• Stuff I emptied out from my apartment: 56 sq. meters’ worth of furniture, art, daily life crap and assorted paraphernalia.
• Stuff I still owned after distributing everything else to friends, family and random strangers: 6 small boxes (books and some clothes).
• Stuff actually in my possession and not currently sitting in a basement until I have a home again someday: 1 suitcase.

The first metric tonne is always the hardest to part with… After that it just comes off naturally.

I’m off to greener shores for the Summer.

Funnily enough, update frequency will be the best it has been in a while, since I am leaving behind a couple inconsequential pre-posted entries to fill space at regular intervals until I regain full access to 21st century technologies.

Estimated resurfacing time (in a different location, but with the same standard of sharp, yet insightful, educational writing that you have come to expect from this blog) in a couple days or weeks. Possibly more, if some loose rooftop tile prompts me to embark on a spiritual quest to discover my totem animal by moving to a Nepalese buddhist temple.

Meanwhile, have a picnic or two on île Saint-Louis on my behalf.

Despite my tummy’s strong disapproval of last night’s excesses, I shall soon be heading north for a [supposedly] relaxing week-end in the land of plentiful, cheap, yummy Indian food (been craving a real tikka massala for months now).

See ya on the other side.

Traveling by train is a nice perk of European trips. Not the trains in themselves, least of all the companies that run them, but being able to hop from from one city’s downtown to the next, read a book, sleep, enjoy the landscape… all that on a budget blissfully unaffected by US imperators’ occasional fantasies of Persian campaigns and ensuing kerosene price variations…

France’s very own TGV, strikes non-withstanding, will take you from the center of Paris, to within sight of the Spanish border, in less than 5 hours.

Following advice from my therapist at the Internet Rehab Center, I opted for the old-school, not-so-high-speed, version of railroad travels, and crawled my way down the bucolic French countryside in about twice that time. Before departure, it took 20 minutes to the announcer, merely to recite the full list of stops along the way: a poem in its own right.

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The Markets

On both evenings, I sampled the variety of local street markets, most of which were nearly walking distance from my hotel in Kowloon. Fast, loud and overwhelming on all sides… In a word: awesome… Also very similar to markets anywhere else in the world. Though I spent a long while getting lost amidst the chaos, I didn’t buy a single item: having no use for chosen dog meat delicacies nor Louis Vuiton ripoffs on the cheap.

The Pit

I really wasn’t planning on hitting Hong Kong’s infamous expat ghetto, even less after Justine’s flaky friend in Hong Kong (with whom I was kinda supposed to hook up, never did, all for the better, most likely… friends of friends… remind me to write about the topic one day…), strongly urged me to go entertain myself there, touting it as “Hong Kong’s very own Roppongi”… Yea, that was a big selling point.

I knew exactly what to expect when on Friday evening I decided to go for a drink in Lon Kwai Fong: not feeling like hitting the sack at 11pm leaving me with few alternatives, by myself, in a city I knew nothing of… I certainly wasn’t let down in my expectations: while undeniably lively and more densely crowded than moribund Roppongi, it features the same congregation of sorry expat losers drowning their bitterness and the vacuousness of their life into whatever alcohol-laden cat piss they can get in a western-labeled bottle.

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All right: it’s late and I’m more than a bit drunk. I have very little to say, and a computer to help me do it.
I’m told this is exactly what blogging is about, so here goes.

The language

You know, for a guy who prides himself in being quite the world-traveler sort, I must admit I arrived here shamefully unprepared. As it turns out, it seems the whole extent of my Cantonese vocabulary is approximately two words, which is even less than what I knew of Japanese before arriving there, and basically not even enough to say thank you at the store without resorting to imperialistic idioms. Furthermore, whatever small remnants of my stays in mainland China I may have (essentially: numbers from one to twelve and ways to order drinks, thanks to endless nights spent playing dice at Xiandu’s one and only world-class nightclub) may as well be Russian for all they care: Cantonese and Mandarin have indeed nothing in common.

The cool part of it all, is the writing… and the realization that my kanji skills are not as bad as I thought they were. Even a very puny reader of Japanese like myself is able to decipher a rough 30% of all public writings (signs, menus etc.) and, when times really call for it, push across to the local a few semantics of my own. You should have seen me and how incredibly proud of myself I was, when I managed to get shown the direction of the bay (wherein my hotel lies), after scribbling the kanjis for “sea” and “coast” to some incredulous local merchants…

My brightest idea of the week undeniably came yesterday, when I opted to pack my old Japanese keitai with me (usually serves as a back-up camera and optional Japanese vocabulary helper for my daily manga reading): made the writing (i.e. “speaking”) part that much easier, especially for somebody like me with more than approximative kanji handwriting skills… Definitely a weird feeling (and not only for me), but utterly rewarding nonetheless.

The sights

Following Jonathan’s great advice (he should be a freelance guide in Hong-Kong: he definitely has the skills for it), I went and did a quick roundup of the typical touristy stuff there is to do in Hong-Kong. Still, either because of the season or the day, most of the places I went to weren’t that crowded. Fairly quiet, even, in the case of the Big Buddha in Po Lin… Which made it all the more enjoyable.

Must be the Tokyoite in me talking, but I was amazed at how much real natural landscape there is in HK. As soon as you leave the city itself, it seems quite common to spot entire hills devoid of any construction or pristine beaches on the side of the road… Definitely not something you’d see in Tokyo and its surrounding. Of course, Tokyo’s got its parks, but being able to go to a real beach in HK, in less than it would take you to go to Yokohama from Shinjuku, makes it an incredibly cool place in my book.

On the other hand, the fact that the whole place seems perpetually shrouded in a veil of smog that makes Tokyo look like a febreeze commercial in comparison, is a serious downside… How is it possible to keep that much dioxydes when you are surrounded by water on all sides?…

OK. The rest tomorrow, as I am starting to fall asleep on my keyboard, usually the time where I start repeating myself to no end… Did I tell you about kanjis and Cantonese?

A few words before I go lay down with a cold towel over my head…

I’m well and safe in Hong-Kong.

On the other hand, topping a long series of inauspicious events, Justine missed her plane and probably won’t be able to meet me here at all, which implies a heavy rewriting of my next two days’ schedule. I guess there will be much less drinking and much more touristy crap.

Other than that, I can’t say I missed being in a city where every single word of the local language sounds like complete gibberish to me. Of course, I seem to be able to decipher most street signs and other familiar kanjis, but that’s very little help when dealing with a cab driver who doesn’t seem to have the faintest idea where my hotel’s street is and insists on addressing me in his local idiom (ostensibly because his english skills themselves are limited to “English… no…”). Anyway, I finally made it to the somewhat mediocre hotel we had managed to book before leaving (the previous episode in The Hong-Kong Curse series, being Jus’ friend rescinding her lodging offer, two days before arrival).

I guess the next step is to figure where exactly I am on a map and try to make use of my solo time here. But first I got to sleep off that headache before the gerbil digging through my brain finally makes his way out.

Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a fridge in Tokyo without either parting with half your bank account or breaking a dozen local laws? Hard. Very hard.

But it’s all behind now, the move is over, all that’s left is a few days to enjoy Tokyo and say bye to all friends before heading for Europe, by way of Hong-Kong (Thursday to Saturday, if anybody’s around and wants to meet for a beer).

So anyway, tonight, I, with a few friends, will be busy getting drunk on cheap sangria and reminiscing the wacky hijinx of the gaijin life in Japan, all the while spinning a few records and, who knows, shaking some nails to it…
It’s all taking place between 8 and 12, at Cozmo’s Café in Shibuya. About 2 minutes from the station, near the Post Office. Here is the map…

So whether we’ve met in the past or even if you’ve never got a chance to spot me in the flesh during my stay in Tokyo, do come and say hi! I’ll be the one either drinking my 20th Gin&Tonic under a table or haphazardly spinning a few records at the turntables…

Alright boys and girls,

In ten minutes I’ll be heading out for Narita with twice the limit in luggage, and the hugest smile I can summon to convince the employee to let me board without supplement (not an option, seeing how it would probably cost the price of a full ticket). Especially hard to smile when you have more grams of caffeine floating in your body than hours of sleep over the past two weeks, but if I can manage to freeze my muscles in the appropriate position, the twitching may complete the illusion.

Although I hear they have internet access in even the most remote Parisian neighbourhoods nowadays, you likely won’t hear from me until next Thursday, if then.

But I promise that, once the bitter taste of defeat and humiliation of having my ignorant ass handed over to me by my professors, subsides, I will be back and regaling you with the wondrous adventures of my final three months in Nipponland.

To keep you busy until then, here is what I have to offer:

Everything You’ve Always Wanted to Know About Dr. Dave, But Were Afraid to Ask…

I am sure all of you, my faithful readers, have many unanswered questions pertaining to the author of this site, sitting somewhere in the dark recesses of your mind while you read these lines…

How old is dr. Dave? What is dr. Dave’s favourite colour? Why the fuck does he keep writing “favour” and “colour”, yet spell it: “organize” ? How many billions sit on dr. Dave’s Cayman Islands bank account? What crème de jour does he use to keep this youthful looks about him, no matter what time of the day? Is he for real? Is he really that full of himself or is this just an elaborate act? What’s the answer to the ultimate question to life, the universe and everything? Mac or PC? Shaved or natural? Boxer or tighty-whities? Heroine or Cocaine? etc. etc.

Crucial existential questions indeed…

Well, wait no more: ask ahead, and in ten days, when I come back, I will personally post my reply to each and every question asked through the comment section or sent through the contact form.

Time for some transparence around here.

Against all odd, I’m done packing and still have 30 minutes to go catch the Narita express.

I could just go now and insure that I am actually early to catch a plane once in my life, but why bother.

Actually, when taking a flight out of peak-season, it’s always a better strategy to show up fashionably late for check-in. This may sound like dubious advice, coming from the guy who missed a few planes in recent years, but on the other hand, I have also boarded hundreds of flights without hassles. Check-in employees are way less stressed once the rush is over, it’s easy to make small talk and get whatever you want, whether it’s a potential upgrade, or just a seat on an empty row (there’s always one or two fully empty rows on off-peak flights, and getting them at the end of check-in means you stand good chance they’ll remain so).

So instead, I’m running a last-minute assessment of current situation, before moving on for the month.

• Neighbourhood cats seem a bit worried to lose both their main source for food distribution and access to the dry shelter of my room, which I understand can suck, especially when monsoon season is geared to start in a week or two. They have been following the packing process closely and, as I speak, there’s a fair chance I might be about to smuggle unwittingly some of Tokyo’s finest stray cat on the European continent. I guess it’ll be the surprise on arrival.
• Herb garden is going through another rough phase: while the cat problem has been successfully dealt with, my once flamboyant arugula is suddenly showing signs of decay. Simultaneously, I couldn’t help but notice that caterpillars in the vicinity seemed particularly healthy and well fed. If the situation hasn’t somehow stabilized by the time of my return, I am afraid we will have to consider chemical warfare. Napalm or agent orange are the two top options at the moment.
• Underwears are packed. I had a strange dream last night that essentially involved forgetting to pack my undies. My subconscious really has fucked-up priorities. The socks supply dearly needs replenishing (single socks have been disappearing at an alarming rate lately: I suspect the cats. Wouldn’t put it past these thieving bastards). Good thing, you don’t have to remove your freaking shoes to eat in a restaurant where I’m heading.
• Passports are packed in separate places, and color-coded, which will avoid repeating embarrassing mistakes and having to spend unnecessary time with an immigration officer convinced he has caught Al Qaida’s number 4.

Ok, see you on the other side!

Now I ask you: are your luggage hand-delivered at home for free, every time you fly on your favorite airline?

Ha. Suckers.

Some people are quick to bash Aeroflot for the most insignificant details (you know, like when two drunk flight attendants start beating up a passenger…), but they always fail to point out the positive.

For example, how many companies are so truly dedicated to the well-being of their long-distance flights passengers that they insure all luggage are directly dispatched at home by qualified airport personnel, free of charge.

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