The cat cafe

Meet Momo. Momo is an orange (or rather, as his name suggests 'peach') coloured cat who spends his day being admired by a stream of visitors who stroke, play and feed him treats. He is a resident in one of Tokyo's cat cafes; places where pet-starved customers can pay by the hour to cuddle a feline and have a mug of hot coco. The novelty of this idea made it onto the BBC news at the start of the year but I was surprised by how many of these cafes actually exist.

The one we visited this evening was in Kichijo-ji (for those who know about such places) and cost about $10 for an hour. Before entering, we had to wash our hands and naturally, it was a perfect opportunity for a bit of shoe removal. We then stepped into a room best described as a cat emporium. Toys, beds, shelves, cat trees and (for reasons I didn't fully appreciate) manga, filled the room from floor to ceiling. Lolling about over these furnishings were approximately a dozen kitty cats. Some were keen to play with one of the many toys you could pick up while others preferred to doze while their ears were gently scratched. The only exception to this peaceful setting came when one of my friends opened the window to shout to a person below which caused a beeline of cats towards this new and exciting 20 foot drop. The window was, fortunately, closed in time.

For people unable to keep their own pets due to space restrictions or for visitors like me missing their own cats, it was a fantastic and fun way to spend a bit of time. On a side note, I was one of the only people there with an actual camera, everyone else simply used their cell phones for photos. An examination of my office mate's phone revealed the answer; it contained a 5 megapixel camera. This, I should add, was an old model. Apparently the new version has 10 MP.

I'm British. I know how to queue.

"Ok. Leave this to me. I'm British. I know how to queue."

However, today I discovered that had Arthur Dent been in a line in Japan rather than Vogon, his disorderly behaviour would have cause Trillian and no doubt himself, Zaphod, Ford and Marvin to be fed to the ravenous bug-blatter beast of Traal. (The demise of last one on that list probably coming as a relief to all concerned).

I was standing at the end of a line of people at the bus shelter when the vehicle in question rolled up and stopped just in front of me. Its front and rear doors swung open and people poured out of the second door. I looked at the front entrance to the bus, open and inviting mere feet away. Then I turned to view the queue of people in front of me. No one moved. Were they all waiting for a different number? I couldn't see from my position whether multiple buses used this stop.  I hesitated, debating whether to move. Was it really likely that all these people were waiting for the bus to pull forward three feet to the front of the line?

Yes. Yes they were.

A minute later, the bus doors swung shut and the bus inched forward to where it stopped again and people began embarking. I blinked. No matter how good the British are at queuing, there is no way a group of people would wait just because the bus had pulled up at the back of the queue rather than at its front. There is also no way the bus driver would give a hoot whether he had stopped at exactly the right place or be prepared to stop twice, meters apart, to give the exiting passengers room to disembark before letting new people on. It was an awe-inspiring example of orderly efficiency and I was deeply glad I had not moved for fear of confirming what everyone in that line probably suspected of me anyway.

This calm patience even extends to the trains which can be painfully over-packed. Although I've yet to experience 'pushers' (people employed to push people into the carriages to ensure as many can travel as possible), a train trip last weekend saw me pinned upright in the middle of a carriage by the people stuffed in around me. Yet, no one yelled or cursed (except me, and then only silently) or even looked particularly harassed. In a nation where everyone bows rather than make physical contact, it is amazing that such crowded conditions don't cause aneurysms. A similarly packed London tube carriage causes at least half the occupants to require psychiatric counseling.

So sorry Arthur. You thought you could queue but, quite frankly, you can't. 

Hello Facebook, what's your problem?

Hello Facebook, we clearly needed to talk this weekend.

Despite my best efforts, I saw no obvious reason why you decided to stop importing my blog. You claimed you were still paying attention and watching the RSS feed. Yet, the feed contained two new posts and you? You contained none.

Why was this, Facebook? Did the RSS feed make you an offer you just had to refuse? Do you perhaps hate tennis and were revolted by the idea of importing a note about such a horrific game? Or conversely, have you been glued to Wimbledon and are disgusted by my stated lack of skill? If so, Facebook, this is a problem we need to address because I'm playing again next Wednesday.

I understand, really I do, that some jobs get a little dull. You might well have felt that your time is better spent deciding whether '42' really is the ideal number of friends. I don't know, you largely talk through other people's words. But seriously Facebook, we have to make this work. I'm not cool with stopping and restarting your import settings every time I blog. It kind of defies the point of the auto-import feature, don't you think?

I'm glad we had this time together. I feel we have something special, Facebook, and I want to make it work. Just you and me and my two hundred friends you keep me in touch with.

So let's see if you can manage this post. Check, retrieve, post. It's that simple.

Toiletator 2

The ドリンクバー (quite literally "drink bar") in many Japanese restaurants is a great system in which you pay one low price (about $2-3) and get unlimited access to the soda fountain, tea (in its many varieties) and coffee. Unfortunately, such a freely flowing supply of liquids can only lead to one result:

"Excuse me," I stammer out my request. "Where are the bathrooms?"

I know they can already hear me coming. I hesitate. Could I wait? Did I really have to go? I reflected on the pot of tea, the two tall glasses of a luminous green Fanta and the extra cup of water I'd used to wash them down with. No, I'd brought this upon myself and it was time to face the music. If only I'd known how true that statement was going to be.

However, upon entering the cubicle I frowned. The toilet looked ... normal. Your basic plain white porcelain bowl.

Could this be heaven?

I sat.

No. Damn thing is still heated.

It was then that I noticed the electronic panel mounted on the wall beside me. Evidently, one small toilet can no longer be expected to hold all the essential options for the full evacuating experience. It was time to resort to digital screens. In assessing the choices available to me, I noted that in this extreme version of the toilet attraction, the normal bidet functions had gone. Instead, you had not one but THREE versions of the tsunami jets. These new variations (I deduced from the diagrams) allowed you to choose at exactly which angle you'd like to be blasted off the toilet seat. Would you prefer to smack your head against the rear wall or a direction aimed more towards anal penetration? More power required? Not a problem, just click the button on the bottom right.

Don't look at the screen. You're only here for one reason. Focus!

Then the flushing tune began. What had triggered it? Did it just start the sound effects when it judged it appropriate? Was it a hint that I should hurry and get the hell out? How on earth did I get it to stop? A hasty look around revealed the presence of a small speaker system below the tsunami ride screen. It had a single button on it. It was desperate times. I pressed it. The noise mercifully stopped.

I took a sigh of relief and managed to exhale 60% of the air in my lungs before the flushing music started up again.

WTF?

It appeared the noise maker was controlled by a motion sensor. Wave your hands and conduct your way through the first toilet-flush concerto! The drawback I seemed to have discovered was that, unless you stayed ABSOLUTELY STILL, you were going to trigger that sensor. I tried not moving. This presented the obvious problems.

Enough! I was leaving. Then I realised there was no obvious way to flush the toilet. No flusher, no auto-sensor... Maybe this was actually a toilet-simulator and not the real thing after all. At this stage, that would be... unfortunate. Finally, I spotted the smallest button of all, situated on the top of the control screen. I had escaped.

Next time, I'm bringing a trowel and digging a hole.

Southpaw

"Oh, you're a southpaw!"

And with that comment, my day was made.

According to wikipedia, left-handers in many sports are referred to as 'southpaws' but the only place I had heard it used was in the Prince of Tennis Japanese anime series. Well hey, it was just like walking into the show! Apart from the small point that I was completely talentless at tennis. This was unfortunate since, at that moment, I was standing in the tennis court at the Astronomical Observatory preparing to begin a doubles match. What was perhaps deeply unfortunate was that this had been all my idea.

I had assured my competitors that I was a beginner. Repeatedly. Revolving through as many words as I could for low-level / just learning / no obvious potential / bad / seriously bad / awful / terrible / downright crap. They had assured me they understood and they were no better themselves. I was unconvinced.

My complete disbelieve in my coworkers comes not from a view that they are all lying swines, but rather from the cultural difference surrounding good manners. Japan is a very polite society and I've been doing my best not to inadvertently cause grievous offense (although as a foreigner, I'd almost certainly be forgiven). Shoes, for instance, are removed at most opportunities: before you enter a house, at the door of many restaurants and even before walking into someone's office. Chopsticks, meanwhile, should not be used to stab food, no matter how desperate you become. You should also always understate you own abilities when talking to other people.

So when my new friends told me that they were all beginners too, I was preparing myself for anything between vaguely-competent to a Grand Slam title. Fortunately for me (and even more so for their sanity) it transpired that the level was the lower end of that. We had a couple of good players and then rest of us just wanted some practice. With the old telescope dome rising behind the tree lined court, it really wasn't a bad way to spend a Thursday evening.

"15 love!"

Oh right, I really shouldn't be admiring telescopes.

Reputed to as a good taste

"Chocolate Chip Melon Pan is reputed to as a good taste"

Well, that was the best recommendation I had received so far in this supermarket, so I picked up the packet and dropped it into my basket. Shopping for food is non-trivial when you can't read the packaging. Is something already cooked? If not, how does one go about correcting this? If you get it wrong, do you die or live to try again? Raiding the chilled cabinets has become a favourite past-time since food in there is often bite-sized and clearly ready to be devoured. My favourite from there are onigiri; rice balls wrapped in seaweed with a surprise such as plum or salmon in the center. Admittedly, it would be less of a surprise if I could actually read the label, but as it is it's just as if my Mum made them for my lunchbox.

Eating out in Japan is much more communal than in the west. Dishes are designed to be shared and often some self-assembly is required. Yesterday, I had "shabu-shabu" where a pot of boiling water sits in the centre of the table and you add meat, vegetables and sometimes noodles to cook. Earlier in the week, I went to a similar set-up but where the central cooking technique was a grill over hot charcoals. Even where no cooking is required (such as with sushi), dishes tend to be shared rather than each person having their individual portion.

Growing up with a younger sibling who, once he hit his teens, ate everything in sight, made the concept of such free division of food was rather worrying. However, starvation at such meals would be a surprising occurrence and is more likely to be linked with an inability to fish for food with chopsticks than the (normally huge) quantity available. It also solves a common dilemma I had in the USA whereby I'd eat slightly too much of my meal to make it worth asking for a take-home box, and thereby be forced to finish the entire plate rather than waste the great food. Oddly, the concept that I might bring the food up again never occurred to me as wasting it.

Tomorrow's task: find way from new apartment to department. Shame there isn't a button for that, really.

The toiletator

It is not often while ensconced on the loo one feels the need to whip out a camera. Indeed, with the exception of very specific circles, such behaviour is normally discouraged by composers of the future family album. Yet, judging from my friend's photographs, I was not alone in doing just that in Japan.

Like my apartment, Japanese toilets are covered with buttons. In truth, to be confronted with options at all in such a situation is a little alarming. My understanding of Kanji (Chinese characters also used in Japanese) is almost non-existent so my comprehension of the choices available came from the diagrams beside each button and these did little to belay my fears. Firstly there is the "heated seat" option. Personally, I find it downright disconcerting to sit down on a pre-warmed surface, but I have been assured that it is a fantastic feature in winter when you are using public restrooms at a freezing train station. The next option is the "music note". Possibly the most benign of the selections, this makes a flushing noise to discretely cover any ... uh ... other noises that might be occurring. Quite why such things would shock other people in a restroom is unclear, but modesty is important, I can understand this. Next follow three buttons seemingly connected with a bidet-like function of different jet strengths. First button shows a diagram of a small stream of water hitting a pair of buttocks. The next button along show the same rear cheeks being splashed with more water lines. The last image, however, shows an entire person being physically lifted off the toilet to sit, suspended, on a powerful tsunami emitting from the toilet bowl below. No, I did not press it. No, I am not going to.

Naturally, all this makes any visit to the bathroom a far more harrowing experience than one is previously used to. Inevitably though, the situation is likely to arise as it did last night while I was at a very nice sushi restaurant in Choufu. Cautiously, I excused myself from the table and padded my way over to the restrooms (my shoes had been disguarded at the restaurant door). Once inside the bathroom, I slipped on a pair of the slippers that were arranged by the door and entered a cubicle (post will stay PG rated, incase anyone was worried). The toilet stood before me, lid down and covered with buttons.

Don't panic. The secret is just not to touch any of the buttons.

I turned and locked the door before revolving back around to find that the loo seat had lifted upwards while my back was turned.

Well hello.

It knows I'm here.

It took a lot not to run. Even more to reveal more sensitive regions to the terminator-like object in front of me. I did not dawdle. I am contemplating the possibility of never using the bathroom again.

Japan, Futurama's got nothing on you

Everything you ever heard about Japan? All true. ALL of it. You have got to see my new apartment. And if I ever come across my camera again, you will.

The front door looks like a bank safe. You slide the key card in the side of the lock mechanism and then turn a dial to get in. The apartment itself is small but with more buttons than an aeroplane; a super advanced aeroplane which has extra buttons on buttons because there's just that many. There's a button for circulating the air in the apartment every 24 hours (Tokyo is humid and mould can be a problem). There's a button for circulating the air in the bathroom when you take a shower and one to make it hot for drying clothes you have hung up in there. There's also an option to make that air cold... but I dunno why. Then there's the control for the general air conditioning in the apartment and another panel (complete, I think, with video) for talking to people at the front door while you consider letting them in.

The apartment is furnished so I have all the essentials; a bed, TV, internet, washing machine ... rice cooker. There is no shower curtain around the bath. Instead, bath and shower are separated off from the sink and toilet by a glass door so that whole area can get wet.

To be fair, this apartment is almost brand new, so it's perhaps not fair to say all of Tokyo is living like this. That said, it appears almost all cars (even older models) have built in GPS systems and features such as wing mirrors that automatically slide against the car when it is parked (to avoid getting clipped in narrow streets): Options usually available only on executive cars in Europe and the US.

Apartment trash, it transpires, is complicated. Is it recyclable? If so, separate it into bottles, cans and plastic and put in the appropriate bin. Okay, I'm used to that. Is it burnable?  I .... have no idea. Yet the answer depends on whether my garbage goes into a blue or brown bag. Perhaps I should try first on my gas stove :-\

Ramen

"Have you tried ramen?"

Images of PhDcomic strips with grad students hording packets of cheap instant noodles in their cupboards flash before my eyes.

"... no."

Somehow I didn't think that was the authentic deal.

"Well, I don't think you'll like it but ... it's something you should try."

Not the strongest of recommendations, I admit, but hey I'm game. Also, it turned out to be great. We went into a small cafe-sized place and were immediately confronted with a machine covered with buttons.

"The good thing about this," I was assured by my hosts. "Is that you don't need to speak Japanese to order."

True, but it does require you to have a certain nonchalance about what you'll be eating since I had no idea what any of the buttons said. I pushed a handful of coins into the machine, pressed a button and handed the resulting ticket to the waiter. The result was a steaming bowlful of noodles bathed in a broth with beef. It was very good and slurping is considered completely acceptable in Japan so eating it wasn't the usual headache such soups can be in the West. 

On the way back home I was almost mowed down by a pick-up truck which was reversing into the guest house drive. My frozen shock came not from the maneuver but from the vehicle informing me of its intent in a highly feminine voice somewhat at odds with the beefy worker behind the wheel.  

Hello, do you speak scribble?

"Eigo o hanashimasu ka?"
(Do you speak English?)

**blank look from innocent Japanese victim I've accosted**

Damn it, that sounded so much more fluent in my head. Well, if I start gabbling in English, they're likely to get the idea.

"I have no idea where I am. Seriously, completely lost. Am I even on this map I'm holding? Am I still in Japan? Yes, I must be because you look Japanese, but it's been hours since I've seen something familiar. Is there anything that resembles a Astronomical observatory around here?"

**Look of dawning comprehension appears on face of poor bystander. He looks at my map and points to a place about 5 inches off the side of it.**

"Arigatou!" I stammer and brace myself for a long walk.

Fortunately, where the USA has fire hydrants and the UK postboxes, Japan has drink vending machines. Hot or cold beverages in twenty different permutations, these machines are on every corner, complete with a recycling bin beside them for when you're done with the can. I revived on a mutant-sized can of Mountain Dew and trekked back home.

Upon arriving back at my desk, I discovered I'd been given a fan. It says "Truth" on it in Chinese characters.

How are you? Will you sign to that effect?

"Welcome to Tokyo!"

Excellent, I was desperate to stretch my legs.

"Please remain in your seats to allow the health inspectors to board."

You what? I guess in the wake of swine 'flu, Japan is being careful. I attempted to suppress images of probity-probes as men wearing surgical masks, robes and gloves starting strolling along the aisles of the plane. I tried hard not to sneeze. The passenger sitting next to me clearly had more of a guilty conscience however, and a conversation in rapid (although friendly) Japanese ensued and he was handed a thermometer. I confess that having your neighbour in the tin box that you've been sitting in for the last 13 hours admit illness that excites a response from people who look straight out of the movie "epidemic" does not make for entirely calm viewing. Fortunately, it appeared that his disease was not the disease they had been looking for and we signed health forms promising that we'd not had so much as a sniffle in the last few weeks. I now really needed to sneeze.

Japanese border control has nothing on America. Maybe they felt the health inspectors were enough to scare off future tourists. Everyone was friendly, they all spoke English and the only question I was asked at customs was how long was I staying for. I guess two large suitcases for one week would look a little odd passing through the 'nothing to declare' barrier... Nice, cheerful, calm. Okay, they win. I was freaked out.

To get out to where I was staying, I had to catch an express train into Tokyo, followed by a subway and then a bus. Probability of success? I was estimating about 2%. However, it honestly was the easiest thing in the world. The trains and buses all had electronic signs that told you in Japanese and English where the next stop was and the subways are colour coded.

Then I had dinner and discovered the restaurant had whole rack of different types of loose tea you could make up in your own individual tea pot. Also, that "はし (hashi)" means chopsticks. Hello Japan, we're rolling.

An ode to packing

Straight from the Alanis Morissette Lyric Generator. I think it's going to be a hit.

"I Think"

I think boxes are really a huge problem
I think duct tapes is too much on my mind
I think bubble wrap has got a lot to do with why the world sucks
But what can you do?

Like a cardboard rain, beating down on me
Like a a moving truck line, which won't let go of my brain
Like a cuboid ass, it is in my head
Blame it on packing
Blame it on packing
Blame it on packing

I think containers are gonna drive us all crazy
And breakables make me feel like a child
I think suitcases will eventually be the downfall of civilization
But what can you do?  I said what can you do?

Like a cardboard rain, beating down on me
Like a a moving truck line, which won't let go of my brain
Like a cuboid ass, it is in my head
Blame it on packing
Blame it on packing
Blame it on packing

Like a cardboard rain, beating down on me
Like a cuboid smile, cruel and cold
Like a moving truck's ass, it is in my head
Blame it on packing
Blame it on packing
Blame it on packing

I think my favourite line is "I think bubble wrap has got a lot to do with why the world sucks". Moving trucks arrive tomorrow. It's going to be a long night....

Car Tales

You step out of your car, swing the door shut and then hit the button on your key chain to hear the reassuring "beeb beeb" of the locks swinging into place. Perhaps you double click that same button to hear a long "baaarb" of the car double locking itself. You glance back. Windows shut, sun roof down. Safe as houses.

So how long do you reckon it'd take someone to break in? Well, okay, there's a limit to what protection you could have against a sledgehammer. But such devices are unwieldy, make more noise than your car alarm and tend to look a little ... well, it's hard to pretend you're using one to drop little 5 year old Susie off at school.

Supposing now that you're the one contemplating the sledge hammer. Or perhaps one of your friends has helpfully suggested it because you've just locked your keys inside the car. There they are, sparkling up at you from the passenger seat.

Fortunately for you, you have AAA cover and one call later and there's a rescue mission underway. A man in a truck finally shows up and you bite your finger nails anxiously. Will he need to tow it to a garage? Will the door need to be broken? Is knocking out the window really the only way?

Or will it take 5 seconds, leave the car completely undamaged and you feeling pleased the keys are in your hand but somewhat disturbed by exactly how easy that was?

Apparently the trick involves a tool that looks like a wire coat hanger and one that looks like trowel for setting tiles.

(For the record, it was not me who locked my self out of my vehicle. Nope, I was the one helpfully suggesting the sledgehammer). 

Firefox will tell you ALL what I'm doing

How are you reading this?

Oddly, I have no idea. You might be reading this post on my original blogger blog, girl & kat. Alternatively, this entry might have appeared on your facebook newsfeed as I set up my "notes" to grab new posts from blogger. Some of you may even be scanning through this on LiveJournal, which blogger excitedly emails when it accumulates a new entry. This revelation inevitably leads to the next question:

Why do you have three identical blogs?

See, I've been considering this all day and came to two profound conclusions: (1) This question has no sensible answer, (2) and yet ... I still need all three. I don't like the set-up of facebook's notes to use that as my only blog. Blogger is prettier, I had it first and anyway, that silhouette I drew is just plain cool. LiveJournal is a recent accumulation which I set up to twiddle with role playing. Since I had the account, it seemed silly not to put something up there. So I got blogger to send across the posts it had.

But it's still not enough.

One of the faintly dissatisfactory things about the above arrangement is that my post looses all its formatting and html links when it's emailed across to LJ. I can fix it quickly, but it does mean I have to log onto both blogger and LJ for the post to display nicely on both. This is clunky and really, I'm all about the one button click.

So hello from ScribeFire, a firefox add-on that allows you to edit multiple blogs at once. This should post to both LJ and blogger and keep all my formatting and add-ins. The only thing it doesn't do is allow me to select my LJ userpic but, meh, none of the other blog editors I procrastinated looking at researched did either.

In case any facebook or twitter users are reading this and smugly thinking, 'ah ha! At least she updates her status directly in our programs.' No, you're both wrong. I use firefox to update twitter that then updates my fb status. Hmm, now I think on it, I wonder if firefox can program for me to. How about packing?

Good grief, could such excessive electronic geekiness be topped?

Actually, yes, I suspect it could. I, at least, have to be at a computer. iPhone users, you know who you are...

Frost in May

It is a gorgeous mid-May morning. The sun sparkles off Jenny Lake in the Grand Tetons, reflecting the clear blue sky as temperatures soar into the 70s. Walkers in t-shirts amble off along the lake side's "must-do" walk, picnics in their backpacks.

I am:

(a) Sunbathing by the lake.
(b) Sauntering along the path, idly looking for the park's population of moose.
(c) Inching along a snow laden precipice a mile along said path, trying not to sink thigh deep into the snow drift.

... you only picked (c) because no one would make that up, didn't you?

It's the strangest thing. The snow falls so thick and deep in the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone that the resulting drifts take forever to melt. You start off strolling down a sun-baked trail, regretting not packing your flip flops, turn the corner and boom! You're scrambling over thickly compacted snow that stretches for miles. It's how I imagine riding on the Knight Bus must be like. I contemplated this as I inched along a single-person track along side a near-vertical drop to the gushing waterfalls below.

Despite the ... hellishly unnatural weather ... hydro-challenged nature of the walk, the view of the falls at the end of the trail was spectacular. I also saw a beaver, three marmots, a moose, ospreys and a bald eagle teaching its chick to fly. All of which, it must be said, handled the snow rather better than me. God bless all creatures... and indeed my sturdy water-proof walking boots.

Bison and elks and bears, oh my!

Hello bear, my aren't you big?

Hello from Yellowstone National Park where I have just narrowly avoided been mauled, eaten and probably having my wallet nicked by a bear. Well okay, it was the other side of the river from our car, hanging out behind some trees. I confess we wouldn't have noticed except we had to slow right down for the ten people (it is low season) with telescopic lenses blocking the road. I think it was a black bear, but I only caught a view of its side so I wouldn't like to bet it wasn't a grizzly (both types roam Yellowstone). Hopefully we can examine the remains of said photographers tomorrow to determine the source of the attack.

Apart from bears, I have seen elk, deer, ospreys and herds upon herds of bison with babies in tow. Oddly, baby bison look more like cows than their heavy faced parents. They also, old and young, don't give a hoot about cars. While we have frequently seen them on the roads, today we were caught in a mist of a bison migration where maybe 50 bison were moving from one section of the park to another. Well, I guess the road was the easiest route. However, while at a standstill surrounded by my bovine friends, I started to wonder... do bison have a sense of humour? The unmistakable fact was that the animals moved to block both sides of the road. If one side of the road became clear enough to allow cars through, a bison would step out of the line of its fellows to stand, casually, in the centre of that lane. Sports car, SUV or RV alike, nothing was too big or shiny to be stared down by a bison.

However, after a slow day travelling behind them I got my revenge. Bison... delightful served beside mashed potato.

Dragons cost extra

Just over three weeks until I head for Japan and leave America after 5 years working here. Well, okay, come November I'll be just over the boarder in Canada but that's the Commonwealth! It's practically like coming home! But with more snow.

So, almost all my possessions need to go in boxes and into storage somewhere in Florida. I need to go to Japan with useful things such as a toothbrush and my laptop. My car is going to one friend, my cat is going to another and box of things that aren't needed in Japan but might be needed before all the rest of my gubbins arrives in Canada is going ... somewhere. Got that?

I picked out a moving company based on three quotes from large national firms, since horror stories abounded about the smaller cheaper places. The quotes were ... largely incomprehensible and almost entirely incomparable. So really how much this will cost me remains a mystery. I understand the problem; the 5 months of storage while I take off on an Asian adventure and the t.b.a. destination address does mean the companies can only estimate their costs. For instance, a 1 floor house with no outer wall and a humongous driveway is considerably easier to maneuver my desk into than a tower apartment with decaying wrought iron outer stair, guarded by a dragon. I'm pretty sure dragons cost extra.

Still, the point is, I have signed up with a moving company. I have visas, passport and plane tickets. I have a huge amount of pent up excitement that causes my downstairs neighbour to complain about my dancing round the room. I mean, it's almost organised.

Hello passport, how I've missed you!

"Any requests regarding the status of an application, MUST be submitted in writing, either by letter or by fax. We are only able to reply within 8 to 10 weeks. "

.... or you could just complain on your blog and hey presto! Passport arrives in the mail the next day! Yatta! All is well.

Oddly, my passport itself is completely unaltered. No pretty visa sticker covering a page or a thick wad of official looking paperwork. In fact, all I received was a black & white sheet with a staple hole torn on one corner saying 'yeah, s'cool' and some vague mention of more to come when I actually reached the border. It's amusingly un-American.

The trouble with tribbles

Hello May 4th. Departure date for Japan T-5 weeks.

Japanese visa? Check.
Moving company? Check.
Flights? Check.
Passport? .... Ah.

Sad, but true. The Canadians have stolen my passport. In an impressive act of organisation, I had submitted my visa application for my job in Ontario this fall at the Canadian Consulate in NYC while there on a work trip. It was the perfect plan; I'd go to Japan, return to the USA briefly on a tourist visa to collect cat & car, then speed off up to Canada with all documents in hand.

Maybe it was the confusion of someone applying for a work permit and not a permission-to-enter-Canada-having-been-banned like everyone else who was there (seriously!). Maybe it was the excitement of seeing a British passport in New York. Perhaps they liked my face, or perhaps they didn't.

Panic rising.

Suppress it. It's going to be fine. I can just contact the Consulate and inquire as to my application status, right?

From the website for the New York Consulate:

"Due to Canadian Privacy legislation, individual cases cannot be discussed over the telephone and must be dealt with by letter, by email or by fax."

Panic RISING.

Well, actually email is better anyway. You get a record of the conversation and I actually hate phone. The website continues:

"Any requests regarding the status of an application, MUST be submitted in writing, either by letter or by fax."

PANIC RISING.

Okay okay, not great, but we can work with this. I'll send them a letter by fax.

"We are only able to reply within 8 to 10 weeks."

...... I can panic now, right?

Braids for white kids

10 things you didn't know about getting your hair braided (and which you might not get told since the hair salon is used to dealing with people who know better).

First of all, when I say 'braids' let's just clarify what we're talking about. For anyone who hasn't run into me in the last couple of months, I'm not thinking of some straight up-down french plait. I'm talking about 8 millions 6 hundred thousand 1 thousand 9 hundred and 12 little bitsy braids all over the head (okay, so maybe that number isn't 100% accurate, but it's got a good feel to it). The overall look was pretty dramatic and people stopped to comment on it all the time, which was awesome. Now it's all out though, I thought it might be interesting to recap on the things I learnt.

(1) Most of the hair braids are made of synthetic hair. I think I did know when I saw braided hair that synthetic hair was wound in with it, but I didn't appreciate how much. Apparently, you can just braid the hair as it is, but the braids end up super-fine which means they don't last that long and the whole look is rather thin, which rather defies the point of braiding it to begin with. Synthetic hair is cheap (only a few dollars per packet and I think I needed 4 packets for my shoulder-length hair) but if you have light coloured hair, you will need to get this in advance because chances are the salon will only have black and dark brown hair in stock. Since you're weaving in hair, it might be fun to put a totally different colour in with it. I had strands of blue added to each of my braids.

(2) Hell, it takes ages. The reason braiding is expensive is that someone has to sit there for hours and do it. You're looking at 3-5 hours depending on how thick the braids are you want. Also...

(3) .... if you get beads put on the bottom, then you can only have the finest braids and the beads take a lot of extra time. This was something I didn't appreciate until too late. If you heat the ends of synthetic hair, it seals itself which is a quick way of securing the end of the braid. If, on the other hand, you want a bead on the end, then you have to add the bead and an elastic band which will add several hours onto the process. On the other hand, the beads are cool so....

(4) Your braided hair will be longer than your normal hair. Apparently, it's normal to continue braiding the synthetic hair several inches past the end of your hair, so the bottom part of each braid does not contain any of your natural hair. Quite useful if you just want to cut the beads off rather than undo each one.

(5) For the first couple of days, the braids feel really tight. After this, the synthetic hair relaxes and it's much more comfortable. I read on the web that some people take aspirin for the first few days, but mine wasn't painful enough for that, just a bit sore.

(6) Sleeping took longer to get used to, largely because of all those beads! It's hard to know where to put them. I wrapped a scarf around the top of my head to protect the braids a bit while I slept (though the presence of the beads means I didn't move around too much in the night).

(7) Washing was no problem. Everyone asked me how I managed this, but I just soaped down the braids as usual in the shower and then used a spray-on conditioner afterwards. It seemed to work fine, since my hair wasn't a nasty mass when I removed the braids, although the synthetic hair felt a bit sticky as I unwound it. Possibly this is because it's harder to wash the shampoo out of it.

(8) I had my braids in for about 6 weeks (I lost count, but it's close to that +/- 1). After that time, I could see I had about an inch of hair growth before the braids started. A few braids near the back which didn't have much real hair woven in slid clean out which was an effective, if creepy, way of removing them. The braids themselves get frayed over time as parts of your actual hair escape. I thought this might be a bigger problem than it was for me, but there comes a point when the hair style is clearly at the end of its life.

(9) You loose an alarming amount of hair when you unbraid yourself. It's not really surprising, since for the last x-weeks you've lost no hair, whereas you'd normally loose a bit everyday from brushing. Now you loose all that at once. But it's still a little disconcerting. I found I had a number of small but ferocious tangles but largely my hair was in good shape.

(10) Beware of sunburn for the first few weeks. Your scalp is very exposed!