Phnom Penh

Flew into Pochentong Airport on a Shanghai Airways 737. I was the only non-asian on board. The plane actually docked with one of those extendable passenger ramps. I’ve always been unceremoniously deposited on the tarmac, made to walk past the jet’s exhaust plume, across the blistering runway to the terminal. The airport is small so it was a short walk to the immigration counters. I had to first purchase a visa. The visa counter was twenty people long. What I mean is, it is a counter at which twenty visa agents sit in a row. There was no line as I was the only one needing to purchase a visa from the flight. The first agent in the row wanted me to produce the two passport photos that are still required. I was expecting this but the photos were in my bags, which were rotating through the baggage claim area. I told the agent this. He replied two dollars for photos. I presented the two dollars, half expecting him to take out a polaroid and shoot my picture. But he shook his head and gestured to the next agent in line. I presented the two dollars to this agent who shook her head and gave me a form to fill out. Simple enough, had a box where you attach the passport photos... I fill it out and give it back, she shakes her head and points me down the line, I give it to the next one. She looks it over, and says,”cashier”, waving me down the line. I offer my twenty-two dollars to each agent left, each motioning me down the line. I get to the end and this agent motions me to wait. Each agent checks my form, some actually stamp it with a date or something. Finally it gets to the last agent. I give her the money. No one took my photo.
Then quickly through immigration, grab my bags, through customs, and outside. Not many people about. They have added a food court and nice fountain to the airport since last I was here. A moto dop wants to take me and my bags to town for $3. I know what that would be like; he would precariously balance my large bag in front of him, I would cling to his back with my computer in my backpack and my camera ‘round my shoulder, as he weaves through the congested and murderous traffic, the dust clinging to my sweat covered body. So I opted to take an air-conditioned taxi for the set rate of $7 to the FCC.
http://homepage.mac.com/marknorris/PhotoAlbum29.html

Fog Rejuvenation

Yesterday, after walking around in the 90+ degree heat and impossible humidity, I decided to avail myself of the ‘beauty salon’ at the Metropole. Just off the spotless new lobby on the way to the stairs that lead to the ‘American Bar’, so called I suppose because it doesn’t exist, is the beauty salon/massage parlor. A pretty girl in a white and blue sweat-suit sits all day smoking and watching monkey god soap operas. I figured she was as qualified as anyone to cut my hair, so I enter and point to my locks, making a scissors motion with my fingers. She looks at me like I just asked her to perform brain surgery. She goes in the back room and returns with two other girls dressed in the same running outfits. They confer, look at some paperwork, hand me a list of services. In small print under the chinese the services were translated into English: Facial Peel, Shampoo and Tinting, Foot Massage w/Hrb, Dig Ears, Trim the Foot, Double Characteristic Massage, Boy Cut and Shampoo, Fog Rejuvenation, and Special Ladies Beauty. The only thing close to what I wanted was ‘Boy Cut with Shampoo’ I pointed to that and again to my hair - this time taking a long length of hair and making cutting gesture over and over again. They conferred again and called in a young man with spiked hair in jeans and a t-shirt. They went through the whole rigamarole again, pointing to the list again. I did my performance again. He points to the barber’s chair. I sit, he puts on a white lab coat and takes a pair of scissors out of a mini microwave oven. He gestures in a way that suggests, ‘how short?’. I clip my hair with my fingers just above the ear. O.K. down to business, he starts cutting away. My hair is still damp with sweat from my walkabout so I guess he needn’t wet it down. After doing the top and one side he gestures about the length, I gesture, ‘shorter’, and he goes on. I can tell he knows what he is doing so I relax and watch the adventures of the monkey god with the three girls. Finally he is done. I like the way it looks. I think it is a credit to him that he didn’t wet my hair down - I can walk out knowing just how it will look when it is kind of sweaty. I get up, smiling and giving the thumbs up. I look at the girls like, ‘what do you think?’, and they smile. So it’s just down to the bill. I know it’s not ‘Boys Cut with Shampoo’ so we consult the list again. He points to Fog Rejuvenation: 180 Yuan. I think that’s a fair price so I nod and take out 200 Yuan. He takes the money and gestures to me to go to the shampoo chair. I shake my head,’no’. He gestures to the barber’s chair. I’m like ready to leave but I nod yes, ‘haircut but no shampoo’. Then he gestures me to sit. So I sit in the barber’s chair. He brings over a vat of cream and scoops up a big blob of it in his hand, making like he was going to put it on my head. I figured this was the final step - a little hair gel to put everything in place and look like chairman Mao. So I acquiesce. He slavers the goo on, then goes back for more, and again. It’s like he is going to papermaché my head. I just roll with it. I’ve got goo in my ears, dripping down my forehead - clearly not ready to walk out in public. He consults with the girls for a moment and I squeeze my gooey hair into a faux mohawk as if to say, ‘what else can I do with this?’. He returns his attention to me and nervously smiles. The girls smile. He pulls out a roll of saran wrap and proceeds to wrap it around my head. O.K., I realize I asked for the Fog Rejuvenation instead of the bill. Sit back and enjoy it I say. Then he rolls over the hair-steaming maching and sets the bubble over my head and clicks on a timer. Steam starts flowing against my plastic wrapped hair. The room was already warm. I casually smoke about five or six cigarettes with ample time between each and watch the incomprehensible TV with everyone else. They all keep pace with my smoking, passing around a bic lighter. Twenty minutes or an hour later the machine makes a chime and turns off. No one notices but me. Awhile later, he unplugs the thing and rolls it away. he gestures to the shampoo station and I go there. He takes off the saran wrap and proceeds to wash the steamed goo out of my hair. Done. I look great and I feel great that it is done. He consults the list again and gives me a total: 180 Yuan for the Fog plus 40 Yuan for the Boy Cut = 220 Yuan. I give him 250 and wait for change. He gives me the change and I give it back to him with my palms together and a little bow. He and the girls seem suddenly very happy, their nervousness about cutting my hair evaporated like fog in the sun.

Massage

"Faraway, fragrantly, peacefully, and joyfully the coming tangy mysterious Indian scent, which takes you to forget your worries, instantly takes you away from the hullabaloo, disremembers you the hubbub of the world, relaxes your body, frees your spifit, and gives you a true self. Go and immerse yourself heart and sole into this uniquely superb sensory experience!
"Like the breeze dancing gently around the tan, the particular technique of the massager makes massage a feast ful of art. Softly, heavily, intensely, tightly, the hands of the massager, like butterflies flying in the morning fog, balance your body and your spirit in a poetic atmosphere. You will feel as honored as royals through our unique technique. (Four Hands of the Imperial Concubine) You can never imagine that massage can be tantastic like this
"The overall arrangement shows originality. Pavilions, platforms, attics, scenes changing with your steps, show you the secrets of Chinese ancient architecture. The furnishings in the room, full of sense of nature, mobilize both your visual and haptical enjoyment. In addition to this, the special Japanese tatami shows a special taste from Japan. You can reach the other side of your sole between the ravelment of light and shadow."

Metropole Hotel

Metropole Hotel, Shanghai. Siting in the lobby bar, drinking a G+T waiting for the rain and lightning to stop so I can walk a few blocks to try some restaurant that could possibly be not worse than the hotel food. This place has a nice veneer, all renovated 30's deco, albeit soviet/english corpo-fascist style. They have a guy standing at the front entrance 24/7 to open the door next to the revolving door, just so you have the option of not using the revolving door. I've used revolving doors before, there's really nothing to it.
The hotel provides the amenities you would expect; room service, information, maps, travel agent, beauty salon, but they act as if I were the first person to ask for any of it.
You want to have a gin and tonic in the lobby bar? (it's on the menu) They have a small confab to discuss the ramifications. Yes it's possible! Please wait while we look up the recipe. I guess the recipe calls for a merischino cherry floating on top.
It is pitch black outside, torrential rain with flashes and shuddering cracks of lighning at four in the afternoon.

Redundant part three

Can't seem to stop with the comparisons to movies... Some of you may have seen Dark City, with Jennifer Connoly. Well that's Shanghai to a tee. Dark even in the bright sun, because of the imposing granite 1930's edifaces that create canyons out of the shabby stalinist style buildings. A run down science fiction modernity flashing by here and there. Crazed shoeshine ladies grabbing at you and squirting polish on your shoe as you briskly walk by (well that wasn't in the movie). White faced aliens in long coats and fedoras with mysterious agendas... I need to get a fedora. And and an agenda.

Shanghai

Metropole Hotel is subordinate to Shanghai New Asia Group Ltd. The constuction of the hotel began on July 29, 1930 and the hotel began to open on Septembet 8, 1934. It is a semicircle concave-tower building in typical Baroque style. With age-old cultural inside-formation, the hotel shows nobility together with a graceful and poised manner. And in its elegant quality, there mixed together with fashionable color which meet your pursuit of modern life. Its careful and charecterized services offer you the feeling of comforting, homing and owning. Enjoy business lodge, delisious dishes, entertainment and leisure, you will be in endless joy and comfort in Metropole Hotel! At least until they give you the bill.

Redundant Redeux

Well you probably have seen the movie Bladerunner, so it would be redundant of me to describe Osaka. I arrived by shinkasen bullet train on a rainy, sultry evening, looking and feeling like a replicant from offworld. The dashboard of the taxi was so lit up with lcd displays, color gps maps, ect. I was just waiting for it to take off and swing by a giant display of a geisha eating a cherry, before dropping me off at the Tyrell Corporation (aka Hoteru Osaka Casuru).

Redundant

I'd like to describe my experiences here in Tokyo, but I know you have all seen Lost In Translation, so anything I could say would be redundant. I am Bill Murray sitting on the edge of my bed wearing a hotel provided kimono wondering just what the fuck am I doing?

Tokyo

I have arrived in Tokyo. I am staying at the Yama Hiru Hoteru. They gave me tea and custard and turned down the bedsheets. I am going to go along with the program and relax. More later.