After the bittersweetness, a last drink at my crystal well and a walk in the rain, Matsumoto is now finally the golden dream it was fated to become. During my time there I remember waking from dreams - dreams in which I was back in the US or anywhere but Japan - and being frantic to the point of despair until I realized I was still under the rising sun. The truth of my separation is not as violent as I had feared. Truthfully, the editors of my memories may make my time there more pure and holy than it actually was. Perhaps they have already begun their work.
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After a short layover in the modern marvel of Taiwan's Taipei airport, I landed in a thick hive of life, a city thriving in the jungles and silts of the Mekong River Delta - Saigon. My mental space has often wandered into this land of aroma and fruit and I finally took the steps to bring my physical space into alignment. In a way, that's how I view my own 'success' as a human - my mind sets off in its dreams and wanders into a mental space time and time again, begging me to fill in the minimalist sketch of my dreams with the vibrant color of authentic experience.
Here I am, pallet in hand. Its not following my dreams that guides me, its taking the time to saturate them with detail that gives me the drive.
Saigon is a buzzing swarm of motorbikes and slum shacks nested between hot rocks and lush greens. There are spots of French colonial history and a few temples but mostly it is shops and street vendors. The food is alive and fresh - butchered and sold in one clean sweep. They arrange their goods shops in an interesting way: instead of having one major area where everything is available there is one street that only sells faucets, then one street sells cell phone covers, then one sells photocopiers, then one sells photocopier paper...its like the whole city is one enormous WalMart. There are some signs of major commercial development on the skyline but in general, business is conducted very differently from anywhere I've been.
I have met a few amazing people through CouchSurfing.org (check it out) and dove right into a local life.
We've been seeing amazing live music: a jimihendrix style jam band complete with wailing solos and a shredder on a modified 7 string electric bass, a flamenco troupe that played in a Spanish grotto bar complete with stone walls and candlelight decor, and tonight, a famous Tokyo jazz singer. I met the son of the jazz singer at a massage parlor, an eccentric Japanese crocodile skin salesman named Ken...
"Everyday is a holiday! ***k it...my life, presented to you...TAXI!" is a common segment of the constant stream of well aligned neuroticism. Sitting in the eucalyptus steam bath awaiting our body massages he told me "they are going to make it extremely difficult to say no...but we are men, we produce like 17 billion and we need to set some free...Free Willy...so just go nuts. Anyways, its only like 5 bucks". He was right, they do make it extremely difficult to say no, or to say anything, but I didn't give in. Unfortunately, I don't think I can go back to a massage parlor without feeling like a spiritual fraud.
Waving madly out of the window of a cab - thickly reminiscent of Benicio DelToro in Fear an Loathing in Las Vegas - Ken lassos life just to pull it to the ground. I can't wait to meet his mom and listen to her sing.
