I wasn't sure how to write about Expo 2005 in Aichi, Japan. There really isn't a good way to approach the topic without running into the same degree of confusion, fascination and discombobulation that one is faced with when visiting this enigmatic event.

What makes Expo interesting to begin with, is the fact that the majority of people to whom I've spoken, both Japanese and International, didn't seem to know what Expo was, (not just this one, but any Expo), let alone the fact that it was happening virtually in their backyard, or at least a three-hour drive away. I suppose, given the inward-looking nature of Japan as a whole, and the rural overtones of the city where I live, I shouldn't be terribly surprised. Those factors might certainly have something to do with it. On the other hand, when the number of visitors to Expo in one day exceeds the population of Kofu, over 200,000 people, somebody obviously received the memo in their Inbox and made the effort to attend.

Of those people who have at least heard of Expo, or perhaps caught some footage on TV while watching the evening news, plans of our travel to go see it were met with rather negative comments.

“Don't go,” they screamed. “You'll be waiting for over two hours in 30-degree weather just to get into a pavillion.”

“Bad idea,” they insisted. “You cannot park your car anywhere.”

“It's not worth it,” they suggested helpfully. “You'll just pay a lot of money to find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with a zillion people.”

Leave it to the Japanese to enigmatize and put a Zen-like spin even on such an international event. There WERE people waiting for over two hours in 30-degree weather, but there weren't. There WASN'T any parking, but there was lots. It WAS shoulder-to-shoulder people, but it wasn't. Perhaps there is little more to it than a simple matter of the cup being half-empty rather than half-full, but nevertheless, I could see why people were discouraging us to go; they are usually the same people who advise us not to drive to Tokyo because we will get lost and there is no place to park.

Well, since everything is just a simple matter of perspective, let me provide mine. The like-mindedness of people, in particular within Japanese culture, dictated that the wait for many of Expo's pavillions would be much longer than for others. Unless you had your heart set on visiting the American, Canadian, or Japanese pavillions, your average wait-time to see something would be greatly diminished. It's almost like being back in high-school, where you either belonged to the “cool crowd” or you were one of the unpopular kids who generally had few friends and were the last one to get picked to play on sports team. Among the “cool countries' pavillions to visit,” I would also have to include: China, Korea, Russia, Australia, Egypt, Germany, Singapore and France. Each of these had ridiculous queues, where indeed, a two-hour wait would not be unusual. If, however, you wandered by Uzbekistan or Yemen, the only trouble you'd have getting in would be the security guard at the exit door telling you to please enter the pavillion on the other side.

Parking was a non-issue. There were a number of designated parking lots for the event, though nowhere near the entrance gate, were perfectly accessible via shuttle busses running constantly all day. 2,500 yen seemed a little steep, however that is not the cost per person, but per car, and that includes the 20-minute ride by shuttle bus for everyone to the Expo grounds.

The real crowd was at the entrance gate. That's where you truly became part of a humungous crowd of people, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, being herded like cattle through the entrance gates, past airport-like security, where bags were searched, PET bottle confiscated, and swiss-army pocket knives held by security for the duration of my stay, presumably to prevent me from attacking some poor lackey from the French pavillion for incorrectly having served me a steak with Chablis instead of Chateau-Neuf-Du-Pape, forcing me to corkscrew him to death. Fortunately, such tragedy was duly prevented by the diligent Expo security staff and the prohibitively long lineup in front of the French pavillion, prompting me to look for a strangely absent Algerian pavillion. Come to think of it, I couldn't find many other pavillions either. Afghanistan, Libya, many Middle-Eastern countries including Israel, virutally any disputed land or territory, or pretty much anywhere that might give someone the impression that the world isn't a happy, peaceful place where everything looks like a glossy tourism brochure, and its smiling inhabitants are all clad in the national constumes of their country, ready to welcome tourists and sell them hand-crafted ethnic products. No, it just wouldn't do to have Jews and Arabs hurling insults and rocks at each other in the middle of the Expo Plaza. In fact, even the participating countries did a great job of removing any evidence of virtually anything depressing or serious, from famine in Africa, tsunami relief in Indonesia, to the Khmer Rouge victim memorials in Cambodia. You can hardly blame them for not having even a trace of such heavy subjects, but it makes a visit to Expo strangely surreal, and out-of-worldy knowing that those problems really do exist. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but I think we do owe it to ourselves, in the name of honesty, to be reminded of such things.

I was trying to think of which pavillions we visited in our two trips to Expo. More or less, in order, here's what I can remember:

Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Qatar, Iran, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, El Salvador, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Panama, Belize, Honduras, Ecuador, Venezuela, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Dominican Republic, Mexico, UN (United Nations), Cuba, Greece, Morocco, Ukraine, Czech Republic, Ireland, Rumania, Portugal, Austria, Swizerland, Belgium, Iceland, Sweeden, Denmark, Norway, Finland, the Netherlands, the U.K., Russia, Angola, Uganda, Ethiopia, Eritria, Ghana, Gabon, Cameroon, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Kenya, Ivory Coast, Congo, D.R. Congo, Sao tome and Principe, Zambia, Djibouti, Zimbabwe, Sudan, Senegal, Tanzania, Chad, Nigeria, Burkina Faso, Burundi, Benin, Madagascar, Mali, Mauritania, Rwanda, South Africa, New Zealand, Thailand, Cambodia, Philipines, Laos, Malaysia, Vietnam, Brunei, Kiribati, Samoa, Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Tonga, Vanatu, Paupa New Guinea, Palau, Fiji Islands, Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Indonesia, Cuba (again), India, Nepal, Korea, China, Australia.

Impressed? You should be! That's 95 countries we saw at Expo! Unless I forgot some. Actually, I have a confession to make. That list is a little exagerated, because the actual number of pavillions visited is much less, since many countries were pooled together in one building. If I were to count only the number of independent pavillions we saw, the number drops down to 48, which would include the UN pavillion, our second visit to the Cuban pavillion, and the Japanese Forest and Rain pavillion. Even that is a large number of things to see and do in a timeframe of two whole days. Some pavillions were very quick to go through, as there wasn't very much detailed information about the country, or the pavillion itself was small, with a limited exhibit. Cuba was one such pavillion. It's main highlights were their photographs of Ernest Hemmingway collection, Cuban bar where you could buy Mojitos and Cuba Libres, a tourism movie playing that was exalting the virtues of the island, and a humidor with genuine Cuban cigars. That was the purpose of a return trip to the Cuban pavillion on our second trip - to purchase some Cohibas and a few other good-quality cigars. I don't smoke, but I have been known to enjoy a rare Cuban with some red wine or single-malt scotch. Maybe now, just a little less rare with my latest purchase of stoggies from Expo.

The pinnacle of my second visit to the Cuban pavillion was the lady who sold me my cigars. She seemed genuinely surprised that I would care to buy more than just a single cigar, and kept telling me that they were very expensive. I thanked her for her concern, but assured her that the rarity of these cigars alone, nevermind the fact that I would assuredly pay more in Tokyo or any other major Japanese city for that matter would make up for the higher price. It wasn't so bad anyway. A small Cohiba would run you about 1,500 yen and a thin Quintero, about 1,000.

When I saw her pull out a cigar box from which she was taking out the last ten cigars to refill her humidor, I had enough presence of mind to ask her whether I could have the now empty box. She flashed me a strange look, as if to indicate, “why on earth would you want such a useless bit of trash?” but she shrugged her shoulders, and proceeded to put my purchase back into the box I had requested.

Then, much to my surprise, after I paid for my cigars, she told me to wait a moment, as she retreated into a back room that abutted onto the main area. A moment later she reappeared holding a beautiful mahogany Cohiba cigar box.

“If you like empty cigar boxes, you can have this one too,” she said as she handed it to me with the faint trace of a smile on her face. Now, I'm no serious collector of cigar boxes, but quite often their ornate artwork and wooden construction make them an elegant way to store miscellaneous odds and ends around the house after their contents have been smoked.

Other than that, another pavillion that sticks in my mind is the Czech pavillion. The Czechs really did a wonderful job of bringing to life Expo's theme: the wisdom of nature. At first glance, the entire interior was completely psychadelic! It looked like the design team had gone on a week-long bender consisting of absinthe, weed, and enough LSD to satisfy even the late Hunter S. Thompson in the depths of an ether binge. Whether this was indeed the case or not, I doubt we will ever know, but to the casual observer, it would certainly appear as a confused collection of kaleidoscopic and sonorific effects, each contributing to an overall cacophony that resembled a child's playroom invented by a joint venture between Timothy Leary and Rube Goldberg.

I doubt very many people actually “got it” before walking out in sheer confusion. But those who did must have been quite delighted at having decyphered the mystery of this enigmatic pavillion. The whole concept behind it all, was an amphitheatre, or concert hall not unlike somplace you may have gone before, to listen to a classical music recital or theatre play. In place of seats, (where they might normally be found) were only plain steps leading upward to the top of the hall. Scattered on various steps were various “musical instruments” mde from wood, rocks and otherwise “natural” items, and large kaleidoscopes which used patterns from various insects and fossils to project patterns around the hall. In effect, the premise of it was, that the visitors to the pavillion were not just the audience to a concert, but unwitting musicians in the orchestra and lighting/special effects technicians as well.

The centre of the amphitheatre was, of course the stage. It was a shallow pool of water, set up as an elaborate fountain, and sitting in the water was an old piano that worked, but only barely. Also present was some type of pipe organ which seemed to be powered using the water that was flowing through the fountain and pool somehow.

The overall cacophony, wasn't at all unpleasant, actually. Surprisingly enough, it gave the entire hall an etherial ambiance that made you feel like you just stepped into a science-fiction scene. In fact, the whole effect was not unlike a couple of online point-and-click games made by a Czech design firm: Amanita Designs. If you ever have time, check out “Samorost” and “The Quest for the Rest” and you will get a really accurate feel for what I'm talking about.

Of course, the Czech pavilion would not be complete without a shop selling Bohemian crystal and other typically Czech products. Nor would it be complete without a cafe, with wonderful Czech dishes, Moravian wine, and the quintessential BEER!

The first flavour of true Czech atmosphere was the lack of attention we received upon walking in. I figured I'd have some fun, or at least turn a few heads so I addressed the waiter in Czech in requesting a table. He barely even acknowledged me, merely pointing towards the back of the cafe, answering in Czech, to “park it wherever I wanted.” The extreme slow-motion customer service was very reminiscent of the Czech Republic, let me assure you. What I didn't realize, however, was that they had taken the time to bring in actual TV celebrity chefs (who host their own cooking shows on Czech prime-time television) to create the dishes. I must say, I was VERY impressed! The meal we had was 5-star, from the presentation to the taste it was truly amazing! The added bonus was, my Czech conversation with the head waiter snagged me a 50% discount on the food (not the beer or wine) because I was Czech...

I definitely would not mind attending the next World Expo in a few years. I would even be willing to travel to whichever country will host it, making it a nice holiday. Bonnie and I agree, however, that we wouldn't mind visiting China for the next Olympic Games. If we are still in Japan when they roll around, it would be only a quick hop over, and the flight price would certainly be reasonable. Excursions like this, however, are far from free and even staying within Japan to make two 1-day visits to Expo set us back a few hundred dollars. It was well worth it though.

Summer is over... You wouldn't know it, as the weather is as hot as ever, and the cicadas are just as deafeningly loud as they have been. Recently, a large praying mantis has taken up residence in our flowers just next to the entrance. I don't know whether or not that's good luck or bad, but I like the guy so I'm going to let him stay for a while.

We've also returned from our second major trip overseas this year. For two weeks in the beginning of August, Bonnie and I traveled to Malaysia for three days (in Kuala Lumpur) and about two weeks in Europe, specifically the Czech Republic.

Well, here's the scoop. As I'm writing this, I don't have the photos to publish yet, so for now it's text only. As soon as I can, I'll try to throw some pictures from our trip up on the site, so you can get an idea of where we were. But first, the basics. The flight from Japan to Kuala Lumpur is 6 hours, (not too bad), and the flight from KL to Vienna, Austria, is 12 hours (a lot worse)... The only thing that made it bearable, was the sleek new fleet of Boeing 777-200 planes flown by Malaysian Airlines. Unlike other, older aircraft, the best feature is a personal LCD display screen for every passenger on the plane, and not just for the lucky dogs up in First Class. This means, built into your seat, you have a removable "remote control" that allows you to select from a variety of entertainment options, including, movies, TV shows, documentaries, in-flight exercise video, CD albums, in-house-radio stations, video games and a myriad of other presentations related to your trip or flight, such as current, up-to-the-minute flight information, altitude, ground speed, air temperature, and estimated time of arrival. So if you have a child who likes to keep asking, "Are we there yet?" You can give a definitive answer: "Exactly three hours and 10 minutes, kiddo... So you'd better play another game of tetris." The nice part is, on some of the flights (but not on others) you have full control over what to watch and WHEN to watch it... So if you want to start your movie following an hour-long snooze, you can... And when those two beers and gin & tonic hit your bladder, just punch the "pause" button on your remote control, and stretch out your legs while you wait in the long, lavatory lineup.

The most interesting, quirky part about flying to Malaysia is the mention of the country's infamous zero-tolerance drug smuggling laws. The only time it ever gets announced to the passengers, is about a half-hour prior to landing in Malaysia, with such a shocking air of nonchalance, one can't help but snicker nervously as it's integrated into the rest of the pilot (or co-pilot's) pre-descent spiel.

"Good afternoon from the flight deck, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Browning speaking. We hope you've been enjoying a pleasant flight with us today. In just a few moments' time we will begin our descent to KLIA, the current temperature is partly cloudy and a warm 32 degrees. If you haven't done so already, you may wish to take a moment to adjust your watches to the local time, which is currently 4:45 pm. Just as a reminder to you, Malaysia does practice a zero tolerance policy to the import of illegal drugs, which carries a mandatory death sentence. Once again, from the cabin crew and on behalf of Malaysian Airlines, thank you for flying with us today, we hope to see you again soon, and have a great afternoon."

One can't help but wonder if such an announcement would be somewhat more useful before actually boarding the plane. Or would that be too obvious? As soon as they advise you of the Malaysian drug laws at the check-in counter, you quickly excuse yourself... "Um.... Sorry, I just remembered.... I have to... uh... get my uh... toothbrush out of my suitcase. Be back in a jiffy!"
Well, given the recent incidents with people claiming drugs were planted in their bags by corrupt baggage handlers, I couldn't resist the urge to "look for my cellphone" when my bag came off the carousel, and before I proceeded through customs. Only problem is, what would be the correct course of action IF you should find something to be amiss?

KLIA is about 40 minutes away from the city centre, and for the uninitiated, it's a comfortable, corrupt, taxicab ride away... A mob of people waiting at the arrival gate will helpfully ensure you have adequate transportation from the airport. Dozens of hotel shuttle-busses have people holding signs for those who happen to have arranged for such transportation, and throngs of other men ready to whisk you away to a "limousine booking" counter where they will relieve you of at least double the cost of a regular taxi, promising a limousine (that's mini-van for you Westerners) and a return-trip back to the airport at the end of your holiday (unnecessary, given the number of taxis in downtown KL). We narrowly avoided making this mistake by talking to a number of people and figuring out the scam before we purchased a "government-sanctioned" taxi ticket to our hotel, for a "fair" (government-set) price.

Bonnie's request for our sojourn in Kuala Lumpur was that we stay in a nice hotel, spending a bit of money (within reason) and enjoy some of the amenities a traveler rarely gets to enjoy in budget hotels. The hotel we chose was called the Mines Beach Resort and Spa -- a four-star hotel located on the shores of an man-made lake, in Mines City, about a 30-minute drive from Kuala Lumpur's city centre. It's cousin, the Palace of the Golden Horses, is a majestic five-star hotel situated on the opposite side of the lake, offering the most luxurious rooms imaginable, and frequently catering to visiting dignitaries, royalty and foreign diplomats. We had the fortune of sharing amenities with the other hotel, which was only a water-taxi ride away, giving us access to their swimming pool and other facilities. In addition, a large shopping centre was right next to our hotel, giving us a chance to sample Malaysia's shopping and dining experience almost immediately upon our arrival.

Since this was a short trip, I will endeavor to keep this blog entry equally brief, pointing out some of the highlights. As much as I enjoy writing our stories, I'm afraid that I have a tendency to become rather long-winded, and a half-hour quickly becomes a week, and I find myself still relating a single event which may have taken no more than several hours to experience in the first place. The rest of the details will have to be saved for a visit in person, either by virtue of a Japanese holiday for some of you, or us making a trip back to Canada.

Anyhow, after spending a pleasant, air-conditioned evening in our hotel, having indulged in room service, eating absolutely the most horrible, burnt, tougher-than-leather hamburger I've ever had the misfortune of tasting, we set out the next morning, ready to hit the city hard and find out what KL was all about. We took the hotel's shuttle bus to the base of the Petronas Towers, downtown, which is where we began our trek. The posh, unbelievably expensive shopping mall which made up the base of the towers was indeed interesting, perusing dozens of designer boutiques: Prada, Burberry, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, just to name a few. Quickly realizing that this was not the place for us, we made a quick exit and decided to look around on our own for awhile. Unfortunately, KL isn't like some of the other cities I've seen, like Tokyo or Prague or even Paris, where a walking-tour of the city's centre is a worthwhile endeavor. That's not to say it cannot be done here, but we weren't making much headway. After about an hour of walking, we hadn't seen anything but stinky, overcrowded roads, and tall, plebeian skyscrapers. We finally decided to try and get a guided tour of what was worth seeing or visiting. Quickly ducking into the Sheraton Hotel, which just happened to be nearby, we "borrowed" the concierge, who kindly gave us some brochures for a tour company and the services they offered. Since we were not in our own hotel, which was far away at this point, we decided which tour we wanted to go on, figured out how to use a payphone, and rang up the company. They gave us a meeting time and place, which was in front of yet another hotel in the vicinity. A few hours later, we found ourselves in the back of an air-conditioned sedan, being driven around by a local, and being shown all the best parts of KL. It was explained to us that small, private tours are now in-vogue, and having a personal tour-guide show us the city in his car was commonplace, and much more pleasant for the clients (us) -- something I would definitely agree with.

Our first stop was the Batu Caves, a site outside the city limits, which is essentially a place of Hindu worship. Some of you may have seen a glimpse of the caves on shows like Ripley's Believe It or Not, when they show scenes from the yearly mortification ritual where pilgrims skewer their bodies with sharp meathook-like implements attached to cords, which are kept taut by other pilgrims, as they ascend the 272 stone steps leading to the entrance of the caves, carrying items like heavy jugs in an effort to curry favour from the gods for their acts of penance.

After this, we visited a pewter factory, whose operations were explained to us in a rapid, impersonal, almost reticent manner, before we were let loose in the factory showroom, under the watchful eye of several grandiloquent employees, whose bored expressions were likely directly correlated to the number of customers in the store, and who were accustomed to a much richer, turgid clientele. Nevertheless, we purchased several items for our display cabinet -- a pewter sake set consisting of a jug and three cups.

On our tour we also stopped to monkey with a rubber tree from what used to be a rubber plantation. The dried sap on the tree bark being a source of cheap amusement as we stopped to have our photo taken under the shade of its branches. The tour guide then explained to us the process of transforming the sap into usable rubber, as well as the economic implications of the invention of artificial rubber and the necessity of Malaysia's eventual change from having been a major supplier of the world's natural rubber.

Then, we stopped at a Batik workshop, watching how artists create the multicoloured floral cloth patterns which make Malaysia famous. This, unfortunately, is where Bonnie had her prescription sunglasses stolen, having left them somewhere and a light-fingered employee having picked them up after we departed. No amount of phone calls, pleas or even threats from our tour guide were able to recover them. I sincerely hope that our guide made good on his promise that his company would no longer take their clients to that shop as a result.

We then saw a traditional leather-tanning factory and shop, whose products were much too expensive for reasonable consideration, although I never knew you could make leather products from exotic animals like stingrays or ostriches. Following this, we made our way to Independence Square, which is where Malaysia celebrated the end of a hundred years of British colonial rule in 1957. This also near KL's oldest Anglican church, the National Mosque, and other major sites.

Our next-to-final stop was the Menara Kuala Lumpur tower -- Malaysia's version of the CN Tower in Toronto. The view was great and since the Petronas Towers are closed on Mondays, we couldn't go up there to take a look around. This officially concluded our tour but our guide said he was willing to drop us off anywhere in the area, so we chose Chinatown. This is the best place to do some shopping when in KL. Absolutely everything for sale -- absolutely everything's cheap and absolutely everything's FAKE. I've never seen such a large collection of counterfeit designer label clothing, jewelry, accessories, handbags, watches, perfume, DVDs, CDs, and anything else you could imagine buying in a high-priced shopping mall. The look-alikes are quite remarkable -- the lads over in Korea or China who produce these things do a very good job making everything look as authentic as possible. However even the shopkeepers don't try to pretend that what they are selling is real. Everyone knows what it is -- it's only a matter of how much you're willing to pay for that fake Rolex or those look-alike Levis jeans.

I could write an entire five-page blog entry about KL's Chinatown alone, but I will satisfy myself with just one story in our two trips to this alien place. When our tour guide dropped us off, he cautioned us about never paying anything more than half of the asking price for any of the items on sale. One discovers very quickly that even this is not a good rule, as many items can be purchased for much less than that even. One young entrepreneur tried to unload a knockoff pastel Louis Vuitton purse on me for 300 RM (Ringgits) which is about $100 Canadian. I got him down to a measly $16 as he snatched my 50 RM note with a look of disgust and tossed the purse at me. Bonnie felt even a little sorry for the guy until I told her that unless he made at least SOME money on me he wouldn't have sold me the item at all -- it's just that I took a bigger chunk out of his margin than what he would've liked.

Anyway, we were browsing through the congested street lined with street stalls and packed with all sorts of people, the din of dozens people jabbering away in at least four languages simultaneously, when I stopped in front a card table laden with DVD covers in a binder. I started flipping through the binder when the table's owner, a young Malaysian - perhaps 18 or so, urged me,

"Don't look at that.... I'll take you to my shop. I have a much bigger selection than that! Come with me -- it's not far from here."

I was reluctant. "I dunno, man. I've got my wife here looking at stuff. I shouldn't leave her."

"No, it's O.K. My shop's not far. You'll see."

"Nah, I don't think so. I don't want to lose my wife. There's lots of people here."

"You won't lose her. Just let her shop and I'll take you right back here when we're done."

I was still reluctant, but against my better judgment I agreed. Bonnie was a little surprised but didn't say anything other than a quick warning to the young Malaysian that he'd better not take longer than 10 minutes or she would go looking for me.

"Don't worry. My shop's not far. I'll take your husband there and then straight back. In one piece too. You'll see."

We set off. The next thing I knew I was jogging behind this Malaysian black-market DVD dealer, ducking through alleyways, behind shops, past trash bags, through side streets, until we arrived at a Chinese restaurant. "Great," I thought. "We'll go in there and the next thing I know, I'll have five Chinese guys jump out from nowhere, beat the crap outta me and steal all my money."

We entered the restaurant. The Malaysian was still moving quickly. "Come on, this way," he beckoned as he walked through the dining room and into the kitchen area. "Come on..."

"Ok," I thought. Any time now.... But he kept going and kept telling me to follow, until we ended up at the back of the Chinese restaurant. I looked around, my eyes adjusting from the bright contrast of the kitchen to the low light of the area we were standing in. Sure enough, confirming my worst fears, five Chinese guys came out from nowhere. But before I even had a chance to react, my Malaysian guide jabbered something in Cantonese to them, presumably telling them that I was alright and that I came with him.

As I looked around, I saw boxes and boxes just stuffed to the brim with DVDs in Mylar pouches. My Malaysian guide took me over to a box and said,

"Just start going through the boxes. Take out any DVDs you're interested in. When you're done I'll give you a good price."

So, I did as he said, flipping through boxloads of movies, many of which I hadn't even heard of, since they had just barely made it onto the big screen in North America, let alone DVD, let alone movie theatres in Japan. I picked out a sampling of movies, making sure to stay within my budget, and paying the Malaysian, who promptly spat out some more Cantonese at the Chinese guys as he gave them my money. He then proceeded to put my purchase into an opaque, black, plastic bag, thanking me, and leading me back to where we started -- ducking through the same alleys and back streets we took the first time. As promised, only 10 minutes had elapsed, with Bonnie too engrossed in her own shopping and haggling to even worry about the fact that I had just returned. In one piece. As promised.

Spending only three days in Malaysia is not nearly enough as you might well imagine. Our second day we decided not to do much of anything and were satisfied with lounging by the hotel's artificial lagoon and taking the water-taxi to the fancy pool at the Palace of the Golden Horses. In the evening we got together with Bonnie's cousin who happened to be living and working in KL with his family for a stint. They were very much Canadian, but rapidly getting used to their new lifestyle, having spent a year there already. The third and final day we shopped some more in Chinatown and spent the day going around KL.

We finally caught a taxi to the airport at about 8 p.m., ready to board our 11 p.m. flight for the next leg of our holiday -- the Czech Republic. Here's the real kicker though. Arriving at the airport just before 9, we were informed that our flight was delayed until 6 a.m., meaning that we would have to spend another night in KL -- except this time at the airline's expense, at a no-star motel near the airport. I will spare my readers the grim details surrounding this most unpleasant layover, other than mentioning the highlight of it -- meeting a fellow delayed traveler -- a Hungarian fellow named Attila. He and his family were returning from a vacation in South-East Asia, and were also not very amused by the delay. Fortunately though, we found each other at the hotel bar, drinking some beers and making the time pass more quickly. I even learned some Hungarian. I learned how to say "Cheers!" (appropriately enough): hege-shegede.

Up and at-em' at 3:30 a.m. Barely two hours of rest (can't really call it sleep) before loading up onto the shuttle bus and heading back to the airport. The plane left for Vienna exactly as promised -- 6 a.m. Next stop: Vienna. It was a long, boring flight, but happily, once again we had the in-flight entertainment of the Boeing 777. It won't save you from the tedium of a long flight, but it does help. By early afternoon local time, we were in Vienna's unimpressively small airport, looking for a shuttle bus to the Sud-Banhoff, where we would hop on the next express train to Prerov, Czech Republic.

Though we had a rather significant travel delay, it amounted to little more than a few hours in the end, due to the train schedule. Nevertheless, I was very concerned about my grandmother who had promised to meet us at the train station when we arrived. By some miracle however, I was able to fire off a quick e-mail from the airport in KL the night before, and by an even larger miracle, my parents were able to read it and convey the message to my grandma so she wouldn't be hopelessly waiting for two passengers that wouldn't arrive.

Our time in the Czech Republic seemed awfully short. It's hard to believe we were there about 11 days. Our first few days were spent with my maternal grandmother, in Prerov, a town of 60,000 people in Moravia. We did what we set out to do -- visit family, see the sites and eat amazing Czech food, of course imbibing even more famous Czech beer. About a day into our visit to Moravia, we were joined by my parents who also served as tour guides, giving us the compressed, 5-star, insane-rush tour of the countryside... It wasn't long before we were back on the train, headed for Prague. Prague itself deserves a minimum of several days to explore, preferably a few weeks or even months if you want to be thorough and not feel extremely rushed. Unfortunately this was not a luxury granted us, and if there would have been any more stress, I'm sure Bonnie would have jumped off the Charles Bridge into the Vltava River. In the end, however, we both had a good time and we look forward to visiting again. The only caveat, I believe, is that in future visits we try to see less and take our time more, for the sake of sanity -- even if it means not seeing everything or visiting everyone. But as you may have already guessed, most of our trips to date, including Canada in the Spring, were no different.

On our last evening in Prague, we visited my paternal grandmother for the second and final time, and were joined by my aunt (father's sister) as well. After a simple supper of head cheese and beer, we were off to the train station to take the 11 p.m. sleeper back to Vienna, and on our way home to Japan. I will spare you the gory details of this trip, as I don't even know where to begin writing about the 22-hour marathon that took us back into Malaysia before allowing us to be back in Japan. The only thing I'm going to mention is that a lot of the journey was waiting at airports, trying to catch-up on sleep and stressing out about making all our connections smoothly to arrive back in Kofu past midnight, only to get up to go to work in the morning. As far as whirlwind trips go, this was a doozie!

I'm sure that by now, everyone but our good friends and family have assumed that Bonnie and I have fallen off the planet, or at least been seriously maimed in the last major earthquake. Fortunately, neither is true, but our lives have been seriously busy, even more than usual in the past few months.

First of all, to all our friends and family who we had a chance to meet on our brief trip/visit to Canada, thanks for the good time! It's hard to say when we'll be back but if Bonnie gets her way, it'll be a bit sooner than two years from now. Otherwise, we will be heading to Europe this summer so Bonnie can meet my grandmothers and other relatives, as well as see what the Czech Republic is really like. We will be stopping over in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia for a few days and then continuing on after that. It promises to be another whirlwind tour just like Canada was, but maybe a little more relaxing given that we don't have quite so many people to meet with while we're there. Most of our time will likely be spent sightseeing and touring.

Well, now for the scoop since my January Blog entry. March was the end of the Japanese school year, so our trip Canada was conveniently arranged for the 10 days between the old and new school terms -- one of the more expensive times to travel to/from Japan just for that reason. One of the main reasons for our trip was to liquidate all the items in our mini-storage unit in Edmonton that was costing us about $140 a month. We figured that for the amount we've already paid, plus the amount we would be bound to pay in the future would at least amount to the value of our stuff.... At least all the replaceable items, anyway. So, After a brief stopover visit in Abbottsford, B.C. to visit some of Bonnie's family, we made our way to Edmonton, rented a big, white cargo van and got started on sorting through boxes, donating many items to charity, and bringing most of our furniture to auction. Certain things were taken to Bonnie's parents' farm, along with a bunch of boxes containing stuff we weren't quite ready to part with, and perhaps never will. A lot of it was photography-related, books, sentimental stuff and other assorted things. Despite the rush, we were both glad to meet up with as many of our friends and family as we could, do so some shopping for things that are unobtainable or at least difficult to get in Japan, and enjoy some of the food and go to the restaurants we miss over here.

It's nearly impossible to compile our entire trip into a paragraph or two, but that was pretty much the gist of it all. On our next trip we expect to have a lot more time to visit with people and catch up on lost time.

After we returned to Japan, the next challenge was work-related. Bonnie had to adjust to a new work schedule, and I had to re-interview for my job -- a position which technically I never should have gotten in the first place, as it's normally given to people from Des Moines, Iowa as part of a sister-city exchange program that happens every year. On the other hand, if it weren't for the occasional non-Iowan, the program would be hard-up finding all the teachers they require to fill the city's teaching positions. As I'm on good terms with pretty much all my co-workers, principals, and school board administrators, I think everything should turn out well even though I haven't received official word of my status just yet.

Since the beginning of the new school year, I've taken another trip to Kyoto. This time, it was more of a business trip than anything. Every year, 9th grade junior-high school students across Japan take a "school trip" that lasts about three days. Kyoto is one of the most popular destinations. I decided to try to get myself included in the trip, as it would be a refreshing break from teaching regular classes, while allowing me a chance to develop a closer relationship with some of my students. It was a fine trip, and I will only point out some of the notable oddities that made it unique.

First of all, let me say that this was my first time to ride the Shinkansen, or Japanese bullet train. It's definitely an interesting experience to be moving across land at speeds exceeding 300km/h. Usually traveling that fast is associated with being in an airplane. Yes, it's expensive.... But if you come to Japan, it's worthwhile to try out, and it certainly gets you from A to B pretty darned quickly.

When we arrived in Kyoto, our first destination was actually the town of Nara. Nara, like Kyoto, used to be Japan's capital city at one point in history -- it's actually even more ancient than Kyoto. It's famous for it's temple that houses the largest Buddha sculpture in Japan... It's absolutely massive! To illustrate it's sheer size, there is a wooden pillar with a hole running through it standing in the temple. The hole is the same size as Buddha's nostril. It's large enough for many of my junior-high school students to crawl through the hole and emerge from the other end quite nicely. They say it's good luck to do so... I'm sure I would get stuck, though. In fact, there is a bit of a love affair with the giant Buddha’s nose.

It's Japanese custom to memorialize events like trips with tons of photographs, and buying sweets and other souvenirs as gifts for friends, co-workers, family and even themselves. In recent years, a local such snack "okashi" has become popular. It's called: "Daibutsu no hanakuso." It means: "The Great Buddha's Booger." That's right. For about $5 USD you can buy a plastic bag, containing a gritty, grainy, brownish ball about the size of a large apple, claiming to be a booger from the Buddha's giant nose! Some have criticized the company who makes the snack, saying it's irreverent and inappropriate. Indeed! Can you imagine the outcry if someone were to start selling Jesus's toenail clippings or perhaps Muhammad's ear wax? Yikes! In any event, irrevernce aside, I thought it was pretty funny so, not being a devout Buddhist, I bought a few of them to show my friends and for Bonnie to taste-test... No reports yet on how they were. Interestingly enough, Nara is also known for herds and herds of deer to roam the temple grounds. Visitors are encouraged to buy special "sembe" or rice-crackers to feed the deer who will happily eat from your hand. They start to get a little rude when you are down to your last cracker, and are being mobbed by about six hungry deer... I was content to merely watch while my students fed the herd... In fact, I irresponsibly dared one of the students to try and "ride" one of the deer, as both he and the deer were about the right size to try it... After much heckling and urging on from his friends, he finally mounted the deer, grabbed his antlers, while the deer just stood there idly, not caring in the least what was happening to him, all in the mean time, scanning the crowd of people for more "sembe" crackers. This influx of deer, of course, has resulted in massive quantities of deer droppings just about everywhere but inside the temples themselves, into which the deer, presumably, are not allowed to enter. A Buddhist fellow explained to me that for them, deer were sacred animals, but the smell and prevalence of deer droppings was most unholy. Nevertheless, that hasn't dissuaded local manufacturers from producing another popular "okashi" or candy: "shika no fun" or deer turds. As you might expect, small bags of chocolate-covered nuts are the commodity in question, and the packaging involves cartoon-drawn deer with embarrassed expressions on their faces. If you can get beyond what you're "supposed to be" eating, they're really quite tasty...

Modern Japanese school trips are quite unlike anything I've ever heard of in North America. Arriving at the hotel that evening, another teacher asked me where I was planning on going the next day. I responded that I would go wherever the school was going to go. He looked a bit confused, but explained to me that the students would be going to a number of different spots, in different parts of the city. As such, I was free to roam around and do my own thing. Still not understanding fully, I solicited the explanatory aid of one of the Japanese-English teachers on the trip, who clarified for me that students were split up into about 30 groups or so, and each small group had made their own itinerary and would be scattered throughout Kyoto all day... getting around from place to place by taxi, of which the school had reserved an entire fleet! The teachers would be posted at several key "checkpoints," watching for students and providing assistance and supervision if/when necessary. So, I chose a number of locations where my students were visiting throughout the day, and following the lead of the Japanese teachers, looking out for our students, saying hello to them occasionally, and making sure they weren't goofing off too much, all while enjoying the sights and attractions Kyoto had to offer. It was all very interesting, and I discovered, much to my pleasant surprise, that as a schoolteacher in a Japanese school, I merely had to show a bit of ID to indicate that I was indeed a junior-high school teacher from Kofu accompanying students on a school trip, and all admission fees were waived! It's rare to have such a wonderful privilege as exploring Kyoto's most famous ancient landmarks free-of-charge. I guess that's the reimbursement we get for putting up with 140 screaming 15-year olds for three days.

Not two weeks after that, Bonnie and I had a chance to visit the World Expo in Nagoya, Aichi Prefecture. For many Canadians of our generation, Expo '86 in Vancouver was where we would have last caught this event. For generations before us, I believe Montreal hosted one sometime in the '60s. The theme of the expo was one of "nature" or co-existing with nature, which implied many ecological and environmental topics. Though many countries tried to comply with this, at least half of them set up a pavilion that represented their country alone and little more, while completely ignoring the theme, or paying it lip service at best. As far as the theme itself is concerned, however, I was deeply disappointed. There was nothing natural about it. The government had to destroy and cut down hectares of pristine forest to build the expo site. Then, when it was all paved over and wrought with ATMs, restaurants, glass-and-steel buildings, they re-created an artificial, high-tech nature, providing grass rooftops on otherwise 21st century architectural marvels, scattering hydroponically grown plants and flowers, and placing trees atop scaffolding.

Nevertheless, the overall experience proved quite enjoyable, and given the chance, Bonnie and I will try to visit again in September, before the expo closes down. All the different pavilions are fun to peruse through, and the different countries provide for a diverse cultural experience. The Canadians have provided genuine "mounties" in their trademark red uniforms, and a team of "genuine Canadians" for Japanese visitors to talk to and interview about their everyday lives. The Cubans have an "authentic" Cuban bar set up where you can take a break from the heat and sip on some 'mojitos' or maybe a 'Cuba Libre.' Then, after getting inspired by a photo gallery of Ernest Hemmingway, you can browse their small, but nicely stocked humidor. They have famous brands like "Romeo & Juliettas" or "Cohibas," made popular by American 'gonzo' journalist Hunter S. Thompson. If cigars aren't your thing, you can sit and watch a short movie presentation about the country. I had the chance to speak to a young, Cuban tour guide both in Spanish, then in French when I found out he studied at Laval University in Montreal. Cubans are really lovely people. Some day I know I'll visit.

Bonnie found interest in the Yemen pavilion. We were purposely seeking out interesting countries where we didn't have to wait for hours to gain admission, and this was definitely one of them. The Yemenites had set up a genuine bazaar or market, selling hand-made jewelry, cloths, coffee, spices and other traditional items. It was fully expected you would haggle with the shopkeepers, and most Japanese, despite their nature of not engaging in "bargaining" seemed to be getting a pretty good hang of it. Those boys are sharp though. You are unlikely to escape without having purchased something, especially if you allow one of them to place a trinket into your hand to examine. Within five minutes of entering, it went something like this:

A shopkeeper (placing a garnet necklace into Bonnie's hand): Beautiful. It is beautiful on you. Genuine garnet stone. High quality.

Bonnie: Very nice. I like it.

Shopkeeper: I give you good price. Best price only for you. Special expo deal only.

Bonnie: Thank you. That's very nice.

Atley (cynically): Ok... How much?

Shopkeeper: Only 2,500 yen.

Atley (taking the necklace and handing it back to the shopkeeper): Nooooooo.... Thank you. That's too expensive.

Shopkeeper (not giving the least indication that he might take the necklace back): No problem. What you give me?

Atley: The price I will give you is too low... You won't like what I have to say.

Shopkeeper (unwavering): No. What you give me? If too low, I say no and we still be friends.

Bonnie (to Atley): Offer him 1,000. He won't go for that....

Atley (to shopkeeper): Ok. fine. 1,000 yen..... (Extending arm to give the necklace back).

Shopkeeper (hesitating and grimacing): Mmmmmm... mmmmm... Okay. You have deal.

Bonnie: (unintelligible muttering).

Atley (to a grinning Bonnie, while handing money to a grinning shopkeeper): Well, there you go, Ms. "Offer him 1,000 - it's too low." Now you've committed. Next time, don't let him put anything into your hand or we're not going to walk out of here with two yen left to rub together.

It turned out to be an interesting shopping trip as a result.... The Czech pavilion was my favorite. Upon walking in, It looks like someone was on some serious hallucinogenic drugs when they came up with the concept for the pavilion. After a while, I began to understand what was going on... For those who "get it" it's an absolutely amazing pavilion.... Really, quite brilliant! It took me about 15 minutes to "get it" but some visitors, obviously never did, as they came and left within two minutes, shaking their heads and muttering in confusion something about "crazy Czechs" and having absoultely nothing to do with the country.

When you entered the pavilion, you walked through a curvy, twisty, white, round tunnel-like entrance, much like a cross between round door to a hobbit hole from Tolkienian folklore and an airlock from some Cold-War era Soviet space station design. When you reach the inside, you are greeted by a large chamber, with all sorts of Dali-esque surreal things going on all around you. There are strange images being projected on walls, there is an old grand piano standing in a pool of water with its cover removed and strings exposed, steel pipes, hanging wooden planks, all placed upon oversized "steps" which lead up to the top of the pavilion. The shape of the room is reminiscent of a theatre house, with the pool containing the piano in the area where an orchestra or choir would normally be on a stage, and all the other items scattered about in the areas where an audience would normally sit to listen to a concert.

It took me a little while to understand. The entire point of the pavilion was to illustrate the theme of the expo. Everything in the "amphitheatre" was in some way connected to nature. It was either "made" from natural materials, or used "nature" in some way to achieve a visual or sound effect. The visitors to the pavilion played the part of the actors and musicians as well as the audience and would operate the musical instruments and visual effects devices, many of which looked like Rube Goldberg machines from some alternate reality. The resulting cacophony was not at all unpleasant, but reminiscent of a clockwork with all sorts of clicking, humming, chiming, whirling, and tapping going on as people were allowed to "play" with virtually everything in the room. It was very much a "hands-on" experience that seemed to appeal to the children especially, but even any adult with a playful streak.

After exiting the "theatre" there was a small shop selling genuine Czech crystal and jewelry. Next door to this was a "genuine" Czech cafe or pub (hybrid) that offered imported Czech beer on tap (Praha Krusovice) and typical Czech dishes, served by typical, apathetic and slightly rude Czech waiters brought in just for the expo. I certainly felt very much at-home yelling, "Pane vrchni. Dva krat pivo, prosim." (Waiter... Two beers please.)... Then waiting for the fellow to take his sweet time bringing the beer, not surprised in the slightest having some Czech guy talking to him in his own language in the heart of Japan... The attitude and ambience were so well done, we could have been sitting in any pub or cafe in Prague. We indulged in both food and drink, and I was so happy I could burst! It had been a long time since I had genuine Czech beer on tap, along with good, authentic Czech food. What made it absolutely amazing was the fact that they had brought in a team of professional celebrity chefs from daily Czech TV cooking shows. The food may have been traditional pub fare in Europe, but the presentation and taste were truly world-class. I spoke to one of the chefs who seemed genuinely tickled that we enjoyed the food so much, and I think a little relieved as well, to speak in Czech with someone who was completely oblivious to his celebrity status and wasn't asking him to sign his autograph on his latest cookbook.

More about expo in a future Blog... For now, I will try to get the photos developed. I do encourage anyone who has the financial means and time away from work to visit expo. Even if it isn't this one in Japan, I think it's one of those things that should be experienced at least once in a lifetime...

The next major event currently occurring in our lives is moving! Yes, after two years living in the same apartment, it looks like it's time to pack up and move into another place in Kofu.

"For the love of all that's good.. WHY?!?!"

Well, things in Japan (especially whatever is related to renting accommodations) are very different than in North America. In an earlier Blog (or in my coming-to-Japan notes on my website, I forgot which), I may have mentioned the procedure involved in finding and moving into a Japanese apartment or rental accommodation. For the sake of those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I will digress briefly to provide a primer to this mysterious, and frequently frustrating topic...

First of all, it should be understood that Japan is one of the few countries in the world where buying a house is just as much of an investment opportunity as buying a car: they both depreciate. Yes, that is correct, folks. If you build a house, mortgage it and try to sell it in 10 to 25 years, there is no way you will ever get the amount you purchased it for! As strange as this may sound, it is largely due to the Japanese disdain for anything "old" or "used." Sure, the price of the land may increase (though it is definitely offset by the depreciating house that sits on it) but when/if it's finally time to get rid of real estate, it's much more common to "renovate" the house. In Japan, "renovation" really means bulldozing the old structure and erecting a brand new one. Last year, one of our neighbours "renovated" their house this way. The other options are either to pass it down to the children and keep the property in the family, or abandon the house and move elsewhere. The last option is also very common. The country seems to be virtually littered with houses and small apartments of all sizes and shapes that have fallen into disrepair, but no one wishes to fix (remember, it's still an "old" house -- even if you redo the interior and exterior) so no one will wish to move there, or the money involved in demolishing the old structure is more than paying property taxes on it.

Such paradoxes make house (or apartment) hunting frustrating but on many occasions work out in the favour of the tenant. One common method of finding a new place to live is to simply walk (or drive) through neighbourhoods where you would like to live and look for houses that look either vacant or abandoned. This is so common, you will easily end up with several prospects in a matter of hours. Next, ask the neighbours or local grandparents you see wandering about if they know who lives in the house in question, and if nobody, who the landlord/owner is. The Japanese word for "landlord" is 'oyasan.' In an ideal situation you may walk away with a name and phone number of the oyasan whom you can then phone and ask if they would consider renting the house to you. If they are open-minded enough to not mind renting a place to "gaikokujin" (foreigners) there is a pretty good chance that you will walk off with a much nicer deal than the other option, which is to hire a realtor.

In Japan, real estate agencies are very different from North American ones. We are used to having realtors only deal with selling/buying residential properties, whereas the bulk of the Japanese market lies in renting -- something that is usually restricted to commercial space in North America. 90% of the time, unless you have the time/patience/language skills/bargain-hunting motivation to find your own place (there are no "for rent" ads in the local newspapers -- at least none that I can understand) you will have to approach a real estate agency (Japanese: "furosan") to help you find accommodations.

In North America, costs involved in hiring a real estate agent (commission) are usually the responsibility of the seller, not the buyer. In Japan, the opposite is true. When you rent any given place, it is customary to pay the equivalent of one month's rent to the realtor in commission fees.

Then, like in North America, you are expected to pay a security deposit (also called a damage deposit in some areas) to the landlord. In Japanese, the word is "shikikin." Where I'm from, (by law) the maximum amount for a damage deposit is no more than one month's rent. In Japan, there is no such requirement, hence the average deposit amount is two month's rent, although deviation from the norm in either direction is certainly possible. Then, another strange little cultural anomaly is something called, "reikin" in Japanese. Literally translated, it means "reward money" or "deep thank-you money," but most commonly translated into English as "key money." This is essentially a bribe you pay to the landlord to "thank him/her" for their generosity in renting you their building. This is also usually one month's rent but again, deviations from this are possible (though not usual). If anything, key money is slowly falling by the wayside as nowadays Japan is a tenant's market and there are much more vacant spaces than people to fill them so more and more landlords are discovering that they can attract prospective renters much quicker by omitting this "thank you fee" even though it's money for nothing -- money you will never see again. The history of reikin as it was explained to me, stems back from the era immediately following the second world war, when housing was scarce, and this shortage resulted in the Japanese custom of offering "gifts" in exchange for favours becoming a national institution that has stuck around until now. I mean, let's face it, why would a landlord say "no" to free money for doing absolutely nothing?

So, have you been keeping a running total in your head? If not, let me summarize it for you. That was: 1 month's rent for the realtor's commission, two month's damage deposit, one month's key money, and don't forget the first month's rent when you move in. All of this equals about 5 month's rent just to get into a place. Now, there are some other odds and ends that must be taken care of. If you want cable TV, you will likely have to pay an additional 3,000 yen a month -- and this may not be an optional charge if your apartment is listed as having "CATV included." Then, if you are moving into a house (rather than an apartment) there's a good chance you may have to pay community association fees of about 2,000 yen. This is not unlike condominium fees back home. They also serve similar functions as well. Then, unless it's a house, you will likely pay parking fees if you own a vehicle. 5,000 yen is a standard sum.
So let's summarize. Startup costs: 5 month's rent, plus an additional 5-10,000 yen per month for other expenses. Let's assume you are considering an apartment that's about 50,000 yen per month for rent. (In Canadian dollars, that's about $568) . This, by the way is on the low end of the rent spectrum. (In larger cities like Osaka or Tokyo, add at least 20 or 30,000 more). Add an additional 5,000 yen for cable TV/community fees or parking, making it about 55,000. Multiply that by 5, and the grand total is.......(drum roll please)..... 275,000 yen ($3125 CDN)! That's no small change! We were lucky that when we arrived, the company that hired us worked out all the paperwork with our realtor and lent us the money to get the apartment, which we repaid to our employer on a monthly installment basis over six months. So, why are we moving? Let me explain.

The usual contract term for renting a place in Japan is two years. After two years you are expected to either re-contract for another two-year term, or vacate the premises. The former is much more common than the latter for obvious reasons, as finding a new location would require paying all the aforementioned fees all over again... Fortunately, many people (especially foreigners) have gotten wise to this and as uncustomary as the concept of "bargaining" is to most Japanese, it seems to be prevalent in the real estate industry. You can easily haggle back and forth for quite some time with the landlord, with the realtor as the middle-man, as to whether you can get the place you want for a discounted monthly rental rate or a reduction in key money or deposit fees. When we were first shown our apartment, the landlord wanted 67,000 yen for rent. Our manager (from work) offered 50,000 a month, which was accepted after brief deliberation. Better to accept 17,000 yen a month less than to risk not receiving ANY income for potentially a very long time. It's a renter's market, remember?

Well, our re-contracting time came and went. It actually was back in the beginning of March, but we were not informed of anything until the second week of May. We received a letter from our realtor, explaining that we would be required to pay 67,000 to re-contract for another two years. This fee, apparently, covers the cost of property taxes and whatnot for the landlord. Needless to say, we were less than impressed as we didn't know this before. If we had, we would have been saving up for this fee. On the bright side, we could have ended up paying a lot more, as in many places it's also common to pay another round of reikin (key money) for the new two-year term. Nevertheless, I would not have been so reluctant to dish out the cash if it hadn't been for our miserable neighbours making our stay a lot more troublesome. To summarize quickly, we've got a next-door neighbour with a dog (in a no-pets-allowed building) that craps all over the walkway to our apartment because they tend to keep their front door open quite often, which lets the dog out. The stupid mutt also barks for hours on end, even with our neighbours being at home. It just isn't a priority to them to get their dog to stop barking. Also, these people have kept a junk-heap next to their apartment door for the past two years. We're talking bags of empty cans for recycling, gasoline canisters, tools, garbage, flower pots, boxes, and assorted junk just piled up in a large, nasty heap. All our complaints to them and the landlord have gone completely unheeded. The only complaint that the landlord ever listened to from us was to stop the neighbours from parking a huge construction-area dump truck in front of the apartment, not only causing a eyesore, but narrowing an already ridiculously narrow street. Downstairs, we have some crying colicky babies and the older ones play basketball in the house: thump-a-thump-a-thump-a.... at all hours. Since many Japanese people get up very early, by six a.m. (which is even early for me -- I get up at seven) I've got washing machines running, doors slamming, TVs blaring, people shouting, dogs barking, cats in heat yowling, babies crying, people beating out their futons on the balcony railing, trains rumbling though, truck back-up beepers beeping, delivery truck arriving all while I'm trying to catch that last hour of sleep before waking up. On the weekends it gets more interesting. Then, in addition to all of the above, I've got trucks with loudspeakers selling stuff door-to-door playing marching music, firecrackers going off (to mark off the hour -- every hour) and kids playing outside, since they don't have to go to school.

Anyway, I've digressed. My point was, that I really did not feel like I was getting my 67,000 yen's worth paying for all of these crazy little annoyances that seem to have added up over the past two years. I explained this to my realtor, in the hopes of arriving at some sort of understanding to either action some of the things that could be dealt with, such as the dog crapping and barking issue, or offering some kind of discount on the re-contracting fee. A friend told us that his friend had been presented with a re-contracting fee, to which this fellow just said, "in that case, I'm just going to move out." The realtor very quickly dropped the issue and said, not to worry about it -- they would rather have him stay than leave. I guess results in this regard may vary. I've been also told by others that re-contracting fees should not be so high -- frequently they are only about 1/2 a month's rent or so.

When I mentioned some of this to my realtor in Japanese, (through an exceedingly polite Japanese lady friend of ours) , the realtor told us that we should still pay half of the re-contracting fee if we decided to move out. Until this time, though, the boss of the realty hadn't been present for the earlier conversation so when he walked in he didn't quite know exactly what was going on -- but he did have SOME idea, as when he entered the room and saw me sitting there with my Japanese translator, he muttered to himself in Japanese that was still audible enough for us to catch, "Aww, man... Must be those bloody neighbours again...." Anyway, when he was caught up to speed on the full situation, he pointed out that they had sent me a re-contracting letter back in February, which I can authoritatively deny having received. At this point I went into "irate foreigner" mode and just about lost my nuggets and started screaming. I exhibited some restraint, but not enough to stop me from raising my voice, glaring and starting to speak angrily in English - very, very quickly. I demanded to know why nobody had contacted me IF indeed they had sent a letter to me back in February and I hadn't replied. I said that in any normal country that was running any normal business would follow up if they hadn't herd back for three months. I told him very directly that I was calling his bluff, and that the only letter I had ever received was the one from last week, and he could rest assured that if I had gotten his earlier letter, I would have been in his office complaining long before this. All of this was dramatically enacted for him in a mix of my angry, bad Japanese, mixed in with my translator's good Japanese, and me telling my translator to try and use "more rude" language in expressing my ideas, instead of the usual, hyper-polite keigo (honorific Japanese). The boss of the firm, obviously intimidated, just put on the biggest, cat-swallowed-a-canary grin he could muster, and kept saying not to worry, that we would work something out and that he would "take my situation under consideration." When we returned a few days later to give formal notice of moving out, the situation was all but resolved. It seems that my "suggestion" of merely paying a pro-rated amount of the re-contracting fee, representative of how many months beyond March was reasonable enough by their reckoning and would be "sufficient." We also asked when we should move out by, and the realtor said that if we gave a month's notice, everything would be alright. So, we notified them that June would be our last month and that we'd be moving out by the end of it.

Well, that makes our June a ridiculously busy month! Fortunately we don't have a lot of furniture and heavy items... The move will be within the city so actual "packing into boxes" will be minimal. I'd say most things will just get loaded into our van, and unloaded at our destination which is still in the works.

Alright, that's it for now. As usual, please send an e-mail or something. We're happy to hear from you all. I will try to post some more pictures as soon as I can -- especially from my most recent Kyoto trip. By the way, as you may have already guessed, my photos did not win the photo competition, despite having successfully passed through the first two stages of screening. I will decide by the end of summer whether or not I will enter again next year.

Ok… And last time I thought five pages was long. This Blog entry weighs in at 13. Whoa! Well, props to you if you read it all…. See you next time!

Happy New Year, everyone! Our friends who have lived in Japan for a long time were right! The first year flies by so fast, you can hardly even believe it. So it was for us. The second year isn’t proving to be much different, as like the first, we keep so busy we hardly have time to catch our breath.

Every weekend, we have all the best intentions to take it easy, relax, study Japanese, send out postcards, finally mail our Christmas and birthday presents…. Sound familiar? Well, despite my best intentions of sending out NOT one, but TWO postcards before the year was out, resulted in – you guessed it – zero. I WAS, however able to mail out a large batch of “nengajo” or, traditional Japanese New Years’ cards. Then, to many others, I sent personalized e-mail nengajo cards. I hope you all got one. If I missed you, I apologize. Please send me an e-mail if that’s the case – it could be that for whatever reason, I either don’t have you in my address book or your mail has bounced… As for the postcards and presents…. Maybe this coming weekend. (Yeah, right)!

Just a quick update on the Japan Times photo competition: thanks to everyone who took the time to visit the website to vote for my photo. The results will be announced on January 11^th or 12^th. Hopefully I will have a good showing. I hope this year will be another productive one in the way of photography. I’ve been able to assemble some good pictures in the time we’ve been in Japan. It’s been a hybrid of conventional and digital photography, although recently I’ve been playing the part of a technophobe, reverting exclusively to conventional (film) methods, despite the increased cost. I really enjoy the feel and handling of a Canon EOS SLR – and though our digital Minolta can frequently match the quality of output, I’ve been noticing more and more that my own photography improves and my overall results are better on film. Just to give you an idea, ¾ of all the photos you see on my website competition page have been taken with a film camera. Even given that a digital camera’s LCD screen allows you the luxury of reviewing the shots you just took, hence allowing you countless opportunities to re-take your picture, psychologically-speaking, (and perhaps on a subconscious level), it seems that the lack of such a feature on a regular camera gives way to taking greater care and forethought in my photography. Bonnie of course tends to argue with me on this and other aspects of digital vs. conventional photography, but in the end, I’m finding that the conventional approach is frequently the most pragmatic approach, as I rarely worry about such things as: filling up a memory card completely, the clutter of external power supply cords/cables, ensuring the high-capacity/high-output batteries are fully recharged before each shoot, just to name a few. Then of course, the very fact that I tend to review each of my shots after I take it lends to an increased time factor in taking (and subsequently re-taking) many pictures. Whereas with my film-based Canon, I load up film (never a worry of running out as virtually EVERY store in Japan is adequately stocked just in case I do), throw a spare set of AA Ni-MH batteries in my pocket (I can also buy replacement alkalines in any store just in case I forget to recharge), and I’m good to go! I snap a few shots (bracketing if I have to; so I compensate for not having an immediate image review LCD) and I can move on. Only when the lines get blurred further and we eventually purchase a digital Canon SLR, will choices prove to become more difficult. I still think that the film camera will not lose its place of honour so readily, given its relative simplicity. In the same way that a painter uses an assortment of brushes or a sculptor, a collection of chisels, will a photographer have an assortment of cameras at his disposal given the relative circumstances. Even today, a Leica rangefinder can fetch a price that supercedes all but the highest quality digital cameras on the market today, and for good reason too. I believe that in time, many amateurs-turned-semi-pro or fully professional will start to experience a counter-revolutionary reversionist ideology as they begin to understand the purpose and usefulness of older, more traditional methods. I’m not so deluded as to think that this will never change given sufficient time, but for the time being, there will likely be room for a broad spectrum of photographic media available to those who wish to seek them out and make use of them.

I’m not sure if anyone’s as prolific a reader of this blog as I tend to write somewhat lengthy entries, but hey! Bytes and pixels are cheap nowadays! If you’re still with me this far down the page, that’s great!

Now on to my latest project – piano! It’s no secret that I’ve been playing since I was young, but rediscovering an old skill or hobby always provides a great deal of enjoyment. It wasn’t too many years after I started piano lessons at age 6 that my piano teachers had concluded that I really hated studying theory so it made little sense to assign me such homework assignments as I wouldn’t do them – and what’s more, if I did do them they would be so bad that all but the most stubborn teacher would give up and teach me other things rather than beat their heads against a brick wall. Then, my disdain for classical works was legendary. It’s not that I hated classical music. Not at all! I’ve always had a high appreciation for many well-known composers. It’s just that I hated learning and playing classical works. I would much rather spend my time learning show tunes, TV and movie themes, popular music, and basically anything that would NOT advance me in becoming a competent pianist. The thing that I’ve always had going for me is that I could pick out a tune by ear and reproduce it quite well. I’ve never been a BAD player… Just one who took to playing very naturally. I became like a Grandma Moses of the music world -- a naïve artist. Someone who can put out a respectable final product but has little or no formal education in what he does. One of my teachers even got me to prepare for, and even do a Royal Conservatory exam. Your guess is as good as mine as to which grade it was and whether I even passed or not. I think I likely failed. All I vaguely remember is that it was very difficult, boring, tedious, and I didn’t have a good feeling about it when it was done.

Come my teenage years and then adulthood, I continued along the same path. I’ve always been able to sit at a piano upon anyone’s request and hammer out a few tunes to provide some entertainment… Fast-forward to my university years, I lost regular access to a piano, as well as most of my scores. It’s not that I never had a chance to sit down and play, but the opportunities were severely limited and my goals and ambitions were still immature and as a result, limited. Throughout the past 12 years, at various junctures, I have played with, and even hoped to purchase either a digital piano or something that I could play on a regular basis. The cost, however, has always been prohibitive. In Canada, at the time, a semi-decent digital piano would set you back at least $1,500 to $2,000 or more and anything less expensive sounded like a child’s toy. Not to mention the fact that transience always was a part of the equation.

Fast-forward to November, 2004. Ever since we came to Japan, I’ve been an astute observer of the prominence of low-cost digital pianos available through many Japanese retailers. Now, don’t get me wrong – when I say “cheap” I don’t mean you can decorate your living room with them, but for about 50 to 60,000 yen ($600-700CDN roughly) you can buy a respectable unit with basic functions, a full 88 weighted keys and a sound that you can live with, even though it doesn’t quite compare with the sound produced by an actual acoustic piano. I’ve been eyeballing these pianos for quite some time now and rarely pass up an opportunity to “test one out” whenever I see one in a store. Sometimes, Japanese recycle shops get them in too.

For the uninitiated, a “recycle shop” is what Japanese people call second-hand stores. To us English-speakers the stores have amusing names, proudly sporting large signs in front of their establishment that say: “Smile” or just “2.” By far, the favorite chain of stores are the “…Off…” stores. Sounding like a cross between some nouveau-vulgar teen slang word and an adult-themed anatomical term, most newcomers to Japan can’t help but smirk or even burst out laughing when they first spot the local “Hard Off” or “Book off” which are spread out across most neighborhoods and communities throughout Japan. Joining them are their siblings: “Off House,” “Hobby Off,” “Mode Off,” and “Garage Off.” Also sharing the same theme (though I believe these are not affiliated with the same company) you can sometimes find a “Car Off” for used automobiles or a “Bike Off” for used scooters and motorcycles. Usually anything from TVs and home appliances to designer jewelry and clothing can be found, frequently for very reasonable prices, due in large part to the Japanese cultural aversion to things that are “old” or “used.” It is not unusual to have items which look so new, they are still in their original packaging, with instruction manuals and accessories still wrapped in plastic. Prior to arriving in Japan, I heard a “friend-of-a-friend” story in which someone found a brand-new working TV, still with box and remote control out on the street, waiting to be picked up on garbage day. We were never so lucky. Our TV from the local rubbish heap was definitely NOT new, and there was no remote control either. Perhaps during the bubble-economy boom things were different. Nevertheless, our second TV we bought from the recycle shop was about a 34” widescreen that cost us only $100 CDN. The catch? the glass was scratched up in a few places, transforming it into the “burakumin” (Japanese equivalent of India’s “Untouchables”) of the used-electronics world. No problem for us – you can’t see the scratches with the TV on anyway.

So, it was only a matter of chance that, when I was perusing the isles of the local Hard Off when I came across a Roland HP-1 digital piano on display. The tag said: 25,000 yen (about $290 CDN) and a short explanatory note in Japanese touted the item has having cost 300,000 yen ($3,500 CDN) brand new. I asked a store employee if this was indeed accurate, and if so, why such a low price? The simple answer given to me was just: “it’s old. No one wants it.” Fair enough. When faced by such an obvious cultural oddity, I figured I might be onto something good here. What really clinched the deal was that I would even get a 3-month store warranty against breakdowns or defects. How could I go wrong?

The one odd thing about shopping at Hard Off is that they “shrink-wrap” most of their products in plastic, thus disallowing prospective buyers to try out the products prior to purchase. I suppose they make up for this in their generous return policy. I was thoroughly pleased then, when I got the piano home and re-assembled it (it’s a large, heavy beast considering it’s a digital) that the sound was quite rich and did a fine job of imitating its acoustic counterparts. I’ve since tweaked a few settings to produce an even better sound, but the feel of the weighted keys is really what makes is pleasant to play. Many digital piano manufacturers have devised all sorts of ingenious ways to imitate the “action” of a real piano. Roland does this by using actual hammers (like on a real piano) but instead of striking strings they strike rubber pressure-sensitive pads, similar to the ones you might find on a digital drum set.

Well, to make a long story short, I’ve really been enjoying my new piano! For the first time in many years I can practice regularly and work to improve my abilities rather than being content with not losing what I already know. I’ve been working hard to expand my repertoire to include many classical pieces from a variety of different composers. It’s interesting that I find myself so eager to learn material that would have caused me to abandon piano completely when I was younger. I suppose that, like everything else in life, as we grow older our tastes mature as well. If you ever read Ernest Hemmingway’s A Death in the Afternoon, he goes to great pains to describe the gradual evolution in one’s ability to appreciate a fine dry wine over a cheap, sweet one that would be enjoyed in one’s youth. At some point, claims Hemmingway, one would gladly trade in all the sweet wine he drank in his youth just for one sip of fine dry wine later on in life. Perhaps my musical tastes are taking a similar direction.

In the mean time, however, I enjoy playing a mixed repertoire, much of which involves playing in the church band. Fortunately we aren’t playing in Texas, as we have no fiddle, but we do have a couple of guitarists, a bass player and a drummer. There is a gal who would take turns with me playing the piano on alternate weekends, but effective recently, I’ve been made a more permanent member of the ensemble. The church recently informed me that they wanted to purchase a digital piano/electronic keyboard. In many bands, there is both a keyboardist and a pianist. When the pianist is playing the piano part, the keyboard player’s job is to lay some rich harmonies, utilize different synthesized instruments and achieve some really nice effects. So, I suppose in a strange sort of way, we DO have a fiddle but I still don’t think we can play in Texas. (Sorry about the obscure musical reference)….

The best part of all of this was, that I really got to choose my instrument. I submitted my proposal to the church, and they approved my selection. As a result, I opted for a Casio Privia PV-555. It’s really a nice instrument. The piano function is at best acceptable, but the range of effects and instruments rivals even some of the better pro keyboards out there, and that’s really the main reason why we bought it. It’s great for learning new pieces. I was thrilled to learn that it came with a rather large book of sheet music, much of it classified as “intermediate” and “advanced.” There’s tons of Chopin, and good selection of others, like Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Shuman, etc. This was indeed a pleasant surprise, as I was expecting a book full of “beginner” pieces and instructions on how to play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” (This IS of course included too, but it’s within the context of Mozart’s 12 Variations of it).

So now, for the past couple weeks I’ve been learning to use this new piano/keyboard effectively. We’ve had it in our home so I can practice on it. It must be quite a sight for someone to come over and see not one, but two pianos in our living room. Bonnie has been gracious about it to date, but that won’t last. This weekend we’ll move the piano to the church, and that’s where it will likely spend most of its time.

I’m going to cut this Blog entry short now, as I see I’ve exceeded the 5 page mark. Anything more would be unreasonable. Heck, I probably should have stopped at page 2 but I guess I had a lot to say.

So, I’m off to rehearse so I can give a rousing performance of John Cage’s 4’33. Then, if that goes well I will play Vexations by Erik Satie.