(no subject)
we crossed over russia, and i celebrated my anonymity in international airspace by acting resolutely english and ignoring japanese social etiquette for as long as i could; loudly blowing my nose in public, despite being wedged between a window and aisle seat, and coughing my guts up whenever the tickle came rather than forcefully suppressing it as i do when in public in japan. fortunately at immigration the spasms subsided, as they might not have been so delighted with my fair impression of a swine flu sufferer...
so there i was, stuck between east and west, my unruly curls and defiant stare allowing my sense of western sense to linger. i forgot what europe, specifically london was like; how swinging, how wide, how spacious, how full of white stone, how stinking of libido. in contrast to the grey sterility of my everyday landscape in the east, it seemed beautifully squalid, bloody, violent, exuberant, obese. banter in the streets, chat ups on the tube, the women all bare brown legs and bouncing jugs, yowling in the street, cut glass accents in the radio... oh london, how i missed you. even cheese, which i don't even like that much; you too, beetroot and fennel, vietnamese and turkish corner shops nestled up against each other, lottery adverts, uneven pavements, the clatter and pant of sweaty cyclists along the thames.... i saw it all as i was looking out from the shocked but serene stare of a japanese tourist; this pretty green isle, with its clamour and hunger, its sophistication and heavy stench of history lining the cobbled streets, pillars, steeples...
i landed back in tokyo only to be greeted by a heavy fog, light rain. the nondescript flat pack grey houses huddled together, thermal mass of concrete making it a bad choice for such a tightly built and humid city. there was that distinctive smell again; the ubiquitous smell of damp, hinoki wood, some branded disinfectant, japanese tobacco, fish stock along the restaurant streets, the smell of wet fish in the supermarket, rice balls on the corner. the smell that becomes commonplace within a couple of days, but was once again foreign. i was almost startled to understand all the announcements, as they bounced at me in what seemed to be a foreign language. what am i doing here, i wondered. why have i come back? and i just try to recall that this isn't over yet, there is still so much to do here; there are nights of shimmer and brilliance, i have published articles and good connections and the sashimi is fresh enough to make you cry.... but i miss the glimmer in the eyes of the spaniards and the italians, the ease with which they carry their lithe bodies, the lack of ritualised communication and plentiful cheap food... ah, europe, you're whispering to me again, and you should stop it...
at the very least, i did everything on my trip that i need to do, and more; i came back minus a wisdom tooth but armed with new hair, a tan, a suitcase full of clothes, weetabix, oatcakes. i saw a million people, fucked an italian, drank a negroni, walked for hours and hours on the london streets, phoned all my relatives, printed out my 'zine, read henry miller and anais nin, saw a friend's new baby, went for a run, ate a tesco cookie, spanish icecream, calamari, saw an arrest, wandered the east end on a friday... ah, it was sweet, and far more like a holiday than i imagined going home could be. and i already miss the glimmer in the eyes of the spaniards and the italians, their affection and their directness, the ease with which they carry their lithe bodies, the lack of ritualised communication and plentiful cheap food... ah, europe, you're whispering to me again, and you should stop it...
so there i was, stuck between east and west, my unruly curls and defiant stare allowing my sense of western sense to linger. i forgot what europe, specifically london was like; how swinging, how wide, how spacious, how full of white stone, how stinking of libido. in contrast to the grey sterility of my everyday landscape in the east, it seemed beautifully squalid, bloody, violent, exuberant, obese. banter in the streets, chat ups on the tube, the women all bare brown legs and bouncing jugs, yowling in the street, cut glass accents in the radio... oh london, how i missed you. even cheese, which i don't even like that much; you too, beetroot and fennel, vietnamese and turkish corner shops nestled up against each other, lottery adverts, uneven pavements, the clatter and pant of sweaty cyclists along the thames.... i saw it all as i was looking out from the shocked but serene stare of a japanese tourist; this pretty green isle, with its clamour and hunger, its sophistication and heavy stench of history lining the cobbled streets, pillars, steeples...
i landed back in tokyo only to be greeted by a heavy fog, light rain. the nondescript flat pack grey houses huddled together, thermal mass of concrete making it a bad choice for such a tightly built and humid city. there was that distinctive smell again; the ubiquitous smell of damp, hinoki wood, some branded disinfectant, japanese tobacco, fish stock along the restaurant streets, the smell of wet fish in the supermarket, rice balls on the corner. the smell that becomes commonplace within a couple of days, but was once again foreign. i was almost startled to understand all the announcements, as they bounced at me in what seemed to be a foreign language. what am i doing here, i wondered. why have i come back? and i just try to recall that this isn't over yet, there is still so much to do here; there are nights of shimmer and brilliance, i have published articles and good connections and the sashimi is fresh enough to make you cry.... but i miss the glimmer in the eyes of the spaniards and the italians, the ease with which they carry their lithe bodies, the lack of ritualised communication and plentiful cheap food... ah, europe, you're whispering to me again, and you should stop it...
at the very least, i did everything on my trip that i need to do, and more; i came back minus a wisdom tooth but armed with new hair, a tan, a suitcase full of clothes, weetabix, oatcakes. i saw a million people, fucked an italian, drank a negroni, walked for hours and hours on the london streets, phoned all my relatives, printed out my 'zine, read henry miller and anais nin, saw a friend's new baby, went for a run, ate a tesco cookie, spanish icecream, calamari, saw an arrest, wandered the east end on a friday... ah, it was sweet, and far more like a holiday than i imagined going home could be. and i already miss the glimmer in the eyes of the spaniards and the italians, their affection and their directness, the ease with which they carry their lithe bodies, the lack of ritualised communication and plentiful cheap food... ah, europe, you're whispering to me again, and you should stop it...