Townies + Downtown

I got my first “real” local experience on Friday night. It was spec-tac-ular. I left the internet café around 22:00 (yeah, I totally went there) with little to do and too much time before bed, so I decided to visit the bar, or izakaya, located near my apartment.

I walked in and noticed four men—age 50 or so—in baseball uniforms. They didn’t notice me. I ordered a beeru (guess what that is), and a woman who appeared to be the “mom” of this “mom and pop” establishment brought me an Asahi bottle and a tiny cup. Everything is tiny in this country. I am still adjusting.

Roughly ten minutes passed, and I couldn’t muster up the courage to speak to these very jolly gentlemen. The bartender (pop) noticed my isolation, so he began to entertain me by commenting (I think) on the television program above my head. A man was singing. Then a woman sang. There were shiny costumes.

I finally uttered the magic word (eigo : English), and the room changed. The men turned and began to talk. One walked over and brought another beer for me. I got the “Kevin Costner” thing once again, but it felt a bit more warranted considering they were in baseball uniforms. Bull Durham, anyone? Field of Dreams? But when I said “Field of Dreams,” I was met with blank stares.
Again, the dance of limited vocabulary ensued, but this time I tried to relate. “Dice-K” delivered some smiles. “Matsui” got some more. “Nakata” hit hard, since he was a real playa’ back in the day at Nirasaki High School. I’ll be teaching at the technical level, but I’m told there is quite a rivalry between the two schools in soccer.
“A, L, T?” asked Akio san, and I nodded and smiled. It seems the townies know of Assistant Language Teachers. He gave me his business card (it’s what people do here) and told me he lived just down the street. I don’t believe I’ll be calling, but the gesture felt grand.

Saturday:
We, the Yamanashi group A folks, met in downtown Kofu (the capital of my prefecture, only one stop east—five minutes—on the very efficient train) for a little dinner and barring. First stop was Capppriciosa (yes, three p’s), an Italian restaurant. This was true fusion, as each course tasted oddly Italian and Japanese at the same time. One dish—a breaded, fried rice ball in marinara sauce—almost tasted Mexican. I felt as if a spontaneous group sing-along to “We Are The World” would not have been out of place. I got to meet some of the JETs who had renewed from last year, and I think there will be a few keepers.

Next we headed over to “The Vault,” a bar geared towards foreignors. There was hip-hop on the jukebox, darts, pool and liquor you readily find in the States. I excitedly ordered a Suntory whiskey and Coke, only to have the waitress return and have me point between Jack Daniels, Maker’s Mark, etc. I drank a nice heifewezen, lost and won a game of pool, and tried hard not to laugh at the Americans attempting to pick up Japanese women. In this one week in Japan, I’ve already begun to notice recurring trends. I’ve also noticed recurring “types,” as in “types of people” who choose to move to Japan. One type is the extremely nerdy white guy who would have a tough time in America dating anyone, much less talking to anyone who breathes oxygen into his or her lungs to maintain life. The “NWG” moves to Japan, knows very little Japanese, and tries to impress Japanese women—I have a feeling it could be any Asian woman—with various “moves” that, to be honest, hurt my brain. I prefer not to get into details, and the worst part of it all is that these “moves” work. Many of these NWGs never leave Japan again. Go figure.

Best thing about the Vault: Pool is free! There is just one table, so you respectfully limit your playing time. No one puts up a fuss! If this happened in America, someone would be chewing pool chalk in the first ten minutes.

The last train back to Ryuo was at midnight, which is sorta lame, but the cleanliness and preciseness of the train system is a nice change from Philly. There, I could be on the last train and still miss it. OK, that’s a stretch. Nick, the only new Canadian in the prefecture, crashed at my pad since he’s hours away. He’s pretty Canadian. We discussed gun control and politics.

Sunday:
At dinner on Saturday, I exchanged information with two girls, Tiffany and Amanda, who live in the same apartment complex in Yamanashi city (which is a few train stops east of Kofu). We agreed to meet up and explore Kofu some more, so that’s what we did. In my goal to pack light in the States, I forgot the necessity for a pair of tennis/running shoes. I bought a pair today, and for the first time in my life, I had to buy the largest pair they had. These are some serious kicks, and they only cost $40. I was so happy with them I even referred to them as “biscuits,” which I hear is the terminology all the cool kids are using these days. They might be too pretty to run in. I defeated the purpose.

I had some wonderfully Southern-tasting iced tea, and we walked up Kofu Castle and a nearby temple/cemetery. Assuming my phone was doing the trick, here are some pictures I took with the camera that is built into my cellular phone that I carry around to call people.

I had some great peach ice cream, which may or may not have been made from fish, and I chewed on some grape gum. A vending machine (which are EVERYWHERE) swallowed my change. To make matters worse, it was the first time I’d seen Gatorade in a week. I was too crushed to try again.

I just received a call from Kagami sensei, and it turns out I will be working tomorrow. Sweet. I’m back, baby.