Privet, Yaponiya

Don't judge my first travelogue out of Japan too harshly: I'm still getting over the delirium that is jet lag caused by a 16-hour time difference, not to mention the climate change.

Was I really skiing through the extra-grim and frostbitten mountains last weekend?

When I first moved to the Rocky Mountains, I naively assumed that being closer to the west coast would make trans-Pacific travel simpler (and trans-Atlantic trips harder). Instead, infrequent flights to the Middle of Nowhere's Ski Country and tedious layovers made everything more complex. On average, a one-way trip for me takes 24 hours. (If peak-oilers are correct, then the latter, considering the still-relatively easy access, is certainly no reason for whining.)

Catching a late-arriving flight to Haneda, where I've only been once domestically, had the unexpected benefit of a nearly empty plane (the typical "shaky-shaky" over Alaska and the Kurils notwithstanding). And now, as I write this, only a few hours later, separated by broken sleep, monorail, Yamanote JR, and Tokyo station which I always try to avoid due to its sheer magnitude, I'm already on a Shinkansen on my way to Fukuoka by the way of Osaka, listening to the default feel-good band of choice, Buck-Tick.

The Japan Rail pass has always made travel for us, curious gaijin, incredibly affordable and convenient. Now, thanks to the so-called Abenomics, the Yen inflation had made it significantly cheaper. I'm almost afraid to tell my Japanese friends just how cheap riding in business class (green car) has become, if the genuine dropped jaw, literally, of the clerk at the JR office is of any indication. 

Unlike my previous trips, when I often saw a city per day, I've decided to take it easy and, after visiting southern Japan for the first time since 2009, spend most of my time in and around Tokyo. In other words, I'm doing everything backwards as compared to a regular tourist. As a Japan newbie, I started with less expected Morioka and Kumamoto and now, years later, I'm working my way to popular locations like Nara and exploring more of Tokyo. One of these days I will get into anime.

Just kidding!

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A smaller list of towns is the only slow aspect of this trip, however. As I always say, and obvious criticisms of urban "black holes" notwithstanding, you can take the girl out of the City, but you can't take the City out of the girl. I naturally default to the fast pace of Japan's metropolitan areas, skillfully maneuvering with my roller bag, surprisingly easily readjusting to the British-style traffic and pedestrian rules, backward for North Americans. 

In fact, the only place where I feel outdone in this department is Moscow. An average Muscovite woman in stilettos could triumph in Olympic walking!

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So far, I've only bothered to speak Japanese when English wasn't understood. A few years ago, I felt shy but still eager to practice what little I knew, only to realize that the Japanese would rather turn the tables and practice their English on you (or they are gently trying to spare you the embarrassment!). 

So now I just feel shy, though I understand more than I let on. Of course, reading has always been easier for me, because the intonation feels so foreign. Worst of all, I have a Russian, not an English accent (as well as in what's left of my French and German.) Don't take this as an invitation to get me to speak, just so you could get some "LOLz" at my expense, because I'll figure out a way to get some "LOLz" back. Russians always have the last laugh, after all.

For now, however, it suffices to say: privet, Yaponiya!

P.S. All photos are mobile. Some were shot on a moving train.

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Off to Japan

Dear Japan,

I'm about to visit you again. If you're nice to me, I promise to avoid taking "touristy" photos, as per below, as much as possible. (I might occasionally slip up because no one is perfect!).

See you soon, hopefully.

Have Cool, Will Travel?

I'm seriously considering traveling to Japan in late February.

By "seriously considering" I mean I've bought my flights, and hope that some of the slightly pesky issues—that have arisen—sort themselves out. Even though this is coming up quite soon, I don't even know where I'd go other than the mandatory stop in Tokyo.

I'm always having second (third, fourth...) thoughts whenever I go somewhere other than Russia, because travel is getting more difficult for various reasons, and I feel like I'm betraying my homeland by visiting elsewhere, as silly as this sounds.

Be that as it may, it would be great to see some of my friends and, equally important, photograph-photograph-photograph, especially if I get a new camera. 

"What's wrong with this woman," you must be thinking. Instead of beautiful scenery, you get vegetables, bugs, metal lettering, and rain! 

Fine.

Fine!!!

;)

Here are some conventional images:

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London after the Rain

My favorite aspect of The City--any metropolis--after a torrential downpour is not the brilliant sunshine that comes afterward (sometimes, there is none). It is the reflections on the pavement giving an extra--skewed--dimension to an already multi-layered urban space. Perhaps, that is obvious. Less so, however, are the little pops of color here and there, like shed autumn leaves, that become just a little bit brighter.

Considering the brevity of my photographic adventure in London, I've included two teaser images I've posted earlier. 

Green Park

When one of my cousins was little, my grandfather took him to the Zoo. Upon spending hours there and seeing dozens of exotic animals, the latter asked his grandson what his favorite part of the experience was. "The wheelbarrow," my cousin immediately responded.

I suppose this sort of attitude runs in the family, because after spending an entire day walking through the elaborate architecture of central London, I decided that what I liked the most were the maples in Greek Park! 

London after the Rain (Teaser)

Having literally just gotten off the plane after an exhausting and rewarding whirlwind trip to London, U.K. and the American Northeast, I probably shouldn't be posting any blogs so as to avoid utter embarrassment in my current state of sleep deprivation. 

However, I've decided to defy common sense likely because I've primarily done purely documentary photography in the last week and a half. And I'm starved for its artistic side, even if only involving aesthetically pleasing travel imagery!

So, I'm sharing a single photograph--one of my favorites from the streets of central London. You can probably tell why I've chosen this particular image: this is the Quintessential City, its geometry stripped to bare bones and and thus emphasized, contrasting the old with the new, and glistening with rainwater. 

 

London in Mobile Detail

A brief, haphazard visit to another place--full of seemingly random, disconnected experiences--may provide as accurate an impression as an extended one based on prior research and preparation.

I've never been to London before and, to be blunt, this place has not been anywhere near the top of my mandatory Euo-travel list (unlike, say, the German-speaking lands or Scandinavia, which I prefer). I also had to make a conscious effort to disengage myself from historic geopolitics to the best of my ability in order to fairly judge this city as such. Admittedly, this was no easy feat: for one, its currently promoted colonial anticolonialism is rather amusing. 

At the same time, London managed to defy some of its most obvious stereotypes: expecting chilly, gloomy weather, I was met by sunny skies and near-summer temperatures, certainly less moody than the mountains of the North American Northwest amidst which I currently hide...err...reside. (Don't let the hipster effects applied to my mobile photographs below fool you!) 

Despite numerous social engagements, the latter provided me with sufficient opportunity to simply walk through the streets, coffee in hand, and take in the city. Old urban areas that grow somewhat organically and in which every building seems to differ--as opposed to strict overarching planning--make such investigations more exciting. They also highlight popular architectural styles or even individual elements throughout Europe and the outliers like Russia--one of several aspects of a shared cultural spirit. I was surprised to find the kind of fence ornamentation that immediately teleported me to my beloved Moscow. I guess this aging Leviathan has some redeeming qualities after all (wink!). 

Time constraints worked in my favor, too. I stopped by a museum I truly wanted to see rather than the ones that I felt obliged to visit. A portrait gallery? No, dinosaurs and megafauna! The 19th-century organization of the Natural History Museum, housed in a beautiful neo-Romanesque Waterhouse building, also reminded me of the traditional-style zoological displays in Moscow. I was particularly impressed by the bones of numerous plesiosaurs--as an open-water swimmer with the fear of the unseen things below--and, of course, a giant prehistoric sloth (which I promptly recruited into my imaginary and ever-growing army of horrifying beasts that both protect me and do my bidding!). One complaint: the realistic, moving T-Rex model, simultaneously delighting and scaring countless children--and me--ought to be updated with some feathers. I'm sure David Attenborough, after whom one of the museum areas is named, would agree!

My favorite part of the London experience? The seemingly ancient maple trees with multicolored bark in every park of this rather green city--like many other European urban areas and unlike some of the particularly suffocating North American "boxes of concrete." 

I even met my old friend, the Moon, of the Hunter variety in its near-full phase, which I did not expect to be perfectly visible in the middle of this metropolis. It brought along a slightly belated birthday present: a lunar rainbow. 

Another North, a North Like No Other

At times, it seems strange, at times--a given. 

A particular scent or a distant memory somewhere at the outer edges of your consciousness, certain places remind you of others--far removed in time and in space--and often unlike each other.

Hiking in the previously undiscovered--by me--part of the Rockies at the end of September, I reminisced about visiting the Jigokudani area outside of Nagano, Japan a few years back. It was the cool, damp air (though lacking the veil of sulphur), narrow winding paths, and ancient, partially derooted trees reaching out with their Lovecraftian tentacles that were responsible for my sense of déjà vu. The latter North was more compact but no less mythic--a variation of the same archetype.

In practical terms, its scenery alone deserves more documentation than it gets in comparison to the world-famous macaques perpetually photographed to resemble decadent, but serene humans in a hot-spring spa (of this I'm guilty, too). 

And so I revisit this fairy tale:

 

Placebo

Perhaps, I am getting a tad predictable in my old age.

After all, as I had tasted my coffee diluted with cold autumn rain on another interchangeable cloudy, stormy, gray evening on the way home, I've naturally gravitated toward posting sun-kissed onion domes of the Ivan the Great Bell Tower.

And a place that I always miss. Sometimes more so than others.

Colors Flee into the Darkness

Documenting The City at night, such as this image of Nagoya, Japan preparing to celebrate its simulacrum of a Western-style Christmas, reminds me of Kracauer's observations:

"In the Luna Park, of an evening, a fountain is sometimes displayed illuminated by Bengal lights. Cones of red, yellow and green light, continually recreated, flee into the darkness. When the splendour is gone, it turns out to have come from the wretched, cartilaginous structure of a few little pipes. The fountain resembles the life of many employees. From its wretchedness it escapes into distraction, lets itself be illuminated with Bengal lights and, unmindful of its origin, dissolves into the nocturnal void."

(Siegfried Kracauer, The Salaried Masses: Duty and Distraction in Weimar Germany, 1929/30)