Contrasts

In many ways, Japan is a study in contrasts. I had a long discussion the other day about whether the culture was schizophrenic or just severely repressed. We never did reach a conclusion. I offer some examples for your review:

The same culture that produced a toilet with more buttons than Captain Kirk’s bridge chair also has this one. I guess it has the benefit of being simple. Note that I’ve seen nothing in between here – there’s no missing link in toilet evolution.



In general, the people here are some of the nicest people I’ve met. Perfect strangers will go several blocks out of their way to take you to where you want to go when they realize you can’t understand their directions. But the businessmen are some of the rudest people I’ve ever met (luckily the “I don’t understand Japanese” routine works well – it’s FAR too much trouble for them to try to make themselves understood).

You sleep on a thin mattress on either a wooden frame or the floor (ie, a hard surface) with a rock pillow. Yet you get the fluffiest down comforter.

Spaces that are owned in some way (yards, restaurants, etc) are spotless. I even saw a man on his hands and knees scrubbing the subway station floor in Tokyo. Yet public spaces that no one feels responsible for, like playgrounds and little local parks, have litter scattered all over. Apparently most beaches are like this too, which is why people kept telling me they weren’t very nice.

The typical engineer is expected to work 12+ hours a day, 5-6 days a week in an environment where talking to people unnecessarily is frowned upon. They have no pictures on their walls and very few (if any) personal effects on their desks (makes me wonder what they’d do if I played the hamster dance song really loudly at 3 in the afternoon). Yet get these people out at a restaurant with some sake or beer, and they’re behaving exactly like that really obnoxious guy in American Pie (and the two arenas never cross - as far as I can tell, even obliquely referring to the night before at work is a serious faux pas).

The traditional values and way of life are extolled (at least out here in the styx). I actually saw two older women strolling down the street complete with matronly outfits, sun parasols, and white gloves. And yet this same culture is completely in love with neon and electronic gadgets and all things modern.





Here’s a typical view of Omiya (the town I’m staying in), front street.







And here’s Omiya, back street (what I find amazing is how much this looks like backroads Europe).





And here’s what happens when the two meet. Let’s just say it’s not a graceful pairing and leave it at that.

Size 92

So a new store opened in town this week (clothing and household goods – like a Marshall’s or Ross I think) and from all I can tell, it’s the grand event of the month (if not the year). I didn’t think Omiya had enough cars to fill that parking lot, but maybe they’re importing them. I figured if everyone else is there, it must be good (besides, I’ve noticed that I get a LOT more stares than usual every time I walk around town in shorts – and now that I'm paying attention, I've seen no other adult wearing shorts. Since I’m not willing to roast in jeans, I’m guessing I need to get a couple of skirts).

Shopping for women’s clothes during a sale is something of a competition sport all of its own (another culturally independent concept apparently). Most people are pleasant and smile and nod and move over a little bit so you can get by. Kind of like jockeying for position during a bike race. You acknowledge someone coming up behind you with whatever breath you have to spare, and move over a little bit in case they want to pass. But you’d never give up your line to move over enough for them to ACTUALLY pass without interference. So you cruise around, looking for things that you might like (or, if you’re really feeling spiteful, for one of a kind things that you think the person behind you might like). When you find something, you grab your size and move on. The pro-shopper jumps in, grabs the item, and is gone before you can complain they cut you off and took the item you were looking at.

Now here’s where I got into trouble. I know my size in American, English, and European sizes. Apparently Japan uses NONE of those standards. Rather than seeing sizes from 6 – 18 on the racks, I was seeing anything from 56 to 96. How non-flattering! Bad enough to have to admit you’ve gone to a size 16. Now imagine you have to fess up to an 88!

The good news is that anything in the 90s is a tent. So finding things that are wide enough isn’t a problem. However, finding things that are tall enough ... that’s a different story entirely. And while you would think it wouldn’t matter in a skirt, it somehow does. The skirt that falls just below my knee looks silly cause it’s obvious it was meant to be ankle-length. And the shorter skirts are indecent even by Japanese schoolgirl standards.

Shoes ... that was just too depressing for words. There were no sizes per say. Just S, M, L, and LL. And finding out that LL shoes are too small for you takes you back to the days when your little sister used to call you bigfoot.

In the end, I bought a larger purse to carry around all the electronic gadgets I’m accumulating and left in defeat.

Miscellaneous

We got a thunderstorm tonight. A real, honest-to-goodness, soak you through to the underwear in 2 seconds flat, light up the night sky like daytime, make the electricity on the block flicker, summer thunderstorm. Since I was already home (and had pulled the mostly dry laundry inside already) when it really got started, I can sit back and appreciate it. But I will go buy a flashlight tomorrow.

Since my gushing artery of writing (see Little Mig’s blog entry for 6/22/04) has temporarily stopped, here are some pictures to fill the space. Some sights around town:











We finally got the picture off the phone – here’s proof the Redhead ate the fish head. With chopsticks no less.

The bridge to nowhere

It’s a bright, clear day and yesterday’s cooler weather is still hanging around so I forced myself to get out even though I’d stupidly stayed up until 3am reading. The first order of business was the “Ryujin Great Suspension Bridge” (yes, that’s the actual name on the sign). It looks really pretty in the pictures, but it’s back in the woods a ways so I wasn’t sure how many times I was going to get lost. But apparently this is another great local tourist attraction, because as soon as you’re on the right road, you start seeing signs for it too. Not quite every 5 km, but enough.

It is very pretty – a thin blue bridge soaring high above a steep green valley complete with a dam and lake. But what’s really odd is that it’s (as far as I can tell) a purely ornamental bridge. It’s not wide enough to support a regular car, and there are no roads to it on the other side. I have no idea why they built it except to charge people 300 yen a piece to walk over it (and they really didn’t need to put the plexiglass panels in the road surface every 100m – I don’t want to know just how far I’ll fall if something happens). I was, however, very relieved to see that the footpath from the dam to the bridge was closed. There was no chance of the idiot in me deciding it would be fun to walk up yet more steps.

On the way out, I noticed a billboard for other attractions in the area. One of them puzzled me for the longest time – “Soba Load”. Now, I knew there was an area famous for its soba noodles, but it still took me a while to figure out that this was really “soba road.” You’d think that with 3 alphabets the Japanese could afford a “r”, but apparently not.

Since it was still pretty early (not getting lost helps a lot), I stopped at Seizan-so on the way back. It’s a retirement garden for some local lord built around 1690 – not big on the radar screen, but close to home and free so I wanted to see it. And it hands down beats everything else I have seen here to date. Very cultivated and contrived (exactly what you think of when you think of a Japanese garden) but somehow, even with tons of other tourists, there’s an incredible sense of peace. The irises are in bloom right now, but the hydrangeas are coming along too (don’t know if it’s a blue garden year round, or if it’s just coincidence). The irises are planted in amazingly straight rows, but from a distance, they look like a blue river flowing into the koi pond. Very neat effect. The back 40 is more forest-like and only looks like they sweep every week, not every day.

And one more of life’s mysteries has been solved. I’ve been seeing more high end Mercedes and Porsches here than I really would have expected in a country where the top speed limit is 55 mph. I mean, what’s the point? But take a weekend drive into the mountain back roads and you’ll see the point. Just remember to pull your underpowered little car off to the side to let them all pass. Otherwise they try to pass anyway and that’s just really scary.

O Happy Day

I found a library here that has books in English! It’s not the world’s largest or most organized collection, but it’s enough to keep me busy for the next little while. It’s free and there is a certain amount of amusement to browsing through titles like “The Vampire Lestat” right next to Fodor’s Japan from 1982 right next to “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man”.

Unfortunately the free Japanese lessons turned out to be a one-on-one disorganized jumble. It’s hard to describe – there were almost as many teachers as students, but while they had all these teaching aids, it’s as if there was no lesson plan. No coherent flow to the class to make sense to the student and my teacher would break off into mumbling to herself rather often. Somehow you were expected to know the difference between that mumble and the mumble that is a Japanese sentence that you were supposed to repeat. Difficult when what you’re trying to learn is Japanese. And last time I checked, 500yen was not free. Cheap, yes. But not free.

The museum of Japanese history was likewise a mixed bag. Some of the exhibits were incredibly interesting – like the portable 4’ reverse water wheel used to flood the rice paddies (you put human power in to pump water uphill). But there was no English guide of any kind, so if there weren’t pictures with a particular exhibit, you were sunk.

On the way back, I stopped in the tourism office to see if they had a map in English by any chance. The lady told me to wait, and rushed off to the back room. She came back some 5 minutes later, blowing the dust off a map that had words in our alphabet on it! I didn’t have to heart to tell her that it was in Spanish. And truthfully, “playa” and “museo” are a lot more useful than “squiggle” and “squiggle with a dot”.

Even the weather cooperated – I was cold tonight for the first time in 3 weeks (when I wasn’t at work). And the first set of care packages got here yesterday - Thank you! (The postman drives a moped with a bright red/orange padded container on the back – it looks almost exactly like a dominos delivery.)

All in all, a very good day for my 5th entire day off work since Easter. I might actually need to stop counting them individually now since my other hand is busy holding the world’s smallest violin.

Garbage day

Ok, so garbage is an even stranger topic than toilets. But just as important if you think about it. And considering today was the first time I managed to get rid of mine since I moved into the apartment, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

Like many things here, this is no simple process. For starters, you go to the grocery store and buy special garbage bags. Not like the giant black ones at home that you buy simply because they’re large and near-indestructible. No, these are smaller and colored highlighter green (yes, I checked - it’s an exact color match) and you buy them because if you put your garbage out in anything else, they won’t take it. Note that there are also highlighter yellow bags on the same shelf at the store – those are for recycled cans and bottles.

Ok, so far so good. I have my bright green baggie of garbage, now what do I do with it? I’ve never lived in an apartment complex without a dumpster, but unless the Japanese have dumpster cozies that look like
motorcycles, there’s nothing here. When I asked, I was told that there are collection points along the street (not at every house like at home), and that I was to put the bag in front of the fish market on Tuesdays and Fridays. Ok. But I really couldn’t see running across the street, dumping my fluorescent green bag on the sidewalk in front of a perfectly respectable shop, and then running away. They already think I’m weird enough here.

So I went out last Thursday night looking for piles of bright green. I mean, how hard can this be to find? But nothing. At this point, I’d only been in the apartment for 2 days – I wasn’t too worried. So Monday night I go out again. Nothing. I get the bright idea to try Tuesday morning early – maybe people don’t put their garbage out the night before. Still nothing. At this point, I’m getting worried, but I figure I can make it till Friday. So I give up and ask again. And get the same answer.

Repeat the exercise again Thursday night. With the same depressing results. At this point, the importance of garbage collection is starting to make itself very clear. This morning, I happened to wake up late and ran out in a panic, convinced that the garbage men came at some wee hour in the morning and I missed them again. I need not have bothered. I was actually late enough that people were awake and cheerfully piling up green baggies on the sidewalk. I keep forgetting that 8am is REALLY early for most people over here.

So the garbage is finally gone. Picked up by a baby garbage truck driven by two grandmas in aprons and straw hats. I might go out next Tuesday to try to get a picture of that.

Four Springs

Most of the reason the Redhead and I set off on the marathon tour to visit Nikko was the promise of one of the three great waterfalls in Japan. What we didn’t realize was that although the 2nd waterfall is too far south for a day trip, the 3rd (Fukuroda-no-Taki ) is 30 km from here. A mere 45 minutes it turns out, and that was stuck behind grandma for most of the way there.

Since I’d worked plenty of hours on the weekend, I played hookey this afternoon and headed out. I felt like a kid with a snow day – except it’s never been 90deg and sunny for any snow day I’ve ever gotten. Part of the attraction, in fact, was that going north into the mountains HAD to be chasing cooler weather.

I’d never gone north from here, and didn’t really expect anything much different. But the people at work who raved about the countryside were actually right. It’s still rice paddies and country towns – don’t suppose differently. But it gets less populated and even greener if that’s possible. And once you get into the hills and start crossing streams, it’s just really pretty. I REALLY wish I had the kayak!

Fukuroda is apparently a rather popular attraction – there are signs every 5 km (in romanji even – roman alphabet). Once you get within 5km, they’re every 1km. And the final two signs aren’t just words, they’re full color picture billboards. So if you can’t find this one, I just don’t know what to say.

Once you get there and figure out where to park, you pay the lady 300yen for the privilege of walking through the tunnel to the falls. I never thought I’d see anything to top Muir Woods’ paved trees, but the paved, ramped, tunneled path to Fukuroda takes the cake. The falls themselves though ... extremely pretty. It’s named “Four Springs” because there are 4 separate falls, three of which are visible from the lookout point. Apparently it’s also a play on “four seasons” because the waterfall changes appearance so much throughout the year. In the winter, it even completely freezes over and they use it for ice climbing.

The lookout point is at the bottom of the falls and there’s a path across (a miniature suspension bridge that wobbles way too much for comfort) and up the side. Assuming that this would bring me out to the top of the falls, I stupidly started climbing. And kept climbing. And climbing. I did get a glimpse of the 4th waterfall through the trees and when the path started snaking around, I got all excited about the spectacular view I was going to get. That was the only thought that kept me going considering that it was, if possible, even hotter and more humid than it had been at home. So much for the “it’ll be cooler in the mountains” theory.

Eventually it became clear that this path was never going to get me my spectacular view of the falls. Why, then, did I continue? Because I’ve been married to XDirtPusher too long? Related to too many Germans? I’m an idiot? I don’t know. I think I’ll claim heatstroke - I was just convinced that the view from the top had to be worth the pain I’d already suffered. After about an hour of climbing concrete steps (I’ve never seen so much concrete out in the middle of nowhere!), I got to the top. Now, in the US, this would have gotten me a windswept view for miles because they had chopped down all the trees at the summit. In Europe, this would have gotten the view and a coffee shop. Possibly even an ice cream. In Japan? I got a bench facing a tree. No, I am NOT kidding – see for yourself!

They really expect people to climb 1km of concrete (more often than not at a 30+ degree slope) to sit in front of a tree. The only view you get is hanging out on one of the tree branches to see the valley below. There really are no words to voice my disappointment.

My advice? The falls and the ice cream cone at the bottom were both definitely worth the price of admission. Skip the steps up Mt. Tsukiore though.

The color of purple

Today has been one of those days. I’m trying to solve a couple of problems at work that just don’t make sense. My credit card got rejected by the local gas station – and this is after I called Visa to complain that their theft protection is a little overkill. And I learned the hard way at lunch that there are times when you should not take your shoes off in a restaurant (apparently you’re supposed to wear socks even in 90 degree weather).

The bright spot in the day was finding a bakery that had a real, honest-to-goodness loaf of bread. Not just wonderbread either, but a round loaf of browned, baked goodness. I splurged and got cheese (dairy is hard to come by here) and orange juice (yes, I read the label carefully this time) to go with it and was all set for dinner. But as I sliced the bread, I noticed something odd. The bread was purple inside. Darker than lavender, but not quite eggplant – kind of dark lilac. The color of blueberry yogurt after you stir it. I have no idea what it was - taro flour maybe?

I ate it anyway – tasted like bread, if a little sweet. But certain things, like bread and construction equipment, should just not come in purple.

Jinx

Since I’ve gotten here, I’ve seen more signs and heard more warnings about bugs! There’s a sign at work asking us to please leave the windows closed because there are many insects outside. The guidebooks all warn about them for summer travel. Almost every “all you need to know about Japan” website mentions them. This is my favorite so far (it's also the most detailed). “The high heat, humidity, and abundant food supplies in summer are heaven for insects and bugs, and as a consequence, they breed prolifically during this season. Here are a few to watch out for:” The list includes: Cockroaches (gokiburi), Tatami bugs (dani), Mosquitos and sandflies, Centipedes (mukade), Spiders, and Snakes (hebi). Presumably the Japanese names are added so you can scream the appropriate thing as you stand on your chair ... oh wait, coffee table (since there are no chairs).

The odd part is, I’ve seen remarkably few bugs since I got here. And as most of you know, if there’s a mosquito within 50 miles, I know about it. I was just commenting at work about this today and we were all being amazed. I obviously should have kept my mouth shut. I get home tonight and promptly get 3 of the largest mosquito bites I’ve ever had. ARGH! Luckily I had ice already made.

And yes, the little sucker died an ignominious death under the sole of a shoe.

But not all bugs necessarily require instantaneous squishing.
Check this guy out – he just sat there and let me get closer and closer.

I swear he was posing!

It’s a small world

The more I travel, the more I’m amazed at how little things actually change between peoples and cultures. I mean, look at me. I speak 6 words of Japanese, and yet I’ve lived here quite comfortably for almost 2 weeks now. I might miss someone to talk to, but I’m not hungry, can navigate around fairly well, and haven’t blown myself up with any kitchen appliances (yep, I finally bought a stove). I can even (usually) figure out how to flush the toilets.

Also note the ground station here. The current theory is that all ground stations the world over were built by the same crew of people in the same decade. They’re all low, long, ugly, gray or brown concrete buildings that look (interior and exterior) like they came straight out of the 50s. The office furniture is all battleship gray and just as comfortable. They’re always air conditioned to within an inch of your life. And the lighting is always the worst you can possibly get while still being technically bright enough to read by. This one’s special only in that the control room actually has windows. Imagine that!

I bring this subject up because I was walking around town today, peering into shop windows to try to figure out what each store sells. The stationary store smelled like paper and ink, just like at home (they even sell UhHuh [sp?] although a different brand). The produce store lady shows you how to cook the odd-looking green things (in pantomime so I’m not sure I really got it all). And the craft store is jam-packed with all kinds of amazingly useless things (including the thread that I need to complete the project I brought along) and comes complete with a cat in the yarn bin. Who promptly demanded the attention that was only her due as queen of the shop (and although it’s hard to be regal with only ½ a tail, she managed quite nicely).

The tea shop though ... that’s a uniquely Asian experience. I’ll have to find a tea ceremony before I leave.

But it’s a dry heat ...

NOT! I’ve officially been in California too long and gotten way too used to a near-desert climate. It’s really hot and humid here today (there’s a typhoon sitting off the southeast coast) and I’m about ready to melt into a puddle of my own sweat. Even the stiff breeze isn’t really helping the situation much. It just teases your brain into thinking you should feel cooler. Then when you don’t, it’s all that much worse.

Church wasn’t air conditioned either. But as promised, it was in English – mostly. The priest spoke with a heavy Japanese accent (for a very long time – you’d think he would have been hotter than the rest of us in all of his robes, but apparently he’s part African jungle rat). All the ministers spoke with heavy Filipino accents. And the songs were in some language I don’t recognize (presumably one of the two). So to answer my own question of last week, if you speak Tagalog, you want a mass in English because your only choices are Japanese and English.

In general, mass was much the same as at home, except that at the sign of peace, everyone bows to each other instead of shaking hands. If you could have seen it from above, it must have looked like one of those town square clocks with figurines that come out every hour and perform jerky little dances before they go back inside.

And after mass, everyone went out to the mini-van in the parking lot, packed FULL with bananas and mangos and cakes and presumably all kinds of other Filipino delicacies. I’m not sure what the currency of choice was – I did see a couple of kids change hands.

I stopped at “Just One” on the way home (curiosity finally got the better of me) – it’s an artist’s studio. Presumably named that because there’s only room in this world for just one copy of each of the items he had there.

Today’s tip: if you’re down to your last $100 and frantically looking for an ATM that will accept your card, much less one that will talk to you in English (for all I knew, they weren’t giving me money because XDirtPusher had emptied the account to buy car parts), try the post office. It’s also a bank here, is open on the weekends, and the ATM has an English menu option. You can only take out $100 at a time, but there’s nothing stopping you from standing in line multiple times in a row.

Beach not very nice

I’ve now spent the last week a mere 30 miles from the ocean, and haven’t gone to play yet. I figured it was high time to remedy the situation so I dragged out the increasingly tattered-looking map. There are 3 areas marked for swimming within easy driving distance. So I took the map into work and asked people which they thought was best. Disappointingly, I got multiple comments of “beach not very nice” about all three. I got pointed to the one furthest away because it’s the most popular (and I think has some kind of boardwalk a la Coney Island or Santa Cruz).

Despite the depressing commentary, I set off this afternoon – since I started late due to a work emergency, I decided to just hit up the closest one. Afterall, even I have to admit that an over-crowded beach is really not very nice. I managed not to get hopelessly lost and ended up parked on a green, windswept bluff complete with a lighthouse about 45 minutes later. The trick was to figure out how to get down to the beach below. There were people there – there had to be a way down.

Yes, there are steps down the cliff. Elf steps that are too low to take one at a time, but too wide to take two at a time. But there’s also an access road in from the side that didn’t show on my map. Sigh. I’ll console myself with the thought that my first view of the beach from above was nicer than if I’d just driven in.

As for the beach itself - all I have to say is that if a ½ mile of sandy beach surrounded by tree-studded cliffs is “beach not very nice”, I REALLY want to see what they consider nice! The waves were too little to surf, but just right to jump in. No undertow. Granted there was seaweed to step around, but no broken glass, needles, or passed out junkies. The water’s clear but colder even than at home and there’s a distinct lack of eye candy (most of the people were parents with kids), but it’s still a really nice beach. I think the Japanese are just not a beach culture. Either that or they’ve spent too much time in Hawaii or Australia. I can only imagine their faces if you dumped them on Revere Beach!


By the way, I have now stepped foot in both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans in both the sunrise and sunset directions. I know that’s a totally irrelevant fact, but it amuses me greatly.

English spoken here

As I was walking to the grocery store tonight, I noticed another non-Asian woman getting into her car. Now, you have to understand that in the city this isn’t that odd of an occurrence, but out here it’s a different story. I would have sworn that there were only 3 of us (there’s another guy at work who lives in town with his wife). So I have to plead guilty to staring and hoping against hope that she spoke some language I speak. Turns out she’s American – from Portland – and we promptly exchanged phone numbers. Visions of cozy little dinners and exploring trips started dancing through my head!

Then I made the mistake of asking her if she knew where I could get Japanese language lessons. She looked at me like I have a hole in my head and launched into a rant worthy of the Rantmaster himself. Turns out she hates the Japanese (men in particular – although to be fair, it could have been all men regardless of race), can’t stand living here, and loathes Japanese food. Why, you may ask, is she here then? I don’t know. The only answer I was offered is that her son came over here so she did too. Me, I’m guessing the son ran half-way around the world to escape mom and is vastly disappointed that mom followed. But that’s just my personal opinion.

So I’ll probably end up having dinner with her at some point (note that we exchanged phone numbers BEFORE the rant started), but on the whole I’ll stick with the grandma who runs the produce stand down the street – she at least smiles and bows at me with great cheerfulness.

Laundry night

It was that time already – I either had to figure out how to run the washing machine, or buy more underwear. Although the latter thought was appealing, I had to acknowledge that it’s not really a long term solution. So this morning I very carefully copied out all the squiggles on the washing machine and presented it to the secretary like a kindergartener with her first homework assignment. I’m not sure whether to be proud or insulted that she was amazed that it was legible.

After some discussion, we managed to get it translated to something I recognized as washing machine controls. Turns out that the option of “6” or “9” wasn’t wash cycle time at all, but a timer for how many hours in the future to start your laundry. The little pictures of the half full and full buckets did correspond to water level though, so there is some sanity in my world.

When I got home, I dumped in all my new towels and started her up (European washing machines look similar and essentially boil the laundry - since American clothes don’t necessarily take too well to the experience, I figured this was a safe first load). Turns out I needn’t have bothered - Japanese washing machines (or at least this one) wash clothes in cold water. And take 2+ hours to do a medium sized load, regular cycle (unless we mis-translated after all). It’s a pretty big bucket and not much water ran in though, so maybe the electricity costs are made up for in water savings.

By 11pm, I was the proud possessor of a washing machine full of clean, wet towels ... but now what? The drying rack in the bathroom is big enough for maybe 1 towel. And as I’ve already pointed out, there is no other furniture. Standing by the back door, eating a consolation fudgesicle, I made the somewhat belated observation that all the neighbors have drying rods stuck though what I thought were plant hangers outside their back doors. Apparently I need to go back to the home center tomorrow. Until then, I’m draping the towels over all the doors and going to bed, thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t wait until my emergency pair of underwear were gone.

Home sweet home

Today was the big day – checked out of the hotel with my suitcases this morning and drove to the apartment after work. First things first – dinner. The grocery store is only 2 blocks away, so I walked over thinking about what I wanted for dinner. Not rice was the priority. Only, what can you make with a microwave, 2 bowls, and shelves full of food in packages you can’t read? Eggs and edemame seemed safe enough. Throw in some orange juice and a box of what looks like fudgesicles and you’ve got yourself a meal. I even splurged and bought the “soft” toilet paper - still only 1 ply, but at least it’s more pliable than a sheet of cash-register tape (oddly enough, although you buy food here in VERY small portions, the smallest package of toilet paper you can buy is 12 rolls).

Now, I knew that eggs can explode in the microwave. So I very carefully poked a hole in each end, put it in a covered bowl, and monitored the situation very carefully. Lo and behold, although there were some spitting noises, the end result was one hard boiled egg. So I stuck in the next one too, this time forgetting to put the cover back on. The way I figure it, that first egg must have been a calcium-rich mutant, because not 30 seconds later there was a huge “POP” and when I gingerly opened the microwave door, there were strands of semi-done egg goo hanging from EVERYWHERE (mental note – buy kitchen sponge).

Well, I still had the one egg and the edemame, and I was hungry. So, since the egg cobwebs were unlikely to hurt the microwave further if I didn’t clean them up immediately, I sat down in front of “Supercop II” dubbed into Japanese with my meal. Only to find out that my “orange juice” was in fact grapefruit juice. What is it with the Japanese and grapefruit???? And then to notice that the egg had a dark spot in it that tasted like chicken. I really don’t even want to think about that.

Ok, time to unpack and make the bed. The contents of 2 suitcases don’t really fill a small apartment, but at least they make it feel more like home. The bed though ... ok, think about a bed frame with a 6 inch slatted headboard, slats under the mattress, and 6 inch tall legs. Now put a 3 inch thick futon mattress over it and cover that with what we would consider a top sheet. Next comes a down comforter with a fitted sheet over it (rather than totally enclosing the comforter like you’d see in Europe, the Japanese leave a hole in the middle top so you can see the design – it looks rather like your quilt is wearing a hospital bootie). Top the confection off with the pillow made of rocks and you’re good to go.

The shower is even odder. The “bathroom” is actually divided into three little rooms. You step up into the main area first, which contains the washing machine and the vanity. Think of a 5 foot square and divide it in half – this first area is that size and shape. The other half of the square is hidden behind two doors. One door leads to a 3x2 foot room containing a toilet with a water fountain on top of the tank (I have NO idea what that’s for, but I’m not drinking out of it! – there are no extraneous buttons though, for which I am grateful). The second door leads to a 3x3 foot room completely encased in shower paneling. Half of this room is taken up by a very short, very deep tub. The other half has a drain in the floor, a mirror set to reflect your kneecaps, two holders for the shower hose (waist and head high), and a light fixture about 12 inches from the highest shower holder. Apparently the Japanese take a cold shower sitting on a stool (sold separately), and then hop into the steaming tub. I don’t know why the top shower holder is there then – maybe so unsuspecting gaijin can have the hot lightbulb explode over their heads when it gets wet. That way the death will be ruled as a Darwin award candidate rather than genocide. Plenty of hot water and water pressure though, so there are no real complaints.

And the fudgesicle was, in fact, a fudgesicle. Dark chocolate even. :-)

Redefining “furnished”

So I got the apartment key today and went at lunch to go find this shoebox I’ll be living in for a while. No mean feat in a country where there are no street names, just block numbers. People give directions by landmark (“go past the Wonder Goo”, and “turn right at the town hall”) – which probably works much better if you know where (or what) the Wonder Goo or town hall are.

The apartment is actually bigger than I’d feared – not huge, but comfortable for one person (I’m sure there’s normally a family of 3 living in this much space). It has a kitchen, bathroom, living/dining room, and bedroom – maybe 500 sq ft in all. The amazing part is what comes in a “furnished” apartment here. The catalog includes:

· Curtains
· A/C
· TV, stand, and cable internet box
· Coffee table
· Bed complete with futon mattress, down comforter, pillow made of rocks (buckwheat hulls I think), and sheet set
· Stand-alone bedroom closet
· Bathroom vanity, shower, toilet, washing machine, drying rack, vent, and light
· Kitchen sink, vent, cabinet, the smallest “full sized” refrigerator I’ve ever seen, microwave, light
· Carpet in living room and bedroom

Note that I didn’t mention a stove, living room or bedroom lights, or any piece of furniture that could be considered a seat. I also didn’t mention that there was anything inside the kitchen cabinet. There’s a reason for the omission.

By the end of the day, the apartment had two more lights, a real pillow, and enough kitchen ware to allow one to make a microwaved meal. Oh – and a garbage can. Turns out that there’s a 100 yen store in town! Who would have thought that of all the concepts to transcend cultures, a dollar store would have been it? They also have a “home center”, which is like a Walmart with a small Home Depot attached. On the weekends, it even has baby goats in a pen outside. I honestly don’t know if that’s a typical Japanese thing to sell livestock outside of regular stores, or if it’s just a statement on how far in the boonies this place really is.

Bottom line is that if you can’t find what you’re looking for in either of those places, you’re out of luck. Which means my search for non-paper thin bath towels probably isn’t going to go very well.

Driving in Japan

Since we’re going to be here for so long, we decided to rent an apartment closer to work (the hour-long commute at 6:30 in the morning is killing me!). The secretary at work set it all up (since the rental office wouldn’t let us sign anything without a qualified Japanese person to play parent) and “all” I had to do was find my way to Hitachi before 7pm to pay the bill. I left at 3 and although I was assured it was a 50 minute drive, I didn’t get there for 2 hours. This seems like the perfect time to comment on driving in Japan (yes, rant alert).

First, there’s driving on the left side of the road. It’s rather interesting – like playing Bomberman with reverse controller disease, only more life threatening if you mess up. Getting over the lifelong compulsion to “stay to the right” is incredibly hard – subconsciously you keep expecting to be hit because you’re in the wrong lane. And then there are the habitual screwups. What I’ve noticed is that stories about it are only funny to people who’ve actually tried it. Some deserve mention nonetheless:

· Yes, I turn on the windshield wipers when I want the turn signal. But it’s even more ironic to spend all day turning on the windshield wipers by accident, and then get the turn signal by accident once it starts raining.

· The shift lever is on the left, so the instinct for both passenger and driver is for the passenger to shift. Never mind trying to figure out which car door to get in at.

· Look over your LEFT shoulder to back up. And look up to the LEFT for the rearview mirror. The right in either case leaves you staring into the support columns of the car, which aren’t particularly see-through.

For all the Japanese call themselves a fast-paced society, their speed limits do NOT reflect it. We took the toll road part way back from Nikko (the only roads in Japan without stop lights are these toll roads – essentially they’re what we consider highways) and the speed limit was 80. And they’re not talking miles per hour here. The fastest highway in this country has a speed limit of 50 mph!!!! EGAD! (the road to work is mostly 40 or 50 kph, with occasional stints of 30) Luckily for my sanity, standard speed seems to be 20 kph faster than the posted limit.

We think a stop sign is a red upside-down triangle. I say “we think” because although that’s what the guide book tells us, we’ve never actually seen a Japanese driver stop at one. The only times you see them stop is for railroad crossings. I’m guessing that means the train also runs stop signs.

Red lights are similarly optional. I’ve seen people run lights that were so red a Bostonian wouldn’t even try it. Not to mention that it’s perfectly acceptable to go through a red if you know it’s going to turn green in the next 30 seconds.

If the oncoming car is more than 3 car lengths behind the one in front, you have more than enough time to make the right turn. That car will wait for you. Especially if it’s an American driver seeing her life flash before her eyes.

What passes for a pickup truck here looks like a little VW mini-bus with the back chopped in half to get a truck bed. If you see one of those coming, give them right of way. Maybe it’s just me, but all the near accidents I’ve been in (and all the cursing I’ve heard) has involved one of those things. Maybe it’s like sailing – right of way goes to the working boats like tug boats and these things are the tug boats of Japanese streets. I don’t know. All I know they’ve been trying to kill me all week. (I did see a crew cab version of the thing – if I hadn’t been so afraid of it, I would have taken a picture)

Ironically, if you take the Japanese out of their cars and make them pedestrians, these same people will now wait patiently by the side of the road in the pouring rain to get a walk sign. Even if it’s clear the street light is out of order (ok, it wasn’t raining that day, but she did wait a really long time – she only crossed once I got to the intersection and crossed myself).

Alone

The Redhead left today and I’m alone in a country where I can’t even ask for a glass of water without pantomime. Lovely. Luckily I’m halfway decent at charades and the Japanese are, on the whole, exceedingly helpful. And I did establish several rather interesting things today:

· I don’t care how cool it looks to have multiple buttons with neat little graphics on your toilet, that’s just wrong. A toilet should have one button and one button only – flush. Not 2 different spray types with adjustable water temperature and pressure (I saw one in a restaurant bathroom that had a 3rd spray type with a picture of a woman sitting there – I’m not sure I’ll ever be adventurous enough to try that one).

· There is a catholic church in Mito. It even has mass in English every other weekend (“for the Filipino population” she assured me – I’m not sure if I understood that correctly or not since I can’t figure out why you’d want to have mass in English if you spoke Tagalog [sp?])

· Mister Donut in Japan tastes almost the same as Mister Donut at home. Just ignore the grapefruit donuts (sorry – I wasn’t adventurous enough to try one so I don’t know what they taste like).

· People will do a double take when they see me at the counter or walking down the street. The kids will even try a “hi” and then laugh and giggle and run away when I say “hi” back. But the stares and pointing and whispers we’d been getting all week were for the Redhead. Interesting in a culture where dying your hair all shades of orange is the current fashion.

Today’s tip: If you are stuck in Japan with no other language skills, the word “sumimasen” is absolutely invaluable. It seems to mean a combination of “excuse me” and “sorry” and “help please” and “thank you for taking your valuable time to help this worthless human being”. Pronounce it with an American accent and doors verily fly open. You even get pulled into the community center by little old ladies who can’t possibly be that strong, sat down on the sofa, given green tea and cracker snacks, and smiled at until you bow and say “samimasen” again and take your leave.

Sightseeing – Nikko National Park

We decided to go a little farther afield today (in the past we’d stuck close to the hotel and work) to see some authentic Japanese countryside. The guide book assured us that Nikko is not only the home of some of Japan’s “greatest historic sites”, but is also “an alpine wonderland for hikers in the summer and skiers in the winter, abounding with lakes, waterfalls, and onsen (hot springs).” Since it was also sunny for the first time since I’d gotten here, how could we pass this up?

So we stopped at one of the countless convenience stores for snacks and set off cross country with map in hand. The strange thing with countryside is though, that after the first rice paddy and cute little old farm house, they pretty much all look alike. The snacks kept us amused for a while though. How can something that looks so innocuous in the picture be so deceiving? The potato chips turned out to be soy sauce and vinegar flavored – it was a potato chip, but it left you in no doubt at all as to which side of the Pacific it was bought on! (oddly enough, I actually like them better than the salt and vinegar ones at home) And the little chocolate cookies ... well, they turned out to be little round edible styrofoam peanuts coated in chocolate glaze. Strangely addictive once you start eating them, and then you look at the empty bag and wonder why you ate them all. ugh.

Then we got into the mountains – it’s amazing how lush the landscape is. I mean, I ought to have expected it after a week of rain, but coming from the California coast, it was still a shock. Almost tropical in how green everything is. And with a really neat mist curling around the tops of all the mountains.

Nikko is enough of a destination that we had no trouble following the signs. Since it houses so many historically important temples, we figured we’d do the tourist thing first. All I have to say is that for a “world heritage site”, you would really expect them to be a little better prepared for non-Japanese speaking tourists. The extent of their English was the English/Japanese picture guide book (“perfect English!” the sign assured us). So we dutifully followed everyone else around, looking at whatever they were oohing and aahing about with almost total incomprehension. There were about 5 major temples in the complex, all extremely old and ornate. At least one is a tomb for someone’s grandfather (who had, incidentally, told his grandson he didn’t want a large monument when he died). There was a lantern with a “mysterious legend” (that’s all the guide book said – no details). The “roaring dragon” was cool – if you stand in just the right spot under his head (he’s painted on the ceiling) and clap, the room echoes.

Once our feet got tired, I bought the requisite fortune and we sat on the temple steps while the Redhead tried to decipher fortune-cookie style Japanese. We finally concluded that I’d just purchased a wish, and to make it come true, I had to tie it to the string in front of the temple. As I tied it on, it tore – I’m hoping that it’s good luck since it obviously meant I really wanted what I wished for.

After lunch we went in search of the waterfall we’d really come to see. Unfortunately, it started to rain, but we decided that it would just be more picturesque that way and continued up the mountain. Now, remember that “neat mist” I mentioned earlier? Yeah, you see where this is going. By the time we got to the top, it was so rainy and misty that we could barely see the waterfall (we did see enough to know it’s worth coming back on a sunny day though – it’s got to be spectacular). There was another group of insane tourists standing on the rain soaked platform too, so we all smiled and took each other’s pictures and then ran back for the relative warmth of the car.

The highlight of the day was watching a dog walk down the sidewalk and realizing that it wasn’t a dog at all, but a monkey with a baby hanging on to her back! Apparently they’re native here and it’s not uncommon to see them in rural towns.

The least said about the trip back, the better. Suffice it to say that when there’s an accident on the only through road for miles and said road is only 1 lane in each direction, it takes a LONG time to get through.

Driving to work

Driving on the wrong side of the road in a country where you can’t read street signs is NOT what I’d call relaxing. In general, I’m doing ok (haven’t hit anything yet). But the Redhead gasps in horror every time I get just a little too close to the curb. My feeling is that I’d rather scrub the curb (or even the guard rail) than the oncoming semi-truck (did I mention that the roads are rather narrow?), but apparently the person sitting in the passenger seat doesn’t see it that way.

The real issue now is that the Redhead is leaving (the company actually requires a presence here for 4 months, so the Redhead and I are switching on and off) and he’s the one who can read the street signs. So I have to memorize the way to work and back. It goes something like this:

* Take a left out of the parking lot, remembering to look RIGHT for oncoming traffic

* Stay right at the next intersection and take the upper deck (no idea where the lower deck goes – I was lost the one time I was on it)

* Inside lane on the way out of town takes you through the tunnel (outside on the way in)

* Take a left at the second light after the cantilevered suspension bridge

* Go ~2 km (no idea what’s on this road because it’s really narrow and I’m always too busy watching the guard rail on the left and the on coming trucks on the right)

* Take a right turn at the corner with the Pachinko Parlor and the McDonald’s

* Follow this for about 25 km, past:
...6 Pachinko Parlors (is this the national past time?)
...13 convenience stores (I can’t even imagine what keeps that many in business! It’s worse than starbucks at home)
...Uncountable rice paddies
...20 foot high mustard brown sign that literate people tell me is upside down
...1 story high stack of tires sitting in someone’s front yard (rednecks apparently transcend cultures)
...A store called “Just One” (one day I’ll stop in to see just one what)
...The “Toyota Toyopet” sign
...Wonder Goo (apparently a book store – how mundane after such a name!)
...Hard Off (don’t even want to know)

* This trip is sponsored by the letter “K” – find the 20 foot high neon one and take a left

* Follow for about 5 km, past:
...2 more Pachinko Parlors, one with a LARGE pink sign that lights up neon at night
...3 more convenience stores
...The cement truck hotel (it’s really cute – they have about 15 lined up in 3 different sizes)

* Turn left at the next light

* Go down the hill, past the REALLY long slide (it’s made of rollers since it’s not steep enough for friction alone. I highly recommend a cafeteria tray)

* Left at the next light

* Immediate right into the company driveway and speak to the very nice, but very insane guard who acts like a Japanese television show host

Reverse the directions for the way home. And add a note to watch out for the gaggles of brightly colored children coming home from school (the elementary school uniform seems to be a sweatsuit - the kids in Omiya wear bright aqua, but I’ve seen other colors now too. My favorite is the navy blue with the bright yellow rain hats).

Baiting the newbie

On my first day at work, the locals decided to take us out to dinner. To be hospitable and all that. And to see what colors the Americans turn when given random things to eat.

We ended up at a fish restaurant. Now, it’s funny from the get go because the Redhead is a self-proclaimed fish bigot. Normally he won’t touch the stuff with a 10 foot pole. Won’t even come along to a fish restaurant if they have a hamburger on the menu because it smells too much like fish. So just getting in the door requires an effort of will on his part (meanwhile I’m mentally trying to think which McDonald’s on the way home is on the left side of the road so I won’t have to cut across traffic in the dark). But give him credit – he went. And when he saw that they served literally nothing but fish, he even ate. We have a great picture of him eating an entire fish (head, tail, and all), but it’s on a phone camera and we can’t figure out how to get it to the computer (the Japanese and their phones is a whole other discussion). I’ll keep working on it.

Personally, I like fish in almost any shape or form. However, I do not like eating recognizable body parts, especially heads. It’s nothing to do with fish, and everything to do with eyeballs staring up at me accusingly from the plate. Unfortunately, the Japanese think that leaving the heads on is a sign of how fresh the food is (after all, the head is one of the first parts to become inedible). So there were a lot of heads I needed to cut off and hide under a lettuce leaf. Since my chopstick skills don’t really extend to cutting up things, this wasn’t exactly a subtle procedure and it was noticed. The verbal jokes were one thing, but at the very end of the meal, they said there was one more “very special dish” coming. There were lots of smiles and laughter and Japanese comments that made no sense until the “very special dish” arrived – little soft shelled crabs complete with legs, pinchers, eyes, and antennae. The look on my face must have been priceless because everyone burst out laughing. I did manage to eat one – and it tasted really good (the Redhead commented that the legs were nice and crunchy and salty). But talk about an effort of will!

So now we’re out for revenge. Something that would taste equally good to the Japanese, but be equally hard to eat. Stinky cheese maybe? A burrito with all kinds of greasy things mixed up together? We’ll take any and all ideas.

And no, we did not stop at McDonald’s on the way home.

First impressions

Japan is a giant kaleidoscope of color and sound. I don’t speak or read Japanese, so it takes a long time for all the color and neon and flashing lights to resolve themselves into streetlights and advertising. I only hope 2 months is long enough for me to learn to ignore the neon and actually see the people.