Fu***ing off; a personal tale of travels, triumphs and travesties.

On January 10th something big happened, I got a taste for something that wasn’t alcoholic or vegan. I attempted surfing.

Sat in the garden a few days previously, a lovely Kiwi gal offered me her wetsuit to go with the lads for a surf at Sumner Beach. As someone with generally terrible balance and with no solid recreational sport for the last 5 years of my life – except the gym – I had initially put myself forward for a laugh, expecting to fail miserably. And initially it was just that, I took the pithy bodyboard out while the big boys got up on their boards, but soon after the guys took pity on me and Aaron showed me the basics of the board and catching a wave.

Was I incredible? No. Did I faceplant? yes, many times. Did I swallow a lot of salt water? fuck yes. Did I manage to stand? YES, and even just at the crouched level that I was, I stood for a solid few seconds – and the feeling? It was bloody fucking phenomenal. I wouldn’t manage much more than that single stand but it was enough to trigger something – I wanted to try it again and again and get good.

The last time I had put myself forward for a recreational sport had been Hockey try-outs in my first year of university and the experience was, in a word; awful. Horse girls get a bad reputation for being bitchy/posh and rightfully so, but I truly believe that Hockey Girls are actually the worst. Surfing hadn’t been like this at all, everyone was so chill at my newbie status and sympathised with the falls and the muck-ups, because ultimately everyone on the board fell off eventually. And where swallowing saltwater was a universal outcome for all involved, I had nothing to feel embarrassed about.

With an abundance of boards available in the flat I decided then and there to buy a wetsuit of my own with my fourth pay – gbye saving goals. But heck has it been worth it. Since then I’ve managed to go at least once a week, getting better and better and trying new boards/beaches. This has been more wholesome than mishap, and I’m aware that if you’re here you’re likely partly interested in my mistakes more so than the successes – you sick bastards – but there have been some incredible falls. On one particularly choppy day I swallowed more saltwater than air and almost gave up. The waves were huge and I could hardly get out from being battered down and flipped over. On one wave I was flipped off the board in a way that saw my legs fully in the air and head under water and on another occasion I was pushed backwards at some pace for an age, eventually being spun forward to the point that I could stand for one sweet second.

Aside from this the moments between paddling for a wave and paddling out to the waves, when I’m just sat on the board under the sun and it’s just quiet – I feel peaceful and fucking majestic tbh. I’m aware its very basic white bitch comes to NZ/AUS and suddenly loves surfing -but call me a cliche because I have a recreational sport that I LIKE!

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SO, after quite some time I return to the keyboard, refreshed. To be clear, I lost my appetite for writing as we CRAMMED a week in Phnom Penh and Singapore – which then exploded into starting a life in New Zealand in the first week of December; so to put it mildly, we have a lot to catch up on… apologies old sport…

NZ began with the upmost chaos as we landed and decided without much forethought that Christchurch would be our new home to save and live in until it was time to hit the road again. Furthermore, Christmas/NYE was approaching and all I could think about was getting a job/flat/friends/sense of stability before the holidays really kicked off. It felt pretty intense for the first week, which was only advanced by Fraser arranging his job via email prior to our arrival and then working his first shift a mere 4 HOURS after we bloody landed. Thus, motivation to turn my feelings into words was low because all it would have been was:

what have I done.

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BUT against the odds my CV skills/emailing around saved me. We crash landed into a stunning house full of friendly, boozy Brits and I got job at a popular local restaurant ~ the next week. Despite all my worries it was surprisingly easy to do so IF you have reservations about a Working Holiday Visa (WHV) and setting yourself up, I can tell you that it is very very possible and will not cost huge amounts of $$, it just may be a little stressy when/if you come from a background of “don’t leave a job/flat unless you have another to go to.” LOL

SO with us both working and in a new house full of people the holidays came around rapidly. On Christmas Eve we hit the outside bar; Smash Palace, for a dance where I convinced one of the staff to let me hold her white fluffy cloud of a dog with a #sobstory. Following on from that 4 of us went for a Christmas day dip at New Brighton Beach and returned to an absolute feast in the garden with relative heat – not quite the Christmas on the beach I’d hope for but how I could complain? Fourteen-ish people, multiple vegetarian options, beers outside and I wasn’t freezing my ass off for once. Undoubtedly the the busiest Christmas I’ve ever had – (only child/divorced fam problems) but it is up there with some of the best, minus the beer bong I spat down my front and the sheer quantity of ballsack on show…

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The novelty of the celebrations however, fell away around a heavy working load. While most of the flat managed seasonal leave I worked early shifts including xmas eve/boxing day/nye/ny day etc. etc. Granted, it was time and a half and the place was friendly/well-paid, but I would have given a lot to go to Rhythm & Alps with the majority of my flat for the New Year – c’est la vie. Moreover, where I at least had all my evenings free to indulge in socialising & Speights (NZ’s Tennent’s) Fraz worked late shifts which meant we didn’t even see each other until 1am on of January 1st – c’est la vie x 2. Those of us that stayed behind got drunk and went to the local fireworks at Hagley Park – so a tame start to 2020, but by this point I didn’t care hugely because the reality of my future travel began to set in. As I spoke to people at work, home (NZ home) and began to hear more about NZ outside of the city I began to get hyped and acknowledge that working hard and living frugal was once again going to pay off. Recommendations, stories and pictures were beginning to pour in and I remembered the reason I came here, for a drop of stability – which I now had – but also for the eventual pursuit of travel, and it was coming.

So the advice: Whilst it is all a bit daunting this is very doable. A Working Holiday Visa for NZ cost about £150 and a seasonal job was easy enough to get simply from emailing around. Just be bold and put in the effort and it will pay off. As for housing we found a super good place for £66 a week p/p (bills included) (cats included) on roomgo.co.nz – and truthfully the city of Christchurch has been accommodating and fun – minus a harassment incident in the park that I’ll blog about later.

Final heads up, unless your accent is discernibly Scottish (mine is not) everyone here will think you’re Irish, kiwis suck at pegging accents!

After finishing a few days of sun on the island of Cat Ba and exploring Ha Long Bay it was time to travel to our next destination down the coast – Hue. Having had no issues on the previous overnight train to Lao Cai we booked again for a reasonable price – about £14 – and waited with a friendly German couple. This should have been a warning because an hour prior to this I had broken my sunglasses, and then distracted by my own excitement over conversation with someone that wasn’t Fraser, I left my god damn wonder bra in the train station. Any boob-havers who have experienced great heat before will know that bras can be the enemy. I’d taken mine off for some clammy comfort and in that abandoned all hopes of having perky breasts for the next few weeks – bras don’t look great here fyi.

We got on the train at around 10:30pm to find ourselves bunking with another European couple, but they had an early rise so the lights were dimmed pretty quickly.

Then it began.

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A huge cockroach crawled out from a gap in the ceiling above my bed. God it was massive, but then another on Fraser’s side and another and another and another. THEY KEPT FUCKING COMING. It was relentless and the only force I had to rid myself of them was my trusty thick copy of Great Expectations. I imagine this whole hour in which we killed 15 live roaches like a scene from a war film. My eyes darting from wall to wall, sat in the very centre of the bed in the dimly lit cabin holding Dickens like my life depended on it. Intermittent bomb sounds, but it was just the sound of my book slapping against various walls, gaining new legs and antennae.

Roach no. 16 crawled over my leg on my bloody cabin bed.

Narrator: “And it was then that Katie knew, that she was in for a long long night.”

I grabbed my bag and headed out of the cabin to a plastic child’s chair that the train workers sat on and settled myself for the night. The next 7 hours would be long and arduous.

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Netflix downloads were a god send, and from time to time the guys working on the train would pass by for some casual broken chat via google translate, or to hit on me. I became so tired I couldn’t really differentiate.

For the rest of the night and morning I was kept awake by the horror of roaches crawling on the corridor walls around me and when this failed and I started to drop off the chair I would strike up Spotify and dance alone down the aisle of the train. This part sounds completely nuts I’m aware but I just couldn’t sleep on that train and no-one was around to question it.

By 6am the roaches started to subside but people were starting to wake up so I had to feign sanity. I looked like shit greeting those who had slept through my equivalent of the Vietnam War.

Vietnam has been so fun but I beg you, never get an overnight train here. Never, unless Fraser’s philosophy of “if its dark, I can’t see them”, works for you.

The nights after this that I spent flinching at the sight of any small dark thing I tell ya.

After a full 10 days in Hanoi and off the back of the hustle and bustle of Osaka, we were sweaty, drained and in need of a change. Not to sound ungrateful here, but trying to push yourself to be out/exploring/at it all-day-everyday is actually pretty hard and truthfully I’d been neglecting the reality of my life prior to this chapter; it was filled with breaks and days/periods of nothing when I was tired and needed to re-charge.

So this is exactly what we sought when a friend recommended Sapa to me two weeks before. For context, Sapa is a small city near the border with China with a much cooler climate and is frequently referred to as a hiker’s paradise. We booked an overnight train (8 hours long) via a site; Baolau, and tolerated a bumpy sleep, waking to the stereotypical view that comes to mind when you think of Vietnam; rice paddies. It was about 10 degrees and raining, and truthfully I’d never been so happy to be back in the cold, as we haggled with a taxi driver for our lift. For 250’000 dong – including a 50’000 dong fee for maintenance we arrived in a village called Ta Van in the Muong Hoa Valley – abut 40 mins outside of Sapa. We had arranged a homestay which meant you booked to stay with a local family who would make your meals, take you around the area and introduce you to the lives of different ethnic groups in the valley. Safe to say we didn’t get this experience exactly, the valley was becoming noticeably more commercialised the longer we spent there, including the women who surrounded our taxi as we arrived to get us SHOPPING with them! But what we did get was a few days of cool air, long walks against some lush scenery, and a new experience of Vietnam outwith the city. It was the caffeine shot I badly needed.

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Our beds were nothing more than a mattress on the floor of a kitted-out barn with mosquito nets, but as Fraser will testify, our sleeps here were some of the comfiest we had had since leaving home. The family were lovely and despite not speaking much english, the gestures, smiles and simple “mornings” were enough to set us up nicely for each new day. Over and above the family however, there was an absolutely gorgeous dog which really made it for me. He had no name because most dogs in Vietnam are not conventional pets, but he took a good tummy scratch and this also satisfied the need for animal affection I’d been LONGING for.

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The first day we were pretty shattered from the train and went on a tame walk up the hills of this literal lush green valley. We passed through small villages being chased by women trying to sell us jewellery and tat and passed family front rooms filled with young kids desperate to say hello. It was a weird mix of feeling like a complete outsider and feeling completely at home in the cold. But we ran with it.

Within a few minutes of walking you could have a new vantage point of the whole valley below the clouds, covering the tops of the surrounding hills. Every view was like warm soup for the god damn soul, so we walked for more than 2 hours through herds of cattle and past miniature waterfalls before returning to the homestay for a cold Lao Cai beer overlooking the pitch dark valley. As we watched the lights of disparate house across the way go out, one by one, we planned for another full day of walking as the sound of anti-vietnam war songs played in the background. Strangely enough this was the bar’s own choice but I couldn’t complain because who doesn’t love a bit of Credence Clearwater Revival.

The next day met us with a full forecast of rain so we had to suit-up, and as the images now show I looked ridiculous, but we weren’t going to let the rain strike us out for one of the few days we had there. We set off walking through the village at about 11am and found the red clay-like mud clung to our boots – to the point that the grips ceased to function. This was fine until we found our only way back was up a very steep hill next to a waterfall. Chaos ensued. The number of perfectly comical falls slathering our hands and backsides in deep red clay surpassed count and the walk easily took double the amount of time it probably should have. We really should have take the word of the french couple that hit the deck whilst warning us that the way we were headed was too difficult, but if I’ve learned anything from this trip so far it’s that I’m tragically headstrong. I remember questioning the couple in my own mind; “she’s not even wearing appropriate clothes for this, I’ll be SO fine” – famous last words.

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On our final day we walked all the way into Sapa over the course of 2 hours and found what could have been the set of a Wes Anderson film. We were so high up that clouds covered most of Sapa, and masses of people from time to time as we wandered. It was a bit creepy but for the sake of not sweating my tits off, I couldn’t complain.

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Should you travel to Vietnam, don’t miss the North because it may just be the respite you need… if you count hiking in the pissing rain as respite like I do!

My first full week in Vietnam is now complete.

Conclusion; HOLY HELL.

Japan was like a numbing agent for the rest of Asia, and that trip was only just beginning. For as long as I can recall I’ve wanted to go to Vietnam. Since my gran sat across from me in her little kitchen telling me stories about her time in Singapore in the 50’s (issues here bc it was under colonial rule); since I’d seen epic images of Ha Long Bay; since the insufferable Jeremy Clarkson drove the Hai Van Pass, and perhaps even more specifically watching the epic Ken Burns docu-series; The Vietnam War (the American War here). It’s incredible depiction of the gorgeousness of the country; the kindness of its people; the fusion of French food and architecture into its current style and then the cheapnessssss. I’d been sold for some time.

But after a month and a half in the cleanest, brightest, and most affluent place I’ve ever been to, Vietnam had stiff competition.

We rolled into the airport at about 3pm in the afternoon after a 2 hour delay and then waited for another hour at immigration to sort out our Visas, then hired a Grab – essentially the Vietnamese Uber but CHEAPER because the 50 minute trip from the airport to our hostel cost all of £3! We were staying in the old district, the epicentre of life and culture in Vietnam, and thus quickly met with our reality for the next few days:

1. Traffic on steroids. Automobiles everywhere. It’s the craziest thing to see a multitude of bikes and cars flying at you from both directions on the road and pavement – when its green man I will add – to then walk slowly into the road, letting them dodge you! We quickly learned that this was the way from watching others and the poor reactions to me just running across the road – seriously this really pissed people off – but in my defence it quite simply goes against personal nature to walk out into moving vehicles. I’m way better at it now but it still feels wrong.
   
2. BANH MI IS GOD. We were starving when we arrived so looked up our favourite travel prhase; “cheap eats near me” and thereafter fell into a little haven called An Cafe. To be clear a Banh Mi is a toasted french-style baguette with basically everything on the inside. These can be meaty or vegetarian/vegan (and thank fuck for this bc Japan was killing me a little), and finally CHEAP AS HELL. I paid 80p for mine and Fraser has since referred to his choice at An Cafe as “the best sandwich” he’s ever had. A full meal for two people with a side, a smoothie and 2 beers cost us just over £7!!!!
   
3. Hygiene here is a vietnamess – While waiting for Fraser to buy a grossly under priced shirt a little old lady lobbed her lunch leftovers onto the side of the street just close enough to decorate my new Tevas. If only she’d known the pain I’d endured trying to find these, that said I was the intruder and I was getting to experience her country for a ridiculously low cost. I could suck this one up. This however, was just one of many odd things we’ve noticed in the first few days. Hanoi was vibrant and bustling and finally felt like the Asia I’d seen on TV, but kids and the elderly dropped their breeks in the streets without cover and restaurants fell out of family living rooms onto the street. It was a lot to take in, and a hefty investment in hand gel – seriously worth it though bc most places here don’t have bathrooms or soap.

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Aside from these points, there’s a lot of activity to throw yourself into in Hanoi and as such it has ranked pretty high on my list of favourites. Trains are a big thing here, particularly the close proximity of these to housing and their influence by one Gustave Eiffel. Unknowingly we enjoyed an overpriced beer on the famous train street before it was closed for safety concerns just a few days later, please see images and guess why safety may have been a bit of an issue… We also walked along the Long Bien Bridge for a bit of fun and attended Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum after which I may have teared up a bit bc my “dark tourist” dream of seeing Ho’s preserved body was dashed by his annual trip to Russia for maintenance! Compounded with my first “rip-off” experience with a grab driver – we had an issue with the app which prevented payment and a guard at the mausoleum started banging his baton on the car, being threatening, so I panicked and threw the equivalent of £10 too much for the ride at him – I lost my composure and soured the day a little but a trip to the Binh Minh jazz club later that evening lifted my spirits nicely.

In addition to this I found one of my favourite activities during our time Hanoi was just wandering around the Hoan Kiem lake. Pretty during both the day and night, host to several points for cheap food and beer, and just generally the hub of activity in the Old Quarter – a stroll around the lake was never dull. But most importantly, the lake was free of vehicles on the weekends so for a short period of time I felt safeeeeeeeeee.

But the tides they do turn. Our little Air B&B room had been an issue from the start with the kitchen and bathroom sink pipes emptying out onto the literal floor, leading to some heated discussion between Fraser and I. Mainly me losing it because we had to fumble around and fabricate a situation with the floor flooding so we could cook some damn linguine – hanger in a nutshell. A few nights later however Fraser was in the process of calling his grandparents when he fell silent;

Fraser: “Katie, I don’t want to alarm you but there’s two big antenna wriggling out of that book behind you.”
Me: *turns rapidly towards the Vietnamese Dictionary on the shelf* “HOLY FUCK, THE SPRAY THE FUCKING SPRAY”.

We quickly planned to drop the book over the side of the shelf to get access to what we guessed was a roach and chaos ensued. This HUGE roach may as well have jumped out the book with a whole-ass human face because I screamed and in a flurry of banging, fumbling and spraying we disabled the thing. I know you’re probably thinking “aren’t you meant to be an aspiring vegan?” and indeed I am but damn, I have no explanation for this. Some things have to die.

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So this was the beginning of a new tumultuous chapter and one that involved a side of fame because within the first few hours of our first full day I’d been asked for photos with young girls on two occasions. I still don’t know what this is about and whether I should be flattered or offended but I’m rolling with it for now because heck, living finally feels cheap enough to really live – but within roach-lined reason.

I get the strong feeling that Vietnam will be a love-hate thing, wish me luck.

The climate fight, but make it sexy.

No, the title is no joke. These are actual words used to describe renewed efforts towards fighting climate change by Japan’s new environment minister, Shinjiro Koizumi, doin’ a straight Tyra Banks. On my final few days in Osaka however, I’ve been forced to reckon with a poor history and experience of recycling a la Japan.

Before arriving in Tokyo almost 6 weeks ago now I had developed a plan for my own “ethical” living abroad, preparing extensively for the role of “good tourist”. Much of this however, was more an extension of an already heavy consciousness. From the age of ten I’d been a vegetarian, having never really enjoyed the taste of meat (I’ve never eaten a steak), and scarring myself one night with a BBC documentary on the life of factory pigs. I cried, a lot, and gave up any remaining meat I was eating immediately; breaking this once in the last 13 years for a Big Mac – there’s photographic proof out there so I can’t deny it.

In addition to this, I’ve been big on recycling and limiting my plastic usage for a long time, switching to bar soap/shampoo/conditioner, and taking my collection of reusables with me when I left; water bottle/coffee cup/canvass bag and bamboo cutlery. Yup, I was going to be as ethical and conscious as bloody possible and whilst I couldn’t reverse what Brexit had done to the international perception of my “home” and the long LONG shameful history colonialism has left us, I could be the best version of me – sappy right? In Japan however, this has been a bloody effort AND A HALF.

As preciously explained being a vegetarian/vegan, and the ethical/environmental benefits that go along with this, has been near impossible without risking my health. I mean perhaps this is a bit of an exaggeration but I still have vivid memories of feeling crap, waking up hungry in Tokyo and living off of 7-Eleven for the first few days. After months of a super healthy/green predominantly-vegan diet at home, I could physically feel my body turning on me, also it was just plain sad to be living off of effective co-op microwave meals – in Japan of all places! My best answer to this (sorry for the repetition if you’ve read far enough back) was going pescatarian, a decision that was both easy and hard. Easy, because fish is obviously massive here so this opened up a whole new park of culinary experience to me, thank christ. Hard however, because I’ve had to compromise my own morals and ethics to make this happen and as far as fishing and the ocean go (fishing at the current international levels = bad), I’ve been fraught with guilt. Negative one for being an ethical traveller in Japan.

In contrast to this however, I have made an considerable effort to direct myself as an “ethical consumer” (aka buying in a way that is more beneficial to the world/not corporations). In this respect I’ve focused my food purchases towards “the little guy”, or small vendors. At least if I’m going to go back on my morals, I can support local people and their efforts to live a little more easily or independently. I know this is fairly insignificant to most people but this is how my mind works – antagonistically against my own inner peace… – but seriously, I’m always trying to think about the consequences of my own actions, especially now that I’m on the road following many people who won’t have carried themselves with as much care as I intend to.

For any strictly vegan and vegetarian friends or readers I’ve added a map that I was given in Tokyo marking out vegan places. There are more out there than my last few blogs have eluded to but be warned that most of them are out of the way of cheaper accommodation, so if you’re going to stay vegan I’d advise you to seek accommodation in Shibuya or Shinjuku where most vegan restaurants are based!

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But food has only be the tip of the ethical iceberg for me. Japan is great in so many ways, believe me I haven’t even started on the toilets, but without a doubt this country has an over-packaging problem and issue with single-use plastics (chopsticks/cutlery/plastic bags and wet wipes. This is great if you’re not prepared for literally any daily event (acknowledge the sass here please), but not great for the environment. More than anything I think I’ve realised that this practice is more about the excessive politeness relative to Japanese cultural norms, particularly where turning down plastic cutlery with a 7-Eleven meal gets you a really cold reaction – like a combination of they don’t think you’re capable of having your own cutlery and you’ve literally lobbed your yen in the cashier’s face. The best response I’ve found to this practice is to simply be on the ball with responses and bring your own reusable items. Cashiers here are quick to lob out single use items everywhere you go and only a few places I’ve been to have a charge for plastic bags. So memorise a few staples; Bango = No, and I usually have a comically overt gesture that I make to my canvas bag. The responses to this will unfortunately always be awkward and a bit uncomfortable but for the sake of minimising single-use plastics I’d urge you to be aware of this caveat to ethical living and to ACT ON IT! I’m aware this is coming across a little preachy but if the last 2 years hasn’t freaked you out with all the climate news then wth are you doing reading this blog. Leave.

Yet, you can commit to this kind of “activism” and still struggle in Japan because things here tend to be suffocated in plastic. Most of my regular meals, outwith eating out and making things from scratch here, are sealed at the lids x 2 and all vegetables and fruits tend to be packaged by plastic – some even individually! Fraser has an addiction to bananas, which has led us to one too many places that only sell individually plastic-packaged bananas and even a de-peeled orange, wrapped in plastic and cardboard… I’m aware my white woman privilege may be showing here but the intentions are good, I swear. My advice here is simply to be an ethical consumer once again and seek out places that don’t use plastic packaging because many do! In fact, we found that the further out of the cities we went, the less plastic we found – hallelujah!

I’ve read online that some supermarkets are cool with you leaving the packaging of veg/fruit there if you want to, but I have yet to try this given the responses I’ve had to simply turning down cutlery lol.

Aside from this the recycling system here is, in a word; wack. So Japan burns the majority of its recyclables, it would seem, separating their rubbish (in the majority of the places I’ve been to) between burnable and non-burnable. A quick google search seems to rate this quite highly as more items are burned in incinerators than dumped in landfill – something the UK is not nearly as good at. But this leaves me with questions about how much much energy is used for the burning and ultimately judging this situation where most environmentally-conscious platforms promote buying and producing fewer materials, like plastics, rather than relying on recycling or waste management alone. In this regard Japan is not doing all that well, but again the urban populations of Japan are enormous, so recycling was never going to be an easy feat.

What Japan lacks in recycling however, it makes up for in second-hand clothing. God damn, the whole country is a awash with second-hand stores stocking every brand and item imaginable. The “trend” has really taken off here to the point where I would argue that it’s the best place I’ve EVER been for used clothing. Harajuku in Tokyo has a street with about twenty back-to-back, Osaka has about five on every shopping street and even in less-urban areas like Nara we’ve found several quirky and varied second-hand stores. Both Fraser and I have found both necessities and desired items from these and as such have only bought new when totally necessary. Japan may screwed me for vegetarian/vegan food but it has not disappointed here, so seriously waste no time here browsing new stores, look for second hand stores and get lost in both the actual stores (they’re huge) and the euphoria that comes with ethical purchases – its real and I know it well now.

SO in a few words, Japan has not been the easiest to navigate with my own ethics regarding meat and the environment. As such I’ve had to work harder here to appease my own sense of correctness than I would have at home, but such is the payment for seeing the world I guess. To any future travellers it is possible to live consciously here, but much like living frugally with your money, you will need to make a few concessions! Prep yourself before arriving with reusable items and soaps and you should be good to go, but unless you know a considerable amount of Japanese and can explain your choices you’ll get a few concerned faces along the way.

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“Things to do in Osaka, Japan”
Every search result ever; a karaoke bar.

I’m fresh – or rather not so fresh – off my first night at a Japanese karaoke bar and I have to say, I finally get the hype. Yes, this morning has been ROUGH but not with regret, just a smidgen of dehydration because I had SO much fun.

Two nights ago I was on an evening stroll through Shinsekai, passing by bar after bar of drunken, singing Japanese men and women. God knows what songs they were singing, they were all in Japanese obviously, but I could easily translate one thing; they were having FUN. Karaoke was huge here and I’d been holding off for the right place/right time for far too long, I had been triggered. It was time.

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I should have known that after wolfing down my Okonomiyaki (savoury Japanese pancake, DO NOT leave Japan without trying one of these, it’s a damn insult to the whole country), that a good night was on the cards. It was simply too good a start. After this, we waddled to a pre-selected Karaoke bar featuring English songs; The Drunken Clam, and settled in amongst another European couple and a group of German/possibly Scandinavian men with an affinity for Iron Maiden. It was pretty quiet to begin with, which had me worried I’ll admit, but like any good night out I decided to just throw myself into it with good intentions, cheering for any and all singers; which quickly earned us friends thank god! A few heavy metal numbers later however, and it was just myself, Fraser (not a karaoke fan) and the other couple beneath the lyrics of Barbie Girl – not my favourite, and if you’ve heard the song you’ll know exactly why it just doesn’t slap like it used to. I interjected with some Tears for Fears in the hopes of getting the ball rolling but by 10pm a host of drunken Europeans took over that part for me. Soon more and more people came bounding in and the favour of cheering for any and all songs, sung well or badly, was returned just as I hit that long note in “This Love” by Maroon 5. I fucking love karaoke and pre-third album Maroon 5.

Song after nostalgic song was requested by quasi-drunk Europeans and the more I sang and “danced”, the more I had to fight my sadness about Brexit (shock) because truly what problems (not that I had any) cannot be solved by drunk karaoke (apart from the the Irish border..). Although the lines were perhaps more clearly drawn when a duet to Pulp came up, our new European friends growing silent while the rest of us screamed about roaches crawling up the wall; glorious. But still, friends were made and I found myself strapped between an English gal and my new love for the evening, Helene, when the Spice Girls came up. This was probably the most female bonding time I’d had in forever and I was honestly so grateful for it because so many songs were ones plagued with memories I’d made with my best friends at home – small violin right?

So, three and a half hours later and three beers down, Fraser was getting antsy and I was waiting to complete my night with a Bowie number – aka I’d had a solid run and needed a killer finish. I began thinking about the how I’d made a bunch of friends for the night that I would probably never see again, but how singing and dancing with them all had given me this homely feeling so far from home. With a few days left to go in Japan, it was the kind of therapy I was needing before we moved on to start this all over again. Japan has been incredible, but it hasn’t been the easiest to make friends here given the format of the hostels/travelling as a couple and that most people we met were only with us for a day or two. But that didn’t matter as I fumbled through Bootylicious with the English gal who was absolutely besting me, I was with pals for tonight.

I can’t recommend a karaoke bar enough if you find yourself in Japan. They’re cheap, they’re everywhere and god are they unifying. The best night of my 5-6 weeks in Japan hands down, even if I had to explain to one of the guys that SUM 41 was a “generational” song for me.

While you were watching Disney Channel, I was watching Kerrang!

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To make sense of what, to many, is a nonsensical title, I watched Princess Mononoke two nights ago and I’m still just a lil’ bit obsessed. If you discount Pokemon, this is essentially only my second anime viewing and I’m still gagged at the levels of female power I witnessed. I mean sure, we had Mulan (the best of the Disney princesses, fight me I will die on this hill), but even she was conflicted by her love for crappy Li Shang. If you know the film (p. mononoke) you know exactly who I’m gagging over but for those who don’t her name is Lady Eboshi, and what a WOMAN. Seriously, she is portrayed as the bad guy throughout the film but is really; a courageous and respected leader; a brave fighter; a champion of the working class of her town; a supporter and teacher of both present and former female sex workers AND an advocate for the disabled lepers of her town, caring for them however she can. A god-damn feminist icon.

With the exception of Yakul ( the only redeemable male character is a giant male Elk no joke), the women herself.

I know I’m over exaggerating to an extent but I guess this 1997 film runs such a parallel to the weird relationship I’ve witnessed between Japan and it’s women so far. Before even arriving here I had been warned that up-skirting was a “big thing” and since arriving here I’ve unfortunately discovered the extent of Hentai, the schoolgirl craze, maid cafes and been followed by a… creepy man (shock).

In Akihabara we wandered several levels of an anime store and almost every portrayal of women was a mixture of sickening and disheartening. Barely-there bikinis and skirts, terrifyingly giant eyes and literally breasts made so uncomfortably big they look like abscesses. Some models were worse than others but all equally derogatory from my perspective. Don’t mock me, I knew Hentai existed but not on this level, fuck. What made matters worse was wandering these stores and noticing a) the high prices on these models (clearly sought after) b) the number of men openly and unashamedly ogling these and the hentai comics as I passed by (realising now that I probably looked like a freak too).

Later in Nara, Fraser and I spent the morning apart as I went in search of a cost-effective sake tasting. I highly recommend Harushika in Nara, a 30 min walk from the main station and 500yen (£3.50) will get you 6 free shots, some pickled goods and a free sake glass. Walking back to the park to meet Fraser afterwards felt like walking on a damn cloud. Rice balls are great for energy but evidently shite for soaking up alcohol. So when I found a free, open edo-period house to wander round en route, with a door you literally had to crawl through in order to enter part of the house, I began to register how tipsy I was. I must have sat (lay down) in that little room alone for about 20 minutes sobering myself for the rest of the walk but I left feeling much better. It was then, when I was more aware of my surroundings cutting through the market that I realised I had seen the face of this one guy too much. He’d originally been staring overtly at my boobs as I walked by and when I entered two different clothing shops to browse (clearly female orientated stores) I had exited to find him standing across from each store, meeting my eyes and following behind as I kept going. At this point I began to think about my outfit – a little red dress bc I was feeling confident and it was sunny – but had the sudden urge to punch myself square in the face because no outfit warranted this, I was clearly a tourist. I walked more hastily to the park than usual, turning to see this guy repeatedly until I lost myself in a group of tourists and deer. He finally fucked off, but immediately I began thinking about the shite influences on/of men here and how this clearly impacted women, myself included.

Abstractly, I admired the women I saw here on the daily; they were fashionable, they ran businesses, they carried themselves so confidently, it had been an empowering thing to see everyday – if not making me feel a little worse about my own sweaty outward appearance.

How could Japan produce the coolest feminist characters like Lady Eboshi and simultaneously bullshit hentai women. Was I victim of toxic male culture in Japan? Why was Japan so forward-thinking in some respects and so backward in others? – this is only the beginning recycling here is terrible.

I’m aware the western portrayal of women is still not fantastic. Just today Lady Hale, the senior-most female figure in UK Law was branded an ex-barmaid in the Daily Mail (rag) for helping further dismantle the tories. I guess I just had too idealistic a view before arriving here. There’s absolutely still work to be done with regards to feminism and respect for women in Japan, as with most places, but also I’m not about to waste anymore time clocking successes against the patriarchy here, sometimes women need to be the change they want. As such, I have yet to be dissuaded from wearing the little red dress and continue to carry myself confidently here. If I’m going to live my life like any character, I’ll be damned if its not Lady Eboshi (but again Yakul was also v commendable).

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The only example I’m willing to provide for my female-friendly blog v me + my big feminist bag.

Almost four weeks into my Japan adventure and it feels necessary to bring up an uncomfortable conversation, but one that would have been handy to have had before arriving here; money. Before even setting foot in Japan I had read through countless web-pages including the delightfully handy; Tokyo Cheapo, detailing ways to get around the costly side of Japan. As with most sites however, I took these with a pinch of salt and remained optimistic that I could live frugally, after all I’d been doing just that at home for the last year of my life in preparation for this trip. I was thrifty and different, your rules couldn’t apply to me.

wrong.

Whilst I don’t mean to dissuade any potential travellers because Japan really is this incredible place; except for the re-ignition of whaling; treatment of dolphins; reckless use of single-use plastics; depiction of women in hentai (literally boke) – but more on my ethical concerns another time. I do mean to warn of the actual costs of living in Japan as a traveller, and state for the record that whilst this can be done with relatively tight purse strings, you need to be willing to concede some of your comforts and ££££ generally.

Accommodation

Shelter – the most important and biggest drain on that pretty savings fund that forced you to really begin enjoying the taste of Tennents back home. Great for solo travellers or a couple of mates but unfortunately for couples, the cheapest and most cost effective way to stretch your dolla in Japan is using hostels. Most range between £15-£20 a night, but I would urge any diligent traveller to download the booking.com app. From this we’ve managed to save a decent chunk of cash, bagging some places for as little as £8 a night and furthermore reaping the benefits of extended stays. Indeed, most places will offer a discount for an extended stay (usually over a week), something I would recommend particularly as prices go up over the weekends. Additionally booking.com (really not an ad. just really fkn handy) has a great rewards scheme offering a % discount on your upcoming stays after booking 5 stays or more through their site. This has been another great money saver, allowing us to match particular wants and standards with a reasonable price, because discounted rates are normally offered on hostels with high satisfaction ratings. The results have been so good that we (me bc I”m the control freak), were able to secure a double bed/private room in Nara for just £12 a night! That said, the general standards of Japanese hostels are SO high. Having experienced hostels in Europe and Fraser a few in London, we have both agreed that neither come close to the cleanliness and order applied to Japanese hostels.

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These places are literally cleaned daily without fail, the sheets are fresh and smell great, the showers have been so good that I’ve ditched my shower sandals and so many offer free toothbrushes/towels/soaps and shampoos + coffee. Another sell point to stress is that most Japanese hostels do not follow the bunk-bed formula; they feature as pods. That’s right, a little cocoon in the wall with sockets/lights/fans, albeit surround by many others, but with so much more privacy and shelter from the general snoring and gasses of randos.

Due to this we haven’t bothered with hotels or Air B&B – which FYI is extortionate here. Almost 6 hostels across 7 prefectures and none have been really all that bad. That said we have had our favourites. In Nippori’s Owl Hotel we got free apple juice/green tea/coffee on demand from a vending machine whilst the lobby was owned by a friendly owl; in Chiyoda the 9 Hours hotel felt like something out of Star Wars with its cool aesthetic; and in Nara we got a little kitchen to ourselves – our stay being outwith tourist hours. This stay was also particularly memorable thanks to the Hostel owner Hiloki who came running downstairs with a little TV on our final night to watch the Japan v Russia game with us. Finally, in Tabata the layout of the hostel made it impossible to avoid conversation with other hostel dwellers, to which I owe thanks for making new friends on this trip and ultimately staying sane – Fraser isn’t super up on the disaster that is British politics but all the non-British people we’ve met on the road are enjoying it – can you blame them? #colonialism

SO if you’re heading for Japan save yourself some yen and book a pod, they’re homey, characteristic and whilst you may still require ear plugs/accidentally wack a big american geezer with your bra, you will save money without compromising too heavily on comfort – because realistically you’ll need money for the real deal in Japan; food n bev.

Food and bev’

If you have any sense you’ll acknowledge that a hostel is simply a place to store your crap and rest your head for a few hours and that the real living happens everywhere else but the hostel – and when it comes to Japan, food and alcohol are worth saving your money for. I’ve already had a bitch + moan about food in a previous blog and made the necessary compromises in order to survive here – and with that hurdle cleared I can start praising the food here at last.

Food here is, INCREDIBLE AND PREDOMINANTLY HEALTHY AND IT WOULD TAKE TOO LONG TO DESCRIBE ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THEY MAKE HERE… AND I DON’T REALLY EAT MEAT SO I LITERALLY CAN’T DESCRIBE ALL THE FOODIE THINGS THEY DO HERE but fuck, the food is integral to the culture and you really should not miss it or compromise trying it.

So being a vegan or vegetarian here is fairly tricky, veganism is still an upcoming trend but that said I could only ever find 3 types of fairly pricey tofu when living in Dundee. If, unlike me, you refuse to budge on your food principles – which is totally fair because I still feel some guilt over my choices – you can get by, but only just. Essentially vegetarianism barely exists here, you’re either a vegan or you’re not. Vegan meals are available in some places – particularly in relation to tempura/ramen/udon – but you have to really have to check with restaurant itself, which often doesn’t go well because the term “bejitarian” is so relaxed here that you could order a vegetarian ramen, clarify that there’s no meat in it (even in japanese) just to get a slab of pork on top. Also, most places use meat-related ingredients in the broths and sauces so check AGAIN for those with a server. Finally, vegan meals usually cost double what the non-vegan meals cost.

It is for precisely this reason and for the limited options available that I chose to go pescetarian for the remainder of my time here. Fish and meat-based meals are often much cheaper and less fuss than the very few vegan alternatives, and furthermore most vegan places tend to be chains. As such, most of these places whilst being pricey also seriously lack the authentic experience you can get for a few quid in a quirky alley in Shinjuku – and tbh why else are you even in Japan if not for this.

So, if you’re a meat-lover Japan is your sanctuary, but this doesn’t mean that you can always get meals cheaply as Fraser, my meat-loving boyfriend, has found. Like anywhere the cost of food can mount if you aren’t careful and particularly more so where few hostels provide a full kitchen for cooking. To counteract this we agreed some basic compromises in order to enjoy the most of Japan’s food scene without going overboard. Firstly, we have found that breakfast in Japan is not as big as breakfast/brunches are at home, in answer to this we have stuck to rounds of toast in the early morning and 7 Eleven rice balls which are seriously good for energy and normally cost about 80p here. This may sound far from glam but such is the budget-eers life. What we lose in breakfast – if we don’t have this nearer lunch (which we often do) we normally make up for in ramem or udon. As a basic princple here noodles + soup = very filling, and most of these meals are limited to 800yen (£5 ish). Finally, for a budget dinner we combine supermarket findings with market findings. I really cannot stress enough how great and cost-effective Japanese market food is. The markets here span multiple blocks, offer almost anything you could possibly want and sometimes before you even know you want it. Moreover, most of these small stalls offer their treats for neat little prices allowing you the ability to try local food for far less than a full-on restaurant. C O M P R O M I S E.

Examples from personal experience:

Yanaka Ginza (tokyo)
Ameya Yokocho (tokyo)
Nakamise Dori (tokyo)
Nishiki (kyoto)

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And finally, alcohol. Wine/spririts and sake are all cool but can be pricey if you have weak limits like myself. To avoid this trap I’ve focused my alcoholic notions on the big B; beer, which happens to be super popular here anyway. Kirin, Asahai, Yebisu, Sapporo – all heroically refreshing in the heat and all usually only costing 500yen (£3.50) per stein. If you want to reduce your costs even more and feel like a local there’s off-license stores everywhere with no limit on the sale of alcohol or times when you can buy. Also it’s actually pretty common here to drink outside in parks or on the side of a river without feeling like rebellious teen, as we found out a few nights ago. Sat next to a chain of locals simultaneously enjoying a cold wan, a musician appeared out of nowhere and suddenly, entertainment!

That said there’s so many cool drinks here to indulge in that aren’t alcoholic and even a bit cheaper than that. Fraser and I have taken to halving unusual Fanta flavours whenever we find them (gotta catch em all?), and the Japanese clearly love peach because peach-flavoured drinks take up the majority of vending machines here. I’m not complaining.

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Excursions

Last but not least, the actual living outside of the basic needs. I was originally really concerned that our activities would cost a ridiculous amount but as with any determined cheapskate, it can be achieved at a cost effective rate. Primarily, Japan is plagued with an enormity of temples and public spaces, most of which are; FUCKING FREE. In between these and the fun of the food markets, the graveyards are fairly interesting if, like me, you’re down for that morbid stuff. Museums here are usually fairly cheap (800 yen is the most we have paid for any museum), and any bar or tea house can be a cheap thrill if you control yourself.

Outside of this Japan is notorious for its department stores. Places like Loft, Don Quijote and many others have answers to the problems you didn’t even know you had and can make for some serious entertainment. Much like Ikea it is possible to spend an hour or two inside making cat-sandcastles.

If you really want to limit your funds or truly invest in the food however, the best answer is just to enjoy the districts for what they are. Chiyoda in Tokyo is nicknamed the book district for it’s back-to-back book stores; Harajuku is a culture enclave for fashion and second-hand stores; Ginza is full of designer stores to ogle at if it doesn’t depress you; Nara is a giant deer petting-zoo for only 150 yen (deer cookies optional) and Gion in Kyoto is an old Geisha district full of free food samples.

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(the jury is still out on Osaka, i’ll know in a week)

Summary

In conclusion (how many essays have I ended this way bloody hell), Japan can be expensive for basic living yes, especially when compared to our next stop Viet- £2 a night hostel -nam. It can however, be done cheaply if you research, compromise and have restraint – shocker right?

But the kicker is that whilst this is true, Japan is not cheaper in the long term.

Originally we had planned to spend 2 months here but conversation with some of the locals here has revealed that Rugby World Cup season was a bad time to visit, as costs, even for local people, have gone up in response to the influx of tourists. Our response unfortunately has been to curb our time here as even cost-effective living has proven nowhere near as cost-effective as other upcoming places appear to be. So by October 5th we’ll be en route to Vietnam for some sea and £2 hostels – but not as a result of our reckless spending, simply to maintain the longevity of this trip because we have another 4 countries minimum to go. Yikes.

February 16th 2019, the Saturday following Valentines Day, and the mood is… whimsical. But god no, not for any delayed VD events/gifts (which I’ve always thought detracted from the general niceties that should be happening in a relationship across the other 364 days FYI). No, I was feeling giddy about a god damn mountain, after bagging my £280 flight from Paris > Tokyo and discovering a few google searches later that I, a humble town dweller who has never “bagged a Munro” or set foot on Ben Nevis – could climb Japan’s TALLEST mountain. I was in my prime; “planning” in detail for an event over 6 months away, with no real structure or financial commitment; my imagination was RUNNING in heeled shoes.

Eventually this over-zealousness levelled off. As the working week set in, the calendar suddenly felt relative comparative to my planning and I still had over £5000 of saving to do. Reality hit and the little strut I’d adopted for the public sphere fell through too, but the idealist remained. I was going to climb Mount Fuji. Just why I became so ardent about carrying out this activity I still can’t say, indeed Japan had many more things to offer a “history buff” and tofu-lover. Furthermore, Mount Fuji was a 2-day activity at most from what I’d read, and here I was angling for 2 months of this country…

Fast forward to our… second day in Tokyo, with me reminding Fraser at every second opportunity that we “need to climb Fuji before the season ends on September 10th, we have to”, “you do remember that the season ends SePtemBer 1oTh RiGhT?” By the time we actually booked anything, even I hated myself – small lie, I have many character flaws. Thankfully however, one such flaw is a tendency for meticulous planning when the time calls for it, and with regards to Fuji this was necessary.

WHY:

The Mountain sat approx. two and bit hours outwith Tokyo, demanding 2 trains, and 2 coaches to reach our start point; the 5th Station, which begins part-way up the mountain and is where most climbers start the easiest of the 2 ascending trails; Yoshida. Secondly, the average human starts to experience symptoms of altitude sickness at 2000m (Mt Fuji; 3776m) and is ofttimes a sucker for a gid sunrise. Solving both of these issues, it was widely recommended that in order to adjust to the pressure and secure a spectacular morning view that you book accommodation in one of the several huts available further up. These promised a place to rest our heads, a meal, and shelter from the elements for several hours until it was time to climb once again. Being a novice, I felt this was best. For my savings account however, it was not. The hut would set us back just under 8000yen (£60); 4000yen (£30) for the coach to and from the mountain; a further 1000yen (£7) for the bus to and from the 5th station; another 1600 yen for the two trains there and back; 1000yen payment for mountain services (begrudgingly paid but I got a cute fuji key ring in return); and finally the added cost of Fraser and I splitting the price of a single head torch. All in all, over £100 went towards this experience excluding food costs but I’ll save you the details of my dietary habits for those 2 days.

We reached the 5th station on the 5th of September approx 4pm, with instructions to reach our hut before 8pm, held off for about 30 mins to adjust to the altitude, pee, and facetime Fraser’s dad for good wishes. Then we set off.

The first 2.5 hours ascending to our hut for the night were easy going, but as per Japan -fucking hot. We knew the summit would be 5 degrees maximum so had dressed more so for that part, not anticipating the heat prior to – 30 degrees hahahaha. However, these two glistening Scots kept the pace, passing every age and nationality imaginable – except Scots of course – and pretty soon it became clear that this event transcended divides of any sort. We were all on same path, suffering the same fatigue, dehydration and anticipation for the summit. Groups of elderly soldiered on at a slower pace just for us to encounter them again at the summit almost 10 hours later; an american couple bickered about the path down; “baby i told you, the easiest way up is usually the hardest way down, which is why we’re coming down this way” (they weren’t supposed to be coming down that way). And frequently we met nationalities where nothing could be exchanged between us but a hopeful smile.

At least an hour in and we had reached a point at which we were visibly above the clouds, and before long we reached our hut just as dark began to creep in. It wasn’t much, truly a place to rest your head – where toilets were flushed by you squirting a bottle at your own mess and the beds were a tatami mat with a sleeping bag. The meal however was a stunning veggie curry – possibly one of the best meals I had had since entering the country – finished with a green tea. Settling in for the night, we went to the deck outside to brush our teeth, looking down at the darkened trail from which we had just arrived. Small bright lights flickered in the distance signalling that there were, in fact, people still working their way up the mountain in the pitch dark. I’d return to the deck once again at midnight to pee, looking out again at a trail of bright lights continuing to ascend. Indeed, people do choose to climb these trails completely at night as I had read, and without the help of a hut (financially wise) but still I was surprised, Fuji drew the most determined bastards apparently…

Unable to sleep – partly from excitement and partly from the zombie-esque snoring of the guy next door – I nudged Fraser awake; afraid that the trails of people still coming up the mountain would create traffic on the route up. Begrudgingly he accepted and we rose again at half midnight for the next part. By now the layers were serving their purpose instead of hindering and on went the head torch (Fraser’s head not mine) to start the next five hours uphill. Within the first 20 minutes I would fall face first with perfect comedic timing signalling the need for a change of tactic – we were using one head torch for two people. From this point on, I would take the head torch and walk behind Fraser shining a light on us both and we would aim to stay behind anyone else with a torch. This is what happens when you’re too stingy to buy two torches instead of one, be warned all stingy bastards dreaming of Japan (more on this later because £W£O£W£ Japan).

It was a LONG five hours. Constantly finding comfortable footing just for it to be stolen again a few paces later. Additionally every thirty minutes or so the altitude would kick in and we would need to break at a random place until the cold set in again and we needed to move for warmth. But again we weren’t alone and the face of every passer by held these same feelings very visibly.

About 800 metres from the summit we hit a standstill, that busy line working its way up the mountain whilst we had “slept” lay before us as predicted, and now every few shuffles were followed by a few minutes of waiting. Picture that image from the top of Mount Everest that came out earlier this year, you know the one, with the full queue of climbers at the top of the world’s tallest bloody mountain!? Yep, it was exactly like that. A bit of an anticlimax to say the least, but we made it to the summit at approximately 4:55am, positioned ourselves for the show, and I sank my teeth into a snickers.

The next part, as you can imagine, went quickly and without a hitch. The sky bled from navy to red, and then to a mixture of pink and orange before hitting light blue. Pictures were attempted at all stages of this event but were hindered considerably by the violent shuddering that Fuji’s summit temps provided; the grimace on my face attesting to this. Nothing however, could detract from this beautiful moment. Fraser and I could laugh at each other struggling with the camera and frozen claws; there was a high degree of harmony across the crowds that had gathered; and finally the cost and struggle all felt worth it.

Until this tosser of a woman whacked out her phone and took a loud and unnecessary call.

You can’t have it all amarite – which is a lesson probably best learned by booking your non-refundable coach trip for 8 hours after you return to the foot of the mountain, because you want to make the most of the lakes at the bottom…

I want to extend my sincerest apologies to the little town of Kawaguchi for the many swears uttered in relation to it, and for the beauty I wasn’t able to find in those 8 hours. It was not your fault.

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