Tokyo Drifting

What better way to spend a Saturday than to take the bus into Tokyo. A round trip ticket costs $36, and the ride is very similar to how I used to get up to New York from Philly. Roughly two hours on a charter bus. Heavy traffic entering the city a la the Lincoln Tunnel. A reclining chair.

We (Tiffany, Amanda, Seth — a feller from Cherry Hill, NJ, so we know much of the same sites and sights back West) got there around noon, so we grabbed a bite to eat in Shinjuku. The aroma of restaurants often creeps into the city streets, and I often follow my nose. Here’s a photo of the meal:


The orange soupy substance was left untouched after one sip, as the texture resembled, um, snot. The flavor was fine.

We wandered into an underground store labeled BATTLE ARENA. As we were certain this could only be something amazing, we traversed those downward steps without hesitation. Below, we discovered the battle arena, where various arcade fighting games were set up. You can watch the featured game on a big screen, so we watched. The red Transformeresque character defeated the blue one by shooting a series of lasers and rockets. A kid raised his arms and shouted with great glee.

Afterward, we got on the subway to visit Harajuku, the fashion-conscience area popularized in the States by one Gwenavere Stefani. In the two orientations we had back in Atlanta, former ALTs mentioned the conservative dress we’d surely encounter in Japan. This did not hold true in Harajuku. In fact, this hasn’t held true anywhere. When girls go out, they get their hair did. Harajuku was less hipster, more Park Ave than I had imagined, and I picked up a few shirts that fit me. We walked into “Snoopy Land,” and the sign was correct. That’s a lot of Snoopy-related paraphernalia.

We walked down to Shibuya, and one intersection closely resembled Times Square. Lots of people crossing the street at the same time. Lots of people, including us, taking pictures of people crossing the street at the same time.

We hopped on the subway again, hoping to reach Ripponge Hills, where the famous Mori Tower stands. We didn’t quite get there on the first try, but a quick cab ride sealed the deal. From the top of Mori Tower, you can get a panoramic view of Tokyo. Here is a non-panoramic view of Tokyo:

Finally, we headed back to Shinjuku to catch a bus back to Kofu. We reserved our seats and went to the nearby Keio Plaza for dinner. We left the restaurant at 8:21, thinking that would be plenty of time to catch the 8:30 bus outside. The only hitch came when we exited the elevator and had no idea where we were. We also couldn’t find an exit as each exit sign led to more exit signs and no exits. When we finally got outside, it was 8:24, but we still had no idea which side of the Keio we were on. There was running. Lots. There was running in the wrong direction. Tiffany got to the bus at 8:30. She stalled. Somehow.

Back in Kofu, the group B welcome party was taking place, so we met up at the Rink, another bar keen to foreignors. There was singing. There was guitaring. I got the inside dirt on so and so and who and who. So and so likes so. We first thought so and so was gay. Who and who used to date who. I think they still like each other. Here are some peeps:

A few friends crashed at my pad as it was the nearest domicile with space. (Because of the different train lines and locations, some people have to leave Kofu around 8:30 pm in order to get home. We combat this by opening up our doors and laying down our futons.)

Before resting our heads, we walked through the drive-through of McDonalds. It seemed to be the first day of the guy working, so in addition to the language barrier, he didn’t know how to work the machine once we conveyed our orders. Classic. He was a super nice guy, and Irish Dave told him this in Japanese. I bowed.

Hello, hello

I just delivered the first of many self-introduction speeches. I knew I would be meeting all the teachers today, but I only knew of the speech about three minutes before takeoff. It went well, I think.

Here's a paraphrased transcript:

(All in Japanese, mind you.)

"Good morning. My name is Kevin Lo. I am American. I don't understand Japanese *laughter*, but I understand English well *more laughter*."

I then said a few things in English that Kasai sensei (baseball manager and one of the teachers I'll be working with) translated, and I finished it all off with a Japanese phrase that sorta means "Nice to meet you," "I hope we have a nice friendship," and various other things. In Japanese, many phrases can mean a variety of things. Sumimasen, for instance, is used in almost every circumstance. It can mean "I'm sorry" and "Excuse me." It can be randomly thrown into speech, and it's often but not always used by anyone working in a store when you walk in or walk by them.

Just a few minutes ago, a teacher walked up to me and said, "Speech. Ema." Ema means now, and he wanted me to follow him to the assembly hall. There were a lot of people in this assembly hall, and I was previously told I'd give a speech to the students a week from now. I thought I was going to be doing this right now (!) instead, but Kasai sensei was there to say otherwise. It was a speech by the principal and other administrators.

I just left a tin can of jelly beans in the teacher's room. I will see how many are left on Monday.

Surely illegal in other countries

Last night was the annual Ichikawadaimon Fireworks Festival. I went to it. The train was packed to capacity, and it seemed everyone in the country was there. Lots of women wore kimonos, and lots of women wore very little. The running joke so far has been that many Japanese women could pass for any age between 15 and 35. As I am not so good with numbers yet, this could prove troublesome. I will keep to myself as a precaution.

We had a tarp reserved for us in a great spot, and we took off our shoes to get onto this aforementioned tarp. Since we were sitting on a hill and the tarp's coefficient of friction was below 1 (or is above 1 slippier?), we slid. Removing our respective socks proved to be helpful.

As noted in the headline, it should be illegal to be this close to fireworks. They were going off above our heads. "A Whole New World," "The Circle Of Life," and various other Disney classics soundtracked the explosions. I've seen fireworks, but nothing like this. The artistry, creativity, and sheer ingenuity was astounding. When I finally get the intanetto at home (in a month!), I'll post videos. In between each set of fireworks was a word from the sponsors. I wonder if this would annoy me if I could understand who exactly was sponsoring the festivities.

I ate some teriyaki chicken off sticks (for a fitting festival price of $10) and drank a few Sapporos ($4).

Leaving the festival was even harder than getting there, as thousands of people tried to board the same train at the same time. Despite a long wait, I've never witnessed such an orderly procession. These are the types of situations that only result in rioting, bloodshed, and spilt milk (in other countries). The only glimpse of chaos was a trash can with bottles falling out of it.

School's out for summer

In Japan, teachers work even when the students are out on vacation. On my desk was a large stack of papers with introductions and welcomes from the students. Each one had the same opening section: "Hello, Kevin. Welcome to Nirasaki Technical High School. We hope that you will enjoy yourself in Japan." Below that portion, each student wrote a little about him or herself, typically involving "I like -----." "Do you like -----?" A handful of students wrote "girls," "make love" or "sex." There were some unknown answers, such as "Billy's Boot Camp," so I suppose I'll have to do some Gizoogling. Oh, it's Tae Bo. Billy is Billy Blanks.

In Japan, people rarely ask you to do something directly. The phrasing is more like "It might be better" or "Maybe you would prefer to..." Kagami sensei said it might be better to write something back to each student, so that's what I did. "I like dogs." "I like soccer." I did not answer the scandalous questions.

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.

So many lights

Not a ton to report today. I did some supermarket shopping and checked out the electronics store.

I picked up some Udon and visited the ingredients aisle to try to find that lovely sauce typically used to douse the noodles. Everything looked like regular soy sauce, so I asked a lady. I pointed at different bottles and said "Udon?" The woman found a bottle and said "Water. Mix." She pointed at a chart on the back that read 1 -- 1, so I'll try an even mix. I also got some sushi for 780 yen. It was remarkable, though the package contained no wasabi. Weh-sabi.

The electronics store was exactly what I thought it would be. Crazy sounds and colors coming at you from every direction.

I ran into another JET, Lauren, who was trying to set up her internet. She passed a laptop back and forth with the clerk, typing into the babelfish translator. I wonder if she got hooked up. I was actually pretty shocked to see her, since I have no idea who is close to me. People are probably still trying to get their internet and cell phone set up, and the directory given to us at orientation is a little misleading. It lists people by what school they are teaching at, not where they live. So according to the map, no one teaches in my city, not even me. There must be a better way.

I forgot to mention the best thing about my bike in yesterday's post: the name. Whereas my last bicycle was called "The Pickle," my Japanese bike is called "Nice Friend."

Ladies and gentlemen, start your bike engines?

It might be a good time to mention that I'll be working at two different technical high schools during my stay in Japan. Today, I was shown around by my main contact/team-teacher at Norin Koku.

I don't think Sano sensei received a picture of me the way Kagami sensei did, so when I opened the door to my apartment, she wasn't sure if she was in the right place. "Ke-vin?" she asked. In the car, she said, "I don't want to be rude, but can I ask where you are from? Because you look Japanese."

I mentioned my name stamp in a previous post, but I didn't mention (or know) that I'd have to get it officially registered at the city office. That's what we tried to do today. Again, the process is quite detailed, so I am now waiting for a letter in the mail to prove I live where I say I do. Sano sansei apologized for the red tape, and she said that it's become even more difficult in recent years due to "evil people" doing "evil things." People like R. Kelly?

The best part of the whole ordeal was Sano sensei's reference to "Kevin" Costner. This is not the first time this has been said. I fear it is not the last. Part of the confusion stems from the whole reversal of first and last names, not to mention the fact that Japanese people don't have middle names. For the record, I am not related to Costner Kevin.

Next, we visited Norin High School, an agricultural school, and I was served a succulent piece of yellow watermelon grown by the students. Sano sensei asked if I got yellow watermelon in Atlanta, or just red. Yellow is not THAT common here, but she tells me it is a special occasion. Another teacher says the same thing, and he kind of laughs. If this were in the States, I'd suspect sarcasm. I'm told sarcasm doesn't exist here, so I will not be able to tell any jokes. Or talk, period.

A trend that I am noticing is how favors are often explained. For instance, people usually have to pay several months of rent in advance, called "Thank You" money. The whole process of "Thank You" money is explained to me before I am told I will not have to pay it.

When I meet the vice principal, he kind of points at me and then grasps at his cheeks and says something to Sano sensei. She says "Taiwan," so I can only guess that the vice principal liked my Asian face.

Just like at Nirasaki High School, everyone is incredibly nice and sorta taken aback that an Asian person could speak American English.

When we leave Norin, we go to the train station so I can figure out how to get to school before I get my car insurance, title, etc. An interesting thing about Japanese laws is how a lot of them rely on the school system. To get car insurance, the school must first approve. The train system seems very efficient, and Sano sensei tells me that the trains are rarely behind schedule. On Saturday, I will have to hop on one by myself to go to a gathering in Kofu city. The cost is 180 yen, about 1.50 USD.

Last, we go to a hardware store to buy a bike. Sano sensei tells me I'll have to bike home if I buy one, since she has a small car. She probably has one of the larger cars I've seen, and it's still tiny. When I sit in the passenger seat (on the left), I feel as if someone has stolen my steering wheel. I pretend to use mind control to drive the car.

After living in Philly, it's remarkable how the bike system works here. And by "remarkable," I mean there is actually a bike system. I paid 500 yen, less than 5 dollars, to have my bike registered with the police department. Every bike has its own lock on the back wheel, and you have to keep the key in the slot in order to bike! People usually don't lock the bikes to structures, so they are very much like cars. I also get a free year-long warranty.

I just ate dinner at McDonalds. The fries taste the same, and the burger is a little juicier. The Big Mac is called the Mega Mac. McFlurries are still McFlurries.