The Place

As you probably gathered, On The Road has fallen distinctly quiet for some time now. I haven't been in a particularly good place to write; personally, nor other-ly, let's say. Even a sentence which I don't want to bin immediately simply cannot be conjured like a rabbit. But hope has returned favour (for me at least and less so for you) as I would appear to have re-found The Place.

The Place (noun): a place where I don't write, but the words come to me.

In the last couple of years I've had the fortune that The Place was easy to find. In Japan, it was the train between my town, Shiroishi, and Sendai. Every other day I took the train to the city for some kind of social call and, when I wasn't getting a head start with a train beer or two or nestling into the seat drunken dozing, I was writing. The first time I took the train from Shiroishi into Sendai I was with a girl; also recently moved to Shiroishi, also Asian, also called Jenny. The road into Shiroishi had been undeniably less stimulating, we burned tarmac in my supervisor's car, passing small concrete boxes and road signs which my hangover ignored. (cheers guys, you know who you are). That week as I settled into the country life, I became increasingly aware of how small Shiro is. Coming straight from a massive city (the Glasgow metropolitan area has a population of 2 million), I was rather bored. Jen and I decided that what we needed was a bit of human interaction. The week we arrived was also the week during which one of the biggest festivals of the Tohoku region was taking place. Straight after work we jumped on the first train to the Tanabata festival. Jumped is perhaps the wrong verb to use here as the linguistic ordeal of buying a train ticket was a definite hindrance. But soon enough we were sitting down on a train. If you have ever watched Hayao Miyazaki's Spirited Away (if not, I don't like you any more), you probably remember the seating plan on the train. The seats are not arranged like an ordinary train in the UK, with short rows of two or three seats on either side of the carriage, separated by a gangway. Instead, the seats in some trains in Japan are set vertically along the carriage. Not much seating space, but clearly more efficient for a game of sardines. As the train departed we saw pieces of the village we would soon call home. Tiny cardboard houses and rusty ramen signs suddenly gave way to a river riding east, rice paddies populated by hungry cranes, and the hills which bordered them, breathing damp mist.

We passed in unbroken silence.

Of course, as I became better aquainted to the scenery and the respectability of train beer, I became less bewildered on the train. Yet the serenity remained, and became the backdrop for at least 70% of the poetry which I wrote in Japan.

But not all train journeys are quite as productive for writing. The journey from Sendai to Nagano for example. Clocking over 11 hours on local trains, I didn't even write a limerick. Neither did I write on the tracks from Tsuruoka to Shiga (in 2 days I racked up 20 hours of train time). I did, however, write a response to an article about being a guilty 'flyjin' foreigner in post-tsunami-quake-nuclear disaster Japan which was published in the Daily Yomuri. On my phone.

The Transiberian too, despite the ridiculous journey time. I managed only to craft the bare bones of the idea for a play which I have yet to write. The difficulty being, it just wasn't The Place.

Thinking back to Paris, I had so much artistic competition. It was complete immersion; from the ghosts of writers who had starved on Rue Montorgueil, to my contemporaries who arrived on a dream of little more than a 11m2 studio shared with a stray cat and too many coffee grounds. The last flat I found myself squatting in (thanks again Love, I miss you so much), I spent most of my time in some kind of stupor with film makers, travellers, painters, philosophers, bartenders, and chefs. And a lecturer of economics. That's perhaps why the writing was effortless. The life I had there lent itself well to writing, I was permanently stimulated by my bizarre life as a penniless, homeless writer.

The struggling artist. Some clichés are just true.

Fight and Be Happy

There are few places which have left an impression so deep I hate to think why I left in the first place. Japan still glitters with memories, people, smells which I miss.

Sometimes I believe it is all to do with the earthquake. But I still find it difficult to talk about. I reason with myself that nobody understands. On a bad day I find myself blaming the media. As I watched houses cascading into the ocean, journalists turned up on our doorsteps by the cargo load, scavenging for sorrow. News reported that the end of the world was nigh. And I, in the midst of it all, was subject to phone call after phone call, demanding I come home.

I began writing to document my story of the earthquake. I don't for a minute think it is worth your pity. But I hope that by breaking the 9.0 into pieces, thoughts, interactions, experiences, you might understand us better.

I'd like to say that Japan, despite what you heard about Fukushima, earthquakes, tsunamis, Godzilla, anything else which might deter you from going... Japan remains the safest country to which I have ever been. Japan, the Tohoku region, Miyagi and Fukushima prefectures in particular, still need your support (Disaster In Figures on the BBC) and tourism. If you worry about radiation, all I can tell you now that I am yet to grow a third kidney (I lived 60km from Dai ichi Power plant). But perhaps this report by the BBC will put you at ease.

To make a monetary donation try this website. 

And finally, I have to say thank you again to Otake-sensei, Shiho, Jonathan, Jen, Corey, V, Aido, Johnny, Mides, Clodagh, Andrew, Adele, Ceely, Ro-ro, Jeremy and Shiroishi BoE. 

Jenni Yau updated her status

9 March at 18:46

"my favourite animal is cats. i have a cat. the cat's name is daijiro. i like him because he is a big cat. daijiro has a girlfriend. i must give him food. thank you."

Aftershock

Rumbling

From sail to sail

長い長い!

They croak

beneath steel desks.

At 3am.

And at 6.

6:27.

I roll over.

Jenni Yau updated her status

10 March at 07:52

“'What lies, we had 3 6.something quakes last night! I hope this isn't like, a warm up for the big one or something... I mean it is allegedly due...”

Graduation. 

'Last time

Jenni-sensei.

Will you marry me?'

The last school song

See you forever, they say.

Now home.

in my pillow

For a mid afternoon nap.

The cradle begins

To rock,

Again.

I wait to

Let it pass.

Open eyes

In time

For the 

Crash.

The room shatters

We smack

TVs against crockery

Shipwrecked

On rugged shore

Scramble

To the doldrums

Under the doorframe

I observe, 

wait

watch.

Matchsticks

In a box

I am lucky.

Only broken glass,

and

a suicidal microwave to report.

My first thought

Went to the kitchen

which I cleaned

Just yesterday.

My neighbour

(Age three)

Asks what happened.

But I haven't yet read

Japanese for Earthquakes.

Jenni Yau updated her status

11 March at 14:58

"Holy christ that was a big un. all my shit is now on the floor"

Back to work

for the shock

Battling

snow

and falling glass.

We がんばっろう

One ear to ground

7.9

8.4

8.8

Figures creep higher

As we do

Through the wailing school

8.9

What news?

Tsunami...

Silence falls

Twenty miles from shore.

Stephen Yau wrote on your wall

Wing Yun Yau wrote on your wall

Yuk Hung Yau wrote on your wall

Rachel Ng wrote on your wall

Nestor Iwanowicz Machno sent you a message

11 March 2011 at 18:23

Hey,

I'm sorry to bother you, as I'm a stranger, but I've seen your comment on Sam Rosenblums wall, and it indicates that you're in Japan at the moment?

I know Sam very briefly, I'm just a good friend of his good friend. But I'm also a journalist from Poland, and my newspaper is preparing an article about the quake in Japan. I need a few quotes from the people, that are at the spot. Could you please help me out?

If you could write very briefly about how you felt during the quake, what your first thoughts were, what is the life on the streets looking like, and how are the people around you acting, I would be extremely gratefull.

Or maybe, if the phones are working again, could you please pass me your number, so that I could phone you?

Or course, if you don't want to be quoted in the newspaper for any reason, I perfectly understand that, and in that case I'm sorry for bothering you.

Cheers, ...
(that's my real name, the Facebook one is a fake)

Joma West wrote on your wall

Scott Graham Strachan wrote on your wall

Adam Matheson wrote on your wall

Raymond Q Smuckles wrote on your wall

The gaijin union

We are only three.

Seek companions in the dark

Refuge

With students

And strawberries.

Samea Khan wrote on your wall

Peter Wright wrote on your wall

Kirsty Halliday wrote on your wall

Thundering through the gym

Clockwork silence.

Sam Wood wrote on your wall

Adam Wilson wrote on your wall

A generator bursts

Basketball nets quiver in lamplight

Now we see

Whose children cry.

Gregg Francis sent you a message

Sacha Seeruthun wrote on your wall

Steven Watt wrote on your wall

Alan Inkster wrote on your wall

Stuart Dalgliesh wrote on your wall

Hazel Mckendrick wrote on your wall

Joma West wrote on your wall

The morning after

still 2:46

A murmur.

9.0

Stephen Yau wrote on your wall

12 March at 17:26

“I've put you on the Foriegn Embassy's missing persons register...i can't find your mobile number ..i've only got your home number...mum and Yun aren't home or something....bt already asked mum, she'll pass it to me soon.. which evacuation centre are you at?”

Jenni Yau updated her status

12 March at 21:37

"Hey all, thanks for the lovely messages but worry not, I am safe and dry. I live in the mountains so I avoided the tsunami havock but because its rural I have no water or leccy. If someone wouldnt mind donating eother or some jaffa cakes it would be much appreciated."

Clodagh Power wrote on your wall

12 March 2011 at 23:23

"hey jenni have you heard from adele? her family are really worried..."

We four

clasp torches.

The room wobbles

Jonathan snores.

Stephen Yau wrote on your wall

13 March at 06:17

“ok, big earthquake, 30ft tsunami, over 1000 dead/missing, and most damage is around miyagi where you stay - i must have been crazy to panic.. i've notified the embassy. As for jaffa cakes, i'll send you a whole box on condition that you just stay where you are in the hills, and give us a minimum ten word daily update...starting with "I'm ok".”

No light

We cook

By heartbeat

My microwave jumped

Jon's cupboard,

ducked for cover

A boat knocked

on Anna's door.

Everyone saw it

The whirlpool.

Jenni Yau updated her status

13 March 2011 at 11:41

"If anyone has heard from Anna can you let me know? And if anyone wants to contact me my phoneline works but still no electricity or water so... Might go out to get some so dont panic if I don't a answer. 0224 24 5227"

Relatives, not mines.

Ask about grandaughters, brothers, cousins.

I know nothing,

Beyond my village limits

Joma West wrote on your wall

13 March 2011 at 20:23

Btw in case you're retarded and didn't get the message keep the updates rolling in as often as possible. You'll get your jaffa cakes when you come back. Present pile.

Fukushima;

A byword

For disaster.

Stephen Yau wrote on your wall

13 March 2011 at 21:01

"Jennifer, I've just heard on news of a second explosion at the Fukushima nuclear plant, if you're at home in Shiroishi you're less than 30 miles away from it. The BBC reports that Road side security have imposed a 60km evacuation zone, Which puts you in the middle of it. You'll need to leave Shiroishi and go with emergency services to an evacuation centre much further away, its not safe. You're home phones engaged but will keep trying. Staying at home isn't safe, so you and your friends should leave asap. Stay with emergency services where you'll be safe.

Still 2:46.

At least

I'm not late for work

Stephen Yau wrote on your wall

13 March 2011 at 21:54

"The second explosion has not happened yet, but there is a threat of it happening, you'll need to leave shiroishi, i'm not able to get through to your home number for some reason, WY is about to call you"

Primal rumble

I hear it

Before I feel it.

Reconnected.

Ring ring. Ring ring.

It never stops.

A shout from below.

Digits flash.

We blow out candles.

Jenni Yau updated her status

14 March 2011 at 19:43

"apologies for the slow updates. i do live on the boarder of miyagi and fukushima, but we are far enough from the nuclear plants. electricity restored an hour ago. no water yet. food is a vague concern, but there was a food drop. cant leave the village for the forseeable future. gas is... not sure. if it rains it will be acidic. but, we are happy, safe, and flipping lucky not to live at the coast."

My sister demands exodus

But I'm no Israelite.

Flyjin, we're called. 

Ring ring.

Ring ring.

15 March 2011 at 10:09

Jenni wrote a new note: Dear Nestor.

Our fridge empties;

Three lanky carrots

A carton of warm milk.

Jenni Yau updated her status

15 March 2011 at 12:32

“Is anyone from Tohoku Gakuin University? A friend from home is trying to locate a family friend who taught English there so any info would be greatly appreciated"

He calls

We haven't spoken in a year.

Come home.

He calls.

Radioactive spinich.

I could use an extra heart.

Ring ring.

(Anonymous) updated her status

15 March 2011 at 12:53

“All the embassies have been great. Sending out emails and messages to their citizens, personally visiting their citizens in Miyagi, and bussing them to neighbouring prefectures... Except for Canada which has not sent us any information or tried to make contact.

Liam called the embassy this morning, and they told us to fly out of Sendai airport -which is underwater.

When Liam told her it was underwater, she told us to go to Fukushima and fly out of there.

Fukushima is the prefecture with the Nuclear Power Plant, that has evacuated 100,000 people.

So the embassy directed us towards a flooded, tsunami area, and then a Nuclear disaster zone.

Then they told us to ask local authorities instead, saying they were going to wait until after an earthquake hits Tokyo to make any comments or suggestions.”

A six hour queue

for petrol.

Roads torn

Broken like biscuits.

Stranded on land

Jenni Yau updated her status

15 March 2011 at 18:10

"Japan, I am amazed. I live in the sticks, and yet I have electricity, gas, phone and internet. Food exists in some form or another, as does water and sanitation. AND the postman came round this morning. I will never, ever, make fun of your haircut again. In the words of a junior high school student, みんなさん、ガンバッテ!! And you guys at home, if that's what Japan can do, you can surely get some Jaffa cakes in a jiffy bag!"

Inaccurate reports

Reports of inaccuracy

We wade through reportage.

Ring ring.

Jenni Yau updated her status

15 March 2011 at 18:27

Ok, so, as reliable as the BBC is, can people please check reliable sources before they spiral into panic mode: http://www.iaea.org/newscenter/news/tsunamiupdate01.html

No modicum of tact left.

Dirty laundry left to dry.

七十パーセント。

七十パーセント。

What's nanajuu pasento?

Jenni Yau commented on your status

16 March 2011 at 09:21

This is the official line from the Japan Meteorological Agency: Estimating from the occurrence of aftershocks so far, the possibility of aftershocks with maximum JMA Seismic Intensity of 5+ or higher is 40% for the 3-day period from 15:00 JST, 15 March, followed by 20% for the 3-day period from 15:00 JST, 18 March to 15:00 JST, 21 March.

 

Jenni Yau updated her status

16 March 2011 at 18:45

"just spoke to the British consulate rep in Sendai. What a sweetheart. Too bad he was completely useless to me. I wonder if he had jaffa cakes..."

Ring ring.

Jenni Yau updated her status

16 March 2011 at 21:07

after careful consideration and a long chat with my kyoto sensei, i think i might stay to help. i'm not in any immediate danger, apart from a hernia from worried family members. i do not want to talk about the subject of me coming home or leaving miyagi again, so please, you know who you are, do not speak about it unless i bring it up.

Wing Yun Yau commented on your status

16 March 2011 at 03:40

Yep, good job airing your dirty laundry in public. Be careful what you post publicly. We're not happy about your conduct but respect your decision to stay. Drop the attitude, don't forget the updates and take care of yourself and others out there. Sis, Bro and mum X

Adam Matheson commented on your status

17 March 2011 at 10:52

To be fair Jenni I have been worried about you too. But more in terms of running out of food, water and heating than getting radiation poisoning. People hear nuclear and forget the humanitarian crisis, which is a far bigger problem in North East Japan right now.

.

Ring ring.

Ring ring.

Ring ring.

It never stops.

Guilt rises.

Jenni Yau updated her status

17 March 2011 at 16:51

“On my way out. I may be some time.”

Abandonner.

Jenni Yau updated her status

17 March 2011 at 22:42

“Stuck at home for now, will leave tomorrow. In the meantime, it's a hot toddy and a green jumper for me.”

Three.

We hit the back roads west.

Dodging tarmac

Torn from the ground.

Jenni Yau updated her status

18 March 2011 at 23:47

Tsuruoka, Yamagata. 200km from Fukushima.

Neil Anderson updated his status

19 March 2011 at 02:08

Safely in Tokyo with Jenny Arnup.

Thank you to...

The Australian Embassy: For both paying our $130 taxi from Shiroishi to Sendai and setting us up together with a ride down to Tokyo with the Canadians.

The Canadian Embassy: For a comfortable, free ride to Tokyo and a warm welcome by the Canadian ambassador at the embassy followed by dinner and hotel reservations for the night.

The American Embassy: For nothing...

Raymond Q Smuckles commented on your status

19 March 2011 at 03:10

ha, madness. so what's the plan - is that the program pretty much over for you, after kyoto?

Jenni Yau commented on her status

19 March 2011 at 09:57

No, i gotta go back to miyagi, i have a job there still!

Brian 'Simba' Garvey posted a comment

19 March 2011 at 10:43

Sendai getting bleaker? Is it possible?

Christopher Nicholls posted a comment

19 March 2011 at 13:30

I think I saw a zombie earlier. And a werewolf. And Lady Gaga.

Jenni Yau updated her status

19 March 2011 at 19:05

I was called up and offered iodine tablets by my embassy, provided I could come to Sendai and get them. I told them yesterday I was in Yamagata. I'm being put up by friends of friends who are being amazing.

Jenni Yau updated her status

20 March 2011 at 18:29

"being very conscientiously looked after by some lovely strangers. may not have slept in days, but am fine."

Jenni Yau updated her status

21 March 2011 at 18:29

"Realising I haven't updated in a few days - still alive, still being looked after in Tsuruoka. Have been helping with a food drive for supplies for Miyagi."

Jenni Yau updated her status

22 March 2011 at 17:02

(Subbed) Nuclear Boy うんち・おならで例える原発解説

"I remember describing the nuclear situation to you as being this exactly, and all I could think was - FUCK, I've turned Japanese. "

Jenni Yau updated her status

23 March 2011 at 13:06

"Has a numb arse from train hopping. in niigata, on my way to joetsu to visit the lovely adam wilson. in other news, skipping town uses the remainder of my holiday days and then will be considered unpaid leave beyond the remaining days i had. that's the price of peace of mind for the family..."

Jonathan Borja posted on your wall

10 April 2011 at 10:36

Yea local trains were supposed to start last week but got suspended cuz of the earthquake last week but I'm watching it on the news now. Shink goes up to Fukushima starting today n local trains from Fukushima to Sendai are running too.

Jenni Yau updated her status

12^th April 2011 at 15:33

"Ta, ta, ただいま! You know, it really doesn't look so bad... Extreme gas bill aside."

 

Jenni Yau updated her status

14 April 2011 at 18:50

"Dear toaster. I cannot comprehend how you have survived being shaken off the fridge. Twice. I love you; please, never ever change.

Brian 'Simba' Garvey posted on your wall

15 April 2011 at 13:48

I love you so much right now

'Judge not,' 'fly-jin' and savingelectricity: views from readers | The Japan Times Online

Some readers' responses to Roberto De Vido's "Judge not, lest you be judged" (March 22), Darek Gondor's " 'Fly-jin' face fallout from decision to go" (April 5), and Darryl Magree's March 29 letter

Three months on...

A story;

An orphan

born of the whirlpool

just beyond the school gates.

We listen.

We arrange ourselves

By flood depth

Proximity to glowing spinach,

How long it took to flush your loo, and

How many students you lost.

Judge not,

Lest ye judge yourself

cautious,

We suck slowly each word,

Knowing our place

by the weight of our heart.

You, who left,

Flood the room

with weighted air.

Humidity rises

An oil slick

Will not wash

But merely recedes.

Four months have passed,

No more.

Not a day passes

Where we don't

Tie our pulse

To the beat of the ground.

Don't forget, you can still donate to Japan.

Before and After pictures on the BBC

The Lost Key

      'So, how did you lose your keys, you muppet?'

I have a gift. I lose things right in front of me. Then I spend hours searching and, inevitably, find the lost item, patiently waiting right in front of me. I saw lost, but things are rarely really lost. I really mean misplaced. And, in fairness, I do know exactly where my keys are, I just can't reach them.

I arrived home from work just after 4am, desperate to catch a nap before my next shift. Approaching the door I fished in my bag and pulled out my keys. Plugging the first key into the secure entry door, I let myself into the building. Forgetting I would need them again, I stuffed the keys back into my bag. I called the lift. Waiting, it dawned on me that I would need the keys to open the flat door. The lift descended. Steel doors barged open.I opened my bag, stepped through the threshold, tugged on a cord, which pulled out said keys, and let them drop.

My mother later said that she was always aware the gap between the lift and the floor seemed rather wide.

The keys fell free, landing with a delicate clunk on the concrete floor. I stared incredulously at the two inch gap.

I took the lift downstairs into the basement. The gap stared back at me.

     'Shit'.

I may appear rather reckless, dumping everything in piles on the floor. But as they say, there is a method to the madness. When I'm looking for something, I usually know which pile it's buried under. Generally, I don't actually lose things. I strategically misplace them.

Before parting for the Transiberian trip, a close friend gave me a 'tiger eye' stone for protection. I don't think he believed in the eye as a source of power, but rather, what it represented instead. I kept the tiger eye in a zipped compartment of my bag for safe keeping. There it rested; until Niszney Novgorod. Chatting to a girl, I jokingly attributed our incredible luck to the tiger eye. I pulled the stone from my bag, mainly to dispel the rumours that I am a poacher.

     'I should put it away now, I'll probably lose it otherwise.' Famous words.

Two days later I had this uneasy feeling. Immediately I went to feel the zipped pocket. It was unzipped, and lacking in contents. Somehow, I just knew exactly where it would be. I emailed the girl I had been chatting to in Niszney Novgorod, 'RE: a small brown rock, tied to a piece of string'.

Some months passed. I moved myself to Paris. I had almost forgotten the rock, and luck had long forgotten me. Settling into Paris was hard work; between the joblessness, the apartment-less-ness, and the crazy millionaires (a mad story for another day) I was beginning to creep to a low I had never seen in Japan's cotton ball safety.

One red evening on Skype;

     'I think you got a letter.' my mother said. Already, I was pleased with the news, I love mail.

     'I thought it was for me at first, so I opened it...' Her voice trailed off as she left the room. My browser casually wandered over to Facebook. No notifications. Damn.

     'But it was sent from Austria,' she said. 'Is this yours?' She asked. I closed my browser and watched as she pulled from the jiffy bag a small brown rock, tied to a piece of string.

My luck didn't begin to improve. But even for the mere sentimental value, I was ecstatic to see the tiger eye again.

I wonder about signs, and the signified; whether events and symbols are supposed to guide us to decisions. I don't believe in God, but I believe in something. The universe perhaps. The tiger eye didn't protect me from harm; but I wonder if the suggestion of provision, of protection or luck, was itself enough to make me lucky and keep me safe.

I have not had a permanent address since leaving Japan at the end of July last year. I have learned to let home be wherever I lay my head. That is temporarily my familial home, but perhaps losing my keys is symbolic.

If a small brown rock tied to a piece of string can, I'm sure that I too, will always find my way back.

The Exorcism; an explanation

Immediately on publication of the previous entry I felt the need to justify some of the poems. Since none of them were written in my home country, I think they still count as travel writing, to some degree anyway.


Amnesia

Amnesia is a poem I found in one of my notebooks. I scribbled pieces of it down when I was, let's say, not exactly self-aware. I found the rest in the form of a note which a friend had left during that time.


Notebooks

Frank O'Hara is my hero.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2003/jul/12/featuresreviews.guardianreview10


Go-hyaku-en Dama

I think it's quite obvious. But I just hope that it's not as overly sentimental as it could be.

The Exorcism

I have been meaning to update the blog for a few weeks now, but it's been a rather taxing month. I have a few ideas floating around but finding time, love, or patience to write has been difficult to say the very least.

As I am bashing out the next entry or two, I've decided to fill the gap with some poetry I wrote last year. It's kind of an experiment... I'd love to hear what you think of it.

Amnesia 

Room full of galactic spirals

Spread like butter on pages

All lined up. 

Bound in a book

By these stone angels

Pacman angels. 

Gone to Gray Area

For Stuff. Will go 

To Amnesia/Bulldog for quickie

(either wait my return or meet

meet me at Bulldogs)

Lots of love… X

Room full of void

Hosted in the sky.

We're flying,

It's the next Golden Age. 

Amsterdam (naturally), 2010.

Notebooks

I told myself,

I could be a painter,

Painting,

Repainting,

Perfecting. 

O'Hara, he knew

Painters cover blemishes, 

Dissolve them

Remould, reshape, reinvent

And repeat.

Until sardines exist no more,

A painting starves.

I remember

Lines from my teacher.

I will put down my pen.

I will put down my pen.

I will put down my pen.

I will put down my pen.

I will put down my pen.

Japan, 2010

五百円玉 (go-hyaku-en dama; the five hundred yen coin)

I roll the contradiction between my fingers

Perfectly round, yet completely flat. 

'I don't know what "our story" is', he says. 

A feeble excuse.

'There are two sides to every coin', 

But unlike this coin, 

this go-hyaku-en dama,

our value is not yet fixed.

He wants to put "our story" in a box,

shelf it away

between some books

and the shell he found on the beach that day.

Then, he could turn it into a case study.

Or a fairy tale

for a rainy day. 

I want to take "our story" to the jeweller

Have it assessed 

by a professional.

Then, knowing that stories are price-less

I could let it go,

like a red balloon.

'You're a deer', he says, 

Definitively.

Hooves spring from where my hands used to be

(making it only more difficult to write)

that it's easier to divorce that idea you coined

than her,

lying on your bed,

her fingers twisted in your hair. 

Japan, 2011

Cautionary Tales From the Tracks (Part 2)

At the next stop, the pair hopped off the train. They speedily returned with a blue carrier bag filled with tangerines, gherkins, and two paper wrapped bottles. Coming from Olkhon Island, where I had been warned that vodka is evil, the sight of two bottles made me uneasy. The Chechen explained vodka drinking in Russia. First and foremost, no mixing. You pour two fingers in each glass. You make a toast, to something, and you each down your shot. Then you eat something. A segment of tangerine, for example. I cheated and snuck bits of tangerine whilst the others were occupied with pouring the next round. Lastly, you repeat until all the vodka is gone. I don't recall many things beyond the first four shots. But I know that was where I lost my lens cap.

I was locked out of the compartment. The Russian evicted us. I think he was being sick out the window. I stood in the corridor. I checked the time. It was now 4 o'clock. I sat on the fold-down seat in the corridor. The Chechen arrived. He stood next to me. I continued to sit. He asked where I had been. I couldn't remember. Suddenly, he said that he loved me. Feeling incredibly awkward, I blurted yet again that I have a boyfriend.

     'I know, but...' He continued his dirty confession. He touched my arm.

     'You have a daughter, HALF MY AGE!' I managed to retort. Coiling my arm back, I continued the verbal diarrhoea. Reasons spewed forth as to why he should leave me alone. None of them were particularly insulting or forceful. I didn't want to be 'UK Tourist Found Strangled On Transiberian'.

It was all a fairly stupid thing to do, agreed. But as a traveller, you run the risk of the company you keep. And, in the end, I escaped the situation unharmed aside from a cracking hangover I awoke to at 2am. But if I closed my shop for business, I'd never meet anyone except batty old ladies. Considering the distance I covered by train, it was to be expected that I would have at least one bad experience. But the majority do not follow that pattern.

Another occasion where my oniisan and I boarded a train in the middle of the night, we were heading west from Yekaterinburg. As a girl of very little stature, the process of making my bed on the upper bunk of a Russian train can be tricky. In fact, often resulting in head injury. The upper bunks are about level with my forehead and the headroom once you are up there isn't quite enough to sit upright. I was dreading having to make the bed in twilight. We hopped onto the train carriage and began the search for our bunks. We passed through the open platszkart carriage, looking into each section for a pair of empty beds. We edged closer and closer to the end of the carriage; closer and closer to the beds too conveniently close to the toilets. We reached the last section. A Russian boy and a Tartar woman sat on the lower bunks. They each smirked the two perplexed and clearly foreign strangers with giant backpacks. The woman stood up, snatched a peek at our ticket and pointed at the two beds above. My oniisan kicked off his boots and began to ascend onto the bunk. The Tartar lady began to talk to me very quickly in hushed Russian. From the crumbs of Russian that I had picked up, I understood that she wanted him to come down, for fear of angering the infamously cranky provodnitsa. We sat down next to the Russian and the Tartar. The Tartar continued to talk to me as though I understood and I politely nodded my head in agreement. She asked to see my passport. I let her have it. She pulled a pair of spectacles from the inside of her jacket and squinted at the document.

'Ah, so you're from the UK,' I imagine she said. 'And your name is Jennifer', she added. I smiled in agreement.

'Can I see yours?' I asked, one hand outstretched. She complied. That night we exchanged names and home towns, and somehow, bumbled through a conversation about where we were going. I could not quote the situation if I tried. But somewhere between the wild flailing arms and the slow repetition of words we formed mutual understanding. Meanwhile, the provodnitsa flew past, checked our tickets and threw our bedsheets at us. It was time to sleep. I stood up to tackle the bed. The main lights had been extinguished hours ago. Only the fluorescent glow of necessity strained to illuminate the train. I began to unroll the mattress when I was flanked by two stern looking women. The first was the Tartar from the bunk below and the second, also a Tartar, had been observing our disjointed communication from the side bunk. I was quickly squeezed out of the way. Without warning nor signal, the two women went to work. The mattress was unfurled, white cotton sheets flapped, the pillow fluffed. Wordlessly, the two women retired to their respective beds. I stood for a moment, bewildered.

Gracelessly, I bumbled into bed.

One of my favourite plays is A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams. The main character, the dubious Blanche, says time and time again that 'I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers'. I hope I do not fit in the same category as she was categorically delusional. However, there is some truth to her words. I don't rely on strangers for much, except for their interaction. I love sitting on a train as it lolls forth through gorgeous scenes of natural beauty. But I don't travel exclusively for that. I love to talk to people from everywhere, to challenge myself to be understood, to share stories, sunflower seeds, or just plain space. Since returning home I have found that a lot of people distrust the unknown or the uncertain. Yet I relish it. Perhaps it is naive, my unsolicited trust, but it's still a choice. An informed choice I have made, based on what I know so far. That is, generally, people are good.  

Cautionary Tales From the Tracks (Part 1)

I recently began daydreaming about leaving home again. I decided that for my next trip I should take off for two months. Hopefully that will be enough time to traverse the northern coast of Africa, snake off into the Middle East, blunder my way over northern India into Nepal, and finally re-enter China. Unfortunately three minutes of consultation with the British ForeignCommonwealth Office website conveys that my idea would definitely result in permanent injury or death.

     'The FCO advises against all essential travel to parts of this country.'

     'The FCO advises against all but essential travel to this country.'

     'The FCO advises...' yes, I get it, 'fuck off and make a new wish'.

I wonder sometimes how legitimate the claim to danger is. I do not doubt that the FCO has the best information. I would hate to find myself caught in the middle of a political riot because I thought myself better than to consult an informed advisory service. Safety is of course a basic priority. My insurance only goes so far, and even £10,000,000 wouldn't be quite enough to soothe the pain of death. The temptation, however, lingers. Not because I am a thrill seeker, rather the opposite. Someone had to hold my hands while I had my ears pierced at the age of twenty. But there is something about the unknown. Unknown distance, unknown people to meet. Even if you don't speak with similar tongues, hospitality, kindness, a smile will be understood deeper than any half eschewed words.

Many people think of me as naïve because I trust strangers. But provided you give me no founded or unfounded reason to distrust then I believe you need not prove yourself. On occasion, a toothier than average grin can set off the alarm bells, but usually I find myself trusting most people. And generally, people are good.

Generally.

On the train from Irkutsk to Omsk there was very little I could do to alleviate the forty hour journey. Cigarette after cigarette was passed in the smoky end compartments between carriages. Feet ticked like clockwork up and down the length of the corridor. We had boarded in the wee hours of the morning on direction from a sweet old man, into the private compartment where we would be sleeping. We settled in, trying our best not to disquiet the sleeping lady and her father on the lower bunks. The provodnitsa eventually returned to take our tickets. I delivered him mine promptly. My oniisan patted around his coat pockets.

'Eine minute,' he said. Whilst many Russians do not speak English, a rather surprising proportion of the older, including the provodnitsa, in fact speak German. He patted his jeans. His eyes widened in frustration. Turning around, he ripped open the zip of his backpack. He tore through, pulling out all of the contents.

'I think I've lost my pouch' he finally committed.

'What?'

'The pouch, the black one, the one with all my money, my passport...'

He continued to frisk the tiny compartment. The lady underneath me sat up and straightened her sheets to check nothing had fallen. I left to check the corridor. No such luck.

'I must have dropped it on the platform,' he said frantically. My oniisan jumped off the bed. The provodnitsa switched on the compartment lights. The man below my friend pulled the blanket up over his head. In German, my friend started to explain that he thought his money, his passport, and along with them, his ticket, had been lost on the platform. The man, who until now had pretended to sleep, sat up. He pulled straight his sheets. The black pouch fell on the floor.

We hadn't made the best first impression. I could feel the sizzle of temperance in the compartment. Coupled with the summer heat, the compartment was suffocating. Knowing my pigeon Russian would do no good, I decided to spend my time pacing the carriage, and chain smoking.

I was standing in the polluted smoking area when appeared a stocky older man with shoulders like a bull, and a boy, fresh from puberty. The stockier man asked me something. I shook my head.

     'Niet pa russki,' I apologised. Recognising the abysmal accent, in English he asked where I was from. He was from Chechnya, and the boy was Russian. He kept winking at me and the Russian. The alarm bells began gently tolling in the background.

     'I have a boyfriend,' I announced, quickly. The Chechen quickly finished his stub and re-entered the carriage. The boy took the opportunity to ask me if I could spoke German. Words, here and there, flickered to mind.

'Piva?' He asked me to join him for a beer.

Now that the sketchy older man had disappeared, the bells had begun to subside. I considered spending the next 24 hours on this train, sober, and possibly trapped with the corrosive couple in my compartment.

The beer washed down with perfect politeness. Unable to actually communicate, we spoke a stilted combination of Russian, English and German. Somehow, I garnered the boy was a twenty year old student of engineering. I told him I was an English teacher though I will never know what he understood. Eventually we stopped conversing, from little more than exhaustion of the overlapping languages between us. We silently sulked back to the smoking compartment. We were rejoined by the Chechen. He laughed when the Russian explained the language barrier.

     'Next, we drink vodka' he exclaimed, 'then, we understand everything!'

     'Uh... it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon,' I scoffed.

     'We eat, we drink, we talk, it's good!' He insisted. Beer subdued the alarm bells. I supposed that with the Chechen somewhat translating, the train ride might pass quickly after all.

    'Just one.'

To Be Continued...