Monday, April 26, 2010
Sendai
After having been to several cities/towns outside of Tokyo, I've come to the realization that just about anywhere else in Japan is nicer than Tokyo. Sendai, for example, is a beautiful historic city 2-hours away from Tokyo by bullet train, with a much smaller population (ONLY 1 million), and a friendly, laid-back feel to it.
We went there on April 17, planning to see the cherry blossoms there, which are supposed to bloom later than Tokyo because of the colder climate. Well, it just so happened that Japan went back to winter-time that particular weekend, possibly because of the volcanic eruption in Iceland, and instead of a rain of cherry blossom petals, it was real snow that snowed on us. We shivered as we walked, and the cold definitely tarnished the experience at Matsushima, which was unfortunate because it was easy to see how beautiful the place must normally be.
What struck me the most, however, was how much warmer people are. In Sendai, a man saw that we were struggling with a map, and approached us to offer help. Never would have happened in Tokyo! At the magnificent, newly-restored Osaki Hachiman Shrine, which was designated a national treasure, we met a friendly and enthusiastic curator, who not only happily blabbed on about the shrine, but also gave us free gifts as we were leaving the shrine. And we never even had to pay an entrance fee! Although residents in Tokyo are very polite, they do not exude friendliness. It's a different story here.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Pole Dance in Tokyo
Last October I was on a study with a very tight timeline. I was working 12 hours on weekends and 18 hours on weekdays. On Sunday, Oct. 25, I was working away in the team room. I tried to resist the urge, but finally gave in after half an hour and told my teammates I had to go to this event. The event was my studio's recital. This video is the very end--or one should say, the climax--of the recital. The 4 instructors put together a jaw-dropping, adrenaline-flowing routine that left my heart pounding as I slunk back to the team room to finish my work.
I will miss the pole dancing in Tokyo. After seeing the pole dance lessons in Singapore and Shanghai, I was glad that I learned pole dancing in Tokyo, despite the vastly higher tuition. The instructors are serious about teaching the students the sport. While in other places instructors teach their students like they expect you to be a mistress trying to please your "boss" (i.e., they teach you to stand around the pole and look pretty), here the instructors teach you like they expect you to be next next pole dancer putting on a large show. You will get personalized attention, learn to do the tricks well, and advance to learn all the hard tricks.
There's also a much more bustling pole dance scene. I can find shows every week, and not just at the skanky places. And the dancers are indeed, dancers, not strippers. The dancers I know are livng in it (teaching it, showing it) because they are passionate about the dance. I respect them tremendously.
So if you're ever in Tokyo, try to take a pole dance class here. You'll have fun.
I will miss the pole dancing in Tokyo. After seeing the pole dance lessons in Singapore and Shanghai, I was glad that I learned pole dancing in Tokyo, despite the vastly higher tuition. The instructors are serious about teaching the students the sport. While in other places instructors teach their students like they expect you to be a mistress trying to please your "boss" (i.e., they teach you to stand around the pole and look pretty), here the instructors teach you like they expect you to be next next pole dancer putting on a large show. You will get personalized attention, learn to do the tricks well, and advance to learn all the hard tricks.
There's also a much more bustling pole dance scene. I can find shows every week, and not just at the skanky places. And the dancers are indeed, dancers, not strippers. The dancers I know are livng in it (teaching it, showing it) because they are passionate about the dance. I respect them tremendously.
So if you're ever in Tokyo, try to take a pole dance class here. You'll have fun.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Goodbye, Robertsport
I spent my last weekend in Liberia at Robertsport. It was a magical weekend that I’ll remember for a long time to come.
We left Liberia around noon. Despite the impending departure, I was in a very high spirit, and played a dance playlist in Alex’s car, the two of us laughing and dancing, much to the chagrin of our passenger in the backseat, who was trying to sleep. She was dismayed by “a rave on a Saturday morning.”Although the early onset of the rainy season had been inconvenient, it also brought out the lushness of the “bushes.” The road to Robertsport, which by now had grown very familiar to me, looked strangely beautiful and lively. The crowded, colorful Duala market where vendors sell their goods out of jars under billboard signs against rape; the congested single lane road where cars might stop in the middle at any time; the green forests dotted with tall coconut trees full of unpicked coconuts; the occasional wreckages on the windy, undulating road; the stretch of water lily pond where you might or might not get to admire the beauty of the water lilies depending on the time of the day you’re there; the small crowd of people gathered under the bridge in the narrow river doing their laundry, bathing, washing, and frolicking; the old, yellow taxis that dart in and out of the tiny villages along the road, every time slowing the traffic as they slowly gear up or down; the “best dirt road in Liberia” where trees on both sides are died red from the dust storm kicked up by every passing car; the lone foot-travelers who appear every now and then with buckets, trays, and whatever else they may be holding on their heads; the trucks that are weighted down by overloaded cargo and people either standing on the top or in the back, hanging on for dear life. These are the mental images that have been engraved along with the physical memory of the cars going too fast over speed bumps that are impossible to see until the car is too close.
When the view of the beach finally popped into view, we were singing “Start wearing purple” as we sometimes do. We checked into tent number 10, the one right under the huge mango tree. I was excited to see that the mangos are finally getting larger, but still sadly green and very firmly so. I was sad to think that I would not see the day they ripen.
The water was the most calm I had seen. The waves were pleasant splashes, unlike some previous days, when the waves were violent and would throw me all the way back to the beach, reaching out my limps to regain my balance as if an overturned turtle. No rips current either—I could safely stand and hop around. I was emboldened and went further out and spent more time alone. The water felt warm and refreshing on such a hot, stuffy day. I kept on waving my arms and legs under the water to admire the light pattern the sun and the ultra clear water were making on my skin. I’ll always remember that it was in Liberia that I learned to play in the ocean.
We started the champagne and partying around sunset, which was beautiful, but no more so than the other beautiful sunsets that one gets here. Dinner included lobster, and was good but not especially so. Still, dinner at Nana’s Lodge has a kind of signature taste that’ll be hard to forget. All the wine and heat made me sleepy, so I went for a nap right on the beach, just on the sharp ridge where the beach slants down into the water. The sound of lapping waves, the ocean breeze, and the dark, starry night sky felt soothing.
Later, though, the clouds rolled in, and pelts of rain started unexpectedly, making everyone scramble for cover, grabbing their chairs, glasses, and bottle of whatever—wine, beer, vodka. Within minutes the lightning show started and went on for hours. If I were a Romantic poet, I wouldn’t written a poem, as it was one of the most sublime experiences I had had.
But there was more. I followed Paul and Anthony to the water. Out on the beach, the spectacular lighting show felt more like a seizure-inducing Japanese anime show. In the warm water, green fluorescents were everywhere. I kept waving my arms to see them, and never in my life had I felt so at one with nature. The national anthems we sang afterward, and the all-night storm that kept the tent cool but loud gave the whole night a gentle descend from that spiritual high. It was a perform storm.
We left Liberia around noon. Despite the impending departure, I was in a very high spirit, and played a dance playlist in Alex’s car, the two of us laughing and dancing, much to the chagrin of our passenger in the backseat, who was trying to sleep. She was dismayed by “a rave on a Saturday morning.”Although the early onset of the rainy season had been inconvenient, it also brought out the lushness of the “bushes.” The road to Robertsport, which by now had grown very familiar to me, looked strangely beautiful and lively. The crowded, colorful Duala market where vendors sell their goods out of jars under billboard signs against rape; the congested single lane road where cars might stop in the middle at any time; the green forests dotted with tall coconut trees full of unpicked coconuts; the occasional wreckages on the windy, undulating road; the stretch of water lily pond where you might or might not get to admire the beauty of the water lilies depending on the time of the day you’re there; the small crowd of people gathered under the bridge in the narrow river doing their laundry, bathing, washing, and frolicking; the old, yellow taxis that dart in and out of the tiny villages along the road, every time slowing the traffic as they slowly gear up or down; the “best dirt road in Liberia” where trees on both sides are died red from the dust storm kicked up by every passing car; the lone foot-travelers who appear every now and then with buckets, trays, and whatever else they may be holding on their heads; the trucks that are weighted down by overloaded cargo and people either standing on the top or in the back, hanging on for dear life. These are the mental images that have been engraved along with the physical memory of the cars going too fast over speed bumps that are impossible to see until the car is too close.
When the view of the beach finally popped into view, we were singing “Start wearing purple” as we sometimes do. We checked into tent number 10, the one right under the huge mango tree. I was excited to see that the mangos are finally getting larger, but still sadly green and very firmly so. I was sad to think that I would not see the day they ripen.
The water was the most calm I had seen. The waves were pleasant splashes, unlike some previous days, when the waves were violent and would throw me all the way back to the beach, reaching out my limps to regain my balance as if an overturned turtle. No rips current either—I could safely stand and hop around. I was emboldened and went further out and spent more time alone. The water felt warm and refreshing on such a hot, stuffy day. I kept on waving my arms and legs under the water to admire the light pattern the sun and the ultra clear water were making on my skin. I’ll always remember that it was in Liberia that I learned to play in the ocean.
We started the champagne and partying around sunset, which was beautiful, but no more so than the other beautiful sunsets that one gets here. Dinner included lobster, and was good but not especially so. Still, dinner at Nana’s Lodge has a kind of signature taste that’ll be hard to forget. All the wine and heat made me sleepy, so I went for a nap right on the beach, just on the sharp ridge where the beach slants down into the water. The sound of lapping waves, the ocean breeze, and the dark, starry night sky felt soothing.
Later, though, the clouds rolled in, and pelts of rain started unexpectedly, making everyone scramble for cover, grabbing their chairs, glasses, and bottle of whatever—wine, beer, vodka. Within minutes the lightning show started and went on for hours. If I were a Romantic poet, I wouldn’t written a poem, as it was one of the most sublime experiences I had had.
But there was more. I followed Paul and Anthony to the water. Out on the beach, the spectacular lighting show felt more like a seizure-inducing Japanese anime show. In the warm water, green fluorescents were everywhere. I kept waving my arms to see them, and never in my life had I felt so at one with nature. The national anthems we sang afterward, and the all-night storm that kept the tent cool but loud gave the whole night a gentle descend from that spiritual high. It was a perform storm.
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