The Travels of the Techno-Freedom-Fighter

- soapy bums and ‘potty’ seats!

Well one of the most traumatic experiences that I had the fortune/misfortune to Japanese baths is totally different than Australian baths. Japanese take a bath every night before they sleep. The shower and bathtub of the majority of Japanese bathrooms (probably 99%) are in the same room but are separated. The shower is on the outside of the bathtub.

On the first couple of nights in Tokyo I stayed at the Olympic memorial youth centre where they have a large communal bath room The bath tub is not for cleaning. It is for warming up the body and relaxation. Before entering the bathtub, washing the body is the rule. Shampooing of the hair can be after or before entering the tub. Why is washing before entering the tub important you might ask? It is because each member of the family/group uses the same water. The water is changed only once each day. The purpose of the bath is to relax and warm the body, NOT to wash. It is not proper to bring the face cloth or any other towel into the bathtub. Since everyone uses the same water, keeping the water clean is expected. And no disgusting bath rings either !!!!

See in traditional Japanese homes there is a decided order for bath taking. Usually the Father takes his bath first, if he comes home late then this order will obviously be different. In most homes the last person to enter take a bath is responsible for draining the water and wiping down the tub. However, in some homes the tub water is used the next day for laundry. A hose is use to siphon the water into the washing machine. Why not, the water is clean. If you have the opportunity to be a guest in a Japanese home, at some point you will be politely asked to take a bath. Its not that you smell, Don’t refuse the offer. You may want to be kind and let someone else go first, but this innocent gesture of kindness could create an awkward situation.

So what you usually do is to wash your self first rinse off and get in to the bath and relax. In the bath room, there is a small round seat that has a hole in it the size of a tennis ball that you are meant to sit on while you wash your nether regions and stuff this seat came to be know as the ‘Potty’ seat due to its resemblance to the plastic toilets that you get house trained on as a kiddie. As like all things in Japan they are generally ‘small Japanese person size’ ie half of what it should be in the real world and defiantly not built of 6’4″ fat bustards like me. So to sit on this seat you have to squat right through your knees to sit on the potty seat gently., well that is the idea

Me I was never a flexible one, I think when they got to me they just left flexibility out right out of the equation if you know what I mean, I get a back ach just thinking about trying to touch my toes. So there I was with soap all over me in my eyes try to seat down on this ridiculously small potty seat. It was like trying to line up a fighter jet in mid air refuelling manure. Left … right down no up ahhh…. so I just gave up and dropped about 30 cm and hoped the large surface area of my bottom would come in contact with the top of the seat some how.

The next thing you know the potty seat goes airborne and ricochets off the wall and I am doing 100km/h across the floor and into the back wall. If you remember your physics from high school force equals mass <> by velocity so norvan at 100+kg going mach1 aided by the frictionless suffice of liquid soap and smooth bathroom tiles running up speed and into the wall makes one hell of a thud.. more like a load wallop-splat really the sound that a whale would make as it bellyflopped into a concrete pool… with out the water!!!!

As luck would have it I went arse first in to the wall and thanks to my Dutch heritage I am well padded on that end. I’m sure that the Japanese would break something if they took to bathroom bobsledding in any way. So I just lay there for a while in my birthday suit spread out like a giant bear rug wallowing in self pity for a while. Then I just started laughing really load. This was when so local lad though that would be time to have a bath. I think that the sight of a 2m guy butt naked on the floor laughing so hard he has tears rolling down his cheeks. Would be enough to scare me too. They left in a hurry a with a mortified look on there faces.

But all in all it is not that bad. Once you get over the new way of bathing and the whole group nakedness thing it is quite good. I have spent many a night a hour or two talking about everything from politics to women in a bath butt naked with all sorts of people from over the world. Truly cool expeance…!!!!

- On the road in Europe who would have thought that things could go so wrong!

Well what a weekend, I did have a good ending though I got home on Sunday in one piece with a couple of bumps and bruises, I lost a lot of dignity and no motorbike but I was able to get to work on Monday.

I headed off on Friday morning at 5:30am heading towards Bonn. I had just put new sprocket and chain set on the bike (a CM250) since the last weekend where I had striped the entire back sprocket. It looked more like a saw blade than a chain sprocket. I couldn’t find my waterproof pants and so I had to leave without them. Which meant that I actually left at around the 6:30am mark.

You guessed it is poured down the entire way to Bonn it was about 7′c and I was cold I had to stop every 70km to get my legs feeling again. Mind you the new gear set up on the bike meant that I could do 110km/h on the autobahn. I got into UNV-HQ (Bonn) at about 10:30am and started to meetings with the IYV team. We are still working on the prototype for the CD/website for the end of the year. I had spent most of the last month gathering content and getting a couple of look and feels together to put together a proposal. Ah well things take a long time in the UN but I can dig that.

For lunch I went to what they call in the UNV a paper bag lunch. That is where someone shows a video and talks about what they have been doing in their last mission, and you pay a donation and get a cut lunch. This was really cool because it was about people in Peru trying to help people to use the legal system. It’s a really great place to because there are so many interesting people.

That night I headed out with Brian and his friends to a free corset in the university of Bonn. It was an exchange between U-bonn and Estonia. It was really nice. See I also get a bit of culture in! after having a couple of beers on the way home I crashed out at Brian’s place and left farley early the next morning. And headed southwest following sun navigation. I just had to make sure that I got to Brussels by 7pm for the next party.

After touring through the Andeans I got into Liege that was where I decided to refuel. I checked my oil, like I usually do when I fueled up with petrol. It is an old bike so it tends to leak oil. Like most Harley riders say “if it leaks oil, it has got oil in it, if it don’t then you know that ain’t got oil” I filled the oil up with a small can of oil that I bought at the petrol station in Germany. (Can you see where this is going wrong already? Oil …. mmmm) every thing was fine. Got back on the bike after a coffee (good thing about Europe is that every petrol station has got a espresso machine, bit over the top but, serious coffee culture… I can dig that though).

I was heading down the freeway towards Brussels as I was running a little bit on the late side. I decided to stop traveling along provincial roads and get on the freeway so that I could get to party that I was going too. After about a ½hour of doing 90km/h with the sun shining and the birds singing (it was not that bad but I could have been singing zipity do dah) there was an almighty bang and my back wheel locked up on me. The car that was traveling behind me locked its breaks up too and had to swerve to avoid rear-ending me. I struggled to control the bike as I attempted to get the bike to the verge of the freeway. I was able to stay upright as I left a 100 odd metre skid in the tarmac getting to the side of the road. Once I was standing still and had the side stand down I took a big breath and screamed out a load uh-yaa scream. This was kind of weird I had never screamed like that before. Then I went into a kind of euphoric state as I could feel my hart jumping up out of my throat.

I will have to say that it is not every day that I want to have a near death experience, but wow do you have a rush once you get over it. The only problem I had then was that I was 67km from Brussels, with 6 km from the nearest town, no roadside assistance policy and only 3 hours to the party. (ok so it sounds a little like that immortal blues bothers quote but hey it is all true). The motor had obviously ceased up and therefore the only way to go was by foot. If it was in Australia I am quite sure some one would have stop as long as you where not in Sydney nor Melbourne. But in Europe people are in to much of a hurry to stop to help people. The only way was to get to the nearest town and see what I could do from there. I did have one thing on my side I had just passed into the Flemish part of Belgium so I had more of a chance to be understood.

I had only 2 options keep the bike and get it back to Holland or dump the bike and get to the party… only one choice .. go for the party … hey you know me … I came all this way to party and I was going to get to that party.

After jiggling (ok it was more like stomping but jiggling is a technical term for it) the gears in to neutral I started to walk the bike to the nearest town. The good thing about the Flemish countryside is that it is like Holland … flat … means that you can navigate by church tower. So I just walked for the nearest church tower. I only found out that it was 6kms when I got to Brussels. It took me quite a while to walk the bike to the Bostlen (that was the town) . which gave me a lot of time to think, even though I can laugh about it now I was quite pissed off at the time, I guess that this was the low point for the weekend. And just to add insult to injury when I sat to rest up near a farm house for a while a bloody pigeon decided to poop on me. It was something like what you expect to see in a Mr. bean movie. I just wanted out so I decided that I would leave the bike there in Belgium. But I couldn’t leave it on the side of the road because I would be tracked by computer and fined for dumping which was 40 000 Belgium frank fine and it was already turning into a very expensive case of beer (if you didn’t know I bought the bike for a case of beer )

Well while I was walking down the main street of Boslen there was a family that had just got back from holidays and the man said hello to me(well I think that he did because I will have to say that I don’t really know what he said… he might have been swearing at me … “filthy Dutchman sucked in and that’s for not helping us in the first world war” ok I am quite sure that he said hello I was in the Flemish part of Belgium after all…if I was in the French part that might have been different….just kidding) after talking for a while and assuring him that I was not to pinch his beer (I was trying to explain that I all I had paid for the bike was a case of beer) and that I just wanted to get rid of my bike. In the Flemish and my best Dutch we kind of worked out what I wanted to do. He said that his mate Charlie was a scrap metal dealer and he would show me where to go. So him the kids me and the family dog walked down to Charlie’s place to see if I could get rid of my bike (by the time we got the Charlie’s thought it was him me and most of the towns kids and most of the towns dogs [where the hell do all those dogs come from]).

(about this stage I was getting a little freaked out at this stage…no not freaked out because I was claim at this stage. It was all just really surreal. What the hell am I doing feeling ) Charlie was a fat well tanned Belgian that had a half smoke cigar in his mouth, a fatty beard and a terry towing hat on (you know the type that fishermen wear). He was wearing an oil stained blue trousers. He looked like a kind of a cross between Jabba the Hut and a average grease monkey. and he was quite happy to take my bike off me for nothing… nothing I don’t think so. After about ½ hour of haggling in a kind of language that would be more at home in Vanuatu kind of like pigeon German with a hell of a lot of Dutch French thrown in I got 1000 franc (AU$40) (what can I say … the Dutch culture is wearing on me …. And how could I return to Holland with out doing a deal… the shame would be to much … ok it is a cross cultural excuse for being a tight arse but I still think that it is in my blood) out of him and a lift to the nearest train station 15km or so (hey the 6km walk with the bike already killed me). Mind you if I had have known what the trip was going to be like I would have walked. I pulled most of the gear of the bike that I could carry like chain and windscreen and set off.

So we all piled in to Charlie’s Van, full to the hilt with scrap metal and other assorted crap. Some how some of the kinds and dogs tagged along … don’t ask me why… or how but it smelt like that one of the kids or dogs had died or something because wow I almost passed out(how was I to know it use to be the town butchers… meet must be on special now with BSE and foot and moth decease). Charlie’s van was one of those old Citroens Vans that look like a kombi (I would have preferred the kombi some how I have more trust in German engineering that is over 50 years old than that of the same aged French stuff). So there we where thundering (must have been the exhaust) down the road at 30kmh bumping down a badly sealed Belgium road me with my knees around my head with Charley Jan-Paul and the local support group heading for the nearest train station. We got there safely even though I could swear that we left the exhaust pipes and gearbox behind. As I boarded the train for Brussels I saw then all standing there waving me farewell it was like the village was loosening one of its own.

Once I got on to the train it hit me that I didn’t really listen to what the man at the train station was saying to me (it was all in French … you guessed it I was back in the French speaking part ) I had to change trains twice and I can’t remember where. See the French names for towns are completely different than that in Flemish. So I thought that I should ask around on the train. Luckily there was this short stoned looking French Belgian that was also going top Brussels. And he said that I should follow him and we would get there. Hey I am a trusting type of course I was going to follow him. How was I to know that we where on the slow train to Brussels 40km in 2 hours. Once he had got it through that I was not a drug dealer but I was from Holland he could stop talking about cannabis in Belgium. To aid his defence he did go all the way to Brussels central with me and he put me on the right metro line.

Once I got out at St. Catherine’s station there was this really big street party going on. From here I decided to call Liké from the metro station I had just enough in Belgian currency to make one call. And you guessed it I called and got halfway through getting the directions and then the phone cut out on me. When the phone cut out I could only get as much out of the conversation was that I had to go to the statue at the end of the plaza. So once I got there I had to ask directions there where the party was. Saw 3 guys in the park sitting playing with their dogs and I thought that they might be locals, I went up to one and he was really well tanned and had a lot of gold chains on and one of those lime green body hugging shirts I though that this must be the upper-class end of town. So I asked one of the young lands where the Marq straat was.

He didn’t know so he asked his friend. They where French Belgians but they could speak English too. His friend decided to call his friend on the mobile to find out where the street was. Maybe it was not all to do with the language I still hadn’t lost that dam smell, and I was walking around with a helmet windscreen and other assort motorcycle bits with no motorcycle (kind of lights on no one home look, tinny short of a 6pack thing). While this was going on we started up the same old conversation that I always get. “Yes I am from Australia and no I have never eaten a kangaroo” then he said “oh yes I have been to Sydney” “why do you have family there ?” I replied. “no I have been to the Sydney Marti Gras” he added (this is where it should have clicked but it didn’t) “cool yes I know the Marti Gras well I have also been once” this was something that I should not have said but I was not really up with what was going on then. “so do you want to come out with me and the boyz(said with a lisp)” then it hit me … the flags … the good tan … the line green body shirt(who wears those things any way … come on)…the distich lack of hetro couples… “Ah this is the Brussels gay parade” I started to conclude. “yes It was really good now we are off the a after party” ” sorry mate I have to go to a b’day party but sounds like fun”. Then I got the directions to the marq street and I was only one block off. Gee I love my “dodgy nav”

The door was opened by a flat mate of Liké’s I guess that it must be a shock to see a large hairy male that smells like a dead animal (and looks like one too) with bits and pieces of his motor cycle wearing bits and prices of clothing and looking very unsettled. “ah you must be Norvan, Liké said that you where coming ” So I was let in eventually let in. as I walked in to the main living room there where all of like and Paul’s friends. Most of which worked for the EU or other NGOs that are associated with it. You know the type fast car, no kids, good job upwardly mobile verity. Bit hard to explain that there was 60km between me and my bike. Ah well Liké got the idea. And they where a pretty cool crowd. Grabbed a shower and put the party clothes on and partied the night away.

I won’t boar you with the details of my seedy time in the bars and clubs of Brussels but me and like got home at 6am and there was a lot of alcohol consumed.

The next morning I woke at 10 am because I was sleeping in the attic and the blinds where not pulled so I had the full sun on my face. I got up and headed down starts for a recovery b’feast. Did I mention that I consumed a lot of alcohol. It is not that I had a hangover but I sure felt seedy and it was a real effort to get the fresh French and Italian bread down and keep it down. I started to re-hydrate my self with coffee I must have got 6 or 7 cups down.

Around about 1pm I got my stuff together and headed with the metro to the central station to catch a train back the Holland. Some how I had to get back because I had to start work again on Monday. So I jumped on the train for Rotterdam. I meet up with Liké’s sister and hubbie and talked to then on the way home. I got on the train for ede and all was well.

So I got the Ede station there was only one change over to go and I would be home. I had at least 5minets to change trains. Nope sorry the train to Barneveld had left on time and we came 5 minuets late I was stuck with a wait for 1 ½ hours for the next train. Ok I am not an alcoholic but I thought get some hot chips and a Heineken and sit down at the station and wait for the next train.

As I was sitting there with my ripped drysabone old leather jacket ripped jeans and all my motor bikes pieces that I had saved from the bike scattered around me, with a can of beer in my hands waiting for the next train an old lady with gloves and the works done up to the nines came past me and sat down next to me with a disturbed look on her face. Funny that here was only one seat in the station.

Ede is a really small town so you don’t tend to get to many bums hanging around the railway station so eventually got the guts and she asked me if I was a vagabond, I said na I am a computer programmer she wouldn’t believe me. Ah well themes the breaks

I caught the next train and I thought that the I was on the last leg of my journey and that there would be no more trouble. But you guessed it one more kick in the teeth. When I changed trains in Rotterdam I had to buy a ticket to Barneveld. Some how I had lost my ticket the entire time I was on 3 trains I was not checked once but just before we pulled in to Barneveld I get controller come past and wanted to see my ticket. I fumbled around for a while and paper and bits of motorcycle went all over the place and no ticket. The train stopped at the station in Barneveld I was still looking for my ticket …no luck I was scared that they would detain me and I would have to go al the way to Amserfort. Luckily I still had my receipt from when I bough the ticket and so I show the conductor the receipt and told him my sad story and he let me go. Must have felt sorry for me

I got home at 10pm completely tired and saw and still al little seedy with out my bike I, most of the family was there because it was tante wils’ birthday party I stayed up till 12pm telling them about the adventure that I had had. There was much laughter and cheer because most of them where bikies themselves and they though it was kind of cool that I had pushed the bike that far because when they where young they did the same kind of stuff. So Norvan had taken on Europe and Europe was one up on me. but some how I could handle that. I bought the bike for almost nothing and I had got home in one piece I guess the rest is just one hell of a good bar story and as I write this story down I can believe it my self and I have a little giggle to my self when I think about it. Charlie, the boyz from Brussels that old lady… wow.

time to get back to living life the dutch way

Stoke-on-Trnet, United Kingdom
Well it has been an action packed week, for the last week I have been a in the midlands of Britain visiting Fiona and Thomas. I spent most of my time hanging around with Fiona doing all sorts of churchy stuff with her. She had organized for me to stay with Sarah one of her friends up on top of the hill, and believe me it was a very cool house it must of had eight bedrooms and four bathrooms. I am not talking your very small cant swing a cat anywhere – type of rooms either, they were the really large Edwardian type.

Being an old house of meant that some of the amenities didn’t work properly, and of course you can guess it…due to my previous problems that I’ve encountered with facilities in my travels. Yes it was the toilet! Now the toilet upstairs had been pointed out to me as being a problem case so I stayed well clear of this one. That still left three toilets in the House in which I could quite happily commune with. For the first 2 days nothing really went wrong and then tragedy struck on the morning of the third day! After my usual morning for movement the water had not flush properly and left most of the “goods” behind, and the water would not fill back up. After trying desperately for 15 minutes to correct this problem and not having much luck, I plucked up the courage and went downstairs and declare my crimes to the entire family “sorry mate but I busted ya dunny!”. And after the statement had been translated into the Queen’s English by Sarah, Sue came upstairs to help between the two of us it was sorted within half an hour. Later on in the week I and then broke the second toilet. The thing is that this story was relayed to the entire church, and now I fear that I won’t really be able to stay with anyone anymore…. just joking!

I spent most of the week mucking around with Fiona chatting and having a good time. We also got a chance to go an karaoke one night with a whole bunch of us, and me an Fiona sang land downunder by me at work much to the discuss of all the people in the pub. I think that is great that she has decided to come from Australia and spend three years in England trying to arrest some of the youth development problems that arise in stoke on tent. She is supported amazingly by the local Anglican Church. I was quite surprised how friendly they were and what an incredible sense of community they had. I think that she will to well and that stoke on Trent will also do well because of the being.

I also went down to Coventry to see a very old friend of mine who used to work for the International Youth Foundation but is now studying history at Warwick University. That night we ended up going to a university bar and it was absolutely packed because it was the last day of exams for many of the students. I was there with Thomas and his German friend Attila and we had a great time chatting and dancing.

Probably one of the things that really bug me in the U.K. was the deterioration of the National rail network. It took me roughly three hours one way to get to Coventry from stoke, which is a trip that normally takes about an hour in a car. I also had to take a train to get to the airport at Liverpool, but the thing that I didn’t realize is that Liverpool airport is actually outside the city, quite a long distance, and there is no regular or reliable public transport that is dedicated to service the airport. While I was on the train stressing about the fact that I was going to be late for my flight, one of the local bus drivers who was on the train also, informed me that he was probably best to get off a couple of stops further up the line than Liverpool and then get a taxi into the airport. Only problem was that I only had 7pounds and change. So using my usual travelers charm I accosted a group of loitering taxi drivers and explain my predicament to them. One of them took pity on me and drove me to the airport. Where I arrived about an hour before my flight