Two seasons, twenty four hours

My short time back at hostel 1110 was as relaxed as can be. The staff at this hotel were great, especially Pao who was so lovely to me and complimented me on my improved Spanish (which was pretty kind of her considering it was still pretty dire). Before I left I was sure to acquire her contact details.

Leaving San Jose, I didn't really consider I was leaving behind summer. Frankly it just didn't occur. That is until I was on the plane from Dallas Fort Worth to Calgary, sat next to an older Canadian woman totally dissing Canada. "What the hell are you doing going to Calgary in March?!" she exclaimed at me on the plane ride over, "I wouldn't be going except my daughter's about to give birth, so I've got no choice. I'd rather be in my holiday home in Florida." Well very nice too. Still, with all this bitching, I was excited about getting to Canada.

I arrived around 10 at night, and seeing my aeroplane companion off with a congratulations-on-your-grandchild and a raised eyebrow or two, I met Christy (Ty's friend from Calgary) at the airport.

Now, I can't say I've had a "travellers experience" of Canada as such. In fact, I've been extremely well looked after by some established friends and some brand spanking new ones. This has given me an altogether different outlook on Canada than if I was navigating this country on my todd, and one that I am extremely grateful for.

First thing's first, the cold. And it was cold. I went from plus 30 degrees to minus 20 in one day; this kind of temperature is fine to look at from the safety and confines of a house but to actually walk around in is another thing altogether. I got a new kind of burn: windburn, and it's just as sexy as sunburn and tends to feature mostly on the nose and cheeks. Calgary was apparently warm (we're talking minus 3 or 4 warm) the week before I arrived, when suddenly temperatures plummeted and stayed that way for the duration. My first excursion out my finger's were colder than I'd ever known them and I experienced frozen snot for the first time in my life - it's a very odd feeling.

I did all necessary tourist things on my list (compiled by Matt the Canadian who I'd met in Panama) and went to the Glenbow museum, wandered Steven Avenue, up the Calgary tower and down to Kensington to drink tea - which sounds remarkably British. I think I would've enjoyed my time a lot more without the minus 20 odd wind chill, which made me work harder than I truthfully wanted to. Still, despite the chilly weather, I had a fantastic time hanging out with Christy, her boyfriend Emmanuel and his little girl Anaelle.

Next for my first Canadian road trip, North on the trans-Canada highway with Ty, Christy and Emmanuel to Moose Jaw - yes really - to catch a ride to Saskatoon. It was a beautiful day blue skies as far as could be seen, but those Canadian's ain't kidding when they say of this journey "it's a spot-the-hill" road trip; prairies all the way. 6 hours later and we've made it to an A&W to catch our ride to an even colder part of Canada.

The one thing that will always make me think of my time in Saskatuwen is a blues song: One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer. That's the epitome of my time there, that and BBQs fired up in minus 47 degree chills and my first taste of bison and elk (I know I'm supposed to be veggie, but I figured: when in Canada).

For culture's sake, we made it to a Joni Mitchell (she is Canadian after all) photography show and saw some very cool kinetic artwork. I was intrigued by the frozen, steaming river which looked a lot like it would be steaming hot but I was in no rush to prove that theory. I was driven around in huge vehicles, lived with more cats than my lungs could handle, and appreciated pilsner like it was my heritage. I know the Edmonton Oilers, the Detroit Redwings and I can appreciate a game of curling. All in all I consider my time in Saskatoon a Canadian initiation, and overall I rather liked it.

Santa Catalina's narly man

So the one initial problem with Santa Catalina, was it's lack of food. Even the local restaurants were closed, aside from one fried chicken joint that didn't like Westerners. We'd be told by a girl at the Lost and Found to take some water and snacks because the local shop usually sold out pretty quick. When we arrived it had sold out completely and for 2 days after as well. I learnt to appreciate rice and tomato puree as a staple for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Calyn was leaving the following afternoon as she had a plane to catch from Panama City, but we spent the morning in the blistering heat wandering around on the beach before I saw her off at 2pm, on the last of three buses that left the town for Sonar, with promises to catch up in Seattle (her home town and one of my last destinations on this trip).

Rolo Cabanas, and the rest of Santa Catalina, is predominantly a surfers hang out; so there were some real dudes in this place with surfer dude language to match: narly, sick, dude and so on. Matt and I had planned a snorkeling trip, however, this was not meant to be (and also was expensive at $100+ a pop).

So after a day spent trying to find the beach - I managed to get us well and truly lost - Matt had resolved to get up early and collar a fisherman to take us snorkeling. A fine plan, but this man had slept in until the afternoon (the reason why we missed the first snorkeling trip) and was touting such plans around 1am to get up at 5.30am. I could see there were flaws here. The snorkeling didn't happen, but after a change encounter with two Dutch guys on the way to a surfing lesson, surfing did.

Our "teacher" was the epitome of a surfer dude, fully equip with the curly blond hair and quicksliver attire: we were ready to surf. Or not. After totalling it about one hundred times, losing my glasses and getting into trouble: "Charlie, stop doing your hair and get out of the break zone" (I hasten to add, any of you that know me will know this is an unlikely interpretation of the situation; I had in fact been wacked in the head by the surfboard after coming off and losing my glasses, sod the hair I was giving myself a second or two to get composed and check for concussion).

It was a great day though and at $30 for the lesson and hire of the board, a cheaper one than snorkeling. I surfed until I could surf no more and got burnt like an Englishman: this burn was much to the wonder of all the surfer dudes at Rolo's (who tan in their sleep) and I oft felt like a freaky science exhibit - wow man, have you seen how red you are?!?! Yes, thank you, I have.

Matt left that afternoon and I had one more night in Santa Catalina, resting my laurels in the hammock outside my room. The following morning I was up early to head to David, which was basically the journey from Lost and Found to Santa Catalina in reverse. The journey was relatively easy, though there were some odd goings-on on the bus from Santiago to David between the bus driver and a group of men. One being unceremoniously left on the roadside, and the other being taken by the police during a passport/ID check.

I was happy to arrive at the Purple House (yes it's all purple) backpackers lodge in David. There isn't much of a tourist pull to this place, aside from it's a hub for buses going all over Central America; I was here to catch one of those to San Jose the following morning. Because of a small delay getting to David, the ticket office was shut, so I was going to have to leave extra early the following morning, as there was only one bus per day and I was told they can fill up fast.

There were some great people at the hostel, and a friendly dog (named Cutie of all things) with a penchant for guest's toothbrushes and razors - in fact, the dog was so fond of the things the hostel owner had to keep a stockpile for if any should become a play-thing and need replacing.

The evening was spent with a few rums in good company, as is always when you just meet people in this communal atmosphere, passing the time watching films (though having lost my glasses in the surfing incident, the only way I could see the tv was using my wacky pair of prescription sunglasses) and chatting.

Up early, purchase tickets, "yo escribo mi nombre en el libre por la frontera" (check it out) and helped an elderly American gentleman out with some Spanish (it was basic, but I was so happy about this it was almost stupid) and headed off for the 10 hour journey back over the Panamanian boarder to San Jose. I was sat next to a Panamanian guy for the journey home who I'm pretty sure had been partying it up for Carnival because he stunk of beer; he wanted to practice his English and showed me pictures of his wife and little girl. He worked on a boat, but had trouble explaining what exactly it was he did and the conversation dried up a little due to both our lack of language skills.

Ten hours later and back in San Jose back to hostel 1110 and very glad to be there (even though I got conned by the taxi driver from the bus terminal, which gave me an anger to the point where I had to tell myself to "take deep breaths"). I had the following day to do all the souvenir shopping I'd planned and to simply take it easy before my flight to Calgary to greet winter.

Lost and Found

The journey out of Bocas was straight-forward enough, we got the water taxi over to Almirante and jumped in a land taxi for $2 (clearly over-priced for tourists) to get to the bus stop (about 2 minutes away, but the taxi driver seemed to stop at the local pool hall to take his next shot in a game). We needed the bus to David for about 3 hours ($7 each), and the instructions were that the needed to get off by the three yellow rocks. The bus was utterly rammed, I literally had one bum cheek on a seat and taking corners was hard going. Calyn had spoken to the driver and told him our destination, and so we were off.

To my relief, the bus emptied along the way and I managed the luxury of a whole seat with enough room for both bum cheeks. Three hours later, and desperately looking out of the window for the big yellow rocks, the ticket gent sat next to us motioned for the bus to stop and we were apparently arrived. Whilst musing at Calyn about these mystery yellow rocks that I hadn't seen anywhere, the bus pulled away and there they were: three rocks on the side of the road, each about the size of a large dog, painted yellow right near the sign that read: “Welcome to lost paradise!”. I have to say, it's a good job the ticket man knew where we were going, because there's no way I would've spotted those rocks.

I had been informed by Calyn that the hostel was a 15 minute hike from the roadside, until we arrived I hadn't really considered this a challenge. It was up a meandering hill, which was quite steep. Not being at the peak of my physical fitness, this really was a challenge and I was glad when we both reached the top. Upon arrival we were met by a number of people dressed for hiking, which is certainly more than I could say for myself.

The hostel was pretty amazing. 1200 metres above sea level, you were actually above the clouds. The only thing was, the temperature very much reflected this altitude and I was a little nippy. Having only strappy tops and flip flops on me, I was lucky to be with Calyn who provided me with socks and a shawl to keep the wind and drizzle off. Quite a change from Bocas (though obviously the rain was a common theme). That evening was spent chatting and deciding what to do for the next few days. I really wanted to go on the local organic wine and coffee tour, but because of Carnival starting that week, all tours were off in preference of partying. So, if you can't go organic, go to Carnival. And that's what we opted to do the next day.

The other great thing about this hostel is the double dorm room beds – quite a treat for the average back packer. I got a great night's sleep, even with the driving wind and rain at the windows. I was also glad of the need not to go to the toilet, as they were positioned a good 400 yards away, down a path marked out with the odd rock here and there. I made sure I'd squeezed out every last drop before retiring to bed. The Lost and Found is an eco-hostel. So when going to the toilet, you don't just put the loo roll in the bin (you are advised not to flush any loo roll in Central America, or most of South East Asia for that matter) – you put it in the bin and burn it. Your very own bathroom-based bonfire, so each toilet cubical has it's own lighter for convenience. Jolly good fun.

The morning of Carnival saw us up reasonably early to jump in the car with all the other carnival goers, and head off towards David. A couple of hours driving and after picking up Andrew's (the Canadian hostel owner) Panamanian wife Stephanie we were almost arrived. The Carnival reminded me a little of a school fete, except with scantily clad ladies and 3 giant water hoses for hosing down the drunken, dancing crowd. This hosing did not stop, and if you weren't soaked to the bone you weren't there. After drinking a number of Panama beers and dancing my arse off, we left damp to return to the hostel. This did not mark the end of the Carnival celebrations though, and when back at the hostel all the guests got into Carnival spirit and we all drank well into the night.

My stinking hangover the following morning, was quickly appeased by the sight of a double rainbow from the viewing platform. The first time I've viewed a rainbow from above, and a pretty exciting event for me. And the hangover was gone, well almost. Still Calyn and I were feeling a bit delicate, and after a while sitting in the sunshine (it was a beautiful day) by the fire pit, we resolved to go to the shop and get some food to cook in the evening. After receiving directions, off we went. Almost two hours later, we returned. The shop was quite a exertion, so feeling virtuous from the “hike” to the shop we were happy to pass the evening watching films, drinking a couple of beers and hanging out with the all the wonderful people at the hostel.

The next morning, we'd decided on a early rise to make our way to Santa Catalina on the Pacific coast; meaning I would've travelled from coast to coast on my trip. We'd picked up a Canadian gent named Matt, convincing him that he needed the coast after the drizzle of Lost and Found. This journey was not straight-forward. We had to head down to the road and hail the bus that was coming from Bocas and ride it the entire way to David ($7); then we needed to find a bus to Santiago ($5) about 3 hours away from David; at Santiago we needed a smaller bus to Sonar ($2); upon arriving at Sonar we needed a local bus to Santa Catalina. In total about 6 or 7 hours to get there.

The first bus we got was packed, so we had to stand for an hour - this wasn't so bad for me but for 6ft Matt it meant and hour spent with his head at a rather awkward angle. We also missed the last bus from Sonar and had to share a taxi with another couple who were on the bus, which cost us $5 each. After an extremely long day, we landed up at Rolo Cabanas equipped with hammocks for chilling out, and began the search for food...

"Bocas del Clos" – an adventure in cheap wine and tomato salsa (and Spanish lessons)

Upon arriving at the Spanish school (escuela in Español, just to prove that I learnt something) I met Philipp and introduced him to one of my beers. Soon Franzie, Jane, Philipp and I were off out for dinner. This would prove to be one of the most memorable weeks of my trip so far. My classe consisted of Franzie, Philipp and I. Though their spoken Spanish far exceeded my skills, and the mix of Swiss-German and Spanish being spoken was a heady mix and certainly enough to confuse my already stretched brain, my Spanish was improved at the end of the five days.

The best thing about the Spanish school was the people I met. I was glad to have the opportunity to improve my language skills, but five days is simply not long enough and there is not enough opportunity to practise (¡praticar!). Also, in my head I had a vision of the school; rightly or wrongly, I considered the “Spanish by the Sea” school to be just that: by the sea. And I guess it was, except I couldn't see the sea from my cave of a room (no joke, no windows, no light) and the beach was really a bit of a walk away or a boat trip. I realise that on the website, it says nothing of sitting on the beach whilst you chat idly away in Español, I added all those bits myself. Still, I could not help being slightly disappointed.

Bocas the town was busy, lots of tourists as Carnival was fast approaching. Meaning that each evening whilst I was there, locals gathered in the streets in all manner of wacky costumes and began whipping men with sticks. It was quite a spectacle. It was hard to explore the neighbouring islands to any degree during the week, as our Spanish classes ran 1pm – 5pm. Most of the good islands were about a half hour or forty five minute boat trip away, sometimes costing as much as $10 per person return. Spending that you really need to have the whole day on the island.

One day we made it to Bastimentos, the fabled island of the Red Frog and Wizard beaches that everyone at the escuela had been talking about. A group of us took the boat to Red Frog beach and arranged our pick up for a few hours later. The only other thing to mention about the Caribbean coast is the unpredictable weather: beautiful sunshine one minute, downpours the next. Philipp and I had hired a body board and a surfboard to give it a go. The tide was tough going though and I gave up pretty soon, but Philipp stuck it out for a few hours – probably because of the atrocious weather. It absolutely chucked it down. We found shelter, with a number of other tourists and locals alike, under a small shack on the beach. Nothing much to do but wait it out for the weather to improve or for our boat to come pick us up.

In total about one hour of sunshine was had, and with just that one hour Franzie and I managed to get burnt to Biblical proportions, despite being sat in the shade with factor 25 sunscreen on. Thank goodness for the foresight of aloe vera gel to cool our toasted skin.

The rest of my time in Bocas was mostly spent drinking the infamous “Clos” (the cheapest wine in Central America which can be purchased in a 2 litre tetra pack and all for the princely sum of $5) cooking (my tomato salsa went down a treat and featured in a number of our meals) and eating with some very fine people, and learning a little bit of Spanish on the side. But after 7 days, it was time to leave Bocas for other Panamanian climbs.

I left with Calyn, a lady who'd also been studying, and together we headed to a hostel in the clouds. And that really is as much as I knew about it, aside from that it was somewhere near Boquette and South of Bocas (which isn't really hard to be, if you look on a map you'll see). Next adventure ahoy!

Central America and me

So, off to San Jose I went: via Dallas Fort Worth from Tokyo Narita. Over the date line once more; a very long and tiring flight, not helped much by American Airlines (no vegetarian food despite having made a request for it, and no in flight entertainment). I arrived at 11pm, a little late and was picked up by the hostel I'd booked with. My first opportunity to speak broken Spanish came with the driver, I think I understood about 15% of what he said to me, and some of the conversation almost certainly involved football (made clear to me by the references to David Beckham). The ride cost me $28 which is more than a regular taxi, but I was a little uneasy about taking a taxi by myself in San Jose at night - have you read the dangers and annoyances part in the Lonely Planet?!

Driving through the streets it also became clear that a local football team had been playing, with crowds of people dressed in stripes and colours in the streets. Upon arriving at the hostel it turned out that they'd been celebrating a local win there too. Although the hostel owners were hitting the town with some of the guests, I declined in favour of some sorely needed sleep.

The next day, having resolved to make no plans whatsoever for my trip to Central America, I decided some research was in order. I spent the day researching Spanish schools and deciding which border to cross - the Nicaraguan or the Panamanian. After much deliberation, I'd made up my mind to cross the boarder into Panama and head to the Isla Bocas del Toro to attend the Spanish by the Sea school there. My temptation lying in the idea of learning Spanish on the beach!

I spent a day exploring San Jose with a guy from the hostel named Jimmy; he was a ball of broken-English speaking, stream of consciousness nuttiness. I have literally no idea where we went but managed to sample an ice cream before heading back. In the evening Jimmy took me and another girl from the hostel out for dinner but we ended up wandering around the coca cola bus terminal for about half an hour looking only at fried chicken. Things got a little confusing and Jimmy began to accuse me and Suzuki of only eating "gringo" food when we travelled and how we had no idea about local food in San Jose. Time to head back to the hostel and cook some food there. I was actually happier to cook my own food, most of the street food in San Jose seemed to be chicken based as well as this it was far cheaper to cook.

San Jose was interesting for a day, but it's a city and is mostly shopping, museums and the odd nice looking building. Having just been in Tokyo, I'd had my fill of cities and was looking forward (but not without some trepidation) to heading to Panama for my week of Spanish lessons.

Now without going into too much detail, I researched my journey to Bocas del Toro as though I was going to write a dissertation on it. There is one bus a day from San Jose to a place called Changuinola, from here you can get a local bus or taxi to a small town called Almirante, from here you can get a water taxi to Bocas town. The bus left San Jose at 9am, so (after a brief spell being locked in the hostel and some missing keys) I headed to the Coca Cola. Upon arriving I tout-dodged a man trying to tell me the bus had already left and that he'd drive me in his taxi to the next stop for a nominal fee, and joined the queue.

I'd packed only a small rucksack worth of stuff for my trip to Panama, and the bus wasn't full so I had plenty of room. The trip was pretty straight-forward and comfortable and only cost $9. I met a friendly local called Lenny who helped me with some of the language barriers. This was my first overland boarder crossing and I was a little apprehensive about it. Upon arriving at the boarder, I made one mistake: I forgot to get stamped out of Costa Rica. Now this wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to therefore walk over a very rickety old bridge, with big gaps between the boards and a 40ft drop below. Being a little nervous of heights, this experience was one I was glad to get over and done with.

To get the stamp into Panama I needed to buy a return ticket which is of course at a premium here being tout-central. There were a number of touts swarming around me and another Dutch guy who was on my bus, prophesying that we were going to miss the last water taxi to the island if we didn't go with them in their taxi. I make a point of not trusting anyone who stinks of alcohol and is offering to drive me somewhere. I convinced the Dutch guy we should just get back on the bus and stick with our original plan, and (despite a hairy moment when a herd of cows escaped onto the road) we made it to Changuinola in plenty of time.

I bartered a taxi for us to Almirante and we made it well before the last water taxi. It's a 45 minute boat ride to Bocas town and it costs $4. The currency in Panama is the Balboa and the American dollar. Dollars are widely excepted, but not Costa Rican Colones (as the Dutch man found out when he tried to pay with them and had no other currency).

After a pretty scenic ride in a very cramped boat I was arrived on Isla Bocas. We two were met by a gentleman who was asking where we were staying, my tout-alarm bells began to ring but turns out he was just a friendly representative from the tourist office and he walked us both to our respective destinations. So I arrived at the Spanish by the Sea school, utterly shattered and gagging for a beer.

Speed Tokyo

Having only 5 days to explore Tokyo city, there was a lot to be done. The first morning I was woken promptly at 7am to the sound of the guy in the bed above me snoring loudly. This is one of my pet hates of dorm rooms - I am simply unable to sleep if someone's snoring (even with earplugs). Still, it got me up bright and early and I resolved to head to the markets with this bubbly Aussie girl named Kat. After gearing myself up for the Tokyo chill, I set off with this lady however I didn't end up spending the day with her - she had to head to the other side of the city and suggested we meet "somewhere" around Harajuku. This would be basically the same as saying: "ok let's meet somewhere in Piccadilly"; I knew from the off that this day I'd be exploring alone.

Tokyo is easily navigated once you've had a couple of hours to study the underground map, which is slightly mind boggling on first viewing. I bought a day ticket to use on the main service for 750¥. It was a beautiful day, crisp but sunny and perfect for inane wandering and I was in the business for just that. So I started out at Harajuku station near Yoyoki park, observing the spectacle of the various Japanese girls and boys dressed as Pikachu and other wacky things, offering free hugs and seemingly just hanging out to be photographed by tourists. I of course obliged, but did not get a free hug as I had hoped.

I next wandered into the nearby park, along a tree-lined park up to Meiji Jingu Shrine. This was the first Shinto shrine I'd seen, and there were many serene "shrine maidens" delicately pacing the ground with young girls in tow dressed in the most amazing attire. The shrine was intriguing. Around one tree there were a number of small wooden boards with notes written on them, you could buy these for 500¥. There were also large ropes hung between some trees, with what looked like cut out paper lightening bolts hung from them. Also, before you enter the shrine you are supposed to clean your hands and mouth in a small out-building equipped for just that.

After this I was beginning to get a little hungry, and after fashioning myself with a iced green tea from one of the numerous vending machines throughout Tokyo, I resolved to find some food. I stumbled across some street food and bought what looked like an omelet but with seafood, mayo and sweet soy sauce. It was incredibly tasty and cost (a slightly pricey) 600¥.

One thing I almost forgot to mention, after a couple of cans of green tea I felt a call of nature. Quite conveniently, a public toilet was located close by and, on a freezing cold day, you'll never guess the kind of luxury I encountered; heated toilet seats no less. Thank you Tokyo (and possibly the rest of Japan too) for treating my buttocks to some comfort on that cold day.

What happened next was "Kiddy Land" a place I considered to be quintessentially Japanese. Complete with miniature versions of food you could collect, all manner of fluffy stuffed things, all colours, all sorts. I took an hour to appreciate this wonderful place, not to mention make a few choice purchases.

Not having any plan for my day, I decided to stick on the Ginza line which gave me an easy route back to the hostel. So next I headed for Ginza, the Oxford Street of Tokyo with one refreshing difference: no cars. The whole place was shut off to traffic so you could wander nonchalantly down the street without a care in the world. Here I found another thing that pleased me no end; a stationary shop. The reason for this appreciation is simply this: I remember when I was younger we had Japanese students who were studying English living with us and they always had amazing pens. I was initially disappointed upon entering the shop, at the distinct lack of pens; that was until I realised the shop went up 5 stairways and I found the floor dedicated solely to pens. Glorious.

After such a packed day, I returned to Asakusa and got myself some discount sushi (that's right, I was treating myself) at the supermarket and waited for Simon's arrival. I had begun a dusk excursion of the Asakusa area and had wondered up to the nearby shrine, however the biting wind soon got the better of me and I returned to the comfort of the hostel. Upon Simon's 9pm arrival we promptly left the hostel to the local 24 hour sushi restaurant (famed for it's appearance in the directions to the hostel). As I had already eaten, I let Simon doing the ordering and of course the sushi was great.

So as not to waste the evening, Simon and I did a little exploration of the local area including a trip to the late-night gaming arcade where we warmed up playing a drumming game. This involved two large drums attached to a screen, and in the manner of "guitar hero" you drum along to various Japanese songs, my favourite being all the tunes in Mario World 1 (even if that makes me a bit of a geek). Last call of the evening was to an underground bar where I had some warm sake and enjoyed the company of my new friend.

The next 3 days are a blur of activity. We visited the electronic district of Tokyo, Akihabara, where you can buy every electronic thing imaginable and I oogled the hi-tech Japanese phones through which you can watch the television. I should mention, no phone will work in Japan unless it is Japanese - they have a special system that I am at a loss to understand and therefore tri-band or whatever, it simply ain't going to work.

In Akihabara we climbed the numerous floors of the wackiest shopping centre I've ever laid foot in. There were floors dedicated to: arcade games and photo machines; a maid cafe (a cafe were all the girls are dressed in the same costume and serve you coffee and lunch - we went to one of these after); all manner of strange and wonderful costumes and fancy dress options (I was so tempted to buy one); toiletries of course; a lot of fancy tights. Suffice to say it was an eye-opening experience, though not as eye-opening as the 5 story "adult" store. Less said here the better.

After this, and a light lunch in a maid cafe, we were off to the entertainment district of Shibuya, where people are everywhere but everything is somehow ordered. I agreed to go into a Starbucks because it promised a great view and also a warm beverage.

Naturally, a karaoke stint was on the cards. If I wasn't with Simon I'm not sure I could've figured it out on my own; first up you have to get a membership (I can't remember the cost of this, but I don't think it was too much) and then you pay for however many hours you want to sing for. I believe we were in the karaoke place featured in "Lost in Translation"; you're given your floor number and head on up the lift to a corridor of doors with various dulcet tones emitting from them. You get your own little space; a couple of drinks; an inexhaustible book of songs; some disco lights and you're off. Two hours later, grinning from ear-to-ear I'd had a jolly good sing song, and had decided that this kind of karaoke should feature everywhere in the UK. Come on Britain, sort it out.

Next off to Roppongi and Roppongi Hills for a view of the Tokyo tower by night and some darned nice (if expensive - thanks Simon!) Indian food.

Tokyo saw me get probably the most unique souvenir you can get (a tattoo), all thanks to Horizaru for some cool traditional artwork to show the kids. I met him at a station just outside of the centre of Tokyo and after a trip to his house, a quick look over the design and an hour later I was done. All for 15000¥. It was that or a shopping spree, and I thought what the hey.

After skip-hopping it across town, we made it to the Shinjuku's Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building (Tochô) for a free view of Tokyo at sunset. Unfortunately, the clear skies of earlier in the day had departed, so we didn't have a clear view of Mount Fuji - but at least we knew it was there somewhere behind the clouds. Right?

My last day in Toyko I made it to Ueno park for a stroll before heading to the National Museum of Toyko for a spot of culture. Then to Imperial Palace (Kokyo), is the residence of Japan's Imperial Family, for a wander around the gardens. We'd also popped to the controversial Yasukuni Shrine close to the Imperial Palace. Then back to Asakusa to collect our luggage, chill out in a cafe where an elderly Japanese gentleman nattered away to me in Japanese (the whole conversation was a complete mystery to me but the man was so jolly I just smiled along), and then I headed off back to the airport to make my way to San Jose for the next adventure. Simon certainly sorted me out a whistle stop tour of Tokyo, and it was superb.