Peace and quiet please!
I haven’t been getting good sleep lately. The pattern of sleepless nights started about two weeks ago. There are about three dogs in close proximity who wish to be on American Idol and they belt out their numbers from about 10pm to 6am. I’m pretty sure they are following the real American Idol because they sound an awful lot like they are trying to master Hound Dog. (It was just Elvis for those of you who don’t follow.)
There is lots of construction going on around my house and at 1, 2 and 3am they use the heavy machinery they can’t drive through the streets during the day. That accounts for drilling, driving, grinding and I think a bit of gyrating hips.
Motorbikes whizz past and horns honk away. Ladies on bicycles announce by chanting what they are selling or that they are recycling stuff or picking trash up. Today, it was all of the above plus ear-piercing national music blaring over the community loud speakers. (Which oddly enough made the dogs bark AND howl.)
Last night I went out with my best gal pal, Mette, and after a leisurely dinner, walked around the corner to Tunnel Bar. We talked, saw some friends, swayed to the music of guests DJ Farai who is leaving Vietnam after a two month tour. Fun. And I rolled in at 2:30 a.m., much later than my intended, “I’m not up for a big night tonight.” When I fell into my pillows, I begged and pleaded with the ceiling for good sleep.
Sunday being the ONLY day to myself, I don’t set an alarm. And really, I don’t need to because everyone else in the ‘hood will wake me up, well earlier than I want to wake up anyway! This morning was no exception. And truly, it’s starting to drive me batty!!! I may begin a coalition for silence or something. Maybe I’ll call it Project Lets Hear The Birds Sing or something. Project Remember What Silence Sounds Like. Project PEE – Protect Everyone’s Ears. Anyone? God a good name? Post it!
I should say here that the noise factor in Japan was minimal, except during local elections, when the candidate and uniformly dressed wavers would ride around in vans announcing the policies of the candidate and ever-so-politely (using the most formal Japanese) ask for support. That was always annoying on a Saturday morning. And while it was a bit loud, I never seemed to grow tired of who I called the Potato Man. The Yakimo truck. Small trucks drove around the town selling roasted yams. Each truck had a potato song and it always gave me a good giggle. “oishii (pause) oishii.”