Nihongo Wakarimasen

Before leaving Australia I set several goals for myself while in Japan. Number one was to learn Japanese. Number two was to save some money. Number three was to make great friends and have a fabulous time. The last one I have completely in the bag and I have managed to make a slight dint in my mountain of debt. But I have now been in Japan for one year and still can’t speak a word of Japanese. I’m not exactly sure why I am broadcasting this shameful fact but I felt the need to confess. In my defence I speak English all day at work, my flatmates are Commonwealth citizens and my Japanese friends just laugh when I attempt to speak their tongue. But not only can I not speak Japanese, my own English ability is getting progressively worse. I find myself saying things like: “yes, the roads are very crowded today”, “many, many people go to shopping in Shibuya”, “Maybe ok” and I’ve lately been referring to my weekends as “special holidays”. My vocab is wasting away because my brain can only process one language. For every Japanese word I learn, an English word slips away. I speak slower than a stroke victim. I have developed a vacant stare when there is talk of anything intellectual in the office and to me ‘current affairs’ are which J-boys my friends are dating this week. And I refute the theory that any of this is a result of excessive cocktail consumption chipping away at my brain cells. It’s just a simple fact of J-life. しょうがない。

12 months in Japan

Today marks one year in the land of the rising sun for me. I spent the day pondering exactly how that may have happened, but like every foreigner in my situation, I still can’t work it out. At times I feel like I have been here forever and forget how easy it is to function in the western world, but mostly everything is still as shiny, new and confusing as a Louis Vuitton bag in a display case. I often wonder how long it would take in this wacky country for anything to feel real because I still feel like I am on vacation.

In Nippon I live in a bubble. But a glorious one. Sure, I’ve learnt how to order my food at lunchtime without getting the double-extreme ultra-pork value set. I’ve mastered the train system and I can even stand peacefully on a packed commuter without wanting to punch the walls. I’ve stomached schools of raw fish, eaten creepy sea creatures and even raw horse, but strangely, still can’t bring myself to eat Natto (fermented soy beans) or anything that is still moving.

I’ve sung my heart out at Karaoke. Subjected myself to shopping torture in Shibuya. I penetrated the hideous crowds of glittering J-girls tottering about only to find that the L-size clothes may have fit me when I was eight years old but sure as hell aren’t going anywhere near me now. I’ve pushed the limits of Nomihodai (all-you-can-drink) and wondered when the establishments will realise that it’s like holding a red flag up to a bull by allowing gaijin to partake.

I’ve swum in fountains, scaled walls, frolicked in gardens and danced up a storm. I’ve drunk with tired old salary men, swapped horror stories with fellow gaijin, made mates with random strangers and accosted folk on the street. And everywhere I go I never fail to meet the most beautiful strangers each with a wicked story to tell.




I have been in Japan for one year and despite its flaws I can’t help but love the place. The past year has been an experience I will never forget. It’s had extreme highs and critical lows but never even remotely boring. I have the most gorgeous friends in the world. We live in the craziest city on earth and we know where to go to get free drinks. Why wouldn’t we love life?

Rhythm Nation

Today is the first Sunday in a long time that I've actually made it out of bed, & for what better an occasion than the Taiko Festival at Narita temple. There’s something about these drums that fascinates me. The thunderous beats are full of energy and as soon as I hear them I can’t help but smile. It was wicked to see so many people loving it today. It really is something special. As soon as I find an English speaking sensei I’m there. Totally.

Other Peoples Blogs

After recently browsing other people’s blogs, I have discovered a fundamental design flaw in my own. It’s not anonymous. I was silly enough to include my name and mug shot and because of this and the fact that my mum, grandparents and the majority of the people I know and their mums are aware of this URL it means it has to be strictly censored. I think this could be far more interesting if I only I could be blatantly honest about my drunken antics and debauchery but I think my mum still holds a faint glimmer of respect for me so I’ll continue to keep a lid on it.

It’s also quite lucky that blogging requires a number of deliberate steps and thought processes, which prevents me from drunk-blogging. Unlike my mobile phone, which has recently evolved into a weapon of mass destruction. It would probably be best if I didn't have my keitai at 4:30am after a disastrous experience in a seedy gay club in the middle of Shinjuku, because then I couldn’t call a certain big man repeatedly in tears until he came and rescued me. Censorship regulations prevent me from disclosing details but lets just say that being the sole woman in a club packed with 300 sweaty men all trying to bone each other does certain things to a woman’s psyche which is not good. Having a phone in my drunken possession is why I spent the majority of Sunday and Monday building bridges. I thinking maybe a 9 digit unlock code could be the answer but I’m open to suggestions…

Cock Festival

… No, that's not a typo.


This week my mate Chris text me and asked if I wanted to go to a cock festival on Sunday. Excitedly, I accepted the invitation “I would love to go to a rock festival!” But it wasn’t a typo. It actually was a cock festival. Due to unforseen circumstances I was unable to attend the event but Chris emailed me the evidence. Apparently it was a fertility festival, celebrating the penis. But I think it was just an excuse for a bunch of men to get their bits out in public.