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Tag Archives: travel
Its those small towns you have to watch for; My first month in Japan
It seems like yesterday I was taking the clunking, grumbling train from Tokyo out into the countryside. The bright blue sky and rolling green hills that meet with the blue grey silhouettes of the humidity shrouded mountains welcomed me across the interchanging fields and clusters of houses. For being part of the small school, my co-workers took me in to show me the local sights, and tell me of a few places to explore.
Every Friday night after work, the crew gets together and we would go out to the local sushi restaurant. The small wooden paneled room opens by a thin sliding door to the small sushi bar displaying the catch for wanting customers. In the adjacent portion of the room is an elevated wood platform, where as custom requires, we take off our shoes to sit on the floor around the low table. The man who runs the shop is nearly always smiling, and excited to try his English on us as a captive audience. It doesn’t take long for the place to get under your skin. As my co-worker said, the crowd there had developed the feeling of Cheers.
August through October is Festival season, which provides an excellent time to see the culture at its richest. Tomioka, Takasaki are two of the more popular towns for parades, fire works, dancing and street food.
Being mid-late summer, there is plenty to see and do in the surrounding area of the stat of Gunma. Known for hosting the 1998 winter Olympics, the mountains that offer skiing in the winter also offer exceptional trails for the summer. (And as a Colorado native, I’m picky with my trails.) The only disappointment that I encountered was that I didn’t get to see one of the indigenous primates – the Japanese Macaque. (I will just have to go find one at the famous monkey park this winter, which supplies hot springs specifically for the monkeys, where they swarm to bath in the masses during the snowy months.) Additionally in the area, mid summer offers sunflowers in full bloom. The fields, which are back-dropped by the luscious green mountains and sometimes blue sky offer a breath-taking photo to send home to make the friends jealous.
As far as the language barrier, most towns offer free Japanese lessons at the community centers or town halls. If you are planning on coming over to improve your Japanese (no-matter how much or little you know), these lessons could be bennificial.
Stay tuned as I check out the towns recently UNESCO world heritage site listed Silk Mill.
Rapunzel has nothing on me; Mission to see the floating lanterns
I had been searching through Pintrest when I saw the picture of dozens of water-bound floating lanterns set adrift by people in rowboats during one of Japans floating lantern festivals. Naturally my curiosity took hold and I set out into the depths of the internet to find where these types of festivals are normally held. As the fates had aligned, there was a festival being held the night before I was to start training in Tokyo. It was their annual festival, and my travel karma came through, landing me in the same city, at the same time, as this festival.
The work accommodation that I had moved into had me housing with 5 men from various parts of America and UK, whom I presented the idea of going to see the lanterns to. As we all seem to be adventurers in our own right, we set off into the heart of Tokyo in search of the floating lanterns.
One long train ride later, we arrive at central station at Tokyos’ busiest time day. We made it to the palace just around sunset, arriving to the ceremony just after it started. Then dozens of rectangular lanterns were adrift down the palace moat, accompanied by what can only be described as color-changing orbs about the size of a beach ball. The participants and spectators ranged from fellow tourists to women and men in Kimonos and enjoying the cool summer night air.
After taking our share of photos, we ventured across the street, and shuffled our way through the hoards of people to indulge in the festivals food and drink.
We’ve All Got Motive
A couple months ago, I was sitting in the top bunk of my hostel, bundled under blankets and half hanging off the bed to chat with my English roommate. We noticed something; we are about the same age, and we are part of a small demographic of backpackers. Not only that, there seemed to be a correlation between age, and why you were traveling. Granted, those age lines could blur, such as having a ‘gap year’ before you start University, or after University, and before grad school or the dreaded real world. In this episode of CSI: Travel, here are ‘6 Motivators’ that we came up with:
THE JOB SEEKER:
AGE: Late Teens to Late 20’s
REASON FOR TRAVEL: Usually on a Working Holiday trying to get some money together while they travel. Usually “saving” for something, or getting career experience abroad.
THE UNI STUDENT:
AGE: Early to mid 20’s
REASON FOR TRAVEL: Study Abroad, Learning a specific topic, or on a short travel stint between semesters.
ABANDON ALL:
AGE: Early to late 20’s
REASON FOR TRAVEL: Something went south back home (lost job, family member passed away.) On several occasion’s its been the ex caught with the best friend, where they go off to build/rebuild their life without the insignificant other.
PARTNER:
AGE: Mid to late 20’s
REASON FOR TRAVEL: Along for the ride! Significant other/family member/best friend planed the trip and wanted a travel companion.
SOUL SEARCHING:
AGE: All ages
REASON FOR TRAVEL: To discover something. They set out with no goal or destination, but want to explore who they really are, and search for truth (either on a personal or spiritual level.)
GOAL SETTER:
AGE: All ages
REASON FOR TRAVEL: Its been a lifelong dream to [fill in your deepest world travel desire here]. Be it see animals on safari in Africa, climb the Sydney harbour bridge, or learn to make pasta from an Italian chef in Italy, there is a reason you are in the area and a direct goal you are trying to achieve.
I would like to give a shout out to Oli, who spent an afternoon with me bouncing the ideas back and forth.
A month and a few places later…
I am nearing the end of my year visa (with still no option for Americans to extend for another year) and am in the throws of trying to find sure footing for the next step in my journey.
Over the last month I have had an onslaught of adventures, from finding how to live on no money in Brisbane, to having a job that pays for all travel and accommodation, to taking photos of surfers for a magazine/website, to finding my strengths as well as my weaknesses in the grand scheme of backpacking. (You know, like that one jacket I have no room for in my suitcase, but I love it too much to send home… Which may have been a good thing since winter is coming.)
At the moment, I’m in a little town of NSW called Armidale, in an area dubbed “New England”. The cool air and smell of decaying leaves that are the staple of my autumn in Colorado leave me just a little homesick for my rugged Rocky Mountains. The college town with bookshops and coffee shops sprinkled about bring me back to my university days. The people I meet constantly reminding me of the 6 degrees of separation, and how when you travel, you’re never really ‘solo’.
As a preview of the “next step”, I am getting my TEFL certificate (teaching English as a foreign language) and will get back into my niche of teaching and academia, but in a way that will let me work and travel the globe.
Surf, Sand and the Bogan Safari
Leaving my last home and job, I had the plans already made; staying for two weeks on the coast to watch the Quicksilver and Roxy Pros. Bus ticket in hand, My friends mother and one of the kindest people you could ever meet, Mama G, dropped me at the bus station for the next lag of my journey.
Instantly, the bus driver and I start chatting and stories, jokes, and observations on society swap hands. Everything from his desires to go to the rocky mountains, to the quarky ‘Bush Tucker Man’ tv show from the ’90’s. (For those that watch Bear Grylls, This is much better, and HIGHLY recommended as an actual form of survival knowledge if ever lost in the outback.) As we turnd into small towns, we started playing “spot the Bogan”, which is similar to Jeff Foxworthy’s ‘you may be a redneck if’. This ranged from the massive southern cross tatoos, to the car that replaced the anteni with a bent wire coat hanger. Dont believe me?
When I made it to the coast, the sound of the ocean, the smell of salt, and the powder sand welcomed me back. I arrived on the second day of the competition, which meant that i could wake up SUPER early the next day to watch all the surfers before the crowds.
Now, those who know me know that I suck at surfing. I love the sport, even get up on the board on occasion. A long board. Rarely. (As opposed to my siblings that I watch in awe as they turn circles around me.) I find it such a graceful sport, and the better the surfers the easier it is to get AMAZING shots.
With my first day being the first day of the Roxy pro, the waves looked wonderful in an endless-summer type consistent roll. Breaking off snapper rocks, the wave would roll and glide sideways to the beach, which makes watching the event a treat.
(more photos at flickr.com/photos/kikilathrop)
After a couple days of these wonderful breaks, they started to fade, forcing the ASP to call lay days. rather than sit on the beach and work on my sunburn, I spent some time walking around the city, eating at the take-away shop, and meeting people in the hostel.
on a daily check into the ASP site, the message comes up “come on down to snapper rocks for a free Jimmy Buffett concert”. Lets see; I grew up on a boat, surfing sun sand and salt run in my family and veins. I know Jimmy Buffett songs enough to sing Margaritaville in its entirety to the Belgium girl in my room. I grabbed my camera, lenses, and dashed to the bus, arriving in time to sit about 15 ft (5m) from the stage. In addition to Jimmy, Kelly Slater and Stephanie Gilmore got up to do duets with them. Lets just say, if they want to retire from surfing, music would be a viable option for them.
My luck is amazing! =)
A Jillaroo Life
After staying with my friends family for a couple weeks, I found a position for a horse breeder, as a nanny. I’m one of those ‘once bitten twice shy’ types, and went out to visit the family before I started.
In addition to being lovely people, the lifestyle would allow for my own cottage that was shared condo-style with another, the 16 year old farm hand that had been there for a few months.
My cottage was being renovated, but had all of the initial comforts, and until my TV was hooked up and kitchen finished, I was welcome to use the ones in the main house.
Looking out my bedroom window, I would see part of the small garden in the gated front area, (gated so horses and cows wouldn’t wonder in,) adjacent to my window was a paddock that house friendly horses (that I have dubbed ‘neighbors’), and straight from my window I look across the property at the gently rolling hills spotted with gumtrees. The sun rises over these hills in the morning, waking me just before my alarm, which I prefer. The only motors heard are the 4 wheel bikes (ATVs) and the farm truck used to feed the horses. The quiet is broken by the parrots, magpies and kookaburra with the occasional horse whinny.
(My neighbors)
Life here is in a constant buzz in the day-to-day. Nearly everyday vets, breeders, buyers, trainers and riding students visit. The mornings are usually busier, with the heat of the day being near crippling. But once the day is done, and its time to relax, the sun sets, and as the temperature drops to a pleasant degree.
The setting sun turns the hills aglow in an orange that gives the illusion they are engulfed in flame. As the sun inches behind the hills, the red spreads to the few clouds spelling the bright blue sky, turning from orange, to pink, to crimson, to purple to show off the moon and a bright Venus, before giving way to the dark blue of the night sky doused with stars.
The sunset made for a beautiful backdrop to horses, the hills, and an abandoned farm house in the next town. The house has been taken over by vines, and what little that is left showing shows the chipped paint and the porch warped by heat and weather. The hay left in the barn has morphed out of the neat bales, carpeting the ground.
(Sunset behind an abandoned farm house and barn)
(Sunset behind abandoned house)
Why did the goanna cross the road? So that I would see it!
Besides the birds, the wildlife will make an occasional appearance. (While I was told that a Koala came through a few weeks ago, I still haven’t seen any in this area.) The real excitement was in seeing my first red-bellied black snake, (the first thing I’ve seen in Australia that could kill me,) which i was told to look around the garden areas before i let the toddler play. The snake had decided to hide in the carport/garage adjacent to the toddlers sandbox. We (the toddler and I) were just about to step out the door when I hear the farmhand yell for me to stop. 15 meters from the house is the farmhand, 8 meters is the snake, and we hadn’t made it out of the front door. I see the family dog start to run toward it and call for him to go inside. He and the toddler watch, noses pressed to the glass as I watch the snake while the farmhand runs to the barn.
Startled, it slithers into the sandbox as the farm hand runs around the gate, throwing the shovel he had in his hand spear style, killing the snake. (I now now not to get on his bad side.)
I got about 2 meters from the meter long snake, and that was too close to what I would want to be.
(Pretty flowers, to counter the snake story.)
Gumtree Adventure
Before I get into this article, I am going to reiterate what we’ve all heard a million times… Don’t trust what you find on craigslist/gumtree/online advertising. There are, on occasion, ads when job or roommate appear too good to be true, and like my experience, were.
I was in my room in Sydney when I found the farm job. Sheep, horses, a bit of yard work, and mostly taking care of a couple of kids. Perfect. Just what I needed.
I emailed the owner of the add, not expecting a reply for a couple days, as it was 1 am Sydney time. By 3 am my tablet is chirping of a new email, and my phone buzzed at 7 with a text message. This lady, who I will refer to as J, was in desperate need of help. With a bit of conversing through text message, we arranged for a phone interview with the father, Ill call him M, and I was to video chat that night with J.
Here’s the short sweet nitty gritty of that week; J was really nice at first, before I got on the bus to go to their farm. Once on the bus, the text messages became short abrupt and had an air of aggressive authority. This started the little alarm bells in my head. I figured it was just travelers fatigue and I would asses everything at face value, when I was there face-to-face.
My bus came in late, so my first few moments with the family were just before bed, and I would start the next morning. But N, the other nanny and my saving grace through that week, had shown me to my room, and started giving me tips to how to be comfortable there.
The next morning I found out that the race horses they breed are not at that farm, but at a different farm 2 hours away. Ok. I can live with that. But when I had asked about internet I received the reply that yes, she did say there was internet in the interview, but she doesn’t let the nannies use it. (As we were so far away from a city, my phone was on roaming and I burned through my prepaid plan sending the occasional email.) I figure its good to get away from my dependence on technology and as I was to work from sun up- to sun down, I would be a bit busy for it anyways. So I go in search of breakfast.
Simply asking where the toaster was led to a three man hunt through the kitchen. M, N and I search through the cupboards and shelves for the toaster. J, who had been in a mood all morning, rushes past stating, authoritatively, ‘Three people to look for a toaster. That is unacceptable!’ I brushed it off as a joke as M and N smirk at each other.
By the afternoon I realized she wasn’t joking, that in fact, she ran a ‘tight ship’ but would keep forgetting to give me schedule. By the end of the day, I was exhausted from looking after the boys who, according to J, were only acting up because I was new to the house. By that evening, the boys had ganged up on the other nanny, and the older boy became violent, calling slurs and punching however he could in a not-playful way. Upon J’s assessment of the situation, she says in a calmly, nearly everyday tone, ‘alright boys, you’ve had enough down here, lets go upstairs for a bath.’ The alarm belles turned to sirens.
Over the week it progressed to fending off accusations from J, and meeting the previous nannies that had taken refuge at the neighbors house. The next night, N and I had made a pact that if one of us leave, the other would follow shortly after, since the other became the sounding board for events we otherwise wouldn’t have stood for. Most of the time, J separated herself from the rest of the family by way of locking herself in her office.
On the day I would finish my first week, N and I were told by M that it would be our day off and that we could sleep in, since the afternoon would consist of going into Melbourne for the races, which one of their horses were running.
When I had gone upstairs, J had cornered me in the kitchen and had asked why I was late helping get the boys ready. I told her, with it being the weekend and having the day off I assumed we could sleep in. Fire blazed in her eyes as she roared ‘ we do NOT assume here. I never said you could have the day off.” I was stunned, staring disbelieving at her, that the 6 day week that we were promised was also a lie. M, being just in the next room swooped in, and came to my defense, “I’m the one who said it”. At that she turned on M, and in front of the two boys started yelling how M always sided with the nannies, and never supports or defends her. His face looked like she had slapped him. “I do. I am simply telling you what I told them.” With a brief scold to each of us, she asks ‘you wouldn’t be leaving for the races until 10, did you expect me to HAVE to spend that time with the boys? It doesn’t make sense.” My only thought was, what mother wouldn’t want to spend a couple hours with her own children.
I clean when I get flustered. I find things to keep my mind occupied, and after having just finished washing the dishes, I figured that I would go ahead and dry them as something to continue this. From behind me, J grabs the towel from my hands, replacing it with an exercise sheet for the boys, who had been sent out to their trampoline. She leaned in, her nose inches from mine, and spat “We. Do. NOT. Dry. Dishes.”
I stepped back throwing up my hands in surrender, ‘Okay, okay.’
Then she switched to a matter-of-fact tone ‘We have had nannies here that have fit like a glove. If you cannot respect our rules then we can get someone else. We had plenty of applicants, if you don’t fit here then we can get one of them.’
Then I heard N, with her soft patient voice suggest ‘maybe she didn’t know.’ And the fire was back in J’s eyes.
“You,” she sneered, pointing at N’s nose, “are on the next bus back to Melbourne.”
“I was just – “
“You and I don’t fit. You don’t fit. You’re gone.” She groaned it as though she were disciplining a child who had lied or stolen.
“[J], why are you talking to me like a child? I’m just trying to have a conversation.”
“You. Are. Gone. You’re only here to plant the trees. Whic-”
“That wasn’t the job I applied for.” N, still calm, replied.
“Because you cant handle the boys. One little thing happens and you lock yourself in your room.“ referring to when the boys attacked her.
Now, here’s a bit of back story… N, who is British, beautiful and poised, has many more qualifications than I for Nanning. More experience, more knowledge, and a better handle on the boys. In the week of having the boys kicking me, and not listen, (with the simple reply from J ‘they just aren’t used to you yet’), N was my rock, my support who was able to tell the boys to listen to me.
J had shoved N’s sholder amongst her yelling and at that moment I knew that I wasn’t going to stay.
“Pack your bags. YOU. ARE. GONE!”
I was a spectator with M, standing, stunned, in the living room as the scene unfolded before us. As if disconnected from reality. Watching a theater performance that was beyond reality. I was on autopilot, swiveled my head to face M, and with the realization of the situation choking my voice into a whisper, the words came out, “I cant stay either.”
“No,” he shook his head in defeat, “You cant.” He looked up at J for a moment, her arms flailing now as she yelled at a still collected N. “…I understand.”
N and I made our way to Melbourne, and spent a few days together traveling through the city.
N, (You know who you are,) I want to thank you for everything. For listening, for the cups of tea when I about pulled my hair out, and the amazing time in Melbourne when we were getting our footing again.
My advice; be warned about people desperate for workers, there may be a reason they cant hold onto them. Ask questions, and be wary when your driving their children around, but never ask to see your license or passport.
Cannibalism: How To Kill A Conversation
As we are skimming the tops of the clouds and the plane is bouncing around just enough to put my nerves on edge, I figured I would get started on my next post, as I seemed to have disappeared for the last two weeks.
It all began a week ago…
I had a good friend visit for a weekend, then realized I had massive amounts of packing that I had yet to do. Shoving, squishing, and shifting, I managed to get the entire contents of my apartment into my Subaru. After strapping the barstools to the roof, I turned in my key. It was the most amazing thing – I was out and, like Bilbo, going on an adventure. I wasn’t going to miss my apartment, my ‘nook’ in the mountains, and my friends would stay in touch. I had this wave of calm. That pure, genuine feeling that whatever is going to happen is exactly what’s supposed to happen.
So yesterday, after my last day of work, I jumped into the car, and drove. Two hours, a caffeine crash, and unloading the car later, I flopped on my bed, ready for the first stint of traveling.
A family friend offered to drive my mother and I to the airport. My siblings and father, who I am going to visit before my big departure, know nothing of my mum coming on this trip with me. (And hopefully have not figured it out after the dozen slip ups in the last few weeks.)
Our friend had mentioned something about eating Guinea pigs, which some how led my brain on the rollercoaster that is my thought process. I started to think ‘where do they get their name, it can’t be New Guinea? No they eat Guinea pigs in south america. Its dog they eat in New Guinea.’ This reminded me of my friend in high school who had met a man that remembered when there were cannibals there. Somehow, like a true anthropologist, I was able to squeeze cannibalism into the conversation. After a few comments and grunts of agreement, the conversation had fizzled into the awkward ‘what-do-we-say-about-cannibalism?’ silence.
The flight’s unusual in that it is ‘typical’. I am not used to the kids two seats up wailing, or the heavy turbulence. I am what my family calls the ‘lucky traveler’. (Knock on wood.) I was able to spend a week in Fiji on $75, and have a track record of getting the seat that the person next to me either a) never shows, or b) is really nice and smells lovely. While Mum is really nice and smells lovely, I still have the window with amazing views on one side, her on the other. Beside her is a man from Florida. A big bushy mustache and social disposition, which is welcomed in all other circumstances, isn’t high on my list of activities during take off and landing. (I am usually white knuckling the arm rests, knowing the death grip would ensure that I would survive in any event that may happen. Of course we were given seats at the back of the plane, which my mum pointed out is the part of the plane that usually has the least amount of damage in a crash. Mixed with the rockclimber grip on the armrest, I’m invincible at that point.)
After giving the story of living on the boat, I start to tune out and focus on looking out the small window at the wing of the plane. By-golly, if something was going to happen during takeoff, I was going to be the first to know. Mum tries to pull me out of my stare down with the wing by asking me about my friend I will be staying with when I first get to Australia. It nearly works, and then I get the questions from mustache guy about my degree in anthropology/archaeology. For a brief moment, I will admit trying to figure out how to fit in cannibalism.
Once in the air, the turbulence was light, but frequent. I have thought about a comedian I listened to on the internet radio, saying something about how flying is like humans slapping god in the face. We overcame any evolutionary roadblock on that front, and how would he/she/it/they feel about that? I can’t help but look out the window and say a little silent prayer that runs along the lines of ‘yo god. So, you know that was a joke right?’
Its not that I’m afraid of flying, that’s why I love window seats. I love looking down at earth and feeling like this is as close to being an astronaught as I will get for a while. (I’m going to be optimistic in my future as a space archaeologist.) I just think I would do better in orbit (which is defined as ‘constant free fall’) as opposed to the rattle of turbulence that makes me feel like I’m in a human maraca.
28 days
28 is the number of days until my flight for Australia. 4 weeks exactly until I board the plane bound to what is referred to as ‘the most dangerous place on earth’. This is understandable, as most of its inhabitants are vicious killing machines, and I’m not talking about the rugby fans (hoolagans?)
Last time I was there, I was living on campus while studying abroad, and had the pleasant view of wallabies bounding beneath my balcony, and the parrots that would perch on my balcony to wake me up at 4am. (I don’t think I have ever had a bad thought toward birds until that morning.) But they weren’t dangerous. I also got to see the snakeskin of a growing King Brown snake that had been shed by the road, (remember the commercial where Steve Irwin pretends to get bit by the most venomous snake and keels over. Yeah, that’s the one.)
Even when exposed to such unique creatures, I had learned a few things that served, and will serve to help me survive the harsh land scape. Or at the very least, provide some interesting ‘tid-bits’ that make for some interesting commentary on our own landscape.
When in Australia, do as Australians do… Most of the time.
Face it. You don’t know the landscape. You don’t know what’s laying in the bush, waiting, lurking for the opportunity to bite. OK. Its not that bad.
When I first went to the river, you can imagine how excited I was to go to the local swim spot. It was beautiful, the trees grew out over the water, providing a platform to do a back flip – or more often – a belly flop, from. When I had asked one of my mates about the spot, and why that one in particular, besides the convenient dock, he said that it was a ‘safe’ swimming spot, since the two crocodiles (yes, crocs, teeth and all) lived a kilometer in each direction. The crocs are freshwater crocs (which, I am informed are “nicer” than saltwater crocs,) and as they are small, will avoid confrontation. I have spent a lot of time wondering the legitimacy of this, and if this information was meant to comfort in the same way that Drop Bears are meant to scare. (For those of you who don’t know, Drop Bears look just like Koalas, but will jump out of trees to eat human faces.)
In my Australian literature class, we were discussing a story about a boy who gets lost in the outback and (Spoilers!) Dies. This *cough* no-so-encouraging story brought up some questions from the foreigners, such as “how do I stay alive?”. One of my classmates, who was an outdoors-man, gave me a couple tips; Don’t go complacent that trees offer shelter, falling tree branches kill more people each year than shark or croc attacks combined. It can happen without any notice. Plunk! out of the tree, onto you. The next bit surprised me, only because it was different than what I am used to. I lived in Colorado long enough to have learned that if you are lost, you can build a water filter, then boil water, and might be drinkable. Our good friend Giardia, the parasite, infest most open water sources, but in a life-or-death situation, you’ll take your chances. In Australia, most of what can harm you, you can see. Microscopic lifeforms are few and far between, making most water sources drinkable as-is. What’s the catch? in areas where the water pools, fresh water crocs will go from pool to pool to eat the fish.
Summary: don’t sleep under trees, or too close to the stream.
The last “fun fact” is while there would be a number of reasons you wouldn’t want to be bit my one of the animals down there, rabies isn’t on the list of concerns. Rabies doesn’t exist. (Points to the harsh agricultural and animal guidelines for getting into the country.) The next closest thing that exists there is a disease that the flying foxes carry. The only way you can contract it – their excrement, and there is no cure. So don’t go playing in bat poo, and you’ll be fine.
TravelGypsea 