Hello all, welcome back to Big in Japan.
The new server is functioning correctly, because I’m writing this and you’re reading it. And loving it. Lovin’ it, baby, lovin’ it.
As you should know by now, I’ve moved on from Japan. There will be a batch of entries from my last days in Japan, but unfortunately my notes and photos from that fiery final fortnight are in a closet in San Francisco – yes, how apropos. When I finish travelling around Southeast Asia, China, Australia and India, I’ll get those online.
For now, may I direct your attention to my blog on my current journeys outside of the Floating Kingdom, Big in Japan on Tour. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see any photos from this current trip until I get back sometime in mid-2006.
Until then, thanks for coming back and please excuse things as I tidy up the place. Yoroshiku!
As much as I’d like to report that the turkey swirls in the other direction here on Thanksgiving, I’m sad to say that’s just not the case.
Besides, it was duck, not turkey since the Financial and Menu Adviser’s father dislikes The Bird What Gobbles.
Before last weekend, the whole time I’ve been in Australia I’d been on the bench.
The star pitcher was tossing fastballs, sharp breaks and snagging line drives to the mound and there just wasn’t much for me to do.
But then, a bit under two hours into the drive to Rutherglen, she began to tire. Her eyes drooped a bit, the car swerved just a hair too much to be comfortable – although not enough to be dangerous – and the call came.
It was my turn to drive. Literally.
“Surely,” you might say, “there must be more to Victoria than just Melbourne’s friendly denizens and their coffee-drinking ways!”
“Two things,” I would reply. “One, not in Melbourne. And two…”
“Don’t call me Shirley.”
Yes, yes, I know. You’re all stunned by my wit and savoir faire. Anyway, it turns out not only does Melbourne remind me more of San Francisco than any other city I’ve been in, but Victoria (the state, not that shameless hussy down the street) reminds me more of California than any other place I’ve been.
I’ve been in Melbourne one week, and there’s not a whole heck of a lot to say.
I was quite surprised to hear my travelling companion complain about Qantas Airlines, since their word-of-mouth reputation in America I had always thought to be positive, generally. Or at least, I imagine the average American’s knowledge of Qantas is still limited to that bit from Rain Man where Dustin Hoffman freaks out about being on any other carrier than the Big Q because of Qantas’ safety record.
Every low-budget traveller has them, those epiphanic moments where going from country to country on a miniscule budget makes perfect sense. I’m no different.
My moments of travelling profundity, however, occur less often at the architectural marvels of whichever lovely land is hosting me that day (Tuesday must be Thailand) and more often at, say, the halfway point through a fiery green curry and rice.
Or on the wooden floor of the non-air conditioned Bangkok public bus.