Hasta el fin del Sur (6 de 8)

frikismo y flamencos en Nagasaki

Aquí estamos, pues: donde nos dejó el conductor del autocar VIP que nos recogió a primera hora de la mañana y nos llevó los últimos 40km hasta Nagasaki downtown. Recién salidos de las puertas del infierno (Unzen y Obama), estamos sentados frente a la bahía estrecha en la que se estira, entre colinas boscosas, un puerto industrial enorme. Al fondo, muy lejos, se ve un crucero gigantesco. Ridículmente grande. Como se está acercando, intentamos adivinar hasta donde llegará... Un poco más. Un poco más.

La respuesta tarda en llegarnos unos escasos minutos, no sin generar una cierta angustia - visiblemente compartida con el pequeño grupo de locales que se ha ido formando a nuestro alrededor. Están comentando la jugada, y si bien lo hacen sin usar palabras, despliegan un habánico de movimientos de cabeza muy sútiles (sí sí sí, no no no, quizas quizas quizas) y una escala crómatica del típico "hooooooo!" que tanto juego da a la hora de atribuirle un significado. En fin, que por lo general, eso del crucero no les parece bien. Pero ya está aquí, nos tapa el sol, nos pita con su trompa en todo el jeto y si no nos revienta el muelle de las inmaculadas boyas, es porque no le da la gana. Se conforma con echar una marea de turistas chinos que se diluye rápida entre taxis, autocares VIP y callejones, como si siguieran una refinada maniobra para tomar la ciudad. No son aún las 09:00 cuando nos ponemos de pie y, levantando una ola de "hooooooo!" de respeto y aprobación, cargamos nuestras enormes mochilas en nuestros respectivos hombros y salimos a paso de tortugas borrachas, locos por conocer los secretos de tu dormitorio cada rincón de Nagasaki.

bienvenid@s a Dejima: estampados vintage, efecto miniatura y ambiente colonial...

Primera parada: la minúscula isla artificial de Dejima. Frikipedia les dará toda la información que deseen sobre este singular lugar - ¿singulugar? Construida en el puerto de Nagasaki y conectada a la ciudad y a la tierra firme por un único puente fortificado, fue el único lugar en todo Japón donde los comerciantes Portugueses primero, Holandeses luego - los únicos forasteros tolerados por el Imperio - podían desembarcar y residir para hacer negocio. Hasta 1853 y durante dos siglos, la comunidad holandesa de Dejima fue el único contacto entre Japón y el resto del mundo.

indigoteando con amor y con becari@s de Bellas Artes from Utrecht.

Y durante los años de la invasión de Holanda por Napoleón, Dejima fue el único lugar del mundo donde ondeaba la bandera holandesa. Dicho eso, la diminuta isla es hoy un museo muy bonito y perfectamente restaurado, con un ambiente de kitsch colonial absolutamente irresistible. Woodworking porn, como diría nuestro querido U. y también muchos proyectos de colaboración cultural entre los dos países. Para Wallis, esta profunda y estrecha conexión nipo-flamenca, este entendimiento mútuo entre pragmatismo protestante y pragmatismo shintoista, fue una revelación. Como pisar el eslabón perdido, recogerlo y constatar que encaja en tu pulsera. Bueno, ¿yo qué sé? Tomamos un caffe latte bastante bueno con free wifi y compramos postales. También nos colamos en una expo-conferencia sobre aizome (tinción con índigo), arte milenario y secreto millonero que los Japoneses compartían con los Holandeses, hasta que los Alemanes de la BASF sintetizaron y produjeron industrialmente la indigotina, desmontándole de paso el chiringuito. Cosas de la vida, tu...

Segunda parada: el famosísimo spectacle bridge (puente de los anteojos), ante el cual es indispensable sacarse una foto, obligatorio parar a darse un beso y muy recomendado casarse si te cae cerca o te pilla en una buena ventana... Futuna se enfadó mucho porque le parecía una p--a m----a y "no me jodas tío, cualquier puente de dos arcadas (que son muchos) con agua debajo (que es lo normal) dibuja gafas y no te pateas 40 minutos de barrios residenciales de los años 50-60 para verlo! Pero el spectacle bridge tiene dos grandes méritos: el primero es que este patear 40 minutos por barrios residenciales feos de los años 50-60 te da la oportunidad de encontrarte con mil frikismos cotidianos de la ciudad. Y eso mola cantidad. Bomberos ¡haciendo carrera de mangueras! Casas ¡con churros al estilo Gaudí! y hasta ¡templos griegos de la iglesia de la cientología! Ole ole! Uala neng, Nagasaki está on fire hoy.

Nagasaki resumida en una imágen icónica y tres imágenes frikiepcionales: el cutre puente anteojos ; el auténtico churro de Gaudí ;
a ver ¿quien tiene la manguera más larga? y el templo griego de la iglesia de la cientología (siglos atrás, hivieron a cristianos por menos...)

El segundo es que este patear 40 minutos por barrios residenciales feos de los años 50-60 te recuerda sútilmente cómo la ciudad fue arrasada por la barbarie norteamericana o tal vez por sus ganas morbosas de jugar con la bomba. Estas casitas horteras con fachadas grises y silenciosas, te recuerdan que la Historia, la escriben los ganadores, los que tienen el Bien en su bando. Igual que en Vietnam o en media América latina, vivieron aquí el genocidio liberador del Bien y del Progreso. Lo recibieron de la misma mano liberadora (que nunca rindió cuentas y sigue impune hasta la fecha) que les liberó después con Coca-Cola, Ketchup y diabetes. Para recordar eso, también hay en Nagasaki como en Hiroshima un memorial de la bomba. Un lugar cuya visita sí es obligatoria y no, no es anodina.

Tercera parada: el acogedor aunque pequeñísimo piso de una Couchsurfer (norteamericana justamente), que aceptó alojarnos un par de días. Muy joven, entusiasta y muy simpática, es profe de inglés y millenial con todas las letras.

O'nigiris caseros: arroz, alga nori, furikake, un poco de arte y... mucho cariño.

Ha venido aquí a liberar el pueblo enseñando el ingurishu de Shakespeare John Wayne a los ejecutivos alienados por el yuque de su cultura multi-milenaria. Es Couchsurfer un poco como nosotros: hasta el moño de la típica actitud relaja' CS y del típico CSer apalancao. De hecho, no nos queda muy claro porque insiste en ir a buscarnos a pie a media hora de su casa en lugar de darnos indicaciones, y lo entendemos cuando en la caminata juntos, nos acompaña hasta un supermercado "por si necesitamos comprarnos la comida", pasamos delante de una laundro-mat "por si necesitamos poner una lavadora" y hasta nos señala una frutería y otro colmado justo al lado de casa "por si nos falta algo más adelante". Nosotros ya lo llevamos todo dentro de estas mochilas ridículas que cargamos, y no se cree que no vamos a ser unos apalancaos más. Al irnos por la mañana del tercer día, cuando ya ha salido a currar, le dejamos en la nevera un batch de o'nigiris recién hechos por nosotros con amor y con el molde que nos compramos en un todo a 100 y que quedaba por inaugurar. Se emocionará tanto al encontrarlos a la noche que nos mandará mensajitos casi llorando, diciéndonos de volver cuando queremos, que "my kaza tu kaza" y hasta nos los mencionará en su super referencia CS... El ser humano no está totalmente perdido. Fin (aunque continuará pronto en Fukuoka).

ya está bien para hoy
seguro que teneís cosas que hacer
así que ¡a trabajar! ¡vagos!
besos y abrazos,
W. y F.

until the end of the South (4 of 8)

unZen and the art of natural hot spring-ing!

This episode deserves to be a special one. Not only because we just landed on the Nagaski prefecture, entering from Kumamoto straight to the heart of Unzen's moutains covered in dark, dense forest. And not only because Unzen is famous all over Japan for its Hell* and the tradition of Onsen - the very word probably coming from the village's name. It is also because this episode is the 150th of our blog!!

welcome to "Unzen hell": a chaos of sand, rock and smokey puddles of green and grey, with the exact smell of a rotten egg's fart...

Yes, 150 posts in almost exactly 3 years, that means a post every 7,5 days - roughly one per week, a mean we are very very very proud of! We recently celebrated our 3rd anniversary on an unknown island, now comes our 150th post: it's been a pleasure to share this everyday journey with you all so, well, thanks a lot for following us and un(t)raveling with us! And hopefully, there'll be many many more stories to be told in these columns... For now, let's un(t)ravel Unzen together:

puddles of boiling clay with dozens of "Don't step" signs and "Don't trespass" boards

We came by bus and got there at night, not really knowing where and how to find a decent place to sleep. As we tend to do in such situations, we decided to walk off the village, get far enough in "the woods" to get lost and pitch our tent there for the first night (and look for any better option for the next days). We were lucky enough that there were "woods" to be found everywhere around, right beyond the last house in any direction. And as for us, anytime over 10 minutes into the wilderness is a decent, fair definition of "far enough" at night. Especially in this hell of a place, which might very well have been full of deadly traps, deadly dragons, deadly tar sands, deadly gas leaks and other kinds of deadly things, hidden under every stone and behind every tree. After walking a few minutes along a steep trail in a dense and dark forest, we found an abandoned car park, partially covered with weeds and with a tent at one corner. We picked the corner in the other diagonal and set for dinner and sleep. It was already late then, but we woke up early anyway, packed and hiked back to the village for a hot drink and some fresh food. We were lucky to be in the South of the country, as the autumn was slowly turning into winter and the temperatures were dropping down fast. Looking for the sun during the day, enjoying the luxury of hot clouds and boiling soil, trying the local hot spring boiled eggs with that unique sulfur taste, drinking a lot of coffee with milk and tea: everything was fine as long as it warmed the body just a little bit more and a little bit longer! But there was more:

urged by the locals to take a "classic" souvenir pic: "You here, good. You smile."

the real deal, here in Unzen, were the natural hot spring baths, aka onsen. If this village gave its name to the very concept of having natural hot spring baths, they had to know a lot about that! Well, at least and with no doubt, the area's defect settings included an intense geothermal activity, with natural hot water coming from deep underground, spitting and squirting around about everywhere... Would have be difficult for them to justify that they actually did nothing more with it than hard-boiling eggs and dead-boiling christians. Sorry, I admit this is not funny and promise to stop making jokes about that. It actually happened between 1627 and 1632, and you can find some boards explaining about this tragedy and a small stone memorial to the Christians' martyrdom somewhere in the middle of the "Hell" mainsite, just about one hundred meters from the main hotels. The increasing influence of the Portuguese christians, converting Japanese people in Kyushu while allegedly trading goods, progressively raised concerns until the Shogun decided to ban the religion and to forbid all Westerners to come and trade in the country. During over 2 centuries, the only contact between Japan and 'the rest of the world' were the Dutch traders, as they accepted, upon landing on Japanese soil, to step on a cross and reject the christian faith. Ah, the Dutch pragmatism in action! They were consequently allowed to settle on a tiny artificial island built in Nagasaki's harbour and that's another story we'll tell you about later on... ;)

But as for today, let's talk about unZen and the art of natural hot spring-ing:

smile to the old man, pay 100 yens, go to the "men" (or "women") section, take your clothes off, pick a locker and... just enjoy the heat!

Alright: the village is literally full of hotels, which come in a wide range of prices and a wider variety of styles. Basically, there are diversely expensive hotels, available in both Japanese-style and Western-style. That's it. Deal with it. With our maximum allocated 'exceptionnal' budget of 40 euros per night for the 2 of us and our supa-strict "get this price or camp" policy, all were waaay too expensive anyway and camping was the option. As we learnt, each hotel had its onsen, which was open to non-residents but again, out of our budget. It may sound like cheap, but (i) at this point of our adventure, we've spent two and a half months in Japan already and we're not even broke yet, and (ii) the cheapest option, both on the Transsiberian and around here, happened to be the most fun (how could we know?)

desert public onsen with a 1 euro fee: luxury is INDEED a very relative concept!

As far as we could find, there were two public onsens in Unzen, plus one at about a 15 minute walk outside the village, but pretty close to the spot we found to camp on the second day. All three costed 100¥ per person** for a single but non time-limited access. Our strategy was to get a nice long session in the late morning, that would keep us warm most of the afternoon and allow a cold lunch of onigiris and fruit. We then had to stay around town until it was dark, get another nice, long session of onsen in the evening, then hike to our secret campsite, have a quick noodle soup dinner and get inside the sleeping bags while our bodies were still hot from the spring water. And it actually worked wonders! An hour spent immerged in water at about 40 or 42 ºC raises your body temperature quite a bit over regular and the feeling lasts a good couple of hours - which was more than enough to hike a short 10 minutes through the woods to a lovely little pond nearby: a perfect invitation to a quiet living in harmony with nature, there was un petit je ne sais quoi de Walden to it. Passed the tiny country hotel with the mandatory beach and pedal boats on the shore - fortunately closed for the winter season, we just walked another 5 minutes in the woods to an abandoned/closed campsite whose facilities were locked and all water turned off, but with little wooden decks raised a foot above the floor and individual firepits and tables. We discovered the place on our second day in Unzen and decided to (very respectfully) use and abuse of one raised wooden deck and its firepit, for both comfort, safety and so as not to leave any trace after ourselves. We picked one spot that got the first morning sun, protected from the night wind by a couple of large firs during our 3 days around Unzen, we packed every morning but hid our stuff under a nearby tree - to hang around town with nothing but a light daypack containing our towels, a laptop for some public library internet surfing and some supplies. Just superb!

a Japanese interpretation of the Walden pond + a #13 with ideal orientation and no negative connotations = a perfect spot to camp!

We spent 3 lovely and very quiet days in Unzen, invented a smart and comfy routine to resist the increasing cold and finally decided we needed to get back down to the seaside to gain a few degrees. On the sunny morning of the fourth day, we put our bags on our backs and took the narrow little road heading West and down, thumbs up just in case and happy to discover what life had in mind for us... After about an hour walking along the road, a rusty and dusty Toyota pulled and took us onboard, driving us for a short while and dropping us to the seafront boulevard of another 'Mouth of hell', a lovely little coastal town famous for its hot springs (again) and proud of having the longest footspa in the world. How cool and worldly is that? Surprisingly enough, this little coastal town you probably never heard off (and will never again hear off) was called... Obama. Yes, Obama. Like the very fresh, latest ex-POTUS.

'Mouth of hell' like in: "everywhere around, there's vapor and this sulfurous fart smell"...

This is gonna be the next episode and our post #151!

take care and love to all,

W. & F.

___________________________

* about Unzen's "Hell": where (mostly Portuguese but not only) christians used to be boiled alive in natural hot springs back then - a tradition that was long abandoned. The chrisitans were replaced by eggs, which not only is socially and morally more acceptable, but also represents a substantial source of income for the local, as the thousands of tourists pay for them and eat them with great pleasure...

** about the yen's rate: during the 3 months we spent in Japan, the yen was ridiculously high and strong. It oscilated between 105 and 120 yens for 1 euro, which made it even tougher for Westerners to travel the country on a tight budget. Nevertheless, 1 euro for a steamin' hot bath tub and pool, free tea, shower and sauna isn't something you can really conceive when you come from Europe! Luxury is a relative, cultural concept...

even farther than beyond! (7 of 8)

Ha- Kumihama -tata
our problem-free philosophy! (3)

It allegedly "means no worries for the rest of your days". Ha ha ha! Let me laugh a bit. Ha ha-Kumihama-tata, quelle chose fantastique! In case you don't have a clue what we're talking about, it's probably time for you to do the time jump and learn of our previous Helpx adventures in Kumihama with Atsushi-san and his lovely and loving family.

an in-pictures summary of our daily life by the Kumihama Bay: a breath-taking environnement and a breath-taking food experience!

We have a first episode in Engrrish for you and a second one in Fwench, well: for you too - so you get to practice a bit. Now wepeat aftew us: "mon tailleuw est wiche". Excellent! We pretty much told you everything about the work we did, helpxing an average 5-6 hours per day, in exchange of (luxury) accommodation and (amazingly delicious) full board. Believe it or not, as magnificent as life in Kumihama might be, that's not even the main reason why we spent about a month and a half at Atsushi's, while our plan was to spend 10 to 15 days there! First, it's because Atsushi-san is the nicest, friendliest and most generous person one can dream of: good communicator, straightforward and always positive, he gets out of his way all the time to make sure his guests/helpers are happy and comfortable. We sometimes had to insist to keep working a bit more and he sometimes had to insist so we stopped working at once! True thing.

the tokonoma in one of the guestrooms, with Oka-san's freshly composed ikebana.

Then, because Atsushi-san's parents, Oka-san and Oto-san, treated us with gorgeous food, with special umeboshi recipes to heal and cure all our pains and health issues (we'll talk about that in a moment...) and even with some special bootleg sake every time they found a decent-enough reason to celebrate. They also let us cook for them and we soon discovered that Atsushi, his wife Naoko-san and daughter Yuzuki-chan had a soft spot with sweets in general and with homemade cakes and cookies in particular! Young Yuzuki-chan was often very enthusiastic to play, cook, eat and practice English with us (the latter being probably not the best way for her to improve her skills, ha ha!). In a word: they all made us feel at home and a part of the family each and every day of our stay and we could never thank them enough for that! When your plan is to do Helpx for a while and you end up meeting (and belonging to) a foster home at the end of the world and you do not want to leave them - thank you Helpx for causing these and also those! Even good old Ko-Aru, the family's inu, adopted us and accepted us as a part of its dog-mestic environment (dog-mestic, ha ha!). On our free time, we could still work on some translations from our remote office, in order to keep paying for part of the whole adventure (making money along the road is an important part of our un(t)raveling philosophy). We also had time to go "surfing" or walking along the nearby beach, borrow bicycles to ride around the bay or go visit some local touristic attractions, such as the famous dairy farm whose Jersey cows are friendly and produce yummy yogurt and ice-u-curima: both tested and approved! It was actually on a sunny Sunday, right after visiting the dairy farm, that Futuna started to feel dizzy "again". "Again" because the feeling was pretty much similar to that experienced in Berlin). "I must be tired" he thought while focusing on riding his bike in a straight line along the road back home - a bicycle trip in the purest "Mr. Hofmann's style"...

the famous Tango Jersey farm and its friendly Jersey cows ; a cow'se-up shot ; tasted and approved by two lactose-(hyper)-tolerant cats!

Half an hour later in the kitchen, as he was cooking some dinner with Wallis, everything started spinning "again". He managed to run to the toilet, railing against the walls and stumbling on every piece of furniture (fortunately, Japanese rooms are generally quite empty), to throw up all he had. It was as though a potent psychedelic drug had just kicked in. Without the fun. From that moment, woosh!, Futuna vanished from the face of earth during about 4 days. Incapable to stand or sit and to keep any solid food more than 10 minutes, he spent all this time in bed, vomiting in a bucket most of the water and soup Wallis and Oka-san brought him. Ah, he also vomited bilis despite desperately repeating his Epley maneuvers so as to take the inner crystals back in resting position... But nothing seemed to work this time and there was no clue the situation would ever improve. Armed only with her clinical eye and a little help from google, Wallis soon concluded it was NOT the BBPV diagnosed in Berlin: first, because the Epley maneuvers were not working; second because the nystagmus was constant, not increasing upon head movements nor decreasing upon reclining. Bizarre...*

that's the information we got from the hospital: papers, tickets, vouchers and such...

She even got an alternative diagnosis: Vestibular neuritis. Brilliant Wallis! Meanwhile Futuna was stable-ish: throwing his stomach up but with no life-threatening condition. His dehydration was noticeable but not alarming yet and the whole thing would likely improve and disappear after 3 to 5 days of aura. The problem was Atsushi-san and his family got extremely worried. Get in their skin and imagine a couple of strangers coming from very far away and staying at your place. One of them gets sick. Unable to walk, stand or even sit. Spending 2, 3 and 4 days in bed vomiting and moaning, with no reason to believe he's going to get better - and both he and his girlfriend repeating: "It's okay, don't worry. It's gonna be fine. It's just a matter of a few days"... (let alone this particular helper is NOT being helpful at all!)

At some point, they all were seriously worried and we couldn't wait any longer for the situation to improve by itself. We had to accept their polite offer to take Futuna to the hospital. An overall 'fun' experience. Unfortunately, we all were a bit too tense to take pictures, for it would have been really cool to post some here! Emergencies, dispatch nurse, ORL department, 2 hours waiting for an "engurishu supeakingu docutoru" and finally, we were extremely lucky that our friend Atsushi-san was fluent in English and could translate the doctor's engurishu into regular English! The specialist lasted about 20 seconds to discard a BPPV (impossiburu!) after witnessing the nystagmus was constant. 1 point for Wallis! He lasted about 5 extra minutes to conclude it was either a Vestibular neuritis (most likely, because there were no hearing loss: 2 points for Wallis!) or a De Ménière syndrome, which couldn't be discarded because of the current Typhoon: a close correlation between strong atmospheric pressure perturbations and the de Ménière was apparently well described in Japan. So it was either one or the other condition, and the doctor didn't really care which it was since the outcome, prognosis and management were the same: no treatment other than symptomatic for the nausea, no life-threatening risk as long as you didn't try to walk a highline, nothing to do but rest until the crisis ended on its own...

an ear (outer, middle and inner), with the labyrinth and vestibular nerve on the upper right.

To the question "How long for complete recovery?", his answer was something like: "bigu curisisu, okay one weeku ; symputomu fade in few months ; sequelae depend the peoporu: one year, two year, foreveru." And that was it. He invited us to come back in a couple of weeks to repeat the tests and decide whether it was vestibular neuritis or de Ménière. Two weeks later, Wallis would be proved to be right: Vestibular neuritis most probably caused by a benign viral re-circulation (herpes, Epstein-Barr or some stuff like that): a common, usually unnoticed asymptomatic infection, taking advantage of some exhaustion/stress situation and weakened body defenses to get to the vestibular nerve and create a focus of inflammation. The affected nerve can either recover or be lost forever, explaining why people can either get back on their feet after only a few weeks or keep a slight uncomfort and dizziness months after the infection. At some point (up to 18 months!), the brain learns how to compensate the loss and to rebuild proper balance using the other side (the vestibular function that wasn't affected), the sight and proprioception. Over 80 % of all patients report no more sequelae after 18 months. Fair enough and no reason to worry. Just wait, rest... and see. Obviously, it challenged our travel plans including, first and not least, the project to come back from the end of the world by land along the silk road, through China, central Asia and Iran. It was just impossible to say if - and when - Futuna would be able to hike through the Asian winter with a 25+ kg backpack, without falling every 3 steps like a drunkard. The doctor insisted it was better not to fly within a few weeks (changes in pressure are generally very bad for the ears), nor to engage in any tiring activity, and to avoid unnecessary stress. Yeah!

our extended family on Oto-san's birthday (he and Oka-san are in the center) ; the yummy fish barbecue and the garage party we threw that night!

That meant longer holidays in Japan and later, well, ¡qué será, será! It took Wallis 4 more days to manage to get Futuna to sit and read books or to just stay on a chair in the sun by the bay. Brave Wallis! And from that moment, things improved pretty fast: walking without stumbling every other step, walking up and down the stairs, standing with his eyes closed and even working on a platform with the rest of the team. After a week, Futuna was back to life and almost 100 % back to normal! Weaker, slower and clumsier than ever, but alive and kicking. Oto-san's special diet of "eat this!", "now eat that!" sure helped this super fast recovery. And that's exactly when Atsushi's brother came with a bunch of friends and colleagues from Fukuoka, to chill over a weekend and celebrate Oto-san's birthday. So, we had a great barbecue night with them all: good time, lovely food, fun conversations - especially about blood types**. We also took 1.000 selfies and FB-friended so as to get in touch and hang out when we'd visit Fukuoka. After Shimon-chan, our agenda for Fukuoka was getting full of promises, ha ha! Lovely Nao-san even offered to give us a proper surfing lesson, but Futuna was not exactly in the mood yet and that would have to wait... With the prudence and pace of a centennial, we kept working another couple of weeks after that, getting back to normal and thinking of options for the rest of our un-travel. Meanwhile, Wallis' mother was randomly seeing a documentary on TV from Barcelona, about a remote and un-touristy Japanese island. She immediately sent us an email, advising us to go see this tiny, beautiful and raw little volcanic wart covered in transitional primary rainforest, home of trees over 3.000 years old. This place, its one-of-its-kind virgin forest and biodiversity were said to have inspired the landscapes of Miyazaki's "Mononoke hime".

the small temple/shrine by the pinetree on the hill, and its little shinto cairns.

At a time when all projects were to be re-designed and all dreams re-dreamt, we put the mysterious island on our bucket list and insh'Allah, you'll hear more about it within a few weeks! We kept working on the platforms, cooking and having fun together, went to see some matsuri (traditional festivals, pictures coming...) in the surrounding villages and Oto-san decided, as a farewell treat, to take us on a hike to the summit of the nice little mountain we'd been looking at all this time, just across the bay. We visited the little temple halfway up the gentle slope and took a long while enjoying the beautiful views. The opening picture on this post is from up there! The next morning, after a last breakfast even nicer than the others and a long and emotional round of (western-style) hugs, Atsushi-san and Pei-chan** drove us to the local train station so we could start our long pilgrimage around Kyotango peninsula and all the way to Amanohashidate, then to Kyoto for the world-famous Jidai Matsuri. And from there, sounthbound to Kyushu island: Fukuoka, Kumamoto, Kagoshima, Nagasaki and farther... So, that's pretty much it for today, but you can follow us and keep up with our latest adventures!

last impression matters: Atsushi-san and Pei-chan goodbye as a zombie-attack!

By the way, did you know you could subscribe to our blog? There's a small box on the right side of the page, at about the height of the friendly cow, where you can enter your email address and get each new post, freshly delivered to your mailbox within 24 hours... Well, now you do, et voilà: let's take the wendez-vous and never miss a new release!

Okay, our train is leaving, it's time for us to say goodbye. But not without (once more!!) extending our warmest thanks and sending much love to Atsushi-san and his wonderful family. We are so grateful, happy and honoured that you adopted us, took care of us and shared your daily life in beautiful Kumihama with us! Our home will always be your home, wherever it is and whenever you may come visit us.

Atsushi-san, Naoko-san, Oka-san, Oto-san and Yuzuki-chan, take great care and see you again someday! 

Take care

and see you soon!

Love to all,

W. & F.

___________________________



* If it took Wallis less than 1 hour to conclude this crisis wasn't BBPV, it took her much longer to forgive the young emergency's intern who first diagnosed BPPV at the hospital in Berlin: it most probably WASN'T BBPV back then, since the nystagmus WAS stable, constant and unaffected by head movements... Moreover, even though it COULD happen, it's very unlikely that Futuna suffered a BBPV (idiopathic) in July and a Vestibular Neuritis (infectious) in October, on the same ear! It is possible, though, that the viral infection wasn't complete in Berlin (the crisis lasted about 4 days and the Epley maneuvers maybe coincided with spontaneous recovery) and hit back a few months later upon a stress or heavy fatigue...


** About the blood types: we were unsure at first whether it was a joke, but apparently the Japanese culture connects the 4 blood types (A, B, AB and O) with  psychological profiles and even lifestyles. Somehow comparable to our astrological signs, blood types are a smooth way to start a conversation or flirt: "I was sure you were a B-type too, that's why we connected immediately!", "Are you kidding? How can you be an A? Usually I can't work with A's!", "Oh, you're right: Kento is sooo AB! Reminds me of me mom!", "I could sense there were an O-girl in the room, but I wouldn't have imagined it would be as gorgeous as you are..." and so on, for hours... ;)

just because it didn't match anywhere else: "good mornin' little school bus" !

How sick does it get?

Warning: this (angry) post was written a while ago, just after one of the visits we had to make to Barcelona, in some particularly tragic and difficult circumstances. I wasn't sure I would ever publish it, since we try and share fun, enthusiastic (and hopefully inspiring) ideas and insights about our un(t)raveling journey on this blog. It's not a matter of being insincere with our experience(s), but rather a decision to focus on what's positive. Or at least constructive.

While re-reading this post, I edited it a little bit and now feel most of the anger is gone. I hope what's left is the grotesque absurdity of the reality depicted here... In case it's not and you find that meaningless and/or sad, well, I apologize. Sometimes, our mood dramatically changes the way we look at things...

 After leaving Barcelona and living outside for almost two years, being back there changes a lot one's perspective. One becomes aware of how awkward it all is. I'm not going to argue with all the city's unofficial watchdogs: I've done that too much and I'm not interested anymore. So let's write it in bold letters before even starting "Barcelona is beautiful, amazing, vibrant, cosmopolitan, hype and fascinating. In two a-words: absolutely awesome!" Got that on tape? Fine, cause I won't repeat it. Even if they send me more of these crappy blog posts written by brain-washed tourists (or robots?), which list:

welcome to a world where arrogant ignorants run the official story-telling...

- "22 reasons why Barcelona is the coolest place on earth and we should all leave our current city to go live the dream there - reason #17 will blow your mind!" or essaying on
 - "17 things you didn't know about the Catalan culture that totally rock (#7 they have an alternative Valentine's day called Sant Jordi and #15 they do amazing human towers called Castellers)" or such...

I promise I won't ever argue again: "your" city, whoever you might be and however (il)legitimate your self-appropriation of it might be, "your" city - I say it loud - is the bomb! So now, do what you please with it: turn it into the Disneyland you want it to be, raise the housing rentals as high as you can, paint every single traditional place with the attractive colours of neo-vintage, globalized, post-modernity bullshit, turn each genuine neighbourhood into a hipster-on-a-bicycle, lactose-intolerant friendly zoo, fill the streets with French bulldogs' poop, organic f---ing quinoa fairtrade stores and moustache artisan hair salons, build an empire on sunscreen and icecream, on appart-hotels and brothels, on Sangria Familia and Parque Güays. I don't care. I'm done with Barcelona. Let's say it's not Her, it's me. And She deserves better than me anyway: I do not own a smartphone, I hate soccer with my guts and I ain't gone to Sonar, Primavera Sound nor Champañería ever. Not even once! Okay, that felt good! Now let's get to the point...

No need to rub your eyes with dirty hands, you're not dreaming...

When you come back to Barcelona after a while, I reckon you start to see stuff you wouldn't have noticed on a daily basis. And it's kind of like the Sixth sense effect: you start asking yourself "Is it normal?", "Can they see it too?", "Is it me or this is sick?" and so on. It may start at night, while walking the Eixample instead of taking the great Nitbus adventure - waiting hours to finally get your shoes puked on by a random global twenteenager on a dirty stinking bus. So, yes: you decide to skip that and just walk home. You'll eventually come across the average mob of dead drunk clucking turkeys dressed in their weirdest, colourful gala outfits. Don't worry, they're harmless, just keep walking. At some point you'll find yourself alone, breathing the fresh air from the sea. Give yourself in to some window-licking and you may run into that:

a famous brand of ropa interior proudly introducing their swimsuit collection for the summer!

...the swimsuits are actually floating in bubbly water...

One would have thought: "an insanely touristy Mediterranean metropolis, by the sea, with beaches and sand within walking distance, even surf stores and (quote marks) surfers! The swimsuit industry has to be flourishing. So, selling a swimsuit in July must be easier than stealing a wallet on Las Ramblas. No need to bargain, no need to oversell nor develop powerful rhetoric, no need to push too hard on the customers. Selling swimsuits in Barcelona in summer must be like selling mosquito repellent in Angkor Wat during the monsoon: you just don't bother advertising! You basically wait for people to find you and crawl at your feet begging you to sell that damn' flask of DEET. At any price! No, I don't need no receipt, sir. No plastic bag either. Please, Just sell the damn' bott... pschhhhhhhht!"

Well, apparently for this famous brand of socks, stockings and tights, it's not that easy. I assume they hired an AMEN (Area Manager for External Networking) who generated a SeISM (Seasonal Internal Strategy for Marketing) before surrounding himself with a multi-tasking diversely-skilled team of FUCKITs (Freelance Underpaid Creative Kids and Innovative Trainees) in order to set up some STiGMAS (Strate-Targeted Graphic Media and Advertisement Scenarios) that eventually brought them to rethink the ViCEs (Visual Concept Elements). And this brilliant crowd came up with the ground-breaking conclusion that the classic human-sized plastic dummy with hips and lips, tits and wigs was not quite enough convincing to exhibit and sell their crap; a crap that (as you read this) is being mass-produced by slave kids somewhere in China or Sri-Lanka, in some maquiladoras that are even bigger than Barcelona itself.

...while a mirror underneath lets you see just how it'll fit your lips!

So they designed this: huge cubes of plexiglas, pretty much like fish tanks or aquariums, of roughly the third of a cubic meter and full of water (so let's say an average of 300L each; there were SIX of them - we're already talking of a good 2.000 litres in just ONE store), with a bubbly system to make it sexier (???). The swimsuits themselves are hanging on those hollow minimal plastic shapes of hips and breasts, floating in the middle of the water tanks as if worn by invisible transparent yet gorgeous and pneumatic mermaids! The backside and bottom of the water tanks are covered with mirrors, making sure you won't miss any perspective on the dear bikini you're about to dream of all night long, until you come back the next morning at opening hour to purchase your own. Cherry on top of this sceno-graphic (oceanographic?) design that will sure enough turn MoMa and MacBa installations into hardly more than supermarket shelves: the sophisticated indirect lighting by neutral spectrum bulbs which results in virtually no shades at all... So, a long story made short:

"if we really do need all this shit in order to sell a bikini in the middle of summer 

in a warm and sunny city by the sea, I have to tell you I sincerely believe we are screwed

and there must be something rot in the relationship between supply and demand".

Keep walking, don't take it too seriously. If it wasn't a huge waste of man power and resources (energy, time and material), it could be just another trendy eccentricity, in the line of the whole fashion industry which desperately looks for new morbid thrills: skiny models, freak models, dwarf models, amputee models, skin-diseased models... What will be next? Corpse models, maybe? Okay, that's another debate and I might not have the time to deal with everything right now. Let's move on... Walk another block and you'll find this:

O lord, won't you buy me, a color TV?

"I want a 65" curved Samsung TV" [Come in and make it true! 0% mortgage]

I don't even know what a 65" curved TV looks like. Why would you like it curved in the first place? Back in the 90's, the Progress struggled hard to convince us we needed flat screens. Why do you want us to dream back with curved screens? What's the big deal here? Is curved becoming the new flat? Did I miss something? Actually, I know it's curved in the opposite direction. Of course, I can see that on the picture just as you do. But, hey! Let me entertain myself for a while pretending convex and concave are just concepts. All this for what? To basically watch some overpaid ignorants talking about some other overpaid ignorants who happen to be running the world or chasing a football? Seriously... Now, is it because the news are twisted that we need curved TVs? That would make some sort of sense in a Lewis Carroll novel...

So, if you let me just try and develop one idea: their point here is to get us into buying new stuff. It's not a scoop: it's been around for decades. What tickles here, is the feeling that it's getting harder and harder for them to get us into buying new stuff. The exponential law seems to apply here too: the more we buy (and the more they need us to), the more they need to invest so as to make it happen. Look back at our fish-tanks with water, bubbles, mirrors, plastic shapes and expensive light bulbs: compare this to the cost of producing one industrial bikini and you'll either want to laugh or cry.

not having any friends had never been so much fun!

But this is not even the worst. The worst is the volume of new useless crap they keep inventing every day, just to make sure there'll have something indispensable to sale tomorrow. Not long ago, and I'll finish with that, we randomly discovered an endless series of Youtube videos called "7 awesome things you didn't know existed" or "7 totally cool inventions that are available now" or something like that. There are many of them, each one presenting 5+ useless things on their way to totally necessary! Interestingly, most of these were "designed to make the world a better place" and "with a vision of global change" or any other equivalent piece of ready-made bullshitting. Surprisingly, they all address some needs of just a tiny fraction of the human kind, who is comfortable enough to worry about how to monitor every aspect of their daily decision-making with the ultimate goal of eventually getting rid of all decision-making. Another common aspect of all these is they are all intelligent and connected. They can be anything from an intelligent lunch plate to an intelligent bike handlebar; from a connected showerhead to a connected gloomy sleep-stalking cocoon. They're all going to change our lives because they're intelligent and connected. Through a free-app that you'll download right after your purchase, and once connected to your smartphone or your tablet or any other device like your smart bracelet, they will take care of everything. So, they basically will: expand your (any) experience far more ; advise you and make your (any) task easier and more enjoyable ; track and use all your (any) data to get to know you better ; learn to know you and decide for you what it is that you really want at every moment ; be each time closer to you and more intuitive ; make everyday life safer for you and the people you love. And, cherry on top: the only limits here are those of your imagination. Of course. It couldn't be less than that! I remember reading once about the difference between technology and progress. And I believe there must have been a slight confusion here, at some point...

why just spray him when you can instagram him too?

 So, before I resign from modernity and willingly go back to cave-age, here are some brilliant examples:
- Drumpants: the intelligent soft pads that you stick under your trousers' legs and allow you to play a drum pattern with your bare hands on your lap, as you've done unplugged for the last 20 years (I'm still trying to quit). But what's new here is the underwear pads send the impulse - via bluetooth - to the Drumpants app on your smartphone and you now do not only look like a retard, but actually can record you and sound like Phil Collins!
- Eva: the intelligent showerhead that knows your favourite water temperature depending on the day, the hour and your habits, adapts the flow to your current activity (more if you're soaking, less if you're shampooing), lets you know when your shower is getting longer than your current favourite schedule and sends a report data sheet - via bluetooth - to your smartphone, so you can monitor the water you've saved for the planet during this very shower, the last week and the last month!
 - Whatever they're called: the (many) intelligent sleep-monitoring systems that know your sleep and wake-up time day-by-day, adapts the room temperature, sprays some essential oils, picks the exact forest sounds track you want to listen to if it rains, lets you know when it's time for you to wake up based on your latest r-e-m phase, turns on the coffee-machine - via bluetooth - and sends a report data sheet to your smartphone, so you can monitor how well you've slept this very night, the last week and the last month!

don't watch your ride, feel it!

 - The Defender: an intelligent pepper-spray that exclusively includes a mini-webcam, takes automatically a picture of your aggressor while your pepper-spray his face, sends it to your smartphone - via bluetooth - where the free app you downloaded right after purchase will take care to send it by instant message to the private security company you've hired upon purchase, or the Police, or your cousin - if you've chosen him as your official rescuer, so they can come pick you and identify "him". "You're sure he gets what he deserves". Sweeeet!
 - SmrtGrips: some intelligent bike handlebar grips that ring and guide your cellphone when you're looking for your bike ; vibrate on one side based on where your gps wants you to take a left or a right turn (so you don't really need to bother anymore with the itinerary. plus, as they get to know you, they can directly determine better routes for you based on the track preferences of all other users connected to the online community in your neighbourhood!) ; alert you by sms if your bike is being stolen ; warn you by whatsapp if one of your kids is cycling off the safety zone you've defined around your own bike (so you don't really need to check on them) and, if stolen, immediately contacts - via bluetooth - any other users' device passing by, so you're sent a GPS track report to your smartphone and you can go retrieve it. The question is "How come you got it stolen in the first place, since the app was supposed to warn you before?"

"come on baby light my fire" (that was an easy one!)

 - Soundtorch: an intelligent (?) loudspeaker featuring an intelligent (??) gas stove. Since it is intelligent (???), the gas stove reacts to the sounds that you're mixing - somehow via bluetooth, because a microphone would be too low-tech - and delivers some intelligent (????) funky flame waves just halfway between your turntable, your glass of whisky and the tight nylon outfit of that hot chick bouncing her ass by the subwoofers. A great idea to finally bring an open flame experience in the world of the drunk living-room nightclubbing! It's so brilliant I may faint!

And... that's all folks! The future is way too sexy for me, I'm afraid. I'm heading back to my mountains where I can live like a hermit in a cave (well, hopefully, like two hermits). Metaphorically speaking. Or not?