da última vez. O facto de envergar a camisola da Selecção Nacional (que estava quase quase seca de manhã!) levou a que toda a gente com quem interagimos me perguntasse se era português, fazendo imediatamente a ligação ao nosso querido Cristiano. Já o rapaz da recepção do nosso hotel perguntou-me qual era a minha equipa favorita, e quando respondi que era adepto do Glorioso informou-me que tínhamos perdido com o Manchester United na noite anterior, o que obviamente me deixou com um sorriso amarelo na cara.

Um hambúrguer no Soul Burger, que me tinha deixado com água na boca desde a minha última visita com o Ben, e uma cerveja na Heart of Darnkess Brewery completou o meu “best-of” de Ho Chi Minh City, após o qual voltámos ao hotel para uma curta noite de sono antes do nosso voo das 7 da manhã para Da Lat - isto se não for cancelado ou alterado à última da hora, visto que os horários de voos neste país são tão voláteis como o onze inicial do Rui Vitória…

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 89 - Inclement

If yesterday was a hard one to squeeze a few hundred words of meaningful text out of, today will be a challenge not to say the word “rain” more than once a sentence. The few drops of rain from last night were nothing but a warning of what was about to come. We woke up to the sound of what Mari described as “a running shower in the next room” and as I opened the window to check whether that shower was coming from the sky, the sight of a completely drenched set of clothes made me throw my hands to my head. A lot of squeezing t-shirts followed, with no actual hope of them drying in the 24 hours we had left in Hoi An but a small chance of my Portuguese national team shirt (which I knew would come good sooner or later) being dry enough to wear in the morning. As my need for a long night’s sleep made us miss breakfast, we braved the rain and headed into a cafe in town under the umbrellas that our hotel had attentively left in our room.

After breakfast we quickly checked out the Old House of Tan Ky, for which we had to get the “Old Town Ticket” which gave access to a number of other attractions in Hoi An, none of which we actually got around to. The house turned out to be a disappointment, as the interesting architecture could not mask the fact that there was not much to see. The persistent rain, the fact that Hoi An lacks indoor attractions and Mari not feeling very well led us back to our hotel, where we had a couple of hours’ rest before venturing out again to find Espresso Station, the little coffee shop Ben and I had discovered last time around and where I was desperate to go again so I could try their flat white and take some beans home with me.

As Mari was still not feeling great and the rain and wind were only getting worse, we ended up going back to the hotel until dinner time, when a delightful meal at a restaurant near the Japanese Covered Bridge left us feeling sad we did not get to see more of Hoi An, but resigned to the fact that we did the best we could given the weather. The road back to the hotel was full of promoters from the old town bars, trying to convince people to come in for their Halloween parties without great success, probably due to the inclement weather or just because of the reviews Ben and I found online a month and a half ago, where stories of people getting acid thrown in their faces by a crazy waitress left us a bit wary of the Hoi An nightlife.

The day ended with us watching Darjeeling Limited, a Wes Anderson movie about three estranged brothers travelling through India in search of their mother, which was enjoyable yet a bit superficial at times - not just about the subject of travelling in India (which I am aware it does not intend to be a realistic depiction of) but also on the relationships between the characters. The cliché of a “spiritual journey” through the country was nevertheless a pretty funny premise, which reminded me of the condescending tone with which my British friends wished me luck “finding myself”, no doubt after hearing plenty of their posh countrymen using that expression before departing on their “Gap Yahs”…

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 88 - Ar

É difícil escrever alguma coisa de jeito sobre um dia que começou a ver o filme “Snowden” num avião e só se tornou mais entusiasmante do que isso dezasseis horas depois. Desde o primeiro voo até Kuala Lumpur, onde as minhas intenções de dormir profundamente durante oito horas foram destruídas por um trio de bebés aos gritos, até ao curto voo de Hanoi a Da Nang já com a Mari, que me fará companhia nos últimos dias da minha viagem, as últimas vinte e quatro horas condensam-se numa memória muito turva na minha mente cansada.

À chegada ao nosso hotel em Hoi An foram precisas todas as forças que me restavam para não adormecer numa sesta que decerto duraria até à manhã seguinte. Um duche rápido e a mudança para a última t-shirt limpa que me resta (as restantes ficam a secar na varanda, com esperanças de que não chova durante a noite) deixou-me pronto a re-explorar a pequena antiga vila de Hoi An. O caminho até ao restaurante que escolhemos no guia Lonely Planet da Mari (que parece destinado a substituir o do Pete sobre o Japão) passou pelos iluminados mercados nocturnos, onde
começaram a cair as primeiras pingas de chuva do dia - depois de ficar positivamente admirado sobre o tempo em Hanoi, solarengo mas não sufocante como há mês e meio, fomos recebidos em Da Nang com nuvens carregadas e com ar de que nos podem vir a estragar os planos…

Apesar do jantar agradável, a alergia ao sol que a Mari adquiriu durante a semana que passou em Hanoi e Halong Bay com uma amiga ditou que voltássemos ao hotel relativamente cedo, o que para mim foi quase um alívio. Depois de vinte e quatro horas em aviões e aeroportos confesso que estou com algumas dificuldades em não adormecer em pé…

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 87 - Rails

The four hours’ sleep I managed to get before being, once again, violently woken up by the cleaning staff of my capsule hotel were just about sufficient to keep me functioning on my last day in Japan, but no more than that. Most of it was spent hiding from the heavy rain by wandering around the shopping centres around the Nihonbashi area for a last round of gift shopping, mostly done on auto-pilot as my brain went into safety mode after visiting a handful of different shops looking for an elusive cosmetic product my mum had asked me to find - for future reference, obscure things are not as easy to find in Japan as you might think, you know with the Kanji and the fact that the only language I share with most of the population is hand-waving…

When I eventually made my way to the airport (on the slow train, since my shopping spree left me with a pretty light wallet) I slept through half of the 80-minute journey and spent the other half talking to a Brazilian guy who noticed someone’s name on my phone and asked if I was from South America. As it turns out, Jesus has lived in Japan for 12 years and has not made it back to Mato Grosso do Sul since - including his father’s funeral, last week. If I needed to be reminded that being able to go back home and see my family a few times a year is a privilege not available to many, that probably did it. We also exchanged thoughts about how different his native and adoptive countries are, with him admitting he missed the Brazilian warmth and easy-going atmosphere, of which Japan is pretty much the perfect antithesis.

Having enjoyed these three weeks immensely, I leave in two minds about Japan. On one hand, it is a staggeringly beautiful country with a culture that has so many points we can learn from (the importance of core values like honesty, loyalty and altruism for starters) and a history that has led them to actually have a debate on whether or not they should allow themselves to have armed forces despite having a communist dictator tossing ballistic missiles over their territory for fun. On the other hand, and as Jesus correctly pointed out, it feels like a fundamentally repressed society, where a vast majority spends an an entire life “on rails” and a small minority feels the need to turn to extreme eccentricity to escape from that. On one hand, people do their absolute utmost to help you despite the language barrier. On the other hand, in several occasions I wished people just said “no” when it became clear what I was after was not possible, rather than spending half an hour discussing it between themselves in Japanese trying to avoid disappointing me. On one hand, people who hosted us were incredibly kind and went above and beyond to make sure we had a good time wherever we were staying. On the other hand, the warmth I felt in countries like Sri Lanka, Myanmar or India was almost always absent - as Pete put it, our hosts were usually “good, but not necessarily nice”. Either way, I leave Japan with a desire to come back to explore the rest of the country and spend some more time in places we did not quite get to see properly - and to actually do the Kumano Kodo trail next time!

(This is the bit where you are probably expecting me to write “Sayonara Japan”, but that is both unbelievably cliché and against a strict no-goodbye policy I have to abide by. So without further ado, I shall just walk away…)

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 86 - Bruxas

Aviso prévio - como prometido, aqui fica o meu ensaio sobre os males associados a essa péssima ideia que é o hotel-cápsula. Espero que gostem.

Pela positiva, na noite passada dormi que nem um anjinho depois  de ver o Lost in Translation (excelente filme) enquanto a minha roupa acabava de secar. Pela negativa, fui acordado às 9:56 da manhã com três murros na minha “cápsula” pelos senhores da limpeza, que apesar de eu ficar mais uma noite têm por força de me mudar os lençóis. Ora quando fiz o check-in fui informado de que entre as dez da manhã e as quatro da tarde se efectuavam limpezas, mas daí ao hotel pura e simplesmente não funcionar e me arrancarem da cama quatro minutos antes da hora vai uma grande distância…

Apesar das dificuldades logísticas lá consegui ir dar uma corrida à volta do Palácio Imperial, que me surpreendeu por não ter sido tão lenta quanto temia, o que só pode ser atribuído aos poderes mágicos de uma noite bem dormida. Depois de conseguir tomar banho e um pequeno almoço rápido segui em direcção a Ginza onde me encontrei com o Anthony e passei um par de horas a gastar mais do que devia em presentes antes de irmos a Shibuya, para mostrar a mais famosa passadeira do Mundo ao rapaz e me despedir da estátua do Hachikō, de longe o meu cão favorito. Despedimo-nos depois de bebermos uma cerveja na Kirin City, a sucursal central da minha cervejaria Japonesa favorita, com planos vagos de talvez nos encontrarmos à noite se os planetas se alinhassem, mas a verdade é que ambos sabíamos que isso seria pouco provável.

Tendo adquirido peso a mais que chegue na minha mala por hoje voltei à minha cápsula para um duche e uma muda de roupa antes de ir ter com a Simran, amiga do Pete com quem já tínhamos saído à noite na nossa primeira paragem em Tóquio. A house party onde ela me conseguiu infiltrar, no vigésimo-nono andar de um arranha-céus perto do centro, estava relativamente vazia mas com gente que - assim como o resto do Japão - claramente leva o Halloween a sério. Confiando na Simran, que me disse para não me preocupar com disfarces porque ninguém ia dar grande importância, acabei por ser a única pessoa que vi a noite inteira que não estava mascarada (até a Simran já tinha arranjado uma máscara antes de eu chegar). Da festa seguimos para uma discoteca, perto de Shibuya, onde nos encontrámos com outros amigos da Simran e onde passei o resto da noite a falar com desconhecidos até ao primeiro comboio.

Obviamente que a minha experiência é breve, mas as dificuldades de comunicação entre estrangeiros e japoneses (provenientes da falta de uma língua em comum, uma vez que os primeiros têm dificuldade em aprender japonês e vice-versa) levam a que haja uma divisão social entre os dois grupos. Infelizmente, o grupo de expatriados com quem acabámos não toca na mesma tonalidade que eu, portanto voltei à cápsula com memórias de excelentes disfarces, boa música e péssimas conversas - numa delas, um rapaz respondeu à minha pergunta sobre o seu emprego com as palavras “arranjamos bolsas de estudo para crianças órfãs” em voz muito alta e em várias direcções, claramente a ver se alguém o ouvia… Ainda assim agradeci à Simran por me ter trazido à boleia já que, antes de mais, a noite me ensinou uma coisa - se alguma vez considerar mudar-me para o Japão preciso de dedicar três ou quatro anos a aprender a falar japonês antes de o fazer…

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 85 - Tree

After getting a whole three hours’ sleep in before having to vacate my bunk bed, half an hour after check-out time as usual, I was expecting the day to be as close to a write-off as it gets. As it turns out… well, that is exactly what it was. Two weeks of more units of alcohol than hours of sleep have officially broken me and getting out of bed this morning was harder than at any other point in this trip.

As I was sitting in the hostel’s common area trying to figure out where to go next I started conversation with two Americans who had been travelling together (having met at a hostel themselves a few days ago) and we ended up grabbing lunch together. Unfortunately my energy levels did not match theirs so I was particularly awful company, but nevertheless they were keen to meet up later to go out, an idea that I would spend the rest of my day trying to convince myself of without any success whatsoever. Two hours spent in an awesome coffee roastery catching up on writing just about managed to rejuvenate my spirits in time to head to the Tokyo Skytree, the second tallest building in the World, for sunset. There I briefly met Anthony, one of the Americans, who could not come up as he was heading to Roppongi to drive Mario Karts in character around the city - as you can imagine, this made me incredibly jealous and annoyed I did not get an International Drivers’ Permit before coming here…

The Skytree is actually more impressive than its 634m of height suggest. From the ground it looks immense, but from the observation deck its towering view over the biggest city in the World is simply breathtaking. I probably sound like I have an unhealthy obsession for both sunsets and Mount Fuji at this point, but the image of a seemingly endless forest of skyscrapers with a Fuji-shaped silhouette surrounded by a red, blue and green gradient made my hangover disappear for a brief moment.

After an hour spent walking around both observation decks my hangover came back, so after grabbing a bite to eat I set off on the daunting task of transferring between the two hostels I foolishly booked for these last three days. The place that will lodge me until I fly away is a capsule hotel, originally designed for drunk businessmen who failed to find their way home after a drinking session but now popular amongst budget travellers who struggle with the capital’s prohibitive accommodation prices.. While even more awkward than Book & Bed (and substantially less hip) I feel like I can just about function with my bag locked in a different room from my bed and the showers in a different floor altogether… Maybe tomorrow’s post will be an extended rent about capsule hotels, but right now I honestly could sleep anywhere, so this will do just fine.

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 84 - Monte

Antes de se ir embora, faltava ao Pete fazer duas coisas essenciais - ver o monte Fuji, de longe a mais emblemática imagem de marca do país do Sol nascente, e experimentar Okonomiyaki em Osaka, visto que as deliciosas panquecas são especialidade local. Depois de alguma pesquisa descobrimos que o melhor sítio para completar o primeiro objectivo nas nossas últimas vinte e quatro horas no Japão era… um lugar à janela do lado esquerdo do Shinkansen de Osaka para Tóquio. Após mais um check-out tardio e de completarmos o segundo objectivo, numa espécie de pequeno almoço bastante tardio, apanhámos o comboio das duas e quarenta e três, que se tudo corresse bem nos daria uma inesquecível vista ao pôr-do-sol sem pagarmos mais por isso.

Apesar do cansaço acumulado ter dado azo a uma curta sesta no início da viagem, o monte Fuji não desapontou - desde os primeiros vestígios de neve visíveis ao nos aproximarmos com o sol nas nossas costas até às cores absurdas, filtradas pela típica nébula de final de tarde, os dez minutos que passámos com o espiritual vulcão activo nas nossas janelas entram directamente para a lista dos momentos desta viagem dos quais não nos esqueceremos tão cedo. Provavelmente por fazerem este percurso dia sim dia não, grande parte dos passageiros que enchiam a nossa carruagem pareciam nem reparar no que se passava à nossa esquerda ou nos dois turistas a olhar especados para uma montanha durante um quarto de hora.

A chegada à Tokyo Station lembrou-nos rapidamente de onde estávamos, com a hora de ponta a dificultar o exercício de carregarmos as nossas mochilas às costas nos comboios locais. Ainda assim, chegámos ao nosso hostel sãos e salvos, prontos para ficar acordados até o Pete ter de partir para o aeroporto, às cinco da manhã - supostamente para minimizar o jet lag, mas provavelmente só mais uma desculpa para uma noite de copos em Tóquio…

Depois de um par de cervejas num bar com bastante piada chamado Popeye Beer Club seguimos para Shibuya, para outro bar engraçado onde as prateleiras estavam mais cheias de discos de vinil do que de bebidas alcoólicas, e onde a música era irrepreensível. Dois dedos de conversa com um casal de ingleses entreteve-nos até ao último comboio, que acabou por nos deixar inesperadamente a vinte minutos a pé do hostel. Aí passámos o resto da noite, primeiro a jogar cartas e a despachar a nossa garrafa de Nikka Pure Malt e eventualmente a jogar “No More Women” (um dos nossos passatempos favoritos) com o staff do turno da noite do hostel. Às cinco da manhã, sem grandes cerimónias como mandam as nossas regras, o Pete saiu para a rua de mochila às costas, pondo fim a uma das fases mais memoráveis (ainda que também mais alcoólicas) da minha viagem.

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 83 - Malt

Japanese whisky has been a constant presence in our trip, first and foremost because Pete and I are big fans of the amber spirit but also because the quality and value of the local malts happen to be exceptional. We have also managed to stay within a tight budget (nothing over 5000 yen, about 30 pounds) but we are getting better at spending it wisely - the Nikka Pure Malt we bought at a 7-Eleven in Naoshima is worth roughly half of the Suntory Royal 15 we stumbled across in Tanabe, but we paid almost the same for the two bottles. More importantly, one of the key reasons that led us to give up on our Kumano Kodo plans was the dangerously low whisky levels we were working with at that point, severely increasing the risk of our endeavour going terribly wrong.

For these reasons our trip would not be complete without a visit to a distillery, so we booked a free tour of Suntory’s flagship plant Yamazaki, the oldest in Japan - deeply regretting not planning further in advance, as the full-on factory tour had been sold out for months. This led to an impressively early start for our standards, as we left the house just after 9am and were on a train that should have got us to the distillery ten minutes before the start of our tour. Halfway through the train journey it became obvious that something was wrong, as we were spending ten minutes standing still at some stations, until we eventually stopped at a random station for good and, after an announcement in Japanese, everyone got off the train. In the end we made it to the distillery an hour later than planned, meaning we had to conduct our own private tour of the museum.

The history of the Suntory group is quite impressive, as everything started with something called Akadama Port Wine (since then renamed “Sweet Wine” because Port is, you know, from Porto) and in one hundred years Japan went from having no domestically produced Whisky to making some of the best in the World. The Museum itself is reasonably informative and well thought through, but in reality it just left us wanting to do the factory tour even more. Nevertheless, walking along their “whisky library” trying to find some of our favourites was good fun, while tasting three different ages of Yamazaki Single Malt made the trip worthwhile - even though it was barely 1pm… The scenery around the distillery is quiet but beautiful, with the surrounding hills providing plenty of sources for the crystalline water necessary to produce great whisky.

Upon returning to Osaka, on a substantially more trivial train journey, we quickly grabbed some ramen and headed to the Umeda Sky Building - two interconnected towers with a rooftop observation deck - for a pretty epic sunset with great views of the entire prefecture. The seemingly infinite ocean of low-level side streets occasionally torn by clusters of high-rise buildings, split in two by a wide river and surrounded by towering mountains, provided an outstanding foreground for a very colourful sunset - sadly one of our last in the land of the rising sun. Leaving Osaka in itself does not exactly break my heart, but the fact that it is the last stop on our little tour of Japan is enough to warrant some premature melancholia while looking at a dusky red sky.

The day ended with Pete heading to the hostel for a Takoyaki party, where he learned how to make octopus balls that are not exactly my cup of tea, while I grabbed dinner with a friend at the crazy Yakitori Pete and I had found on our first stop in Osaka. When I got back to the hostel, a group consisting of Pete, a Japanese girl, a Chinese PhD student, an Italian guy on an endless trip and a grumpy Belgian old man (who was actually saying nice and sensible things most of the time, but sounded very unhappy with the World) was hanging out in the common area. After a round of colour-Jenga, which I lost after a fateful roll of the die, we called it a night over a quick dram of Nikka Pure Malt, nicely completing two circles in one go.

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 82 - Veados

O nosso primeiro dia de volta à civilização teve um início tão lento como o de ontem, desta vez devido à mudança do hostel J-Hoppers para a pousada Sakura, onde passaremos as nossas últimas duas noites em Osaka. O facto de estarmos determinados a encontrar o Bagels and Bagels (sítio onde tínhamos tentado, sem sucesso, tomar o pequeno almoço antes de partirmos para Koya-san) não ajudou, mas um par de Bagels e um passeio de vinte minutos depois lá deixámos as malas no nosso quarto de seis tapetes Tatami (a unidade de medida de tamanho de divisões por estes lados) e seguimos viagem para Nara.

A regressada chuva recebeu-nos de braços abertos, pelo que o passeio pelos jardins de Yoshikien foi mais cinzento do que era desejável, mas ainda assim simpático. Daí seguimos directos para o Todai-Ji, um templo que combina o maior Buda em bronze do Japão com o maior edifício de madeira do Mundo e cento e trinta quilos de ouro como a cereja no topo do bolo. A constante presença de veados (tão habituados à presença de humanos que nem nos ligavam) no caminho quase nos fez chegar atrasados à última entrada no templo, mas felizmente ainda tivemos tempo suficiente para admirar a grandeza avassaladora do mesmo.

Depois de um passeio pelo parque Nara e uma paragem rápida pela Nandaimon Gate pusemos-nos a caminho da estação, que tive de interromper dedicar meia hora a uma conversa telefónica que tinha agendada para essa hora enquanto o Pete ingeria pacientemente um smoothie de chá verde. Depois de tentarmos meia dúzia de sítios em Nara e um restaurante de okonomiyaki que nos tinham recomendado (todos eles fechados) acabámos a vaguear pela supostamente problemática área de Nishinari à procura de sítio para jantar. Enquanto que é verdade que estas foram as ruas mais sombrias que já vi neste país, a verdade é que não se comparam  algumas partes de Londres ou até às partes mais arranjadinhas de Delhi - por muito que tentasse, duvido que conseguisse sentir-me  realmente inseguro neste país, mesmo numa área famosa pela quantidade de sem-abrigo e pela influência dos Yakuza.

Depois de um jantar mediano, composto por diversas coisas fritas que sabiam todas mais ou menos ao mesmo, seguimos para a famosa área de Dotonbori, uma movimentada e bastante iluminada rua no sul da cidade que nos deixou pouco impressionados por nos parecer pouco genuína e uma versão de Picadilly Circus - um sítio atrai turistas com luzes e cores sem ter de facto nada de especial para ver. A chuva miudinha mas persistente provavelmente não ajudou, mas ficámos com a impressão de que o norte de Osaka é bastante mais interessante do que o sul.

Ao voltarmos ao hotel acabámos à conversa com outros hóspedes na área comum, um dos quais um cirurgião torácico que vive na ilha de Kumamoto e está em Osaka em trabalho. Depois de nos recomendar uma visita à “notória” área de Nishinari (que nós não fazíamos ideia ter acabado de visitar) acabou por nos perguntar a idade, pergunta que devolvemos após respondermos à dele. Se tivesse de adivinhar não lhe daria mais de trinta anos, mas na verdade o senhor tinha a módica idade de quarenta e quatro anos, o que mais uma vez verifica a minha teoria de que gente caucasiana envelhece ao dobro da velocidade do resto do Mundo. O nosso dia acabou com o excelente segundo volume de Kill Bill e com as últimas gotas do Suntory Royal 15 que tínhamos comprado em Tanabe por tuta e meia. Se se lembrarem de melhor maneira de passar um serão chuvoso avisem, mas a mim não me ocorre nenhuma…

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete