In Desperate Times

There is this man I know. Today he told his ex he would go home and kill himself. His company sent the police after him to check. I am waiting by the phone, but no news so far...

He is a really nice bloke. Yes, you can feel he was in a dark place, but he seemed to be getting better. It makes me so incredibly sad to think that he feels so desperate, that he sees no other way out other than this. I do hope that this was just a stupidly desperate attempt to blackmail his ex into reacting, maybe in a weird way even the delusion that this would bring her back. And I do hope that the fact that now his entire management knows about this will shock him back to reality. 

I understand what it is like being in a dark place where you see no way out. Not quite a year ago I was so hopeless that I saw no way out as well. I couldn't fight anymore, I couldn't bring up any energy, for anything, everything just continued on autopilot, and tiny things would make me fall. But I know, even if I didn't believe it at that time, that things change. They always have, and they always will. I know that, and no matter what has happened in my life I have always known that. Things change. Things happen. Things move on. Things will get better. They have for me, my life has turned around 180 degrees and I am in the best place I have been in years these days. And the dark times remain as a lesson, they have taught me so much.

Sitting here, now, waiting for news, I so hope I could tell him this. Things will change. Things will get better. They always do, no matter how unlikely it seems that they ever will. I know I am not the only one around here who wants to cry with him over the pain that he is feeling. And slap him for being so stupid to take this path. And then give him a hug. If only he could hear me. If only he knew that he is not alone. And never has been.

Food and Funerals

My brother died last night. I really don't know what to say; it was quick and completely unexpected, I don't even really know yet what happened. Terrible, surreal, and I still don't believe it: I expect to wake up any moment now. And there are no words I can think of that find their place in this situation. But being quiet just feels impossible as well.

So let me talk about food. 

I always thought it was just a stereotype that funerals are inevitably linked with food, neighbours bringing casseroles, the German word Leichenschmaus (which, come to think of it, is a really REALLY very weird term), coffee and cake... Despite these things I never thought that they really were inseparably linked. But the first thing I did after talking to my mum was to cook: Automated moves, keeps me busy doing something, enough to shut off my brain for a while, but not too complicated to have to concentrate hard to do it. 

And our main thing left to organise for the funeral is the food for the family gathering. For which we will all prepare something, everyone knows already what they will cook or bake, it seems, ideas spring to mind with surprising ease.

Food is therapeutic somehow, I guess, not just eating it, which we all know can be very soothing. But that preparing or even planning it can be comforting, too, is a new concept for me. However, after running out of words to express what we feel we quickly turned to talking about food, about what we could contribute to help out, to ease things a little bit. It's a safe topic, I guess, productive, useful, practical, it keeps us busy. We consider who will be there and what they will and will not eat, or can and can not. We plan the shopping, the time it takes to prepare, to cool down enough to be ready for transport, the logistics of it, the organising. Again, the word surreal comes to mind, that one is associated with the other. Substituting one topic that is too difficult to put into words with another one, where conversations can be extended indefinitely, if need be. Which may be just why I am writing this at the moment. Substitute one thing that has no words with another that is easy. Surreal. Everything is surreal.

A Little Chat

Is it only me who gets confused by decisions? I mean those decisions that have a bit more impact than what to make for dinner. Like where to live. 

What do you mean, where to live? Shouldn't you know by now? (says my 18-year-old self just to butt into the conversation) I mean, now you are old! Didn't you have everything settled when you hit 30? Like I expect you to?

Ah, those good old years where I thought I would have everything figured out in a few years. Wasn't it cute?

Who're you calling cute? I know I am moving to London to live in a loft or something, Camden way!

Yeah, well, did Camden, not a loft though, but a room without heating, and a neighbour who listened to music in a volume that made my floor shake at 3AM and who got herself hospitalised every week for alcohol poisoning or smashing her hand through her window, which of course meant the ambulance had to wake me up because someone had to open the door downstairs. 3 months without sleep made the decision for me: Camden, great. But I had to move. 

Well alright, but there's gotta be other good places in London! Alternative pubs around the corner, independent coffee shops to go read a book or chat with artistically minded people about, well, art and philosophy.

Mmh, also not quite the way it will work out for you, my young friend, at least not the way you thought. There are those people in your life to philosophise with, and you have found a pub or two that you really like and that started to feel like your local. Problem is, they are up north. And right now the 2-hour commute to work from up there seems like too much.   
So far my new life has brought me to Hounslow, out of convenience. 

Hounslow, now that should be cool, with all that Indian stuff around everywhere!

Well, so far that's the only plus point I can find here: The Quality Foods supermarket around the corner that has all the spices and veggies and pickles I can wish for. Other than that, it is kinda convenient, good to get to work, good to get into town, but as much as I thought I would be able to stand the bathroom from hell by weighing that against the fact that I finally have cats around again and the flatmate is quite nice, I am doubting more and more that I actually can endure this much longer. I shower at work now, which is alright, but only solves part of the problem. And is somewhat annoying in the long run, especially since I still have no hair dryer and going home with wet hair is a bit painful in this cold weather. 

Come on, it can't be that bad!

I remember that flat I shared with those guys at uni. Where your slippers sometimes got stuck on the kitchen floor. Believe you me: That place was cosy! Maybe not the cleanest place on earth, but it was lovely to sit and chat in the kitchen, and the bath with all those fish painted on the wall? That was nice! Here you need a shower as soon as you touch the bathtub! 
So, in short: I want to move sooner rather than later. As soon as I find something I can afford. Difficulty is: Where to? Where will I find a place where I can feel at home?
Right now I am overawed by any place with a clean bathroom. Even though I know that that won't be enough in the long run. Then there is all those pretty places around the west, like Kingston...

Are you serious? That posh place? With all those rich people who have no use for a brain and just spend their time shopping in those boring brand-name shops where all they sell looks exactly the same?

Yes, that posh place with all those boring shops. It DOES have a Wilkinson, too, though! But so far it has yet to convince me that there is more there other than just to stop by on a visit to feel at home. There is Hampton, very pretty villagy feel to it...


Wait wait wait, are you telling me you turned into one of those wanna-be rich girls that wants to move into a posh neighbourhood? Hampton? Really? There's nothing there!!!

True, though it is really pretty, but getting my daily stuff will be a problem, considering I still hate shopping, and despise being forced to shop in the more expensive places such as Waitrose. I need access to my cheap shops! And a good cheap veggie place in the area, too, where I can get my Turkish, Chinese and Indian stuff! 

So, do I take a longer journey to work into account and move somewhere further back into London? Chiswick is pretty...

POSH!

... or Acton has surprised me as being quite nice after all...

Dito! 

... but to get to work from there is gonna take a while. Can't I just move back to North London? What's 2 hours one way anyway... getting up at 5.30 in the morning, spending £200plus on transport each month... I am desperate, but is it THAT desperate?
Decisions decisions... made even more difficult by the fact that right now I would take anything as long as it has a decent bath! The limiting factor is in full swing, and blocks out all other considerations to decide on a place. I've found myself cooing over a picture of a bungalow-type flat with one of those 70s beige numbers that I usually would think dead ugly! Have I been reduced to that?
 Mmh...  

The Jollies

I work in Staines now, and rent in Hounslow. Both are, as far as I can see in my limited exposure, not the most beautiful places in and around London. But Staines is on the river, has pubs with terraces and will be quite lovely in summer I suspect. And Hounslow, well, it's convenient. 

To get from one to the other I mainly take a bus. One of the routes goes around Heathrow and through Ashford, the other through Feltham and Ashford in order to get to Staines. And I gotta say, as far as dreary goes, those places have to be near the top... Granted, I hardly know them, I just see what the bus window presents, but oh, how very much do I not want to explore this area. 

Funny thing though, the shops and pubs seem to have taken quite a liking to names with the word "jolly" in it. The Jolly Baker, Jolly Butchers, The Jolly Farmer... Or things like The Happy Landing. Most of these do not look particularly jolly, or happy, or even inviting. Or maybe I'm just an ignorant snob, who knows. 

Be that as it may, I wonder, in my years here in London I have not come across many pubs with jolly or happy in their name; none comes to mind although I am sure there must have been one or the other Jolly Whatsisname. But in this area, they are everywhere! Why is that? 

My theory, and feel free to contradict me, is that because it all looks so dreary around here they had to try and get at least some sort of positive note in. Power of suggestion and that kind of thing, maybe throw in a bit of conspiracy theory as well, government's secret plan to keep the inhabitants of squalid suburbia from aiming for too much change... If you see the words jolly and happy often enough you might, at some point, start to believe it actually is jolly or happy, or so the logic goes. And even though just by calling a ramshackle old dive Jolly Something doesn't make it any less of a ramshackle dive, maybe, just maybe, and given that there really isn't much of any other choice around there anyway, once you've had a couple of pints you really do believe anything they say, even if it is convincing you that this indeed is jolly. 

Well, jolly good I say. You enjoy the Jolly Butcher, and I stick to the nice pubs! Slainte!

All New and Everything Still the Same

It's strange, but somehow I feel like I return to the same place over and over again. Where common expectation wants to see a linear progression I tend to run around and around on a spiral, never in the same place twice, but somehow recognising the situations and patterns. 

So here I am again, another job, another flat, another area, another set of people. It's good, I like it, and after those intense last 8 months I was craving some big change in my life. It's just weird to be here, still in London, but everything is so different, none of the areas I now see every day are familiar, none of the faces are, everything is new. I haven't really figured out where to go if I want to get some things, or who to call if I want to meet for a beer nearby, and I miss my Turkish bread and the Palace on the hill behind my flat... 

Hounslow is certainly interesting, a lot of Indian food etc, but I have yet to find something pretty around here, or a nice park, or even a pub that looks at least somewhat inviting... But then again, who would I go with, I don't know anyone in Hounslow, yet, so for pubs I will still arrange to meet people in town.
Distances have suddenly taken on a very different meaning. London seems so far away, meaning Central London, although hopping on the tube would mean I'd be there in 40 mins. Well, it took me that same time to get into town from Wood Green, too, although admittedly that was because I would always prefer the bus. By bus from here would take way longer. So, I am not actually that far away from my old familiar life, and I've had the chance to meet up with a few friends who live not too far away from me now, over in posh town, which I must say is really pretty: Places like Richmond or Kingston, they do look very nice. I still feel out of place there, though, I guess I prefer a certain amount of scruffiness after all. Within reason...

Not so far away from my old familiar life, but far enough to make me feel like I have again ended up in some completely new place. It does feel like a bit more of an effort to meet up with friends, maybe because they are not part of my daily surroundings anymore. Before I would pass a place and remember having been there with one or the other person, and that would remind me to call them. Now all is new. All faces I meet everyday are new. At the new office I am starting to get to know new people, which is all good and exciting, but it again opens up an entire new chapter in my life, and I am not sure how to connect this to my old life. I will manage eventually, I always do, by finding ways of throwing people from different parts of my life together into one big experiment... sometimes they work, sometimes they don't, depending on how these people get along. But I don't see it as my problem if they don't. Mah, anyway...

All new, all different, and I again feel a bit of that schizophrenia... where I adapt to yet another environment, with different people, different requirements, different expectations... They take over for the moment, and define my life for the time being, until the newness fades and I realise what to focus on. But all my other lives are there with me as well, my Japanese family and my home in Osaka, my parents in Germany and the places I have lived there, Malaysia with my friends and the heavenly food on every street corner... All those places and people that were once daily life for me, but which have nothing much in common with other places and people of other daily lives in my past. 

I'm not complaining, I chose to do this, I wanted to experience life in different places, make these places my home, these friends my family. What I didn't expect is how confusing it can be at times when I look at all these different people I love in my life, each in their own particular world which used to be my world as well at some point, but has somewhat changed since I was a part of it. And even more confusing, I connect to these people on the same level, but use a different language in each of these worlds, which includes not just words but thoughts and gestures and even the way I talk or present myself. If that makes any sense... As such, talking to different people in different languages is not so big a thing, but I tend to associate certain levels of intimacy to friends with certain languages. And find it difficult to separate them from each other. Which means I on occasion start using German with my Spanish friend, or English when talking to my dad... and sometimes only notice when I see those hesitant looks...

So here I am again, in a new chapter of my life, all new and different, another challenge to find my way around in. After having done this so many times I just really want to find a place to stay and settle, find some routine. I don't mean to get rid of change, I like change, change is good. I just want to scale it down a bit, and keep changes to smaller things, to some aspects of my life, not all of them all at once... Been there, done that, so many times. Don't you think it's time to change from constantly changing?

 

Under Pressure

This isn't really a new observation, but I was just reminded yesterday how much pressure people put on themselves to fit into society, to be what society decides you should be, and to try and belong. They put so much pressure on themselves that they cannot do anything but fail because the goals are set way too high and they just make themselves sick in the process. 

It was my friend's girlfriend's birthday yesterday, and we went out for a few drinks. Her friends were almost exclusively from her self-help group for people suffering from depression, so naturally the topic revolved a lot about experiences and reasons why people get depressed. I was a bit afraid that in my current state, where I feel I can hardly keep a grip on my life and don't really know how to cope with unemployment and recurring rejection, this might be a potentially very unhealthy place for me to be. But it was actually very good to hear what some of them had to say, and realise how similar their experience is to my fight not to lose my confidence and sense of self in the face of constant rejection, and to find the energy to continue and play he game of presenting yourself as much as possible in the image that society wants you to be in order to find acceptance, or a job as in my case.  And still stay true to oneself.

The general consensus was that most of them got sick when they found they could not be the person their surroundings, and most of all they themselves, expected them to be. Instead of being outgoing, bubbly, the centre of attention, high achieving successful career people they were introverted, often quite creative, and though they do enjoy meeting with people and having some fun there are days when they prefer just to stay at home and have some quiet time. I say they, but I am like that as well. I like being around people, I need the human contact, the chats and laughs, but I do also need time for myself. Which is all fine. Once this need to be alone takes over, drains all your energy and keeps you from going out at all, from being able to hold a job etc, that's where the problem starts. 

But I wanted to focus on failed expectations and pressure. In order to be... for lack of a better word I call it normal, as in society's norm of a well-situated person... so, in order to be normal you need to fulfill certain criteria, you know, a bit like in a highschool drama: You should look a certain way to be considered pretty, you should have many friends and do cool things like snowboarding or play in a band (it turns out playing in an orchestra is not really cool, unfortunately, so all my classical music training was in vain I guess), then later you need the high-paying job, go clubbing on the weekend in trendy locales, and then get married and have the 1.5 kids or whatever the statistic is right now. If you do you are insanely happy. If not then something is wrong with you. The fact that there is nobody out there whose life is perfect, that everybody has something they don't like about themselves, they don't like about their life, their work, their relationship is something many people seem to forget. Just because people don't talk about it and pretend that everything is great doesn't mean it is. And the more insistent they are on how happy they are, the likelier it is that they really aren't. 

This woman talked about how she used to think that her family and everyone around her were all so strong and happy because they kept making her feel dependent on their opinion and convinced her how inadequate she was because she wasn't as Christian as they were or not as successful or couldn't keep a relationship. At some point she realised that she was actually much more Christian than they were, because she went out and helped wherever she saw people who needed help, whereas her family thrived on seeing others suffer and feeling superior because of that. 

I think a lot of our problems stem from us comparing ourselves to others, heck, our entire society is built on comparison and the need to strive for what we don't have, just so that we can feel prettier or better or worth more than others who do not drive the same car or can talk as confidently about how great they are. So much of it is just pretend, the material things to show off, the bragging to pretend that they are such great achievers and know everything when they do not... I mean I envy people who can talk a lot of bullshit and present themselves as the greatest person on earth. In a sense I would like to be able to have the nerve, but all I see is someone talking rubbish and I find it impossible to believe that all those people listening to that actually buy it. I couldn't do it because I'd think I was insulting their intelligence by embellishing things so obviously out of proportion. But society wants the loudmouths, the ones that never shut up about themselves and think they know it all, whereas I prefer to listen and learn and develop. Don't get me wrong, I know what I can do, I am confident in my abilities and can talk about them in straight terms, but I find it very difficult to brag about it and make it all sound so much more than it is, which is what is expected apparently when I see how the recruitment market works. Only the loudest bullshitter will get the job. And I still hope for someone with the mind to realise what actually is behind it...

It's just so sad to see how society works, where expectations to conform to an ideal are so strong that more and more people fall through the net when they see their failings and can't cope with the pressure. What hardly anyone realises is that we all fail in one way or another, and that is a good thing, cause if we were all exactly like this ideal person in society, man, how boring would this world be? It's just sometimes so difficult to stand up for oneself and just be who we are, and not care that others might not like it. After all we are the ones to decide who we should or should not be, we decide where we want to go and what we want to strive for in life. And I want to believe that we can, even if it means struggling against mainstream ideals and fighting to keep feeling adequate and confident, despite people trying to convince you otherwise...     

Dancing Queen

An image that remained with me today. I was at my volunteer job at Cancer Research, and because there were hardly any volunteers there today I was stuck behind the cash register all afternoon. Not my favourite, but you get to chat with nice customers on occasion, and I like that. 

A Kylie Minogue Best of CD was playing, the third time already, because the player in the back was so blocked in by bags and donations that all we could manage was to reach the play button, not any other CDs to change the music. But really, there is only so much Kylie I can take, and at some point I dug a way through just to get some other music, The Beatles, incidentally, and half of the customers in the shop sang along, including me... But that is another story.

So, back to Kylie. An older lady came in with her... daughter? Niece? Friend? A younger woman anyway, and handicapped, blind and she had some speech impediment as well. Anyway, the younger one obviously loved Kylie, and smiled all over, not just her mouth, she smiled with her entire body, if you understand what I mean. And she started dancing, on the spot but nonetheless, shaking to the rhythm. It's hard to describe, but it was just such a beautiful sight, everything about her was entirely happy and engrossed in the music, and without any notion of self-consciousness or inhibition. She simply enjoyed the moment, and everybody who saw her couldn't help but smile with her. 

I envy her. I remember a time when music could sweep me away and become my entire world for the moment, but I've always been more on the shy side, and just dancing all by myself in a shop, I couldn't have done it. Sing along quietly, yes, possibly audible to people near me, and wriggle a foot or even a leg, ok, but I wouldn't have had her courage. 

She told me later that she was afraid of walking around by herself because people on the street would abuse her or take advantage of her disability, so she may have been quite conscious of her surroundings despite her blindness. But at that moment she just seemed to feel completely safe in herself, probably knowing the other lady was there to take care of her, and she appeared to be completely lost in the song, her blindness shutting her off from all around her that could make her become self-conscious again by catching her eye, so maybe she did not really realise, or just did not care, what was around her. In any case, it was a beautiful sight, and I hope that more people like me who saw her today remember this image, and smile whenever they do, and maybe try to get at least some of this feeling back ourselves when we were able to become completely engrossed in something we loved. 

And I hope that she, this young woman I met today, will always keep on dancing.

Of Roots and Trees

Sitting in a train in Hamburg, looking out at the houses out there. This is where I used to live. A long time ago, more than a decade now. I used to know this area so well, my favourite cafe with the plant growing in through the window, the wonderful music shop where I bought all those CDs that mainstream shops didn't have, the cornerstore with fresh Turkish bread and sheep cheese... Things have changed. The streets are the same, but have dressed in different clothing. The cafe has lost all its charm, the CD shop is now a coffee shop chain, everything looks different, yet weirdly familiar. 

This is where I grew up, the place I spent most years that I have ever lived in one city, and even though I only moved here when I was eight I still consider it my origin. My roots. This place has shaped me, has educated me, has given me the ideas for my life that drove me on onto my path. Nonetheless, I have known ever since I started learning my first foreign language at age 5 that there was more, and I needed to go find it. I needed to travel to other places, experience other cultures, learn how other people lead their lives, and then pick and choose what I want in my life. I knew I needed to leave. 

Now, at this point in my life where, despite me having finally picked a place, I am struggling hard to settle, essentially because I cannot seem to find a job to make a living, the prospect of having to come back here is uncomfortable. Yes, my roots are here, I enjoy coming back to visit, but I have grown out of it. It is not that I dislike it, but the thought of living here, under my parents' roof at first until I can pay for a place to live, strips me of my dreams, it feels stifling, small, restricted. I have seen things out there, I have lived my life in a way that I cannot fit in here anymore. The sapling has broken out of the earth towards new skies, and the roots remain hidden underground. I can grow into other directions, into new things, but bending back and merging with the roots... It doesn't work that way. 

I don't mean to say that people who chose to stay here are restricted, not at all. It is all about choice. And my choice is to find ways of learning new things, extending my experience, and integrating them into my life to create something new, and never stop. I am slowing down, in the sense that I don't want to move all over the globe anymore, I appreciate the things I can find in one place, but I want this place to offer me enough newness, enough strangeness, to keep me interested. And not be based on German. I don't live in the German language anymore, if that makes any sense, I think in English, I dream in English, I even translate much of what I want to say from English into German. German humour has eluded me ever since I can remember, whereas British comedy is among the greatest... ok, not all of it, but the black humour, best in the world. This is what feels right for me. Other people look for other things. And that is great. 

Where it does become a problem is when my family starts pushing. Come back here, start again here, live here and leave everything else behind. For them this is the best place to be, but they cannot understand that the thought of having to move back feels to me like giving up on my dreams and destroying all I have worked for. They don't understand, and feel offended when I don't want to jump at the suggestion and pack my things. But I can't give up. Yes, these are my roots, but I can't bend back down...

       

Fighting Blandness

Here I thought Shepherds Pie must be one of the blandest things the English cuisine has to offer... Well, it is, but that doesn't mean I gotta stick to the recipe my ex used to follow - and love, but we'll leave further inferences be for the moment - right? So, dear English, I know you see condiments and herbs other than pepper and salt as suspicious and possibly dangerous, but let me implore you: Your food needs more chili! Just spice it up a little, darlings! 

Another thing the kitchen here traditionally cannot live without is meat. I do eat meat on occasion, but really I prefer veggies. And there are plenty options in the country, don't get me wrong, and even traditional British food can be made with meat substitutes - and not just beans beans bean as some people seem to believe. Our frigde was brimming with veggies that begged to be used, so I threw them all together with some onions, a can of chopped tomatoes, and then put them in the oven under a - yes, shudder to think but it worked - instant mash cover. No meat, plenty of spice and herbs and a good dose of chili! And it turned out really nice, I must say. 

So, is that all the kitchen here in this country needs to appeal? Spice? I will try and see... what shall I tackle next? Probably another kind of pie - never liked them much as they all just tasted greasy salty potato-y, in short: bland. Spices and me, here we come!   

The Last Train Home

Mmh, just an observation I made the other night. I was out with some friends, having a few drinks with some people I haven't met in a long, long time on the occasion of one of them being back over here on a visit from Montreal. It was so lovely to see them again, catch up, have a few beers... So when the one pub closed at eleven we went around the corner in search of one with a longer license. Which we found in the form of a Wetherspoons, yes, I know, which has a license until twelve, enough time for another drink or two and then still catch a train home. London's tubes and overground stop around midnight, but unlike some other major cities such as Tokyo London has at least a nightbus service, so I wasn't too worried. Still, we managed to get the last tube up North-East, while they were closing off the entrances and passages behind us. Kind of a weird feeling, being shut into an underground system, much like being shut into a cave. 

Anyway, so we hopped on the train, which was almost empty. An empty tube in London is something I have not really seen before, I must say. Yes, there are times when it is easier to get a seat, but apart from us there were maybe a handful of people on the entire train. Ah well, ok, maybe two handfuls, but the principle still stands. And it just made me realise how different some cities' dynamics are. London, being overcrowded at almost any other time of the day seems to scare off the last few customers on the tube, maybe because in this grey zone, when you are not sure if you can still make the train all the way down three floors under ground, it is just easier or just more relaxing to opt for the bus in the first place, which you know will run all night. 

Whichever the reason, I found the experience quite fascinating. The main reason being that the last city I was depending on last trains quite a lot, more so than in London since they do not have any night service at all, as in none, zilch, zero, nothing to get you home but a taxi, a bicycle or your feet, was Osaka. Same time of the evening, as in around midnight, the last train would leave, and if you weren't on it, well, let's say night-time karaoke and then a long extended coffee in Royal Host has been a frequent occurrence. But these trains, my, how different an experience they are from the tube. The last train in Osaka is the drunk train. Not that the handful of people on the last tube aren't also drunk, I know we were, in various degrees. But the last train back home to Kadoma from Yodoyabashi was a sight for sore eyes. In the sense that sometimes you wished they were sore and you didn't have to witness this. The funnier things involve drunk suited businessmen sleeping all over the place, benches on the platform, in the train on the seats, or simply somewhere on the floor. And - the train is usually crowded. As a good Japanese you know your timetable. No grey zone, you know exactly how long it takes you to get to that train. And many take advantage of that. So while the trains around 10pm may be fairly empty, the last train at 12:20 is crammed. And being squashed closely to a bunch of really drunk people, well, it's not the nicest of experiences. Even if you are a head higher up, the smell still reaches you. Blessed be the custom of having a bath after you get home in the evening. 

Well, these are just two last train home experiences. I can not for the life of me remember what it was like in Hamburg when I was living there, nor in Kuala Lumpur, since there I more regularly missed the last train if I had to get it, thanks to the loose definition of a timetable of the bus services. My saviour there usually was my friend who took it upon herself to save me from evil people at night, and instead lead me to the best food places on earth, and I love her forever for that. But that leads us away from the trains, so I will just leave you right here for the night, on whichever train you see fit.