New Years in Tokyo

Whitman College hires native speakers to work in each language department― similar to my job now really― my last two year at Whitman it was Yuriko Otomo. We became friends through Japanese Department gatherings, bonenkais and other parties. Both in Japan now, Yuriko invited me and a few other Whitman alumni to her family’s home in Chiba― near Tokyo― for New Years. Eager to get out of Yamaguchi Prefecture I quickly RSVP’d “Yes”. I was to arrive on the 29th, noonish. In order to arrive in Chiba noonish I would have to leave Hiroshima by bullet train by 6am, leaving Iwakuni by 5am, long before the local train would be running to take me to Iwakuni, I would ride my bike. I went to bed at 8pm, up to 2am, after packing, breakfast, and cleaning I left the apartment at 4. I rode my bicycle that had been totaled by the accident a few weeks before, if you tried to turn while pedaling the pedal would hit the front tire and send you over the handlebars, no worries of it being stolen, I would have to ride carefully. The night was cold, but electric, I was energized for my voyage, light snow fell on the way to the station. Parking my bicycle on the far side of the station, I ran on to the first train of the morning to Hiroshima. Few riders this early, too early for the businessmen even, an unusual bunch really, for Japan anyways. A woman and daughter, likely off to visit family for the New Year, a younger man who looked as though he had spend the night in the bars around Iwakuni, quite possible― there is no official bar closing here. One man took out an electric shaver and cleaned up, unheard of at normal hours, the woman and daughter got up and moved to the next car. The ticket bullet train ticket clerk in Hiroshima looked unhappy to be awake at 6am, and frustrated with my lack of Japanese finesse. I found a seat on the train, an isle to myself, and fell asleep. The ride to Tokyo was a hazy amalgamation of sleep and staring at the Japanese landscape fly past at 300 kilometers an hour. Arriving at Tokyo Station was an immense shock to my system, I had left relatively small Hiroshima in the tranquil early morning hours and arrived in massive Tokyo at the lunchtime rush. Swimming upstream through the crowds packing the labyrinth of floors and tunnels of Tokyo Station, I eventually found my way onto an express subway headed to Chiba. A transfer in Chiba City, and I made it to Mobara Station at 11:48 perfect timing. I waited on the curb until 12:10, then found a payphone to call Yuriko. Five minutes later I heard “Nate!” from behind me and saw Yuriko running toward me. She led me to the other Whitman folks who had come, Albert and Jennifer, both of whom I recognized by didn’t know personally. We put our bags in the back and climbed into Yuriko’s Mazda, first stop, a karaoke joint. I started to become nervous for the agenda of the days ahead― a few times I had been to karaoke, and had a good time after a few drinks, but I had never thought anyone would go in the middle of the afternoon― the place was overrun with elementary aged kids. Shit. Yuriko asked me to accompany her to her family’s kimono shop to pick up a few things, gladly.

“do you like karaoke?” Yuriko asked me,

“sometimes.... maaaybe, after a few drinks,”

“watashi mo” [me too]

We laughed, glad we understood each other. We picked up the items at the shop and took our time buying obentos [prepared lunches] and walking back to the karaoke place. Yuriko and I ate lunch and listened to Albert and Jennifer duets. When they had lost interest in MIDI (that is to say resembling cell phone ring tone) versions of Japanese pop songs and Bon Jovi, we headed off for Otaki, Yuriko’s home town. 
Yuriko's family's house is a beautiful Japanese style house surrounded by gardens and perimetered by a high stone wall, the gate intentionally absent, as a sign of a welcoming home (as explained in Japanese by Yuriko's father). Across the yard was the family's first kimono shop, where her father would later show me a bullet hole in the ceiling from a US fighter plane in WWII. 

 Yuriko's family's beautiful home in Oatki.

Otaki-town resides in Chiba Prefecture, on the east side of Tokyo bay, and the most direct route, by air,  between downtown Tokyo and open Pacific Ocean. During WWII United States planes would fly over Chiba Prefecture in route to drop bombs on Tokyo. On the return flight, looking to reduce weight and conserve fuel, planes would drop their remaining bombs on Chiba, it would have been a very scary place to live. 

That night we went to an onsen bathhouse situated in the mountains that surround Otaki-town. The winter air was crisp, but the onsen was hot and the cold air felt good. The next day we toured Otaki-town and Otaki Castle, which Yuriko's grandfather had helped build, the "Otomo" was carved in stone at the foot of the castle. We visited "furui ie" [the old house], an Otaki-town landmark owned by an Otomo family friend. The furui ei was a 130 year old house, built and maintained true to traditional Japanese style, and with a level of craftsmanship that left me staring at the joint work of the staircase for several minutes. At the time the house had been built, it was intended to serve as both a residence and a shop for the home owners. The architect and builders assumed the shop owners would seek additional help with the shop, a maid really, but this practice was illegal in Japan at that time. Therefore, the carpenters built a hidden room on the second floor, accessible only by a ladder from the first floor, hidden behind a false wall, the maid would remain hidden if the authorities were to ever investigate.

That night we went to an ishiburu [stone bath], a geo-thermally heated "bath", the floor is covered in soft pea gravel, the walls and ceiling cedar. When you arrive you change into a yukata [a robe, kind of], then you lay on the rocks in the hot room and sweat, very cool. 

Here are some more pictures from around Otaki-town:

 Largest "pre-modern" Daibutsu in Japan. 

Completed in 1783. 

This Buddha is carved in a common pose for a Medicine Buddha.

 The Daibutsu, as well as these Gohyaku Rakan [500 Rakan]

are on Nokogiri-Yama [Saw Mountain].

All from the end of the Edo era (late 1700s).

 Pathways were carved through the mountainside as well.

 

Pathway leading to:

 Kannon Bosatsu Statue.

 Ringing the bell at Otaki Castle in honor of the New Year.

RIP Fuji Bicycle

Sorry there are no pictures to go with this story, it wasn’t really an occasion for photos. My next post will be more visual, promise.

Names have been changed, if you think it’s you, it is.

When you live and work in a foreign country, everyday activities often become massive convoluted adventures that leave you unable to remember with what or where you started. Chance encounters with friendly people lead you to temples on remote islands, true story, and a trip to buy a liter of milk ends with a firework show, also true. Most of that is all well and good, and probably part of the reason you left familiar shores in the first place, it does however make it difficult to truly relax; when trips to the grocery store require a dictionary, you’re never completely “turned off”, as it were. So in this jungle of words that absolutely must end with a vowel, it is important from time to time to converse with fellow native English speakers. In that spirit, JETs like to get to together to celebrate holidays, speak normally, and exchange stories that begin with “No, no, no, you wouldn’t believe what happened to me….”  

On my way to one such event, Andrew’s birthday dinner, I was riding my bike to Fuju Station, to catch the Sanyo train to Obatake, where Andrew and his wife, Michaela, were to pick everyone up in their car. I do live along a train line, this is my schools justification for why they have me live 15km from school and won’t allow me to drive, but it’s the slowest and most infrequent train in the prefecture, and taking it often results in long layovers at the stations of either end of its line. I found that a 5 mile bike ride to Iwakuni Station, or Fuju Station, can save me from a lot waiting around. I was riding to Fuju as many people were still making their way home from work, the streets were pretty crowded and I had to stick to the shoulder, it was getting dark. Up ahead I saw a car creeping out from a cross street, doing that jerky can’t decide to go or not movement, where they could have gone if they had made the decision quickly, but ultimately will wait too long, and then pull out in front of everything at the last minute and cut everyone off. I slowed down. He stopped his jerking and settled, wasn’t going to go. I started to move to pass in front on him and he decided that now was a good time to get moving. I locked the tires, no use, slammed into the side of his car and felt my rear fly up and my face hit cold steel. Lying on the pavement I looked up and heard his car start to rev away, then he pulled over, decided he better not, I guess. I could taste blood, my knee hurt, an old man with thick glasses, the driver, walked over to me,

“nihingo o wakarimasuka” [do you understand Japanese?]

“sukoshi” [a little], I replied.

He walked away. Yeah, thanks for the help I thought as I picked myself and my bike up, it wouldn’t roll; fork was bent back so that the front tire was touching the frame. I picked it up and leaned it against the guardrail. The old man was talking on the phone, police I assumed, I spat some blood on the ground toward him, he seemed to get the message…I’m not real happy with him, he walked away. I could hear distant sirens for some time before they arrived, medics first, then one police car, then another, and another, the place was swarming with activity. Police were marking the ground with chalk, measuring, interviewing, inspecting his car and my bike; meanwhile I was busy trying to explain that I wasn’t going to go to the hospital.

The medics struggled in English, “ummm…Hospital. Let’s go.”

“no, no, no… no thank you,” I said.

“Why?” another medic jumped in.

Why? Because I don’t want to, I thought. Granted, I felt like I had just been blindsided by a linebacker, but nothing was broken, I knew that. My knee hurt, but I could walk; my lip was bleeding, but my teeth were all still there. The hospital would be a nightmare.

“watashi wa daijyobu desu” [I’m okay], was all I could think of.

The medics eventually left and I began sorting things out with police. Japanese police don’t assign blame in such instances, they write a report and let insurance companies deal with blame, but it was becoming clear that they believed he was at fault, that was a relief. After nearly two hours of talking with medics and police I finally got the go-ahead to leave, the driver had never said another word to me. I picked up my bike and started to walk home, but was quickly stopped by a man who I thought was a spectator but turned out to be the driver’s nephew, he spoke good English and was kind enough to give me and my bike a ride home, which was much further than I had realized, it would have taken at least a couple hours with my swollen knee. When we got to my apartment he offered to take my bike back to his shop to take pictures for the insurance company, my cynical side knew this was a bad idea, never let someone else have control of the primary piece of evidence, but my cynical side was too exhausted, “Yeah. Sure.” I went to bed.

My swollen lip, black eye, and limp made it impossible to keep from my coworkers the next day, who promptly told the assistant principal, who told the principal, who called the Yamaguchi Board of Education; nothing is your own business when you’re a JET. That afternoon a teacher told me I had a visitor waiting downstairs. I assumed it was the police, damn, how is this going to look? But, to my surprise, it was the driver. He had brought me a box of sweets and had come to apologize and wish me a speedy recovery, claimed he was to shaken up to speak immediately after the accident. HE was shaken up!? I resisted the urge tell him to keep his sweets and open his damn eyes next time. A few people later told me the coming the next day with a gift is customary in Japan, so I guess we’ll just chalk the whole thing up to a cultural experience. All is well that ends well.

By the way, I ended up getting x-rays to confirm my back was all in the right place, all good, his insurance bought me a new bike, and I eventually got my old bike back from the nephew as well, good for parts.

A Man Named Hiro Isobe

Fasten your seat belts and put the kettle on, this one is a long one; but a summation wouldn't do it justice. 

Part I

By the Nishiki River

Uninspired by the thought of spending another weekend sitting in my apartment, and it was a pleasantly mild weathered day, I decided to ride my bicycle to the nearby park and watch the Nishiki river flow by. On my way to the park I stopped at the convenience store to pay my telephone bill, one of the many conveniences Japan offers that the United States ought to adopt. Taking only alleyways and back streets, because these tend to be more interesting than main roads (and significantly less dangerous in Japan), I noticed a small crowd gathering outside a small Japanese style warehouse in a side alley. I quickly flipped a U-turn and rode down the side alley to see. Getting off and walking my bike as I approached, I saw there was an art exhibition displayed in an abandoned warehouse or studio, exactly the kind of place an artist would like to do work. In the back, tools were scattered about, carefully closed off by rows of easels supporting canvas paintings. The paintings were quite good, many inspired by places I had come to consider my neighborhood, places I often rode past. When I noticed the artist had postcard sized prints of this work for sale I remembered my mother tell me how much my Great Aunt Jeanne would appreciate a postcard. I had also yet to send my younger cousin Carson a card, which I had promised to do. I bought three. One for Aunt Jeanne, one for Carson, and one to write an old friend whom I also promised I would write.

Deciding to finish the length of the alley and take the adjacent one back toward the river, I came across a street market. Little commerce was actually occurring, most were milling about their booths talking and laughing, with friends and neighbors I assumed.

Street Market

Walking my bike down the alley, I browsed the goods laid out on tables at a distance far enough so as not to attract attention or conversation. A tall blonde woman in running attire followed by a similarly dressed man came jogging down the narrow street. The conversation did not stop, but it might as well have as everyone turned and watched the outsiders jog by. I felt glad people did not react the same way to my presence. I had nearly finished my walk through the market, keeping my safe distance from the booth, when a young girl, not yet school aged, yelled out “irashaimasen!”, a common phrase that roughly means [Welcome, please shop here]. Her parents were laughing and smiling at me so I walked over and looked over there bakery goods, and sounded out the katakana labels in an attempt to figure what each basket held. Naturally, I could not walk away without buying something after such a bold gesture from such a young salesperson. I bought a カレーパン [curry roll] for lunch, now realizing I had not yet eaten today, and continued in the direction of the river. Parking and locking my bike to a railing, I was about to walk down the short flight of stairs to where I could watch the Nishiki slowly flow past, when a loud group of Japanese tourists caught my ear from across the road. The street sloped down quickly so I could not see them directly but their laughter told me something that direction was worth seeing. Walking across the road to where they stood, I saw they were posing with a samurai statue in front of a long sunken iris garden, their laughter was merely the expression of friends amidst an afternoon out. Curious of the road I had never strolled down I decided to change my river watching plans and take a walk through the park first.  I had been to this park many times when I first arrived in Japan, I used to jog through here probably as conspicuously as those Americans I had seen in the street marketplace, but I had since taken to jogging in less mainstream areas and hadn’t been back in months. 

Park near my house

Walking through the expansive park, admiring its ponds and fountains and sculpture, I saw a group of American families. As we passed I gave the group an American nod, not to be confused with the Japanese bow, and greeted them with “Hello.” Nothing was returned, as each member of their party took care to look the other way as we passed. I hate tourists, as though acknowledging someone from the same country, of the same native language, somehow makes your visit less “cultural”. Whatever. Let them return to their manufactured homes, drink Singha, eat curry and call themselves cultured.

Continuing through the park I watch turtles bask beside a pond, took a quick stop at a Buddhist temple, and then settled into a Japanese garden on the hillside that clearly saw few annual visitors. 

Japanese Garden

Sitting and watching water trickle down the rocks into the pond below, I thought about how isolated I had become. Few people would describe me as a people person, sure I have certain people I like, I few I have even loved, but most would probably move more towards cynical, stolid, or misanthropic before calling me a people person. I enjoy being alone, in the woods and in crowded places. I am usually running from people; running to mountains, running to the basement, or hiding beneath the hood of a car, I enjoy even thrive on solitude, but for perhaps the first extended period in my life, I am lonely.

Alright, time to quit this sentimental bullshit and keep moving, but not back to the crowds seeking cultural enlightenment, instead I followed a trail that led up the mountainside without any real inclination as to where it might lead. Walking up mountainsides I always find peace of mind, neither fully conscious nor fully lost in thought, a happy medium where both states of mind lie in equilibrium; I am always disappointed when I reach the top. Switch-backing through the dense forest I can hear the rumble of the cable car directly overhead, but the bamboo and cedar canopies conceal it from view. In time the trail intersects with a road I had been familiar with when I often ran this way. Following the road to where I formerly would turn right, to Iwakuni Castle, I turned left, I had never gone this way before. The path was an old gravel road that followed the ridge of the mountain, after a mile or so it ended at a staircase. Climbing the staircase, I came to a small wooden tori at the mouth of a clearing. In the clearing was a small building constructed to protect burning candles from the elements. 

Wooden Tori at the Clearing

Mindfully circling the structure, behind was a stone staircase framed by stone lanterns that led to a hole in a massive boulder. 

A Hole in the Boulder

Crouching and peering up through the hole I could see light and a small platform not far above. Climbing in and navigating the dark tunnel, praying for no snakes, I emerged at the true shrine, a cedar cabinet housing bells and smelling of incense.

Platform Above

I scanned the crevasse I had emerged into and was surprise that my means of entry was the only way in or out of this narrow place. 

Shrine in the Crevasse

Making my way down and out of the cave, to the clearing, down the stairs and back to the gravel road, I started down the mountain.

 Feeling good on the walk down

Now headed downhill, I walked with big strides and felt good about having gotten out of the house. An older man was on his way up the road, I nodded and said “konichiwa” as we passed, he did the same, glad it really was the stupid American tourists and not me. Continuing down the road I passed another man, “konichiwa” I said, “Hello” he returned.

Part II

A man named Hiro Isobe

Laughing, I turned and asking how he was. Good, just enjoying a walk to the top he explained.

“Where did you go?” he asked

“Oh, just up to the shrine” I said wearily, still uncertain of the etiquette surrounding foreigners visiting places like temples and shrines.

“Did you see the view of Iwakuni city?” he asked.

“No, I couldn’t see the city.”

“You must turn left before the stairs, there is a path that….” He continued to describe the way to the top, but I couldn’t understand his English.

“Are you going that way now, why don’t you show me?”

“Really?”

“Sure, why not?”

Heading back up the mountain, this time with the Japanese man, he asked me to guess his age, Japanese people love that they they look 10 years younger than they are, and told me he had recently retired from a career at Yamaguchi Ginko [Yamaguchi Bank]. He was 65, I guessed 50, some how Japanese people don’t think I would have the sense to guess high because they all look so young, but I humor him. We spend the 30 minute hike talking about what it is like to teach English to young Japanese students and about the history of the nearby shrine. Apparently it was the site of the quarry used to build Iwakuni Castle in 1618, which would explain that huge boulder. At the mountain top, a clearing had been cut out of the dense forest so you could see the entire city, all the way to the inland sea, and some 60 kilometers away the island of Shikoku. It must be a clear day. Pointing at various buildings, I asked what this and that was, just making conversation, he started to tell me the history of the area and again how the stones used to build Iwakuni Castle had come from the quarry that it now a shrine.

“Have you ever been to Iwakuni Castle, it’s just over there” he asked, pointing back down the trail.

“Yes, a month or so ago I went there.”

“Okay, let’s go”

Laughing to myself, “alright, lets go.”

We walked the hidden trail to the road, then followed the ridge back to the junction where I have turned left earlier, but went straight down the right fork and followed the path to the stairs that led to the castle. Sitting on a bench admiring the castle, the Japanese man started to explain the castle’s construction, I interrupted, “my name is Nate, by the way Nate Conroy.”

“I am Hiro Isobe,” he returned, then continued to explain castle construction. I am still never sure which is someone’s first and which is their last name. Generally the Japanese give their family name first, but some switch when speaking English, and I can’t tell the difference by the name alone. There is a fish on top of many Japanese castles, he explained, because so many homes and castles were burned down historically. The significance is that if there is a fish above the home, certainly the home must then be underwater and could not catch fire. “It’s for good luck,” Hiro said. The first thing that came to mind was that many Japanese homes were also historically lost to flooding and that the fish could just as well be perpetuating such ill fate, but I thought it better not to mention. Hiro told me he often fishes on the weekends.

“In the Nishiki River?”

I had seen many people fishing in the river I had planned to watch that afternoon.

“No, in the sea.”

“Really? What kind of fish?”

“Do you know Blacktail?” holding his hands out to describe the size of the fish, about 30cm, “would you like to come?”

“Absolutely, let’s go fishing. When?”

“Soon, there is good tide in November”

“Alright.”

We walked down the mountain, this time via the closed road I used to run up that leads back to the park. Hiro offered me a lift to my bicycle and not wanting to appear rude I accepted the 2 minute ride to my waiting bicycle. I said good bye, thank you, and rode home. Later that evening Hiro emailed me, fishing in 2 weeks, he would prepare a rod and coat for me, I just needed to bring myself. 

Part III

Pending Authorship

  With Hiro Isobe and my first catch, Sea Bream.

 The Day's Take

 sea bream, garlic, cheery tomatoes & rosemary

GRE in Osaka

So, in an effort to "make something of myself" I traveled to Osaka last weekend to take the GRE (Graduate Records Exam), the SAT for grad school. It was a weekend of remarkable coincidences, one after another...

Downtown Osaka at Midnight

My tale begins at 8:30am Saturday in my apartment- realizing that I had nothing to make breakfast and the grocery didn't open until 9:00, I decided to lay back down for a bit longer. I had not yet packed, but my train didn't leave until 10:50 so I had plenty of time.  Moments later the phone rang. I scrambled up to it,
"Hello?",
"Ohayogozaimasu, yamamoto desu. Sensei no takamori koko desu."
[good morning, this is yamamoto, the teacher from takamori high school].
"Hai?" [Yes?]. From here the conversation was beyond my Japanese abilities,
"ummmmm, sumimasen wakarimasen" [ummmm, sorry I dont understand].
The person on the other repeated the long bout of Japanese.
"Gomennasi wakarimesen" [Im really sorry, I dont understand].
*Click*
I had received phone calls in Japanese that I did not understand before, I assumed they were telemarketers, but why would someone from my work who didn't speak English call me? It didn't make any sense. I glance at the clock, 10:15, jeez... I thought I had only laid my head down, but I had been asleep for almost 2 hours. The mystery phone call saved me. I still have no idea what the caller wanted, and no one approached me about it later, so who knows. But whoever you are mystery caller... thanks.
I made a cup of coffee, threw some cloths and my GRE study guide in my pack, and caught the 10:50 train to Hiroshima.
At Hiroshima Station I bumped into several JETs who had all convened there for the annual Sake-Fest. It stood as a taunting reminder that I would be amidst a day of testing whilst they would be enjoying a day of unlimited sake. Poor planning on my part. I found my bus without too much trouble and embarked on the 6 hour bus ride to Osaka. Studied vocabulary most of the way and made occasional broken Japanese/English conversation with the fellow sitting next to me. In Osaka I claimed a bed at a hostel before grabbing some okonomiyaki (local specialty) for dinner.

Back at the hostel I met a guy who had flown in from Korea for the GRE, apparently its not offered in Korea. He said he wants to attend A&M. I asked if he wants to moved to America or if he would return to Korea after A&M, he warily told me he planned on returning to Korea. No worries, I'm not applying to A&M. The Korean dude, I didn't catch his name, let me take a practice verbal test on his laptop; the results were less than encouraging, but I had completed the test in half the allotted time. The moral: slow down. Went to bed.
I woke up early after a panicked dream about not resetting my watch for daylight savings and being late for the GRE. In my dream, no one was willing to help me. It was a pretty funny dream:
Nate:   Mom! Im late, could you give me a ride?
Mom:  Can't you just take it again?
Nate:   Dad. I really late, don't have time to find parking, could you give me a ride?
Dad:    I would help, but I thought I would get Mike in the Christmas drawing and I got Ginny instead.
           Now I have to decide what to get her.
Nate:   Yeah, thats a real doozy.
*Disclaimer: I have no idea who anyone actually got in the Christmas drawing.
Anyways, decided I shouldn't sleep anymore... clearly my mind was in no state to handle the responsibilities of dreaming. I checked out and caught the subway to Nakatsu, the district where the test was being held (I think this was my first time on a subway). Once at street level, I pulled out the map I had printed from the GRE site and realize that it is worthless; there are no street names in Japan. All I know is that the building is called Nakatsu Center Building and is somewhere within a few blocks of the subway station. Well, glad I came 3 hours early I thought to myself as I started wandering and thinking: how the hell am I going to figure this out? Slowly strategies started developing, the test was on the 7th floor so I needn't look at building with fewer than 7 stories. Then, a stroked of genius. An American hotel chain with have a concierge that speaks English, I found a Ramada. When I asked where the Nakatsu Center Building was the women pointed across the street. Of course, the building was literally right across the street with "Nakatsu Center Building" written on it.

That's Japanese-English. It reads "Nakatsu senta- birudeingu". I felt like an idiot, especially after how many times I had walked past this building by now, but at least I had found it. And with 2 more hours to spare, I found a Starbucks and settled in for a Pike Place Roast and a vocab cram-sesh.
Taking the GRE is similar to getting hit by a Mack truck, except after the GRE people are happy for you and you celebrate. I walked to streets of Osaka until my eyes could no longer take the over-stimulation. Then stumbled upon a back alley Indian restaurant, likely only found by people not looking for it, and ordered some masala, nan, and a Kingfisher. The server was a nice guy, brought me free tea and gave me a hefty discount on my bill. It later occurred to me that I had been writing while I was there, he probably thought I was a restaurant critic or guidebook writer (my new strategy to get special treatment and discounted food).
By the way, I did about as I expected on the test: destroyed the math section and the verbal section was well...painful.
Nate Verbal Section thought Simulator:
Question: What is the antonym of qmeuoism. [jeez, what is qmeuosim?]
A) lksjdflim [hell if I know what this word means.]
B) owijeifj9i [or this one]
C) wofjisnmfvrkln [yikes, what if I don't know any of them]
D) jfwoimvsdlkjhn [dear god, what do I teach English]
After dinner I wandered the streets of Osaka admiring the buildings and killing time until my midnight bus ride back to Hiroshima.

Finally, I settled into a quaint bar in what I assume is the "Belltown" of Osaka called Monsieur & Madam. This place was about the size of Probably the Smallest Bar in the Universe, Dunedin, but had a ladder leading to a second floor of the same size. A salary man in an oxford shirt sat at one end of the bar and I sat at the other. The bartender wore a black vest and bow-tie and exercised a level of artistry for the trade you only see in a personally owned establishment of this size. I ordered a port and started to feel good (Kerouac). I had also never had a port, but always wanted to after reading his books. A couple came in and sat next to me, after they had been served we exchanged pleasantries in broken English and Japanese. The women owned a small french tavern nearby and invited me to come by next time I was in Osaka. I spoke with the couple for some time. The salary man stayed quiet, but he and I exchanged laughing glances as the couple  tried to come up with the English to speak to me. Before long the couple left. Then the salary man, who shook my hand and said "sayonara," on his way out. Then I took off to catch the night bus home.
Arrived in Hiroshima at 6am and in my tired state walked onto the wrong train. In my defense, it was the right track... my train just hadn't arrived yet. I figured it out before the first stop, caught another train back to Hiroshima, then had to wait for the second train. Anyways, made it home. Exhausting weekend.

My New Whip

As fun as riding the train (densha) through the Japanese countryside might be, the 40 minute ride (+20 minute walk) to work everyday lost in novelty in the first month. Not to mention the expense, I was paying about $5/day getting to school and home and that adds up (would be $1200 for the year). Unfortunately, you forfeit your free-will when you become a JET (they don't tell you this, its in the fine print), and my schools administration can not allow me to use a car or motorcycle for work related purposes, including getting to work. No other JET's school has exercised this right (most seem to encourage it), but alas... that is the nature of my administration. And so I regressed to my 16 year old self and took to a bicycle. I got a killer deal on last years model Fuji 4.0 road bike from the Japanese equivalent of eBay and have been riding to school on clear days. It actually takes me a little less time than the train/walk; more specifically, I found it takes the same amount of time as Springsteen's Born in the USA album (I think most people who read this will probably be able to ballpark that.)

The train goes through several tunnels, needless to say it wasn't really an option for me to take the same tunnels on my bike. So armed with my memory of a google map (dont have a printer), I set off to find my new route to school. A piece of advice for those who decide to plan bike trips via google map: maps don't do elevation changes justice and if most roads go through long tunnels that means there is a mountain. There is one road that uses a 1.5 km tunnel to get through the mountain, but its along a highway and the shoulder disappears 100m into the tunnel (I tried it once... never again). And so I was left with the old abandoned, pre-tunnel one-laner that goes up and over the mountain. Clearly engineered before the invention of switchbacks, this road would put any cars 1st gear to the test... and for that reason, few ever actually drive on this road (prefect for biking). Baldwin Street, near my old flat in New Zealand, claims to be the steepest street in the world, its not:

But most of the ride is quite pleasant, including this stretch that reminds me of the Burke Gilman:

Heading down off the mountain and into the town where school is:

The road was also subject to a mudslide that made it on a meter wide in one place, definitely helped make this road my own private highway:

I guess there actually is one unavoidable tunnel. As old and forsaken as the rest of the road, no cars use it either, and if there is an earthquake it'll be the first thing to go:

Anyways, its been good. Excellent way to wake up in the morning and Im no longer dependent on the hourly train. With the added benefit of ~25-30 miles/day exercise cycling over a mountain; not to mention, I can ride to school in the same amount of time as the train took. That being said, I'm still looking for wheels, preferably with a motor of some kind attached, to do some weekend adventuring. My school administration "doesn't think its such a good idea," its like having strict but passive aggressive parents; but they can't actually do anything. Rode past one of these the other day for about $800, what do you think?

Dharma Bumhood

Well, I've become a rucksack wanderer that works a 8-5 Monday-Friday; so a pretty crappy rucksack wanderer really, but perhaps someday.... Anyways, my weekend wanderings usual being with my hearing about something worth doing only a few train stops away and end with my thinking: how hard could it really be to find my way home on foot? This strategy has landed me at bamboo jungle dead ends and in prefectures (states, essentially) I hadn't known I crossed into but I also found a few gems along the way:

Here is the bamboo forest dead end.

Bamboo is EVERYWHERE, but its really useful stuff if you've got a few thousand years of people thinking "what the hell could we do with this stuff" on your side. Its crazy strong and tough but flexible, the saplings are edible too; not real flavorful but if you're looking to increase your fiber.....
PS Bushwhacking through this is a lost cause, I tried. Made it maybe 15 feet, and covered in spiders decided it simply wasn't worth it. Their bodies aren't real big, some maybe a couple inches across with their legs, but I've heard a bite can land you in the hospital. They're real pretty though, I'll get a picture of one soon just never think of it at the time. Also, rumor has is this area is riddled with mamushi, a pit viper like a cottonmouth or a water moccasin; haven't seen one yet, but I'll let you know. Anyways... bushwhacking is a little different here. Back to wandering...

I would tell you where this is if I had a clue where I was when I took the picture. But I did remind me of a stereotypical industrial Japan skyline. All dive more into the "Japanese way" of conquering nature once I have a few more pictures to illustrate this interestingly developed country.

Some old Japanese sailor is really pissed off.

I went into a thrift store in hopes of finding a coffee maker and found this. Tag is all in Japanese. I assume whoever designed it had no idea Walla Walla actually exists (the kids in my classes always laugh when I say I lived in Walla Walla). Perhaps a sign.... when I return, I should open the Walla Walla Repair Shop. Now I wont need hats...

Nate realizes he crossed the border at some point....

This scooter claims to be a BMW. I haven't a clue if BMW actually makes scooters, and if they do... I'm skeptical the Germans would opt for blue flames and a spoiler atop the pod thing, not to mention the bubble. But who knows. The Japanese do like to customize their rides. There are so many aftermarket wheels around here you'd think you're in south central, the subcompact mazda attached to the wheel in the only giveaway.

On a side adventure, I was invited by the Oshima Institute of Marine Technology to going out of a ship with them. So I did that:

They let me steer the ship, taught me marine knots, and fed me emergency "rations" just so I know what Im in for if an earthquake or typhoon hits. Cool experience. I mentioned I like to work on engines and they're having me back for some diesel thing in November. Woohoo!
All I have for now, thinking it might be time to get a car so I can go to places I cant just walk home from. The wheels are turning on that one... so to speak. I let you know.
Cheers.

Hakari Beach & The Music Playing Windmill.

Just to prove I have actually left my apartment since I arrived here (sorry, these few blog posts have been remarkably uninteresting), here are a few photos from this past weekend. The local Yamaguchi JETs had a beach party in Hikari. I got bored on Saturday morning so I headed to Hikari a bit early and found a Shinto Shrine. Briefly:
The Stairway.

The Temple.

And this dripping water thing that would make a sweet bathroom sink.

Then there was a beach party... beach parties are internationally identical:

After the beach party a few of us crashed at Michael’s (kiwi JET on the right) apartment and the next day decided to climb the hill to a windmill the supposedly played music.

There is the climb.

There is the windmill.

And lo and behold, it actually did play music. Check it out, it’s like one of those old piano/organ dealies; but has cymbals, bass drum, and puppets with little bells to go with it. 

A couple of Japanese dudes who worked at the wind mill really got a kick out of us, played us more songs on the puppet organ thingy, and then the dude on the left taught us how to walk on Japanese stilts while the dude on the right carved us each a Japanese puzzle game and a “helicopter” out of wood. Nice guys.

Japan is kind of like Alice in Wonderland; after climbing to a music playing windmill to be met by old Japanese men who carve you puzzles you don’t walk down the mountain, no that would be too predictable, you take the slide down (yes, there was a slide back down the mountain). I didn’t take a picture of this for some reason; was too busy sliding.

I will be getting internet at my apartment on the 11th, so hopefully I’ll be better about sharing pictures and stories once that happens. Also, I’ll be able to Skype folks once I get that. Hopefully get to see/talk to you then. Cheers.