A Life Less Ordinary

Tokyo Neighbourhoods

Oh my. This jet lag is insane. Woke up at some ungodly hour, despite my attempt to chemically induce sleep and after pottering around in the hideously overpriced gym, thoroughly reading all Tweets and deleting some work emails, I ventured to the breakfast buffet (which should be banned, as I have no idea when to stop) and then was forced to kill an hour and a half at Starbucks in Shibuya, waiting for the stores to open. Not so bad though, my view was the below and whilst nursing my third caffeine hit of the day (at 8am) I watching the commuters battle the famous Shibuya crossing. From an anthropological point of view it was fascinating; everyone obediently waits until the exact point when the green man is flashing, everyone. There is absolutely no jay-walking. Even when there is no traffic; amazing. 

Having realised mid-flight that I had forgotten my Lonely Planet and then reminding myself how there are no subway maps in English, I hastily joined the queue of giggling school girls standing outside Tower Records (5^th floor; apparently the only English book store in SW Tokyo) to secure a copy of Time Out, but only after elbowing my way through the crowds; it appears I timed my visit with the same day as the launch of the Japanese Boyzone’s new album. I hopped skipped on the JR line to Shinjuku, where I was greeted with the below… Not quite as impressive as it is on an eve, but still a myriad of fonts, colours, noises and crazy little cars, punctuated with vending machines dispensing coffee-in-a-can on every street corner.

 

Whilst waiting for another bloody store to open (the stores open at 11am, apparently, in Shinjuku) I discovered a wonderful shop with very strange oddities such as these… 

Yes, they are French maid's outfits… And adult-sized school girl outfits. Wrong. But the photo that makes me laugh out loud whenever I see it (and made me gasp with horror when I saw them FOR SALE) has to be this:

Yes, that is a man, he is shaven and that's just the start of the wrong-ness... 

I was tempted to buy some of the below (having allergies myself), but I don't think I could summon up the courage to wear them in public and they would only end up festering dust in a drawer, along with all the other Japanese oddities I have bought over the years. I can't even fathom how they came up with the idea....

Onto Harajuku next. I'm in love with the sugary smelling Hello Kitty café next to Kiddyland; the line of school girls munching on the cookies directly opposite unfortunately wasn't captured, and I'm kicking myself now for not asking if I could take a photo of them. As a child I drove my mother mad for anything Hello Kitty, and even in my 30's the fascination hasn't waned.

Harajuku never fails to turn up some incredible pieces...

 

Yes, that is a Buzz Lightyear necklace, a My Little Pony brooch, and those are Barbie heads as ring and shoe trinkets. Tres odd.

Off the main drag, Omotosando in Harajuku, I found myself wandering around back streets perusing Billionaires Boy’s Club and A Bathing Ape  (I have no intention of buying anything - not my style - but their wares are incredible and the retail experience is second to none). The slightly more upmarket Beams and  Porter did have a good going-over, although I'm saving pennies right now. 

Further into Omotosando and Tokyo architecture really does come into it's own. This photo doesn't do the incredible Prada building justice, but it has a James Bond style tunnel entrance at the side (which I've tried to capture) and is super cool inside. I love it. And all of the contents. 

 

Next onto the upmarket Ginza, where you need a fat wallet and pearl necklace as standard. Abercrombie have recently moved into this neighbourhood, as have Zara, H&M and now Uniqlo have a new men's concept store; the High Street is invading what was once an exclusive street wall to wall with European designer brands. This isn't such a bad thing.

Having been about all day to the point where I feel as if my feet have been bound and I've been walking on wooden sandals, I now have a sufficient amount of tat  and curiosities to bring back to the UK to pacify curious friends. I’ve just been called by my US counterpart who called to say she's arrived safely (thanks for that) and do I want to meet for dinner (um, maybe?)

Dinner tonight (unless I can muster up the courage to be social – perhaps not) will be another round of unidentified vegetables from the local 7-11 (the only thing I KNOW doesn't have shellfish in), washed down with  an over-sweetened orange juice and some sweet bread stuff (sweet flavoured bread, not sweetbreads...)

I may even be able to see past 9pm tonight. That is if I can figure out how to use this:

Please let me sleep through the night tomorrow is a big day.

Sayonara.  

The rules of a business class lounge.

One must:

 

• Always maximise the time in the lounge, bypassing all duty-free shops, including Reiss, Kurt Geiger and Smythson. Even if one has found plentiful goods to purchase.
• Stop off at WHSmith to buy 1l bottle of water (if one is swathed in cashmere for the duration of the flight, one must ensure one is re-hydrated throughout...)
• Grab every English fashion / style / gossip related magazine possible. Avoid all Scandinavian magazines and copies of the Daily Mail.
• Suss out immediately, whilst not looking like a novice, exactly where the food, beverages and bathrooms are located. In particular when one hasn´t used this particular lounge before...
• Position oneself next to, or close to, said food and beverage counter to maximise consumption and intake.
• Fill one's plate with at least one of every single morsel on offer. Including the shortbread biscuits. And the mini crackers. Even if you're not hungry; this is a vital part of the experience.
• Check out all of your fellow travellers and wonder who will be next to you on the flight. Pray it's not the guy freeloading on the Asahi beer and peanuts. Or the brat-ish Japanese kids running circles around their passive parents.
• Avoid eye contact with aforementioned freeloader, who has now positioned himself next to you in the Business Centre, even though there is half a lounge of empty seats available for the taking.
• Check the Departures board occasionally, to ensure one does not miss one's flight, due to excessive prosecco consumption.
• Understand how to use a Scandinavian keyboard, or at least have the ability and dexterity to maneuver the mouse to make changes to every single word. After excessive prosecco consumption.
• Not curse too loudly when one realises one has forgotten Tokyo Lonely Planet and is therefore English map-less for the next five days...
• Avoid eating the two bars of Dairy Milk one has squirreled away in one's bag. And figure out a tactic to squirrel away yet more goodies from the food and beverage counter.
• Sleep on the flight; for tomorrow is a busy day traipsing the streets of Tokyo...

TTFN Tweeps, see you on the other side x

 

 

In this decade I have...

• Graduated with a first class honours in fashion.
• Craned my neck looking at the New York skyscrapers for the first time.
  
• Moved to London, where the streets are paved with gold.
• Started my career in the best way possible.
• Fallen out of love with my childhood sweetheart.
• Travelled around the world with my life in a backpack.
• Lived in another country (momentarily).
• Nearly died in a car crash. But have a great scar to tell the tale.
• Got back on the career ladder.
• Turned blonde. And since then, even blonder.
• Gone on a blind date and fallen back in love.
• Bought my first house with my little brother.
• Secured a senior position for one of the most dynamic retail brands.
• Took my first big overseas business trip, and since then many more.
• Learnt how to say please and thank you in Japanese.
• Sung karaoke until 5am and then presented to the chairman at 9am.
  
• Regained my freedom from a negative relationship.
• Become a godmother, again.
• Supported a friend through a divorce and watched my best friend walk down the aisle.
• Made some incredible friendships, but also culled some in the process.
• Faced challenges every day, but realised I'm still learning, so it's all right...
  
• Learnt how to be happy and how to love myself.
• Sat on the beach in Hawaii, watching the sunset whilst sipping Mai Tai’s, realising I have the rest of my life to do what ever I want to do and there is no rush whatsoever...
  

 

 

 

Excess baggage

The checking of my Visa credit card on the busiest day back to work was probably not such a great idea, along with falling asleep in my make-up at 9pm last night. My punishment; a balance I wince at paying off and a body clock that is well and truly out of synch. I’ve been awake since 02:30 this morning and have a horrid 08:30 Tokyo conf-call to look forward to. Must remember to quaff a few Melatonin before I retire this evening.

Having been advised by The Boy to not use my Amex overseas (and foregoing additional Virgin Flying Club Miles – something to do with higher fees for non-Sterling transactions, I dunno…) I slapped all purchases from my recent trip to Hawaii and Vegas on the Visa card, which had to be dusted off for the occasion.

Curiosity got the better of me and I checked my statement online yesterday morning. I was amused to see in my absence, Barclaycard have updated their website with a thermometer-style balance display, that ‘grows’ as the statement loads on the screen. I’m undecided if this is a good thing or not, but it is amusing to watch the balance ‘heat up’ and the grand total run through in a numerical petrol-pump ticker style.

Trawling through the slightly more acceptable transactions at MAC, American Eagle and Abercrombie (Christmas presents – allowed), Target, CVs and WallMart (the US being the purveyor of all pharmacy items and the reason why my luggage rattled all the way home), I gasped at the five separate transactions at Victoria’s Secret glaring at me, each one enough to cover a weekly zone 1 and 2 travelcard. I felt guilty enough at the time as I handed the card over to the cashier, but it’s more than obvious in the cold light of day; I have no self-control...

However, being female and having learnt from the best, I have developed the ability to justify all purchases, in only the way girls can.

Having never been bra fitted before, and not being the most well endowed of girls, I’ve never seen any point in spending more than 10GBP on a bra and a couple of quid on knickers. I’m ashamed to say my underwear drawer (you could hardly call it lingerie) was mostly from TopShop, H&M and (embarrassingly) Primark… So I was justifiably shocked to realise how much bras actually cost – do people seriously pay upwards of 30GBP for a bra? For three bras you could have got yourself a nice pair of shoes from Kurt Geiger. Sod that. 

Clearly it was time I grew up, so I put myself in the capable hands of the Victoria’s Secret salesgirls. It was their lucky day and I was putty in their hands.

A few slightly flustered hours later, having been prodded, pushed, hoicked and squeezed into various ill-fitting ensembles; I am now the proud owner of an extremely attractive lingerie drawer. Most of which is in varying shades of bright through to neon (I’m not THAT ready to grow up), as well as 10 pairs of matching lacy knickers and boyshorts – the first boyshorts I’ve found that actually cover my ample bottom, which I was terribly excited about. Hence the 10 pairs. Excessive? Moi?

Added to my new lingerie wardrobe are two neon sports bras; one coral, one yellow (which I am extremely excited about wearing under a black racer tank I also discovered in the sportswear section) and the most flattering strapless bikini I have ever found. So I bought two; one bright lime and one in coral, both perfect for my pale skin, even if it does decide to turn beige. As mother said; when you find a good bikini, buy two. Or words to that effect.

The only real disappointment is that I don’t look anything like the model on the swing tag when I wear any of them.

 

 

 

The Land of the Rising Sun

 

This week AD is lost in translation.

I have a love / hate relationship with tokyo. Which probably isn’t abnormal or unheard of. It is a rather strange city – far removed from its Asian neighbours, yet linked closely in similarities to the uk (read: both are over-crowded islands, both are repressed societies, both leaders in technology; the British Industrial Revolution, the Japanese Technological Revolution…)

So I believe it's only fair you hear my list. And please excuse the non-capitalisation of cities / countries - TypePad is playing silly buggers and won't let me capitalise them for some inane reason.

I love…

The Oddities and Strange Japanese-isms. This is probably a little unfair as I suspect there are a lot of very strange things about English culture than any non-Anglo may find amusing. Still, tokyo always appeals to my anthropological training and curiosity of different cultures. My favourite oddities to date:

• You can't use the hotel swimming pool if you have a tattoo. The Beckhams would be buggered.
  
• Shoes only come in three sizes; small, medium and large.
• Fruit is beautifully over-packaged to within an inch of its life. And square watermelons retail for £60
• You can’t smoke anywhere on the street apart from at designated 'smoking corners', yet every bar and restaurant is a haze of smoke.
• Their obsessive-ness with cleanliness, yet their obsessive-ness with schoolgirl's knickers in vending machines. Hmmmm.
• Cartoons are used to illustrate public information / warning signs – I find this strange as it almost makes light of every situation. 
• English Milk Tea flavoured Haagen Dazs and Milk flavoured Pepsi – WTF?!
• The obsession with miniature everything and the fact grown women (and men...) have about 50 dangly things hanging off their mobile phones.

       

The Loos. Where else in the world can you find loos that sing to you, spray water in three different directions, warm your bum and self-clean? I’ve never spent so much time in a cubicle.

The Retail Environment. Having worked in the UK retail industry for nearly 10 years now (ouch), I’ve rarely been inspired by retail quite in the same way as in Tokyo. The sheer variety of independently owned boutiques and stores with totally unique offerings is so refreshing from the cookie-cutter approach we have on the uk high street. Quite refreshing, although depressing at the same time as all the clothes are Mini Mouse size.

The Style. Japanese men really do know how to dress well. These guys put the Italians to shame. The ladies, not so much… sorry girls. Apart from the cos play girls of Shibuya, who’s bleached blonde hair and Manga-style make-up I am endlessly fascinated by.

The Diet Products. Never before have I seen so many collagen based products. Collagen hair shampoo, collagen pills, collagen drinks for goodness sake. Not to mention the ‘cookies that help you bust grow’ (deliberate misspelling BTW), and the ‘baby smooth foot massager’, that resembles a cheese grater for your feet. Oh and not to mention ‘Deep Moist’ – AKA lip balm. Bad choice of wording there, ad boys.

Karaoke. What’s not to love about being locked in a darkened private room, with as much cheap vodka you can throw down your neck, a song directory bigger than the M25 Yellow Pages and a microphone? No one need suffer listening to me belt out Paint It Black ever again.

The fact my work mobile doesn’t work here. Bliss.

  

I hate…

The Extra Charges. Even though you are a paying guest staying at the ANA Intercontinental, you still have to pay additional for wireless internet access, the gym, the pool AND even if you want to park off on one of the sun-loungers. There really is no excuse for this.

The Weather. This is my fourth trip to Tokyo. I moaned my way through winter because it was too cold (it’s Baltic), and then summer was too humid. My beautifully freshly straightened hair, within two and a half minutes of stepping foot outside my hotel, resembled a frizzy mess. I have however been told the beautiful bright spring mornings and cherry blossom may stop my whingeing. But I am British after all… so who knows.

The Beige.  Tokyo, I was once told, reached its peak in the 1980’s. And my vista from the 35^th floor only proves that; revealing a palette of beige, mushroom and computer-monitor grey. There is however the spattering of an architectural experimentation in Harajuku or Omotosando, or the few and far between beautifully reconstructed post-war temples.

 

The Food. Being severely allergic to shellfish means I can’t partake in most culinary delights of japan. And when I order salad with no shrimp, I expect salad with no shrimp and not to be presented with a shrimp salad. So I have learnt to opt for the unidentified ‘meat on a stick’, which unfortunately leaves me having to spend the next few days not too far from a bathroom (reference above note re: loos – this is one saving grace at this point).

The Friendly Airport Limousine. There is NOTHING ‘friendly’ about a grotty coach that plays naff elevator music for two hours whilst crawling through the Japanese countryside from Narita to Tokyo, especially after a painful 13 hour flight from LHR.

The Non-Logic of Street Smarts. The streets don't have street signs. Buildings instead of being numbered in a logical numerical order, are numbered by the date they were built. This drives me crazy. The taxis and their automatic doors. I get yelled at every time in Japanese when my automatic reflex to close a car door kicks in. And weird stuff like this on the subway - why the need for the rail to follow the exact line of the steps please?

 

 

Nature vs. Nurture

 

Ahhhh, the beautiful Koh Phanang. Six years on. Gone are the £3 bamboo beach huts, in are the uber-chic £100+ resorts. We settled for something in between at the rather modest £25 price range. Including breakfast - but of course.

The first few bewildered evenings were spent on the beach,sussing out what's what and where's where. We did *shamefully* make the school-boy error of heading out way too early - 10pm?! - on the first night, only to realise no one actually bothers to show up until nearly midnight. Classic example of young British drinking culture; knock 'em back before last orders at 11pm.

Ah yes and the cocktail buckets. How could I forget those? Fiver and you're sorted for the night. They even make rings and necklaces out of old straws for you. Bless. And yes, those are the words 'fuck' and 'bucket' the local entrepreneurs use to market said cocktail buckets. Why those particular words are used a) as a promotional/sales/advertising tool and b) as the name of ones company/enterprise is any ones guess.

Palita Lodge of Happiness

Well, I added the 'of happiness' bit... But... Palita Lodge on Koh Phangan's Haad Rin Sunrise Beach has the infinity pool, breakfast overlooking the beach, air-con bamboo hut, eco-conscious and welcoming owners, cheap food and reasonably priced beer; what more could anyone ask for?

The Lore of the Backpacker

After relocating our last night in Bangkok from the decaying grandeur of The Atlanta Hotel in sex tourist central to the slicker Rikka Inn on backpacker haven Koh San Road, a few Chang beers and a pad Thai each later, we are afforded time to appreciate the fine art of people watching, and in particular the backpacker kind.

Let us observe them in their natural habitat.

Exhibit One: The Greenie.
Fresh off the boat, lily white skin, brand spanking new backpack, The Greenie is debating a tattoo and piercing, but isn't too sure either would go down well with mummy when they get back in September in time to study English Lit at St Andrews. Robed in toe rings, tie-dyed Thai fisherman pants and matching hair bands, all recently and naively purchased at remarkably high prices in a vain attempt to fit in, they are eager to soak up the atmosphere and live the dream, or at least experience a little slice of what Leonardo DiCaprio portrayed in The Beach. With daddy's credit card firmly in their Velcro wallet "only in case of emergencies" and a "promise to at least try and find some bar work in Sydney", they will trail the well beaten track through south east Asia before hitting the Australian east coast in six weeks time. It's a proven formula yet rite of passage for all 18 year olds. Overheard on the overnight train from one Greenie to one Know It All "if I was to go to university now, it would be for social reasons, not for education..." say no more.

Exhibit Two: The Know It All.
Although having only travelled for 12, 18 months at the most, the Know It All is keen to impress and share his knowledge with the world, or anyone stupid enough to express an interest in whatever drivel comes out of his mouth. Having an opinion on everything, you will often find the KIA waxing lyrical to wide eyed Greenies; "Vietnam/Tibet/Laos/Cambodia (delete as appropiate, they've been there or are at least pretending to have been there) is waaaaaay less touristy/commercial/trodden than ... (insert whatever local you are currently residing in)." or the cut-throat "well you could go to Ko Tao, but I warn you, it isn't what it used to be back in the 90's", whilst at the same time delighting in showing off their 1997 copy of a Lonely Planet guide book, equipped with battle wounds and foot notes. Often found cruising back streets trying to make friends with the locals, or "finding oneself", the KIA is rarely without his guitar and insists on entertaining the masses with his rendition of Bob Marley, much to the annoyance of people just wanting a quiet drink. Generally a solo traveller and more often than not an early-40's blue collar worker back in the UK trying to escape his mundane life, he has returned to recapture his youth. And bolster his confidence for a few weeks.

Exhibit Three: Peter Pan.
Arrived in Thailand back in 2002, Peter Pan has never quite made it back home. Cashing in his return air fare, he took to the laid-back, drug addled lifestyle like a duck to water. Having spent the last six years in a chemical induced state, Peter Pan can usually be found muttering to himself in the corner of a bar or dancing in the middle of the street at midday. Adept in Thai boxing to the highest level and friends with all the local bar owners, Peter Pan still can't speak a word of Thai and visits his mate's English bar once a week for a slice of Blighty; bacon and eggs and the FA Cup on satellite tv. He makes the monthly pilgrimage down to Surat Thani for the full moon parties, but "it isn't what it used to be..." apparently, and instead ends up shagging young 18 year old Greenies on the beach. Class.

Exhibit Four: The Daytripper.
Here for two, maybe three weeks, or whatever annual leave the boss will give her, the daytripper has escaped her 9 to 5 job and a depressed winter London in search of some escapism. Not having any time or energy for any of the above, the Daytripper clutches her copy of Grazia and instead focuses her energies on developing a tan, searching the markets for half decent knock-off designer handbags and looking for the next opportunity to charge her iPhone. Perfectly manicured and pedicured, but still pale from an English winter, the Daytripper gazes enviously at the other emacited female backpackers who are both walnut brown and a size zero, whilst convincing herself she doesn't really have itchy feet, her early 30 years wouldn't suit a transient lifestyle and she would miss her hair straightners too much. Honestly, she would... Oh...

Capitalism is alive and well.

Kanchanaburi day trip; same same, different. Same tired, over worked Burmese elephants at Coca-cola sponsored elephant 'sanctuary', same Jeath War Museum, same rickety Bridge over the River Kwai (albeit a little more haggered, to be fair though, we all are six years on), same trail of coaches churning out bemused tourists at various intervals, same insipid Thai lunch. The white water rafting, however, was neither 'white' nor self-rafted this time. Instead we were propelled all of 50 meters to the other side of the bank where we transfered to a bamboo raft and then um, floated back to the original side of the bank. Different.

Slightly more organised than before, we were all either pink triangles (half day) or blue squares (overnight trip). The blue squares being slightly annoyed to hear us pink triangles were pretty much squeezing everything they were into their two days, into our one day, added with the fact they have to sleep on a floating hotel on the River Kwai.

Note to self: never believe a tour guide. 

Train number 85

Koh Phanang here we come. Overnight train number 85 from Bangkok to Surat Thani. 12 hours of swaying in a bunk, peeing onto the tracks and listening to strange men snore.