London?

Ahh, the lovely, lovely London. The first thing that strikes you as you get off the plane at Heathrow is the accent - that wonderful, regal Britishness that can be heard across all accents, from the BBC, to the London, to the Northern. I always miss it so dearly . The second; nothing works! Staggering from the plane to the baggage collection with an excess of carry-ons (don't ask) I was greeted by an out of order escalator and an out of order vending machine. The third; the prices. £1:20 for a bottle of water - are you jesting?!

So, mostly negative then. Seems I'm suffering a little counter-culture shock. Three years in Japan has turned me a little soft. Japan is a neurotic country. Everything works like clockwork, the service is amazing, and if somebody messes up they will apologise profusely, sort out the problem in a lightning flash and most likely offer you something free. The service in London doesn't quite compare. My first few customer service encounters were less than impressive, ranging from a money exchanger clerk who pretty much snatched my yen and threw a few pounds at me, clearly irritated that I'd interrupted her conversation, to a painful twenty minutes in a mobile phone shop where selling me a phone seemed far too much trouble for the guy. He fidgeted and squirmed his whole way through the encounter as if he really had some place better to be. Coming back to such a, how should I say... 'laid back' country is a bit of shock to the system.

My final complaint; the Underground. Bless the Underground. It's special. £3 minimum fare? I'm sure last time I was down here it was £1.20. £3? £3! And what do you get for your £3? A dirty, crowded, stuffy, rattlling, hunk of metal that's usually down. Grand.

Of course London has it's charms. Being greeted with a 'Hello luv, what'll it be?', by a smiling barman in the pub is a joy, bumping into people that you used to go to university with at Bank Station is always fun (and this new-fangled thing called the Oyster Card really does save you a pretty penny). Driving across London Bridge to be greeted with the proud Tower of London just makes you feel lucky to be British.

Then of course there's the Brit's love of drinking. Come 5 o'clock you can find many a suits dotted around the various watering holes that central London has to offer. Here is where Japan fails the test; people work too hard. Come 5 o'clock in Tokyo, suited folk are just starting to sift through another pile of perilous paperwork. There is no daylight savings time either, so popping down to the pub afterwork for a quick pint in the beer garden is just not an option. And as I've been in England just three days as I write this, and I've already eaten in a pub three times, it seems I'll have no trouble readjusting to pub culture!

All in all, this place ain't so bad, I think I'll settle in just fine. And maybe soon I'll be able to actually finish a whole British-sized meal...

Hong Kong-ed

One should never book a holiday in a second language if you're anything less than fluent. I did. But I'm a fool. And I like a bit of a challenge. Luckily it all went quite smoothly, just a few hiccups, which I shall share with you now.

So, the evening before flying off to Hong Kong on a city-break-for-one, I had the sudden realisation that I was without tickets! The travel agent told me to pick them up from the airport, didn't he? Consulting my travel documents, nothing was jumping out at me, but then Japanese ain't so reader friendly! Probably a good idea to check with the travel agent in the morning (pride is so over-rated).

After much blushing at the travel agent the following morning, I headed to the airport to pick up my tickets, made the flight, found the correct tour guide, made it to the hotel, and checked in. No problems.

Listening to the tour guide rambling on in rapid-fire Japanese on the coach to the hotel stretched the old listening skills. Managed to grasp the important bits, check-in, personal safety, popular sights... but why did he single me out for a different tour from everyone else? Hmm...

Dumping my bulging bag on the floor of my room, I let out a little squeal of delight that I'd managed to pull everything off all by my wee self. I was also impressed that my room was on the top floor and the view of the harbour from 28 floors up was rather pleasing to the eye.

My rumbling stomach told me it was time to stumble out of the hotel into the bright lights, traffic congestion and 80% humidity. Greeted by the feeling that I was a very little girl in a very big city (and a lingering whiff of raw fish), I confess that I was delighted to bump into the rowdy bunch of American military from the hotel, and didn't hesitate to invite myself to dinner.

Day two began with a compulsory trip arranged by the tour company. When booking the holiday, I was told there was an extra charge for single travellers. Apparently, the travel agent had meant there was an extra charge for a private tour! Must study harder. And so the morning was spent tailing a half Chinese, half Japanese tour guide who didn't speak a word of English! Communication was surprisingly easy - good to know all that money I throw at my Japanese teacher is not wasted! Though I must confess that come 2pm I was dying to break away, do my own thing, and revert back to English.　So I was thankful when I heard the words ‘Kaeru no toki...’ (‘When you make your way back...’), and figured I should engage brain for one last important piece of information before being abandoned in the centre of Hong Kong Island.

What did Victoria do next? She went shopping. Despite my resolve not to waste time or money shopping, I was soon sucked into the plethora of cheap, cheerful street stalls, failing to emerge until the evening. Thus, I missed the most famous temple in Hong Kong and the Symphony of Lights over the harbour. But all was not lost – I found myself surrounded in the thick of the food market, surrounded by unidentifiable yet delicious smelling temptations. No idea what I ate, but it was greasy and good and my stomach survived the experiment!

Then it came to the journey home. Where my Japanese skills had saved me, my sense of direction let me down, and after a lot of wandering and a little worrying, I finally made it back to the hotel courtesy of a rickety old tram. The tramsare part of Hong Kong's legacy and not to be missed, but they're in no hurry to get you home and the subway pass I had forked out for sat virtually unused in my pocket. Never mind.

After emptying the mass of carrier bags I’d acquired and pawing through my new treasures like a kid on Christmas day, it was time to collapse into bed.

Day three was equally adventurous, but that's another chapter...