take me up to the top of the city
Look

i-D magazine
postsecret
hel looks
SUPERSUPER
sleeveface
indexed
sister's photos
apple
perez
fred flare
ici on <3

Think

bbc news
guardian
richard dawkins
amanda palmer
stephen fry
augusten burroughs
guerilla girls
monitor mix
abi
carah

Listen

sleater-kinney
sonic youth
ellen allien
the dresden dolls
miss kittin

Discover

ajisen ramen
qingdao, olympic city
lucky chinese pets
tsingtao beer
stuffed buns with little faces

What was

it has just been waiting for me
stuck on repeat
east meets west, unfortunately
early morning
vending machine, tokyo
lantern 2
lantern, tokyo
konnichiwa nippon
all at sea
final thoughts from china
a meaningful gesture
keeping connected
anti-carrefour demo
busfuls of wedding couples
friday miscellany
'what if noone's watching?'
being beat
worrying
on language, nature and my neck
poisonous pink
cultural aspect ratio
frustration
starbucks is love
free gifts, easter & lazy day music
mais qu'est-ce qui se passe ici?
carrefour je t'aime
happy birthday (ii)
notes from qingdao
happy birthday (i)
more of beijing
on betrayal
brief note
ni hao from beijing
pre-departure thoughts
traveling music
quoted wisdom
my hero
crack repair, art kid style
about qingdao, from wikipedia
china address



11 September 2008



utterly utter [ 11:21 ]

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10 September 2008



utterly utter [ 03:03 ]

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Vending machine, Tokyo
Originally uploaded by erase rewind



utterly utter [ 03:03 ]

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Lantern, Tokyo
Originally uploaded by erase rewind



utterly utter [ 03:02 ]

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Lantern, Tokyo
Originally uploaded by erase rewind



utterly utter [ 03:01 ]

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13 July 2008
((Written in Hiroshima:))

Writing from Japan, at last! It's been ever such a long time coming but I'm finally here once more, doubly reminded of how much I loved it when I visited so briefly before. Most particularly after China, its modernity and beauty and diversity are almost overwhelming. I'm hit by two forms of culture shock (or perhaps surprise... I wouldn't describe myself as shocked at all... merely pleasantly surprised to be reminded): that of returning to a wealthy first-world society, and that of being in Japan, with all its fascinating quirks and wonderful innovations. As with all negative situations, one is never fully aware of what is missing until it returns.

Then things all slide into focus - or into full colour, if you like - once more.
Everything is so perfect here! The beautiful little roads full of austere buildings with their neat windows and sliding doors. The beautiful red lanterns with striking black characters on them, casting a glow across dark but perfectly safe alleyways at night. The scents on the air. The little shrines that dot the streets. The green-forest covered mountains shrouded in mist. The glorious parade of inovations and convenient thinking. Sampuru, and adorable corporate mascots, and beautiful modern architecture, and manga stores, and vending machines dispensing cups of soda with ice. Free paper covers for the books you buy, and dorayaki, and tinkling music in railway stations. I'm head-over-heels again.


((Written in Takamatsu))

With my travelling having gone, so far, absolutely according to plan, I now find myself in Takamatsu, which is a medium sized city on the island of Shikoku, south of Honshu. Having spent two nights in Okayama, and seen what was seeable there, I took the 'JR Marine Line' train which took me across a spectacularly large bridge over the glistening turquoise sea and a number of small wooded islands with tempting flashes of sandy beach. The journey was short, and I now find myself in guess-where with a spare hour or two to while away peacefully in the air-conditioned indoors over a coffee or two. I'm carrying my very large suitcase, and consequently can't get about to any overly energetic extent until I check into the hotel and offload it. I'm also a little concerned about overexposure to the sun, as I managed to sustain a bit of a sunburn yesterday and don't want to aggravate the situation.

In Okayama the principal attraction is the garden which is listed among the top three in Japan for its beauty. So off I went yesterday morning after my hotel croissant and coffee breakfast (miso and rice parcels with nori around them were available but I really can't stomach that first thing in the morning) and found my way to the entrance of the gardens. It being reasonably early on in the morning, it was quiet: only a few old people taking photographs and a crack team of gardeners in boiler suits. The garden was pleasant, if rather dominated by grass. Apparently it was the first garden in Japan to feature lawns, and they seemed to have gone a little overboard with them. Breaking up the grass, however, were ponds with picturesque little islands with miniature pagodas and a couple of bridges, reflecting prettily in the water. I was rather upset and frustrated to find that my camera's battery had run down, and so sadly I do not have any photos of what I am describing. The garden also featured some small plantations of different sorts: some miniature rice paddies, an orchard, and something billed as an Iris garden, which was really more of a patch. There was a littlr rocky mound in the middle with a view of the rest of the garden, and streams with planks and stones for walking across. One of my favourite parts was a simple wooden pavilion with a stream running through the middle of it. There was also a wooded section, including bamboo, and a pond filled with what looked like Chinese rhubarb, but among which bloomed enormous and exotic white flowers, the like of which I have never seen before. Under the rhubarb jungle, below the surface of the water, vast orange and white flecked koi swam lazily around, and the occasional frog flicked the water near the bank.

Despite feeling slightly over-manicured to my untrained European mind, the garden was very nice. The sun was blazing overhead, and a few more trees in the middle would have created some very pleasant respite from the heat. I would like to see the garden in the snow: I should imagine the ponds, with the little craggy trees, rocks and pavilion, would be absolutely magical all dusted in white.

Having looked my fill, I then moved on to my second sightseeing possibility in Okayama, the U-Jo (Crow (ie. black) Castle). The thing about this castle, and quite a few of the castles of Japan, is that it is not the real thing at all. The actual for-real Okayama-Jo was destroyed by bombing during World War 2, and so what now stands proud above the river is a 1960s replica. It does look good, despite not being The Real Thing. I bought a ticket and went inside although I'm not sure it was really worth it. Any remaining vestiges of authenticity were removed by the presence of a lift to whisk the sightseer upstairs, but there was at least quite a good view. There were some displays about the lords of the castle, and some items from life in days gone by, but all in all it was a little underwhelming inside.

After the morning's sightseeing I took myself off for a quick lunch, and then a spot of wandering around, which is always entertaining and has the advantage of not making one feel as if seeing things is a chore. I do hate when I go somewhere and I feel as if I *should* see things which are supposedly good sights. If I don't go to see them, I feel guilty for some strange reason, as if I'm not doing the thing properly at all.

That said, I'm certainly not overdoing the sightseeing. I hope I've managed to find some semblance of balance between touristy and more culture-y discover-y things. During my three days in Hiroshima I took in the A-Bomb dome, which was quite sobering although a little (pleasantly) disconnected from its meaning by the vibrant city life going on around it, the Atomic Bomb Museum (which was horrifying in parts) and Miyajima, the island outside Hiroshima whose shrine has a very famous floating Torii. Miyajima was very pleasant: a little bit touristy but in no means excessively so, and quiet enough to feel really rather peaceful. I whiled away a few happy afternoon hours strolling around, discovering things, looking at the scenery and taking a lot of pictures, many of which I have uploaded to flickr for your viewing pleasure. As the tide went out, it became possible to walk out to the Torii and stand under it, feet in the cool water, which was also very nice and summery-feeling. I also found time to wander around the shops and marvel at the colourful array of things on display. It's blissful being reintroduced to the delights of first-world shopping. I found my way up to the 9th floor of a department store to visit Tower Records, which had almost all of the (obscure) CDs I've been wanting since I've been away. I was very self-restrained, however, and only bought one. There is always time later on in Tokyo (where the shop is even bigger!) anyway. The selection in Tower here is fantastic: plenty of things I struggle to find at home in branches of record shops outside London. I hate how record shops are dying in the UK. At home, now, I pretty much have to use the internet to find anything that isn't the most mainstream dross, because when our branch of Virgin converted to Zavvi it finally lost any of the interest it once held for me. It's not what it was. Only twenty and already I feel old...

One of the things that has enchanted me recently is seeing people (women and men) walking around the streets in yukata (light summery kimono). Just now some girls walked into this Starbucks in bright floral-patterned yukata, complete with large bows tied at the back. Another example of the wonderful coexistence of old and new in this country.

I'm oddly sleepy. I didn't sleep perfectly last night owing to a combination of uncontrollable circumstances which had nothing to do with my very comfortable hotel room. Since I arrived in Japan, I have very quickly developed a pattern of how I spend my day. I tend to do something worthy in the morning - either sightseeing, or travelling if it's a travel day, have a late lunch in the early mid afternoon, and then go back/arrive at the place where I'm staying, cool down (having been outside in the heat for a while), have a shower, and relax. I then go out again in the early evening to explore, shop and/or find some supper. A little like a late siesta I suppose. It's a comfortable and convenient way of doing things which helps to beat the heat of the middle of the day. I think I'm adapting to it being so hot, but it's still exhausting to spend much time walking around in the direct sun, and humidity can make it feel warmer still.


utterly utter [ 05:28 ]

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04 July 2008
((written on the boat :-) ))

And so to the boat… and the really adventurous part of my adventure. Having packed all (or most) of my belongings into an outrageously heavy rucksack, given out chocolates and email addresses, sung a few more songs at the KTV, and posted another hefty box of stuff home by surface mail, I found myself at the port with Dori and a room full of Koreans, waiting to finally leave Zhong Guo.

Having struggled through security and immigration with my enormous amount of baggage, I and the other passengers (who are indeed not particularly numerous) were ushered onto a bus with a number of rather scary port officials carrying helmets and batons, and driven off towards the water’s edge. Having passed the Korean ferry also due to sail that day, we drew up alongside our vessel: an enormous white affair named ‘Utopia’, with pleasing-looking Japanese writing in blue on the side. Upon boarding, my ticket was immediately and helpfully seized, and I was handed my room key.

After a lost moment (almost everything on this boat is written in Japanese) I was shown to my room on the uppermost passenger floor. The boat offers, I think, three classes of accommodation: Second, First and ‘Special’. Back in Qingdao, having looked at the ferry company’s website I had decided to go for Special. This was, I think, a wise choice. The basic accommodation is in crowded, dingy rooms with numerous hard-looking wooden bunks. It also doesn’t appear to have bathrooms. I have a two-bed room all to myself, with its own little bathroom. There’s a TV, two large windows with a view onto the uppermost deck, a desk, a table and chairs, a Japanese tea set and even an actual bath (as well as shower) in the bathroom. It is on the small side of course but all very clean and comfortable, and even slippers and a little bag of toiletries are provided! I have only seen one other person in the Special-class area so it’s all rather peaceful. Elsewhere on the boat are the usual sorts of things one finds: a bar/cinema room, a little shop selling knickknacks and food, a restaurant, several ‘lounges’, some ping pong tables, some exercise machines, and a room full of interesting-looking Japanese vending machines.

We boarded at around 4:30 in the afternoon, but the boat didn’t set off until half past eleven at night. I had expected this, having read up on the trip beforehand: it seems to be done so as to time the arrival correctly. If we departed in the afternoon, we would get to Japan too early in the morning. The departure itself was rather sudden: I looked up at the window to notice that we were coasting away backwards from the heavy freight yards that I’d been observing all afternoon. There wasn’t much to see as it was so dark by that point. The only rather irritating thing about this journey so far has been that the decks are all closed off ‘due to rough weather’. Although the weather outside has been consistently grey, and the some of the waves around us are breaking white and foamy, it does not seem all that bad, and on every other ferry journey I’ve been on it has been OK to take to the deck and watch the water churn around beneath us.

The boat will arrive tomorrow morning in Japan, and after the tedium of immigration and customs I will be free to explore Shimonoseki. Or as free as you can be with an enormous amount of stuff to carry. Actually I will be proceeding to the Post Office at the first available opportunity to send a whole lot more stuff homewards, and then probably having marvellous fun looking for an international ATM and doing other similar boring but important tasks. Apparently Shimonoseki is very famous for Fugu, but as Fugu is potentially lethal I think I may stick to less dangerous fare…


utterly utter [ 13:40 ]

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02 July 2008
((written some time ago and finally posted now i'm in japan))

Having checked my Blogger account, I was unsurprised yet slightly disappointed with myself to find that I haven’t written anything in about a month – a situation which obviously needed to be remedied. And what better time to do so than at night when I’m unable to sleep? Well... perhaps there are better times. But it’s all the same really, and more productive than just lying in the dark listening to music.

I’ve just completed the Wednesday of my final week in Qingdao. Today has been fairly productive, despite rising at an hour which would doubtless cause screams of horror from my M and P dearest. This afternoon I succeeded in posting an outrageously large parcel of my belongings homewards: 30 kilos in total, which really is quite impressive considering I still have stuff left to carry around with me, and my original baggage limit on the aeroplane to China was 20 kilos. But I’d like to meet the person who spends four months somewhere and doesn’t acquire anything. And tell them they’re ridiculous. The other thing I managed to get done which deserves a metaphorical cookie is booking some more of my accommodation for the extensive jaunt through Japan that I will be embarking upon next week. It’s all rather exciting, particularly as now I’ve got a good amount of the accommodation sorted out the anxiety factor has decreased significantly.

The boat trip itself should be something of an adventure, if a drawn-out one. It takes a long time, but it’s one of those unusual things to tuck away in the scrapbook of experience… and it’s cheaper than flying. I will arrive in Shimonoseki, Western Japan, and spend two nights there before going Eastwards by train to Hiroshima for several days sightseeing. Then Okayama, followed by Takamatsu, and then hopefully to Osaka by a short hydrofoil journey. This much I have loosely planned/booked. After that, it’s on to Tokyo via somewhere that I haven’t decided on yet, but which might be Yokohama as although it’s close to the big T, the other main place on the JR line seems to be totally missing from the guidebook’s listings (whether intentionally or not I don’t really know).

I’m not totally sure how I feel about leaving China. In some ways I can’t wait – all of the frustrations and sadnesses I’ve felt over the past four months rise up in me sometimes as if they’ll choke me, and I long to be away from here. But it would be a lie to say there aren’t parts of me that hold affection for aspects of this place, these ways, these people. When I go, there won’t be tears, but despite how I have felt from time to time while here, I don’t think there will be laughter either. And of course it’s impossible to spend time somewhere without it making its impression on you in myriad little ways. Although the circumstances of my time here have been far from ideal, I do feel that it has had a positive effect. It has given me time out – literally – time away from everything in my life, so far away and removed from any of it, to become less caught up in a tangle of heavy, complicated things. I’m not sure I have found perspective or anything even remotely as trite as that, but it has distracted me, perhaps. In some ways I think it’s that same old feeling of becoming less and less sure of things with age, but more and more comfortable with that lack of absolute anything.

As I write this I’m also acutely aware that this time away has also been the first time in almost my entire conscious/self-conscious life (which, I believe, begins somewhere around the age of 11… or did for me) during which I haven’t committed to paper or screen any deep feelings at all. I have barely let anything permeate – I’m a little frozen, perhaps, all of it pushed beneath the surface, or forgotten, or something. I don’t know where it’s gone. Perhaps it will come flooding back in a rush of European air, heavy and familiar and newly noticeable like anything subconsciously integral to the day-to-day when it returns from an unnoticed absence.


utterly utter [ 10:18 ]

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21 May 2008
As anyone who hasn't been living underneath a rock in Siberia for the last month or so will know, Sichuan province was rocked (only too literally) by a massive and devastating earthquake last week. Not that I, over here in Qingdao, knew anything of this until I recieved a phone call from home enquiring expectantly whether I'd felt the tremors. I immediately and astutely enquired, 'What earthquake?'.

But although the earth stayed resolutely still in this part of China's eastern seaboard, tremors have been evident in the emotions of the people of Qingdao. The students, perhaps conscious of the terrible fate of their contemporaries in another part of this vast but united country, became quieter and more sombre. Newspapers and websites, in a public state of mourning, drained their pages of colour, leaving stark black and white to tell the tales of death and destruction emerging. And the government declared that there would be a silence of several minutes at a particular hour on Monday.

Normally I must admit I am cynical about such organised manifestations of public feeling. In the UK, particularly in recent years, I believe that the notion of the two minute silence has become a cheap gimmick, increasingly carted out for every news event of even the most tenuous significance. However, this, for once, was a silence which really seemed to mean something. Perhaps because it was not, in fact, silent. The appointed time came, and, instructions having been given over the tannoy, the staff and students of the school fell silent. So far, so banal. But then came the most extraordinary noise. Quietly at first, but gradually growing, catching on and spreading, came the sound of horns. A great,deep, continuous booming horn, perhaps from a ship out in the bay, accompanied by every kind of siren, alarm, klaxon and car horn. All sounding simultaneously, joining in with one another, growing in number, wailing out a cry of collective grief more poignant and moving than the most carefully orchestrated and impressive ceremony.


utterly utter [ 12:20 ]

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10 May 2008
One of the most important issues to me during my time away has been that of keeping connected. Both on an emotional level, with the people I care about, and in the sense of staying informed about what is happening in the world. I’m an information junkie, so being away from my constant media companions of Radio 4, BBC news online, my morning RSS hit and the generally free and readily-available internet access I enjoy at home has been irritating and sometimes difficult.

I do, of course, have access to the web in a limited capacity here in that I can use a (somewhat dinosaurish) computer in the English teaching office during the day (when it isn’t being used by someone else, and the school’s connection isn’t down or running prohibitively slowly), or alternatively can make a pilgrimage to one of the three Starbucks within a few blocks of one another along Xianggang Zhong Lu (that’s Hong Kong Middle Road to you and me) to linger over a latte and share their free wireless with a crowd of other laptop-wielding users. So I have been able to keep more or less in touch with things, though my use of the internet here constantly comes up against that vast and much-discussed virtual roadblock entertainingly known as the Great Firewall of China. It is, of course, much more fun to make puns about when you’re not forced to deal with it on a day to day basis.

The manner in which this massive censorship programme intrudes upon your consciousness is infuriatingly simple. Any website deemed to be in any way inappropriate or even remotely sensitive, or indeed even simply written in English and as-yet-unvetted, will totally fail to load, producing nothing but a paltry 404 error returned in the standard format of your browser of choice. No outright evidence of intervention, no message of any kind. Simply the impression of a dead link. It is something I regularly come up against, and there is very little you can do about it. Even AOL’s parental controls would inform you that they had been triggered. Even the obscenity gauge running on the computers at college would return a highly entertaining little page detailing the offences for which a site had been cut off. On a side note, I must add that I was always mystified as to what the point of this particular piece of software was, because after deciding that a particular web page was not acceptable viewing on grounds of strong language it would then give a comprehensive and totally uncensored list of the words which had triggered its blocking the page, and the frequency with which they had occurred. But the Great Firewall never acknowledges its own existence, even as it prevents you from accessing things, preferring to hide behind the flimsy and sinister pretence of a technical error.

The list of things blocked by the Firewall is constantly changing. This much is clear from the disappearances and inexplicable returns of pages according to the level of sensitivity of their contents. Perhaps the most blatant and aggravating (to me, certainly) example of this came halfway through March, when the story about the troubles in Tibet broke. In the days prior to the protests, I was happily using guardian.co.uk as my primary source of news. The minute the events in Lhassa began to permeate public consciousness, however, the Guardian suddenly vanished, its URL returning only that bane of the internaute’s existence, the 404. Casting around for alternative sources of news, I found that all of the major UK papers had had their sites blocked. The furthest I could get was the front page of the Telegraph’s site (not my preferred news source, but any port in a storm, and it’s a hell of a lot better than the Mail), but every secondary page – every linked story I clicked on – was 404ing like there was no tomorrow. Where to go for information?

Ultimately I found a couple of answers to this dilemma. The first one was to get the news in a language other than English. Testing a casual theory that I was formulating, I made my way over to the online home of Le Monde, only to find it, even at the height of the paranoia about Western reporting and media perceptions, available as normal. I was thus able to satisfy my curiosity as to what was going on, and why I was receiving some slightly alarmed e-murmurs about trouble brewing. Browsing around, I found that the websites for various major non-anglophone European newspapers continued to be available, despite espousing similar views and reporting the same stories as their zealously-blocked UK counterparts. lemonde.fr, lefigaro.fr, elpais.es and welt.de were all perfectly readable. My ideas about the reasons for all this can roughly be divided into two theories which overlap somewhat:
a) The people doing the censoring may not be particularly au fait with European languages other than English
b) The people on whose behalf the internet is being censored (ie. the average Chinese web user) are far more likely to have English as a second language than French, Spanish or German.
The upshot of all of this, however, is that if you’re reasonably comfortable with one of these languages then you can continue to access news and information on the Chinese internet in a time of crisis. However, those of you whose linguistic skills leave something to be desired should not despair just yet. I later found to my interest while tooling around the web that the site of the New Zealand Herald still seemed to be accessible. Why this should be the case I’m not entirely sure, although it must be noted that NZ is a small country, and by no means an international heavy-hitter, so perhaps their national press simply escaped the notice of the censors (although I didn’t monitor availability over time. There’s a small chance that I could have contributed to getting them blocked having highlighted their existence by visiting. I seem to have single-handedly removed Dialectizer from the Chinese internet by using it experimentally as a makeshift proxy to access BBC news).

Since the furore died down, the British newspapers have become available online once more, so I should be able to access the news from now on… as long as it isn’t too important [insert rolled eyes of exasperation]. However, the glitchiness of internet access in the People’s Republic reaches further than mere site-blocking, and operates in stranger, more mysterious, and equally disturbing ways. Facebook, that essential networking tool of everybody and their mother (literally in the cases of a few people I know), is accessible. But the interference of the censors remains evident when using the site, and manifests itself most frustratingly in its refusal to send or post certain messages or wall scribblings. Frequently, when using Facebook whilst in China, I have written replies to people’s messages, comments and other outpourings of words, and then found myself totally unable to send them. Upon clicking to post, the box has timed out or produced an error message. This rejection of comments and messages does not have any recognisable logic to it. All I have really been able to make out is that certain words seem to trigger the wrath of the Firewall. I have edited out phrases while actually in the process of posting comments, while waiting for the page to respond, only to find that without some particular sensitive word my comment will go through instantly. Other times it has been impossible to post anything but the most bland and utterly inconsequential greeting without receiving an error message of Fail. Beyond FB, even the giant of Gmail is not immune from the reach of the censors’ tentacles. I can’t send any email from it: I have to resort to hotmail instead for some unfathomable reason.

And really, it is all very well my complaining about all of this, but for me it is only a temporary frustration. The time will come, quite soon, when I will be able to return to my internet-happy dominion where I can access more or less whatever I want (except the website of TV network Showtime, who for some inexplicable reason have decided to deny access to their website to anyone outside the United States), and the censorship of the Great Firewall will cease to be an immediate problem for me. But, being away in another country and Experiencing Things, one almost feels obliged to learn some kind of terribly sobering life lesson, and if I must be forced to go along with such an awful cliché, let my big thing be free access to information. Not that I was exactly apolitical beforehand (let’s face it, John Stuart Mill is my homeboy), but I imagine that I shall be just a little more vociferous about the issue when I return home. Because it is so terribly worrying that the world’s biggest nation should grow up with, and be constantly subjected to, a huge barrier denying them access to different opinions and new, challenging voices. I think I read somewhere that China has the largest number of internet users on earth. But behind this big fact is the sobering truth that really what this army of Middle Kingdom web surfers are exposed to is an utterly stilted and compromised version of the infinite glut of humanity that is the world’s wider web.


utterly utter [ 07:40 ]

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Interesting, I hope by mentioning several sources you haven't contributed to their blocking. Being able to compare restriction with accustomed freedom and recognising a difference must raise the question of what we in the West may be disallowed from seeing; can we find evidence for the existence of information we cannot find directly ? we must search and seek patterns in our failure to find.

Dad

10/5/08 14:15  

Blogger Dichohecho said...

You should have a "John Stuart Mill is my homeboy" t-shirt...
*sympathies*

13/5/08 20:07  

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