Here lies documented, the memoirs of one Alice Roth: the tourist, the dreamer, Miss Wonderland. This text is the complete edited works of her time in the holy Garden of Zeus and moments beyond, some junctures left intact in – very nearly – their original format, others constructed from her often fragmented narrative. The creator of the journal of the 'Accidental Tourist' beseeches readers, audience, fellow thespians, to look upon her story with an open and modern mindset and, if of such a persuasion, to consider patronage carefully. She asks you to remember, if you are here at this point, you are already one of the lucky few. So, please, peruse, deliberate and enjoy (if you are able).

Accidental Tourist

A small prelude from the creator, one Alice Roth:

I guess it was just a case of the wrong place, the wrong time and probably the wrong country. I was never really cut out for being a tourist. So you can imagine the horror of being forced to go holidaymaking in a realm of Gods. But, it's your lucky day. You don't have to imagine it. I'm going to tell you all about it, in all of its horridly glorious detail.

Tourism 01: Never listen to your teacher.

Being a tourist is hard. There's always that terrifying moment when you realise that not every foreign person in the world knows the English language and then you're stuck there for a good ten minutes waving your hands about in a bizarre game of charades trying your best to get the foreigner to understand you. God it's terrifying. The person you are 'talking' to could be a murder, molester, mugger, or some other malicious occupation beginning with M... That's why I always make sure I bring along a buddy to talk to the locals for me.

However, this time, I was on my own. Just one young woman armed with a bag of cameras and a pepper spray. You see, I was very eager to see the local shrine and unfortunately none of my classmates shared that sentiment. I thought at least the teachers would have shown an interest, but nope! They were all going shopping at the town centre and I was told by Mr Macklin to try to have a look around as a solo tourist. Okay, granted I'm nearly eighteen and am meant to be an adult now or whatever my parents keep telling me, but really? What happened to all these protective laws that get teachers into some deep shit if they let students go wandering wherever they like. If something were to happen to me my government and media would be on Mr Macklin faster than he could say 'Kon'nichiwa'.

So no one on my school trip likes Japanese culture. What's a girl to do?

Take Mr Macklin's advice and march off on your own into a strange unknown area of course.

I wandered around for some time, snapping pictures as I went just like one of your regular obnoxious sightseer. I did get quite lost (more so than I would like to recount) but I was pretty adamant about not asking for directions – anyone would think I was your stereotypical I-don't need-any-help-husband – so I just ambled until, low and behold, I came across the shrine I had researched on the internet. I had been rather lucky to come across it. It was only after catching sight of a girl with an utterly outstanding head of purple hair go bounding up a long set of steps that could only lead to the location of the shrine. Only a shrine could be important enough to have that many steps.

I passed two men when going up the steps. It was awkward. They were both staring at me, with very curious looks on their face. I suppose they didn't get many English women moseying around their neighbourhood. The constant stares I got in foreign countries always made me think I had something on my face. Well, there was nothing on my face then, unless you count the Englishness smothered all over it. You know, the freckles, more defined jaw, blue eyes, fair hair, lanky body. Ah, how very western of me.

Fortunately, the men didn't stop me for a conversation, or god forbid a photo. A gaggle of Japanese girls had asked my friend and I for one the other day. Never again.

I reached the top (severely out of breath) and marvelled in a sweaty breathless silence at the beauty of the shrine. I whipped out one of my many fabulous cameras – I am somewhat passionate about photography – and began to take pictures. That was until a man with a broom beckoned me over. I was considering running away (you never know when a malicious M might pop up) but he had glasses and a broom. I liked glasses. I liked brooms. Of course, nobody bad would have both glasses and a broom.

He was talking to me and I could only shake my head and drawl out, "English."

"Ah!" Realisation dawned on him and he was immediately ushering me towards a woman who stood behind an open window.

Now this woman knew her English.

"Of course you can look around," she answered me with a warm smile. Oh, I do so love foreign people (the non-malicious M ones). "Actually, how about my daughter shows you around? She can give you a tour all around the shrine."

The question 'She knows English too, right?' was on the tip of my tongue but I refrained from being that annoying tourist and thanked the woman. She pointed me towards the nearby shed – apparently that's where her daughter was.

"Hello? Sorry to intrude..." I said, poking my head around the shed door.

"Whoa!" As soon as I had stepped inside the structure I was enveloped in a warm blue glow. "Funky lights!" I exclaimed, my hands going straight for my camera.

There was a gasp and my attention was drawn to the girl ahead of me, enveloped in the same blue glow. It was the girl from before, the one with the purple hair. Barely had I made that realisation before the world around me fell away and everything became white.

Edited 30.03.16