I got a new apartment. It will be my first time living alone if you don’t count the three months I was homeless a long time ago. Anyway, the process was pretty smooth, with one interesting note.

There is this huge crack in the corner of one of my walls from the earthquake. I casually pointed it out and the guy showing me the place says, “Don’t worry about that. It doesn’t affect how you live”. But see, my friend, it is called aesthetic and yes, it directly affects how I live.

I’m in Shanghai airport right now. I met a woman who came here from Omaha, Nebraska to get her son stem cell treatment. And this guy was conspicuously, obsessively shooting, taking video of me while I looked for an outlet. btw, free wireless here. Can the airports in the US get with the program, please!

I was in Shanghai last weekend. A few highlights.

Shanghai is an international city in the sense that there are lots of people from all over the world traveling, working, and studying there, but it still doesn’t meet the likes of NYC, San Francisco, etc., where the influence of foreigners is pervasive. This is probably do to the fact that most people are just passing through - on a project or rotation for their company, studying Chinese, etc. - so they don’t have the time to put down roots in way that immigrants do. I’m not considering, of course, the overall impact of foreign enterprises, which is significant. The results are local businesses, plenty of them, that cater to a revolving door of foreigners. The energy in these small “international” pockets is really exciting and much different from that in NYC. At moments it felt more intense, albeit temporary.

If you happen to visit, I highly recommend taking the Maglev train from Pudong Intl. Airport into the city. It costs 50RMB ($7) and gets you into the city in just 7 minutes. Top speed is 301km/h. An amazing journey. The alternative is a taxi, which takes, without traffic, 8 times longer and is 3 times more expensive.

Foreign girls. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t seen any in so long, but I was really surprised by the amount of beautiful foreigners I saw in just a couple of days. Even some models. Chengdu girls are pretty, but the legs are short. When I see those long legs, it’s game over.

I received an email this morning. It landed in my inbox, but I didn’t recognize the name. The subject line read, “You have been chosen!!!”. I’m not often chosen, so I wanted to know for what. I opened it.
Hello strangers, don’t worry this isn’t one of those spam emails, it’s genuine and you are lucky enough to be on my list of email addresses I’ve scribbled down on my 7 months of traveling around the world, well done!!!

For your prize, you have a 30 minute slideshow to sit through and there will be questions at the end, so please pay attention to every slide. No, seriously, if you have 30 minutes to spare, please follow the link below, you might see yourself!

Was great meeting you all, as you’ll probably guess, I pretty much had the time of my life…..so far!!! Please keep in touch and maybe we’ll meet again.

Alex

I vaguley remember an “Alex”, from Hong Kong. But I wasn’t, am still not sure (MySpace link is blocked in China. Good work Rupert, Wendi). So I checked out the list of other “lucky” recipients and what I find is the work of a serious traveler - naming conventions used to remember people met on global exploits. Here is a sample of his work (emails redacted):

~Chile guy on plane <----but no name

~Funny guy on AOL BA <----again, no name

~Javier (Chile)

~Laura (Ireland)

~Luis (Peru)

~Ramiro AOL (the guy you swear youve seen before!!!)

~Second German girl from Chilean house

~Think its the small girl who lost her keys?? On AOL BA

~Woman who translated for my poem on AOL BA

And how did he remember yours truly? Of course, no special labels were needed. Just my first name. If you have the time to click that link, do tell if I am in the pics.

Cheers,

Jesse

Unless you want to make new friends and have lots of fun.

It’s important to start a long trip off with a memorable night. When I left the US, Ryo received me at the airport, brought me to his home, where I was given a shower, a comfy bed for a quick rest, and a super gourmet Japanese meal, all before an all-nighter in Roppongi where I met Shin, who treated me to my first Nabe (Japanese hot pot). It set the tone for the rest of my time over here. So, a few months ago, when I saw the opportunity to do the same, I grabbed it.

At Beijing immigration, a Japanese guy asked me what was going on. See, the trip from Tokyo to Chengdu requires a stop off in Beijing for immigration. But only a handful of passengers are usually making the whole trip (most are just going to Beijing), so the Chengdu bound folks are herded into a separate area. I told him not to worry, just standard operating procedure, not a massacre. We started to talk a little. Very little, because I’d forgotten all my Japanese and him all his English. I just knew that he was going to Nepal the next morning and had yet to find a hotel. And he didn’t speak any Chinese. Seemed that he was in for a troublesome night.

I told him he could stay at my place. He accepted. So for the next couple of hours I plotted an all-night itinerary. When we landed I had messages waiting for me. A couple of friends made a plan for dinner. We took a cab home, dropped the bags and rushed to dinner where my friends were waiting. They speak Korean and Chinese, but no English or Japanese, so we had no choice but to communicate with alcohol. Next stop was a bar. We drank a lot, and just when we couldn’t take anymore, decided to leave.

Walking out I received a call from a friend. Where are you? I am at XYZ. Me too. Turn around. There he is. He was with a large group of co-workers, maybe 10. Of course he wants us to drink. Okay, who am I to refuse. Besides, I like to see how Japanese and Chinese mix it up (my first experiment was a disaster. Will write about that some other time). The Chinese, of course, for as much as they say “I hate Japanese” (and they say it a lot. Bring up Sushi and they’re gonna tell you, “I hate Japanese”), were welcoming to my new friend. But I think that’s also because I’m the connection. I’m a good friend, so a good friend of mine is one of theirs, too. Actually, not a friend, but will at least give me face. Anyway, we drunk a lot more…I was thankful the Japanese guy could hold his own…not exactly a pro, but passable.

By then it was 3am. His flight was at 7am. There was no going to sleep. So we went to street meat for more drinking and food. He fell in and out of sleep as we drank and chowed. Gotta make it a memorable night. At 5, we went home and grabbed his bags. I put him in a taxi and off he went.

Last week I received another email from him. He’ll be back on the 18th and we’ll do it again, but maybe with less alcohol and some Japanese friends to help translate.

That’s 3, 4, and 1! Tones, baby! I’m your master.

Back from the trip with the notorious HJ and his Mother, and Wife, which are both much better looking than him. One day was snowing and super cold, so we were forced to drink bai jiu. It was my first snow since leaving the US, so I was happy nonetheless. The next was better suited for sightseeing and picture taking, some of which are included below (credit: HJ). I did not include any pictures of me looking stupid (there are plenty) or the one of a tree that looks like a…camel toe. Also, I’m a camel.

This was taken at a rest area on our way up the mountains. The old lady rockin’ the pink slippers was smokin’ some heavy weight shit in her pipe. Anyway, HJ pretended to take a picture of me, while actually snapping them. We’re so discrete it’s not even funny.

This is at the same rest stop. That sign is a promo for the one-child policy.

Snow.A camel. A dinosaur.

Leaves.

From the Philippines. Some highlights:

The big pink thing. Positioned the sidewalks in parts of Manila, they offer a place for men to relieve themselves. Our cabby pulled over. You can see his feet.

Jeepney’s. Everyone custom built, tricked out.

The last picture. “Free service charge”. Weird English translation. Oxymoronic.

Also pics from my 36 hour train ride to Shanghai.

Uncle Sam blessed me with a tax refund, so I went to the Philippines with Ryoko. Granted, China is big and beautiful enough to never leave, but during Golden week, there are just too many people traveling domestically, so international travel is more ideal. Besides, leaving China every now and then isn’t a bad idea if for no other reason to remind myself that I am not in the “center” of the world. And also to remind me that Shanghai people might not be so far off when they call Sichuan the “countryside”. Our fight was from Shanghai, but I was tired of flying between cities in China, so I took the train. I reserved a hard (not really hard) sleeper for the 36 hour trip. I set off on a Saturday evening. After a Friday night that I dare not put in writing, I was a little agitated, tired, and looking for a change of scenery. The train was a great experience. In classic Chinese behavior, as I was leaving, YYL said “oh, I’m leaving, too. I will send you to the train station”. The train station is totally out of the way, but she hawked a taxi in the middle of rush hour, chasing it down in her heels, got me past security, made sure I was stocked with food, and saw me all the way to the train.

The train station is classic. Think Greyhound station in the States, times the size and amount of people by 50 and that’s the view. Tons of weirdos, so that was fun. On the train, our cart had open (no doors) compartments, three beds vertically stacked on each side. I had the top bunk. A 22 year-old “Chongqing” beauty was opposite me. Below me was a male student and below him, another young female. Those two didn’t talk much to me. Below Chongqing was a classic Chengdu “ayi” (aunt), 50+, and then her husband on the bottom. The ayi was funny - always talking in vibrant local dialect. Her husband poured baijiu into a water bottle for the trip. The trip on the train was priceless. Lots of stops. I saw several nuclear power plants and other manufacturing facilities. Everyone on the train is friendly. Sharing food and space like we were all old friends. The ayi even started giving massages. But she is clever. She knew the young girls wouldn’t allow that, so she ended up on the receiving end from them. I ended up getting one, too. Only in China. The level of casualness and comfort is undeniable, addictive. What is lying beneath is debatable, but that’s for you to decide.

I spent most of my time communicating with “Chongqing”. She helped with my bag as I was initially climbing up to my bed. I hit my head on the overhead compartment and she showed some genuine concern. Despite her being an English major, we mostly spoke in Chinese, until the last few hours when she asked if we could use English. We still mixed, but to be honest, I felt relieved. The bathrooms are not super clean, but not as bad as people said. We arrived in Shanghai at 9am on Monday and I tool the subway to Ryoko’s apt. She met me at the station and went to her “tasteless castle” of an apartment (note: much nicer than my apartment). After and shower, we went for lunch. Pizza and beer in an area patronized by lots of foreigners. An interesting community - some experimental “intellectual property” area. Usually, in China, if one business is successful, the folks next store also enter the market. Basic economics really - if there is profit, then competitors enter. The result is huge clusters of businesses that sell the same thing - sometimes it’s textiles, but sometimes it’s toilets or solar panels or whatever. Maybe that’s good for consumers (so long as there isn’t any price fixing going on), but it makes for a dull community and also a lack of innovation, with everyone satisfied with the stat quo. Just getting by mentality. Anyway, every business in the community made a pledge to not steal ideas, etc. That night we dined at another cool spot.

The next morning, we left early for the flight to Manila. The Shanghai airport security took my shaving cream, so I am sporting a beard right now. We flew two hours to Hong Kong and had a three hour layover. During the approach to HK, we encountered some turbulence and the plane started to wave a little. The kids kept yelling “fun, fun” each time the plane moved. I was in a panic, of course. Their parents didn’t help (me). Instead of telling them to quiet down, they egged them on, also saying “yeah, fun, fun”. Anyway, we landed safely, though with sweaty palms.

It was my first time in HK airport. Last time I came to HK, I flew to Shenzhen and crossed the border overland. The airport is great - super clean with good service. Huge. Like a shopping mall of luxury brands. Makes me ashamed of JFK. We flew to Manila (another two hours) and were welcomed by the tail end of a typhoon. The airport was not so great, but the immigration signs called us “visitors” and had smiley face stickers saying, “immigration with a smile”. Tried to imagine that in the US. The Philippines, like Hong Kong is bi-lingual. It seemed like everyone spoke English. TV commercials and personalities often mix Tagalog and English. Our taxi driver explained that when it rains there is a lot of flooding, so we had to take a detour. First thing to notice is the “Jeepneys”. These are basically public transportation created by and for the people. They are ubiquitous. Think a tuk tuk on steroids. Japanese engine. The body is custom built. Long body, with benches along either side in the back. Hop in the back, pass your money up front to the driver. On and off as you please. No two are the same. They are tricked out with tons of designs, accessories, and colors. Some are dedicated to girlfriends, others to God, etc. The other way to get around are “trikes”. A motorbike with a side car to seat two or three (or sometimes more). Also tricked out. The other thing that caught my attention was the school kids - the girls in long white skirts. The sailor top. The boys in slacks. All waiting out the rain or piling into Jeepneys. And maybe the coolest are the public urinals. These big, pink enclosures that you can go take a piss in. But you just piss on the ground, into a sewer. Our taxi driver stopped for a leak and I snapped him.

Our accommodation for the night was someone’s house that had been converted into a “hometel”. Basic, but it sufficed. We were in a residential area and after checking in, walked around before finding a local place to eat. We dined on a bunch of dishes that I can’t recall the names of. And San Miguel beer. The food was good, as was the service. The infrastructure in the Philippines is not as developed in China, but it is much cleaner. The next morning we went to the airport, only to be told that we were at the wrong terminal. How to get to the right one? A train? No. A taxi! We had given ourselves extra time so that wasn’t a problem. The flight to Kalibo to an hour, then a L300 van to Caticlan and finally, a boat to Boracay, a small island.

Vendors were not very aggressive like in other countries I’ve been too. But still, whenever I visit a touristy place, I always feel an uneasy sense of interdependence. It’s like the only thing we have in common is the money/product/service we are exchanging. Maybe that’s not all bad, but sometimes I want more than to relax or eat. I want to know something about the place or people, so my mission is always to break through that “tourist-local” (mental) barrier and make some meaningful connection. Mine didn’t come until my last night (keep reading) and confirmed my initial impression - Filipinos are friendly, but don’t not overtly like the Chinese. They are laid back but when they smile, it’s truly magical.The Spanish influence more pervasive than the Asian, as shown in the flashy styles, smiles, and personalities of the people.

Only two things irked me. First, all the fees - environmental fee, terminal fee, security, this tax, VAT tax. From the moment you enter until you leave. I don’t mind spending money, but I hate the feeling of having to reach into my pocket every five seconds. And some of the fees are not actually required. They try to get you to pay, but if you don’t then there is no penalty. Some people are smart enough not to pay, but if you don’t know any better, you pay (I paid). But this kind of treatment leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Second, I’m always miffed at why, after I spend a lot of money on a plane ticket and go to a lot of trouble to get to a place, the only thing I can find to eat are hamburgers and pizza.

Boracay is beautiful. The beach is covered in white sands and blue coral. The water is clear blue and clean. It was cloudy most of the time and we got at least a little rain each day we were there. A lot of Koreans and some Chinese were also visiting the island. Classic is when they bring one bowl of rice when you order rice. The Chinese guy looks at his wife like, “what is this?”. I was feeling his pain, really. Who charges for rice and then just brings a tiny bowl. They ordered more. Isn’t bread and rice a human right? I hate a la carte. Anyway, it will be interesting to see how tourism changes as more Chinese begin to travel abroad. How the restaurants and hotels will adapt to their expectations in regards to types and portions of food. I think it will be great for tourists in general because the Chinese are more likely to push than their Western counterparts. We had cable TV, so I watched American television for the first time since I’ve left the US.

On our way back to Manila, we met a Korean guy who had traveled to Boracay alone. He spoke Chinese, so we were able to communicate. I negotiated a bus trip for the three of us. I got a one dollar discount. Those guys don’t care, but for me it is about principle - the locals were paying a lot less. We basically subsidize their transportation. I hate that. We were back in Manila for the final night and even though I swore off Italian food, we found ourselves in an awesome Italian place getting bent on wine and other delicious food. People were playing music and singing. After that it was serious gun talk with the security guards at the hotel. A classic conversation. I’ll give you an entry from my Moleskine later.

Pictures soon.

Fab made a trip to Xian this weekend to check out the terracotta soldiers. He snapped some great pics. I’ve included a few below.

I flew to Tokyo from Chengdu via Beijing. Most of the passengers on the first leg of the flight got off in Beijing. Most of the passengers on the second leg of the flight got on in Beijing, leaving just a marginal number (12) of us who take the entire CA 421 flight.
For some reason, the passengers bound for Tokyo and those bound for Beijing are separated before boarding. When I arrived at the gate for boarding (i.e. a bus that would take us to the plane), the sign listed another flight, so I asked (in Chinese) the airport personnel if this was the gate bound for Japan. She told me to “wait a moment” and I took a seat with a group of 40 and 50 something Japanese businessmen. For the first time in nearly three months, I heard real people (not iTunes) speaking Japanese. Just the cadence made me super pumped and even more so once I realized that I still understood pieces of their conversations.

When the time came to board the bus, the personnel made an announcement, oddly enough, in English. The businessmen, I guessed, didn’t speak much English, because they all looked at me to see what I was gonna do. I usually don’t find pleasure in being that guy who runs to the front of the line, but this time I was forced to be the first mover.

During the pre-flight procedures, an announcement was made that one Japanese stewardess was on board. I thought about some friends in China telling me that they can tell the difference between Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans. I’ve always thought that, like with Americans and English, I can only tell the difference based on style or accent/language, but not by face. That is to say, if we were all stripped of our clothes, make-up, and hair-styles, I don’t believe anyone could tell the difference. Anyhow, because all the stewardesses must wear a common uniform and cannot have over-styled hair, make up or nails, I thought it’d be a good test for me to differentiate.
Approaching Beijing airport is a real treat for a number of reasons. First, you get a Bird’s eye view of all the construction, including the airport itself, not to mention a unique perspective on Hutongs. Second, people from all over the world, speaking any number of languages. For me, it was the first time in three months since I heard a live native English speaker. My reaction was similar to that when I heard Japanese - super pumped, amazed, actually. Third, after being used to the way people behave here, I got a chance to look at “my people” (whatever that means) through the same lens as locals. For example, one guy talking loud on his cell phone about “deals” he “can’t talk about now because there’s people around” was a little annoying. Maybe the Chinese couldn’t understand, but for me スーパ うざいよ！！Well, come to think of it, the Chinese talk loud on their cells, too, but I can’t understand so it’s not really annoying.

I forgot to mention, I was sitting next to a Chinese guy on the flight from Chengdu to Beijing. He looked a little uncomfortable, like he didn’t fly often. How do I know this look? Because I had the same look I’m better than I used to be, but like him, I once gripped the arm rests during take-off, and read the in-flight magazines repeatedly in an attempt to ignore that pesky turbulence. Anyway, it reminded me of what an honor it is to fly, how lucky I am, how powerless and vulnerable I am on those planes. To go between two different worlds in the matter of hours is, perhaps, one of the greatest privileges some of us are afforded in our lifetime. Anyway, this all reminds me of my first time on a plane. Well, actually, my first time on a plane, I jumped out. But my first time on a commercial flight - Columbus to Chicago - I was amazed that people could sleep on an airplane; that they didn’t want to look out the window; that they didn’t feel nervous. I can sleep now, but I still feel in awe that a big chunk of metal can fly so fast, high, and far, full of people and their luggage. Amazing. Respect to the Wright Brothers.
次です。After landing in Beijing and getting stamped out, we re-boarded. I took a sequence of shots during take off. The first three are of the plane’s shadow, the fourth is of Hutongs and finally a “head in the clouds” shot.

Back to the stewardess. The whole time I’m trying to figure out which was Japanese. I could immediately rule out two of them based on the way they interact with one another. I finally get it down to two of them based on make-up. I make my final decision when one hands me a glass of water - she gave me this smile and a super-slight tilt of the head that, I thought, only a Japanese person is capable of doing. We landed, and I thought I’d have to leave without ever confirming if my guess was right. But then, as I was waiting for the train, a woman walks up beside me to form a line. It’s her. Even more than in the dimly lit, window shades down Boeing. At this point I’m almost certain she is Japanese - otherwise she’d probably be staying in a hotel near the airport with the rest of the Chinese crew, not waiting for the Keisei. Finally, someone walks up to her and she starts speaking Japanese. やっぱり！！！Anyway, she was super beautiful, the type you just want to stare at, but not like a stalker, unless your screen name is “Your Brother”.
Anyway, stepping into Tokyo is stepping into another world. The style makes my head explode. The women…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh…a sexy girl on the train drinking a tall boy of Asahi…marry me…the vending machines…can learn a lot about Japanese from that vending machine and the decision making process they go through, the sounds of the trains, the automated conductors, nodding off on the train like it was a birth right, a backpacker looking lost as hell, letting him feel that and then helping him out. Telling him the story of Hachiko. Warning him what a blast he is gonna have in Tokyo, knowing that he still can’t comprehend it. Wanting to speak English to a native speaker, but he was super tired and sounded like a zombie, so I’d been better off with a cab driver here. He asked me if it was illegal to smoke and walk at the same time. Explaining that it wasn’t illegal, but maybe a little impolite, but to make the decision on his own. Sending messages on my cell phone. Everyone on the train sending messages on their cell phones. Fare adjustments!!! The Yamanote line!!!!!!!! Guys in suits, lots of guys in suits, looking sharp as knives. People sitting with their feet together, so as to not take up too much space. Women holding handbags tightly in their lap. Umbrellas. Overcome with excitement, a thick layer of sadness, still. Tokyo, my first love…

I arrived at Sangubashi around 1130. あいかわらず、Hikaru and I stayed awake until 0400 talking。

The next day, I had two goals - visit Yoyogi Koen and eat a natto big mac. Visiting Yoyogi was like a reunion with an old lover. You know she’s changed, but not quite sure how. You wonder what the chemistry will be like. Would I fall back into that extreme state of comfort that we shared in the past, or had things changed? Shit, ain’t a damn thing changed. Yoyogi was even more beautiful than when I had left. I soaked it all up. Went to the grocery store and got that natto, some pickled vegetables, etc. Home and crushed that specialty. うfrigginまい.。なつかしい。

A friend asked me if I got any new ideas on life when I traveled, and I quickly responded with a “no”. I told him that my ideas are pretty much the same as when I was very young. These experiences just allow me to confirm, refine, and learn how and when to tailor them to a given situation, I told him. Truth is, I responded too quickly, and failed to mention one idea that is new.

Those (myself included) with the economic and political resources can travel relatively unencumbered to every corner of the earth, accumulating passport stamps, pictures, self-pats on the back, and stories to embellish over while lipping the latest trendy cocktails, but I still can’t help but wonder the following: Is travel for the bored, the boring? And more importantly, which am I?

In all seriousness, sometimes I do find myself boring, and often wonder, ‘What is fun? Is this fun?’. You know what I found out? What I consider fun? Talking/arguing with friends, walking, eating/drinking (not necessarily alcohol, because I hope the conversation can be the intoxicant), sleep, sex, shower/bath, not necessarily in that order. I’ll add music - dancing and playing - and movies - watching, not making - in there too, but only when one of the former cannot be achieved.

Slight digression. Back on track. Before I ventured outside of the USA, I really thought people who had traveled and lived abroad knew something I didn’t. I won’t say I admired or envied these people, because I don’t give up either so easily, but I was undeniably curious about what they knew. Turns out they did know something I didn’t - how boring they are. Like sex without love means nothing, travel is superfluous without ideas and experiences behind it. Good art has as strong idea as its foundation, and so does good travel. Be it alone or in a group, sandy beaches or snowy mountains, is not the point. If your life has been or already is boring, travel to an exotic land might not be enough to save you. Maybe it’s cheaper to get on second life or something?

I don’t want to sound ungrateful because I know my current life is one of privilege not afforded to the average citizen of the world. I will leave for another time, hopefully when we meet in person, the debate of who is to credit for this privilege. But odd as it may sound, I honestly don’t believe any of the experiences I am having abroad can shape me as much as those I had on that dead end street in Price Hill that I grew up on. They can match neither in breadth nor intensity. However, it should go without saying that they remain important, influential.

So while travel brings many interesting and wonderful experience, nothing can beat the time my brother blew me up with a cannister of gun powder that rocked the block and left residue on cars 200 yards away. Or the time I shot myself in the foot (literally) and had to think of a way to explain to my Mom that I needed to go to the hospital immediately. Or the time by Brother called and said, “Dad’s holding a gun to my head, put Mom on the phone”. And I was like, “Okay, hold on, I’m just about to beat Mario Brothers”. And after dying, I yelled downstairs to my Mom, “Dad’s got a gun to his head, pick up the line.”

Somehow, life these days seems much simpler. Admittedly, objectively speaking, the stakes are higher now, and the pressure greater, but…Maybe my ideas haven’t changed but my perspectives have. A new take on an old thing? Maybe my guns and butter upbringing gave me nerves of steel and a personality slippery enough to navigate the tightest of situations? Maybe it gave me a fundamental understanding of life’s necessities that dictate my minimalist modus? Maybe, as my friend said, I’m full of shit?

So why is traveled the new educated? Well, because it doesn’t matter. Like having a lot of money, or a lot of degrees, the stamps cannot validate your credibility with me!

Or, alternatively, since it’s not unusual for me to sprinkle conversations with Shania Twain lyrics, “That don’t impress me much”.

I reach for my…dictionary.

I’ve never felt culture shock when visiting a country other than my own. And I’ve never felt a culture gap between myself and anyone else. I have felt personality gaps and class gaps, however. Maybe it’s because I’m not into “culture” per se. I’m always at a lost for words when someone asks me what part of their culture I am interested in. I don’t know. I am interested in people. Are they apart of your culture? Am I interested in your culture by extension of them? If I am interested in Chinese music or Japanese food, does it logically follow that I am also interested in these cultures? I think not. And how about when people talk about getting to know/learning about other cultures? I really have no idea what they mean. I’m not trying to be flip, either. I’m genuinely confused.

Maybe it’s because I’m not exactly sure what culture is. The most accurate definition I’ve heard comes from Hofstede, who defined it as “The collective programing of the mind”, but the generally accepted version probably is one that goes on about “norms” and “behaviors”. Hell, when I hear “norms”, I think of the mailman from Cheers. Seriously, if I program myself like you, does your culture become mine? At what point would we share a common culture? More importantly, would it mean, change anything? What if I have multiple programs that I can call during run time. Am I bi-culture, tri-culture, etc.? Maybe the best solution is to de-bug ourselves altogether.

And why, whatever country am I in, do people ask me if I like their women? How do I say “nondiscriminatory” in your language? I swear, I’m so equal opportunity that it’s not even funny.

One of my favorite Japanese “kotowaza” (proverbs) is “binbou hima nashi”. It basically means that poor people are those without time. I’ve always applied a measured sense of urgency to living my life, but before moving to NYC, it was not in minutes. But anyone who has worked in public accounting (or any other number of “professional” professions) knows that being ingrained with the by-the-hour mentality and pulling all-nighters in windowless rooms makes each free moment all the more precious.

Boarding the subway car closest to my exit was one of my daily missions; the extra minute I’d save walking home was invaluable. I would put the rice on as soon as I got home, before changing my clothes, so it would be ready 3 minutes earlier. Eating out of the pan saved me time on dishes (well, I’ve always eaten out of the pan. And I also like to use tupperware lids for plates. If you don’t believe me you can ask my Mom, and any ex-gf). I’d brush my teeth in the shower (well, I have always done that, and whether it saves time is debatable). That’s no way to live, folks.

But thanks to one man - a colleague named Rich C. (I called him “RC Cola”) - I was inspired to make a change. RC was a super-laid back dude; but he was deep. Not a stoner or anything like that. He gave me some of the best professional advice I could ever get. He told me, “Don’t work five days to live two”. It really hit me. After that, it was on. I started going out during the weekdays, taking the ‘A’ train to Harlem for Jazz and catching Amateur night at the Apollo. Took it to West 4th for Comedy shows. Dinner at a new restaurant, walk in the park. Something to break the vicious cycle of work-sleep-work. I was all over the place, enjoying my NY life. Visine was in my pocket and time was on my side.

And since leaving the States, things have only gotten better. I would say that 35% of the time I have no idea what day it is, 60% of the time what date it is. It feels damn good. Yes, I want to have, will have, so much cash I can’t count it, but I think a more accurate measure of my success will be having so much control over my time that I don’t feel the need to count it.

The real Ambassadors, that is.

A tour bus of U.S. senior citizens defended themselves against a group of alleged muggers, sending two of them fleeing and killing a third in the Atlantic coast city of Limon, police said on Thursday.

One of the tourists _ a retired member of the U.S. military aged about 70 _ put assailant Warner Segura in a head lock and broke his clavicle after the 20-year-old and two other men armed with a knife and gun held up their tour bus Wednesday, said Luis Hernandez, the police chief of Limon, 80 miles east of San Jose.

The two other men fled when the 12 senior citizens started defending themselves. The tourists then drove Segura to the Red Cross where the man was declared dead. The Red Cross also treated one of the tourists for an anxiety attack, Hernandez said.

Yu Hang and Jenney invited Fu Yuan and I to join them and six others for an overnight trip to Mount Emei (Emei Shan). This was my second visit, but the first to the top, the Golden Summit, some 3000m high. Pictures and commentary are below.

Not captured on the digi: the bonds formed over the beer drank.

I’ve had great views from above the clouds on airplane rides, but never anything like today where I was out in the open air.

My first time in a cable car. We were packed in with about 100 people for the 3 minute ride upward. I’ve always had a fear of heights, so I was kind of nervous.

I like this photo because it gives you a since of how high up we were. The cables blending into the clouds at the bottom, a big white abyss.

I found something very appealing in the isolation that this tree has to experience day in and day out.

This temple was of in the distance on a relatively secluded mountain top. I played peek-a-boo with the clouds.

This was the main temple, the Gold Summit. Neo gave me a lesson in Buddhism.



Incense and Candles

“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign / Fucking up the scenery breaking my mind / Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?”. I remember going to Western Hills Plaza to get this single with my Brother Nate. I also remember the 2 Live Crew poster they had hanging the store….ooh, man! Anyway, back on track. Maybe one of the best parts of traveling is reading the English translation of all the signs, especially in China. Japan has to get a big thumbs down on this category. Granted, they do have one in Yoyogi Park whose English translation is: “Don’t let your dog poo in the grass, children eat and play there”, but other than that, it is always DON’T THIS, STRICTLY PROHIBITED THAT. I was bored one day and counted how many “DON’T” signs there were between the subway station and my house (roughly a 6 minute walk). I got to 11 and stopped counting. I’m from OSU baby, we were always told to “Do Something Great!”

This was the first, and probably best of the trip. Neo explained that the warning is not meant as much for those who sit on the edge as it is for those who come here to end their life with a jump into the “yun hai”(ocean of clouds). Check the pic after it for a prime jump spot.

I saw this one and it caught me off guard. I was like, ‘huh, what does that say?’. And even once I figured it out, I was like, ‘huh, it takes that many characters to say that?’.

I thought of that Mark Morrison jam, “Return of the Mack”, when I saw this one.

Not a word left to speak, the sight of you leaves me weak…

I hit the jackpot at Emei, capturing some really great phones. The one on the red wall was pointed out to me by Neo, otherwise I would have missed it.

As you may know, I’m in the design business now (cough cough, choke). These are a prototype of an upcoming release, a remix of the Air Force 1s. I call them, “The Claw”. Not. The steps leading up to the Golden Summit were quite slippery, so we bought these tie on gripper givers.

I’m not sure what the English name (Fu thinks there is one, but guesses it’s an academic mouthful) is for these flowers, but here they are called “you cai hua”. They bloom this time of year and can be seen everywhere if you make a trip rural areas or the countryside. Sometimes the area in front of you looks like a sea of Big Birds. These pics don’t really do the scale justice. The second one was in the back of a restaurant we at at on our way back to Chengdu.

007 has nothing on me…except that AM. The girls kept making me do this pose the night before, like 20 times. I got it down.

Group photo

Just a little haute to keep quoting myself, but hey, this is AS, not Ayou.

On my favorite countries (so far):

“Well, truthfully, Japan and China are my two favorite countries in Asia. Completely different from one another, but equally addictive. China is more close to my style, but Japan has something I want (not just the women either).”

A pic of this stunning white phone at the airport in Beijing.
A shot of the mountains on the way to Chengdu.
Getting my fingerprint added to the scanner at the office.

Got this bit from a client a month or so after I left. I’m especially feeling the second sentence - probably the best advice one could receive when leaving home.

“Have a wonderous journey my friend. Enjoy and don’t miss anything! Watch out for Posion Ivy or Posion Oak they don’t make good toiletries.”

That’s what I was doing when I came up with “the next big thing”. ha!

In Japan, all the best things happen in a box. The bento (lunch box), the o-furo (bath), the subway, o-sechi, masusake, karaoke, and of course, the onsen (hot spring)…kind of. On my return to Japan, we ventured to Hakone for the onsen. No nude pics, but did capture some striking shots of the landscape.