I was going to start again but that would probably lead to 'paramnesia' (isn't that a lovely word, looked up the spelling for deja vu and got that little gem). That and well... it's just the Internet and I and our one-sided love affair.
The Internet teases me you see, gives me glimpses of things I would like then leads me to a US and Canada website only. It will let me fill in all parts of a booking form then reject me on a whim. It will, as you see, let you write an entire blog: fabulous and witty and then will return mysteriously to the previous page, deleting my material forever. Condemning it to the realm of lost data. What a horrible fate.
So I won't start again. And I'll have a 10 second silence for all of the data I've lost in my life.
Tokyo is one crazy town. I think I might actually love and hate it in exactly equal portions. There is a law: for every lovely nice thing that happens to you there an unexpected and unpleasant thing shall also occur. Last weekend is a very good example of this law. My flatmate and I, riding on the back of a recent windfall, booked into a posh hotel, rode the shinkansen to town and cruised around the bay in a floating night club.
It was a wonderful night out, I even got chatted up by a tribal pattern enthusiast, although I think his fascination was caught more by the patterned top I wore than my own, ample, charms. So one night I experience the high life, the next afternoon I'm chucked out of an onsen on account of my very small spiral tattoo. It wouldn't have been so very embarrassing if I hadn't been completely nude during the "Please leave, you're visually disturbing the other clients" conversation. The staff member had me, I couldn't very well say "what tattoo" innocently!
Back to the boat for a moment though. It struck me as odd early in the evening that the groups we were sitting near were all really stereotypical. It was weird. On our left we had a group of party-happy young gay boys, swilling champagne, which was provided by an older, but not elderly, European man. They were quite fun actually by the end of the night they were all pole-dancing and removing their clothes, providing muscle displays for the keen to see. To our right were the Goths. I guess they're Emo's now. They sat quietly, smoking and drinking red wine with their dark, lank hair draped artfully across half the face. It was easy to think they weren't even enjoying the music until you saw the odd foot or finger tapping; the odd fringe moving to the beat. If that wasn't enough across from us were the crew-cut army boys in ties and shirts with scantily clad South East Asian escorts.
I started to feel worried that there wasn't some cliche sub-culture I was a part of!
No matter where I go I just can't get a full mental picture of Tokyo.
It just seems to stretch forever, in variation.
No matter the vantage point, it won't be revealed to me.
From air, sea or land
it remains a mystery:
Unfathomable.
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