In the States, I've gone from being "average" to definitely on the small side, according to clothing retailers. It's a pain in the ass.
In Japan, being "American small" was a relative advantage. I was somehow considered a size large there (somewhat of an ego boost), and most things fit me very well and looked damn good. Hot damn. This was true for pretty much everything except hats.
According to Japanese people, they have huge faces. What this really means is that they have huge heads. Now before you get riled thinking I'm saying something racially unkind, ask a Japanese person about it. Besides, I have pictures to prove it. Anyway, in Japan my head is like the head of a pin. It's miniscule.* It made for a painful time when shopping amongst the many fashionable choices of headgear.
I'd thought I would have escaped the phenomenon when returning to the States. Sadly, it's simply not true; I still have a tiny head. Normal men's hats engulf my head like pacman eating one of those little dots, and of course I can't wear women's hats, which tend to the pink and pastel side of things. I've resorted to children's hats, which are universally crappy in build quality and also hard to find in colors other than "very bright" and "related to cartoons and movie merchandising."
It's a tough life.
*Ironically enough, in Japan the statement "you have such a small face/head" is perceived as a compliment, much as "you have such a big nose" is. They're a part of the ideal beauty as represented by white people. As you can imagine, me with my child-sized head and king-sized nose, I was a frickin' god. Or at least, so the story should have been.
Last week I finally caved to the pressure and got myself a cell phone. Let me tell you, it was a difficult decision. I had been holding out for some miraculous and entirely unexpected leap in American technology that would suddenly put us on par with the rest of the world in handset technology, but sadly my dreams went unanswered.
I bought a phone that instead is no better than the one I bought four years ago in Japan.
As far as phones go, it's all right. It makes calls, it receives calls, it gives a company an excuse to totally rip me off. I have to say that after a few days of playing with it, it's nice enough, but only last night did I discover its greatest flaw: It has no strap loop.
A "strap" is a little phone accessory that is wildly popular in Japan. For the first couple of years in Japan I'd held out on buying one because I thought they were pointless and distracting. Then I realized that there was an incredible variety of cool stuff specifically made for dangling from a phone. Fast forward to January 2008 when I last spent time in Japan, and you'd see me buying up every cool one I could find in anticipation of the long dry period ahead in which I'd be forced to live in the States.
Fast forward again, and you'll find me discovering that the phone I'd just bought doesn't have a space (in the form of a little hole/loop in the shell of the phone) for a strap to fit. I was, as you can imagine, devastated. So devastated, in fact, that I have considered exchanging the phone for another model.
It sounds idiotic I know, but sometimes it's the small things that keep you afloat. I really wanted to use those things!
It's a hot week. In rural western Massachusetts, that means we get up to eighty-five degrees with a humidity of seventy percent or more. The air feels heavy when you walk outside, and it's a recipe for a good deal of sweat. Everyone complains bitterly about how "oppressive" and hot it is.
But I have a not-so-secret weapon.
I have been "lucky" enough to have lived through much, much worse. You see Gyoda, where I lived in Japan for three years, borders Kumagaya, which is widely known as the hottest city in Japan. By virtue of the fact that the two towns are right next to each other, this also makes Gyoda the hottest town in Japan. Don't believe me? Look it up, though you'll probably have to do it in Japanese.
But anyway, it is hot there. While I was there it regularly reached ninety-five during the day, usually with ninety percent humidity. The summer I left, it actually reached one hundred and seven (point six!) degrees, again with that same lovely humidity. Phoenix ain't got nuthin'.
"Oppressive" doesn't begin to describe the air in Gyoda. Walk outside, and you're hit smack in the face with a brick wall of heat and humidity. You haven't sweat until you've spent a summer there, I can tell you. Literally the moment you walk out of the sweetly air-conditioned train, your shirt is soaked. Add to that the fact that you're using a bike to get anywhere, along with the fact that your apartment's air conditioner is broken (and will be for three years), and it's a surefire way to get heatstroke. I'm pretty sure I had it every day there.
So now when I sit in the relatively balmy New England heat, I just remember that I've been through worse. This is nothing!
But somehow when I tell that to people, they don't quite appreciate it...
Apparently I have a thing for frogs. I've posted about them here and also here.
I made a recording of frog noises back during rainy season in Gyoda, but never got around to posting it. It's a noise that I find strangely compelling. Perhaps, along with the sound of squealing cicadas and the smell of damp tatami, it serves as a reminder of Japanese days past.
That recording you may find here: Gyoda Frogs
Contrast it with a recording I just made a few days ago in Massachusetts. These frogs are much bigger than their rice field compatriots, making them much easier to see. Don't let recording levels fool you; they actually manage to be quieter than the frogs in Japan.
Enjoy the natural ambiance here: Massachusetts Frogs Recording
Now if only I can get close enough for an adequate recording of the rather-elusive "peeper frogs."
UPDATE: I got a recording of the peepers! Oh joy, right?
Check them out: Massachusetts Peepers Recording
If you're reading this without reading Part One, I seriously suggest you go read it now. You my find yourself a little lost without it.
Where did I leave off? Oh yes, am I gay, no, blah blah blah. Right.
The whole tone of the interview, along with the little giggles and reactions from everyone involved, gave it a distinctly abstract feeling. I couldn't imagine that this was a real interview, and maybe it was just some elaborate joke on the gaijin (foreigner). Where were the TV cameras? Thinking back, I can definitely see this kind of thing happening on some comedy/variety show in Japan. However, had it actually been a television show, at least I would've had a moment of fame! No such luck.
The president meandered through another "normal" section of the interview, his segues between questions like "Are you gay?" and "tell me about your design skills" executed with masterful straight-facedness. Then he came to what I still consider "the winner" of the interview.
He asked me (of course in Japanese): "Do you like to do 裸族 in your apartment?"
He'd used a word I'd never heard before. "Excuse me, do I do what?"
"すっぽんぽん."
Ah, this was a word with which I was familiar. Roughly translated, it means "butt naked." Wait. Do I go butt naked in my apartment?! Naturally, I was utterly shocked into answering completely honestly. "Well, uh...I...my town is the hottest town in Japan, so sometimes it does get awfully hot..." Everyone laughed. But what possibly could that sort of question have to do with my ability to properly do my job? You can imagine this wasn't the first time I had second thoughts about exactly what kind of job I might be doing.
The interview itself wrapped up not long afterwards. It was explained to me that in the line of work that they do, it is relatively common to be dealing with gay men and selfish women, as they have dealings with celebrity and artistic types. Go figure. It helped explain part of the interview, but certainly I was still left wondering why it mattered if I liked to get naked in my apartment.
The president brought the interview to a close and brought me around the rather small and very cluttered office. He announced me to the staff who were still working at 10PM (virtually everyone), including the fact that I was currently girlfriendless, looking actively, and love Japanese women. Never mind the fact that it wasn't necessarily true, everyone seemed to take it in stride. He then proceeded to introduce me to all of the single women in the office. First off was a woman who'd studied in the States and therefore knew a bit of English. He told her to introduce herself to me in English. I've changed the name, but this is exactly how she introduced herself:
"Hello, my name is Mayuko. I lived in the States for a few years. I've divorced three times!"
Upon which I promptly replied, "Oh...nice to meet you! Your English is excellent." What else to say, really?
I met two other single women in much the same manner, minus the divorce and English. The last one had such a fake smile during the exchange, it was kind of painful and not a little uncomfortable. The president told us to exchange business cards, so we could "get to know each other" or something. But...I'm not even working at the company, and nor do we even like each other...so why would I want to do this? We obliged of course, no doubt both thinking similar thoughts: "yeah right." He was, after all, her boss and my potential boss.
I remember thinking as we walked back out into the oppressive humidity that there was no way I'd take the job.
Three weeks later, I took the job. Go figure!
I think enough time has passed since this experience to let the trauma settle a little bit. At the time I didn't quite feel this way, but I can now say with not a small amount of pride that I had a job interview that was probably far stranger than most people will ever experience.
Through the good graces of a coworker at my school, I had managed to secure an interview at a small advertising and marketing firm in the heart of cool: 表参道 (Omotesandou) in Tokyo. On a rainy and sweltering evening in June myself and my coworker decked ourselves out in full suits and took the train down to Tokyo.
Let me give you a short background on interviewing in Japan. There, if you are lucky enough to have a connection who gets you an interview, you actually go to the interview with that person. At the interview, your person (a sponsor, really) will give a spiel about you for a little while, and then the interview will turn over to you, where you will give a little prepared speech about yourself and why you want to work at the company. This explains why I, my contact, and his contact all ended up in a very small meeting room with uncomfortable plastic seats.
I came into the interview knowing it was going to be different. I had been told that we would be meeting with both the company president and vice president, something that doesn't happen often in Japan. Usually, you see, you meet with an underling. In any case, as we sat waiting, all three of us in our full suits, I'm sure we all felt a tad jealous of the VP who had just come in looking a little dumpy in his khaki slacks and a polo shirt. The real moment of truth, however, was when the president himself walked in. His white t-shirt had some outrageous print on it, and his jeans (jeans!!) were ripped quite liberally. His hair was spiked. Oh, this was definitely going to be a different sort of interview.
Things progressed smoothly enough. First my coworker's contact gave his little speech about me, then my coworker did the same. I couldn't help but think about how great this was. Here I was at an interview, and it had already lasted a half hour without me saying a word! One could only hope that it would only contin-
"So," the president said, turning his puffy sleep-deprived eyes to me, "do you by chance play rugby or practice boxing?"
Knowing that many companies in Japan sponsor rugby teams, I thought maybe he was asking about my interest in sports. I practice neither, so I volunteered what I do practice: "No, but I do practice Tae Kwon Do..."
"Ah!" He sat back with the look of a mystery solved. "So that's why your nose and teeth are crooked!"
Now, I'm pretty sure a comment like that would end an interview in the States, perhaps with the interviewee walking huffily from the room. I, however, was astounded into silence. My two sponsors laughed a little, so I figured maybe this was some sort of icebreaking strategy. I never thought that icebreaking by way of pointing out physical flaws was particularly effective, but there are innumerable differences between my opinions and Japanese society as a whole.
Believe it or not, the interview continued in much the same fashion. The president did most of the talking and asked me most of the questions, concentrating for short stretches on relevant topics such as my skills, my interests, my love of Japan, my love of the women...what?
Among other things, he asked me if I had a girlfriend (American interview no-no #1). I told him no, we had broken up not long ago. He expressed that after the interview he would introduce me to the single women in the office. He asked me if I liked Japanese women, and being that his manner and questions were so shockingly direct, I couldn't think of anything to do but to answer. It happened time and time again, and every time I was a deer in headlights, unable to do anything but answer honestly. I tell you, giving well-considered, strategic, perfect answers is entirely out of the question in this sort of situation.
After we got out of the way that I loved Japanese women and was desperate for a new girlfriend, (What? Even I wasn't aware of that...) we moved on to more mundane job-talk. Not for long, though, I assure you. There was a short pause before he switched tack again.
"Do you like selfish women?"
Again, being that I had hopelessly lost all ability to answer cunningly, I pondered for a moment my dating history. "Well, it would seem that I do..."
"Are you gay?"
"Um, no..." Didn't I just say I liked women?
"Do you like gays?"
"Well, I have a few gay friends, so yes."
Satisfied, he returned once again to talk of the mundane. A little breather, no doubt, before the next wave of shock and awe. Stay tuned for Part Two, in which we explore the nuances of discussing nudity, as well as the interview's aftermath!
One of my favorite things to laugh about in Japan was the legendary status of the Tanuki. They're a fun little critter that is often described as a raccoon, though it's an entirely different animal. I've only seen one in real life at a zoo, and I wouldn't really know how to describe it other than "smaller and pointier" than a raccoon.
Anyway, legend has it (according to two Japanese people I know, so obviously it must be true what I say) that Tanuki are notoriously crafty. Certainly, Japanese folk tales featuring Tanuki do tend to accentuate the naughty things they do. Western raccoons are fairly naughty in real life, so I can see why Tanuki might be translated the way they are.
But I digress. The real reason I'm posting is to talk about Tanuki balls. I remember the first time I noticed them. I was standing outside a restaurant and noticed a statue of this weird owl/bear looking creature. I asked what it was, and I was told it was a Tanuki. I also asked why he had enormous testicles. Accordingly, I was told that his balls represented his enormous luck, and any restaurant that has a Tanuki statue was rewarded with good luck. So if you're ever in Japan, you'll see a lot of these guys around. You might even see some in the States.
Tanuki balls represent good luck with money (or so I've been told). It's interesting to note that very long hanging earlobes also represent good luck, I believe also with money. As such, you see a lot of Buddha/Hotei statues with very very long earlobes. I suppose we may further assume that hanging body parts in general provide good luck.
During the last few days of "Operation Bai Bai" in Japan I took the ridiculously-fast Nozomi Shinkansen (bullet train) out to Hiroshima for a day and a half. It was something I'd always wanted to do but had never gotten around to.
Hiroshima itself isn't much; all there really is to do is the Peace Park and other Atomic-bomb related stuff. Miyajima, with included Itsukushima Jima and Daisho-in temple was where it was at.
Click on the rugged picture of yours-truly for the gallery.
To make a very long story short, just last week I found out that due to circumstances that were very well beyond my control, I would not be able to live and work in Japan as had been my plan. I feel horrible. I haven't even come to terms with the reality that is essentially being forced to live somewhere I don't want to live (the States), but slowly it sinks in.
To combat the creeping depression that I can already feel when I think about it, I've come up with a way to perhaps deal with it, at least temporarily: Lists! This time, I'll explore what I will miss about Japan. Next time? What I won't.
I've done this before but this new list will assuredly be tinged with the experience of three years in Japan...and probably more nostalgic.
What I'll Miss
- The food, oh, the food. I've made the mistake of eating sushi only once since I've been back here in the States, and it was a disappointment to say the least. I will miss the awe-inspiring sushi, the orgasmic ramen, the delicious raw egg of sukiyaki. In the States it's very true that quantity wins out over quality in all but expensive hoity-toity restaurant. I don't want a portion the size of my head that tastes like slop. I want a manageable portion of great-tasting food.
- Transportation. One of the things I most resent about having to live in the States is having to buy a car. I can't think of a bigger waste of $10,000. I'd take Japan's ridiculously extensive rail system any day.
- Keitai means mobile phone in Japanese. It's also synonymous with "three years ahead." My most recent cursory search for a mobile phone and plan in the States was like stepping into ancient history. Pay $80 for a "data plan" on a last-generation network? No thanks.
- Excellent service in even the lowliest of hamburger joints is something I've gotten used to. It has been very hard for me to deal with the "I'm doing you a favor to serve you" attitude in the States. People act like it's so difficult to serve you at all, much less be professional about it. A few days ago I was in a changing room while the salespeople outside were yelling stories across the store to each other. One such story involved "picking her up by the vagina and the boobs..." I don't care how fake it is, just show your paying customer some respect!
- Cleanliness. I recently went to New York for a job interview. Afterwards, I needed to take a train (ugh) home, and didn't want to do it in my suit. So I tried to find a suitable bathroom in which to change to street clothes. I don't know how I'd forgotten the disgusting state of every public-accessible bathroom in the States. I thought back fondly on how ridiculously clean everything in Tokyo is, whilst I tried not to touch the pathogen-seething floor of the Amtrak bathroom.
That's it for now. Tune in soon for the follow-up piece, what I won't miss about Japan.
Last night I went to a local (ish) bar for an event my sister's gradschool department was having. It was the first time I've been in an American bar since coming home from Japan. It's your classic New England bar with pool tables, beer, and lots of white people.
Not long after arriving I realized I wanted to use the bathroom. So I went in search of it. When I got there I noticed two doors, one for women and one handicap bathroom. I figured the men's room must be somewhere close by but couldn't see it. So I stood there looking confused and waited for the bartendress to help me. It never happened, and I looked like an idiot, no doubt.
In Japan, it's not uncommon for bathrooms in a bar (Izakaya) to be in a confusing place. All you have to do is look like you're searching for something, and inevitably one of the very helpful staff will show you to the bathroom. It's a wonderful arrangement. Here, obviously that does not work.
Cue reverse culture shock.
So first off, the reason for my incredibly long absence from making any posts in the past (more than a) month has been my move back to the United States. I finished off my contract with JET (the program with which I spent three years teaching in Japan) in the end of July and headed home on August 3. As you can imagine I was very busy packing and tying up seemingly infinite loose ends, and one of my last priorities was posting.
So now I'm back, relaxing in the green hills of western Massachusetts, and thinking about the things I'd so much (and so little) anticipated about being back home.
Some observations of my first days back:
Everything is so green. Endless swathes of grass, trees ... you name it! I flew from Detroit to Hartford on a small jet and in looking out the window I remember thinking we were flying over a huge body of water. Turns out it was just endless trees. Awesome!
Vegetables at home are fresher and tastier. Don't even get me started on the fruits.
Sadly living up to my expectations, people here are enormous.
It's cold. Everyone keeps talking about how hot it is, and I suppose midday it gets to be pretty hot, but I haven't once felt like I was going to die of heat like I felt every waking minute back in Gyoda. I really think it's the oppressive unending humidity there. Here it gets hot for a day or two then tempers. There, it lingers for weeks.
Jet lag has hit harder than ever this time. I pass out at 9 every evening, only to wake up at 6 or 7 every morning. I feel 20 years older than I really am. I must break this cycle...
I have plans to go back to Japan in a few months, though they aren't decided yet. In the meantime, I hope to have a good long relaxation period before I go back to that frenetic land.
Yesterday on my way home I heard for the first time this year the call of a Cicada. This morning I can hear perhaps the same one chirping from somewhere in the trees near the school.
I love that sound. If there were two things I had to give as my strongest memories of my first months in Japan, one would be the call of the Cicadas. For me at least, that sound defines my Japanese experience.
I still remember every day in early August sweltering in my apartment, surrounded by the smell of tatami and the steady squeal of those creepy but lovable bugs. The sound brings me back.
Last night I was returning home on the train and talking to my friendly neighbor. I commented that even though it was a cool evening the train seemed awfully hot. It was pointed out to me that the car we sat in was in fact a "low cooling" train. Apparently there are designated cars on the trains in summer that use less air conditioning than the others. Three years here and I'd had absolutely no idea that something like that existed on JR trains. I realized that the tiny blue sign that I'd seen dozens of times on train doors was actually telling me that I'd gotten into one of these cars.
Indeed, the learning process truly never ceases.
Japan has its fair share of good bread. Many quality supermarkets have their own in-house bakery, which makes for some excellent fresh breads, snacks, and sweets. I especially enjoy getting a load of fresh-baked bread before a big pasta or stew dinner.
But store bought breads are lacking. More specifically, they lack heels! When it comes to pre-packaged bread, you'll be hard pressed to find a loaf of bread that actually has heels (the crusty ends of the bread, called "ears" here). The sliced bread has crust, so obviously the heels used to be there. They must cut it off at the factory. Why is that? I've been told Japanese people don't like bread crust. Certainly this could explain why most store bought sandwiches are completely crustless.
So with millions and millions of loaves of bread sold daily in Japan, where do all of those orphaned heels disappear to? Do they simply throw them out? Make other bread products? Feed them to the hungry? I'd certainly like to get to the bottom of this.
The other night I made a scrumptious helping of sauteed pork, salad, and egg all over white rice. I sat down to eat it, congratulating myself on my feat. When I dove in to my second helping, it occurred to me that without even thinking about it I'd cracked open a raw egg on the top.
Three years ago I'd have approached such an idea with trepidation if not downright horror. Now I'm apparently so used to it I can do it without even realizing it might seem distastefully strange to others from back home. It's amazing what a little time in another country will do for your sense of what is foreign.
I love this season in Japan. It's just before rainy season, so the sky hasn't started dumping on us yet, the weather isn't ridiculously hot yet, and the rice season has just begun. The rice season always starts by flooding the fields and planting little ricelings (that's what Ilike to call them). What this means is that on a cool night riding my bike past the fields I am sole witness to thousands and thousands of frogs chirping their minuscule lungs out trying to find a mate. The sound is somewhat akin to "peepers" back home, but they frogs are less afraid than their cousins back home and will keep chirping even if you're nearby. Sometimes it's a wonderful experience just to stand there next to a field and listen to their drone. I've never actually seen one of the little guys until last night. Bonus: two of them!
There has been a pair of Brazilians at the gym for some time now. Being that foreigners often tend to ignore each other unless somehow forced to interact, we haven't exchanged any more acknowledgment than a brief nod.
Being that The Dude has started to latch onto them, we now have a common enemy. It gives us excuse to converse.
I spoke to one of them last night, ostensibly in order to invite them to join the soccer team I'm trying to get together. Much to my surprise and dismay, we were barely able to communicate beyond "How long have you been here?"
You'd think that for two people who have been here using the same language for three years, we'd be able to get a little beyond that. Sadly we did not, and the conversation ended rather awkwardly.
To top it off, they don't play soccer! I thought all Brazilians play it in the womb!
This past weekend I participated in a soccer tournament that was organized I believe for language teachers in Japan. It featured sixteen teams, one of which was obviously ours.
Despite having never practiced together and most of the team being comprised of self-described "chain-smoking alcoholics," we managed to hold our own. Granted we lost every game we played, but (perhaps due to the brevity of the games) we managed to lose only by three points maximum per game. By our second game we realized that our single goal for the tournament should be to score a single goal. We managed to do that within the last thirty seconds of our fifth and last game. So with an overall goal ratio of one to twelve, we emerged triumphant.
My body has rarely hurt more in my life, but it was a fun and invigorating time. Strangely enough it has also ignited in me a small bit of interest in soccer, where before I detested the sport. I guess all it takes is a sound beating and fun teammates.
UPDATE: You can see photos of our journey here: http://s23.photobucket.com/albums/b365/osmocote/Nagano%20Soccer/
In Japan it's widely known that umbrella theft is the most common crime. Second to that is bicycle theft, followed by (obviously) less common and more serious crimes. It's a wonderful statement about the relative safety of this country.
However, it brings to one's life a whole new set of problems that may be completely unheard of back home. Parking a bicycle, for example, is an exercise in figuring out which of (at least) two locks to use. Umbrella theft being the crime most committed, it calls for a special set of personal strategies one must adhere to.
Until relatively recently I have been immune to this heinous crime, at least at my school. Since I park my bike in a certain place and every student in the school knows it's mine, in my infinite naivety I figured they would keep their paws off of my stuff. Sadly when it starts suddenly raining and a student is left to walk home without an umbrella, anything not bolted down and close by is fair game. I have lost two umbrellas in the past month to sudden rainstorms.
There are, as I said, things I have to keep in mind when it comes to maintaining ownership of my umbrellas. If it's raining in the morning when myself and all of the students are coming to school, I'm safe. No student leaves the home umbrella-free, so the odds of him being caught without one after school are low. It's those midday storms I have to worry about. It's those that send me scurrying down to my bike to retrieve my umbrella before someone else does. If I don't, naturally I'll end up the loser going home wet. On these days I actually find myself a little tense if I can't get down to the bike before classes have finished.
Regardless of such grueling strategizing, I still have to keep a backup at my desk just in case.
Our final day saw beautiful blue skies and a village from the past. We headed from Iriomote back to Ishigaki, the main point for all ferry trips down in the Yaeyama region. From there we hopped off, bought tickets, and hopped right back on the same ferry for the ten-minute ride to Taketomi. At its widest point Taketomi is only nine kilometers across, and it's also one of the most popular tourist destinations in the area. You can imagine it can get very very crowded, but thankfully we were able to avoid most crowds because of when we visited.
To my dismay Taketomi's swimming/snorkeling isn't stellar, though the place makes up for it with other things to look at. The beauty of the central town is the main attraction on the island, and for good reason. The place we stayed at was no exception to the rule that residences on the island should use the traditional red-tile roofs, and the couple that ran it were fabulous. We checked out the tiny island a bit and did a tiny bit of swimming, then came back for dinner. There we met some other guests, with whom we later watched the sunset and went looking for fireflies. We found none of the latter, but we did get serenaded by the owner while we drank copious amounts of the local liquor.
Our second day took us to the "brooding jungle isle to the west," Iriomote. Even though I couldn't help but mock my guidebook's description, it really does brood. While Ishigaki had been colored grey by the overcast sky, Iriomote was covered with threatening rain clouds. The first sight of it gives the distinct impression of going to Jurassic Park or the island in LOST.
Iriomote has an area roughly the same size as Ishigaki, meaning it's a bit less than 300 square kilometers. Though that means it's fairly big, it has a population of 2200 and has only one main road. I can't tell you how many times I thought to myself "is this really Japan?" while we were there. The jungle is so widespread and the settlements obviously not, it reminded me of the mountain forest preserve I stayed at in Costa Rica. For this I fell in love with Iriomote.
We stayed at the Japanese equivalent of a bed and breakfast, where we met the French Bulldog "Guts." He was adorable in an ugly way, and some problem with his nose caused him to snort like a pig while he breathed. It was like having a furry little pig around all the time. In the morning we took a kayak/hiking trip to the tallest waterfall in Okinawa, Pinaisaira. Unlike my companion and everyone else who was there, I was determined to swim at just about anywhere I could, so naturally I swam at the foot of the fall. Here we had our first encounter with a very weird creature, something that looks straight out of prehistoric times. It's a half-frog, half-fish thing, and skips across the water on little leg/fins. I swear it's a perfect illustration of the halfway point in evolution between water dwellers and land creatures.
Before we left the island on the next day we rented motor scooters, which was perhaps one of the coolest things I've ever done. I can't express to you the giddy idiotic grin that crossed my face the minute I gunned the (miniscule) engine. In the short time we had the scooters we made good use of them, hoofing it all the way to the northern ending point of the main road. Can you believe it? A "main road" that just stops at a dead end, cut off by mountain jungle.
Near there was where we swam out to a tiny deserted island and explored some natural sea-carved caves.
This past week I spent a few days down in the southernmost part of Japan, a few small islands that are part of Okinawa known as the Yaeyama Islands. I'll be separating my accounts of trip by island. So to start we first stopped at Ishigaki, which is the main island of the group merited by the fact that it actually has an airport and a smattering of roads.
As a matter of fact, for the majority of the trip we found ourselves traveling beneath lead sky; the rainy season has just begun in Okinawa, and though we saw very little rain, the dark sky made for some less-than-brilliant photographs.
Ishigaki is seeing a major population influx, mostly in the form of retirees. New construction was everywhere, though for a while we thought it was buildings going to disrepair. Since not only during a slow season but also during the week, the place seemed desterted; it was great! We rented a small car and set about exploring the island. We took pictures for a very enthusiastic couple, found hairy (yes, really hairy!) crabs at low tide, ate Okinawan Taco Rice, and got sunburned. This is unfortunately where an unwanted guest, a hair of some sort inside my camera lens, made its first appearance. You'll see it featured throughout, much to my dismay.
This past week a friend of mine visited from Hong Kong. He's been living there for roughly a year and has become thoroughly accustomed to life there. Though Japan and Hong Kong are obviously quite different there are some fundamental "Asian" similarities that made hosting him a particularly unique (until now at least) challenge.
For the most part it's rather easy to host visitors from back home, as few of them have been anywhere in Asia and are thus impressed by just about anything. Temples? "Can't get enough of 'em." Crazy food? "What is that?" The hustle and bustle of Tokyo? Dumbfounded.
This time, however, he's been all over Asia and has seen a million temples already. He's eaten indescribable things. He lives in Hong Kong, which makes even Shibuya look tame at times. His life experience for at least the past year has resulted in a person who is much more difficult to impress with the wonders of Japan. So I had to reach deeper into my repertoire of amusements to show him what Japan has to offer.
We played kickball.
Yesterday each class at school was carefully herded outside so that pictures could be taken for the yearbook.
What this means for the students is that they're required to dye their hair back to their natural black, and remove all makeup and piercings.
I was oblivious until I noticed the startlingly high number of girls without eyebrows.
Bar none the hardest thing for me to adjust to since coming to Japan has been the degree to which people smoke here. Coming from Boston where smoking in public (technically, "anywhere people are working") buildings has been banned for years, it was like stepping into Europe...except worse.
Here, a "no smoking section" is often a tiny area of a restaurant in which smoking is not allowed, though there is no means or motivation to prevent the massive quantities of smoke from the smoking section from wafting over and ruining my meal...every time I eat out. And literally, just about everyone smokes. Eat at a restaurant that allows smoking at all, and you're guaranteed a smoky time. Luckily, it does seem like restaurants that are fully smoke-free are slowly becoming more common.
This is not to say that I think people shouldn't smoke. If they want to do that to themselves, that's all well and good. I also don't think that they should stop smoking in places they're allowed to smoke. It's unfortunate for me, but it's their right. However, the one piece of the puzzle that has bothered me the most is smoking parents. I can't tell you how many times a day I see mom puffing up with her infant sitting right next to her. Do these people have any concept of "second hand smoke" health risks? Though I can't be sure, it certainly seems like they don't. Just look at (aforementioned) horrible implementation of non-smoking areas, as well as the blatant disregard smokers here have of the people and loved ones around them. In a culture obsessed with not ruffling the feathers of others, I find such a thing kind of out of place.
Of course, it doesn't help that the government has a large holding in Japan Tobacco. Why let anyone know how bad the shit is for you when a huge portion of your yearly budget comes from tobacco revenue?
Last night in trying to pull a box of cling wrap from a drawer I somehow managed to gash my index finger on the metal teeth that are supposed to (but somehow don't do it very well) cut the wrap.
Apart from being an almost mind-numbingly humiliating injury, I've discovered it makes for rather challenging chopsticks usage.
The 選挙 (senkyo: election, vote) has begun. In Japan that means one thing: A solid week of armies of vans and trucks driving around, blaring little speeches out of oversized PA speakers.
It's an interesting (and unsurprisingly, loud) time, because every town it seems is blanketed by these roving shouting advertisements from precisely 8AM to 8PM. They vie for your vote by driving around and waving at anyone who will take notice, with a chorus of "thank you" and Japanese that has no literal translation.
What I find interesting is that no one seems to care that very few of the politicians running for office actually state what their platform is. I have yet to hear one (though admittedly my echoey-PA-listening skills are subpar), and when I inquired my coworkers agreed that it's rather rare. So how do people decide who to vote for?
Probably just like back home: appearance. And that's what the signboards are for! In a designated area in each section of town (towns are broken into distinct sections) has been erected a massive board with space for each candidate's picture. I couldn't imagine that anyone would actually pay attention to these things, but while playing wiffleball next to one yesterday I witnessed dozens of people looking closely. But what for? None of the pictures have anything but a catchy slogan and name written on them.
A Japanese mystery indeed.
Today I partook for the first time in a mild craze that has been in Japan since just after I arrived: jelly drinks! It's being marketed mostly in the sports drink category, but the particular kind I tried is labeled "For Beauty." Note that I did not buy this product of my own volition; I received it as part of a gift package.
VAAM Jelly (as it is so called) is bizarre. The drinks are all packaged in a plastic/metalized bag with a hard plastic...teat. The experience of "drinking" the stuff isn't particularly pleasant. You suck as hard as you can to get slightly-liquidized Jell-O to blast into your mouth. As this was my first VAAM experience and I didn't know quite what to expect, the sensation was slightly distressing. I got used to it, but I can't see how this could possibly be marketed as a sports drink. When I'm hot and sweaty and thirsty, probably the last thing I would want is sweet curdled chunks washing down my throat. Regular liquid for me please!
Really I just like the drink's name, which I suppose must mean something along the lines of "Here it comes...Wait...VAAM!!"
As today I was biting into a tasty おにぎり (onigiri: a Japanese riceball snack), I realized as I got to the tuna filling that I couldn't stand to have the filling facing downward.
Background for those not in the know: onigiri come in a zillion varieties, with the most popular sold at convenience stores tending to have a filling of some sort (fish eggs, tuna, salmon, pickled seaweed...). Though the filling is in the center, it tends to be near the top or the bottom. Imagine the "top" or "bottom" of pizza or something.
Anyway, I figured that it made no sense to have the filling on the top, because there are more taste buds at the bottom half of my mouth. I flipped the onigiri over, and it just felt wrong. Where did this irrational feeling come from? I suppose from a lifetime of eating toast with spread on top?
Regardless, the snack was finished without further incident.
I know I've been absent for quite a long time, but I've been insanely busy. Good friends have been both leaving and visiting, so I've had very little time for things like posting here. Well, the madness is over with nothing but (mostly) empty space as a replacement. I expect to be posting more now that I have some free time on my hands.
For now, make sure to check out a sampling of the pictures I took while my good friend Jansen was visiting. I've also figured out a way to easily add captions to my pictures, so be sure not to miss those!
As always, click on the thumbnail below for the full gallery.
Yesterday I took a long-overdue trip to the nearest 100-yen store, which also happens to be the first one I've ever been to. These days a lot of things are happening with people leaving and my tenure drawing to a close, so I've been thinking a great deal about my time here. My reflections lead me to start a little mini-series I'll call Recollection. I hope to be able to include a little photo with each of my remembrances.
For maybe the first week in Gyoda, I had no real access to internet. I remember huddling in one uncomfortable corner of my apartment, trying in vain to get a suitable connection to a neighbor's unsecured wireless network. Failing that, I took to roaming the streets on my bicycle (a total "mamachari" or Mama Chariot if you must know) with my laptop tucked in the basket, screen open and ready to display any signal I might come across. It was summer (and damn hot) and I was ready to camp out just about anywhere so I could write home. Remember, at this point I don't even think I knew my phone number, much less how to call out. Regardless, I found no signal.
Unfortunately I don't quite remember how, but I stumbled across the best free internet in town on the top floor of Paseos, our local throwback-to-the-80s department store. If you sat in a certain area, you could get a signal that was reliable enough to send out some emails before conking out. The bonus was that the area in which you could sit also happened to be the cafeteria for Paseos, which meant that there were actually tables and food and drink! After my search, I had come to paradise. It was made doubly enticing by the fact that though it was sweltering outside, it was nicely air-conditioned within.
Once we got to know each other more, I remember sitting there for quite the long stretches with Nichole and Peter, sharing computers before we all had one and sometimes plastering ourselves to the window in vain attempt to get back a signal that had died. I've never eaten mediocre cafeteria curry so many days in a row, and I do hope I never do again! We always got soft-serve ice cream after our curry/wi-fi fix, and since we were still all furnishing our apartments to our liking, often a 100-yen store visit followed.
These days, any trip back to Paseos brings back those memories. All I have to do is look out the window and remember those first summer days.
You can read one of my original posts about it here: http://www.shock-e.com/archives/2004/08/a_town_called_gyoda.html
Last night I hosted a small barbecue that was supposed to be the last real get-together of The League. It started out innocuously enough with a very small fire in the local park that was carefully coaxed into being over the course of about an hour (yeah it always takes us forever to get fires going). We cooked our food, then my neighbors came over to cook theirs.
Now, there were never more than four people at any one time at this fire. It was also contained in a barbecue grill that I have. Yet we must have ruffled someone's feathers by having too much fun (read: standing around and cooking quietly), because both the fire department and the police showed up within minutes of each other. Mind you, this was after we'd had a fire going for over an hour. It was uncomfortable but they were very courteous and we were asked not to do it at night.
Someone had apparently called in about it. It's really too bad that people can't be more accepting of even such a small step out of the norm. Spontaneity in Japan is dead.
Regardless, we had a good time and I am very thankful that both the FD and the PD were good-hearted about it. In fact, the police looked quite regretful to continue their patrol!
Today on my way to the bank I saw something I never thought I'd see anywhere in Japan, much less in my little town of Gyoda: A protest! Here I was for three years thinking I lived in pretty much the most apathetic country on Earth, but this is an obvious sign that such is not the case.
Granted, they were protesting a tax hike (when do people not protest a tax hike?), but it was a bit refreshing to see Japanese people get up and fight something they don't want instead of shrugging and accepting it with the obligatory しょうがない (shouganai: roughly it means "can't be helped").
Pictures to come, if I can get the pictures off of my phone.
Today I prevailed upon one of the Home Economy teachers to give me help in sewing a blanket for my friend's soon-to-be one year old daughter. I wanted to give a gift that was something a little more special than a generic baby toy, which I'm sure they have a billion of. I remembered my own baby blanket and wanted to make one.
The problem was that I haven't sewn enough in my life to actually be able to put together something even as simple as a blanket. Horiguchi-sensei really helped me out and enabled me to make a pretty kickass (in a cute way) baby blanket.
I'm glad that in this country there are still plenty of people who are willing to help out instead of defaulting to "I'm busy." She saved the day!
Yesterday our third grade (the equivalent of senior) students graduated. The ceremony was predictably very long, filled with formality and speeches and tears.
For me it was a particularly poignant time because I had to say goodbye to two of my dearest students, we'll call them A-san and A-san. They were scared and small first graders in the English Club when I first came to my school, also scared and small. I feel closest to them because we all grew together and we're all leaving.
Of course, I really doubt they feel so strongly about the whole thing seeing as to them I'm only a teacher, but seeing them go has made me reflect a great deal on my time here.
I hope I see them again.
In response to Pete's excellent rendition of a Saturday pick-up game of bad football, I made my own version. It's quite a bit different, regardless of the fact that the base footage is the same. Take a look and I guarantee you can't help but crack a smile.
Turn up those speakers and prepare to be rocked.
Because YouTube can't seem to get basic video encoding right, I strongly recommend you choose either of the files below instead of the YouTube version:
http://www.shock-e.com/media/confusion_bowl_remix.avi High Quality, 85MB
or
http://www.shock-e.com/media/confusion_bowl_remix320.avi Low Quality, 30MB
Failing that, you can always watch the YouTube version below. Be warned, you're missing out on the entire point of the video, as the audio sync is slightly off.
A few weeks ago a group of ALTs in my area played a game of tag football. It was the most unorganized event in recent memory. Thus, The Confusion Bowl I was born. Please enjoy the following "promotional clip," filmed and edited by none other than the infamous Peter Weber.
Stay tuned for my own take on The Confusion Bowl...perhaps even as soon as today!
We went on a weekend excursion to Sapporo this past weekend. Pretty much your standard drink-eat-drink sort of affair. The nighttime lit-up-stuff is the Otaru light festival (雪あかり路まつり).
Click on the thumbnail below for the full gallery.
You can also check out Pete's gallery of the same trip here.
Recently I've taken to reading The Little Prince in Japanese as a way to beef up my rather pisspoor Japanese reading ability. It's a grueling but excellent way to practice.
Today I came across one particular passage that really stuck with me.
Spoken from the viewpoint of a six-year-old boy:
"Grownups love numbers. When talking about a new friend, they don't ask about the most important things. Instead of 'What kind of voice does he have?' or 'What's his favorite game?' or 'Does he collect butterflies?' they ask 'How old is he?' 'How many brothers does he have?' 'How much does he weigh?' or 'What's his father's salary?' By asking such things, finally they can understand a person. If you say something like 'There's a beautiful house with bricks the color of roses, with blooming Geraniums on the sills and so many pigeons on the roof...,' grownups can't imagine it. You can't say that. If you say 'I saw a million-dollar house!' then grownups will get interested. 'That's beautiful!' they might say."
I love this passage. It makes me think of everything that's wrong with the way people prioritize their lives these days.
Today on my bike ride home I witnessed the everyday occurrence of a woman picking up her dog's droppings.
Only she was doing it with chopsticks.
We filmed another entry in the "friendship series" of short movies. All Pete's brainchildren, they've been featuring various friends and acquaintances we have here. If you notice, there's a common theme between the two pieces. Can you guess what it is?
The lighting is much better in this one.
As many of you know from reading here before, the Japanese winter is particularly harsh on foreigners. Not because it's especially cold or anything; in actuality it's quite "warm" compared to the frigid temperatures of my native Massachusetts. The problem is that houses in the 関東 (kanto: the "central" area of Japan surrounding Tokyo) area are uninsulated and lack any form of heating.
This leads to the use of stinky (and poisonous!) kerosene space heaters and the like. It's not something I prefer to use whilst sleeping, so generally I just hunker down under a massive layer of blankets to sleep. On very cold nights I might use an electric heater but electricity is quite expensive even here in the "country" and I am loathe to waste it.
It presents a problem. One of my quirks is that I need fresh air to sleep. I can't, for example, sleep fully under blankets. If I could, I wouldn't have a problem, but as it stands I sleep with my face exposed to the cold air. My face is fine, but it's my (rather prominent) nose that causes discomfort. My nose gets extremely cold at night. I have compensated by trying to sleep like a mummy with only my nose sticking out, but of course ... my nose still gets cold!
I expressed my situation today to my coworkers. They all agreed it was because my nose is "so tall."
Pete, Will, and I filmed a short film while out camping in Tochigi. I have to say, it's a fun little flick and I really enjoy how well the music fits.