US trip: Post 1
I am successfully in americas. And it has been sufficiently awesome that i have not yet had time to yatter at you all yet. So, feel free to catch up here. I warn you, it is excessively tl:dr.
Monday 19th
10.15am, Narita Airport
Japan
I cannot for the life of me figure out the conversion rates or find a currency exchange centre, so until I do that’s goodbye wireless internet.
It’s not precisely misty - more proto-mist, damp and dour and bathing everything in thick grey, threatening to swoop down and chew on your ligaments at a moment’s notice. The airport staff are stumping around in thick leather overcoats and face-masks, presumably to fend off ghastly foreign diseases. I managed to get a rather nasty blood nose in the toilets - I’d hate to have seen stumpy little mr Yamamoto’s reaction if I’d turned up at the gate covered in gore. I even had a line prepared - “Osutolalia jin desu - hana-wa hen desu.” I’m an Australian person. My nose is odd. Thankfully the bloody geyser stopped and I saved myself the embarrassment of my halting Japanese.
The flight was surprisingly enjoyable. The main reason for this was that I slept through the whole damn thing on two filched seats, with my travel pillow jammed behind my neck and my feet invading the corridor. I pity anyone in the surrounding seats - my left sinus was blocked and vengeful, and the resulting nasal symphony must have been painful. But nobody tried to wake me - or if they did, the polite Japanese couple behind me were being very subtle about it. The food was less palatable. I will never understand the logic behind feeding some 150 people beans in an enclosed area. Our bowel eructation’s were loud and pungent, to say the least. And it’s not as if this is a one-off incident - it happened last time, too.
But back to Narita - they have automated bathrooms. If you wave your hand under the tap, it spits water at you. The soap comes pre-frothed. The water is at hand-temperature, and the hand-dryer adjusts itself to just slightly warmer than the ambient temperature. I spent a gleeful five minutes teasing the tap, but it was always too quick for me.
I can only hope that I manage not to bollock up the next leg of the journey. Considering it’s the most difficult bit, this is highly possible.
I’m off to hunt for currency and internet.
11.58 am
I found both currency, internet and cheap food - there is no word for how nice gyoza dumplings are here. In its own environment, food attains a certain boldness of taste and variance of flavour. I found a sweetshop selling mochi cakes wrapped in bright paper, and rest assured I will be back.
I’m sitting writing this in a lounge made of fantastic layers of square cushions, scattered like islands in a tile sea. Various sleepers are strewn over the cushions, but I’m far too neurotic to sleep. Plus, I already dozed away half a journey. I’m a little afraid I’ll have to sit out the rest fully conscious.
The whole place is packed with intricate paintings, and across from where I sit is a small shop-cum-museum displaying sprawling gardens, battle-scenes and festivals - made completely of paper. Apparently there are forty forms of sacred crane to fold and join together - here I thought I was doing well with just one.
I’ll buy cakes later, but for now I’ll get on with some sketching before my laptop dies.
Monday 19th
11.00am, LAX
Evidence suggests I survived the most recent leg of the flight. But it was a close-run thing.
I was in an aisle seat squashed next to a pair of near-identical phillipino girls, who seemed to operate as two halves of the same body - sleeping all over each other, eating off each other’s plates and handling luggage without communication. Across the aisle from me, however, was a horrifying pair emerged from urban myth - Demanding Asian Mama and her Doting Son. Watching her eat noodles was an education, and I have no idea what she was putting IN her sick-bags - but she went through a hell of a lot of them. Her son seemed to enjoy the nauseating cocktail of tomato juice, apple juice and green tea, which floored the poor hostesses each time. But the most fascinating thing about Mama was her toenails. They grew gleefully unchecked, as curved as cashews and jutting out of her gold sandals - and each one was lovingly painted magenta and decorated with tiny flowers. It was like Godzilla had shyly started wearing lipgloss.
I did sleep, because if I’d sat through the entire nine hours awake I’m fairly certain I would have gone critical, but it was erratic. I napped in fits and starts, like a narcoleptic cat in a tumbledryer - the intent was there, but there was noise and distraction and the only way my seat would have been comfortable is if I had a spine like an ampersand.
My first impression of LA was a stylishly groomed tropical getaway - frozen in stasis. The wild wigs of birds-of-paradise were clipped back to demure brushes, sedate under the grey sky, and the palms were sleek and free of the scraggy overgrowth one finds in the tropics. Everyone was remarkably friendly, and I wasn’t gunned down in a gangfight - contrary to popular expectations.
Also, you lot are a bunch of scaremongering bastards. I was having heart attacks over going through US customs - but it was as quick and painless as hocking a loogie, and I was spat out the other end wondering what happened. I’m chalking it down to the terrorism status - or maybe the fact that I appear so amiably incompetent that nobody really considered me a threat. I mentioned the jar of vegemite at customs, and the man just laughed. I am under the impression that I may have let the side down.
The one thing worrying me at this stage is the faint likelihood of the flight being overbooked - being a holidayer, I’m terrified that they’ll throw me off and thus delay the trip. But then again, I’ve been fearing arrest, terrorism, crashes into the pacific and the Breakfast Sausage for 30 straight hours, and nothing’s happened yet.
Touch wood.
(at this point I dispense with dates, as it's bloody confusing and i forgot to keep up)
Well, the american leg of the flights were fairly uneventful. Other than a Beef and Swiss Sub that appeared to have been carved out of bacon grease, the actual flights were uneventful. I saw snow on a mountaintop while flying over the midwest - the landscapes were spread out in a series of channels and rivulets and dunes like some kind of fantastic brown lichen. I'm fairly sure that the large iranian next to me did not appreciate my constant oo0ing - nor my minute bladder.
Next leg was mostly full of sleep. Just about everyone on the plane wore obama shirts. I've decided i love the american habit of narrating their life to any passerby - "I'm scared of goin' up inna sky, mama. The sky's - up inna - i'm scared..."; "I lost my soda. I had a soda and i lost it, i want my soda." "OOh, it is cold in DC. It was not cold in houston and it is COLD in DC." It's as though every day facets of life are regarded with such amazement, and must be communicated. So cute. And one old lady offered me onions.
The actual airport itself wasn't so much fun, as the staff were hell-bent on playing silly buggers with Crow, Lil and myself and had told us to wait at opposite ends of the airport for each other. One hour later, as a hysterical, weeping pixie was being gently bundled out of there by security, Crow and Lil managed to find me. I almost wet myself with relief. Next time, i'm ignoring the information bay.
Turns out Crow lives literally a block away from the mall (or, in other words, the park) where the inauguration was being broadcast live. You may have seen it on the news - the massive swarm of about a million people? Well, we woke up at about 10am (being the lazy bastards that we were) and rolled out of bed to literally step out the door and fall into step with a steady lemming-flow of people: people waving flags, people with little badges that read "hello, i'm from alaska!", people with popcorn and dogs and small children, with every eye fixed on the steadily growing sea of wooly hats ahead. I wore my australian flag knotted around my neck like a cape, and it seemed to work; people certainly got out of our way, but that may have been because we were chattering like sparrows.
We found a place right under the jumbo-tron (giant-ass tv screen), between two flags and in front of the world-war-II memorial. John Williams apparently wrote the score, so picking bits he'd ripped from Star Wars was brilliant fun. But the music - oh, the music. The military band played 'amazing grace' and i cried openly - as did others around me. We were sandwiched between a teacher from Michigan, an elderly tap-dancing teacher and a pair of massive black men who shouted at the Tron like a gospel revival meeting. Lil delivered a running commentary that had everyone in stitches, delivering lines like "It's nice to have a first lady who doesn't dress like a sofa", calling george bush a douchebag, shouting at the californian delegate, and general heckling. I wish i had a taperecorder. Then the speech...oh, the speech. I actually heard a president of the US commit to clean energy, improved health and better education (WITHIN HIS LIFETIME) and acknowledge past mistakes. He priotitised science, stated that america can no longer pursue a policy of zero accountability - oh, i didn't no whether to laugh or cry with joy. And to cap it off, it was littered with subtle digs at george Bush. Teehee.
We blundered home and slept - long, gorgeous sleep, only to wake up and stumble back onto the street into the midst of a SEQUINNED PARADE FULL OF MARCHING BANDS. Only in America, folks. Only in america. The Alaskan highschool played 'thriller' which in some way went towards absolving them of Sarah Palin - there was a marching troupe decked out in greatcoats and bayonettes, looking like they were cut out of steel, and tiny buxom baton twirlers shivering in sheer tights, but nonetheless hipchecking hard enough to throw you off the road. The chinese couple next to us pinched a flag off the Boyscout's float, and the mounted brigades were glamorous on sleek black horses who champed and steamed in the cold. I was this close to latching onto them in an attempt to steal the horseheat.
I'm tired as hell now, so i'll update you lot later on the rest.
Monday 19th
10.15am, Narita Airport
Japan
I cannot for the life of me figure out the conversion rates or find a currency exchange centre, so until I do that’s goodbye wireless internet.
It’s not precisely misty - more proto-mist, damp and dour and bathing everything in thick grey, threatening to swoop down and chew on your ligaments at a moment’s notice. The airport staff are stumping around in thick leather overcoats and face-masks, presumably to fend off ghastly foreign diseases. I managed to get a rather nasty blood nose in the toilets - I’d hate to have seen stumpy little mr Yamamoto’s reaction if I’d turned up at the gate covered in gore. I even had a line prepared - “Osutolalia jin desu - hana-wa hen desu.” I’m an Australian person. My nose is odd. Thankfully the bloody geyser stopped and I saved myself the embarrassment of my halting Japanese.
The flight was surprisingly enjoyable. The main reason for this was that I slept through the whole damn thing on two filched seats, with my travel pillow jammed behind my neck and my feet invading the corridor. I pity anyone in the surrounding seats - my left sinus was blocked and vengeful, and the resulting nasal symphony must have been painful. But nobody tried to wake me - or if they did, the polite Japanese couple behind me were being very subtle about it. The food was less palatable. I will never understand the logic behind feeding some 150 people beans in an enclosed area. Our bowel eructation’s were loud and pungent, to say the least. And it’s not as if this is a one-off incident - it happened last time, too.
But back to Narita - they have automated bathrooms. If you wave your hand under the tap, it spits water at you. The soap comes pre-frothed. The water is at hand-temperature, and the hand-dryer adjusts itself to just slightly warmer than the ambient temperature. I spent a gleeful five minutes teasing the tap, but it was always too quick for me.
I can only hope that I manage not to bollock up the next leg of the journey. Considering it’s the most difficult bit, this is highly possible.
I’m off to hunt for currency and internet.
11.58 am
I found both currency, internet and cheap food - there is no word for how nice gyoza dumplings are here. In its own environment, food attains a certain boldness of taste and variance of flavour. I found a sweetshop selling mochi cakes wrapped in bright paper, and rest assured I will be back.
I’m sitting writing this in a lounge made of fantastic layers of square cushions, scattered like islands in a tile sea. Various sleepers are strewn over the cushions, but I’m far too neurotic to sleep. Plus, I already dozed away half a journey. I’m a little afraid I’ll have to sit out the rest fully conscious.
The whole place is packed with intricate paintings, and across from where I sit is a small shop-cum-museum displaying sprawling gardens, battle-scenes and festivals - made completely of paper. Apparently there are forty forms of sacred crane to fold and join together - here I thought I was doing well with just one.
I’ll buy cakes later, but for now I’ll get on with some sketching before my laptop dies.
Monday 19th
11.00am, LAX
Evidence suggests I survived the most recent leg of the flight. But it was a close-run thing.
I was in an aisle seat squashed next to a pair of near-identical phillipino girls, who seemed to operate as two halves of the same body - sleeping all over each other, eating off each other’s plates and handling luggage without communication. Across the aisle from me, however, was a horrifying pair emerged from urban myth - Demanding Asian Mama and her Doting Son. Watching her eat noodles was an education, and I have no idea what she was putting IN her sick-bags - but she went through a hell of a lot of them. Her son seemed to enjoy the nauseating cocktail of tomato juice, apple juice and green tea, which floored the poor hostesses each time. But the most fascinating thing about Mama was her toenails. They grew gleefully unchecked, as curved as cashews and jutting out of her gold sandals - and each one was lovingly painted magenta and decorated with tiny flowers. It was like Godzilla had shyly started wearing lipgloss.
I did sleep, because if I’d sat through the entire nine hours awake I’m fairly certain I would have gone critical, but it was erratic. I napped in fits and starts, like a narcoleptic cat in a tumbledryer - the intent was there, but there was noise and distraction and the only way my seat would have been comfortable is if I had a spine like an ampersand.
My first impression of LA was a stylishly groomed tropical getaway - frozen in stasis. The wild wigs of birds-of-paradise were clipped back to demure brushes, sedate under the grey sky, and the palms were sleek and free of the scraggy overgrowth one finds in the tropics. Everyone was remarkably friendly, and I wasn’t gunned down in a gangfight - contrary to popular expectations.
Also, you lot are a bunch of scaremongering bastards. I was having heart attacks over going through US customs - but it was as quick and painless as hocking a loogie, and I was spat out the other end wondering what happened. I’m chalking it down to the terrorism status - or maybe the fact that I appear so amiably incompetent that nobody really considered me a threat. I mentioned the jar of vegemite at customs, and the man just laughed. I am under the impression that I may have let the side down.
The one thing worrying me at this stage is the faint likelihood of the flight being overbooked - being a holidayer, I’m terrified that they’ll throw me off and thus delay the trip. But then again, I’ve been fearing arrest, terrorism, crashes into the pacific and the Breakfast Sausage for 30 straight hours, and nothing’s happened yet.
Touch wood.
(at this point I dispense with dates, as it's bloody confusing and i forgot to keep up)
Well, the american leg of the flights were fairly uneventful. Other than a Beef and Swiss Sub that appeared to have been carved out of bacon grease, the actual flights were uneventful. I saw snow on a mountaintop while flying over the midwest - the landscapes were spread out in a series of channels and rivulets and dunes like some kind of fantastic brown lichen. I'm fairly sure that the large iranian next to me did not appreciate my constant oo0ing - nor my minute bladder.
Next leg was mostly full of sleep. Just about everyone on the plane wore obama shirts. I've decided i love the american habit of narrating their life to any passerby - "I'm scared of goin' up inna sky, mama. The sky's - up inna - i'm scared..."; "I lost my soda. I had a soda and i lost it, i want my soda." "OOh, it is cold in DC. It was not cold in houston and it is COLD in DC." It's as though every day facets of life are regarded with such amazement, and must be communicated. So cute. And one old lady offered me onions.
The actual airport itself wasn't so much fun, as the staff were hell-bent on playing silly buggers with Crow, Lil and myself and had told us to wait at opposite ends of the airport for each other. One hour later, as a hysterical, weeping pixie was being gently bundled out of there by security, Crow and Lil managed to find me. I almost wet myself with relief. Next time, i'm ignoring the information bay.
Turns out Crow lives literally a block away from the mall (or, in other words, the park) where the inauguration was being broadcast live. You may have seen it on the news - the massive swarm of about a million people? Well, we woke up at about 10am (being the lazy bastards that we were) and rolled out of bed to literally step out the door and fall into step with a steady lemming-flow of people: people waving flags, people with little badges that read "hello, i'm from alaska!", people with popcorn and dogs and small children, with every eye fixed on the steadily growing sea of wooly hats ahead. I wore my australian flag knotted around my neck like a cape, and it seemed to work; people certainly got out of our way, but that may have been because we were chattering like sparrows.
We found a place right under the jumbo-tron (giant-ass tv screen), between two flags and in front of the world-war-II memorial. John Williams apparently wrote the score, so picking bits he'd ripped from Star Wars was brilliant fun. But the music - oh, the music. The military band played 'amazing grace' and i cried openly - as did others around me. We were sandwiched between a teacher from Michigan, an elderly tap-dancing teacher and a pair of massive black men who shouted at the Tron like a gospel revival meeting. Lil delivered a running commentary that had everyone in stitches, delivering lines like "It's nice to have a first lady who doesn't dress like a sofa", calling george bush a douchebag, shouting at the californian delegate, and general heckling. I wish i had a taperecorder. Then the speech...oh, the speech. I actually heard a president of the US commit to clean energy, improved health and better education (WITHIN HIS LIFETIME) and acknowledge past mistakes. He priotitised science, stated that america can no longer pursue a policy of zero accountability - oh, i didn't no whether to laugh or cry with joy. And to cap it off, it was littered with subtle digs at george Bush. Teehee.
We blundered home and slept - long, gorgeous sleep, only to wake up and stumble back onto the street into the midst of a SEQUINNED PARADE FULL OF MARCHING BANDS. Only in America, folks. Only in america. The Alaskan highschool played 'thriller' which in some way went towards absolving them of Sarah Palin - there was a marching troupe decked out in greatcoats and bayonettes, looking like they were cut out of steel, and tiny buxom baton twirlers shivering in sheer tights, but nonetheless hipchecking hard enough to throw you off the road. The chinese couple next to us pinched a flag off the Boyscout's float, and the mounted brigades were glamorous on sleek black horses who champed and steamed in the cold. I was this close to latching onto them in an attempt to steal the horseheat.
I'm tired as hell now, so i'll update you lot later on the rest.