I've often thought about why I loved backpacking through Europe so much - the standard cliche answers are the easiest, but not necessarily the most accurate. Things like learning new language, culture, meeting people, seeing amazing things, sure, they're exciting, but now I understand don't really accurately reflect what I was feeling.
Recently, I have had to think about leaving Japan and that thought, a few years ago, would have absolutely scared the life out of me! But for some reason, lately I'm a little excited about having to choose a city to live in, a new career, a new group of people to potentially make friends with.
In Yaizu, I've really enjoyed riding my bike around aimlessly most weekends when I had nothing to do. Yaizu roads are shitty McShitterson, so I'd always get lost. However, being lost was the best thing that could happen.
Of course at first, I was so scared of not knowing where I was, and the feeling that I may never find my way back to where I was before, and having to do this all alone without companionship was initially Fu-REAKY, but when I stopped trying to use the $2 compass that always said the direction of my iPod was north, and started looking up at what was around me, I started enjoying myself a lot more.
There isn't really much in the way of Melbourne-style entertainment or excitement, but Yaizu really has shown me a different kind of beautiful, creative, and wonderful history and life.
Ugly old buildings, when you look closer, are actually amazing testaments to varied stages of the country's economic development, the long long bridges that span seemingly pointless gravel and dirt old river beds show how the country's landscape has changed due to changes in farming development. Even the mess of mosquito-breeding bamboo sings of the country's changing loyalties - the townsfolk being told to plant cedar one year by the government because it was to be the new boom export, the next year cutting all of it down to make way for bamboo, the next direction in agricultural forecasting.
The point is, sure it has been daunting, HELL daunting, being lost, when I looked up from the mess I had made of my directions and planned route, I actually experienced more around me, I enjoyed where I was even though I didn't know where that actually was, and more importantly, I didn't mind that I didn't know where I was going.
In August, all I know is that I will leave Japan, so right now, I can enjoy being lost, knowing that there are so many roads I can take, and even more new opportunities and people to meet along the way.
Until then, またね！
ロブ
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
-34- There's no place like home
Waking up this morning to find half a house on my balcony, I was, to be
honest not entirely surprised.
It was already turning out to be one of those weeks.
As I looked for a little girl and a dog amongst the rubble, I saw that
across from my apartment there is an old house that is being torn down to
make way for the new road. Obviously the debris had not been adequately
secured in preparation for last night's freak typhoon and hence here I am
this morning throwing it over the railing into the rice field below.
Checking out the front of the apartment, I go to see if Little Grey is ok.
She seems to have survived the night with her friends, laying quite
comfortably under a couple of other locals I see. Since having her little
circumcision last week, she seems to have become more popular with the
natives because now she, like them, has no basket.
She's found her home.
"Home is where the heart is"
*confused*
My home is not in my chest, it's in a tiny, thin-walled apartment surrounded
by loud Chinese girls that like to wake up early in a little fishing village
in the middle of freaking nowhere.
Or is it?
Last weekend, my friend and I celebrated his return to the face of the
earth, after having fallen off it for a couple of months due to busy work
and poor social skills, and went to Atami and Izu.
I've been to Atami before and know that it's not the most exciting but
pretty city on the beach, so imagine my surprise when getting off the train
to see swarms of people dressed in peculiar costumes with numbers on them,
eating soup and doing stretches.
The Japanesers love a marathon. I don't understand it. They don't have to be
raising money for anything in particular, or even have a specific theme -
they just have an excuse to wear costumes and run a bloody long way. We saw
groups from various schools, clubs, and groups of friends dressed as
monkeys, Winnie the Pooh, geishas, or old ladies with rollers in their hair.
It seems that there are only very few times where they publicly get their
fun on, and it involves either extreme endurance activities or alcohol.
We walked up the hill to the supermarket to buy some yummy bits and bobs
(it's not often I get to use phrases like that here, so please indulge me),
the plan being to eat a bento lunch on the beach in the sun. It has been a
cold, wet, lonely winter, so it was a good plan I thought.
After an endurance test of our own to get up the hill, then to buy the food
and back down to the beach, we opened the plastic covers, unsheathed the
chopsticks, and said "itadakimasu" to the food, which literally means "I'm
going to take you now", and snapped the chopsticks apart, ready to partake.
And the wind suddenly blew a gale of sand.
Later that day, I was still grinding sand between my teeth. Insert joke
about shitting bricks.
In fact, the weekend can be awarded a general FAIL in the food department.
When searching the internet for a place to go for the weekend, we saw a lot
of hype about a town called "Usami" and so we decided to step off the train
on Sunday morning for a poke around, and maybe some long-awaited breakfast.
I know I haven't painted the best view of Japanese transport in general, but
that's only because I only write about the rare times when things go wrong.
Who wants to hear about when I go somewhere and nothing of note occurs?
However, on the Izu Peninsula, the trains only come about once every hour
because there is only one track, so stepping off the train is somewhat of a
commitment to a town. You know me, I don't like to commit - I stand between
the doors, scared to get on or off completely so eventually the guard has to
blow the whistle and hydraulically force me to choose one side of the heavy
metal.
Usami - let me paint a picture. Train station that is so "local" that it
doesn't even have ticket machines or wickets. A "main" street (read:
"only"), porn vending machines, yes, a pleasant surprise for weary
travellers, and a convenience store.
Breakfast was a "macaroni dog" from the konbini - I'm still not sure what
that was, and a hot can of coffee.
We sat on the beach, trying to do this again.
I was halfway through my "dog" when my friend yelled, his chocolate-melon
bread flying onto the sand in front of us, and feeling the wind from the
flapping wings of a huge bird.
He'd been swooped by a hawk. His bleeding thumb testament to this town's
general FAIL.
A group of them were now circling above us, and so I held my dog close to my
chest and we walked briskly back to the train station to wait for the "Black
Ship" to arrive.
The Black Ship is a train that is, of course, made to look like a big black
ship. The train line goes from Atami all the way down along the coast, so I
was quite impressed at the way they had engineered this beast with the seats
facing the large windows to give passengers beautiful views of the coastline
as they make their journey along the peninsular.
On the way back to the train station, we saw a man hanging out lots of
umbrellas from a tree. They weren't wet, no, no, they were just umbrellas.
Otherwise, he looked quite sane.
Disembarking the black ship in another quiet town, we set about finding our
ryokan (Japanese olden-days hotel). Walking down the hill from the station
to the beach and back up, I convinced my friend to call and ask directions.
We were actually standing right in front of it. See, the thing about this
language, is that even Japanese people still can't read a lot of different
kanji which means a lot of the time you are trying to match the email on
your phone with these hieroglyphic symbols on the signs in the street around
you. Once we were inside and checked in, however, it was time to relax and
forget all the ridiculous experiences of the day. Down the long hallway,
across the bridge, up the stairs, around the corner and down yet another
slightly freaky dark hallway, we were safe inside our room.
Japanese ryokans all have that really old, still air, the paper sliding
doors, and other secret doors that haven't been opened for 50 years -
everything that you mentally associate with Japanese horror films. So when
traversing the halls at night, you want to get into your room as soon as
possible.
A quick peruse of the "services" book, a peek in the fridge, and changing
into the yukatas (men's kimono), I realised I had to pee. I opened one of
the sliding doors - oh, that's a wardrobe. And there's another bed in there.
I opened another scary door, oh, that's a cupboard. In other news, I found a
belt.
I realised that the toilet was outside the room, back down the hallway and
around the freaky corner. Perfect. Just call me Sadakosan.
Needless to say, I didn't want to go anywhere by myself.
Izu is all about the natural hot springs and so everywhere has an onsen. We
went into the private onsen room in the hotel, dipped into the boiling hot
water and then sat on the edge for a while, trying to recover. I think the
Japanese interpretation of "private" differs from the western idea, in that,
in Australia, for example, there is no way that you would be able to pee at
a urinal, and see out the front door sideways. In Japan, however, this is
quite normal. Public toilets are not really, if any, sheltered from passing
vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Even in onsens the female cleaning staff
just wander through the sea of naked wet men, all going about their
business, and neither party even seems to be displaced by the other's
presence.
So why was I surprised when "private onsen" actually meant that people
crossing the bridge above could see right down into the pool? I also love,
that in my own predictable style, I only realised this while walking across
the bridge myself, after having already used the onsen.
We walked around the quiet little town looking for somewhere to eat dinner
and found a nice Nepalese restaurant. Random. We were the only people in
there on a Saturday night, but enjoyed the private booth and mini TV with
remote.
As much as I've observed Japanese people and their lives for the past year,
I still don't understand. It's still really hard to make friends - I only
have a couple of close friends, and they live relatively far away. We still
seem to have very different priorities in life. Every day, although feeling
more and more comfortable with the language, the social customs, and finding
my way around geographically, I still feel like an outsider. I still get
stared at on the train by teenagers who whisper and giggle, I still have
trouble converting any interaction from "No, I'm not a vegetarian, I just
don't eat seafood" to "what's your phone number?", and I still don't really
know why I came here or why I still want to stay.
The good news is that now I'm on the home stretch. I've got 5 months left to
find my next gig and be out of here. I've enjoyed the experiences, and I've
really loved learning the language, but I will be happy to go to a place
where I'm not alone every night wishing I was at least sharing a pot of tea
with someone I trusted to tell me what they really think about things.
Although the curry was delicious, the haunted hallways at night were not as
fun. 4am, get up, put your yukata on, gingerly open the door, half expecting
some crazy person with a knife to be on the other side, and run down the
hall to the toilet. Running due to a mixture of fear, and Nepalese curry.
In other news, I'm putting together a list of things I want to do in my last
months here, so I can feel like I have achieved at least something when I
leave:
1) Go to Hokkaido and see where they grow cabbages under the snow
2) Enter a marathon, dressed as a big prawn
3) Actually finish my assignment (ok, this one's not serious)
There's no place like home.
またね
ロブ
Lobu
honest not entirely surprised.
It was already turning out to be one of those weeks.
As I looked for a little girl and a dog amongst the rubble, I saw that
across from my apartment there is an old house that is being torn down to
make way for the new road. Obviously the debris had not been adequately
secured in preparation for last night's freak typhoon and hence here I am
this morning throwing it over the railing into the rice field below.
Checking out the front of the apartment, I go to see if Little Grey is ok.
She seems to have survived the night with her friends, laying quite
comfortably under a couple of other locals I see. Since having her little
circumcision last week, she seems to have become more popular with the
natives because now she, like them, has no basket.
She's found her home.
"Home is where the heart is"
*confused*
My home is not in my chest, it's in a tiny, thin-walled apartment surrounded
by loud Chinese girls that like to wake up early in a little fishing village
in the middle of freaking nowhere.
Or is it?
Last weekend, my friend and I celebrated his return to the face of the
earth, after having fallen off it for a couple of months due to busy work
and poor social skills, and went to Atami and Izu.
I've been to Atami before and know that it's not the most exciting but
pretty city on the beach, so imagine my surprise when getting off the train
to see swarms of people dressed in peculiar costumes with numbers on them,
eating soup and doing stretches.
The Japanesers love a marathon. I don't understand it. They don't have to be
raising money for anything in particular, or even have a specific theme -
they just have an excuse to wear costumes and run a bloody long way. We saw
groups from various schools, clubs, and groups of friends dressed as
monkeys, Winnie the Pooh, geishas, or old ladies with rollers in their hair.
It seems that there are only very few times where they publicly get their
fun on, and it involves either extreme endurance activities or alcohol.
We walked up the hill to the supermarket to buy some yummy bits and bobs
(it's not often I get to use phrases like that here, so please indulge me),
the plan being to eat a bento lunch on the beach in the sun. It has been a
cold, wet, lonely winter, so it was a good plan I thought.
After an endurance test of our own to get up the hill, then to buy the food
and back down to the beach, we opened the plastic covers, unsheathed the
chopsticks, and said "itadakimasu" to the food, which literally means "I'm
going to take you now", and snapped the chopsticks apart, ready to partake.
And the wind suddenly blew a gale of sand.
Later that day, I was still grinding sand between my teeth. Insert joke
about shitting bricks.
In fact, the weekend can be awarded a general FAIL in the food department.
When searching the internet for a place to go for the weekend, we saw a lot
of hype about a town called "Usami" and so we decided to step off the train
on Sunday morning for a poke around, and maybe some long-awaited breakfast.
I know I haven't painted the best view of Japanese transport in general, but
that's only because I only write about the rare times when things go wrong.
Who wants to hear about when I go somewhere and nothing of note occurs?
However, on the Izu Peninsula, the trains only come about once every hour
because there is only one track, so stepping off the train is somewhat of a
commitment to a town. You know me, I don't like to commit - I stand between
the doors, scared to get on or off completely so eventually the guard has to
blow the whistle and hydraulically force me to choose one side of the heavy
metal.
Usami - let me paint a picture. Train station that is so "local" that it
doesn't even have ticket machines or wickets. A "main" street (read:
"only"), porn vending machines, yes, a pleasant surprise for weary
travellers, and a convenience store.
Breakfast was a "macaroni dog" from the konbini - I'm still not sure what
that was, and a hot can of coffee.
We sat on the beach, trying to do this again.
I was halfway through my "dog" when my friend yelled, his chocolate-melon
bread flying onto the sand in front of us, and feeling the wind from the
flapping wings of a huge bird.
He'd been swooped by a hawk. His bleeding thumb testament to this town's
general FAIL.
A group of them were now circling above us, and so I held my dog close to my
chest and we walked briskly back to the train station to wait for the "Black
Ship" to arrive.
The Black Ship is a train that is, of course, made to look like a big black
ship. The train line goes from Atami all the way down along the coast, so I
was quite impressed at the way they had engineered this beast with the seats
facing the large windows to give passengers beautiful views of the coastline
as they make their journey along the peninsular.
On the way back to the train station, we saw a man hanging out lots of
umbrellas from a tree. They weren't wet, no, no, they were just umbrellas.
Otherwise, he looked quite sane.
Disembarking the black ship in another quiet town, we set about finding our
ryokan (Japanese olden-days hotel). Walking down the hill from the station
to the beach and back up, I convinced my friend to call and ask directions.
We were actually standing right in front of it. See, the thing about this
language, is that even Japanese people still can't read a lot of different
kanji which means a lot of the time you are trying to match the email on
your phone with these hieroglyphic symbols on the signs in the street around
you. Once we were inside and checked in, however, it was time to relax and
forget all the ridiculous experiences of the day. Down the long hallway,
across the bridge, up the stairs, around the corner and down yet another
slightly freaky dark hallway, we were safe inside our room.
Japanese ryokans all have that really old, still air, the paper sliding
doors, and other secret doors that haven't been opened for 50 years -
everything that you mentally associate with Japanese horror films. So when
traversing the halls at night, you want to get into your room as soon as
possible.
A quick peruse of the "services" book, a peek in the fridge, and changing
into the yukatas (men's kimono), I realised I had to pee. I opened one of
the sliding doors - oh, that's a wardrobe. And there's another bed in there.
I opened another scary door, oh, that's a cupboard. In other news, I found a
belt.
I realised that the toilet was outside the room, back down the hallway and
around the freaky corner. Perfect. Just call me Sadakosan.
Needless to say, I didn't want to go anywhere by myself.
Izu is all about the natural hot springs and so everywhere has an onsen. We
went into the private onsen room in the hotel, dipped into the boiling hot
water and then sat on the edge for a while, trying to recover. I think the
Japanese interpretation of "private" differs from the western idea, in that,
in Australia, for example, there is no way that you would be able to pee at
a urinal, and see out the front door sideways. In Japan, however, this is
quite normal. Public toilets are not really, if any, sheltered from passing
vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Even in onsens the female cleaning staff
just wander through the sea of naked wet men, all going about their
business, and neither party even seems to be displaced by the other's
presence.
So why was I surprised when "private onsen" actually meant that people
crossing the bridge above could see right down into the pool? I also love,
that in my own predictable style, I only realised this while walking across
the bridge myself, after having already used the onsen.
We walked around the quiet little town looking for somewhere to eat dinner
and found a nice Nepalese restaurant. Random. We were the only people in
there on a Saturday night, but enjoyed the private booth and mini TV with
remote.
As much as I've observed Japanese people and their lives for the past year,
I still don't understand. It's still really hard to make friends - I only
have a couple of close friends, and they live relatively far away. We still
seem to have very different priorities in life. Every day, although feeling
more and more comfortable with the language, the social customs, and finding
my way around geographically, I still feel like an outsider. I still get
stared at on the train by teenagers who whisper and giggle, I still have
trouble converting any interaction from "No, I'm not a vegetarian, I just
don't eat seafood" to "what's your phone number?", and I still don't really
know why I came here or why I still want to stay.
The good news is that now I'm on the home stretch. I've got 5 months left to
find my next gig and be out of here. I've enjoyed the experiences, and I've
really loved learning the language, but I will be happy to go to a place
where I'm not alone every night wishing I was at least sharing a pot of tea
with someone I trusted to tell me what they really think about things.
Although the curry was delicious, the haunted hallways at night were not as
fun. 4am, get up, put your yukata on, gingerly open the door, half expecting
some crazy person with a knife to be on the other side, and run down the
hall to the toilet. Running due to a mixture of fear, and Nepalese curry.
In other news, I'm putting together a list of things I want to do in my last
months here, so I can feel like I have achieved at least something when I
leave:
1) Go to Hokkaido and see where they grow cabbages under the snow
2) Enter a marathon, dressed as a big prawn
3) Actually finish my assignment (ok, this one's not serious)
There's no place like home.
またね
ロブ
Lobu
Sunday, February 28, 2010
v32 - a belated quickie
"Sex?"
"No thanks, but do you have karaoke?"
A typical conversation you'll have with the spruikers while walking around the streets of Tokyo takes balls, and haggling power to get the best Karaoke deal. ¥1500 each for 2 hours of Karaoke and all-you-can-drink, thanks.
But I was never the one who could cut a deal like that - if I don't think I'll win at something, I'll simply not enter the competition.
I have enjoyed teaching kids, to my surprise, and have learnt a lot about how they think. They're like little adults without the social filter. If my breath smells, they'll flat out tell me. If they don't like what i'm wearing, they'll tell me. If their parents do strange things, they'll tell me.
If they don't like the game we're playing, they'll tell me, but if they realise that they won't win, they'll just stop trying. They will completely remove themselves from the game because they're scared of losing.
Just like us.
Things that made me want to smoke or eat cake this past week:
- my friend was 3 hours late for lunch on Saturday
- new expensive underwear that doesn't hold what it should
- being in social situations and realising that I have almost completely forgotten what to do and so sitting awkwardly in a darkened corner watching
Things that gave me a nice warm fuzzy feeling this week:
- finally seeing the late friend
- unexpected warm, dry, spring-like days
- seeing a Kabuki play and having the translated version whispered into my ear
- receiving valentines chocolates from a couple of my students. It's irrelevant that they are 6 and 8 years old
- starting to read "A Thousand Splendid Suns"
"No thanks, but do you have karaoke?"
A typical conversation you'll have with the spruikers while walking around the streets of Tokyo takes balls, and haggling power to get the best Karaoke deal. ¥1500 each for 2 hours of Karaoke and all-you-can-drink, thanks.
But I was never the one who could cut a deal like that - if I don't think I'll win at something, I'll simply not enter the competition.
I have enjoyed teaching kids, to my surprise, and have learnt a lot about how they think. They're like little adults without the social filter. If my breath smells, they'll flat out tell me. If they don't like what i'm wearing, they'll tell me. If their parents do strange things, they'll tell me.
If they don't like the game we're playing, they'll tell me, but if they realise that they won't win, they'll just stop trying. They will completely remove themselves from the game because they're scared of losing.
Just like us.
Things that made me want to smoke or eat cake this past week:
- my friend was 3 hours late for lunch on Saturday
- new expensive underwear that doesn't hold what it should
- being in social situations and realising that I have almost completely forgotten what to do and so sitting awkwardly in a darkened corner watching
Things that gave me a nice warm fuzzy feeling this week:
- finally seeing the late friend
- unexpected warm, dry, spring-like days
- seeing a Kabuki play and having the translated version whispered into my ear
- receiving valentines chocolates from a couple of my students. It's irrelevant that they are 6 and 8 years old
- starting to read "A Thousand Splendid Suns"
v33- "Anniversary" is just a nice word for "cycle"
Holding my laptop over my balcony like Michael Jackson and one of his creepily named children, a surprising quantity of orange juice kept dripping out like the blood of a beloved. I carried the lifeless child into the bathroom for resuscitation. It was at this moment that I was glad I sometimes indulged in drunken grocery shopping and was in the possession of a $15 “You’ll Love Coles” hairdryer.
I held my breath, not sure if she was going to make it. She rattled a little, made a grinding noise, and then spoke to me. I saw light, I heard speech. She was alive! I loved my macbook pro, like a daughter.
Unfortunately, it was 8 months later that she spoke her last word and went to sleep forever. When I receive the letter from the coroner, I was immobilised sick from the guilt. It stated clearly: “Cause of death – ORANGE JUICE”.
It was all an odd chain of events – I don’t usually drink orange juice. I don’t like how it makes me feel, I don’t like that first nervous sip where you don’t know if it’s going to be too sour and make your facial muscles look like they’re trying to escape, and I don’t like that feeling in your stomach when the hit of raw sugar attacks your insulin balance and you suddenly realise how much curry was too much.
I had successfully avoided orange juice until this week, partly because of the pre-existing paranoia about what it does to my body, but also because I had blamed it for the loss of my first love.
This week, my friend had come to stay with me in the little fishing village, and he, as it turns out, quite likes orange juice.
Maybe it’s easier the second time around, but I feel a little less upset this time, as I’m looking at replacement keyboards on the internet. I can’t promise that I won’t do it a third, maybe even fourth time. It seems that no matter where I am in the world, the same cycles repeat themselves. Life is too much like shampoo - "Lather, rinse, repeat".
When it’s raining, sometimes it’s difficult to go to work. The rain is bucketing down, usually as a nice surprise outside the confines of the gaijin palace, half way through the day, just as I’m showering before work. As the gaijin palace actually has no windows, it’s usually difficult to foretell when my crystal ball is in the shop. Ignorantly, I open the front door and instinctively squint as my pupils routinely dilate at the sight of the bright, outside farming world that surrounds, and I get a nice surprise as it is not as bright as I expected. Not such a nice surprise, however, when I have to go back inside, take my shoes off again, get an umbrella, assuming it hasn’t been stolen again, put my shoes back on, and then walk to work. Sometimes I even attempt to ride the little grey demonic-basket-powered bicycle with the wobbly wheel while holding the umbrella in one hand, trying to stay upright, change gears and steer with the other. I swear all of the Japanese winds enter via Yaizu - but not just anywhere in the city of Yaizu - I’m meteorologically certain that every breeze, gust, gale, and typhoon takes my street on its way from the butterfly’s wings to the destination where it causes its effect.
The result, is a slapstick journey of inside-out umbrella, now simply a mess of twisted metal and punctured plastic, countless near-misses with poles, cars, and rice paddies, and the stroke-victim basket of which half hangs lifeless down over the wheel. When I go over a bump, the basket touches the wheel and is thrown forward, then springs back up and back down to make another visit with the wheel.
I do my work, and repeat the cycle again.
It was exactly 1 year today that I first met my boss at a train station, unaware of what was to come next. This morning, as I again met my boss at a train station, I this time stood before her, a year older, weighing less, a bit balder, a bit more experienced in my current field but nonetheless still shitting my pants. I knew that today's seminar at least would be a relatively painless affair, aside from forced awkward ice-breakers, group activities and fake laughing at dad-style jokes by the presenters. The truth is that today, a year later, I'm back to the start of the cycle again - I have no idea what I'm doing next and it scares the sushi out of me.
I hate the research, decision-making, and preparation process. When it comes down to it, I am a creature of habit and just want to be comfortably into my next cycle. Rinsing, repeating.
Even with my orange juice friend this week, together, we were quite comfortable in the daily cycle. It was nice to come home to dinner and a clean house. I think I want to get married after all. I'll post an add for myself:
"One large size gaijin. Once used, small stain, sold as is without box."
In other news, I think I have recently met my emotional double - absolutely dismissive, abrasive and opinionated. I can't get enough. I'm almost magnetically drawn to the bright mirror image of my own self-destruction. It's uncanny. Except he's taller with better hair.
Still, dinner with my Japanese twin was a nice way to end an otherwise frustrating afternoon:
The plan was to leave the seminar at 4pm to catch the 3 hours of trains back to the fishing village, with plenty of time to spare for the last bus back to the gaijin palace at 8pm.
I left the seminar about 5 minutes late, which is no big deal, I just had to catch the next set of trains and be home a little later than expected.
The problem was that after the first of 3 legs of the journey, there was a Tsunami.
No no, really, there was a HUGE 30cm tsunami today, and hence some parts of the Japan Rail™ network came to a grinding halt for 2 hours for safety reasons. This was frustrating, not just because for once there had actually NOT been an earthquake in Japan this weekend, but because with only 30cm there was, in my opinion, certainly no danger of getting your feet wet.
The result was that the local trains had stopped running, but the exorbitantly over-priced Shinkansen was still flying around the elevated tracks, of course, for a premium price tag. I was determined this weekend not to turn what was essentially, a self-funded work trip, into a huge financial burden so decided to take the most minimal route possible over the "tsunami zone" by Shinkansen and then join pleb rail at Hamamatsu. I had decided there was still enough time in the changeover to have a quick drink with my friend. After waiting around for the train and lining up for "disaster relief ticketing", the Shinkansen journey took only 20 minutes so I was well back on track to make my bus home.
There is one problem I find with regional Japanese train stations, and sometimes it can be completely disarming and unconquerably disorientating - some stations look EXACTLY the same. Having been built/refurbed at the same time, by the same government-allocated contractor, sometimes I just can't remember where I am. Having had a nice beer with a friend, and being totally engrossed in my book (I finished and loved "A Thousand Splendid Suns" and wanted to go back to the first one "The Kite Runner" which I also can't put down), I got on the train ready for my last leg to Yaizu. Without thinking though, I had just fallen back into my usual cycle and got off at the third station.
Unfortunately, I was still 40minutes from my home station. Running back towards the train as the doors were closing, I saw the confused looks of the other passengers as I shouted "NOOOOOOO".
This was more confusing than amusing for them I suppose as I had just gotten off that train, and I was yelling in a foreign language at a big metal tube that was already moving away from me.
This, is when the second tsunami warning was issued. The rail network again grinds to a halt. Rinse, repeat. But this time there is no way I'm going to get that bus.
I waited at a station, the name of which I'm still not actually sure of, for almost another hour before deciding to just throw myself on the tracks. Lucky for me, there pulled up another metal tube to take me and my book to Shizuoka.
You'd think I would have had enough for one day, right?
So, when my friend and I try to order dinner at a restaurant tonight, they announce that they have run out of rice.
Are you, like freaking kidding? Am I in Japan, or did I get on the wrong train and end up in Sudan?
I'm going to change my add:
"One tired and well-travelled gaijin, does NOT like long walks on the beach, or any other kind of unplanned lengthy travel experience."
I'm going to cycle everywhere from now on - at least it's predictable.
またね
ロブ
I held my breath, not sure if she was going to make it. She rattled a little, made a grinding noise, and then spoke to me. I saw light, I heard speech. She was alive! I loved my macbook pro, like a daughter.
Unfortunately, it was 8 months later that she spoke her last word and went to sleep forever. When I receive the letter from the coroner, I was immobilised sick from the guilt. It stated clearly: “Cause of death – ORANGE JUICE”.
It was all an odd chain of events – I don’t usually drink orange juice. I don’t like how it makes me feel, I don’t like that first nervous sip where you don’t know if it’s going to be too sour and make your facial muscles look like they’re trying to escape, and I don’t like that feeling in your stomach when the hit of raw sugar attacks your insulin balance and you suddenly realise how much curry was too much.
I had successfully avoided orange juice until this week, partly because of the pre-existing paranoia about what it does to my body, but also because I had blamed it for the loss of my first love.
This week, my friend had come to stay with me in the little fishing village, and he, as it turns out, quite likes orange juice.
Maybe it’s easier the second time around, but I feel a little less upset this time, as I’m looking at replacement keyboards on the internet. I can’t promise that I won’t do it a third, maybe even fourth time. It seems that no matter where I am in the world, the same cycles repeat themselves. Life is too much like shampoo - "Lather, rinse, repeat".
When it’s raining, sometimes it’s difficult to go to work. The rain is bucketing down, usually as a nice surprise outside the confines of the gaijin palace, half way through the day, just as I’m showering before work. As the gaijin palace actually has no windows, it’s usually difficult to foretell when my crystal ball is in the shop. Ignorantly, I open the front door and instinctively squint as my pupils routinely dilate at the sight of the bright, outside farming world that surrounds, and I get a nice surprise as it is not as bright as I expected. Not such a nice surprise, however, when I have to go back inside, take my shoes off again, get an umbrella, assuming it hasn’t been stolen again, put my shoes back on, and then walk to work. Sometimes I even attempt to ride the little grey demonic-basket-powered bicycle with the wobbly wheel while holding the umbrella in one hand, trying to stay upright, change gears and steer with the other. I swear all of the Japanese winds enter via Yaizu - but not just anywhere in the city of Yaizu - I’m meteorologically certain that every breeze, gust, gale, and typhoon takes my street on its way from the butterfly’s wings to the destination where it causes its effect.
The result, is a slapstick journey of inside-out umbrella, now simply a mess of twisted metal and punctured plastic, countless near-misses with poles, cars, and rice paddies, and the stroke-victim basket of which half hangs lifeless down over the wheel. When I go over a bump, the basket touches the wheel and is thrown forward, then springs back up and back down to make another visit with the wheel.
I do my work, and repeat the cycle again.
It was exactly 1 year today that I first met my boss at a train station, unaware of what was to come next. This morning, as I again met my boss at a train station, I this time stood before her, a year older, weighing less, a bit balder, a bit more experienced in my current field but nonetheless still shitting my pants. I knew that today's seminar at least would be a relatively painless affair, aside from forced awkward ice-breakers, group activities and fake laughing at dad-style jokes by the presenters. The truth is that today, a year later, I'm back to the start of the cycle again - I have no idea what I'm doing next and it scares the sushi out of me.
I hate the research, decision-making, and preparation process. When it comes down to it, I am a creature of habit and just want to be comfortably into my next cycle. Rinsing, repeating.
Even with my orange juice friend this week, together, we were quite comfortable in the daily cycle. It was nice to come home to dinner and a clean house. I think I want to get married after all. I'll post an add for myself:
"One large size gaijin. Once used, small stain, sold as is without box."
In other news, I think I have recently met my emotional double - absolutely dismissive, abrasive and opinionated. I can't get enough. I'm almost magnetically drawn to the bright mirror image of my own self-destruction. It's uncanny. Except he's taller with better hair.
Still, dinner with my Japanese twin was a nice way to end an otherwise frustrating afternoon:
The plan was to leave the seminar at 4pm to catch the 3 hours of trains back to the fishing village, with plenty of time to spare for the last bus back to the gaijin palace at 8pm.
I left the seminar about 5 minutes late, which is no big deal, I just had to catch the next set of trains and be home a little later than expected.
The problem was that after the first of 3 legs of the journey, there was a Tsunami.
No no, really, there was a HUGE 30cm tsunami today, and hence some parts of the Japan Rail™ network came to a grinding halt for 2 hours for safety reasons. This was frustrating, not just because for once there had actually NOT been an earthquake in Japan this weekend, but because with only 30cm there was, in my opinion, certainly no danger of getting your feet wet.
The result was that the local trains had stopped running, but the exorbitantly over-priced Shinkansen was still flying around the elevated tracks, of course, for a premium price tag. I was determined this weekend not to turn what was essentially, a self-funded work trip, into a huge financial burden so decided to take the most minimal route possible over the "tsunami zone" by Shinkansen and then join pleb rail at Hamamatsu. I had decided there was still enough time in the changeover to have a quick drink with my friend. After waiting around for the train and lining up for "disaster relief ticketing", the Shinkansen journey took only 20 minutes so I was well back on track to make my bus home.
There is one problem I find with regional Japanese train stations, and sometimes it can be completely disarming and unconquerably disorientating - some stations look EXACTLY the same. Having been built/refurbed at the same time, by the same government-allocated contractor, sometimes I just can't remember where I am. Having had a nice beer with a friend, and being totally engrossed in my book (I finished and loved "A Thousand Splendid Suns" and wanted to go back to the first one "The Kite Runner" which I also can't put down), I got on the train ready for my last leg to Yaizu. Without thinking though, I had just fallen back into my usual cycle and got off at the third station.
Unfortunately, I was still 40minutes from my home station. Running back towards the train as the doors were closing, I saw the confused looks of the other passengers as I shouted "NOOOOOOO".
This was more confusing than amusing for them I suppose as I had just gotten off that train, and I was yelling in a foreign language at a big metal tube that was already moving away from me.
This, is when the second tsunami warning was issued. The rail network again grinds to a halt. Rinse, repeat. But this time there is no way I'm going to get that bus.
I waited at a station, the name of which I'm still not actually sure of, for almost another hour before deciding to just throw myself on the tracks. Lucky for me, there pulled up another metal tube to take me and my book to Shizuoka.
You'd think I would have had enough for one day, right?
So, when my friend and I try to order dinner at a restaurant tonight, they announce that they have run out of rice.
Are you, like freaking kidding? Am I in Japan, or did I get on the wrong train and end up in Sudan?
I'm going to change my add:
"One tired and well-travelled gaijin, does NOT like long walks on the beach, or any other kind of unplanned lengthy travel experience."
I'm going to cycle everywhere from now on - at least it's predictable.
またね
ロブ
Monday, February 1, 2010
v31- Things just come apart sometimes
Sometimes it's better to have loved and to have lost, than to have never loved at all.
Piss off.
Losing things hurts like hell sometimes. Even if it's just the possibility of having something that you lose, you still feel grief for it and you just want to eat a big hamburger.
However, on Saturday, we didn't grieve for the steam engine. We laughed. And laughed. And took pictures.
It was a beautiful sunny Japanese winter Saturday morning and my friend and I were up early, ready for the day's adventures. The plan was simple: drive to the train station, catch the old-school steam locomotive north into the mountains to a nice onsen, have a soak, some lunch, take in some crisp mountain air, and then steam train back south again.
We got in the car and were both ashamed to admit that we wanted McDonalds for breakfast, but it eventuated nicely. I enjoyed a McSalad muffin and we were set.
In true Japanese style, we paid the man for the car park first and separately, in cash out the window, were directed to a specific spot, told when to reverse, when to stop, when to straighten, and when to stop again; went inside the station to the big customer service and ticketing counter where we were told to get the train tickets from the other counter, inside the other building, and got one-way tickets because we are only able to buy the return tickets from the counter at the other end of the line, up in the mountains. At first, this kind of thing was endearing, but after being here for a year now, it just frustrates me and gets me in a bad mood very quickly. It's like this, because Japanese people are generally too polite to complain, so it's not seen as inconvenient, and so it stays like this. Forever.
All general day-to-day processes are like this - from the "express self service" checkout which still requires the staff member to come over and verify your purchases, put branded sticky tape on your items because you didn't use the plastic shopping bag (and got a ¥2 discount for not doing so), before you go over to the packing table and just take a plastic shopping bag; to the complex and distressing government processes for doing anything, such as the health insurance incident, of which I no longer wish to speak because it still upsets me. Let's just say, after 3 weeks, I was going around in circles and just gave up. Sometimes Japan is just like a phone call to Telstra on a distressingly larger scale.
Now with one-way tickets secured, we excitedly charge past the man with the old-fashioned ticket crimper to walk across the train tracks to the platform and wait for the steamer to arrive. We were very excited to hop aboard the piece of engineering achievement, and marvelled that it was so old yet structurally sound, despite being mostly wooden.
We chugged away from the station and it was all very exciting - the interior was beautiful, and the view out the window was even better - loads of green tea fields, vibrantly green in the sunlight. Even the acceleration was slow and nostalgic.
As we left the station, there was an announcement over the loudspeaker - although not as old as the structure itself, the PA system was definitely built in the age where the term "HI FI" applied to Deep Purple's new vinyl LP. I could understand a lot of the announcement and it seemed to be mostly greetings, the plan for the journey, what we would see on both left and right sides of the train, what was for sale…. and then we heard music. Not Deep Purple as I was expecting, but more Japanese almost world war 2 sounding gramophone classic, you know. To the other passengers this just seemed normal and expected, but to my friend and I, this was a bit random. This wasn't a recording - it was the announcement lady singing the Japanese Train Song for us over the PA system! A lot of words in Japanese are onomatopoeic, that is, they are just sound words - like choo choo train, woof woof, meow, cluck cluck, grumble, squeak etc. So I wasn't surprised that the chorus of the song was "Shoo shoo po po shoo shoo po po" - of course that's the sound a steam train makes, right?
(See facebook video for this song or )
You may remember from a previous blog, number 19, that there is an onsen that I have been to before where twice a day, a steam train passes over the bridge nearby and all the naked men stand up and wave over the VERY low fence to the passengers on the train. This is in fact, a standard attraction in itself - the train timetable posted next to one of the baths.
So after the song, the 30 minute announcement was finally over and we were enjoying the relaxed scenic views, and then came the view on the right. We were on that steam train.
Although laughing hysterically at the bunch of naked men standing and waving over a VERY short fence at us only about 100 meters away was definitely not the highlight of this trip: the best was soon to come.
Not too far after that bridge, there was a bit of a jolt, and we came to a screeching stop. Being Japan, and in the mountains, we thought there was just an old lady wheeling her barrow of green tea across the tracks or a tree fallen (and nobody was around to hear it, so of course it didn't make a sound). We went to the end of the carriage opened the door to poke out heads out and just saw a hundred Japanese heads poking out the windows, looking back at us. When we saw the driver running back down along the tracks we twigged something wasn't quite right.
We sat back down for a little while, trying to avoid the constant stream of kids wanting to talk to the gaijin - I mean sure one is cute, but after 25 minutes of "Hello how are you, I like oranges" or other completely inane and uselessly isolated English phrases, which is what they are taught at school (of course that's only going to be useful if their one life ambition is to work in a carnival kissing booth, or as a professional grocery shopper), it gets a little dry.
I tried to escape by going up to the front end of the train to see what the deal was, pushing past these kids which, by now, had become more a swarm for which I should have worn protective clothing, and wasn't surprised to see the adults had also swarmed at the front window, looking forward at the 50meters of track ahead of us.
Wait, where had the steam engine gone?
We were in the front of the first of five carriages and could now see the steam engine stopped, some distance ahead of us. Hysterically laughing, we went back to our seats for about another hour with only the camera, the children and 2 bottles of green tea to entertain us. (See facebook pics)
Eventually they decided that there was no reattaching the engine to the carriages, and we all jumped off the train, in the middle of the tea fields, and walked down the hill to wait for a bus that would either take us up the mountains to the end of the line, or back from whence we came. We had decided to go back to the first station and drive back to the onsen and maybe wave at the train when it was fixed.
I know I've spoken about onsens a lot before, but I wish to review the concept for you, because for me, it has just become quite normal, but to friends that have visited me in Japan, it seems a little strange to them.
The idea is simple - you relax in a hot bath.
The details however, are the bits that make this both amazing and quirky all at the same time. The idea comes from the olden days when, to wash, you would go down to your local community hot spring, or man-made bath house and share the experience with the rest of the town. Over time it became quite a social outing where you could relax and talk to people etc. With the age of commercialisation, now you can also buy souvenirs, have a meal, or play arcade games. The thing is, sure, it's fun to be social, but it's hard to be social when you're naked. I mean, it's generally NOT ok to start a conversation at a urinal, so why is it ok to start talking about life, love and other mysteries when you're the under 30 meat in the old pale man sandwich? It also surprises me how many younger boys are hanging out with their mates, naked, just splashing around and having a chat. I mean, in Australia, if you overheard this conversation while on a train, what would you say?
"Yeah Macka, it's me. Saw you last night with that chick… yeah I know, totes… hey watcha doin tonight? You can tell me all about her while we're naked in the bath together."
At least the old men are friendly sure, but it's uncomfortable. It's also uncomfortable with the children running around, splashing you, and sometimes slipping and landing on you. You just don't know where to look sometimes. I suppose that's when it's handy to have a steam train to focus your eyes on.
Something I have also gotten used to is being stared at. And not just at the Onsen, but when I'm clothed too - at the supermarket, on the street, while standing in the middle of the road doing rag-time dancing…
Yesterday I was in Shizuoka meeting a friend for lunch and one girl behind me was telling her boyfriend to look at my shoes, and they were both staring. I was in a foul mood, actually I don't think it's accurate to call it a mood when it has been since December, but I was unhappy with constantly being a tourist attraction. Maybe I was still annoyed at the children the day before wanting to tell me they were into fruit and vegetables while I was just trying to relax and enjoy the shoo shoo po po of the little engine that couldn't, as it turned out, but out of my mouth came words that I didn't even know that I knew. I told them they made me feel bad, which, to Japanese people, is quite insulting because of their cultural need to please everyone. It's like telling someone they're being rude and insulting.
Although sometimes it's completely ok to stare, I understand that I'm not the regular Japanese day to day sight - taller than most people in my little fishing village, a damn sight cleaner, and usually doing something worth peeking at. I've been here a year to date and have not once seen a gaijin riding a little grey girl's bicycle with a basket on the front and a wobbly wheel. Recently, she's been a bit sick. Her rusty basket has broken in half and the left half sags well below the usable standard. When I ride around, it bounces up and down, catches the front wheel and is thrown forward where then the metal of the basket bounces it back up, and then down onto the wheel.
Add to this, the fact that I need to ride her to get my groceries, so I usually have a backpack full of rice, a plastic bag hanging off each handle bar, and a bag that I'm not actually able to now put IN the basket, so I have to place it gently on the stable right side of the basket and affix the plastic handles around the bell, and gear levers.
I do understand people staring at a bicycle that looks like it is being powered by a demonic basket and constantly changes its own gears.
They could at least help me out, right?
There was a time when I loved everything about this crazy country, and could laugh at everything that happened, and I also can identify exactly when that changed. It was the day my umbrella was stolen. You may remember this story from almost a year ago.
So, I refuse to buy another good umbrella so I've been using a piece of rubbish mess of twisted metal and punctured plastic. Well, that's what it is now after walking to work in the wind and rain today.
Rainy days and Mondays always got Karen Carpenter down, and today was the same for me. Except I actually ate. At least I had a reason to be sad today.
My announcement, which I was hoping to make this week, will now be retracted, but here is the gossip: I was offered what looked like an awesome job in England, and was preparing to leave within 6 weeks, but that is no longer going to happen.
A beautiful old steam train, a rusty basket, a cheap umbrella, or what was perceived as an awesome job opportunity - sometimes things just come apart. You have to adapt, but you still grieve, even just a little.
I'm going to eat a hamburger tonight to make myself feel better. I hope it doesn't also come apart.
This one's for you Karen.
Still in Japan,
ロブ
Lobu
Piss off.
Losing things hurts like hell sometimes. Even if it's just the possibility of having something that you lose, you still feel grief for it and you just want to eat a big hamburger.
However, on Saturday, we didn't grieve for the steam engine. We laughed. And laughed. And took pictures.
It was a beautiful sunny Japanese winter Saturday morning and my friend and I were up early, ready for the day's adventures. The plan was simple: drive to the train station, catch the old-school steam locomotive north into the mountains to a nice onsen, have a soak, some lunch, take in some crisp mountain air, and then steam train back south again.
We got in the car and were both ashamed to admit that we wanted McDonalds for breakfast, but it eventuated nicely. I enjoyed a McSalad muffin and we were set.
In true Japanese style, we paid the man for the car park first and separately, in cash out the window, were directed to a specific spot, told when to reverse, when to stop, when to straighten, and when to stop again; went inside the station to the big customer service and ticketing counter where we were told to get the train tickets from the other counter, inside the other building, and got one-way tickets because we are only able to buy the return tickets from the counter at the other end of the line, up in the mountains. At first, this kind of thing was endearing, but after being here for a year now, it just frustrates me and gets me in a bad mood very quickly. It's like this, because Japanese people are generally too polite to complain, so it's not seen as inconvenient, and so it stays like this. Forever.
All general day-to-day processes are like this - from the "express self service" checkout which still requires the staff member to come over and verify your purchases, put branded sticky tape on your items because you didn't use the plastic shopping bag (and got a ¥2 discount for not doing so), before you go over to the packing table and just take a plastic shopping bag; to the complex and distressing government processes for doing anything, such as the health insurance incident, of which I no longer wish to speak because it still upsets me. Let's just say, after 3 weeks, I was going around in circles and just gave up. Sometimes Japan is just like a phone call to Telstra on a distressingly larger scale.
Now with one-way tickets secured, we excitedly charge past the man with the old-fashioned ticket crimper to walk across the train tracks to the platform and wait for the steamer to arrive. We were very excited to hop aboard the piece of engineering achievement, and marvelled that it was so old yet structurally sound, despite being mostly wooden.
We chugged away from the station and it was all very exciting - the interior was beautiful, and the view out the window was even better - loads of green tea fields, vibrantly green in the sunlight. Even the acceleration was slow and nostalgic.
As we left the station, there was an announcement over the loudspeaker - although not as old as the structure itself, the PA system was definitely built in the age where the term "HI FI" applied to Deep Purple's new vinyl LP. I could understand a lot of the announcement and it seemed to be mostly greetings, the plan for the journey, what we would see on both left and right sides of the train, what was for sale…. and then we heard music. Not Deep Purple as I was expecting, but more Japanese almost world war 2 sounding gramophone classic, you know. To the other passengers this just seemed normal and expected, but to my friend and I, this was a bit random. This wasn't a recording - it was the announcement lady singing the Japanese Train Song for us over the PA system! A lot of words in Japanese are onomatopoeic, that is, they are just sound words - like choo choo train, woof woof, meow, cluck cluck, grumble, squeak etc. So I wasn't surprised that the chorus of the song was "Shoo shoo po po shoo shoo po po" - of course that's the sound a steam train makes, right?
(See facebook video for this song or )
You may remember from a previous blog, number 19, that there is an onsen that I have been to before where twice a day, a steam train passes over the bridge nearby and all the naked men stand up and wave over the VERY low fence to the passengers on the train. This is in fact, a standard attraction in itself - the train timetable posted next to one of the baths.
So after the song, the 30 minute announcement was finally over and we were enjoying the relaxed scenic views, and then came the view on the right. We were on that steam train.
Although laughing hysterically at the bunch of naked men standing and waving over a VERY short fence at us only about 100 meters away was definitely not the highlight of this trip: the best was soon to come.
Not too far after that bridge, there was a bit of a jolt, and we came to a screeching stop. Being Japan, and in the mountains, we thought there was just an old lady wheeling her barrow of green tea across the tracks or a tree fallen (and nobody was around to hear it, so of course it didn't make a sound). We went to the end of the carriage opened the door to poke out heads out and just saw a hundred Japanese heads poking out the windows, looking back at us. When we saw the driver running back down along the tracks we twigged something wasn't quite right.
We sat back down for a little while, trying to avoid the constant stream of kids wanting to talk to the gaijin - I mean sure one is cute, but after 25 minutes of "Hello how are you, I like oranges" or other completely inane and uselessly isolated English phrases, which is what they are taught at school (of course that's only going to be useful if their one life ambition is to work in a carnival kissing booth, or as a professional grocery shopper), it gets a little dry.
I tried to escape by going up to the front end of the train to see what the deal was, pushing past these kids which, by now, had become more a swarm for which I should have worn protective clothing, and wasn't surprised to see the adults had also swarmed at the front window, looking forward at the 50meters of track ahead of us.
Wait, where had the steam engine gone?
We were in the front of the first of five carriages and could now see the steam engine stopped, some distance ahead of us. Hysterically laughing, we went back to our seats for about another hour with only the camera, the children and 2 bottles of green tea to entertain us. (See facebook pics)
Eventually they decided that there was no reattaching the engine to the carriages, and we all jumped off the train, in the middle of the tea fields, and walked down the hill to wait for a bus that would either take us up the mountains to the end of the line, or back from whence we came. We had decided to go back to the first station and drive back to the onsen and maybe wave at the train when it was fixed.
I know I've spoken about onsens a lot before, but I wish to review the concept for you, because for me, it has just become quite normal, but to friends that have visited me in Japan, it seems a little strange to them.
The idea is simple - you relax in a hot bath.
The details however, are the bits that make this both amazing and quirky all at the same time. The idea comes from the olden days when, to wash, you would go down to your local community hot spring, or man-made bath house and share the experience with the rest of the town. Over time it became quite a social outing where you could relax and talk to people etc. With the age of commercialisation, now you can also buy souvenirs, have a meal, or play arcade games. The thing is, sure, it's fun to be social, but it's hard to be social when you're naked. I mean, it's generally NOT ok to start a conversation at a urinal, so why is it ok to start talking about life, love and other mysteries when you're the under 30 meat in the old pale man sandwich? It also surprises me how many younger boys are hanging out with their mates, naked, just splashing around and having a chat. I mean, in Australia, if you overheard this conversation while on a train, what would you say?
"Yeah Macka, it's me. Saw you last night with that chick… yeah I know, totes… hey watcha doin tonight? You can tell me all about her while we're naked in the bath together."
At least the old men are friendly sure, but it's uncomfortable. It's also uncomfortable with the children running around, splashing you, and sometimes slipping and landing on you. You just don't know where to look sometimes. I suppose that's when it's handy to have a steam train to focus your eyes on.
Something I have also gotten used to is being stared at. And not just at the Onsen, but when I'm clothed too - at the supermarket, on the street, while standing in the middle of the road doing rag-time dancing…
Yesterday I was in Shizuoka meeting a friend for lunch and one girl behind me was telling her boyfriend to look at my shoes, and they were both staring. I was in a foul mood, actually I don't think it's accurate to call it a mood when it has been since December, but I was unhappy with constantly being a tourist attraction. Maybe I was still annoyed at the children the day before wanting to tell me they were into fruit and vegetables while I was just trying to relax and enjoy the shoo shoo po po of the little engine that couldn't, as it turned out, but out of my mouth came words that I didn't even know that I knew. I told them they made me feel bad, which, to Japanese people, is quite insulting because of their cultural need to please everyone. It's like telling someone they're being rude and insulting.
Although sometimes it's completely ok to stare, I understand that I'm not the regular Japanese day to day sight - taller than most people in my little fishing village, a damn sight cleaner, and usually doing something worth peeking at. I've been here a year to date and have not once seen a gaijin riding a little grey girl's bicycle with a basket on the front and a wobbly wheel. Recently, she's been a bit sick. Her rusty basket has broken in half and the left half sags well below the usable standard. When I ride around, it bounces up and down, catches the front wheel and is thrown forward where then the metal of the basket bounces it back up, and then down onto the wheel.
Add to this, the fact that I need to ride her to get my groceries, so I usually have a backpack full of rice, a plastic bag hanging off each handle bar, and a bag that I'm not actually able to now put IN the basket, so I have to place it gently on the stable right side of the basket and affix the plastic handles around the bell, and gear levers.
I do understand people staring at a bicycle that looks like it is being powered by a demonic basket and constantly changes its own gears.
They could at least help me out, right?
There was a time when I loved everything about this crazy country, and could laugh at everything that happened, and I also can identify exactly when that changed. It was the day my umbrella was stolen. You may remember this story from almost a year ago.
So, I refuse to buy another good umbrella so I've been using a piece of rubbish mess of twisted metal and punctured plastic. Well, that's what it is now after walking to work in the wind and rain today.
Rainy days and Mondays always got Karen Carpenter down, and today was the same for me. Except I actually ate. At least I had a reason to be sad today.
My announcement, which I was hoping to make this week, will now be retracted, but here is the gossip: I was offered what looked like an awesome job in England, and was preparing to leave within 6 weeks, but that is no longer going to happen.
A beautiful old steam train, a rusty basket, a cheap umbrella, or what was perceived as an awesome job opportunity - sometimes things just come apart. You have to adapt, but you still grieve, even just a little.
I'm going to eat a hamburger tonight to make myself feel better. I hope it doesn't also come apart.
This one's for you Karen.
Still in Japan,
ロブ
Lobu
Friday, January 15, 2010
-v30- I want to be a western country when I grow up.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Fireman? Doctor? Actor? Artist? Vet? Builder? Centrelink-dependent-abusive-alcoholic? Bert Newton's set dresser?
I used to hate this question when I was younger. I had absolutely no idea. Even when I finished school, and later moved down to the big smoke, I still hadn't heard of any particular profession that appealed to me in a way that seemed worth studying and working so hard towards it.
Your parents always used to say you could do anything, you could be anything you wanted to.
Mine had the foresight to add "…except be a professional sports star". Back then, the world hadn't heard of Tiger Woods.
The older I got, the more I thought it was ok not to have a clue what to be when I grew up.
I'd never been very good at making decisions.
One time when I was very young, I was out shopping with my grandmother. She asked me if I wanted chips, or a donut. I said chips, so she bought me chips. I changed my mind and wanted a donut. She bought me a donut.
I changed my mind again and said I didn't want either of them.
She ate them both in front of me.
Enter stage right - Japan, the country that doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up.
For so long, Japan had been a country closed to trade with other countries - not just with tangible commodities, but intangible like culture and language. Japan was the geeky polite, sheltered smart kid, that studied so hard at school, didn't really have any friends, and didn't know what was going on out in the playground. Now, Japan has grown up, earned some real money, and started playing with the popular kids. Everywhere you go, you can see a stark contrast between the old cultural foundations (bowing, polite language, polite dress for certain occupations etc) and the new western culture (big fuck-off advertising, flashing lights, English-language fashion, food, etc). Japanese students have to study at least 6 years of English, but are not required to use the language in anyway. Buildings are beautifully old and with hand-carved sculptures etc, but right next to big-arse glass skyscrapers.
It doesn't know if it wants the chips or the donut.
East or West, Japan? What's it to be?
Last week I was in the 100yen shop (too bloody right!) and on the PA system they were playing Lilly Alan - "Fuck you, fuck you very very much…". The shoppers were perusing the products on offer, having a little personal bop to the fun music, obviously having no idea what the words were.
I guess it's the same as those idiots who get Chinese or Japanese characters tattooed on themselves without really checking what they mean.
Maybe that's a job idea for this lost little boy? Professional Tattoo Checker, at your service.
But for now, what the hell am I doing? I'm cold, alone, and getting further and further into debt.
For every day I spend here, I'm losing valuable work skills from my previous job, and still finishing a diploma in something that I don't actually plan to continue when I go back to Australia as it was only ever meant to be just a time-out.
I've done my navel-gazing alone at the top of the mountain, so now it's time to start thinking about how I'm going to get down.
Now I finally have worked out the answer, at least.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Wiser.
ロブ
(Lobu)
Yeah this is the post-modern folklore you come here for.
Follow me: (not in a stalker way, thanks)
http://robu-gaijin.blogspot.com/
Fireman? Doctor? Actor? Artist? Vet? Builder? Centrelink-dependent-abusive-alcoholic? Bert Newton's set dresser?
I used to hate this question when I was younger. I had absolutely no idea. Even when I finished school, and later moved down to the big smoke, I still hadn't heard of any particular profession that appealed to me in a way that seemed worth studying and working so hard towards it.
Your parents always used to say you could do anything, you could be anything you wanted to.
Mine had the foresight to add "…except be a professional sports star". Back then, the world hadn't heard of Tiger Woods.
The older I got, the more I thought it was ok not to have a clue what to be when I grew up.
I'd never been very good at making decisions.
One time when I was very young, I was out shopping with my grandmother. She asked me if I wanted chips, or a donut. I said chips, so she bought me chips. I changed my mind and wanted a donut. She bought me a donut.
I changed my mind again and said I didn't want either of them.
She ate them both in front of me.
Enter stage right - Japan, the country that doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up.
For so long, Japan had been a country closed to trade with other countries - not just with tangible commodities, but intangible like culture and language. Japan was the geeky polite, sheltered smart kid, that studied so hard at school, didn't really have any friends, and didn't know what was going on out in the playground. Now, Japan has grown up, earned some real money, and started playing with the popular kids. Everywhere you go, you can see a stark contrast between the old cultural foundations (bowing, polite language, polite dress for certain occupations etc) and the new western culture (big fuck-off advertising, flashing lights, English-language fashion, food, etc). Japanese students have to study at least 6 years of English, but are not required to use the language in anyway. Buildings are beautifully old and with hand-carved sculptures etc, but right next to big-arse glass skyscrapers.
It doesn't know if it wants the chips or the donut.
East or West, Japan? What's it to be?
Last week I was in the 100yen shop (too bloody right!) and on the PA system they were playing Lilly Alan - "Fuck you, fuck you very very much…". The shoppers were perusing the products on offer, having a little personal bop to the fun music, obviously having no idea what the words were.
I guess it's the same as those idiots who get Chinese or Japanese characters tattooed on themselves without really checking what they mean.
Maybe that's a job idea for this lost little boy? Professional Tattoo Checker, at your service.
But for now, what the hell am I doing? I'm cold, alone, and getting further and further into debt.
For every day I spend here, I'm losing valuable work skills from my previous job, and still finishing a diploma in something that I don't actually plan to continue when I go back to Australia as it was only ever meant to be just a time-out.
I've done my navel-gazing alone at the top of the mountain, so now it's time to start thinking about how I'm going to get down.
Now I finally have worked out the answer, at least.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Wiser.
ロブ
(Lobu)
Yeah this is the post-modern folklore you come here for.
Follow me: (not in a stalker way, thanks)
http://robu-gaijin.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
v29- A short and curly tail, just like the little piggy I ate for Christmas.
The most brilliant part of the fireworks was when one exploded prematurely on the ground and lit up the whole city behind the huge ferris wheel. Yokohama is a pretty place to spend New Years, even if you are a firework technician now sporting only one arm and limited hearing.
Ice skating, riding a roller coaster, singing the Power Rangers theme song at karaoke, drinking tequila chai from the most charismatic of street vendors and us three boys riding in a pedal-powered rickshaw are certainly the highlights of my most recent expedition. Following closely are a hair-pin bend bus ride of death down a snowy mountainside, snow ball fights, and gorging myself on all things yuba (delicious tofu skin).
Lowlights include (but are not limited to) sharing beds with twitchers, paying to see the tomb of a cat, lining up in 4 degree conditions for 45 minutes, and Clint's suitcase handle breaking only 20 minutes into a week of dragging it around Tokyo.
Fun was had by all.
In Nikko, a beautiful little town high in the mountainside, where we saw snow, ice, cold people, and Ainu (Japanese northern indigenous peoples), there is a huge, very famous temple and shrine built by emperor blah blah. Inside this mammoth, almost theme-park-like traditional offering, there is the world-famous wooden carved monkeys - hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil. To me, this is an obvious statement about how small-town Japan lives. I've written a lot on this subject previously, so no need to revisit now, in this, festive recollection, right?
At home with a friend for Christmas, then Kawagoe, Nikko, Tokyo, Yokohama, and back to Yaizu.
I had a wonderful time, ate a lot of new foods, met some crazy new people, DID NOT SMOKE ONE CIGARETTE, ice skated, roller-coastered, shared a hostel room with a crazy grunting fat bloke, navigated Tokyo's intricate rail network successfully, and came home all in one piece.
Just to be beaten up by my first class on Monday.
It's great to be back.
Peace, love, and looking for work for later this year in Melbourne,
ロブ (Rob)
Pics here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=134572&id=642203440&l=e4aee9440a and
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=134580&id=642203440&l=c3300d92a1
Ice skating, riding a roller coaster, singing the Power Rangers theme song at karaoke, drinking tequila chai from the most charismatic of street vendors and us three boys riding in a pedal-powered rickshaw are certainly the highlights of my most recent expedition. Following closely are a hair-pin bend bus ride of death down a snowy mountainside, snow ball fights, and gorging myself on all things yuba (delicious tofu skin).
Lowlights include (but are not limited to) sharing beds with twitchers, paying to see the tomb of a cat, lining up in 4 degree conditions for 45 minutes, and Clint's suitcase handle breaking only 20 minutes into a week of dragging it around Tokyo.
Fun was had by all.
In Nikko, a beautiful little town high in the mountainside, where we saw snow, ice, cold people, and Ainu (Japanese northern indigenous peoples), there is a huge, very famous temple and shrine built by emperor blah blah. Inside this mammoth, almost theme-park-like traditional offering, there is the world-famous wooden carved monkeys - hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil. To me, this is an obvious statement about how small-town Japan lives. I've written a lot on this subject previously, so no need to revisit now, in this, festive recollection, right?
At home with a friend for Christmas, then Kawagoe, Nikko, Tokyo, Yokohama, and back to Yaizu.
I had a wonderful time, ate a lot of new foods, met some crazy new people, DID NOT SMOKE ONE CIGARETTE, ice skated, roller-coastered, shared a hostel room with a crazy grunting fat bloke, navigated Tokyo's intricate rail network successfully, and came home all in one piece.
Just to be beaten up by my first class on Monday.
It's great to be back.
Peace, love, and looking for work for later this year in Melbourne,
ロブ (Rob)
Pics here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=134572&id=642203440&l=e4aee9440a and
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=134580&id=642203440&l=c3300d92a1
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