Turning Japanese

2007-12-01T04:20:00.000+09:00

Hey Hello!

Well let me just begin by telling you all that if you have to spend the night in airport, Caracas is a pretty decent place to do it haha. I have been here in Venezuela for the past 12 hours hanging out before my flight to the Dominican Republic later this morning. I have been up to quite a bit since I last wrote, so here is an update...

Following our escapades the Greek Isles, Mary and I headed to Athens via ferry. Being as it was 1 am when we arrived, we opted not to pay for accommodation that night and camped out in a McDonald's with four other backpackers (4 Canadians) and waited for the metro to open at 5:30. Beyond tired, the six of us exchanged travel stories and gave recommendations before lugging our ever increasingly heavy packs to the hostel for check in. Athens was great - very touristy as to be expected - and the sights were very cool. The highlight for me was wandering around the Acropolis and the countless ruins that are now scattered in with the modernity of a contemporary Athens. Far and away the most depressing thing about leaving Greece was the food - no more gyros! We booked a flight to Barcelona, 3:55 am departure time, because that´s how we roll, and were one stop short of the airport when the trains cut off at midnight. Stranded at a random bus station, we ended up meeting a Chilean guy who was in the same boat, and coincidentally the on the same flight, and were able to split an over priced taxi to the airport between the three of us. Bonus!

Barcelona was rainy when we arrived and we spent far too long attempting to find out horrid hostel. Without food or sleep Mary and I headed to Las Ramblas where we found a great hostel with cool people and an awesome location - changing places was a no brianer. Spain was awesome and B-town was a great way to start it off. Gaudi galore! I led the charge on our walking tour of the city - La Perdera, the famous apartments, La Sagrada de la Familia, and Park Guell. We also did a lot of eating in Spain - paella and sangria - the food was fantastic. Next came Madrid, home to some of the greatest museums I have ever been to. With its wide tree-lines streets, and travel friendly atmosphere, Madrid was easy to navigate but quite difficult on the wallet. Every single day the dollar seemed to be losing strength, further killing my already dwindling bank account. Speaking of which, for those of you who have not yet heard, the company Mary and I worked for in Japan has totally shut down all schools and has filled for bankruptcy, not to mention that they stiffed me on my final pay check. Several Nova teachers found themselves jobless and facing eviction etc... It has been an international news topic, and it looks like I got out just in time.

Next we were off to Lisboa, Portugal or bust. After an overnight train from the Spanish capital we arrived early in Lisbon. I really had no expectations as to what the city would be like and found myself pleasantly surprised by its unique charm. The African influence is everywhere and when mixed in with European fundamentals makes for a very cool place. The city center is full of plazas and statues dedicate to the many explorers and their famous expeditions around the globe. It didn´t take long to fully explore the city, and a few days later we we off to Lagos in the Algrave -- the southern most section of Portugal. Known mostly for its beaches and party scene, Lagos lived up to its reputation. Mary and I booked our stay at the Rising Cock, a hostel known by backpackers everywhere as the place to be in Lagos. Packed with people, I´d say RC was one of the most fun places we stayed. Everyone shared cooking facilities, bunk beds and a really nice lounge/tv area. The best perk was breakfast: Mama, who ran the place, made fresh crepes all morning - boo ya! Mary and I had originally planned to stay only for a few days before heading to Morocco, but we enjoyed our time there so much that we extended and decided to leave Morocco for another trip. After meeting some awesome people and partying sufficiently, we headed out on a road trip. With two Aussie girls and two guys from Canada, we rented a car and set out to see the rest of the Algrave. The next four days consisted of swimming, sleeping on some of the most beautiful beaches, scouring for firewood, and spooning with perfect strangers for much needed body heat haha. It was a total blast - more fun than I can possibly explain. One place we visited was Sagres, Europe´s most southwestern point which was believed to be the literal end of the world before explorations began. Very cool.

From Portugal we worked our way back to Madrid via Sevilla world famous for flamenco dancing and summer bull fights. Kat and Monika, the Aussie gals from our Algrave excursion, continued on with us and we spent the next few days together before breaking off and going our different ways. Sevilla was really nice and relaxing, without overwhelming amounts of things to see and do. A six hour bus ride got us into Madrid at 10pm the day before we were to begin our trek to the Dominican Republic, and the city was booked solid for the weekend. No avaliabilty in any hostel near or far, so we decided to sleep in the airport, a good thought in theory -- saving money and we certainly wouldn't be late for check in. I ended up looking like a complete homless person when I pulled out my sheet, added as many layers as would allow and found an open spot in the hallway to sleep after locking my baggage to a nearby table. For a freezing cold stone floor I can't complain about two consecutive hours of sleep - not too bad. Mary and I hung out in our new home, also known as the food court, until 8 am when we were finally able to check in for our 3 pm flight, though the hands on the clock seemed to be moving in slow motion. We played the waiting game in true seventh grade fashion -- playing War and MASH with half open stuggling eyelids. Of course our flight departed late, not that it mattered as we had another night booked at 'el hotel del aeropuerto', but the nine hour cruise to Venezuela was easy and uneventful, but sleepless for us both. With the time change we arrived in Caracas at 7 pm, which meant we were looking at another 18 hours of waiting in the land of duty free and expensive/amazingly delicious airport food. Although, this time we were able to find a section of chairs without arm rests - ie a cushioned bed! I know it's difficult, but please, try to hide your envy. This evening I managed to get in four hours of shut eye before being wide awake in anticipation of seeing my best friend Jill in the DR. I met a Dominican woman, travelling back from India, who chatted my ear off, in Spanish of course, for about an hour and a half. She was very kind and I loaned her my convereter so she could charge her phone.

The time had come for us to check in and actually leave the airport, thank the lord. We headed to the gate and showed our tickets - there was a great confusion and we were then told that our luggage didn't make it on the plane from Spain. WTF mate?! We checked in early - Air Europa literally had hours to gte our baggage on the flight and some how managed not to. The man who was assisting us in Spanglish kept saying "tomorrow, tomorrow" which I assumed meant that we may not be able to fly today in my sleep starved state of delirium, when really he was refereing to the luggage. We were able to fly just fine, and our gate check in consisted of the Ascerca staff hand-writting our names and passport numbers down on a piece of paper before boarding. All passengers were then shuffled down to a screening area before ascending onto the bus that would drive us out to the plane for boarding. The Military Police ran the screening process. Men and women were separated into two lines and each was well patted down before given permission to hop on the bus. The darker your skin the more patting and passport checking you were given. The MPs glanced at the cover of our American passports, known by many locals as the desired Blue Passport, before barely running a finger over us and granting admission onto the vehicle, while darker individuals were held up for as much as five or ten minutes of profiled screening. This was the first time we were overlooked for our skin color in 14 plus months. The bus finally took off and drove over the busy runway to a tiny, well loved, green plane that looked like it might lose a wing sometime in the near future - I just hoped it would make it to Santo Domingo.

A quick hour up and down over beautiful Carribbean waters and we were in the Dominican Republic -- without new underwear or a change of clothes from our current, which were quite tired from three days of travel. But it didn't matter as soon as I saw Jill jump out of the long line of people eager too see their friends and families when we crossed through the airport doors.

More to come soon.

All my love,

C

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Singh!

2007-10-22T02:50:00.000+09:00

Bombay. Mumbai. It doesn't matter what you call it the magnificence of the city is inescapable. Bombay, when it was under British rule. Mumbai, the signal India has reclaimed it's roots. Ironically, most people who inhabit the city still call it by Bombay. Tough habit to break, I suppose. We arrived to Bombay in the wee hours of the morning after riding the train from Agra for 22 hours. We grabbed a cab and headed to a hotel we knew was close to all we wanted to see and do. Only a few blocks from the Gateway of India which sits on the waterfront in Southern Bombay, we had a room located at the end of a dark-ish hallway on the fifth floor of a building with no elevators. Needless to say it was a challenge lugging our crap to the top.

Bombay is home to the Reserve Bank of India, the Bombay Stock Exchange and the headquarters to several of India's largest and best-thriving companies. Cool, but who cares? The real appeal to Bombay lies in the sites like Elephanta Island, the Gateway to India, the Queen's Necklace, and the famous Taj Hotel. Oh, and BOLLYWOOD! Anyone in America who has seen a Bollywood film will understand the excitment that comes with actually visiting the cities where all these crazy creations are well...created. The film industry in India is growing year by year, and movies are beginning to leak into mainstream American film. Apparently, the likelihood of a foreigner being approached to be an extra in one of the films is quite high. The thought of being an extra was rather exciting and was something Christy definitely wanted to do, if possible. I was game, as long as I didn't have to go looking for an opportunity. Truth be told it wasn't something I thought to be all too likely. Boy was I wrong? Within two hours of being in Bombay we were approached by a guy who seemed rather legit (he had a business card and everything), asking if we would like to be in a film. Ummm...yeah! Not only do you get to dress up and sit in the background of a movie, but they pay you and feed you for the day. Very cool. We end up saying we will meet up the next evening. Sound too good to be true? Yeah, kind of was. Come to find this "gig" wasn't so much a role in a movie as we would be hostesses for the evening. That should have been enough to stop us, but instead I ask, "Well, will they be doing our hair and makeup?" The answer was no, so I was out! He had asked us for our shoe and waist size, as there was a costume involved. So you want me to dress up in all black and play hostess for the evening? That's so worth more than 20 mesely bucks. Sorry friend, and with that, we were out, thus bursting the bubble of my dreams of becoming a Bollywood star. Next time India, next time.

Mary

Busted on the Bus!

2007-10-22T02:22:00.000+09:00

Cambodia....what a trip. We started in Phnom Penh, as you've been told. We went from there to Siem Reap, you've read that, too. When we thought of time in Cambodia it was really an after thought. In the months we spent thinking of where we wanted to go Cambodia was never high on the list, however, was added in the end by default as we new it was close and probably worth seeing. We started with giving it a day or two, that soon turned into more. Before leaving Vietnam we decided to dedicate more time to a country to which most people don't give two thoughts. Without realizing it, we were in for a lot more than just Angkor Wat.

The trouble started when we got off the bus in Phnom Penh and grabbed a tuk-tuk. It was Christy, our friend Sean, and I with all our luggage which we were desperately trying to keep from falling into traffic at every turn. Within 2 minutes of being on the tuk-tuk it started to pour. This was crazy, flooded-the-streets-within-seconds kind of rain. I haven't seen it very often, and when you do see it, you understand the power behind nature. The streets were flooded, we were getting wet despite the "rain flaps" over the "windows." After another five minutes our tuk-tuk dies and our driver proceeds to flood the thing with gas until it's forced to work.

The next day the three of us went to the killing fields. Okay, I know this was a movie and all, but I still really didn't know anything about the genocide that took place in Cambodia. Talk about being kept in the dark! There were human bones and clothing still poking out of the ground as you walked around the now vacated mass graves that leave the ground looking like a giant piece of swiss cheese. The tour we took was short, as there wasn't all that much literal ground to cover, but the entire even was sobering to say the least. Everyone spent the next few hours rather depressed. Conveniently enough, our hostel showed The Killing Fields on TV that night, and every night we were there. That's kind of their thing, I guess.

Next problem. The bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. Long, dirty, bumpy. We were forced to get off the bus at the rest stops and hang out and order the really bad food that was being schlepped by the locals. When we got off the bus in Siem Reap we were literally forced to wade through the sea of tuk-tuk drivers offering their services. The door was swarmed, making it virtually impossible to get to your luggage at the other end of the bus. I took one of the shopping bags I was carting around and started swinging. Nothing gets little Cambodians out of the way faster than a big, white lady swinging a bag like a machete in the jungle. I grabbed the two giant backpacks Christy and I have been lugging around, yelled to her "Got 'em!" and found a driver that took us to our place.

Once inside I noticed my backpack, which had been on the bus with me, in an overhead compartment, was sporting a strange shape. Definitely not how I packed it earlier that morning. I opened the bag and noticed that items from the back pocket were now in the front. Not good! My brand new camera, purchased just before leaving Japan, flashed into my mind and my heart hit the floor. Gone. So here's the twist in the story. While we were in Vietnam this new camera, the latest Casio Exilim, totally crapped out on me. Apparently the cameras have been reported as having problems, and this particular crap out has happened to many others before me. The camera, was basically broken. I had to wait to get back to the States to either have it repaired or replaced. That morning I had taken my memory card from the new camera and placed it into the old one, which I kept with me, you know--just in case! So I tear through my backpack and the camera is definitely gone. Did they take the plastic bag with all the cords and accessories? No. Did they take my little makeshift jewelry box with all my jewelry? No. Did the morons take the only worthless thing from my backpack? Yes! They stole a broken camera with no memory card. And here's the kicker: instead of dealing with repairing the camera I am now able to claim it under my travel insurance, which will pay for a brand new one. So in the end, it's the best possible outcome for having something stolen.

After that there was an unfortunate incident involving a tuk-tuk driver and him extorting money from Christy and my bleeding hearts. Suckers, kinda. Basically, we were tired of dealing with people and paid the guy six dollars he didn't earn. But that's another story.

To feel better after losing a broken camera, Sean, Christy and I went at sunrise the next morning to Angkor Wat. The view was incredible, but the site was flooded with tourists that you could tell did not really appreciate what they were seeing. They piled off the bus for sunrise, took their crappy pictures (really, we saw some, they sucked.), and then piled back on the bus. The best part of the main temple, for us, was when all the other people peaced out and we were left with silence and the refreshing glow of the early morning.

We toured the temples all morning. When it was time to check out the last temple we were all a little beat and were slightly rushed. I was no longer taking great care in where I was stepping, and about 3/4 of the way into the temple I slipped off a stair, did the splits, and scraped the hell out of my left shin and knee. The shin is still tender and I will have some sweet story-inducing scars.

So that my friends, was my Cambodia, in a very small nutshell. Would I go back? Probably. :)

More to come, really, we promise.

~Mary

Vietnam,Cambodia and India Oh My!

2007-10-11T18:45:00.000+09:00

Hello!

I am writing to you from New Delhi! Travelling is going really well - so many new things to see and do, always moving, and trying to take it all in. I wrote last from Hanoi, so here is a little bit of catch up...

After spending a weekend on BEAUTIFUL Ha long bay in N. Vietnam we headed south to Hoi An. For $25 you can buy a bus hopper pass that allows you to get on an off at five major stops in Vietnam (Hanoi, Hue, Hoi An, Na Trang, Saigon). Thinking this was a great deal, Mary and I booked our tickets and hopped on an overnight bus. What was meant to be 14 hour ride turned into an 18 hour ride, which would be ok if the roads weren't so horrifyingly scary and the people on our bus weren't so shady. The roads are in an awful state and people drive like madmen. After seeing two accidents, three bodies, and experiencing the horrifying driving techniques displayed by our driver - I was pretty sure we weren't going to make it to our destination. This was the kind of driving that would have caused my mom to go white knuckled and shove her feet firmly into the dashboard in front of her. Around 2 am the driver pulled over for gas, when we asked where a nearby bathroom was he gestured to an open field and a wall. Neat. The rain started and I thought it best for my own peace of mind to throw on my sleeping mask and ipod, grasping for much needed distractions. We stopped in Hue and dropped half of the bus off before continuing on to Hoi An. 40 minutes before our arrival we got a flat – a tiny man changed the giant bus tire in ten minutes with the help of a hand crank generator, very impressive. Hoi An is famous for tailoring and shoes. I had two winter coats, two leather sandals, and a pair of boots made custom made for me. Far and away the best part was selecting the materials, linings, and colors. (All of these items were whipped out in the span of 5 hours!) While we waited for out goods Mary and I walked around the small city, discovering the untouched areas of town including a cool covered bridge and an interesting river area.

Having had enough of the bus we booked a flight from Da Nang to Saigon ($35) for the following day. At the airport we spotted another American, Sean. Sean is a student at Penn who works for the government and was sent to Asia to pick up documents. Fancy huh? After the flight we foun each other again at the guesthouse, then once more on the bus to Cambodia. Sean became our American Asian travel buddy. Saigon was fine – just another big city – though it was interesting to see the historic sights. It is very clear that the city was 'captured', what with the continual display of Ho Chi Minh's image. He is everywhere; currency, banners, murals, and you can even see his remains in Hanoi - ick. From Saigon we headed to Phnom Penh the Cambodian Capital. Another bus ride (10 hours this time) and a border crossing later we arrived. The ride was fairly unevenetful - just a border crossing, ferry ride, a little dirt road action and you're there.The countryside in Cambodia is stunning; bright greens, clear skies with looming rain clouds, and white cows dotting the landscape. It was immediately different from Vietnam. Upon our arrival in Phnom Penh we hopped into a tuk tuk and headed to our guest house. September is the wet season in these parts and mid way through our ride it started to pour. The streets flooded and our tuk tuk stalled in the middle of a giant pool of water. "This is so South East Asia" were Sean's exact words, and it was. People we everywhere in the rain. Playing, selling, and generally carrying on as if nothing had changed. When we finally arrived at our $4 a night lodging, we met up with a group of Irish and some friends from the bus ride over then headed out for dinner.

I wasn't especially impressed with the food – nothing out of this world by any means. Walking along the main row of eateries I began to notice that the streets were lined with begging children. They latch on to your arm while holding their younger sibling hipside and break your heart asking for money. What's more depressing is the total lack of parents, there are children everywhere but no parents looking on. The capital is a really interesting place - very much stuck between the past in the present and seemingly confused on which way to go. There are only a few paved roads, and all of the houses are made of scrap material such as corrugated metal and palm frawns. We spent the folllowing day checking out Phnom Penh's main attractions: the Russian Market, and the genocidal center - more commonly known a the Killing Fields. It's interesting to see the country recovering from the horrific rule of the Khmer Rouge in the late 70's. The Killing Fields is one of those places you must see, but struggle to get through at the same time. The area is just out of town and home to upwards of 9,000 unidentified graves. We paid for a guide who was visibly harded from having lived through the experience. He walked us through the semi-excavated fields and explained the different sites of the now preserved area. The experince was numbing until you reached some of the many areas where bone, teeth, and clothing are visible from the trail. Bones and other reminints jutted out from the ground, making the history much more real than I had ever anticipated it would be. Talk about needing a Disney chaser.... The tuk tuk ride to the market was silent as we all attempted to digest what we had seen.

From here we went to Siem Reap and explored the absolutely amazing sites of Angkor Wat. Getting up for sunrise over the famous ancient towers was well worth it. Angkor Wat is the pride of Cambodia - and well should be. My favorite site was Angkor Thom and the Bayon - famous for the giant faces adorning the massive stone temple. $10 got the three of us a driver at our disposal to take us from sight to sight all day. We were spent by noon. Temple treking is hard work! The stairs are narrow and extrememly tall. I was a little sore the mnext day from all the hiking around. Each site offered soemthing very different, and all had spectacular views of the grounds. Much of the property was damaged or destroyed bu the Khmer Rouge. Most of the statues are headless or defaced. To think that Ankgor Wat stood largely untouched for so long only to be attacked the 1970's is a very depressing thought. The hostory that is shown on the temple was is fascinating and detailed in an intracate and careful manner. It was an amazing experince to wander through the ancient grounds.

From Siem Reap it was back to Bangkok - Via yet another bus. The road linking Siem Reap to the Thai border is notorious for it's horrid conditions and semi painful journey. about 25 people were packed into a tiny bus - Mar and I sat with the luggage as we were the last to board. There was no a/c and we road the entire distance on a dirt road. Windows open, sweaty and completely gritty - as the road flew in and covered us from head to toe... 13 hours later we were happily back in Bangkok ready to take off for INDIA!

We started off in Bangalore (just another big city), and then took an overnight sleeper to Goa. Not the best way to go - but yet another experience to add to my growing stack. We had 'beds', and by beds I mean a single sized area for two people who are meant to be very short. The ride was cramped to say the least and the driving was a step up from Vietname, but maybe only a baby step. Goa is very tropical and the beaches were nice. We rented a Motorbike and I, uh, kind of crashed it. I Broke the mirror when I slid us into some mud. Mary was unscathed - for the most part - and I took the brunt of the fall, landing on my right side and cutting up my ankle, knee, and arm pretty decently. I used my sweet swiss army knife to open up my 40 rupee bottle of hydrogen peroxide and to pop open the beers I needed in order to complete my at home medic attempt... Most of our time in Goa was spent beachside and trying to fend off the relentless vendors wearing beautiful saris. We flew into Delhi yesterday ($92) and I knew I needed to see a real doctor - so I headed to the hospital after getting into town. I didn't have to wait, was bandaged up, and handed a prescription for 5 days of antibiotics, and anti inflammatory, and something else. The whole visit (drugs included) cost about $30. Unreal. I wouldn't have made it without the help opf our now good friend Farooq. He strated talking to us immediately after we stepped out of the taxi, helped us find a really cheap hotel, called a car and waited at the hospital while I got patched up. Today we hired a car and toured Delhi and Farooq came along for the ride. Delhi is insane and wonderful all at the same time, there are people everywhere, and culture can't help but thrive in this maddend metropolis. My favorite thing would have to be the cows, the holy cows mind you. They are everywhere - in traffic, sitting on the sidewalk. People feel them and won't dare hit them because of their status as sacred. Tomorrow I am off to Jaipur then headed to Agra (where the Taj Mahal is), then finally down to Mumbai before taking off for the UAE and Turkey. India is AMAZING. The food is better than anything I have ever eaten, the people are warm and friendly, and it is so colorful.

Well I am off for dinner with our crazy impromptu guide Farroq, he keeps trying to sell Mary a rug and I think he's sweet on her hehe!

With love from India,

C

Good Morning Vietnam!

2007-09-10T10:20:00.000+09:00

Hello from Ha Long!

I arrived in Hanoi two days ago (From Bangkok) and am currently up north a bit on Cat Ba Island. Thailand was great - the people were extremely warm, the food absolutely amazing and the city itself is very cool. We saw it all - everything from the cultural side to the - we;;, how shall I put this - the not so cultural haha. Bangkok is really quite easy to navigate; the public transportation was great - not to mention very cheap. The people at our hostel were really down to earth and relaxed. The first night in town we met another American girl, Katie from the greater Sanata Barbara area, who was really cool and friendly. It was really nice meeting someone from the States as we comprise the minorityof the travelling group in South East Asia by a gaping percentage. It has been really interesting to copare stories with other people who are travelling - hearing and sharing future plans and past experiences.

We flew into Hanoi on Wednesday evening and arrived via mini bus at our hostel just before curfew. Our place was located in the heart of the Old Quarter of Hanoi and was stunning. For a grand total of six bucks we had an immaculate room, breakfast, fast and free internet, and good company. Mary and I spent yesterday wandering arounf Hanoi. What a CRAZY city. There are no traffic lights or really any rules - cars, motorcycles, bikes and people swarm through the streets in a chaoitic manner and some how people manage to get where they need to go. The sidewalks are crammed with motorbikes and street restaurants, so you have to hoof it in the street with all other traffic. Crossing the street is another issue entirely - you just sort of enter traffic and push your way through. The key, however, is to look at the drivers and move at a leisurely pace. It's difficult to fight the instinct to charge across to safety, but then you realize that there is no such safety, so it is best to hedge your bets and move in the direction that you need to go.

The noise and exhaust is endless, and by the end of a day you are coated with a thick layer of grime and sweat that appears under your fingernails after an innocent scratch. Ick. There isn't a huge amount to do and see in Hanoi, the city in motion seems to be the main attraction. The Old Quarter is beautiful in a really unique way I'm afraid I cannot fully explain in words or show in pictures. The French influence is everywhere - from the food to the architecture - even vendors address you as 'Madam'. The city appears to max out at five stories. There are no towering sky scrapers, no signifiers of modernity. The French colonial apartment buildings are stunning in their own right. The interiors, however, are barren and mirror the dirty impoverished streets below. This decor seems somehow to sum up Frnace's failure to overtake the country, because ultimately Vietnam did everything in its own way.

The people are abrupt and quite pushy compared to Thailand, and everyone is out to make money off the lost and confused tourists -- even if you are no longer lost or confused. The agression is palpable at times and I have been able to feel myself physically cower a bit from its strength. When you set foot outside an eatery, or really anywhere, people engulf you trying to sell goods or get you on their motor bike. I have never said no so many times in my life. There is something really primitive, desperate and animalistic about this behavior that really turns me off. There is no 'arms wide open' welcoming attitude in Hanoi - it is very much every person or themselves. When vendors call to you they demand rather than ask you to buy their goods: 'you buy banana', 'you to buy pearl'. I can't help but wonder if this agression is a result of some deep rooted cultural history having to do with the repeated overtakings, attempted imperialistic efforts, and the continual defense of their land. The government here is anything but together or organized and it show through in every aspect of life in Vietnam.

Simply getting oriented in Hanoi is a massive undertaking. After spending the morning figuring out where the hell we were and managing to buy our bus tickets to Cat Ba/Ha Long - Mar and I hopped onto some motorbikes to see some of the historical sights and get a good view of the markets. There is nothing like straddeling a motorbike to make you feel like a local. We ate dinner at an upscale restaurant, spending about $5 a person, and indulged on some good eats. The food had been a bit dissapointing, though the nem is great. Next up Ha Lon bay with its famous limestone islands, caves and emerald ocean waters. Stay tuned!

With love from Vietnam,

Christy

Thailand!

2007-09-04T11:51:00.000+09:00

"One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster,

The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free.

You'll find a god in every golden cloister,

A little flesh, a little history

I can feel an angel sliding up to me."

And so it begins. Fifteen weeks of traveling the world back to front all starts here, in Bangkok. We left our apartment in Japan bright and early on September first and set out on a four hour (local) train ride that brought us to Osaka just in time to wait the obligatory two hours before our flight. At 1pm we taxied out and took off aboard a plane belonging to the Singapore Airlines fleet. We were sat in Economy, but lucked out and were given the first row. Upside, tons of leg room and we get served first for everything. Downside, it's the designated baby row. It's actually kind of cool....they attach little bassinets to the front wall where the baby can sleep during the flight and Mom doesn't have to waste her lap space. We had three young ones in our row, one sitting next to Christy, and two across the aisle from me. All three were practically perfect throughout the flight.

We touched down in Bangkok sometime after 4 and went through the most painless customs and immigration process I have ever witnessed. Luggage in hand we got a cab and travelled the 30 minutes into town to where we found our hostel. For the record, the cab ride was about 3 bucks a piece. Already, I love this country. We're staying here at Big John's Backpacker's Hostel. It's known more in town for the meat pies and good food than the fact that it is lodging for foreigners. Big John's is run by a pair of Aussie's who have been here for about 12 years. The food is actually damn good and I can see why the meat pies comes first on the moniker rather than the accommodations department. We're paying about 5 bucks a night here and staying in a 6 bed female dorm. The showers are clean, the water is warm to hot, the beds are futon style but really comfortable, and there's all the AC we can handle. A good thing seeing as this weather is none too different from what we left in Japan. The humidity is killer and I'm glad I've gotten used to it over the past three months.

Our first night here we ate, settled in, checked some maps and planned out day two, and then hit the sack early. Christy and I both got about three hours of sleep the night before we left. Packing completed we were simply saying goodbyes and getting things in order. I was doing my best to fight off the throat infection I caught two days before leaving Japan. As if the back injury in August wasn't enough I managed to get myself on antibiotics and hardcore anti-inflammatory to make eating, drinking, and breathing a possibility. Nothing like adding a little more pressure to starting a trip. Anyhow, I digress. My point is we were tired, I was sore in my back and joints, and so after hanging out we slept in our 6 bed female dorm, just the two of us, AC blasting. I woke up sweating through my shirt as the infection still wasn't allowing me to regulate body temperatures. Cool.

Day two--We did what all good travellers do in Bangkok...we hit the market! A few people we met the night before told us about the special weekend market that takes place in the north part of town. It was HUGE! I'm thinking at least seven city blocks worth of Thai, well, everything. We walked for hours through clothes, food, silk items, food, animals, food, housewares, artwork, food, cock fights (that one we stumbled upon and you probably couldn't find it if you really tried!), car parts, I mean everything. I have never seen such a complete collection of things. Amazingly, I bought nothing. My back was killing and we were exhausted. Christy and I met a girl named Katie the night before. She was waiting to meet up with a friend who's flight into town had been cancelled, so we had here hang out with us for the day. Her and her friend were placed with us in the dorm room that night. After the market we came back, hung out, had some food, met more cool people and decided it was time to get a massage. Just around the corner from the hostel we found a nice little place giving Thai massages for 200 Bhat an hour, that comes to about 6 dollars US. It was amazing. Painful at times, but I loved every minute of it. I could tell my lady was irritated with me because my joints weren't cracking like she wanted them to. Sorry sister. Christy was in pain afterwards. I was ready to sign up for round two. After the massage it was dark, so we headed to dinner with two girls we met at the hostel. Katie and her friend Brenda went off exploring, so it was just the four of us. We roamed down the street a few blocks and came upon a restaurant serving....THAI FOOD. The place next door was a Japanese restaurant, I'm not even kidding. I had spring rolls and Phad Thai with chicken. It was beyond words. I haven't had food with that much flavor in a year. I forgot how much I absolutely love the food in SE Asia.

Day three--Today was culture day. We started by taking a water taxi along the river to a central part of town. We went around to various temples including Wat Pho which houses the Reclining Buddha. Laying on it's right side you walk in to see it's giant face staring at you in all it's golden glory. It is the oldest and largest temple in Bangkok measuring at 46 meters long and 15 meters high. This temple is known as the birthplace for Thai massage. It is adjacent to the royal palace which several Thai people wanted to point out only to follow by telling us we're not allowed inside. From here we took a Tuk-Tuk (small two-seater, open-air taxi good for weaving in and out of traffic) to a temple only open to the public on holidays. This day happened to be just that. Normally only monks are allowed inside to pray, however, today, unlike the royal palace, we were allowed inside as well. We met a man who sat us down inside the temple and taught us about it's history, and told us stories about Thailand. He was probably one of the friendliest people I can expect to meet on this trip. Our Tuk-Tuk driver was great and escorted us all over town for an agreed upon 10 Bhat a person. That's about 30 cents. At our last temple we came outside to find that he had gone and left us with one of his friends. His friend drove us around to different high-price shops so that he could get free gas coupons. The more shops we went to the pushier he got telling us, not asking, to stay inside longer. After the fourth shop we were finished, it was nearing 6:30, and we asked him to take us to the subway. As it was after 6 he refused saying he was off work. Long story short he screwed us and we wound up taking a taxi through heavy traffic back to the Sky Train so we could make our way back home.

On the walk back we grabbed some amazing food for dinner and headed back to the hostel where we hooked up with Katie and Brenda. Here's where the night got a little more interesting. We decided to head to Patpong, the district known for terrible knock-offs and sex shows. Four white girls walking the stalls didn't throw anyone. It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like, you will be approached and told there's something you HAVE to see. These men hold up a small card which is basically a menu for what you can see inside their bars. They tell you, "Only 100 Bhat, sample for free!" Basically, come inside, if you see something you like stay, have a drink, it's only 100 Bhat. So we did. You sit, have a drink, and watch a bunch of really disinterested Thai women in bikinis sway, not on beat, to the music being blasted from speakers somewhere overhead. They are completely unengaged. When the drinks come the women who run the bar (there are about 30 of them!) come up and demand, "You pay now!" So we hand over our 100 Bhat and are told, no no, the price is more. "You pay more money, this not enough! 300 Bhat, you pay now!" So of course, we argue saying this is not what we were told, the man downstairs said 100 Bhat. Of course they have no idea what man you are taking about. So we leave, one sip of my lukewarm Coke gone, as well as my 100 Bhat. Feeling cheated we walk on. We are hounded by more and more people. Two men stop the four of us and assure us they wouldn't dare cheat us. The other bar is known for lying to people. So, because we are suckers, we agree to go to their bar. Shock and amaze, the same thing happens. Fine, we argue, pissed off that they don't just tell you the damn price in the first place because at this point it's about principle. I mean, I have standards when it comes to my sex shows! Only honesty. We got a little more than we bargained for because these women were nasty albeit small. They wanted money, we said no way. I got aggressive and said give me my money back and we will leave. They got loud and scary. These women are weathered my friends. They've been living this life a long time and want whatever good they can cheat out of you. Words were being exchanged between the four of us and two of them and finally the woman says to me, "You want your money back, get on stage and dance!" She had a hold of the straps of my camisole and were pulling them off my body in a quasi-violent manner. Okay, here's where it's not okay. You can yell, and argue, and in then end it's a little fun for everyone. But touching, touching is where the line is drawn. There will be NO touching. Fight or flight kicked in and from the feel of adrenaline rushing through my veins, apparently I had chose fight. Before I realized it my fists were clenched and I was getting angry. The woman recognized this, backed up about two feet and screamed at us to get out. We did, and finding ourselves back on the street, another 100 Bhat short I noticed I was shaking a bit. It took several minutes to calm down. I had no idea my body would react like that when confronted by someone who looked like she wanted to fight. Apparently, without thinking, you prepare to fight back. Not a pleasant feeling when your brain catches up to what's happening. In the end we agreed the night made for a good story. We grabbed some beers, talked a while, and headed home.

Day four--We headed to what is apparently backpacker central...Khao San Road. This is a hub for street stalls peddling the clothes, purses, and jewelry that backpackers and tourists alike crave. It was featured in the first few scenes of The Beach and has been more than famous ever since. Here you can find guesthouses, restaurants, travel services, photo huts, massage shops, and hair dressers. Anything you need or want can and will be found here. It's not as big as the first market we went to, but does offer more of what travelers are looking for. We spent the entire day walking the street, shopping, buying, people watching. We grabbed a massage, had some dinner, and headed home.

Later that night we went out with a few guys from the hostel to Soi Cowboy. It's not so much like Patpong where you can get sex shows, but there are bars, with dancing (if you can call it that), however these women all wear numbers. Company for the night is for sale everywhere...not something that was so brazenly displayed in Patpong. The night ended at five the next morning. Plenty of drinking and watching girls pretend to care which people come in and out of the bar. I saw more than my fair share of old white men groping and grabbing at young Thai women. And when I say old, I'm talking 40s to 70s. Gross.

Day 5--After only a few nights sleep we were off to Chinatown. Although Chinatowns can be found across the globe I doubt any can compare to that in Bangkok. It was sheer madness, and not the normal madness found in an average Chinatown. This took crazy to a whole new level. The sidewalks in this portion of the city are strictly for selling and storing. There is very little walking involved on the sidewalks, thus pushing pedestrians to the streets, dodging taxis and motobikes alike, all the while feeling despairlingly out of place because our white bodies haven't seen sun in the last 50 weeks. At this point neither of us had eaten since dinner the night before and it was pushing two in the afternoon. We walked the streets for over 20 minutes without finding a single restaurant. We finally had to track down a mall and eat in a coffee shop. The noise and bustle of human traffic was overwhelming and after wandering for about an hour we were done with Chinatown and headed back to Big John's. Our flight to Hanoi was at 6 giving us just enough time to return to the hostel, grab our bags, snake a taxi and head out to the airport. Country number two here we come....

Mary

VISA, don't leave home without it!

2007-08-28T14:26:00.000+09:00

I'm sure we all remember the VISA commercials from several years back, willing us into the credit card game by informing us of the convenience of cards over cash and the fact that they are accepted everywhere, so God forbid you leave your home without your Visa. American Express was really beaten upon in those commercials, I always felt a little bad....

This story really has nothing to do with credit cards, that comes in another entry you'll see shortly. No this story is about the visa that allows entry into a foreign country. As you all know we are gearing up for a trip that will take us, literally, around the world. We are visiting 12 countries, and several of them require visas, but only one we had to acquire before entering the specific country. This country....INDIA. The visa for India is setting us back a little over $100 but I figure it's a poor country, this is my way of helping out a bit. It's recommended you apply for your visa several weeks before you actually need it. To apply for a visa you need to go through an Embassy. The Indian Embassies in Japan are only located in Osaka and Tokyo. We had to go through Tokyo because it is arranged by prefecture. So we call the embassy, get the address, print out the application, attach a passport photo, get a money order to cover the cost of the visa, include a self-addressed stamped envelope and mail the sucker to Tokyo with our passports. It was a Tuesday. The 14th to be exact. We were headed to Gujo-Hachiman (another story for another entry) and Christy and I were anxious to mail it and go. We'd rented a car for the trip and were concerned about beating traffic. We went to the post office, payed for the postal orders, mailed the passports et. al, and were off on an adventure. If all went well it was to take upwards two weeks.

The following Monday I am at work. I come back from a lesson and notice that I have two missed calls, a text message and a voice mail. This is never a good sign as it is a sure bet that it's my roommate and there is something urgent, generally negative. Turns out she had received notification of two missed calls on the previous Friday and two more that Monday, all from the same number. There was no message left, but she called the number and was connected to the Indian Embassy in Tokyo. They informed her that they did not accept postal orders and needed cash. I thought it was funny that I hadn't received a similar phone call. She did too. Christy asked if they had both passports and visa applications. "Both," the man asked. Never a good sign. They had not received anything from me. Interesting, as we mailed everything in identical envelopes at the exact same time and were quoted a two day delivery to Tokyo. My heart stopped a little. Great, my passport is unaccounted for. Then I think back the hectic morning a week earlier. I remember the unease I felt when handing over my passport to be put into the mail. Then I remember the step I skipped that really made my heart stop. We did not use registered mail. At this point there was no way the post office would be able to track down the envelope containing my only way out of this country! For those of you who know me, this is very out of character. These are bases I always cover, things I always think about. It goes to show that when you get a little too comfortable, your game might slip a little. Unfortunately, this was a highly inopportune time for one's game to slip. The next 24 hours were spent in a deserved panic.

The next day I went to the post office. I asked about cancelling the money order. The asked for a receipt. I went to extract it from my purse only to discover I didn't have it. More panic set in and I realized my game had slipped more than a little. I save receipts for everything. Hell, I saved the receipts from the immunizations I received over a month ago. Without a receipt, or the actual money order, there was no way to recover the 11,250 yen I spent. At this point, Christy had already mailed off another 25,000 yen in cash to the embassy, I discovered, also not through registered mail. This was not due to comfort levels, rather stress and lack of time to think. A potentially bad situation was starting to get a little worse. Now I'm not only without a passport, but also about $100 bucks.

After spending two hours at the post office and learning I could not cancel a missing money order and there is no way to track down my piece of mail, I returned home, defeated, and tried the embassy once more. As soon as I got on the phone the lady recognized my voice, and told me they had received my stuff. She was in such a hurry to tell me that I need to send cash that she wouldn't let me tell her that it was already in the mail! She was rather insistent that I send it. I told her I had. We did this about three or four times before it sunk in. Okay, so we are a week behind schedule at this point, I'm a little nervous, but at least I know the physical location of the most important document I own.

We went to Disneyland the next day. As we were in Tokyo it only seemed right to call the embassy and check in. Have you received our cash??? They hadn't. At this point they felt it necessary to tell us that if they don't have it soon, the likelihood that the visas are able to be processed is slim. Great.

Thursday we find out that the cash made it! After a quick sigh of relief my heart started up again. Then we found out the processing could begin and it might take over a week. We don't have over a week!, I thought to myself. To cut down on time they told us to make a trip up to Tokyo to retrieve the documents by hand. Christy works, so that left me. The embassy told us it wouldn't be ready until probably Friday of the following week, August 31. Our flight to Bangkok leaves Osaka at 1 pm on Saturday, September 1. Okay, it's cool, we just like to keep things interesting. The embassy wasn't sure if any of this could be done, or whether the visa would take that long or longer, so they said they would call on the following Wednesday to let me know when to travel to Tokyo.

So for the last week I haven't been able to plan anything for my last two days in Nagoya, keeping a clear schedule in case I have to run up to Tokyo. We should get a call tomorrow. As of two hours ago I was hopeful.

As of an hour ago, I am relieved and a little closer to stress-free.

I was on the phone with my parents, explaining that I was planning a trip to Tokyo, when the doorbell rang. Normally I would ignore it because I am calling long distance and it's usually a person who has the wrong apartment. It didn't feel right to ignore this caller, so I put my parents on hold, got up, answered the door and was put face to face with a man holding two brown envelopes with handwriting I recognized as Christy's and my own. I almost peed myself as the man handed over the accumulation of two weeks of stress and worry and finally relief. I now sit with a way out of this country, a way into another country, and a piece of paper worth over 11,000 yen.

I told my parents what had happened as I ripped open my self-addressed stamped envelope. They said it was good karma and talking to them was good luck. I agreed. My Dad put it best when he said, "There, now you can move on to worrying about the next thing." Yep, pretty much. Over the next three days there is plenty to worry about, but why not just relax and left life happen. Boxes will get packed, then shipped, things will be sold off, and goodbyes will be said. On Saturday we will get on a plane and say goodbye to what has been our home for the last year. A lesson learned, be a little more diligent in applying for visas, and when you've lacked diligence, allow life to play out...it usually does, and it does so for the best.

Kyoto--Day 3

2007-08-18T16:14:00.000+09:00

Ah, back to normalcy. I love this city. As soon as I get off the train, out of the subway, into the fresh air I am instantly reminded of why I love Kyoto, and how amazing travelling in Japan can be! I know I complain an awful lot about living in Nagoya, and the truth is, it really does suck to live in my city. Daily life is not that great, but I would easily devote a few months and a lot of money to travelling through Japan. And Kyoto, as often as I can, is a city to which I will always return. The cool thing about this trip is three fold. One, I get to experience it with a person seeing it for the first time, which is always fun! Two, I had an agenda, which I will get to later. Three, this is the third different season I visited Kyoto--very good deal!

Before leaving Ise (ick!) Christy made a few phone calls and found a nice place for us to stay right outside the Imperial Palace, excellent central location, Chris! The room was great, bug free, and cheaper than the ryokan, go figure. We walked into the lobby around 6 pm and were greeted by a string quartet visiting for the evening. It was lovely. The music was wonderful, the hotel was clean, people spoke some English, and they had a computer with internet free for guests to use. BONUS! We were immediately pleased with the accommodations and got settled quickly. We all slept a bit better that night and were up bright and early for a buffet breakfast downstairs, consisting of Japanese and Western cuisines and then it was off to the Handicraft Center, the main reason I went to Kyoto for a third time. My Mom informed me she needed more Ukiyo-e, the art she bought when her and my Dad were here in April. Okay, no problem, so I set out to buy a few more prints, which was a rather stressful job considering they were meant as gifts, and my Mom is rather picky when it comes to art, and that's a lot of pressure and how was I know which prints to choose!? AGH! Not to worry, I found five that I knew would be suitable, and along the way I found three more for myself to add to the five I bought several months back, as well as another one to give as a gift for a lovely person back home.

After a little more than an hour prints were chosen, paid for, and ready to be shipped off to the states. After this we hit the path of Philosophy, Ginkaku-ji, and my all time fave Kiyomizu-dera. It is spectacular in the summer. Green, and more green, everywhere you looked. The colors ranged from light to dark and everything in between. The air was fresh, although a bit hazy over downtown, and there were so many white people I got a bit dizzy. I forgot that it's summer pretty much everywhere, and most people were on holiday. Kyoto is a tourist trap for tourists domestic and international alike. The place was packed and the air was filled with good spirits and positive energy. I fed off this as best I could, soaking up every bit of the atmosphere, holding a constant smile to my face. Seriously, I love this city.

After Kiyomizu we walked through the hills, watching the sun start to set, weaving our way through small streets and tiny back roads, keeping on the lookout for Geisha. At 7:00 I was back to Kyoto station, and looking to catch the Shinkansen home. I left Christy and Jan to another two fun-filled days in the original Imperial city. Sad to go, but so nice to have been back to visit. This will have been the last visit to Kyoto this time in Japan. It's one thing I will miss the most.

Mary

Toba--Sunday

2007-08-18T12:12:00.000+09:00

Well, we survived the night with a few bites each and no one getting stellar sleep, but we were up early for showers and a quick conveni breakfast, and then off for an adventure-filled day 2!

Today was marked for Toba, another rather popular ocean-side spot a quick train ride away from Ise City. Toba is a small city with only over 24,000 residents, and is a sister city to Santa Barbara, California. Even with only a few residents Toba is still a bustling city thanks to all there is to see and do. A main point in Toba is the aquarium which, albeit nice, was not something on our agenda. No no, we were headed for what all the tourists really go to Toba to see....the world famous pearls. Toba is home to the Mikimoto Pearl Island. Mikimoto pearls are known the world over and are claimed to be the nicest a person can get their hands on. One thing is for sure, they are the most expensive a person can get their hands on! Mikimoto Pearl Island has four main areas: the pearl museum, the Ama Stand, the Kokichi Memeorial hall, and Pearl Plaza. We'll start with the museum, as that's what Jan, Christy, and I did.

The museum is the most popular attraction, and it contains four different sections which detail the birth of pearls, their production and distribution, as well as examples of both natural and cultured pearls. You can also see how pearls are made, the entire process of how a pearl is cultivated (from the oyster to the final product). Another section teaches about the farming and harvesting techniques used, and the economics dealing with pearls. One of my favorite sections of the museum was the area where one can watch the pearls being sorted, drilled and threaded onto strings of various lengths. One is able to learn the difference between natural and cultured pearls. I myself don't so much fancy the cultured pearls, as they are basically human made, and it feels like cheating. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't turn a pair down, but they're not my favorite.

After this we walked the 100 feet to the Ama stand where a demonstration was about to begin.
The demonstration is put on by the well-known women pearl divers. It was said back in the day that women had larger lung capacities than men, therefore making better divers. They dress up in these thin white suits that don't look all that conducive to diving into the ocean, but apparently are worn to scare off sharks. They also wore these funky, old school diving masks that take up a person's entire face. The divers dive about 10 meters downward to collect abalone which they then deposit into large wooden buckets attached to their feet that float on the surface of the water. When a diver drops into the ocean to retrieve a pearl the bucket floats above them, and is able to glide along the surface following the diver if need be. The ama have a history in this region dating back about 2000 years. Becoming an ama begins from childhood from the training offered by one's elders, and many ama continue diving well into their 60s and 70s. The demonstration only lasted a few minutes, but it was totally worth it.

After the ama demo we walked through the pearl shop, where I could afford nothing, soaking up the magnificent air conditioning for all it was worth. We decided to brave the heat by venturing back towards the station and grabbing a bite to eat at a local shop where locals were waiting in line to be seated....about five minutes after we'd arrived. Good timing us! A few plates of pasta and we were back to the dreaded Ise city. You could tell by the looks on our faces that no one was looking forward to this. Jan and I thought it would be worth our time and a bit of money to get the hell out of Ise city and move onto Kyoto a day earlier than planned. Christy was concerned that since we'd already paid a deposit on both nights we wouldn't be able to leave. It wasn't long back in Ise city that she was willing to give a go at backing out of our second night and finding something better, ANYTHING really, in Kyoto. She looked at me and said, "all right, you do the talking!" And talk I did. My Japanese is horrible, and the ladies who ran the ryokan spoke no English, but somehow I did it, and we were out of there just as soon as we could pay our bill. In less than an hour we were on a train bound for Kyoto, a sense of relief shown on our three faces.

Mary

Saturday--Ise

2007-08-18T10:08:00.000+09:00

I figured after my birthday came and went time would start to move a little faster around here. Well, for the good of my sanity I was right. Christy's Mom, Jan, arrived in Japan on the 27th of July. She was here for 11 days and I was fortunate enough to take some vacation days and travel around for a good portion of that time. We started out with going to Ise, Toba, and Kyoto. I would be with Christy and Jan the first three days, and leaving them after only one day in Kyoto to return to life in Nagoya.

Bright and early Saturday morning we grabbed some breakfast and headed off to Ise. Located on the shima penninsula in the neighboring prefecture of Mie, Ise is home to the holiest and most sacred Shinto shrine in Japan. Okay, so that seems worth seeing. We were scheduled to stay two nights in a traditional Japanese ryokan, a lodging dating back to the Edo period. Ryokans are basically very large, old houses turned into hotel style lodgings. The rooms are typical tatami mat and the baths are communal style. You can opt to have meals provided for you which are undoubtably traditional Japanese as well. We were staying in a triple room at the end of one of the many halls located in the upstairs portion of the house. We were provided with bedding, a TV, a small table, and AC unit, and a few hangers for our yukatas. The yukatas are robes provided when one is off to take a bath/shower.

When we arrived in Ise it was hotter than hell. Seriously, I think I may have had it worse than Satan that day. At 11 in the morning we were looking at 36 degrees celcius. When you do the math that comes close to 100 for those of us in the US. That's damn hot that early in the day. We walked our stuff from the station to the Ryokan along a street that barely provided a sidewalk, so lugging suitcases wasn't so easy. Lucky for me I was only toting a backpack and a healthy dose of optimism, both being light enough to walk comfortably...minus the heat and the humidity I failed to mention earlier. It's the humidity that really gets you! We checked into the ryokan and tried to beat the heat by laying down for a few minutes. It worked well, and 90 minutes later we left our air conditioned room and set out to see, you guessed it, the holiest and most sacred Shinto shrine in Japan!

As soon as we got there and I took two pictures at the entrance...my camera crapped out and the batteries died. This is extremely typical of my camera as it sucks the life out of batteries faster than I can suck the life out of a glass of wine. As I was at the holiest and most sacred Shinto shrine in Japan I figured there would be tons of pictures I would need to take. The guide book told us the shrine was in a park that wound through the mountain and houses many other smaller shrines. I figured we would be spending hours at this place. Long story short, Ise shrine was a bust. There were three other smaller shrines besides the main shrine, all looking the same, and none being all that impressive. The main shrine was nice, but nothing I haven't seen before, and you're not allowed to take pictures. Thank God I went back to grab freaking batteries! I ended up taking more pictures of leaves with snails on them than I did of any shrine. Oh, and the part about the park winding through the mountain? We made the loop in about 30 minutes, and that's being generous.

Okay, time filler. We needed something else to do. Christy suggested we take the train to Futami, a town only 30 minutes away. There we could walk to Futamigaura Beach, which is where the famous Meoto-Iwa wedding rocks are located. The train wasn't going to be there for a while so we decided to get a Coke. We went to the coffee shop we had passed earlier in the day to find what looked like a very closed establishment. We knocked and a woman ran over and hustled us inside. She turned on lights and fans and poured us some sort of brown water that reminded me of a scene from the movie The Goonies. An old man sat at a table close by and grunted at us to look at the menu. The place smelled strongly of urine, and after getting the brown water and eyes from the dirty old man, I was no longer in the mood for a Coke. Jan and I looked at each other in a now-way-am-I-staying-here kind of way and two minutes later we had Christy convinced it was okay to ditch out before we ordered anything. I wasted no time getting myself out the door, Jan and Christy close on my heels. Apparently I missed it when the dirty old man slammed his angry fist onto the table at the sight of us leaving. It scared the hell out of Jan and Christy. I was already out the door and not looking back, he he he. We walked back to the station and grabbed some Cokes from the vending machine.

So we finally made it to the beach where we get to see the famous Meoto-Iwa. Meoto-Iwa litearally means Husband-and-Wife rocks. The rocks are joined together by a rope made of rice straw weighing in over one ton. The rocks represent the union of two Shinto Gods and somehow symbolize the union of a man and a woman in marriage. The two rocks are several feet apart, the much larger of the two, on the left, said to be the man. Shock! I'll post pictures later, the rock on the right is much smaller than the one on the left. That's the real symbolism right there! We walked around the rocks, and the accompanying beach where I took about 40 versions of what can be said to be the same picture. We got there just before sunset and it was beautiful. We got back to the train at dusk, where we discovered the next train coming to take us back to Ise city would not be rolling through for another 45 minutes. This made sense following how the day had gone so far.

Back to Ise city where we needed to grab some dinner. It was 8 o clock at this point and anything that was open was looking to set us back about $50 a person. No, thank you. We finally settled on convenience store food and had a picnic in our room. We watched crazy Japanese television which Jan got a kick out of. We all took showers and settled in for the night...AC frosting away. It was still hotter than all get up as I layed awake. As soon as I started to drift off a mosquito buzzed my ear. That is the worst! It bit me about three times and I was up at that point. Long story short, it was hot, I was bit by mosquitoes about 15 times that night and I got very little sleep. So much for a peaceful end to day one....

Mary

Take that Typhoon!

2007-07-31T21:06:00.000+09:00

A small birthday celebration is always nice. I liked the dinner, the darts, the dames I had flanking either side. It was small and private and a precursor to what was a very full evening of birthday enjoyment. After the letdown on the 15th I sent out an invite to friends and some Nova staff stating that we would be celebrating properly at Desperados, the BEST Mexican restaurant in town. Now, for anyone that's been paying attention to the last 70-something blog entries I'm sure you've all guessed Christy and I crave Mexican food like Paris Hilton craves attention. Desperados is a great place, a few subway stops away, that serves a stiff margarita and some serious enchilladas. The owners are a married couple, she's Japanese, he's a Mexican that grew up partially in Nebraska. No wonder the food is so great! So, Saturday night, about 20 hours before the party I discover Desperados is closed on Sunday nights. What the hell? Who's closed on a Sunday. Okay, a new message is sent out: new plan...Elephant's Nest at 9:00!

We rolled in promptly at nine and over the next hour about 20 other people followed suit. The drinks were flowing all night and I had racked up quite a count. Among the party goers were fellow Nova teachers, a few Nova Japanese Staffers, and two students. One of my students made me an awesome bead necklace and a traditional Japanese hair ornament. It's not often we teachers receive gifts from students that aren't edible, so this was really quite special.

As well as some beautiful hand-made jewelry I was gifted alcohol...lots and lots of alcohol. If memory serves me the total came to three strawberry margaritas, a Long Island Iced tea, a Tequilla Sunrise, 2 hard core G and Ts, a Cassis and Orange, a Screwdriver, and a pint of something in the beer family. And this was all before moving over to the Kareoke bar two doors down. After two more drinks and the hours of very good singing, the girls called it a night and headed home. We rolled in 4 and I was in bed by half past. Good thing I wasn't working until 1 pm the next day. At 9:30 am I was awake and definitely still drunk. Last time that happened I made a fool of myself at work and left early. Within two hours of being awake I had downed 2 liters of water and a crap-ton of carbs. Good thing too, I ended up being the only one not hung over at work that day.

I was able to learn a very important lesson from this night. When life sends you a Typhoon on your birthday, you can always get sloshed the next weekend. Not exactly Aesop worthy, but it will work for this 24 year old!

Mary

Birthdays come but one a year...

2007-07-17T13:45:00.000+09:00

Too bad the same can't be said for Typhoons in Japan.

The latter half of June marked the beginning of the rainy season here in Japan. According to several students the rainy season lasts through the first half, possibly first two thirds on July. We've heard about the rainy season since our arrival to Japan last September, so for the last few months I've been fast at work mentally preparing for the non-stop drenching. What we weren't prepared for was the first round of Typhoon season that is known to hit Japan in mid-July. The major tropical storms tend to hit at the beginning of September, which we just missed 10 months ago. Turns out the minor league storms stepped up their games this year and hit us with the worst July Typhoon to happen upon Japan since they started data recording in the 1950s.

The island of Kyushu was slammed with the majority of the Typhoon's strength, leaving most of the island flooded, injuring several, killing few, and inconveniencing thousands. People were evacuated, flights were canceled and re-routed, and many an old person is now in need of an artificial joint of some sort. The Typhoon headed north and reached Nagoya on July 14th, the day before my birthday, and a much anticipated trip to Disneyland Tokyo. I came home on the 14th to sheets of rain blowing horizontally. Not a good sign. Who wants to spend their birthday with a soggy mouse with white gloves? This girl, that's who! Our tickets were non-refundable and we were scheduled to depart on the Shinkansen at 6:38 am on the 15th. We woke at 5:30 to overcast skies and what could barely be considered a spittle of rain. At 6:35 we walked onto platform 12, and 3 minutes later, the train rolled in. Yes! I am going to Disneyland, on my birthday, to let the 12 year old girl inside me go crazy in a new (to me) Disney park!

My excitement was cut short and hour later when we crawled to a stop outside of Shizuoka, the halfway point to Tokyo. Apparently the Typhoon had merely had a head start to Tokyo, and was now impeding the progress of any passage to and from. Several bridges were washed out as Typhoon Man-yi had reared her ugly head throughout the region. Long story short, we finally pulled into Shizuoka station at 10:30. We were meant to arrive in Tokyo at 8:30. This wasn't looking good. We were told by a very friendly English-speaking local that the announcement just informed the passengers that we were looking at another 5 hours to get to Tokyo. Yep, definitely not looking good. The good news was that we were permitted to return to Nagoya free of charge. Yippee. A short hour later we were back on the train. It took us another two hours to get home as we were definitely NOT on the express train.

Sometime before 2 pm we were greeted by the bright blue skies that enveloped Nagoya's simple skyline. Well, that birthday plan was shot. Too bad, too. Several years ago I developed a rule for myself: each birthday I should do something new and different. It started when my parents took my brother and I on a five week excursion through Western Europe and I spent my 15th birthday in Venice. Pretty cool way to start a tradition. Last year I shot a gun for the first time, but that's another blog entry for another time. This year it was going to be Tokyo Disneyland, my fourth Disney park, but in the end I had to settle for my first Typhoon. Not a bad second, and definitely something I don't plan on having the opportunity for again in this lifetime.

Before heading home from the station Christy and I strolled through Tiffany's since I had decided to self-medicate with something shiny. Too bad the prices are way higher than in the states. I guess I'll settle for an internet purchase. They still come with the little blue box, right?

That night the roommates when out for dinner, drinks, and darts. A birthday revelation--I suck at darts! At least I was with some good people, eating some good food, and making a good ending to a rather unpredictable day.

Always,
Mary

Shaken, but not stirred

2007-07-17T13:09:00.000+09:00

EARTHQUAKE!!!

In the last few days several emails have been received containing frantic questions asking if we're still alive and well. Not to worry folks, things here in Nagoya are fine. The Earthquake hit yesterday morning at 10:30 am local time in the prefectures of Niigata and Nagano. The Japan Meteorological Agency reports the magnitude of the quake was a 6.6 on the Japanese scale. At 3:30 in the afternoon an aftershock of 5.6 hit the aforementioned regions. Aftershocks continued throughout the day being felt throughout the country.

Christy, working in Nagano, felt the initial quake in the morning. Myself, working out in Inuyama didn't feel much until the large aftershock, where I received a small shake in my one-story building, that lasted about 30 seconds.

It's still a little surprising to see such commonplace attitudes towards earthquakes. Coming from the Northwest we don't experience much seismic intensity, so to live in a place for ten months and experience four major earthquakes, I find it anything but commonplace.

Japan is appropriately nicknamed among inhabitants as "earthquake island." However in 1995 this local guffaw was seen as a little more than a laughing matter when a 6.9 earthquake struck the heart of Kobe leaving 6,400 people dead and thousands more displaced. The city of Kobe has since rebuilt and literally risen as a Phoenix from the ashes and rubble. The city is once again prosperous and continues to sell some of the best-known beef in the world.

In Niigata and Nagano yesterday, it has been reported that only a handful of people lost their lives, but another 700 were injured, and over 300 homes were destroyed, after almost 8,000 people were evacuated. Tsunami warnings were released for an hour after the earthquake hit, however to our knowledge nothing serious as far as tidal waves are concerned, made their way into the effected areas.

Ironically, we have been very lucky to be placed in a city where threatening weather lurks, but has yet to cause much disruption to our daily lives. Nagoya, although not big and famous like Tokyo and Osaka, is ideally located in what seems to be the center of activity. We're like the quiet straight A student who no one really pays attention to but tends to constantly end up in the center of the drama. We get earthquakes, but they're not too strong. We got snow, but it was timid at best. Our rainy season, albeit unpleasant, has yet to stop the city from running in any way, shape for form. We've got it pretty good in Nagoya, so ease your minds kids. We're just fine!

Over and out,
Mary

Miyajima

2007-07-09T23:59:00.000+09:00

Well, thank God we are 23 and in our traveling prime, otherwise a 4 hour nap wouldn't have been enough to tide us over as day 2 was going to be busy! We were checked out and out the door of our hostel by 10 am and in search of nourishment. We find this by way of Doutor, the Mcdonald's of Japanese coffee shops. Not that the food is crap, rather, they're everywhere! Our staple is getting to be the bagel sandwiches, or shall I say, "Bageru"? Yeah, you heard me.

When we first arrived in Hiroshima we bought a two-day travel pass allowing us unlimited access on the tram and transportation to Miyajima, which translated means Island Shrine. Miyajima lies in the Inland Sea of Japan and is considered a sacred place in Japanese history. When taking the ferry from the mainland out to the island you are greeted by the floating torii, the proverbial welcome mat to the Itsukushima Shrine, also floating. The shrine and gate were built so that when the tide is high the water laps up under the floor of the shrine, so as to give the impression both the shrine and the gate are floating on the water. Regarded as a world heritage site by UNESCO it is also considered one of the three most scenic places in Japan. I would have to say I agree with this assessment. Through the haze we were able to easily make out the large red gate which served as a marker to the island. As soon as we stepped off the ferry and onto the street we were met by a few of the many deer that roam the streets of Miyajima.

The Japanese are rather mystified by the deer, who were once known as the messengers of the Gods. These dear are the coolest things. I don't see the big deal, but I grew up in the Northwest. Some of my friends had deer roaming through their backyards. However, I've never seen deer so friendly. These little guys would walk right up to you nudging your pockets as a way of saying, "I know you've got food in there you stingy bastard...give it up!" One guy wasn't paying attention and the deer started gnawing on his paper bag which held souvenirs of the edible persuasion. The guy yelled "Dame!" (BAD!) and proceeded to hit the deer on the head. Seriously folks, you have to be smarter than the local deer.

When we arrived the tide was low, making it very easy to walk down to the massive, red gate to photograph it from all angles possible. After that we walked through the little town, past the shops selling an infinite number of rice scoopers until, holy moly! That's the biggest rice scooper I've ever seen! Yes, apparently Miyajima is famous for a few things. One of the lesser known fames of Miyajima would be the fact that it is home to the largest wooden rice scooper on the planet. That certainly does rival absurdity of Cawker City, Kansas and the world's largest ball of twine, or the world's largest rotating globe in Yarmouth, Maine (I've been there!). I don't know how long or heavy the scooper was, but I would say as far as wooden rice scoopers go, this one was rather impressive. Once we gathered ourselves from the amazingness of the rice scooper we moved on to find the way up!

As part of the two-day pass we were able to take the cable car to the top of Misen, the tallest mountain on the island. Word on the ferry was there were monkeys waiting at the top...cool. The snow monkeys in Nagano didn't pan out so much, so this was a bit of a thrill. We were lucky enough to score our own car, only after the dude shut my foot in the door. He looked legitimately freaked out and kept bowing. I looked embarrassed and just willed the car to start the climb upwards. The car was completely enclosed, but there were small screens at the top enabling passengers to hear the sounds on the mountain below us. It sounded like a nature soundtrack they play at spas to help you relax! I have never been in a setting where life actually sounds like that. At one point Christy and I were completely silent then started laughing...loud. Every time we heard a bird call the laughing started up again. It was so real it sounded fake. I was sure there were men positioned in the trees with bird call aparati waiting for the cars to go by so they could make their little noises.

Once at the top the amount of haze we were encompassed by was fully revealed to us. The car promised a view of about ten mini islands, none of which were visible that day. The air was thick with humidity and melting clouds. It made for a hot, sticky 30 minutes at the top. We walked a trail for all of five minutes in search of said promised monkeys only to find we had been duped again! So far Japan has promised me monkeys twice, neither time has it delivered! By the end of 30 minutes we were ready to head to cooler parts of the island, and away from the group of traveling students from Australia. Nice kids in the end, but noisy and seemingly unappreciative of what they were experiencing.

After another go at the shops and a few more shots of the floating gate we said goodbye to the deer and hopped back on the ferry. I was rather beat. It was hot, we walked all day, and had only had one meal by 4, which it was now nearing. After the 55 minute tram ride back to the city we gathered our stuff and headed to the train station. We were on the shinkansen headed east by 5:30 and back in town by 8:00. It's amazing how being out of the city for 36 hours can recharge a person mentally and physically. I hadn't felt that good in weeks, maybe months. We were surrounded by intense blues and greens all weekend. Approaching the island that morning I could make out at least six or seven shades of green...and that was through the haze.

When all you see seven days a week is gray, brown, and street cement black, it starts to drain you. I guess that's a price one pays living in the heart of a city. I just wish Nagoya could amp up the green factor. Hiroshima was left in rubble at one point sixty years ago, and the city did an amazing job taking what they could and rebuilding. It takes balls to start from nothing, back at square one, and create a place of peace and tranquility. This trip reaffirmed why I like living in Japan, reminding me of how capable this country is of sharing it's natural beauty. Hiroshima is now officially one of my favorite places, beaten out only by Kyoto at this point, and the margin is small.

HIROSHIMA!

2007-07-05T20:27:00.000+09:00

Happy 4th of July - I hope you all have a great holiday! Eat a hot dog, a burger, and enjoy some sweet American beer for me! Sadly, it has been raining here all day - and for some absolutely crazy reason the 4th is just another day here in Japan.

About a week ago, Mary and I went to Hiroshima for two days. We shelled out for the Shinkansen and zipped over to Hiroshima in just two and a half hours. Upon our arrival we headed straight to the hostel to drop off our backpacks and then set out for the day. Hiroshima is beautiful, bigger than Nagoya, full of big open parks and trees, and equipped with an old-school tram system. Though when you arrive at the dome site an inappropriately loud voice echoes over the speakers saying "This is the site for the ATOMIC BOMB DOME". The tone is much different from other stops, to benefit tourists I'm sure, but it was slightly awkward to say the least. It's as if it is spoken for effect, and all the foreigners skulk off the tram, heads lowered somewhat shamefully. Otherwise, the tram system was great; for 2,000 yen (less than 20 bucks) you can get a two day pass which includes unlimited tram use, the ferry ride out to Miyajima Island, and the rope line on the island - what a deal!

The first day was spent exploring the city, but mostly checking out the atomic bomb sites including the museum and Peace Park. The Atomic Dome, as it is referred to, is located along the river in central Hiroshima and is about about 50 meters from the hypo center of the explosion. The building has been fenced off, preserved in it's damaged state, and is now a UNESCO world heritage site. Once walking all around the site it becomes clear which side was closest to the center of the blast as the twisted metal and somehow salvaged stone structure is damaged in a very telling manner. Nearby is a memorial dripping in paper cranes (tokens of peace) with an interesting sculpture that combines symbols of Christianity, Buddhism, and Shintoism - as a way of bringing all people together, no matter their background. It was here that I was approached by a man who introduced himself (with great English) and promptly showed Mary and I his health booklet declaring him a survivor of the explosion. He is now 61 years old, and was 4 months along in his mother's womb when the bomb exploded in Hiroshima. 9 of his family member have died due to complications linked to their exposure, and he feels it is his duty to show people around the area. Following his lead, the man took us to the (now rebuilt) hospital which was directly underneath the center of the blast. He then showed us an old cemetery in the middle of town where you can see the shadow left by the explosion on the granite headstones. The rock is forever changed both visibly and to the touch. The covered portions of stone (those under shadow) are smooth while the exposed bits are rough when you run your fingers over the surface. Following out personal tour, we headed to the museum and the rest of the memorial sites in the Peace Park area.

It was very strange to see such destruction in the middle of a modern, functional city, where everyone just carries about the day as usual. Tons of Japanese tourists took their photo in front of the dome - which somehow felt very wrong to me. The museum was not unlike the Museum of Tolerance, pulsating with mixed emotions and factual information. The place was quite busy, a large group of Auzzie kids on a school trip had yet to learn when it was or wasn't appropriate to speak loudly. The school kids were nothing compared to the Thai tour group. Maybe forty or so Thai tourist roared through the museum, shutters snapping left and right, while speaking in anything but library voices. I found it difficult to accommodate both the talking and the tragedy. I am a tourist, and have done many things to prove myself as such - nonetheless I strongly feel that there should be a handbook for some people...

I have never in my life experienced weather that likens that of the infamous Japanese summer. Not only was it hot, but it was bloody humid. As soon as you leave the extreme comfort of air con the sweat starts. Now, I have done the 115 degree heat on many a houseboat vacation, but those trips seem to pale in comparison. Did I just run a 10k? No, I just walked from the cool tram out to the sidewalk. I started to melt almost instantly as I was swalled in by the thickness of the air. After spending all day in the seemingly relentless heat and humidity we found the nearest electronics store. I needed new batteries for my camera, and I know all too well that such places have 'tester' massage chairs. Needing a little rest Mary and I passed out in the chairs and took in all the glory that is free air conditioning. We rocked our sunglasses inside, you know - as to be more inconspicuous - and slept for about an hour. We returned to our hostel, took advantage of the roof seating, and did some reading. I decided another little pre-meal nap was due, so I headed downstairs to our dorm and pulled myself onto the top bunk. Shortly thereafter Mary followed suit.

We noticed someone had powered on the air (yes!) and was in the shower. A few minutes later a boxer-clad man strolled into the room and introduced himself. Things are looking good already! We made small talk; the heat, names, hometowns and so on, then proceeded to group nap in the mixed dorm. Fully refreshed, and hungry, we went for dinner and returned to partake in some beers with people we met at the hostel. We all ended up going out that evening. All in all there were about ten people (four girls - the best foreigner ratio I have experienced as of yet); an Irish girl, Australian girl, two Swedish guys, three Brits, a Mexican (who has promised to take us out when we are in Mexico City) and a few Americans including us. We were the only ones who actually live here - everyone else was just traveling. So when the group looked at us for guidance we tried our best, but explained that we are new to Hiroshima too.

The best thing was that everyone was friendly - all in the same boat as far as doing new things and just wanting to hang out with some cool people. After walking for what seemed like forever, the group ended up at this place called Mac's, which was mostly appealing because they were open until 6 am. The lot of us took over the not so big place, put in some music requests, and cleared out a little dance floor for ourselves. The Counting Crows came on and I danced with a Swed, though I felt like I was thrown back onto a houseboat as his style was all to similar to Hutch's well known dance moves, dip and all. I had some great conversations - and maybe to my dad's dismay - as I have not proven to become any less liberal. We lead the pack back towards the hostel, making atop off at the 7 & Holdings as the boys wanted something to snack on. I finally crawled into my top bunk at 5 am. A whole three hours of sleep and a shower later, bloodshot and bleary-eyed we were ready to take on day two in Hiroshima.

-Christy

Out on the town

2007-06-22T13:49:00.000+09:00

Having shed the trappings of Nagoya's brief spring, acquired a new roommate, and feeling rejuvenated from vacation with Dad and Katie Bishop - the ladies of 606 needed a bit of a release. After a brief discussion it was quickly decided that these three gals were in need for a night at ID Cafe. ID is known notoriously among Nagoyans. It's a place where you can go to dance your troubles away to the tune of whichever kind of music moves you on any of the club's seven themed layers. ID is also known for sweaty encounters with unwelcome hands, young Japanese ladies dressed to the nines on the prowl for a foreign lover, and the ever present Brazilian population who come out in drones with seemingly relentless amounts of compliments and propositions. Who wouldn't want to go, I mean really?

Having settled into our oh so spacious apartment following Brenna's move, and become accustom to an extra body around the house, we decided to host a little pre-party before taking on the evening. I posted a sign at work inviting all my fellow Lejacians to join in the festivities; Voan came with bells on, even though she has slept awkwardly the previous night and was concerned how her tweaked neck might effect her dancing abilities. I reassured her by explaining that she could always just move one direction in a circular motion, and also by once more stating what has become a standing rule: we are already thought to be strange, so go with it - it's our job as Gaijin in Japan. Brenna, Mary and I all got ready together in a fully girlish manner. I did eye make-up all around and we all preformed mutual outfit checks; try-ons and final approvals. People started to roll in at about 10:00, and soon our shoe box like quarters were full of friends. I selected the music, playing a classic party mix with all the good stuff. After opening a beer, I realized that all I really wanted to do was settle into the deep, well loved, $30 sofa and people watch. My longing for a good dose of eavesdropping and analysis is a bit handicapped by the sheer size of our lovely abode, so I made my around the room (yes, singular) chatting and such. After my attempt to be social I decided no matter the size of 606, people watching was still the best option.

Just as I was settling in and starting to enjoy my beer Tomo starts to hover over my laptop/our stereo. Scanning the play list he mumbles something in Japanese, all while I hope his one glass of wine hasn't hit him yet and that he won't spill on my multi-purpose lifeline. I first met Tomo at an evening out at Taste, a local restaurant with great outdoor seating and cheap drinks. Tagging along with a large group of foreigners, he made sure to introduce himself in a very Western manner. Just after making butt to chair contact, he quickly stood up and sauntered over to our end of the patio table. I sat scanning, my eyes intently focused on his interesting attire. He was donning very tight womens jeans tinted in some horrifically unnatural hue, an even tighter white tank top and a short denim jacket. Tomo's hair was styled in a way to make it look like effortless rock 'n' roll, though it was quite clear he had designated a decent amount of time to stand in front of the mirror and perfect his quaff. To finish it all off his neck was adorned with a flash collection of necklaces, all placed just so. His walk and total approach was all very calculated. With a slight lean in he extended his hand in an exaggerated manner saying "My name is Tomo, who are you?". Mary, Amr and I politely introduced ourselves, being sure not to exclude any of the niceties. After a grand total of three words he pegged us as Americans. "I study accents", he said with a slow British sounding accent. "Yes, very American, I knew it". Alright then, "I'll have a beer please" I whispered to the waiter as he passed by. Thankfully, Tomo returned to his end of the table and we carried on being American, whatever that means, for the rest of the evening.

Here he is three weeks later hanging over my computer desperate to know who this outstanding collection music belongs to. I claim ownership, reluctantly at first - but my hesitation lifts when I realize how entertaining this could be. He makes his way over to me on the couch, still sauntering. This time Tomo is wearing a different pair of ladies jeans, the same white tank and denim jacket, but instead of the glittering neck-wear he his now rocking a flouncy purple scarf - not unlike one Steven Tyler would wrap around his microphone. To top it all off Tomo has selected a pair of the heinously popular snakes skin, heeled, pointy-toed shoes men in Japan wear in an attempt to boost their confidence, height, and allude to the size of yet another ego warped bodily member. I cannot say that I understand who the wearers of such shoes think they are fooling, but so it goes. Tomo, having forgotten our previous encounter he reintroduces himself, and once more tells me that I am American. Well done chap, nice work. He then asks about what music I am interested in, and I politely reciprocate the question. As he speaks I notice how he drags out and vocally hangs on his every utterance, and soon enough I discover his endless love affair with the Rolling Stones, Mick Jagger to be specific. I later come to find out that Tomo owns every audio sampling of Mick Jagger he can get his hands of and spends a copious amount of time studying Jagger's linguistic stylings. Though odd, this is not the strangest thing I have heard. There is a student in Komaki who purchases original Starsky and Hutch scripts on Ebay to feed his obsession with the 70's television show and to quench his knowledge for English.

"Have you heard of the Stones?" the words leave his lips in what seems to be slow motion laced with a very clear intent to strike my ear with Jagger-esque tonalities. I sit on the couch more than half tempted to explain to the Japanese 'Mick' that in fact I have never heard of such a band - as I grew up under a rock in a very remote village also known as Los Angeles. I muster enough civility to explain that "yes, indeed I am quite familiar with the Rolling Stones", thank you. The conversation moves on to the topic of concerts and artist influences. As it turns out, we both attended the Scissor Sisters show at Diamond Hall a few months previously. I indulge in a basic conversation about the concert, we both agree that it was fantastically entertaining and the showmanship was remarkable. Following another sip of his red wine, Tomo exclaims with his temporarily stained teeth that "the Scissor Sisters are great, even though they're gay", gay of course is said in a whisper compared to the rest of the sentence. To head off my lacking verbal sensor I rush my drink to my lips and rapidly fill my mouth with beer, thereby disallowing me speak even though I want to scream. I nod and excuse myself so as I can go into the bathroom where I can mull over the connection between sexuality and musical capabilities, and Tomo's surprise and amazement to find out that gays can be fully functional musicians. Gasp! When I returned from a mentally internalized vent session in the bathroom, I emerge to find him with his arm draped around his British girlfriend Laura. Maybe she is his own Marianne Faithful which enables fantasy completion, I pretend to understand, set my emptied drink down and announce "it's time to go out".

After a quick three stops on the subway, and an interesting encounter with a Brazilian rocking the Nelly/bandaid look from four years ago, we head to the alleyway housing ID. I have forgotten my Gaijin Card (needed for identification purposes), but have no trouble and am automatically waved in because I am white and have boobs. I'm not one to exploit myself for any reason - however, when it comes to long lines and a lot of waiting, you can catch more flies with honey. Just after throwing our belongings into a locker in the dank ID basement, our group hits the stairs, moving up beyond the techno/trance floor and on to something more suitable for our foreign tastes. I head off the the bar to get drinks for everyone. Not two seconds later a friendly Brazilian saddles up next to me and tries to put the moves on. I love this part, it is too much fun to simply blow off - why not indulge the man? He begins by telling me that I am Australian. So far it seems he is not quite as skilled as my dear friend Tomo when it comes to discerning my nationality. Australian, however, is most people's go to when guessing where I am from - this comes from other teachers, friends, and students alike. One might think that my American accent would throw them - but I guess not. He then asks me to speculate where he is from. I pensively place my forefinger on my chin and after a moment of coy concentration announce "Brazil". The funny thing was that he seemed to be surprised when the correct answer left my mouth.

Finally, we dance. In order to get to a semi-open area the lot of us has to push our way through tangles of gyrating sweaty bodies. The only way to successfully accomplish this task is to link hands Red Rover style and force our way through the crowd. It's not long before Mary finds someone to share her moves with. I keep a watchful 'mom-eye' on all the girls, and it pays off when Mary is suddenly stuck with a bloody nose. She looks at me, grabs my hand, and we make a b-line for the toilet. I have never seen someone move so quickly through so many people. Clutching her nose and attempting to keep her head tilted back, Mar thrusts the bathroom door open startling all the tiny Japanese girls who have taken a moment out of their evening to primp. There is a line for the stalls, so I grab some paper towels and hand them to Mary. Loud and fast movements seem to make these girls uneasy, so I reassure them by saying 'it's ok' in Japanese. The line moves rather quickly and Mary is able to take care of the rest without being under the J-girl microscope, which leaves me to entertain them. I find it funny that communication is somewhat universal. As I have learned, body language and intonation are always telling no matter the person, place or culture. The girls, and I say girls because most of them (though 18) look as if they are 13 at best and just happened to get into Mom's hair and make-up supply stock where they fell in and barely escaped; begin to discuss my hair, eyes, and nose. Instead of feeling judged, I lean in and offer to let them touch my hair after I explain 'it's natural, ie permo'. Eyes light up like menorahs on the eighth night and they gladly accept the offer. Mary makes a full recovery and is ready to make her way back out to the sweaty pit that is the dance floor. After exploring some of the other themed layers we meet up with some other friends from work, and a few students too.

The music ends all too early, and all club goers are asked to take it to the streets. The smallish alleyway is suddenly flooded with deaf, stumbling bodies. Another group of Brazilians hang around close to where we are standing, indecisively pending what we should do next. One the onlookers comes up to me and tells me he wants to take me dancing, 'real' dancing. I tell him that my boyfriend probably wouldn't like that too much, but thanks for the offer. He is a bit relentless as there is no male presence near by - so I point to my coworker Joe, and explain that he is just over there. Being a gem, Joe picks up and the ruse is complete. The guy actually apologized to Joe, and told him he was lucky. That was all I needed for the night. After a bit of aimless loitering, I decided it was bedtime as work started the following morning at 10.

My hair smelled like smoke for three days after three washes, a sign of a good night out - but one that makes you want to gag the next morning. Sometimes a girl has got to rattle the cage....

-Christy

2007-06-15T10:40:00.000+09:00

It rained yesterday. A rather normal amount if you're from the NW, or have spent extensive time there. For Japan it was a little crazy. As if we really needed to add to the humidity. My hair is going crazy over here. Work on Thursdays is always nice because I start at 1:20 and end at 5:40. It's a short day, 5 lessons, and then I'm on the first train back to the city. I talked with my family in the morning, and wished the rain away as best I could before going to work. My wishing didn't do much as it was rather wet when I left the apartment. I slapped a plastic bag down on my bike seat, opened my clear, plastic, 100 yen umbrella and started the 9 minute bike ride to the station, steering with one hand while clinging to the flailing umbrella with the other. There wasn't much wind, but it was blowing at just the right angle to jerk my protection in every way possible.

Most mornings the ride to the station is a quick one, weather permitting, of course. This day wasn't so bad, less people on the sidewalks, but the rain was slowing me down. As I approached the block to let me know I'm at my half way mark I see a guy standing in the rain. He's in normal enough clothes: jeans and a rugby shirt, sans jacket or umbrella to shield him from the moderate soaking he was getting. I got closer and made my way to the far right side of the sidewalk. I would hate to get to close to him and risk ocular injury and I almost incurred walking too close behind and old woman who was indecisive in her walking and a little too Parkinson's with her parasol. She almost took my eye out! Anyhow, when it rains my bike makes a tiny bit of noise just from the peddling. This is a nice, subtle warning system for people ahead, letting them know a crazy foreigner was approaching. Well, on this day, it did indeed work, however I didn't get to play the role of crazy. As I got within about ten feet of this guy he turns to me and starts screaming in Japanese spouting off what I can only imagine to be the equivalent of extremely ill-tempered expletives. He had a crazy look in his eye which caused me to move even further to the right. I had to ride by with caution as the plastic bag beneath my ass was causing me to ride a veritable slip 'n slide, and God forbid I get too close to this guy.

I couldn't help starring at the guy who was calling me a dirty American whore (I can only use my imagination at this point. I don't speak Japanese, let alone crazy-man Japanese) however, this was a mistake. As I was just even with him he stepped closer to me, opened his palm and took a swing. What the hell? The crazy bastard tried to hit me! May I take this opportunity to say that this action was completely lacking provocation?! The only thing I was guilt of was trying to get to work relatively dry, which, by the way, wasn't happening. In the only quick-thinking defensive action I could muster I lowered my umbrella and tried to shield myself from whatever fury this guy was out to give. That poor umbrella never saw it coming. In one fell swoop the crazy bastard tore the thing practically in two. By this I mean the plastic was almost completely ripped from it's pathetic wire frame. I ditched the now piece of crap and peddled on. The dude swung again, and continued to scream. I screamed back, lowering myself to his level of crazy.

Now at this point I am shocked and getting wetter by the minute. Frustration started to seep in and I'm pretty sure that's when the steam started to rise from my head. What the hell was that? I've never had someone take a swing at me. Wait, I take it back. There was this one time one the court, I was a Junior, and we were playing the ghetto team from up the road. Crazy bizzle fought me for a jump ball, ref blew the whistle and she swung. Knocked me straight on the side of my head. I was in shock then, too. I barely remember my Dad storming onto the court threatening bodily harm to the two refs, the opposing coaching staff, and the psycho that hit his kid. I swear, I must attract crazy. Maybe that, or there's something about me that says, "Hey...having a bad day? Go ahead, hit me a few times. You'll feel better." If this is the case it doesn't bode well for my future romantic relationships, he he.

Stay safe and steer clear of crazies!

Mary

Nova in the news!

2007-06-15T10:25:00.000+09:00

Here we are again, Nova is in the news for a fourth time since January. Yet again, this is not good press.

The first time around Nova was dragged into the public eye for having teachers based in Tokyo in possession of some moderately rough drugs. They were under suspission of drug trafficing in November, but the story didn't leak until after the first of the year.

Second time we saw Nova's name in the paper it was an economic-based story. Apparently Nova had been had and not been providing refunds to students who had requested them. To not do this is basically illegal here, so some people were rather irritated.

Number three hit at the end of March when Lindsay Hawker, a Nova teacher from the UK was found dead on a balcony in Tokyo. She had been followed (stalked) by a student, who requested for her to give him private lessons. She agreed, and in a not-so-thought-out move agreed to meet him alone at his apartment. She was found deceased a few days later. The man hasn't been caught as of this date.

We move on to the most recent news sighting, which was in yesterday's paper. I'm providing a link to a Japanese newspaper website set in English, as it's better to read this straight from the source:

http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/dy/national/20070614TDY01002.htm

There you have it: Nova in the news!

Just keeping you informed,
Mary

A Day of Rage

2007-06-11T09:12:00.000+09:00

Last Friday I came across something I've never experienced in Japan. Actually, a couple of somethings. In the last few weeks I have had training sessions at Lejac on Fridays. I was recently promoted at work, thus requiring extra training on evaluations, observations, and all the paperwork I can handle. The great part of training is I spend four lessons at Lejac in Nagoya, yet have to get back out to Inuyama, so I get one lesson period for travel, as well as my normal break. By the time I reach Inuyama I am only there for three lessons and then it's home again. The other great thing about training at Lejac is I don't have to leave the apartment until 1:00 for my 1:20 start time. Normally, if going out to Inuyama, I must be out of the apartment by 12:15. So, on Friday, I left the house at 1:00 and took my time weaving through the crowds that form as one gets closer to the station.

Normally I park my bike outside of the Meitetsu entrance, so when I come home from Inuyama, I don't have to hunt for the damn thing, but on Friday I spaced out and passed right by it. I was almost to Lejac when I hopped off suddenly and proceeded to lock the bike up. Just as I am finishing I hear shouting. Not the normal shouting heard in a supermarket when people are trying to persuade you to buy fish, no...this was angry shouting. Normally at home this might not be enough to make me turn my head, but in Japan it's rare, especially on the street in the middle of the afternoon. So as I am locking my bike I look up to see two dudes in their respective cars screaming at each other. It's these times that I wish I understood more Japanese, because there was certainly nothing polite being said. As I stand around to watch as all innocent bystanders do, I noticed the people around me stopped walking and took notice as well. Oh good, I thought. I'm not the only freak out to see some blood. (Granted, had it actually come to that I would have been rather freaked out.) The argument continues as the two men inch their cars forward, coming to a stop at the red light. The volume of the argument escalated and the guy closer to me must have really said something nasty about man #2's Mom because about three seconds later, dude #2 was out of his car and candy-apple red in the face. Okay, now we're getting to the good stuff.

Within another five seconds the passenger door to dude #1's car is open and dude #2 is now in the car from the waist up. My internal warning signals start to flash and I get my cell phone ready to dial 1-1-9 (Japanese emergency number). This could actually get ugly! Dude #2 continues to SCREAM at dude #1 and vice versa. After another 20 seconds (longest traffic light, ever!) dude #1 freaks out with the scream of all screams, dude #2 backs off, slams the door hard enough to knock it off it's hinges, crams himself back into his own car, and the argument continues as the light finally changes and they drive off, continuing in the same direction.

At this I look over my shoulder to see the jaws around me dropped to about knee-length. All I could do, was turn on my heels, give a little smile, and clap my hands together. Okay, I said to myself out loud, who's ready for some Nova training?! It made for a good story to tell everyone in the staff room upon my arrival two minutes later. I'm not going to lie, my heart was beating a little fast...side effect to a vicarious adrenaline rush. All in all, not a bad start to the work day.

Later on, around 3 pm, we look out the window of Lejac to see that its gone from pleasantly sunny to an all-out downpour. Christy arrived to work at quarter to five drenched as all hell. She managed to look great and professional however. As we later came to find this was the start to a three day thunder storm. I went out to Inuyama after training to work three lessons and finish out my day. In the last lesson, about fifteen minutes in, there's a huge crack of lightening, thunder loud enough to shake the building, and then black. Our power was knocked out for about four minutes. I was moderately concerned, but nothing phases a Nova student apparently. They all just sat there, waiting patiently. I'd be a little pissed if I paid 8200 yen to come to Nova to sit in the dark, but hey, these people are veterans, this is not their first Japanese rainy season as it is for yours truly. The thunder continued through the weekend, which students said was abnormal since the thunder doesn't usually arrive until the end of raining season....neat. I guess we've got a lot to look forward to in the next six weeks!

Rainy Oregon love--

Mary

Oh these times, they are a changin'....

2007-06-03T07:49:00.000+09:00

90 days....

Spring is definitely in full bloom now that we've hit June. Although the official start of Summer is less than three weeks away, we are starting to feel some consistent Spring weather. It's warm when we wake up, when we go to bed, and closing in on hot during the hours in between. Because it is so warm at night Christy and I leave the sliding glass door to our room open, with the curtains back, so we can have a breeze while we sleep. Having the door open works until around 5 am, give or take 15 minutes, when the sun starts to rise. Our doors face the east, so these days, when the sun gets up, so do I. It doesn't seem to bother Christy in the slightest, she sleeps right through it. So around 5, every morning, I draw the curtains, attempting to block out the light, and the heat that is soon to follow. Soon enough the breeze at night won't be enough, and we'll need to break out the fans. This day is drawing near.

The weather was so nice last night it was comfortable walking/riding our bikes around Nagoya. Christy and I headed to a leaving party last night for one of her coworkers and really good friends, Voan. She is a kick in the pants, that one. Always has a smile and a kind word to say about another person. She's the type of girl you really hate to see go. Her replacement won't be nearly as sweet or friendly, or capable for that matter. About twenty people turned out for the party, held at Yamachan's. His Izakayas are famous throughout Nagoya for having the best chicken wings. I think it's the BBQ Udon and cheap drinks that acts as the attraction for me. Last night, because it was a huge group, there was a set menu and all you can drink for 3000 yen. Now, for people that like Japanese food, this is a great deal. For the people that sat at our table...well, we had some rather spendy drinks. In situations like these, you're really only there for the company anyhow. I sat at a table with girls from Christy's branch. They're a hoot! Girls who are very down to Earth, but still love to gossip and take the piss out of each other. They made for a very fun evening, and in the end you really don't care if you got the 3000 yen's worth.

The party was bittersweet in the end. I'm not sure about myself, but Christy is likely to see Voan again someday. I would love to as well. But with situations like Nova, the people you meet here are never guaranteed to settle down in one place, making them hard to track down. It's sad to have people like Voan leave, she's one of the great ones here. And although the party is a good excuse to get everyone together on a Saturday night, it's still a little sad in the end, knowing one of the ones we like is about to leave the country. This makes me think of our own leaving party that will occur sometime in the next 90 days. I think we are really finding our places here. We've just had Brenna move in and she's quickly becoming one of us. The past 10 days have gone by quite quickly, and the next 10 are likely to progress at an even quicker rate. I'm not yet able to say that I will miss Japan (on the whole) when I go, but there are people and things I will be sad to leave. For those of you who know me well, I'm not one to make a separation easy. They're tough on me, so attaching to things is a blessing as well as a curse.

So I am left with the decision to continue to make the most out of our 90 days in Japan, and after June I am refusing to work overtime (but don't hold me to that because you all know I'm a sucker when it comes down to it). We need more time to travel around and see what we can see before the opportunity has completely passed us by. On that note I am off to work, on what looks to be another beautiful Spring day......

Take Care,
Mary

Birthday and some backtracking....

2007-05-30T15:50:00.000+09:00

Long time no type, and it seems to be my usual story. After nine long days of work I thought I would spend part of my afternoon off contributing to the blog as I have been a bit absent lately. Let's go back to the end of April shall we?

Saturday April 28th, 2007.
A fellow Nova co-worker (Voan from Melbourne) and I decided to have a blow out birthday party together at the end of April, perfectly in between our own big days. Voan made reservations at Shooter's, a western (not country western but western as in western civilization) bar in Fushimi for Saturday. A sign went up at work and everyone was ready for a big night out. It been a while since I had really gone out - and by really I mean going out knowing that the following day of work would be quite, well, challenging. After a quick trip to the gym and a bite to eat I proceeded to indulge in one of my favorite rituals of all time: taking an hour and half to primp. This process includes a long and very hot shower, ample time spent in my short dressing robe with my curly locks pinned high a-top of my head so it dries with the right shape, and of course dancing and singing around the apartment while listening to whatever it is that moves me at the time (usually something 80's). It had been a while since I had preformed said ritual - far too long in fact. The whole process reminded me of the Thursday nights packed into the Kappa Delta bathrooms; everyone singing along with the radio and fighting for mirror space. My nostalgia continued when we blew a fuse - Freebell 606 nor 1915 Hilyard can handle more than three electronic items being used simultaneously as it sends much too much voltage pumping through the circuits at once. All dressed and ready to go, a group of party goers headed to Kamejima and caught the train to the birfday venue. The gathering was stellar, and had a great showing of friends and students alike. Voan and I were feeling celebratory and older so we started drinking. Next thing I know a Jaeger-bomb is set down in front of me - my immediate thought: "So it's going to be one fo those nights huh?" Like the champ/sorority woman I am, I take it all in and continue on. People were buying me drinks; there was singing, laughing, and fantastic company. It felt like my 21-er all over again. Well into the night, when the group had dwindled down to only the most dedicated, a dude co-worker arrived and proceed to walk past the lot of us making a b-line for the new girl who had recently trained at our branch. Catherine, Mary, Victoria, Kiara, Voan and I get to talking and end up doing what all girls do - and chose to move the conversation into the bathroom. Not a minute after we had squeezed into the oh so sizable bar bathroom and somehow managed to close the door behind us our seemingly 'perspective' male co-worker was the immediate topic of conversation. I start off by noting how odd it was that he basically igored us and added that I found it increasingly strange because he always seems to be flirting with me. With looks of confusion and without the bat of an eyelash Victoria and Catherine say in unison "but I thought he was flirting with me!" Special, and this so would happen. I wish I could say we were all mature about it, but such is not the case. Disgruntled and drunk we headed back to our table and acted as if we were snotty seventh graders, showing great immaturity and having a total blast. The funniest part of the whole drama is that it forced me to think and ask myself if I have lost the ability to discern between someone being friendly and someone being flirty. Was I blinded by the White or totally misinterpreting the so called signals? Though I had four others to confirm the flirty behavior - I fear that living on this island, where I am so very distanced from the American Male and his most common and cherished tactics, has dulled my once sharp abilities in the flirtation department. All in all it was an amazingly fun evening, and I felt like I was back in school. Now the biggest difference with school and work is that it is much easier to sit through class with a painstakingly awful hangover in sweat pants than it is to be the teacher. Having woken up at 6:30 am still bit happy if you will, I decided to be productive. I skyped, I did the dishes, and I attempted to go to the little market downstairs only to discover that it was even too early for the convini to be open. With a quick wipe under the eyes and a full bottle of water I headed off to work - a full day at one of the slowest branches of all time. I was in a fantastic mood - the sun was shining, I didn't need a jacket, and I had just had a really fun if not funny evening. Voan sent me a text to check in and inform me that she had already chucked-up, as she says, twice at work. I wrote her back with a merry outlook and a boost telling her "you can do it!" The it happened, my happy sunny world came crashing down all around me in the middle of my first lesson. Whatever alcohol was in my system was now gone and I thought I was going to die. It's not really a high point in life when you are teaching a beginner student how to say "eraser" and feel like taking a field trip to the bathroom. In fact I am pretty sure I can now scientifically prove that teaching or doing any kind of interactive work furthers and prolongs hangovers.

***

Fast forward to May 8th, the actual b-day.
I want to begin by saying thank you to everyone who thought of me and took the time to send cards and presents. It totally made my day, and brought a little taste of home to my first birthday in a foreign country. The weather finally snapped into spring, so Mary and I went for a quiet picnic at Tsuramai park. We loaded up our bikes with goodies; crackers, cantaloupe, spring rolls, and drinks. Dressed to get tan (tanks and skirts) I thought it would be best to invest in some sun screen. I don't think I have ever been so pale before, and yes this counts all of my years living in Oregon. As our Saipan trip hadn't gone as well weather-wise as we had hoped, Mar and I were sporting a ghostly appearance. At the grocery store I had to carefully pick through the tiny selection of sun screens. I say carefully because many of the screens and blocks contain skin-whitener. Awesome - isn't that adding insult to injury in my situation? As soon as the sun comes out most Japanese women whip out their protective gloves, long sleeve summer-ware, and of course the parasols. There are a select few in the younger generation who love the tanning beds and are fondly referred to as "yaki tai hito", which means "a person who wants to get tan". Now, yakitori refers to food cooked over a charcoal grill - basically this is the older generation's way of saying saying "damn those young kids wanting to grill themselves like chicken to look like Westerners". Hilarious (tangent complete, back to the b-day). After successfully selecting sunscreen sans whitener, we set up shop at the park. Throw down a blanket, set up the food, and it hook-up my handy dandy ipod/speaker set. It was an absolutely lovely afternoon, and man did the fellow park-goers love us! First was the crew of old folks being wheeled around for their daily roll through the park by staffers from the nearby hospital. They all pointed and yelled "konichiwa" in excitedly shriveled voices, we replied and they all laughed. This was followed by several people who stood at a distance pointing, and those who took pictures. Randomly, an older woman approached us and asked if she could chat for a while. Her English was quite good and she was very nice - just wanting to know why we came to Japan and what we were doing here. At the end of our encounter she offered us a loaf of bread saying that is was very delicious and we should take it, please. We graciously accepted. Only in Japan, I swear. Following our park adventures we met up with some friends and 606's new addition Brenna for some birthday chow. Mar and I had taken our bikes and Brenna just popped off the train. We attempted to ride with two on a bike, but man is that difficult. I gave Brenna my sandals so she didn't have to bear the walk in heels and we made our way back to Freebell. It was the first hot day we had experienced in Nagoya, and when I decided to give up my slow and very awkward bike riding for walking I could feel the day's heat under my feet, still absorbed in the concrete.

23 and so much fun

Love,

Christy

Let the coutdown begin!

2007-05-24T00:19:00.000+09:00

Okay my friends, it's here. The moment I have been waiting for since, well, about three weeks ago. Since about half way through February I've been caught up with counting the number of weeks that Christy and I have been in Japan. I then calculate the percentage of a year said weeks make up. I generally do this via the calculator on my cell phone while hiding under my blankets, so the glow of said cell phone doesn't bother Christy while she is sleeping and I am attempting to fall asleep. Big breath in! I also attempt to work out how much money I will make in overtime each month. I'm never right, because Nova has thee different types of OT. None of them pay more than 125% by the way, which I think is utter crap, however, not too surprising. Anyway. So after getting bored with counting the weeks we've been here I started counting the weeks we have left. Well, that number sounded big, as did the the number of months which remain in our contract, so I counted days. For some reason, days, although a bigger number than the rest, sounded a lot better in my head, and I get to countdown daily, instead of weekly, therefore allowing more numbers to pass on a more frequent basis, further allowing Mary to feel as though time is actually moving. Big breath in!

So here we are with a tentative leaving date in mind. Not the date that we will quit Nova, but rather the date we will leave this country and move on to the next one. And as it is after midnight in my country, the countdown can officially begin. As of today, we have 100 days left in Japan. I am all too aware of how quickly this will actually pass me by. We have so many things we still want to do while we are here, and the amount of overtime I continue to sign up for every month is not allowing for much time to accomplish these things. Still left on our things to do in Japan list:

baseball game
sumo (watching, not participating)
visit Hiroshima
visit Disneyland Tokyo (yes, this is actually important to me)
climb Mt. Fuji
fly to Hokkaido
see the firework shows in summer
experience Obon
go dancing at the seven floor club, ID (each floor plays a different genre of music)
buy a yukata
collect all the touristy crap I've been sending home, but this time send it home to myself
actually pray in a temple

This is all pretty doable, and half of it we wouldn't have been able to do until the summer anyhow. So now, in our last 100 days left in Japan, it's time to start moving. The last 100 days have gone by fast. Faster than I thought they would. I'm surprised it's almost June. We have 100 days left to make the final decisions of our trip home. For those of you who have not heard, Christy and I have decided to head West, and not stop until the States. It's a rather ambitious journey we have planned, and it will cost us quite a few pretty yen, but we've worked hard to save a lot of money up to this point, and now we're working on spending it. Over the last 10 weeks we have put rather careful thought into where the trip Westwill take us. And in those ten weeks we have planned, and changed plans, and revised, and revamped, and purchased tickets, thus finalizing some details. So as of now, this is the list of countries to be visited on our trip of a lifetime:

Thailand
Vietnam
Cambodia (if we can swing it)
India
the UAE (United Arab Emirates--we have a layover on our way to Turkey)
Turkey
Greece
Spain
Portugal
Morocco
the Dominican Republic
Venezuela
Peru
Mexico

That's 14 counties, with an allotted 15 weeks. There are two weeks allotted for Greece, and another two for India. Anything other than that is in the air. We have purchased tickets from India to Turkey, and Spain to the Dominican Republic. Come to find, getting off this damn island makes for an expensive plane ride. Tickets right now are pricey, but we're hoping they come down in a month or two. That's about all you're getting as far as details for now, as this entry is long and nothing is all that concrete. Plus, it gives you a reason to stay tuned. Miss you all!

Mary

Bye Bye Barbie

2007-05-22T18:30:00.000+09:00

As the recent days have been filled with sun I am as excited as can be at the prospect of turning my Casper-like complexion into a recognizable human-like color. I'll take beige, I'll take ecru, I'll take bone, anything but this translucent white I am rocking presently. So as I happily ride my bike, sans sweatshirt, to the gym I am entirely willing to soak up the precious, pigment-altering rays. I pass several woman riding or walking with umbrellas. Ladies, what are you doing? No rain, this is sun. We like the sun. Okay, well that's where I am wrong. We don't like the sun. Here, the sun is bad, almost evil. I found this out when looking for a soft sunscreen at the store and finding nothing less than 45+. Half of them had whitening agents to boot! Not only are these women carrying umbrellas, but are wearing black gloves. Come to think of it, a significant portion of the outfits I saw were black or a very dark hue of brown, green, or blue. No sun on the face, no sun on the hands, no sun ANYWHERE! I happen to think this is crazy, but I come from a culture where we value our time in the vitamin k-rich glow of that giant ball of fire in the sky. The darker you are in some places in the US, the more beautiful you are. In fact, look around. The exotic look of the tropics is still in. Stars don't dare spend much time tanning, but those mystic tan spray places sure make a killing come time award-season. We're all dying to get that healthy carcinogenic glow.

This is where the Japanese have us. We all wonder why Japanese women don't show any signs of aging until they hit 68. Year-round avoidance of the sun at all costs. That would be a giant reason. Number two, it's something to do with the moisture in the air. Okay, so carry the umbrellas, wear the gloves, and the long-sleeves and pants, but why on Earth do you people insist upon black? That just makes walking abut 30 times more miserable. Wouldn't some nice white or ivory linens do you nicely? Hell, they'd suit me just fine. But then again I'd prefer to go around in a bikini at this point so I stop looking like a ghost. But I buy into the Western ideals when it comes to beauty.

In American culture we are taught from the wee ages that a woman resembling a Barbie doll is something we should all strive to be, or find as a mate. Blond hair, blue eyes, big boobs, small waist, decent sized hips, and feet that are in a permanent high-heel-wearing stature. If you can have this and a killer tan, you're set! You're likely to find your Ken leaning against your pink corvette waiting for you to come back to your Malibu Mansion. At least this is what we're led to believe. Now the rules in my current residence are different. Big boobs, yes, they all want those too, as well as the height we all crave. But that's perhaps as far as it goes. Blond hair and blue eyes are out. Instead, brown hair and black eyes are what is most desired. (Anyone else think it's odd that they're born with black hair and brown eyes, and want it reversed?) And it's not just dark eyes, but big is what is most attractive. I'm talking almost bug-eyed big. Not quite, but I'm making a point, here. As for the waist, well, everything from the boobs down should resemble a tall 12 year old male. They want the long legs, but one should be even throughout the waist and hips. Clothing is actually designed to enhance the look of the non-existent bust and to even out any hint of a womanly shape after that. Ever notice a traditional kimono with the obi that's thicker that need be? This trend has been around a long time, it would appear. As for the heels, well, the young generation has kept that too. God forbid you're caught outside your house in anything less than a two inch rise to your heels. It wasn't until recently that I realized it's not Barbie these women are after. No, it's a new generation of doll for a new generation of women. Ladies and gentelmen BEHOLD THE BRATZ DOLL:

Look carefully at the one on the left. Now, make her eyes much darker, her shirt not so cartoony, perhaps a bit more slutty, and chnage that handbag to a Louis Vuitton and voila! Now you have what I see every day walking in and out of the station. For our culture, Barbie works, but the Bratz, they're a Japanese phenom as far as the ideal look is concerned. So there you have it. It looks as though there may be a doll to suit any cultures ideals for beauty.

Mary

Rise and Shine

2007-05-22T18:03:00.000+09:00

When we first arrived in Japan my internal clock was thrown off severely for the first week. We were waking up at 3 and 4 am ready to start our days. After the first seven days we slowly started to ween down to 5 then 6 and finally 7 am. This took about another five weeks. By the time we had been in Japan for two months and moved into Freebell our bodies were finally on a normal wake-up schedule. The fact that the season was turning to Winter rapidly helped a good deal. For a good three or four months sleeping until 10 has been no problem. And if wanting to push it to 11 you might have to extend some real effort as the sun is most definitely high in the sky and generally the laws of light and physics win over sheer willpower. I've found this fact to continue in it's accuracy even now that it's closing in on June.

A few months ago we got some dark blue curtains for the bedroom. When the sunlight hits hard and attempts to creep through they turn a rather strange plum color, but they still did the trick. It's been heating up quickly the last month or so, and as a preventative measure we open one of the sliding glass doors while we sleep at night to allow for some much needed ventilation. The fresh air at night makes sleeping a welcomed task and an easy one at that. That is until about 5 am, when the sun comes up. Eight months later and I am back to waking up at 5 am, everyday, like clock work. This wouldn't be so bad, but there is absolutely nothing for me to do at five in the morning and when you don't work until one in the afternoon it's not really worth getting out of bed. Lucky for me I am able to fall back asleep after confirming the time with my cell phone. 5:04 am? Yep, check, back to bed it is. Not kidding, it's been every night in the last week. So, I am able to fall back asleep at five, but as we live downtown, in a rather business-like district there is never-ending construction on our street.

If you walk onto our balcony and look off to the right you can see the construction of a new hotel about 150 yards due South. It's a cool looking building and the builders have made a ton of progress since we moved in six months ago, but when it sounds like someone is taking the lead pipe from the Clue board game and bashing it onto the metal support beams that run throughout the skeleton of the soon-to-be hotel, it loses it's appeal...fast. The bashing is constant, rhythmic, and lasts anywhere from 10-30 minutes any given morning. So this combined with the brutal sunlight gets a girl out of bed by 8:30 every morning, 7 on the weekends. Not my weekends (Tuesdays and Wednesdays) but the weekends of regular people (Saturdays and Sundays).

Now although this may sound mildly like a complaint it's really not. The bonuses of nature's alarm system is that it's reliable, unlike modern technology, and it makes me happy every morning. Who doesn't love waking up to bright, clear, blue skies and fresh air? The skies have generally stayed clear and bright throughout the days, bringing temperatures in the 70s. It's supposed to be 80 this Thursday. Spring hasn't been around too long, only about a month, but summer is just around the corner, which means The Rainy Season. Typically the rainy season starts mid-June and lasts through sometime in mid to late-July. But as we have learned the weather in Japan this year has been anything but typical. I put money on the fact that the rainy season will be a slight bit early this year, hitting us sometime at the very beginning of June. I really hope I am wrong, but I see it happening. Until the rain, I will continue to wake up as if I were in a Disney movie--sun shining, people, happy, and birds chirping, (okay, they're really nasty pigeons cooing, which really freaks me the hell out when you can hear them as you wake up, calling to you on the other side of the seemingly thin curtain, but I am trying to be positive here.).

Mary

Saying "Aloha" to Hawaii

2007-05-18T22:16:00.000+09:00

In recent weeks I've started to notice comments students are making regarding traveling to the US. It's something I have heard since coming to Japan, but only recently have I paid any attention to what students are actually talking about. Whenever the topic of travel comes up in class I get particularly excited. I blame this on my love of travel, which I blame on my parents, as we've been over. So we start with the usual questions: Where have you been? How long were you there? What was your favorite part of (said country)? Once that gammet has run we can go into further detail, although this also depends on student level and willingness to share. You'd think travel would be a safe zone as far as discussion, but this is Japan, and nothing is ever as you would think it to be.

So a few weeks ago I am visiting another branch on a shift swap and I get to talking about a student's recent travels. I asked if she'd ever been to America. She said no. I wasked what countries she had visited. She said she'd been to several SE Asian countries and one random Eastern European country. "And I've been to Hawaii." At this my ears perked up. Seriously? Hawaii? She just said she'd never been to America. "Hawaii," I ask. "How was it?" She proceeded to tell me that the food was bad, but the weather was great. She swam on the beach and went shopping. In typical Japanese fashion her vacation was five days and four nights....whoppee. The whole time she's spouting off details of her rather mundane trip to the islands I can't stop thinking of how I am pretty sure Hawaii represents one of the little stars on our current flag. I mean, I'm pretty sure. I'm losing track of important American Hisotry facts living over here.

In the next two weeks I start listening as more and more students tell me how they've never visited American, but have been to Hawaii. What the hell is this? Since when (1950s) is Hawaii not a part of the United States of America? Seriously! Guys, I know it's not attached to the rest of the country, but neither is Alaska, and most Japanese people remember to add it into the mix. These people even vacation in such exotic hot spots as Guam and Saipan, knowing full well that in some way they too are a part of America. Yet, Hawaii, is not. Nope. Hawaii is still a tony grouping of islands waiting to be claimed. Now, a theory arises as to why the greater Nova student base does not recognize Hawaii as a part of the US: First and foremost, there are a TON of Japanese people that either inhabit or visit Hawaii yearly. This actually puts some students off, as they would rather go to a place where Japanese is not as commonly spoken as English. Half of the Hawaiian food was influenced by Japanese cuisine. Now, the hole that belongs in this theory. A crapload of Japanese visit Cairnes, Austrailia, which is another great place for Japanese people-watching. (It's like bird watching, but better.) Cairnes is still considered part of the nation of Australia. And the fact that Japanese is spoken there as much as English somehow does not act as a deterent. I don't really get this, but it's besides the point.

My point is, Hawaii, for the last 48 years, has been an official part of the US. We gave them a flag, we gave them a bird, a song, and a flower. These stupid, useless facts alone, should be enough to symbolize the adoption of Hawaii into statehood. No one from America doubts that Okinawa is part of Japan. When you ask a person, "Hey, ever been to Japan?" No one ever says, "No, but I went to Okinawa." I know that islands are often considered a bit different from the mainland, but when you change the damn flag, that flies over EVERY government office in a nation with hundreds of millions of citizens, you'd think it would be a clear sign that it's not just a territory, or a place to station military, but rather, it is indeed part of a country.

In closing, useless facts about Hawaii:

State Bird: Nene Goose
State Song: Hawaii Ponoi
State Flower: Hibiscus
State Mammal: Humpback Whale
State Tree: Kukui
State Fish: Humuhumunukunukuapua'a (that's humu-humu nuku-nuku apua a, I learned this when I was 11)
Translated it means "fish with the nose of a pig". It's also known as the Trigger Fish.

Mary

TOKYO!

2007-05-01T17:45:00.000+09:00

It's a little strange to go from Matsumoto to the largest, richest, busiest city in Japan. An epi-center for fashion, nightlife, culture, and commerce, Tokyo is like nothing else. Day in and day out 20 million people walk the streets, ride the trains, work, shop, and help the city turn it's gears. The thought of going to Tokyo can be really daunting. The city is incredibly intimidating due to hustle and bustle of everyday life. When I first moved to Japan, honestly, Tokyo was not a city I had any real need to see. It's too big. It's too busy. It's unfriendly. Ironically, these are the same reasons that foreigners don't like coming to New York City. That and they think everyone is a gun-wielding freak looking for someone to shoot. Once I was in Japan I figured I would eventually get to Tokyo, if not for Disneyland at least, however I was in no real rush to experience Tokyo life.

After Matsumoto, Tokyo was a welcomed change. I don't do sleep very well. I need a little action. Tokyo offered action. It is home to such areas as Shinjuku, Harajuku, Rippongi, and Tokyo Dome City, our home for three days. The Tokyo Dome is like any other covered baseball stadium, but what makes it stand out is it's immediate surroundings--Tokyo Dome City. There were roller coasters, restaurants, a shopping mall, and the Tokyo Dome Hotel. We found our rooms here, and were quite thankful to be in the middle of such a populated area, day and night. The rooms were great, the bathrooms were HUGE, and the bathrobes were a little sexy if I do say so. Not what you need when you're bunking with your family, but I would make a trip back just to purchase one for my arrival back to the states. The hotel was an extensive tower reaching 40-something floors into the Tokyo skyline. We were on the 36th floor and had a beautiful view of Eastern Tokyo (I think?). And apparently when a thunderstorm rolls through the neighborhood, being 36 floors up allows for a cool view. This was told to my brother and I as apparently we sleep like logs. My parents informed us the walls shook the booms were so loud. I was reminded of the thunderstorms we've bared while in Hawaii, Italy, and France. Oddly enough the rain seems to follow this pack of Oregonians. I welcome it, so long as it burns off by morning.

I digress. The hotel was just one small thing on a long list of reasons I loved Tokyo. Other highlights: the friendly people, the normal fashion, Ueno park, Asakusa shrine, street markets, and the Cherry Blossoms. The city was a typical big city, but held a mysticism that you won't find in Milan, NYC, Rio De Janiero, London or Mexico City. Perhaps it's because of the amazing growth since WWII, or the fact that it's home to the most advanced technological gadgets, or even that old meets new and East meets West. Whatever it is, Tokyo has a quality not shared with any other city, in Japan or the world over. I was so pleased to see that women dress like normal people. Japanese fashion is NOT accurately represented in Nagoya. Women dress like whores, really, I am not exaggerating, don big hair reminiscent on a Texas rodeo queen in the 80's, and wear things as frilly and girly as possible. In Tokyo, fashion takes the side of sophistication and class, where those with money can be obvious, it doesn't mean that those without can't fake it. People with little cash on hand are still able to fit into the norms of fashion in Tokyo. In Nagoya, you have it or you don't, and the distinction is so obvious it smacks you in the face. The fashion alone is enough to make this not-so-girly girl want to relocate to the capital city.

Another difference I noticed was although Tokyo is much larger and much busier than Nagoya, it had a calm atmosphere. People here seem so rushed all the time, and yet are absolutely clueless to their surroundings. It is most common to walk behind a person only to have them stop in the middle of the stairs, turn around, and knock you out of their way while they retreat into the direction from which they came. Even though the folks in Tokyo are busy, they know where they are going, and are able to get there in a relatively calm manner. People in Nagoya run around like morons, completely oblivious to who may be around them and how their actions effect others. It drives me nuts! These people knock into you as if you are invisible! And being White you'd like I would stick out, but in Japan pushiness sees no color. My three days in Tokyo, I didn't get knocked into once, not on the subway, not in the markets, not in the park. It was glorious!

A highlight for my family that definitely did not make my list was the fish market. If you're one of the lucky few to get there at peak hours, 4-6 am, you are able to watch the freshest fish pull into the docks and immediately go on the auction block. Chefs and managers from all the best hotels and restaurants make their presence known every morning, vying for the premium cuts of the most perfect fish. This place is supposed to rival the fish markets in Seattle and Maine. Fish are thrown in every direction and people are yelling orders left and right. One major difference would be the adherence to health codes. In Japan it is perfectly acceptable to smoke and and flick your ashes everywhere a persons next meal may be lying. This fact alone absolutely disgusted me. Not to mention the fact the bottom of my jeans were soaked in fish blood. The half hour we spent wondering through the small aisles all I could smell was fish (not my favorite to begin with), cigarettes, and gasoline emitted from the small vehicles zipping in and out of vendors' stalls hauling fish from here and there. When we left I was near nauseous. My family was thrilled. "Maime, wasn't that cool?" Sure, I said, fighting back the urge to vomit.

From there we hit Ueno Park. This is an absolute must when visiting Tokyo. We could have spent the entire day walking in and out of the vast park, but limited ourselves to only a couple of hours. The Cherry Blossom trees were amazing, and the park was littered with them, as well as screaming children and barking Dachshunds, the official dog of Japan. Also found in the park, performers, crazy old men wanting to talk to the foreigners about the ways Japan has changed for the worst, and a zoo. Yes, a zoo. Duncan wanted to go in. I politely declined, out of principle. Zoos in Japan are notorious for horrible conditions and animals who have been driven crazy due to small spaces. My AT once told me of how he visited one of the zoos here and came across a polar bear in a cage hardly large enough for a large dog, shaking his head back and forth with a lost look in it's eyes. That was enough to depress me into never wanting to see animals housed in a Japanese zoo. Plus, it was like 1000 yen to enter the place and we would have had about 30 minutes max. Not worth it in the end. Still, the massive park allowed for plenty of afternoon entertainment, lunch, and stellar people watching, thus adding it to the must-see list for Tokyo.

All in all Tokyo is a great place. The hustle and bustle was no different from what I experience everyday in downtown Nagoya, but the attitudes of the people make all the difference in the world. There was less pushing and less ignornace of one's general surroundings. It is a big city, yes, but the size doesn't keep it from being liveable. Truth be told, had I discovered the joy of Tokyo six months ago, I would have contemplated moving half way through our year here, but I didn't, and that's okay as well. It's a good place to visit, and as we have a Disneyland trip planned, I will definitely be seeing more of Tokyo!

Mary

Matsumoto

2007-05-01T17:19:00.000+09:00

Okay, so there's this scene in Wayne's World, the movie, where Wayne and Garth are in front of a green screen and they're pretending to travel through different parts of the US. One second they're in Texas walking like coyboys and talking with a true Texas accent, telling each other to "Look, we're in front of the Alamo. Howdy partner!" The next minute they're in Hawaii doing the Hula and making inappropriate comments like "Comeon aye wanna lei ya!" They do this for a few cities, then they bring up Deleware--looking absolutely bored and confused--"Look....we're in Deleware." You may not have seen this, but I recommend you watch at least that clip so you can understand what it's like to go to Matsumoto, Japan. That and it's a lot funnier than I am able to convey.

Matsumoto is in Nagano prefecture, just south of Nagano city. Olympics anyone? It's a town of about 100,000 but sleepy as all else. There's not much happening in Matusmoto besides living. So why would foreigners make this a quintessential stop in a short trip to Japan? For the Woodcut prints of course! Yes, more Woodcut prints. But in Matsumoto there was an entire museum! By this point I am in the trip and tired and not really in the mood for the museum, but, as I am out of the whining, foot-stamping phase, I went. The day was rainy and gray, making time in a museum easier and more difficult to stomach at the same time.

The lighting in the museum had to be kept low as to not ruin the art. Makes sense, but the yellow light gave everything a sickly hue. One is able to sufficiently see the contents of the entire museum in a quick 15 minute swoop. However, my Mom is not someone who is capable of a 15 minute swoop. And there was a slide show presentation! Oh Joy!!! A slide show! Duncan and I were out in ten minutes. We woke as the lights came up and starting clapping out of habit. I doubt the Japanese man was all too appreciative of our eye-rubbing-clapping combo. After about 90 minutes we were out of there and in a cab on the way back to the hotel. I asked to stay home and nap while my family opted for a trip to Matsumoto-Jo (castle), known as the Black Crow. Japanese castles are always boasting something the other castles don't have. For Matsumoto, the fact that the entire castle is black is cause for bragging rights. It does look like the home of the Black Knight. A little ominous from the outside it's easy to see the intimidation factor. It makes you wonder what the intentions are of the inhabitants of such an abode.

And that, my friends, is Matsumoto.

Mary

A Lady and her Art

2007-04-23T23:47:00.000+09:00

For as long as I can remember I have been dragged through museums, galleries, and exhibits dedicated to the delicate subject of art. Anywhere my family has travelled somehow art has been made a part of the vacation. It's always there, ready to rear it's rather obnoxious head. Looking back it's amazing to think of the art I was exposed to at such a young age, and to see most of the originals in person now makes me gasp. However, when you're nine and being dragged through the streets of Washington, D.C. in August, in hell-like heat, you lose practically all interest in any museum, art or no art. My Mother, the Art Teacher, the Art Critic, the Art Lover, made sure that this trip would be no different. Lucky for her I have outgrown my phase of whining and foot-stamping, and now appreciate the works I am privileged enough to see.

As our second day in Kyoto began my Mom reminded the family that she came to Japan for two reasons: Cherry Blossom trees and Ukiyo-e, better known to Westerners as Woodcut prints. Still doesn't ring any bells, huh? Translated to mean "pictures of the floating world," Ukiyo-e is a genre of woodblock prints produced between the 17th and 20th centuries featuring themes of landscapes, Japanese theater, and what was known as "the pleasure quarters." If you need that one explained, call my Mom...she'll give you the same explanation she gave me and my brother. It's like getting the sex talk but relating to Japan 400 years ago...awesome. Ukiyo, meaning "floating world", refers to the impetuous young culture that bloomed in the urban centers of Edo, Osaka, and Kyoto that were a world unto themselves. The paintings were mass-produced, and meant for commoners as a substitute to hand-painted originals, making them quite affordable. There were a few masters whose pieces demanded attention then and continue to do so today. These masters took on apprentices, who then learned the style of the master, and once ready took the name of the master and worked in his house. Think fashion, but with artwork. So even though there was only one Hiroshige, his apprentices worked in his name, but as Hiroshige II, Hiroshige III, and so on. This form of art became widely appreciated and worked it's way to Europe. Impressionists and the likes of Van Gogh found Ukiyo-e as a source of influence thus allowing the Japanese art to form to assist the molding of one of the most popular artistic movements in Western art.

Well, God forbid we miss any of this! Kyoto hosts an impressive collection of Ukiyo-e at the Handicraft Center located in the heart of the city. While there you are able to walk among originals and reprints alike. All the reprints are done by hand, and are not simply photos. But the original works of art, they are amazing. And they are out in the mix so anyone, collector and novice alike can flip through searching for their favorites. After spending several hours searching through mounds and mounds of prints my Mom finally tells my brother and I we can pick our favorites and my parents would gift us with them. Well, hell! Do you know what kind of pressure that places on a lady attempting to start an art collection? Where on EARTH do you begin? After another hour I had five prints picked out and sweat was beginning to bead above my brow. It's hard work...do I get a series? What sizes should I go for? How are these going to look in the house that I do not yet own? Between the four of us we purchased enough prints to keep the saleswomen happy for the rest of the day. The best part--they ship! We were able to keep everything flat and sealed until the 'rents flew back home. We even got to choose when to mail the stuff, and in true Japanese fashion, they arrived the day they were supposed to; perfect, unharmed, and glorious.

One thing I loved about growing up in my house was the eclectic art collection my parents displayed. Most were originals, and nothing showy and ostentatious. I had no idea we actually owned stuff by popular people worth money; then again, I never cared enough to really ask. I've been taught to have a love of travel. Okay, check that one off the list. But after having my family in Japan I realized I have been taught to appreciate art and look to collect while overseas. At least I've got a good start as far as Ukiyo-e is concerned.

Mary

Kyoto

2007-04-20T09:22:00.000+09:00

Our first leg on the week around Japan was to start in Kyoto. The family arrived on Wednesday, and Thursday morning we were up early and ready to rock Japan. The three newbies backed carry-on suitcases and backpacks, while I grabbed the backpack my Mom brought over and was ready to go. You can tell a person is prepping for world travel when they are willing to go a week with only a backpacks worth of clothes; that included and extra pair of shoes! By 8:30 we were out the door, and eating breakfast by 9. We stopped at a place in the station, that was pricey during lunch and dinner, but rather reasonable for breakfast. My Mom, brother and I ordered paninis, my Dad wasn't hungry, so he munched on strawberries until we were ready to leave. The breakfast was perfect, Japanese portions, which surprisingly held everyone's hunger off until the evening. By 10 we were on the train and heading to Kyoto! The trip lasted 32 minutes, as we were on the famed bullet-train of Japan, or Shinkansen as the known to the locals. My family scored an amazing deal before flying over. As an incentive to boost tourism Japan offers a week-long rail pass for 30,000 yen. That ends up being less than 300 US dollars, and allows unlimited train travel on the Shinkansen and all other JR trains. It's an amazing deal if you are looking to visit several cities in a week's time.

At 10:36 we walked off the train and onto the platform ready for all that was about to unfold. First things first, find the hotel. I led the troops to the subway, we found all day train and bus passes, and hopped on the subway. The location of our hotel was perfect, located about twenty feet from a subway stop, with an adjacent Starbucks. We were downtown, not too far from the train station, Gion, and the countless other indulgences Kyoto offers up. We dropped off our luggage and hit the road running. The first stop was Kiyomizu-dera. It is currently up for one of the new 7 Wonders of the World spots, and it is worth traveling to Japan to see. It is an amazing Buddhist temple set in the Eastern hills overlooking Gion and the rest of the city. I was first there in December for the changing of the leaves, and now, once again to witness the Cherry Blossoms. The grounds are rather vast, and stretch far beyond what is open to the general public. It is more than easy to spend several hours here, and we managed at least one and a half, but there was more to see...let's go!

From there we headed North to Ginkaku-ji. Translated to mean "The Temple of the Silver Pavillion," Ginkaku-ji was built in 1474 and meant to serve as a place of rest and solitude for the Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa. The grounds are picturesque and are proud to display several types of what is called "very important moss." I'm not joking, there was a sign and everything. I personally did not see anything spectacular about the moss, but hey, who am I to judge another man's moss?

From here we meandered along the Path of Philosophy. The path outlines a small river which holds Koi fish and is shaded by hundreds of Cherry Blossom trees. Each cobblestone in the path is said to ellicit a new thought. I am guessing one is meant to go slow on this path, becuase that is a whole lot of thinking. Although, it is easy to imagine how hundreds of years ago, this would have been a favorite spot among religious figures, heads of state, and Geisha looking for momentary escape from their incredibly hectic lives. The path stretched from Ginkaku-ji to Nanzenji. It is a famed spot for Hanami, viewing of Cherry Blossoms, but did not appear crowded. We were the only gaijin on the path, which was a nice change from the rest of Kyoto. We deviated from the path slightly, discovering more differences between Japan and America, one being the beer vending machines in the streets. You can't find them everywhere, mainly areas of town that are more residential. Although my Mom is not a beer drinker, per se, she was more than happy to down a few with my overly-excited brother before heading off to find food for the evening. We still hadn't eaten since breakfast, and at this point the sun was setting in the West hills. We continued walking and talking in the streets of the ancient city until we found ourselves back at the hotel checking in and getting ready to track down some grub.

We ate that night on the Pontocho, a rather small street one block west of the Kamo river, which seperates old and new Kyoto. The Pontocho is a famed nightlife district where one can eat, drink, and find themselves very merry. Geisha are often seen running from restaurants to teahouses that litter the street, ready to entertain several parties a night. What's nice about Pontocho is that one does not need a fat wallet to enjoy what it has to offer, however, you're guaranteed a lot more fun the fatter your wallet is! We ate at a small, quiet Italian place that offered low tables between couches. Sensable for tiny Japanese patrons, however, not so suitable for the two 6'4" men with whom I was traveling. They weren't able to sit and eat in comfort as my Mom and I were. After dinner we continued to walk back in the direction of our hotel. We stopped at a pachinko parlor, some novelty "American" shops, and small storefronts offering cheap trinkets. By ten we were back in the hotel and ready to pass out. Well, they were ready to pass out. I stayed up for another two hours watching TV and trying to plan out the next day. It's a rather odd feeling to be in a foreign land, with your family, after a six month absence, and while they all sleep soundly, one in the neighboring bed, you battle the feeling of lonliness. Perhaps it was the pending knowledge that in a quick seven days they would be gone again. Ah well, at least I had the next seven to enjoy.....

Mary

All those who have left the country, step forward!

2007-04-14T01:06:00.000+09:00

Okay, so then you know what it's like to try and force your body to adjust to a new time zone after several hours in a cramped space in a giant hunk of metal hurling through the sky. Even though it's been six months for me I was prepared when my brother crashed on my living room floor at 9:45 the night he arrived in Nagoya. The kid couldn't even be bothered to change out of his jeans. He's one of those lucky people who has about 100 seconds from the time their head hits the pillow until dreams begin to form in the fog of subconscious. Christy is the same way. I can't tell you how many nights I have tossed and turned, attempting to find the perfect position to induce sleep, thinking what a lucky person she is. I secretly hate her on those nights. At least with my brother I had the good sense to tell him before he fell asleep to wake me when he got up. This was stupid on my part. A person needs more than five hours of sleep, but I didn't want him up alone. At 1 am I was asleep, and as I expected, five hours later, as the sun was just beginning to peak out from behind neighboring buildings, I was awake, waiting for my brother to come get me. He did so three minutes later. He slowly slid the door to my over-sized Japanese-style room open and poked his head in. Christy rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. Duncan looked nervous. "What's wrong," I mustered through the crackling voice that is all I can manage at such early hours. "I had to go to the bathroom," he said. I'm thinking to myself, well, as you mastered potty training about 18 years ago, I'm sure you had no problems. I got out of bed, hoping to shake the need for sleep from my body. We stood there and he told me he had run into a problem. So here's the thing. My bathroom is the size of a room closet. Actually, I think our brrom closet may be larger than where our toilet is. This means anyone larger than 5'9" has some difficulty "fitting." To make the job of pooping even more difficult, our pipes are weak, and unless you're lucky, chances are you are going to find a floater after flushing the first time. Christy and I have learned to find the humor in this, and we move on accordingly. I, however, forgot to mention to my family that if the opportunity arises, poop elsewhere. So, to ease the embarrassment of my too tall, too regular brother, I did what we always do when this happens. I grabbed the chopstick we keep under our sink and, well, I fixed the problem. With that, I went back to the living room and sat with my brother, cracking jokes the same way we've done since we've both learned to talk.

One by one the three remaining sleeping beauties woke up and joined Duncan and I. I was still a little sureal to have my family with me. We wanted to be on a train headed for Kyoto somewhere around 10, so my family started showering one by one. My Mom was first, my Dad followed, and Dunc brought up the rear. They brought a bar of glycerine soap with them, like they always do, and my parents left it in the shower for my brother. He, in true form, manages to drop the bar, which by magic, seemed to fall beneath the bathtub. This is also known to our apartment as the abyss, as nothing that's gone under has ever been seen again. This was no surprise to my parents. In fact, I believe the put money on the fact that Duncan would lose the soap, it's just how his life works. My Dad offered to retrieve it, and proceeded to sneak under my sink in search of a device perfect for glycerine soap retrieval. I walked in just as he had his hand around the chopstick, which had made an appearance several hours earlier. "Dad! Drop that chopstick!" I choked out through fits of laughter. "Why?" He looked at me the way he always did when Duncan and I made jokes he and my Mom didn't understand. "Dad, you don't want to know." That was enough for him. He trusts his children and thier troublemaking enough to know not to ask twice. We laughed together, he becuase he knew something was wrong with the chopstick, me because I knew what was wrong with the chopstick.

Putting this behind me I packed a backpack and ushered my family to the train station. I had promised everyone a good breakfast at a reasonable rate, and so I delivered. We ate paninis before taking off towards the Shinkansen, aka, the Bullet Train of Japan. The three of them had passes which allowed unlimited Shinkansen travel for seven days. This was one hell of a deal only offered to visitors. As I am currently a resident of Japan I was not allowed such a deal. For two months I had asked my Mom if I would ride the Shinkansen with them or save some green and take the slow trains. Turns out the difference in ticket prices to Kyoto is all of 20 dollars, so the rents sprang for my ticket. My first time on the Shinkansen! It's a shame it was only a 32 minute trip. At least the scenery from point a to point b was beautiful as we blasted towards the mountains, then through them. At 10:36 we were in Kyoto. An ancient city. Home to Geisha, Meiko, Emperial Japanese history and culture, and some of the most beautiful Cherry Blossoms in the world. But that all came later. The first thing to do was find the hotel. Good God, what a pain that was! You'll see....

Mary

A birthday overseas!

2007-04-11T09:07:00.000+09:00

As birthdays are seen as special days by most that choose to celebrate them, it should be taken as a compliment when someone wants to share theirs with you. It goes beyond compliment when someone is willing to travel 16 time zones to share that birthday with you. Okay, so it's not like my Mom came here specifically for her birthday, but when planning, I'm sure she knew what she was doing. The return to Nagoya marked the last leg in their journey. The flew in Monday night, Tuesday marked my Mom's 57th! We woke up and walked to the station to have a breakfast of paninis and fruit. After breakfast, back home, Christy and I dashed off to the gym while Mom and Dad organized souvenirs and got ready for the day. After showering, dressing, and decreeing a game plan we were off to Inuyama. For those of you not familiar with the earlier entries, Inuyama is where I work four days a week. It's also home to one of the best castles in Japan, and boasts fantastic Sakura, Chrry Blossom Trees...Japan's pride. It's about a half hour ride out to Inuyama, which we managed with ease.

Once off the train I walked my parents past where I work then we hit the castle and viewed the grounds in all their glory. Christy and I were last there in October, so our view was rather different, however, we managed to see the castle at the same time of day. The blossoms were gorgeous. We climbed to the top behind what seemed to be a busload of Japanese, none younger than the castle itself. Let me tell you, that makes for some OLD people. They moved rather fast, more like simple syrup than molasses. I was impressed. We walked around the top of the castle, took some pictures, and made our way back down, the castle was closing. On our way back to the station we meandered along the river. It was soothing in the way it can be only when walking with family along a river in a foreign country. This was actually the second time this happened on said trip. (see future blog entries.) Another quick trip back to the city and we were home, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon popped, and four adults sitting around a tiny coffee table having two seperate conversations. It was wonderful. When kids grow up they feel more like adults every year, that is unless hanging out with their parents. However, there are a few choice moments you have along the way where the parent-child relationship breifly melts away and you're left with a couple of adults, chewing the fat, and being adults. No one has a lable or a role to play when you are able to speak freely and know the other person sees you as a peer, an intellectual equal. It's pretty fucking cool.

After wine, dinner, and more wine. We went to Outback Steakhouse. Don't poke fun. Christy told our waitress it was my Mom's birthday. They brought out a dessert with four spoons, handed out tamborines, and led the restaurant in a rendition of Happy Birthday one can only receive in Japan. Dinner led to a small bar called Heaven's Door. It's small, smoky, and vintage. The bartender plays 45s yanked from the backwall, which hosts almost every recording artist to every record onto vinyl. We sat, drank, and talked, just the four of us. The chimney behind me lit up about once every seven minutes, which was slightly distracting, but my Dad and I were in the middle of one of those conversations where one person is having an epiphany amid an apology. We talked for about ten cigarettes and left to catch the last train. I paid our bill. That was my gift to my Mom. It wasn't so much the tab as the experience. I wanted to show my Mom I was an adult. I am living on my own, I am paying for everything myself for the first time in my life, and I am successfully living a foregin country. No, the gift was not the tab, it was the proof that she raised me well and right, she did her job. So, Happy Birthday, Mom! Thanks for life and the support as I learn to live it. I love you!

Maime

Flight of the Geislers (sung in tune)

2007-04-10T07:42:00.000+09:00

It was somewhere after the Penis Festival that my eating went to shit. I ate at McDonalds for the first time in months out of force, or necessity, however you choose to see it. I was at work where my eating options are limited, and I was so damn tired of eating the same thing all the time, I just couldn't do it. So, to punish myself I spent 20 minutes of my break waiting in line to order the food that would eventually turn to figurative poison in my body. Who waits 20 minutes to eat that crap, can you see my desperation now? After eating my stomach immediately made it's dissatisfaction known. Basically, it was pissed, and looking to take revenge in every way possible. Great. I didn't digest food properly for a week after that. At this point I was convinced that God was upset I was reneging on my vow to never eat McDonalds again. "Lie to me will you?" he's sat upstairs saying, while on a pack of clouds, pointing at my discomfort and laughing. I don't blame him. After reading Fastfood Nation earlier this year I also see eating at McDonalds as a mortal sin., not quite murder, but it's somewhere around there, and basically unforgivable. Anyhow, my stomach was messed up for over a week. The crap food combined the imminent arrival of my family led me into another week of digestive unpredictability. I wasn't sure what I could eat that was "safe food" so my appetite naturally decreased to next to nothing. I ate little, and what I did ate generally made things worse. This had to be the best diet ever! It's like contracting the stomach flu, completely unintentional, but when all is said and done you're not complaining you dropped a quick 15 pounds. Unfortunately for me I never received any of the affirmative benefits of weight loss, only the discomposure of a stomach constantly hard at work. After surviving a week of hell the knots in my stomach slowly began to soften and I realized that McDonalds had only been the culprit of the first week, the second week was due to nerves and anticipation of a family coming to visit.

The night before everyone arrived I got off work at 9 pm. After the commute home I would be rolling in close to 10. Normally this is all I want on a Monday night, to retreat home to my roommate, share the news about our day, and relax, likely with a cup of tea. Lucky for my co-workers tea was not going to settle my mood, so we turned to booze. I clocked out, stared in their direction and said, "Okay, booze?" It was a rhetorical question--I wasn't really asking, so much as informing them that's what we were doing, and when you're dealing with an Aussie in his mid-20s and an early-20s English girl there's not much convincing needed. They were up for a quick drink. Lara and I were catching the train home so I figured one drink and we would be done by ten. This was until I looked up at the clock in the small Izakiya and realized we would need to hurry if we wanted to catch the last train. Shit! I was supposed to be home cleaning with my roommate, patiently awaiting the whirlwind about to arrive from the States. Thank God she is patient with me and understood the need for a drink, or two. Was it three? I can't remember. I was still stressed coming home, all I wanted was bed, instead she allowed me to sit, and vent, which was what I needed. "Work was utter shit!" It started there and continued for a full twenty minutes. I could finally rest easy after expelling the draining day from my chest. Somewhere after midnight we went to bed, God only knows what time it was. Things weren't ready for my family, more stress, but it would have to wait until the next day, Tuesday.

I woke up, knowing I had work to do, but that would wait until after I checked my email. And maybe facebook. Okay, quite possibly I would also peek in on the latest comings and going on the celebrity rag sites. It's a daily ritual and I am not ashamed, so stop making that face. The fist email I opened was simple. The message was short and to the point:
Don't come get us today. We missed our flight! We will not be at the airport.
Oh fuck! Upon reading this, and knowing all plans were officially shot to hell (at least that's how it seems when you are surprised with this sort of news) I was, again, stressed. What the deuce happened? I had an email from my Mom and my brother. I checked facebook, two more equally urgent messages informing me a trip out to the airport would not be necessary today. So I did what any good child does, I called. Keep in mind I have been awake for literally five minutes. I called my brother, no answer...MORE STRESS! I called my Mom, she answered, knowing it was me from the retarded number that shows up on her cell phone each time I ring. She sounded defeated, deflated, depressed. It killed me to hear my rock sound as if she had been destroyed and left laying broken. They had missed their flight. There was a mix up that I remain is United's fault. The flight had left before they even left the house for the airport, and so they returned home, only knowing there was a chance they would have seats the next day. I'll skip most of the details, as it breaks my heart every time I recall them, but Mom was upset, Dad was relatively calm, and Duncan, being the river of our family, just went with the flow of things. He's very grounding in this sense. My Mom told me they would be flying out the next day, same flight, same arrival time, check United and make sure the plane isn't delayed. I was less than supportive on the phone. Still buckled from shock and MAJOR disappointment we hung up after five minutes. Christy was there, and upon listening to the conversation retained her role of supportive friend and roommate telling me everything was fine....so we lost a day?! Things could be worse. It can always be worse, I thought. She's right. After Christy called her Mom, I called mine back. We talked again, this time I followed through with my role as a daughter and did what I could to allow my Mom to feel no guilt and frustration. She was pretty bad, something like that tends to rattle my foundation. Okay, that's fine, I thought after I hung up for the second time, it's one more day to work out, clean, and prep myself for their arrival. Turns out, that extra day is EXACTLY what I needed. My stress level dropped dramatically, I still didn't really eat, but mentally I was in a much better place. In the end, it worked out best for Christy and I, both. I won't reveal why (you need to get the story from my family) but it worked out very well for them as well.

By Wednesday afternoon I had hugged and kissed all three of them in a sort of welcome to Japan. I cried, only slightly, and the stress began to quickly dissolve. I will be 50, and my family will still have the power to wash away pending worries. It's a gift, some families are not like this. And despite exhaustion, their enthusiasm was higher than I expected it would be, as they had also been through a rough few days. Luckily along the way, people had sympathised with them. Seriously, the story's a good one, ask them when you get a chance, but be gentle, some are still sensitive. Anyhow, this was the beginning of a fantastic vacation, one more of the Great Family Vacations, which we figured after the Europe trip in '98,we may never have again. Lucky for us, lack of travel just isn't in our cards. But I can't express how it thrills me that it's still possible as a family.

Always,
Mary

The Penis Fesival - no creative title required...

2007-04-01T21:46:00.000+09:00

Upon learning where I was to be placed in Japan, Komaki to be specific, I hopped on the computer and did what any curious and moderately technologically inclined girl would do: I googled it. Komaki city has it's very own website, which is of little help or intrigue, but as I clicked my way through the limited pages flagged by my search, I quickly discovered that my soon to be home base was indeed well known for one very important thing - the Penis Festival. Not only was I entertained by this newly acquired knowledge, but I was also thrown into what has seemed to be a perpetual state of "this would happen to me". Our good friend the Masturbator, and the several other pant-less men I would see over the course of time I spent living in a cockroach invested apartment (can that count as a pun also?) lead me to only one conclusion - Komaki had no problem living up to it's legend and close association with male genitals. When the dates were set, and we knew exactly when the festival was to take place, Mary and I quickly put together a plan of action - we were not going to miss a festival so close to our hearts, and our eyes that are now forever scorched with unwelcome yet hilarious visuals. Mary chose to do a shift swap and I opted to call in sick for the day - you know the mature/adult route.

And we were off. After meeting friends in the lobby we happily lead the group out to our old stomping grounds. A quick hour later we jumped off the train and excitedly trekked toward the festival. The Tagata shrine was not difficult to get to - you know, just follow the trail of souvenir booths featuring wooden tributes and hoards of foreigners, it was like an anthropological map with the most accurate of directions. The shine itself is quaint and subdued in true Japanese fashion, but also seems out of place as small city has built up around it. While entering the blocks surrounding the main square where most festivities took place, my senses were overcome by the glory that is festival food. Mary and I eagerly explored the less than extensive yet visually stimulating grounds. Next door to the shrine is a modern grocery store with a sizable parking lot, which had been remodeled into a seating/eating area. At home the idea of a seating area brings forth visuals of tables and chairs or maybe even a red and white checked table cloth, this however was a little different. Small, yet colorful, plastic milk crates were scattered throughout the lot to serve as both tables and chairs. The multi-purpose crate reminded me more of the 'stools' in the Kappa Delta shower stalls we used to shave our legs, but whatever works right? Next - food. After a quick trip to a somewhat near ATM, Mary and I stopped to take part in a delectable chocolate covered banana. For an extra 100 yen you can buy a banana with the top portion sliced and replaced, care of a handy toothpick, which makes it look even more phallic that its natural state. We sprung for the 'super' banana, and moved to the next stall. Fried chicken (Japanese style of course), crepes filled with the traditional sweet hanko, and beer made me one very happy lady. Mary and I took our indulgences on the go so we could ensure a perfect place parade-side.

The procession was bizarre, ritualistic and fun. Not to mention that we are now famous television stars in Japan, but more of that later... The main road is blocked off, allowing a dozen or so men to carry, trot, and twirl their way toward the shrine with nothing shy of a 2.5 meter (13 feet) 280 kilogram (620 pound) hand carved wooden penis. Though that is the largest attraction, before the main event are a series of other traditions. First a man disperses salt into the hands of people lining the streets in order to cleanse the pathway. Next come a group of local male citizens dressed in traditional frocks, women carrying smaller 20 inch phalli, and a group of Shinto priests surrounding sakaki trees. Sake is passed out to all bystanders; I welcomed the gift as did the many old drunk Japanese men surrounding us. Rubbing, touching or stroking the carvings will bring good luck and a prosperous fertility forecast in the upcoming year. Why not? Certainly I am not looking to get pregnant, but a little good luck never hurt anyone. What is one man's picked up penny found heads up on the street became my phallus rub. At this point Mary and I already had our picture taken numerous times, by both the everyday person and people clearly with the press - it was obvious early on that this is one event where foreigners are more than welcome, and the locals love the white lady. I extended my hand to get my good luck touch from the next approaching phallus, and suddenly Mar and I were swarmed by small men with video and film cameras. A microphone is thrust into my face and I am asked in broken English "Interview ok?", sure - why not, it's the Penis Festival, who I am to say no? Thrilled, the reporter - well dressed in a smart suit - asks "how does it feel?" Without hesitation, thought, or any mind to mouth censor I reply - "hard and smooth, sugoy! Sugoy!" I would say this. How does it feel - excellent! See, my basic Japanese is coming in quite handy as I can oh so beautifully sum up the feeling of hand to symbolic wooden man parts with one of my very few Japanese words.

As the procession comes to an end and the penis is taken into the shrine, where it will be housed for the next year, it's time for the closing ceremonial event: Mochi throwing. A massive crowd begins to congregate in an over flowing/jam packed manner in a small concrete square facing a nearby building fully equipped with a two walled make-shift balcony. The scaffolding like set-up is decorated with red and white draperies to conceal the very basic and temporary structure, and is fully loaded with barrels of mochi, or rice cakes. Sounds kind of nice right? Well, the mochi balls are circular in shape and of enough mass to do significant damage if one happens to be unsuspectingly struck. After twenty plus minutes of waiting for the throwing to commence, specially selected Komaki residents climb up the rickety staging area, assume their predetermined position, and hurl fist sized good luck tokens into the swarming crowd below. Much like rubbing the male tributes during the parade, catching mochi also ensures good luck for the next year, and let me tell you - people are serious. We are talking baseball gloves, sarongs out-stretched for wide-range catching capabilities, and women pushing their purses high into the air all in hopes of procuring just one precious mochi. I really had no idea what I was getting into. Luckily, our trainer and fellow Nova teacher gave us explicit instructions just prior to the event. Though his comprehension was low and he was difficult to understand between slurs and distractions (namely his constantly spilling Asahi) we got the point: "Don' let it hitya in the fookin' face". Thanks. The throwing began and I almost immediately became a casualty. You know the sensation of being in a mosh pit? Well think that, plus a prison riot, and add in a large dose of Japanese emotional repression - that's a great starting point, but nothing can really express the violence and bizarre selfish nature of this ritual. After the first bout I took out my earrings and removed my headband like a girl who means business before getting into one hell of a cat fight. We are talking scrappy. The throwing seemed to last for ages, I had no control over my feet and quickly learned that it was in my own best interest to allow the crowd to push me around. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of Mary, but was highly distracted by the onslaught of foreign limbs, joints, and hands that pushed, pulled, and smacked me out of the way in an attempt to bring them closer to a lucky rice ball. I was ready to be done when a short man behind me palmed my head in an attempt to lift himself above the aggressively gnarled crowd. I yelled to Mar: "I've been scalped!" In the end we survived relatively unscathed, though it felt as if all of my toenails had been broken off via stomping, plus a general air of soreness. Little had I known that Mochi Catching was a contact sport, a place where people release stress and inward feelings of and anger onto others.

We dragged our tired, brutalized bodies toward the train station and prepared to head back to Nagoya. Mary happily touted her two prize mochi catches, while I moaned, empty handed, of a tummy ache. A whole body beating coupled with festival food overload creates perfect circumstances for vomiting, though I managed to hold it together. When we arrived home I promptly dropped my bag and sprawled out onto our oh so luxurious hand-me-down sofa. About an hour later I received a text message from Gemma, saying "You're on the news! Touching a Penis!" We exchanged pleasantries about my "dodgy" character while I prayed that my boss had not seen the news report as I had suddenly come down with the flu the previous evening. Over the next few weeks at work, hoards of students would tell me that they saw me on tv. The most hilarious bit was not my new status - Japanese celebrity - but rather the manner in which students referred to the event. "I saw you touching - uh, hmmm, ah - symbol". Raised eyebrows, reddened cheeks, and bashful innuendos told me that I had magically provided my students with enough entertainment to last for a while. A few hours later my supervisor asked me if I was feeling better, and I lied to the very best of my abilities by replying "yes, and thank you so much for asking." Suddenly I was the one red in the face, as anyone can tell you I was never one to succeed at the art of lying.

Check out a video clip on youtube.com

http://www.youtube/watch?v=eLaujWihyAQ

Festival love,

Christy

Saipan, yes there is more....

2007-03-19T19:21:00.000+09:00

Saipan was rainy but relaxing none the less. All I could ponder was 'what a strange place'. Saipan is not a place without culture by any means but instead lives in a strange limbo between American, Asian, and Pilipino culture. Island life is slow, but the menagerie of influences, visitors and refugees makes Saipan unique to say the least. A natural beauty struggling to survive under quirky circumstances; tourist/resort haven, American 'territory', poverty. Most places, the Price Costco included, accepted food stamps, and several building looked as of they had barely survived some kind of natural disaster. War-torn looking structures surrounded by wild flowers, WWII heritige sites filled with Japanese tourists, a beautiful view point aptly named Suicide Cliff surrounded by headstones and memories. There was nothing about it I could exactly place, pin-point or fully put my finger on. Nor could the locals place Mary and I. We were first asked, or it was assumed, that we were local. Upon hearing our story (US to Japan, Japan to Saipan) they were more than surprised. As Mar mentioned, we indulged in our fair share of pampering - which included several awkward moments. A small Asian woman watching you undress then massaging what I will refer to as tender places whilst straddling you, then assisting you dress once again. Full service, bra hook-age and all. The Massage was nice, but I wanted her to slow down and allow me to enjoy the touch aspect of a massage, and less tenderness would have been fine by me. Another interesting incident was the moment in which I realized that I was competing as an at-home-viewer of a Pilipino game show with two men in a beauty salon; one in high heels and the other simply dressed - as a woman. Memorable to say the least.

There was one especially nice moment for me... A few months ago my dad sent me a package with the essentials - Mac and Cheese, hair spray, and so on. The package also contained a small while envelope sealed with scotch tape in order to keep the contents well enclosed. On the front, in familiar pencil etched handwriting, the envelope read "Pop-pop". Ever since my grandfather passed away my dad has taken it upon himself to take Pop-pop with him everywhere. Filling up a small film canister, and leaving bits behind as he travels. One spring break spent at Disney World when I was almost 16, Dad, Mike and I were waiting for the Monorail to pack us up and take us into the park. My dad whipped his backpack around, opened the front zip pocket and pulled out Pop-pop. A little bit was gently tapped out onto the bench between my dad and I on the bench we were resting on. I remember my dad telling me that he usually likes sprinkling him into water - rivers and oceans - because that way he will be able to travel all around the world. I sat on the envelope for a while, unable to think of a proper place for release. Nothing struck me. Nagoya is all concrete and steel, and even the port is a bit dismal. So into my suitcase he went headed to Saipan. I waited until the last day hoping that the weather would clear, even if just for a bit, and I could swim out onto the reef. As you know, the weather never cleared, so I set out at what looked to be the brightest time of day instead. Mary and I walked the beach collecting more shells and then came the rain. Down pour. We headed back to out bags, I grabbed Pop-pop, and I hustled over to my selected spot. Mary indulged me, and I carefully climbed, swam and fell my way out to a beautiful place in the clearest of waters where there was a nice arrangement of staggering volcanic rocks jutting out of the ocean. Just as I went to open the envelope the rain stopped, completely ceased and I poured Pop-pop into the Philippine Sea. As soon as I took my first step back toward shore the rain resumed and I made my way back to Mary as she stood rain soaked and totally saturated on the water's edge. With the passing of only one day I would be back in Nagoya, not ready to go back to work, and wishing that it was 80 and raining instead of 30 and windy.

Saipan love,

Christy

Clip 4:

2007-03-13T16:29:00.000+09:00

For the past several months, practically since Hakuba, my feet have needed some TLC. I was rash and abusive druing the months where Fall turned to Winter in a hury, yet, stubborn as I was, refused to wear anything but my flipflops to work, as heels as just too uncomfortable while making the 15 minute walk to the station. Flipflops allowed for easy and speed. Heels allowed for pain, aggrivation, and an extra 5-7 minutes tacked onto the walk. Flipflops it was. This was all well and good until my feet got pissed and turned against me. They were in bad shape, and the only solution I saw fit was a pedicure. Christy, feeling the same as me, was on board for a pedicure, but with little resources and even less free time, our options in the city were limited. Ah, enter Saipan. This was it! Our answer, our escape from rough skin and neglected cuticles. Whilst in Saipan, we decided back in February, we were going to treat ourselves to a pedicure. I, having taken two glances at my hands, decided a manicure was also in need. That was it, our minds were made up!

So here we are, day three, still with car, but no idea which beauty salon to visit, slash trust. I know you've all heard the horror stories, especially anyone living in Portland. You go to some shop, generally run by people who like to cut corners, and you come out with nails cut too short, and an infection to follow shortly. This is not something that strikes my fancy. I was in no mood to contract some type of foot fungus, only to take in back to Japan where the doctors don't know what the hell to do, so they either ignore the problem or amputate! I think not! Okay, so, what's a girl to do, but pick up the phone book and start placing calls. The plan was to come up with two or three options, whichever sounded best, start there. If it looks sketchy, we move on to establishment number two. The first call I made the people barely bothered to say hello. Then when I asked how much a pedicure was they got confused, yelled something to someone in a language I neither understood, nor recognized, and finally came back at me with a quote of $8. That'll do it, I thought. I received the same experience from the seven other establishments I contacted. Finally we got a place nailed down and started calling regarding ads for a massage that we found in the map handed out to all the visitors. We spotted an ad that quoted $50 bucks for a 60 minute massage...not bad, not bad. However, the corner of the ad boasted a 30% discount, now that was an idea I could wrap my head around. We made appointments and were on our way!

First stop, Price Costco for some delicious pizza that neither my waistline or my thighs needed, but my stomach was more than happy to procure. And tasty it was! God I love vacation! After the grub we searched high and low for the salon where we were to receive our coveted mani/pedi combo, but to no avail. We found a salon that, to our surprise, only did hair, and asked if they could recommend a spot. We were directed to a storefront three blocks down where we found a woman more than happy to give our nails the once over. Turns out they could only handle one client at a time. Christy motioned for me to go first, and down I sat. It was $16 for the manicures and pedicures, however, for $30 we could get the deluxe package which included a scrub/massage. The entire treatment lasted and hour and a half...per person. It was amazing. To be pampered with such care is definitely something this girl can get used to. The only downside was that while I was being treated like royalty, Chirsty was stuch watching TV from the Philippines with a couple of dudes, who were more feminine than masculine. Nice guys, though. I opted for french tips on both sets of nails. Next it was Christy's turn. She chose an awesome deep brown hue courtesy of Christian Dior. We both left happy, feeling as though our money was well spent.

Next--massages! We walked up to the second floor of a building set right on the main strip. We were greeted by two young, rather small, Chinese women. We were told they had to bring over two girls from the other location as they were unable to work on us, the reason unbeknownst to us. In a matter of minutes we were being escorted into conjoining rooms, I took the back, Christy took the front. The two women who would be exectuing the massages asked us to change out of our clothes and lay on the table. Okay, sure. Ummmm....why aren't they leaving? Apparently they are there to allow for you to do as little as possible, this includes changing. I started to peel off my clothes and proceeded to hand them to the 4 foot-nothing woman who hung them for me, then helped me onto the table. This woman can't possibly weigh more than 80 pounds. How is she going to work out any kinks and knots? She asked what type of massage I wanted. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I requested Shiatsu, which uses acupressure. It's said to be one of the firmest types of massage one can receive. They weren't kidding! That woman kneeded my muscles from hard knots into soft dough. I felt like she was trying to make a loaf of bread out of neck and shoulders. It was actually painful and one point, but as I relaxed and allowed the woman to work her magic I began to drift off into a dream-like state, only waking once she requested I turn over. She started with my shoulders, then moved to the base of my neck. From here she moved down my arms and onto my mid-back. She proceeded south until she...hello! That is definitely ass. Now, I'm not going to lie. Having your butt massaged is rather nice. If you think about it, that is a huge muscle group, especially my ass. Wow! After that she moved onto my legs, asked me to turn over, and did my quads. She then worked the tops of my calves, and proceeded to crack my ankles and toes for me....this was full service here! I was shocked at how much power a woman this tiny could possibly possess. She was stronger than some of the beast-like women I went up against in my soccer days. She packed a pretty impressive wallop for someone likely too short to ride the big-kid rides at Disneyland Tokyo.

When she was finished she woke me up handed me my clothes and helped me to them on. This was nice considering how drowsy I was. Christy later informed me that her masseuse assisted her in hooking her bra. Well, that was nice. So, after two and a half hours of full-fledged pampering we were only down $65! Money well-spent in the book of this ever-so-thrifty gal. Too bad this stuff doesn't come cheap in Nagoya. Bring on Thailand! Well, at least the legitimate stuff!

Mary

Clip 3:

2007-03-12T23:38:00.000+09:00

Sorry y'all, no pictures this time around. Bad video feed I suppose. No matter in the end, as this clip isn't about the island scenery, rather the islanders. While in Hawaii I had the pleasure of dealing with very sweet, kind, helpful people. Sure, some of them were missing a few screws, either that or they were just dumb, but they tried, they made a genuine effort to help out when help was needed. I would like to report that the island of Saipan provides it's visitors with the same efforts, but, dismally, I must inform you that only the opposite is true. After spending a few days on the island we encountered several people who were anything but helpful, or pleasant for that matter. There are two instances in particular that I feel necessary to relay. I'll leave any others up to Christy.

One: I believe it was Tuesday, our second day on the island. We were ready to grasp at any suntime we could. Knowing by now the pattern of the weather we figured we would prance down to the beach and/or pool, whichever offered the best shot at sunlight. We stopped at the front desk and asked for two towels, as the booklet in our room instructed us to do. You see, the towels supplied to guests via their bathrooms were not to be taken from the rooms, this was made very clear to us. So, obeying the rules like good little tourists, we saught the assistance of the front desk people. Upon receiving our towels I inquired if we could go swimming in the pool, as we hadn't seen anyone use it up to this point. The lady looked at us, slightly confussed, and said, "I guess, but I don't know why you'd want to." What the hell is that? She must have graduated from Cornell's Hospitality Program with high honors! You people are paid to smile, and act as though you give a damn what I do on your property. If someone asks if they can go swimming, you smile and say yes. Christy and I were more than taken back. And it's not as though we wrote these people off after one attempt at communication. No no, this was after we had tried to ask about renting a car and the woman couldn't understand what we were saying. Lady, Saipan is part of American. You really should be able to speak the language. We asked twice about the car, and finally another staff member rescued us and pointed us towards a phone. She instructed us to simply pick up the receiver and we would be connected with the rental place. But I digress. So we took our towels, and feeling a bit disappointed in the lack of care and customer service, we walked away in a mild huff.

No longer inspired to test out the pool we walked another 50 feet and onto the sand. Not sure where to go we headed up the beach towards a very dark-skinned man, who we come to find is named Joe. This guy did pretty much everything he could to flag us down and call us over. Easy enough task since we were the only one's in that section of the beach. Joe was quick to introduce himself, ask our names, and shake our hands. He asked us if we were Russian. We smiled politely and said, no, we're mainlanders. At this point my intersest was waning and I stopped listening to Joe's inquiries. I was searching for the sun, you see. I snap back to reality in time to hear Christy say, "No, we're friends on vacation together." What the deuce? "Chris," I ask as soon as we tore ourselves away from Joe, "did he ask if we were lesbians?" She hesitated. "Umm," came her response rather slowly, "he asked if you were my Mom." Oh, I think, well that's....wait, WHAT? He thought I was her Mom?!?! I already felt like the ugly step-sister after changing into my bathing suit. How quikcly one can be demoted! Oh, I was semi-deflated at that. Christy told me she thought about lying and just saying, yeah, lesbians, that's what he was asking. Lesbian I can handle! But, MOM? My self-esteem was plummeting. There's no way I was taking off my pants now, only to expose my orange peel thighs and saggy middle section. That screams Mom! Only 30 seconds and Joe was back on or heels. He started in on me, "So, Mary..." his accent thick and distinct. He proceeded to ask me several questions and told me I had a beautiful name, a name known and recognized the world over. Joe was a charming old bastard. Okay, perhaps bastard is a bit harsh, but he was ceratinly old enough to be, well, I'd rather not think of it. It was here that I figured it out...Joe was trying to flirt. Maybe that's why he wanted to believe I was a mother. Maybe he felt less pervy that way. Whatever it was, asking if my friend is my daughter is NOT the quickest way to my heart, or anything else for that matter. Joe continued to charm us by offering us free use of his snorkel gear. We quickly declined, informing him we were now on an important shell-finding mission. And find shells we did, coral also. We brought some home. It's the best souvenir we could find on the whole island. Taking it home was probably illegal.

Two: Okay, so the other negative customer service experience we had was the last night of our trip. We just got out of Dreamgirls rather stoked as we got in for a student fare and only paid $4.50. It was an awesome movie, great soundtrack. Have you seen it? Go see it! This was our last night in Saipan and a movie wasn't where we were ending things. We headed toward the DFS Galleria as we noticed a Hardrock Cafe nestled inside somewhere. We walked in, took one look at the asking price for a salad and headed right back out. I just wasn't in the mood to spend $18 on a crappy rock n' roll salad with wilted iceburg lettuce. We walked downstairs towards the shops, still open at 9:35 on a Wednesday night. We were among throngs of Japanese tourists in their finest beach tees and flipflops. At least we were in company dressed the same as us. I felt a little bad as we walked further into the Galleria, now entering designer territory, Dolce & Gabana, Chanel, Burberry, just to name a few. We walked by the Fendi shop and I smile politely towards the two women working the late shift. Their only response was a look of disdain and disgust. I was dumbfounded. These women actually sneered at me. We're talking complete with eyeroll and everything. It was actually just the one bitch, but then she turned to her friend and pointed. They started to smirk. My smile fled faster than the runners in Pamplona every July partaking in San Fermin. I was hurt. More than hurt. I was actually made to feel like I wasn't good enough to be in their presence. Apparently these women shit roses and rainbows. As far as they were concerned I could just keep on walking. Now this is something I have come to expect while in Japan, mainly because I am a white woman. But come on, this was Saipan, American owned! I shouldn't be made to feel uncomfortable here. We kept walking and window shopping. I told Chirsty what happened. We turned and walked back after about five minutes. We left the same way we came in. It's like they were waiting for us. They glared and stared and sneered and jeered. Oh God. I was having a Pretty Woman moment. You remeber when she goes into the fancy store on Rodeo looking for help and the women are just awful to her? This was all I could think of as I began a walk of shame. Well, I wasn't going to take this, walking away with my metaphorical tail between my legs. I looked those women up and down with an ice stare I'm proud to say I've mastered for just such occassion. It worked, they backed off and looked away. I'm sure Christy next to me, giving a similar stare-down was too much for our two adversaries. We won, in a sense, if a winning outcome in such a situation is really plausible. But we felt like shit. Lower than shit, well, I can't speak for Christy, but I doubt she enjoyed the experience. The whole thing lasted only seconds but it felt like a week-long battle, one with blood and dismemberment. I wanted nothing more than to walk up to the two of them, grab the most expensive item I could and have them ring it up. I would pay with a debit card, not credit card, to show I was serious. They would giftwrap it, ribbon and all, and they would do it with a smile. I would take my purchase, smile and hand it right back. Tell them to return the item, credit my debit card, and smile all the while. Then in Julia Roberts fashion walk away saying "You work on commission, right? Big mistake. Big! Huge!" Would this have made me feel any better? No. Well, maybe temporarily. I resolved as soon as we got in the car that I would write a letter. Perhaps several letters. Fendi is owned by the LVMH corporation. I expect more out of such a company, such a corporation. Having worked for an LVMH subsidiary I was incredibly disappointed. Perhaps nothing will come about my personal letter writing campaign, but at least I will have voiced my concerns. This shouldn't be allowed. No one should ever feel as though they are not good enough to look through a certain store.

The whole incident left such a sour taste in my mouth. Even as we sat down to our late night dinner I could tell the mood had been ruined for both of us. It didn't help matters that we were hungry, and not really looking forward to returning home at that moment in time. Once food arrived the matter was behind us. All I wanted was to focus on the here and now, err, there and then. I'm writing a letter to Fendi tomorrow before work. I'll keep you all updated. :)

Mary

Clip 2:

2007-03-12T11:41:00.000+09:00

Here we are! Bird Island! As if the picture wasn't enough of a clue. It's a rather beautiful spot. The wind was high, but the sun was out....kind of....and that's all that mattered at this point. I for one was excited to acquire pictures that would prove we were indeed somewhere tropical. Upon arrival we parked about 10 feet away from the only other car at the lookout point. We walked to the stairs that led down to another viewpoint (and a tiny structure that looked like it could be used for wedding ceremonies, complete with benches in front of it) and discovered our tourist counterparts were a Japanese man and wife, and someone's Mother. The man was dressed in linen and looked quite comfortable. The woman was weating a red top that was very loose and had large slits running up the sleaves. Her black skirt was mid-thigh length, and the bottom was jagged giving her a pirate-wench look. To bring this island-emsamble together she wore these hideous green heels. The Mother with the pair was also wearing heels. Seriously? Seriously. The ground, although paved, was uneven, and held puddles every two steps. They're choice of clothing bothered me, but was pushed from my mind when I watched the man light a cigarette with a match and then throw it on the ground. I wasn't shocked, but rather displeased, and I let him know as such, when I yelled to the group how irresponsible that was. Chances of them speaking English--slim to none. Chances of them knowing what I was getting at based on their facial expressions--likely. As they walked back up the stairs on the opposite side of where I was standing, I made my way down to the match, looked at it, then threw the man a look of disgust. He had been watching me this whole time, knowing full well just what I thought of him. It really doesn't take much to be considerate, especially in someone else's country. He clearly didn't care.

The island iteself wasn't impressive by any means, however, the water and land surrounding it was spectacular. The pictures don't do it much justice, but the water was crystal clear, and ranged four different shades. The waves were strong and offered a magnificant contrast of foamy white to offset any monotony in color. Apparently the island is host to three different types of birds, none of which I found important enough to remember. I think one was a Red-Toed-something-or-other. Red-Beaked? I don't know! The sky was still cloudy, but such a pale blue in comparrison to the water. Although not the most amazing, it was rather picturesque. In a matter of moments the sun burst through an opening in the white cotton balls overhead and we were showered with even more warmth. It felt good. It was here that Christy wanted to take a picture of the two of us by extending her arm in a DIY manner. I look like a squinty-moron in every shot because of the sun. The ONE time the sun decides to grace us and I can't even manage to look normal so we can commemerate the occassion with a picture. I think after about four tries I was scolded and then blinded myself trying to keep my eyes open. Is it bad that I still see spots?

After the first Japanese family moved out another moved in, this one consisting of Mom, Dad, and a little girl, who in about five seconds went from smiles and giggles to sobs and screams. What the hell happened to this thing from the first step to the 12th? My nice, serene viewing was now disturbed. Mom and Dad did what they could to coddle the crap out of this kid making sure she's back to smiles. Do you know what my parents would have done? One of three things. One, yelled at me to shut it! Two, left me there hoping that ignoring the child will make her go away, or calm the hell down. Three, they would have unlocked the car, walked me to it, strapped me in, and gone about their way. In fact, I'm pretty sure something like this actually happened on several family vacations. I think I was 17 the last time it took place. And I tell ya, it takes a lot to drag a 17 year-old back to the car, and at this point the child-safety doors don't stand a chance! I was shifty, I'll have you know. Anyhow, these parents opted for a mix of option two, and invisable option four--begging the child to be good and waving hundreds of toys at her to keep her quietly entertained. I opted to move far away from the child, as I really wanted no part of this event. Japanese parents are notorious for allowing their kids to get away with ANYTHING. Because of this I have witnessed kids smack their parents in the face, demand food and drink (only to receive shortly after), and allowed to act like total shits in public. Throwing a fit as a Japanese child works wonders--you can get anything you want! I can't wait til my parents visit. I wonder if living in Japan and having your family come to see you counts as being a Japanese child. Maybe I'll get that pony I've been eyeing.

One of the highlights to checking out Bird Island was the arrant example of the attitude of people inhabiting tropical islands, I say this having lived in Hawaii for a few months. For some reason Bird Island and the non-gated road leading toward Kalabera Cave require the presence of a security guard. As you can see this is a highly sophisticated operation involving a flimsy, cardboard sign, a plastic chair, and a dude, who seemingly has gone missing at the here and now. We wandered back to our car and I couldn't resist the possibility of catching this on film. What the picture doesn't show is the car about five feet to the right, with the trunk ajar slightly, music blarring out of one of the open car doors, and windows tinted darker than any presidential vehicle. I walked over to the car hoping the "security guard" was inside so I could ask to take his picture. Alas, he wasn't there. We stood around waiting for about two minutes before I hypothesized the fearless protector was probably in the can. Sure enough, about ten seconds later the door swings open and a 5'2" guy, caring about 150 of his 300 pound frame in his stomach, begins to saunter back in the direction of his currently abandoned post. At this point Christy and I decide the scene really is better without the guy, so we snap the shots and race back to the car. This truly does epitomize the way things are done on small islands in the Pacific. Everything is casual and laid-back, and mostly done out of formality. I'm sure if it were up to this guy he wouldn't be here. He knows as well as we do there's no point to him sitting around in a lawn chair, which by the way, matches the model my parents have in their backyard...their chairs are green.

After dashing away from Bird Island we were on to Suicide Cliff. Apparently way back in the day people who lived on the island used this particular spot as a means to an end...literally. This was the chosen place for final repentance to whichever spiritual figure was listening, just before taking one's own life. The beauty of this view is marred by that thought, not to mention the graves graves that were behind us at the time. The site known as Suicide Cliff is now a memorial site for not only those that lost their lives after hurling themselves off said cliff, but also those who lost their lives during the several battles fought in Saipan. Most of the headstones were Japanese both in style and writing. Some were left for Americans, and others for native islanders. Although the mood of this place was distracting, the view was phenomenal. The picture was unable to capture the brillian green color of the shrubs and trees below. This island, although a bit rocky, was really quite plush. The best part of where we were standing was the panorama we took in, being on one of the tallest points of the island. It was enough to make me forget that the forecast called for more rain still withing the days leading up to our departure. In this moment all I wanted was to soak up the warmth, the light breeze coming off the ocean and up the cliff, and to smell the plumeria tree that was behind us. For an instant I was taken back to Hawaii, a very good time in my life. But enough of that mushy crap! There was more to do!

On our decent to the beach we were confronted with the gray clouds we had become more than familiar with in the last 36 hours. It look less than 15 minutes for the weather to turn on us. A moment of foreshadowing for the rest of our time in Saipan. If you look closely the middle of the picture contains about four cell phone towers. From this distance it's nay so bad, however, upon closer inspection they appear rather grotesque. Completely out of place in this little part of paradise. Despite the ugliness I'm rather pleased with this picture as I was too lazy to actually get out of the car, so I just rolled down the window, stuck my arm out and hoped for the best. Looks like I did okay.

Mary

Clip 1:

2007-03-11T18:21:00.000+09:00

There's no way we are staying in this hotel room on a day with spotty sunshine threatening to peak out behind every cloud. We had two options: north or south. The north boasted a couple cool sites, Kalabera Cave, Bird Island, and Suicide Cliff rounded out the top three. The south boasted...the airport. Been there, done that, the North it is! We head off up the road and down comes the rain. "Are you serious?" I yell behind the wheel. Christy and I don't even need to look at each other to know what the other is thinking. However, in spite of major urges to complain we both know it's better to keep quiet about the rain ready to ruin our moods. With the ocean to our left and the unknown in front of us, we drive about 15 kilometers up the road and the sun starts to creep out. Thank GOD! Apparently all a girl has to do to escape the crap weather is leave the only interesting section of the island. Great. The first spot we come to is Bird Island. Christy suggests we follow the signs towards Kalabera Cave and start there. Sounds good to me, the only thing is that once we pass the lookout to Bird Island the road stops being paved and starts getting bumpy. From the look of the massive puddles sprinkled throughout the two-lane path the rain has been here. Hmmm, imagine that. I soon find out that driving at a normal pace is not an option as I need to slow to a crawl to pass over the bumps ready to blow my shocks completely. It occured to me at this point that these are the moments that justify the sign at the car rental agency notifying would-be customers the replacement cost for the tires of each vehicle. I have to wind back and forth, from left to right, in an attempt to avoid the worst of it. Our two-laner is rapidly dwindling down to a single. From the looks of things I'm safe as we seem to be getting into fairly desolate territory. The road is getting smaller and the potholes are getting bigger. I am suddenly suffering from a bad case of Deja Vu circa 1993 when I was on the Autopia ride at Disneyland. Too bad I was lacking a giant metal bar to use as a handy guide down this progressively odd road. Crap, are we even going the right way? My fearless co-pilot informs me that she's no expert. Damn! We're in the same boat. Secretly, I was hoping she had the correct route all along and was just seeing how far I would go until figuring it out.

Well, if ever you need a sign from God that now is a good place to turn around it may come in the form of a bovine roadblock. We pulled up slowly, still minding the milky brown holes in the ground. "Well doesn't that beat all," I thought as I came to a stop and grabbed for my camera. Christy and I hopped out our respective doors and took a few shots. This was enough to induce one of the males to protectively heard one of the females off the road. This was both sweet and all-too close to home reminder of the country I just left. "Was this merely an act of protection or was there a hint of oppression mixed in," I thought in a matter of milliseconds. "Seriously Mary? They're cows," I had to remind myself. Although it seemed the large creatures were attempting to get out of our way I wasn't interested in disturbing them. We got back in the car, pulled a 3-point turn and headed back up the road. Noting a completely different version of the road, I happened to notice a few houses intermixed in the thick, green folliage. Looking back I am guessing the cows were prepared to get out of our way as interaction with humans in autos was more commonplace than I would have figured. Another five minutes of bump, bump, bump and we came to a fork in the road. Right took us back towards Bird Island and the way we came in. Left took us towards the cave, as the sign, only visible from our current position, allowed us to ascertain.

Kalabera Cave looked rather anti-climactic upon first glance, however once you get out of the car and walk up the little hill it's rather interesting. It was muddy from the fresh rain and I was in a pair of $3.50 flipflops from Old Navy. Good choice on my part! As we headed away from the car and towards the cave I am praying to the Almighty I don't lose my footing anywhere along the way. We ascend about ten feet up and into the mouth of the cave, making sure to only go as far as light allows. As we climbed the rocks two giant birds, probably crows, cawed loudly and fled from the darkness to a nearby tree. I almost wet myself. I was not up for handling loud, sudden noises while I am, in flipflops, entering a slighty spooky cave, home to God-only-knows. Christy was brave, she walked about 40 feet into the mouth of the dark cavern, I stayed at a safe distance, as the downward slope we were currently treading allowed more discomfort than glee. I turned to take pictures, Christy yelped. What? WHAT? "I slipped," she admits, holding onto one of two rather expensive cameras. Christy, also donning sandals, was ready to head back to the car. "I'm right in front of you!" I thought, ready to move out and move on, thankful I didn't have to attempt a rescue mission.

Back in the car we meandered down to the fork in the road, then turned left, back towards Bird Island. The road, as promised, became wider and wider, and I felt less and less like I was invading someone's very private property. The houses, and I am being generous, resembled something one would see in a movie, and not expect to come across in real life. They were shack-like, very open-air, and extremely rundown. This last part didn't so much surprise me as confirm the trend we saw throughout the island. The "shabby" look was found encompassing the West Coast of the island, hitting storefronts, restraurants, and hotels alike. There didn't appear to be anyone currently in any of the residences we passed, but I wasn't about to stay around long enough to find out. I mean, Bird Island was waiting! And as the presence of sun grew slightly stronger in the sky, I for one, was not about to keep Bird Island waiting...

Mary

SAIPAN! Minus one very Important Ingredient.....

2007-03-10T19:23:00.000+09:00

Instead of a play by play like last vacation the Saipan experience will offer more along the lines of a highlight reel. Ready? Roll it!

After planning for a month and a half what we wanted was simple...warm climate, sunny beaches, English as the main language, and frozen drinks with umbrellas in them. We left straight after work on Sunday evening, March 4th. The train seemed to be going slower than normal and I could not get to the airport fast enough. Still in work clothes (that includes pantyhose!) checking in at the desk was a breeze and we were on the plane before I knew it. The flight was relatively short, the food was edible, and the excitement of getting the hell out of Japan never wore off. We landed in Saipan sometime after midnight. It was dark, warm, and smelled almost as good as Hawaii. But wait....was that a rain drop I felt? It was more like a rainy mist, but moisture nonetheless. We boarded the bus and in 30 short minutes we were behind several Japanese tourists with the same group, waiting to check into the Plumeria Resort. Up to our room, and into bed. It was sometime after 1 am and nearing 2 at a rapid pace. Eyes closed. Darkness once again. God, sleep feels nice.

Eyes shoot open! We're here, we're actually here! I'm on a tropical island with my roommate and we have one agenda only...sun ourselves on the beach until we're baked, fried, and crispy-like. We go to the curtains, ready to hop out onto the balcony and soak up the rays like it's our last day on Earth. And we do just that. Problem! We ordered sun, not rain! Why are there so many devious looking clouds in the sky? These aren't gray and white wispy ones, these are big, puffy, soaked-up-the-water-like-a-sponge clouds. Exactly how long is this going to last, is all we can muster at a dismal point such as this. It's around now that we decide to go ahead and rent the car we had discussed on the plane the previous evening. At least we would have somewhere to go.

By 11:15 we were armed with keys and a Toyota Rav-4 con full tank of gas! First things first, time to explore the tiny island we are coming to know as a temporary home. Within 10 minutes we are at the Northern-most point of the island, due to bad directions and a wrong turn. We trek around in the Rav-4 for a bit and then decided now is the perfect time to accomplish one of our major goals for this trip. We were in search of a Price Costco, and dammit, we were eating pizza. No more funky, fishy, freaky Japanese pizza. This is all-American, pepperoni-rich, grease-soaked, cheese-laden Costco pizza! We both ordered a jumbo slice of pepperoni and a soda. Once that was devoured we split a second jumbo slice and a hotdog! I took mine "Venezuelan-style" which means ketchup, mustard, relish, mayo, onions, and potato chips. I skipped the mayo...that was just gross, and I gotta say, those Venezuelans know how to eat a hotdog! I suggest you all try it sometime! After lunch we rolled ourselves the the car. It was time to go shopping. I know what you are thinking...the girls are ready to hit up the DFS Galleria they passed on the way into town. As much as I couldn't wait to meet up with my old friends Gucci and Prada, I had a more important date at this point. Groceries! We loaded up on hummus, bagels, jam, cream cheese, turkey, deli mustard, pretzels, real salsa, tortilla chips and whole wheat bread. We threw in some cookies and water, just for good measure. It was all I could do to resist myself from buying a huge jar of pickles. It's been 6 months since many things: driving, mustard, sunbathing, a sweet mani/pedi combo, and some other things that may not be entirely blog-appropriate. I was determined to play catch-up while in Saipan, at least as far as food and driving were concerned. So when you have a car for two and a half days and an island to explore, what do you do? Read on my loyal readers.....

See you next post,
Mary

Phobia, shmobia? My own personal outbreak...

2007-02-22T19:56:00.000+09:00

Well this week has been interesting to say the least. I was in for quite the long haul as I was scheduled to work seven days in a row, followed by a sweet two day weekend. Monday usually marks my 'Friday', and this Monday in particular marked our 5 month anniversary in Japan. Upon arriving at work as par usual on Monday morning, I saw I had the early break (boo), followed by a kids training session, and then three more lessons to finish off the day. Hungry by break, I headed down into the station to grab some eats. Recently I had discovered a bagel shop - although this may sound basic at best and less than thrilling to you, I had not had a bagel in oh you know about 5 months. I grabbed a 'half & half sandwich' (tuna on one, blue berries and cream cheese on the other), a yogurt, some oj, and headed back to the teacher's room to enjoy what looked to be a quality meal. I finished up my lunch and it was on to the kids training session. I noticed my stomach hurt, assumed it would pass, and wrote it off on the tuna sandwich. By the second half of the kids session my chest started to itch, the stomachache worsened, and I felt hot. Being severely allergic to peanuts, I am really in-tune with my body and how it reacts with a peanut encounter. This was no such thing, but something was definitely wrong.

I had three lessons and just over two hours left, so I planned to push through and give it some time to subside. Sadly no such luck. After struggling though my next lesson, I emerged from my classroom red as a fire engine and as itchy as a kid with the chicken pox. Immediately, I headed toward the bathroom, opened my shirt, and noticed a few welts in my chest. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Trying to remain calm, I returned to the teacher's quarters and rummaged through my bag to find my 'peanut pills'. I had my epi-pen, but no pills - I must have left them in my other bag when I switched purses this morning. I knew I had no choice but to go home and get my meds. Terrified and overwhelmed by this outbreak, I pulled my boss aside, showed her my chest and explained that I had to go home and get my medicine. I thought everything would be fine once I got the atterax into my system, so I told her I could come back for my final lesson. On the walk home I phoned Mary to let her know what was going on. I knew someone needed to know where I was and what was happening to me, leaving a trail just in case. I made it home pretty quickly and the cold air calmed my flaming face, somehow I managed to avoid panic. I ran into the apartment, took my meds, and drank some water. So now what? Sitting and waiting while your body is being overtaken is not the easiest thing to do. I went into the bathroom, striped off my clothes and wiped myself down with a cool towel. Amidst the sexiest strip down of all time, it became painfully clear that nothing was getting better and I was covered in welts and hives. The itching sensation had moved from my chest, up and around my neck, over the back of my head, and was now heading onto my limbs. At this point I called home. My mom is my go-to medical person. I Skyped home leaving a frantic message for my Dad and finally got a hold of Mom. I needed to explain my symptoms to someone who would understand, but more than anything I needed not to be alone.

Mid conversation with my mom I realized that if I was going to make it back to work I would need to leave now. Standing in my living room wearing a headset, my undies and what felt like a whole new skin - it was pretty obvious that work wasn't going to happen. At this point I ran to the mirror to check myself out. My eyes felt heavy, but I thought the tears might be to blame for that. Nope. With one horrified glance, I could see this was on the move - my eyelids were swollen and swelling with each passing moment. One thing I learned from this ordeal is that I seem to manage myself decently well under pressure and panic stricken situations. With my head set in one ear and my phone help up to the other, I called work, spoke to my boss and explained that I needed to go to the hospital and could in no way make it back for my final lesson. After hanging up both of my phone calls I grabbed my passport, insurance info, and a Japanese language pocketbook. I got dressed and headed down to the soon to be closed Freebell apartment office and explained that I was having an allergic reaction and needed to go to the hospital - now. All I really wanted was for them to help my flag down a cabbie and tell him where to go - because, of course, I have not even the vaguest idea where the hospital is. Sweet. As kind and well intentioned as the office girls were, they were in no way understanding the urgency of my situation. So, they handed me some paperwork and recommended a clinic about a five minute walk from Freebell. I found the building with a little help from a stranger, and made it up to the proper floor. As I set foot onto the third floor all I could kind of see with my more than heavy eyes was an entire row of doctor offices, and no English. I asked another man for help and he kindly walked me into the clinic.

I asked if anyone spoke English, "ego, ego?". The sweet and terrified looking receptionist replied, "Doctor only". I whip out my handy-dandy Japanese book and point to 'allergic reaction'. Confusion sweeps her face and I burst into tears. I'm sure I already had her nervous with my abrupt entrance, non Japanese ethnicity, and you know - the whole swelling/hives situation. Quicker that someone can hand me a tissue, they rush me back to see the doc. I am then seated on a stool in the middle of room surrounded on all sides by hospital beds and sick Japanese people that I have now cut in line. At this point I am still crying, partly because I know that if something happens to me someone will be able to save me. I explain to the 60 something year-old man with an MD and a crazy eye, subtly concealed by shaded eyes glasses, that I am allergic to peanuts, took two pills, hand him the prescription bottle. He tells me to relax, and breathe. After assessing that my blood pressure and breathing is ok, the doc tells me I am going to need and iv. Two nurses with 1950's style nurse caps pinned neatly into their hair escort me to a nearby bed, take my coat, jacket and purse and ready the iv supplies. I recline onto the bed and immediately notice that my gaijin feet are suspended in the air, and are about a foot too long for the bed. The older nurse stays with me to do the needle work and get the drugs a-flowing. I tried to explain that I have really bad veins, not that it translates, but she is forced to stick me in the hand anyway because even if I had ok veins the whole inner area of my elbow was covered with welts blocking what little vision she was offered to begin with. The bag drips and I try as much as I can to relax. The nurse comes to check on me periodically, rubs my arm, and kindly tells me I am pretty in Japanese (a comment that is beyond nice considering that I look like a twisted human experiment gone very wrong). I look at my left arm and see that it is continuing to spread, and my skin is taking on the texture of an avocado skin as the welts and hives add up on top of each other.

The drip runs dry, they bandaid my hand, and set me out on a bench to talk to the doctor once more before I go. Mind you - this is no regular doctor's office. All of the patients wait on a bench a whole two feet away from the stool at the doctor's desk where he treats and checks everyone out. Privacy it a little different here. My turn is up, he hands me a prescription and gives me some advice and warnings. I hold up may arm and say "this is going to go away, right?", to which he says "I hope so". Wrong answer my friend. He then explains that if I feel "near death" I need to go to the ER. "Near death?" he speaks great literal English, but that in no way eased my fears of this very scary encounter. I am dismissed and taken out front to fill out the paperwork I skipped in the beginning. After I get the papers I glance up and notice my reflection in a mirror on the wall across from me. My forehead, eyes and cheeks were swollen to the point where I was close to unrecognizable even to myself, and I start to stress again because I don't feel any better and they are sending me home. I pay for my treatment (4,950 yen) and head down to the pharmacy. They hook me up with a two day series of steroids and send me on my way.

I walk toward the elevator and feel very wrong. My stomach is weak and I am feeling light-headed. The elevator beams me up instead of down. I press myself against the side of the lift and my vision starts to go in and out. Finally I reach the ground level and push my way out through the doors of the elevator, not without a half body-check to my right side. I maybe make it five steps out, and fall to the ground. I passed out, everything went black and I fell to the floor. Luckily I wasn't down for too long, maybe 10 or 15 seconds, before I came to on my hands and knees with my belonging spread about me. No one helped. Such is the Japanese way - they assume you are embarrassed and don't want to cause further embarrassment, and thereby offer no assistance. To be truthful, being Caucasian in no way helped me in the situation, as I am pretty sure they all thought I was drunk. After pulling my belongings together, I make it to my feet, out the nearest door, and into a cab. That was the best six dollar cab ride I have ever taken, worth every penny, or yen as it may be. By the time I reach my apartment I look at my arms and discover that the welts have disappeared, replaced only by redness. The swelling, however, remains and remained well into the next day. I took my medicine and fell asleep until Mary got home. Her phone had died during the day, so she woke me to check in. I felt better, and was now experiencing the adrenaline fall-out.

Things are back to normal now, and the steroids should be out of my system in the next few days. I have no idea what caused the reaction, but I do know that I have no desire to go through that ever again. I joke about my peanut allergy, but this was a bit of a reality check. Mary was amazingly helpful upon her return home, as is her nature, and I am grateful for her support. Work should be interesting tomorrow, I have a sneaking suspicion this may have put me in bad graces with Jack, the RAAM (regional manager who happens to be based out of my branch). If so, I'll kill him with kindness and recommend a great little bagel shop in the station

Love,

Christy

Crazy Bizzles!

2007-02-16T23:01:00.000+09:00

What the hell is wrong with this country?!?! It's Friday night and I am sitting alone in my apartment voicing myfrustrations at Christy's computer, literally. Although Sunday nights seem to be the most popular night to go out and drink yourself retarded after a long week, Friday and Saturday nights are nothing to sneeze at in this town. Normally I am in full support of other people going out and having fun, even when I am too tired to do so myself, however, there is a point at which a line must be drawn. It is here that I will preface my story with the fact that I have come home after two consecutive 13-hour days. Yes, I realize I am just experiencing the joys of adulthood, blah blah blah, but they don't teach you about this stuff in college...trust me! And yes, these long days are out of choice: pre-work workouts and Japanese classes make for long days--out of the house by 9, home at 10. So needless to say I am tired. Too tired, in fact, to accept an invite of drinks and kareoke with Christy and her girls from work, or to endure the formalities of elegance or eloquence that this blog deserves. This makes me a lame, old woman who can only muster enough energy to vent into cyberspace. And vent I will:

One of my largest problems with the society in which I currently live is the hypocrisy practiced by so many on a regular basis. As a foreigner in this country I am sometimes looked down upon. I am considered rude and assumed, by most, to be American. Good assumption. There are certain rules here that one is expected to follow. If you are foreign you are more than expected to follow the rules. This means being quiet on the subway, not eating in public, and avoiding being an all-around embarrassment. Generally I have no problem following the rules. I read on the trains, I stay on the left side of the streets and stairwells, and show respect to elder Japanese people as often as possible by bowing slightly, giving up my seat, and holding doors open. I will say this is way more than most Japanese people my age are willing to do. So when I see grown Japanese men making complete assholes out of themselves on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday nights I am not only embarrassed for them but frustrated as well. The assholes are not limited to business men, or men with money, rather pretty much anyone who can scrape together enough pocket change to acquire the two beers it takes to get a Japanese person drunk, is most likely set for the night. Obviously this discomposure stems from an episode experienced tonight, but we will get to that in a minute. First, I will say that I have seen, counteless times, coming home from work on a Friday night, business men in three-piece suits who are either falling-down-drunk or passed out somewhere between my train and my doorstep. I'm not talking fell-asleep-on-a-bench passed out, OH NO NO! One evening I saw a man who had exited his train, found a pillar three feet later, and passed out standing against it, only to walk another fifty feet where a man in a suit was curled up in the fetal position, sleeping on the ground. The dirty, dirty ground in a subway station! Seriously?! I was mortified and disgusted at the same time. How can a person maintain any dignity when waking up and realizing they have been drooling on themselves for the past three hours on account of the three cups of sake that sent them into an alcohol-induced coma? Yet if I walk through the station in workout clothes after coming home from the gym people look at me like I'm a savage. Awesome! (If you missed out on the implied sarcasm on that one you should no longer read this blog.) There was another occasion when Christy and I had a close-call with a dude on his bike. This was about three weeks after we had moved into Freebell. We were walking home from the station about 100 feet from our apartment building when this guy stumbled out of the local izakaya (Japanese bar), somehow located which bike was his, and got on. However instead of peddling off he just fell over into some flimsy sawhorse things left from the construction workers who had been tearing up the street earlier that day. The man, in his suit, literally fell into the rubble and dirt in the street. And this was no vertigo, out-of-order equilibrium accident, the man was just sloshed. I glared in disapproval, gave an open-mouth look of disgust, followed by a grunt, then moved on. One step closer to hell. At least I am staying warm.

So tonight, after working out and working a full day I am lugging my giant gym bag home which only gets heavier as the day goes on. It's like a little gnome is filling the bag with bricks while I am in my lessons. Damn brick gnomes! So I decide to skip the stairs that lead me from the underground hallway onto the street, and proceed to take two escalators inside the new Lucent Tower instead. This also cuts out about half a block of above ground walking, which is completely worth it considering that portion of the street is like being in Chicago there is so much damn wind! As I am making my way onto the main road I had to walk in front of a car threatening to drive down the side street I was currently crossing, however the car was stopped, so there was no real worry. Then I look down to my left and see some old man, literally...the guy was pushing 80 if he was a day, laying in the street. The wind was incredibly strong and cold, and I was guessing the cement wasn't offering much in the prospect of warmth. I dropped my bags and ran to the guy who just stared up and started to mumble in drunked Japanese. He was just lying there, helpless, unable to get up and get out of the cold. It was rather pitiful really. After I spent 20 seconds trying to ask the man if he was okay two women jumped out of the parked car to come help me. They kept saying, "Daijobu desuka," basically asking if he was alright. Naturally I said this with no luck, however the two women got a response. After we got the man to his knees he started to grab for my grocery bag. The drunken bastard was trying to steal my dinner! The guy was so drunk and weak that all he thought about was scoring whatever was in my white, plastic bag. I don't think so friend. He didn't realize he was blleding until one of the women reached into her car and forced him to take a tissue. Even then I don't think he knew what he was supposed to do with it. After he stood up he reached for my bag, again, and after telling him no, he walked on his marry way, down the street, as if this was a nightly routine. All I could do was blink twice in disbelief, grab my bags, and walk the block and a half home. Crazy old coot probably does this as a means to score free food. Just as he sees a sucker (like myslef) walk up he throws himself to the ground and puts on his best, "I've fallen and I can't get up" routine. And with that thought I have just come one step closer to hell, I realize this. My Mom is shaking her head as she reads this, I promise you. Hey Mom, at least I stopped to help the guy, right? More than most Japanese 20-somethings would have done. When I got home I finally had enough light to notice the man's blood had transfered to my body while I was trying to lift him off the ground. That's a bad omen, man! I hope to God that guy made it home safe because his blood was litearlly on my hands. That's some symbollic shit right there!

This incident combined with many others like it leads me to utter intolerance for the drunken Japanese I encounter on a semi-regular basis. Before the old man there was a man on the train ride home who waved money at me and slurred out random sentences in English. Clearly wasted he went between talking to me in crappy English and even crappier Japanese. I read my book and ignored him, as the rules clearly state one should do in this siuation. What's odd about all of this is how painfully aware I am of it now that I am in Japan. In America it goes un-noticed. (Probably due to lack of use of public transportation, thank God! You see a lot less when you're driving in your own little rose-colored bubble.) I am certainly not so bold as to suggest similar acts to not occur in my hometown, state, and country. I am, however, learning that ignorance to this kind of shit really does offer a much larger state of bliss in which one can live.

So now, here I sit, feeling surprisingly better and all-too-exhausted. Please don't let the aforementioned whining discourage any of you from knowing that Japan is a lovely place and I am incredibly lucky to be having this experience. Sorry about the "salty" language, Mom.

Love to you all,
Japan's Biggest Fan (aka Mary)

Stuff from all over... !

2007-02-16T11:14:00.000+09:00

Valentine's Day came and went, but not without an amazing breakfast of pancakes, bacon, potatoes, and fruit. It we a pretty sweet little set up. Mary and I ate (traditional style) on the floor of our kitchen with a huge spread of a meal and exchanged gifts. As mentioned in the previous blog entry, it is tradition for women to give men chocolate as a sign of their love and affection. I'm pretty sure that Mary and I exchanging chocolate simply furthered the outward appearance of a suspected "partnership", if you catch my drift. Oh life.... Following our tummy-ache-inducing morning activities, I was off to work in good ole Komaki. A full shift on a rainy Valentines Day forty minutes outside of the city sounded perfect to me. The day was pretty nice actually - a lot of one to one classes, and working with cool people made the day go by really quickly. After making the trek back from our former village and getting back into the city, I met up with the girls in Shin-Sakae. 'The girls' these days consists of our friends Jo and Brenna (both teachers), and Adrianna (a Colombian yoga instructor). We all met up at Diablos for Mexican food. I am a harsh judge of Mexican food given my hometown and extensive experience. Needless to say, I was ready for the worst, prepped for another encounter like we had in Hakuba where the "burrito" was made with white rice and had no flavor - which is basically the opposite of Mexican food in my oh so humble opinion. Turns out I was more than pleasantly surprised with the food, and the owner who is in fact MEXICAN! We are talking full blooded, cooks all the food, knows what he is doing Mexican. Great food, great company plus a few margaritas put me in a very euphoric place very quickly. It was a really nice evening out with the girls, and God knows a little tequila never hurt anyone... much.

The rest of the week has been full of comparisons for me. I taught voice lesson to a man who is self taught from text books and has only ever taken three Nova lessons - yet he uses words like "notorious" and I want to tell him he should stop wasting his money and go home, but some how I manage to hold myself back. I had met him once the day before at one of the other schools I teach at and he was happy to see me again, which is sweet and reassuring. We got to chatting and he asked me "can I ask you a question?", which made me ever so slightly nervous because one can never really tell that question is going to go (and it has gone very wrong before). I reluctanly said "yes" and he asked if I had ever heard if the Japanese TV personality Becky. Shock of all shocks, no I hadn't. To my "no" he replied "your smiling face reminds me of Becky, you look very much like her. Ask the receptionist after class". TV personality? I'll take it! Turns out I did/do know who she is from our days in Komaki where we would play the continual game of "guess the plot" of TV shows and Japanese movies. Becky is a noticeable individual as she is the only Japanese person I have see that has naturally green eyes, and according to my students she is funny. Wow - that's sounds amazingly like me - especially the Japanese part! It's uncanny! Then, just yesterday I taught a demo lesson in a kids class. A nine year old girl told me, well she told the staff who translated for me, that I looked like Barbie. Now, unlike Barbie, I can actually hold myself up while I walk, but once more - I'll take it haha. Another one of my Junior girls, Risa, drew a picture of me and presented it to me before class. Now I know what I would look like as a Japanimation character.

That's what I've got for now...

Love,

Christy

Ladies, grab your V-cards!

2007-02-13T08:30:00.000+09:00

No, this is not a shout out to all the card-caring members of the "V Club," women holding fast to their virginity (although, way to go ladies!). No no, this blog entry is dedicated to something different, however the topic may not be too off base...

It's holiday time, once again, in this fabulous faux domicile of mine. It's been a whole month since New Years and Japan is due another major holiday. We haven't given gifts in 30-something days! Many of us are going through withdrawls! As most people in America are gearing up to spend time with and way to much money on their loved ones the women new to this country are discovering the scales have been tipped, and NOT in their favor! Tomorrow, February 14, is indeed Valentine's Day, however, not a Valentine's Day to which American women are accustomed. In Japan, this holiday is fairly one-sided. On the day where more chocolate is purchased, given away, and consummed, it's all going to the men! Yes, here, Valentine's Day is for the dudes, and chocolate is, by far, the only true and right gift to give. It is said that Japanese women are too shy to express their love or fondness for the men in their lives and this holiday offers them a chance to let loose and say "I love you" via sinfully sweet chocolate messages. No conversation hearts on this side of the world! On this day filled with love and calories women give chocolate to many of the men in their lives, beit family members, coworkers, friends, or lovers. Store bought, homemade, it doesn't matter so long as it is given in the spirit of the holiday. Now before all you male readers get too excited over the idea of Japanese girls slaving over double boilers filled with cocoa delight there is something to keep in mind. This sweet treat might be "Giri-choko" translated to mean obligation chocolate. Giri-choko is the chocolate given to men such as bosses, colleagues or male friends that women have no romantic interest in, rather feelings of friendship or gratitude. The concept of "giri" is very Japanese. It is a mutual obligation that the Japanese follow when dealing with other people. If someone does you a favor, then you feel obligated to do something for that person. Wow, receiving chocolate because someone felt they had to give it to you. At least you have something to stuff your face with to cover up the overwhelming feeling of social failure. Wouldn't it be great if feelings like these always came with a side of chocolate?

Now ladies, before you get all in a feminist huff (don't worry, I was already there!) retribution is on the horizon! Being the equal-opportinity banner-waving culture that this is (sarcasm anyone?) Japan was kind enough to invent a new holiday. On March 14, White Day is celebrated. In keeping with the tradition of the themed holiday, chocolate is given to women by their appropriate male counterparts. However, flowers and cards are also popular gifts, as well as jewelry.

As for myself, this Valentine's Day will be much like all others in my past...loveless. Before you all sob for me at once, my lovely gay friend Eddie has demanded I be his Valentine. As Eddie is wonderful, and well...gay, I figured we'd make a great pair. Too bad for Eddie Christy and I were already snatched up by Brenna and Jo...two girls from the 9th floor that we befriended as we moved into Freebell. Over breakfast a few weeks ago someone mentioned that the four of us should "double date" for Valentine's Day. As my prospects of an actual date were limited to Eddie (and I use the term 'actual' quite loosely in this instance) it sounded like a plan to me! Since I can remember I have not liked this holiday. I saw through it at the tender age of 9, realizing how much greeting card companies profit over the guilt trip layed on elementart school kids not giving a card to every freaking student in the class. V-Day has always seemed fake and obligatory to me. This is why a night of Mexican food with the girls sounds down-right fantastic! Poor Christy has to work in BFE, ie Komaki, tomorrow. We are waking up on the early side to make breakfast and exchange gifts. Too bad payday is on Thursday and this girl is broke! Looks like no jewelry for Christy this year....

Happy Valentine's Day to you all! Love, kisses, and hugs from Japan!

Mary

Ladies take the backseat....

2007-02-04T15:36:00.000+09:00

Women in Japan are perceived, and perceive themselves, in a very interesting light. Mind you, this of course can in no way account for all the ladies of Japan and I would love nothing less than to be disproved of my feminist intuitions and formed hypotheses - but no such luck. Women and girls alike parade around the streets of Japan in the most absurd clothing, something I commonly refer to as the 'Hooker Look' or 'Lady of the Night Chic'. Attire coupled with attitude, social expectations, and now governmental expectations have firmly placed the female gender distantly behind their more esteemed counter parts: men. As previously mentioned, women 'expire' at 25, are thrilled to be 'kept' and think it is cute to walk pigeon-toed. Seriously, pigeon-toed? Any culture that invests any sincere belief that walking intentionally as if you are handicapped and helpless as attractive clearly promotes physical and gendered discrimination. As if the appearance of helplessness will more quickly draw in the 'white knight' to save her, keep her protected in an earthquake-proof home where she can collect Louis Vutton hand bags and hopefully (if for nothing more than the sake of Japan's future) pop out a few beautiful baby boys.

You may be wondering where this is all coming from... Over the past few months I have been able to roll my eyes at some of the ideologies I have become so familiar with while living here, but every person reaches their breaking point. Mine was last week. I was having a normal day at work, and then taught in the Voice Room. Voice is an open forum for conversation in English. Some students only come to Voice at Nova, some take regular lessons as well - point being, you never know what exactly you ae walking into when you have Voice. The most positive aspect of Voice is the lack of censorship; there is no textbook, no real substantial protocol, just conversation. Generally teachers are meant to prep a topic and prompt questions throughout the session to keep things rolling. The beauty is that you can talk about anything, and because of this I have been able to learn heaps about Japanese culture, habitual tendencies, and even travel. Over all it is a rewarding session from which I feel that I gain just as much from the students as I hope they gain from me.

We have our regulars at my branch, and because my workplace is one of the larger in the area we have several. Tomohiro, the big teddy bear who wears all leather, rides a motorcycle, and whose dream it is to go to the US and ride Route 66 on his bike. Masahiro, an Okinawa native who loves to talk politics and always says "how you say?" at the beginning of each sentence. Kim, who runs an international school and introduces himself as "the Korean" each time I see him. And then we have Kaori. Kaori looks like a porcelian doll each time I see her, she always has perfect nails, an eighties hair-sprayed fringe, and liquid liner around her powdered eyes which makes her look as if she is imitating none other than Cleopatra. Kaori lives in Nagoya, while her husband and youngest daughter live in Michigan, and her eldest daughter attends University in Tokyo. Her marriage was arranged, which she thinks was a good thing and has no issue openly discussing. One day I walked into Voice and she was the only student there. Unusual, but I knew we would have plenty to talk about as she is pretty chatty and eeking her way toward the higher levels at Nova. She talked my ear off about her holiday trip to Michigan, and how wonderful America (Michigan specifically) is. While there on her visit she went to her youngest daughter's school and met with all of her teachers, then proceeded to tell me with shock and awe about female teachers at the secondary level. Kaori couldn't believe that there were women teaching outside elementary school, and then asked about my educational experience. I'm sure I burst her cultural bubble, and maybe disturbed her comfort zone, as I informed her that I have had both men and women teachers throughout the entirety of my educational career from pre-school on. I could see her mind attempting to attack the idea, to break it down and understand it, but it just wasn't happening. Instead she was left confused. "What about teacher at the college level?", uh oh, it's not going through. I continued my explanation that woman are indeed allowed and commonly teach at all levels of education, University not being exempt from that. "Hmmm, what about different subject - do women only teach some class and man other?". It's at this point I realize I must tackle this delicately. "No Kaori. Both men and women successfully teach all grades and all subjects in the school system." A reasonable answer to which I expect some kind of reasonable response. Ha. Kaori fires back: "but don't you think men teach better, they can think deeper from women." My knuckles have started to turn white from my not so loving grip on the chair beneath me as I listen to a college educated woman explain to me that women cannot think as deeply as men. Another surprising revelation was that my Art teachers had been of mixed gender, as Kaori continued to inform me that men dominate the art world as both instructors and artists. The bell rings and a relieved of my duty as the Feminist Teacher, for today.

My impressions have not been only from what I see and who I teach, but are also backed up by the Japanese government; a government that lives passively and contently under the thumb of America. The Prime Minister, Shinzo Abe, is a fan of and has recently advocated the positive aspects of gender segregated education - because men and women are not equal and have radically different social roles, of course. In fact, Japan ranks 79 out of 115 countries surveyed for a "global report on equality of the sexes". Sweden was ranked number one and is the only country to have an equal number of both male and female politicians. The good ole USA chimed in with just enough equality to make it into the top twenty at number 17. Another governmental development came in a statement this week from the Minister of Health, Hakuo Yanagisawa, who called women "child-bearing machines" in a speech about the declining birthrate in Japan. There has been little to no national upset, and I had to search a bit to find an article about it. Yanagisawa also said "giving birth and raising children is a noble occupation... Together with he public, I would like to reconfirm the magnificence of family and of housework". Japan's birth rate is the lowest it has been since 1898 and is causing a panic among older generations and concerns for the future. Later the Minister said the comparison "may not have been appropriate". You think?

-Christy

Links:
http://tarki.hu/adatbank-h/kutjel/pdf/a782.pdf
http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/nn20070130.html
http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/nn20061123.html

This is Nova...This is Nova on Drugs...

2007-02-02T10:42:00.000+09:00

Any questions?

Yeah, well, aren't there always?

Yesterday one of my first lessons was a four-person D-level lesson. The lesson we worked on was D44--Celebrity News. The ultimate goal of this lesson is to get students to produce a roleplay in which students share news regarding celebrities. One of my students leans over to the another one and says, "Guess what? I read that Nova teachers had drugs." This led to a quasi-low-level question and answer period, I questioned, they answered.

Now, because I don't watch or read Japanese news (mainly because I can't) I was not up to snuff on the recent ongoings in my current foreign residence. Turns out, a few Nova teachers a couple months did something naughty. For whatever reason, the police decided it was best to keep the incident to themselves until two months later.

The following is courtesy of The Daily Yomiuri Online, written February 1, 2007:

The Yomiuri Shimbun

Seven male English instructors employed by Nova Co., a major foreign language conversation school operator, were arrested on suspicion of possessing cocaine and cannabis in November, the Metropolitan Police Department announced Wednesday.

Among those arrested on suspicion of violating the Cannabis Control Law and the Narcotic and Psychotropic Drug Control Law were Errin Valentine, of Toshima Ward, Tokyo, and Michael Robert Leschart, of Kawagoe, Saitama Prefecture, according to the MPD.

The police arrested the 32-year-old American Valentine, after stopping him for questioning in Roppongi, Tokyo, at about 3 a.m. on Nov. 19.
(Feb. 1, 2007)

(For more, please refer to http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/dy/national/20070201TDY02007.htm)

The next morning, walking into the teacher's room, I was greeted with an over-sized announcement from the president of Nova describing the tragedy we are faced with, blah blah blah. The basis of the note essentially regarded the fact that many students will have now lost trust and faith in the company and this will severly impact finacial aspects of our teaching istitution. So it is now up to all of us teachers to go out of our way to kiss even more ass and do our job better than we already do...150% people! The note went on to say that landlords and neighborhood businesses will now be more and more cautious of the Nova teachers in their vicinity, because you know, we all wear Nova badges all day every day announcing to the world exactly which company we work for. What's humerous is that had this situation happened in the states it would have likely never made the paper, or if it had it would have been pushed back to page 12 of the community pages, in other words, NO ONE WOULD HAVE CARED! This is just another prime example of the mentality shared by the conservative Japanese nation, even though most consider themselves progressive.

Mary

I Want to Ride My Bicycle, I Want to Ride My Bike!

2007-02-02T09:18:00.000+09:00

After living in the city for over two months it finally happened. We broke down. Okay, maybe not so much a break down, implying a moment of weakness, rather a declaration made by my roommate--"We are buying bikes today!" This happened last Tuesday, our only day off together this last weekend due to a shift swap on my part. We'd been talking about getting bikes for a while, but naturally I was on the lookout for the best deal possible. Well...a couple weeks ago when I was wandering around town (I had the day off by myself) I decided to check out the local sports depot, hoping to find a yoga mat. To my surprise the mats were at least 2500 yen a piece, prices climbing steadily from there. Screw that! I know I've seen them cheaper. (My initial reaction.) So, I ended up with a stability ball instead, as it only cost me 1000 yen. As I was leaving the building I walked right past a bike shop. They had brand new bikes for 8900 yen! That's like 90 bucks!

I came home and told Christy what I had discovered. That was that. We were buying bikes. Two weeks later I ran to the bank, took out money, and we were off to the bike shop. Naturally we stopped at another bike shop first, because I heard they had second hand bikes available. The cheapness never dies, I tell ya! Well, there were no used bikes. Fine, I didn't want their stupid used bikes anyways! New, shiny bikes are better in the long run. When we got to the bike shop near Sports Depot there were two of the cheap bikes out in front, one silver (which ever other person in Japan owns) and a nice maroon one. As red is getting to be my signature color, Christy let me have the maroon one. Forty minutes later we were all paid up, had done a bit of shopping, and were ready to ride. Christy went ahead of me, and I had no other thought in my head than the theme song for the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz. So, I sang it...poorly. And then I laughed at myself for being retarded. Christy looked back and shook her head. So I switched gears, no pun intended, and started to sing the theme song from Laverne and Shirley. This time the Japanese people stared at me.

It felt so good to get on a bike. Just to ride was wonderful, the fact that we cut a half hour walk down to a seven minute bike ride made the whole experience even better!

Later that night we rode our bikes to Sakae. Generally when visiting Sakae we take the subway, but with a bike we can get there in almost the same amount of time, and it's free. Clearly that interests me to no end! First we stopped at a little Italian place for dinner, then rode over to where the two-story Starbucks is. We sat on the second floor next to some windows. After about 45 minutes our friend Nick walked by, so we waved him up. He brought our other friend Brandon with him, and Eddie was apparently in tow somewhere. The guys were there to have dinner at Outback Steakhouse, which was downstairs, so we followed suit and sat with them. Christy and I were stuffed after dinner and coffee (and a dessert) so we sat and drank water. We then played "Marry em, shag em, through them off a cliff." You choose three celebrities, generally the opposite sex of the person for whom the question is directed, and they have to choose--marry them, shag them, or throw them off a cliff. All three people have to have a place, and there can only be one person for each option. This can get difficult, especially when Nick gave us Christian Bale, Johnny Depp, and Heath Ledger. With those options what is a girl to do? It's a fun game, and is great for conversation starters. Inevitably someone will make incredibly random choices and the others have no choice but to lampoon the person for said decision. This often leads to tangents and questions such as, "You would sleep with Paris Hilton? Do you value the safety and well-being of your penis on ANY level?" And yes, this came up in our session.

After we'd had enough of Outback, and the wonderfully faux-Australian vibe ,we were out. Back on the bikes and heading home, wind in our face, and ripping through our clothing. It was cold as hell, but nothing warms you up like pretending your 12 years old and in a bike gang. Poor Japanese people...they didn't know what they were getting when they gave me a Visa.

Mary

Oh what a night!

2007-01-29T09:49:00.000+09:00

Late January, back in 2007:

It all began several months ago. Three friends sitting around, probably at our place, talking about likes and dislikes. It actually resembled several of the low-level lessons we teach on a rolling basis. Music came, up, as did the subject of concerts. Heidi, Christy, and I all relished in the memories of each others previous concert goings. My rommate is quite the vet when it comes to this stuff. She's seen a ton of shows, and good ones at that. Before we left she went to see Bonnie Raitt with her father in LA. Of this, I was, indeed, jealous. I'm not much of a concert goer myself. Don't get me wrong, I love music, and hearing it live is the best way to go, but concerts are expensive and I'm cheap. That combination leaves me wishing I weren't such a schmuck about money. So when Heidi mentioned the Scissor Sisters were comng to town, and her and Walsh were going, it took Christy and I about three seconds to add our names to the hat!

Ladies and gentlemen, please allow, now, for a small bit of history between myself and this glorious band.:
--December 11, 2004--The Scissor Sisters accompany Colin Farrell as guests on Saturday Night Live.
--Christmas, 2004--My uncle has the Scissor Sisters first album, self titled; I make everyone listen to it.
--Remainder of my senior year, 2005--I listen to Take Your Mama every day possible, usually while dressing.

Until coming to Japan I had only listened to two songs more than once: the aforementioned Take Your Mama, and the amazing cover of Comfortably Numb. When Christy and I moved in together I gained the priviledge of hearing all songs from both albums produced thus far. Naturally I listened to several new songs, several times, so as to better prepare myself for the concert. It was like homework, but fun! They are an amazing band with amazing songs. Difficult to pinpoint exactly what genre of music their's might fall into, but I think Christy said it best when she simply said, "fun!" She's right, really. Anyone who is interested in "fun" music would really rather enjoy this band, and we're not even talking a live show here. For a more concrete definition I would classify The Scissor Sisters as a mix of 70s Disco and Rock. They wear shiny outfits that sparkle as much as their personalities, which ironically is congruent to a disco ball.

The doors opened at 6, and the concert started at 7. In Japan, there are no opening acts, so get your asses to the venue on time! For me, this was going to be a bit of a challenge. Christy got the day off via a shift swap. I, wanting to play daredevil, decided I was fine to get off work at 5:20, catch the 5:26 train that puts me in Nagoya station at 5:41, and haul ass to get home in a mere nine munites, walking through my front door at 5:50. From here I have 20 minutes to find an outfit (hopefully the one formulated in my head while on the train home), put it on, do something with my nightmare which is my hair, powder the cheeks, do up the eyes, and head once again to the subway. If we caught the 6:16 train we will arrive at Shinsakae ten minutes later, giving us four minutes to find the venue, and 30 minutes to drink our 500 yen drink, a required purchase. Believe it or not, this actually happened. Now you see boys and girls? This is exactly why it is good to have a plan, even if you did only start thinking about it the night before. Oh, and I suppose I failed to mention the reason you need to arrive on time, if not one hour early, as this is Japan we're talking about, our lovely little venue is standing room only. And I did mean little. In the entire concert hall there were only a couple hundred people. The farthest I was from the stage was around 50 feet. And as I was taller than about 80% of my fellow fans, I had a pretty good view the entire time!

The concert was amazing and worth every yen! While we were initially waiting for the band to come on stage the DJ was playing a mix of songs that were backed up by some house/techno beats. It made for a good mood elevator because everyone was pumped as soon as the band took the stage. And once that bass gets into your body it doesn't find it's way out until the next day. At one point Christy leaned over and said, "I think it's changing the rhythm of my heart beat!" That's some good bass my friends! I was completely jazzed to see such a great band is such a small venue, but it got a whole lot better after the first thirty minutes. These guys are such stellar performers that after every few songs things either slow way down, or they start talking to the crowd, introducing songs, making small talk, etc. At about the 30 minute mark the lead singer starts talking about his Mom, (Bless him, as Heids would say) and I know just what's coming. The song I have waited to hear, the only song I really give a damn about hearing at all on this night. And it starts. And my blood pumps. And my heart beats faster. And my feet leave the floor and my arms are in the air and my ears are waiting to soak up the sound. And they sing:

When you grow up
Livin' like a good boy oughta
And your mama
Takes a shine to her best son
Something different
All the girls they seem to like you
Cause you're handsome
Like to talk and a whole lot of fun

But now your girl's gone a missin'
And your house has got an empty bed
The folks'll wonder 'bout the wedding
They won't listen to a word you said

[Chorus]
Gonna take your mama out all night
Yeah we'll show her what it's all about
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne
We'll let the good times all roll out
And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad
We're gonna sing along no matter what
Because the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans
If you tip 'em and they make a cut

Do it
Take your mama out all night
So she'll have no doubt
That we're doing ALL the best we can
We're gonna do it
Take your mama out all night
You can stay up late
'cause baby you're a full grown man

It's a struggle
Livin' like a good boy oughta
In the summer
Watchin' all the girls pass by
When your mama
Heard the way that you'd been talking
I tried to tell you
That all she'd wanna do is cry

Now we end up takin' the long way home
Lookin' overdressed wearin' buckets of stale cologne
It's so hard to see streets on a country road
When your glasses in the garbage
And your Continental's just been towed

[Repeat Chorus x2]

And I was happy. It's one thing to like music. It's another to let it effect you. Words pour through your mind, beats wash over your body, meaning fills your entire world. At that one moment you are taken over, you are consumed. This feeling lasted throughout the entire show. Every song, every note, every lyric, every look thrown out from the stage. Everything takes hold of you. It's an amazing thing. So amazing in face I shelled out the 4000 yen for a t-shirt. That'll show that old schmuck!

Mary

And we're the fatties?!

2007-01-18T14:45:00.000+09:00

I'm not sure if this has hit the states yet, but good God! This is beyond excess. This is having your cow and eating it...twice! While in Japan I have found that most people do not eat much. They eat like birds really. Women eat less than men, and barely more than children. This item would literally be purchased and shared by a group of four women, and I am thinking there would still be half a patty leftover. Don't even think about ordering fries or a drink, that would just push everything over the edge!

I am amazed, constantly, at the crap we Americans continue to produce. There is no way that this menu item is necessary, unless of course needing to feed four Japanese women who happen to be on a budget. And if that was the original intention of the new Mega Mac, so be it.

It is no wonder why in most lessons Japanese students will just assume that everyone in America is fat and owns a gun. As often as we try and correct these pre-conceived notions, a new movie or a new multi-national fast food chain menu item is introduced, the pre-conceived notions gain strength. Although I admit I too hold blame in my own way. I'm sure it doesn't help matters when I walk over to McDonalds and order up a combo meal.

If nothing else this sign brought a dropped jaw, followed by lots of laughter and head shaking by Christy and I. God knows however, neither of us will ever actually order one of these monstrosities.

Burgers,
Mary

The Onsen Experience - Awkward Moments While Naked

2007-01-15T18:23:00.000+09:00

As Mary has mentioned our trip to the mountains was full of several new adventures which included pain, learning how it feels to be frozen, and also becoming learned in the intricate lifestyles of Nagano's famed snow monkeys. The trip also included my first visit to an onsen. Onsen is Japanese for hot spring, and is a well known/seemingly ritualistic bathing tradition in Japan. Because Japan is a volcanic nation, natural hot springs can be found all around Japan - cities included. After a long day of falling more than snowboarding, I thought nothing would ease my pains better than some hot springs action. Because I had a good 18 or so falls which resulted in my head ricocheting off the ground like some kind of cartoon and hurling my hat and goggles off my head a solid 15 feet down the mountain behind me - I knew that my body was counting down until the severe pain kicked in. But for the time being I thought it best to prolong the sensation of bodily smack-down for as long as humanly possible.

So our delightfully cheery friend Misaki joined me on a quest for relaxation. We trekked through the snow up to a nearby hotel, paid 800 yen, removed our shoes and headed into the changing area. Like everywhere else in this country, there are several unknown rules one must obey when hitting an onsen. After reading the wall full of instructions I felt like I was ready to go. Misaki excused herself to go to the bathroom, really she was hoping that I would be undressed and already immersed in the hot waters, but she was wrong and came back to find me attempting to figure out my next move. I picked out a basket to hold my clothes because yes, onsen = 100% nudity. While undressing I heard a shuffle and looked up to see a naked Japanese woman standing at the sliding doors leading to the bath struggling to open the door, it was stuck - naturally. I was able to un-stick the door, what with my gaijin strength, she thanked me and I went back to my own undressing as if I hadn't seen a Japanese woman struggling to open a sliding glass door stark naked.

Before entering the actual hot spring, one is required to take a full shower. This is no regular shower mind you - there is a short stool that sits about eight inches off the ground, a mirror, and removable showerhead. Oh, and there are no partitions between the showers, just a row of short stools filled with people showering. It is a bit awkward when you have to wait for the shower, just chilling, naked, waiting for someone to de-stool so you can have a go at it. The shower was amazing, by far the best water pressure I have experienced in Japan, and the whole being naked thing fell away until I had to get up again. While showering, the woman next to me lost control of her nozzle. Water went flying everywhere, spraying everyone, and causing a scene that Japanese and most naked people are uncomfortable with. Horribly embarrassed and somewhat entertained she apologized through her giggles, saying "gomennasai, gomennasai!" It was kind of like being back in the sorority, but strange - in KD we are sisters...

Each person is allowed a 'humility towel', which is really more like a tiny piece of fabric only good for dabbing your brow, but a towel is a towel none the less. Finally, into the hot springs I went. I cannot explain how incredibly relaxing it was. This particular onsen had an indoor and an outdoor section. Being in the mountains and all, outdoor spa was steaming and surrounded with snow and ice. It was a clear day, sunny with a bright blue sky and I was totally at ease. I started to get way too hot so I set myself up on the cool rocks near some snow, and eventually headed back into the changing room to splash my face with some cold water. An Australian woman tapped my shoulder to ask me if I spoke English - odds were in her favor as I am white and in Japan. I gave her some info about the meticulous order of events required for the bath, as I had become a seasoned veteran in the span of an hour. I hit the spa for a little longer and when I was wrinkled up I got ready to head back to the lodge.

I returned once more to the spa with Heidi and Sarah. If and when you come to Japan you must got to an onsen. The monkeys have it right, and it pretty much rocks once you get over the initial shock of the nudity thing.

Onsen love,

Christy

Hakuba, Part 5

2007-01-14T18:29:00.000+09:00

January 2, Day 5:

Ah, a date for rest. Who knew vacationing could be so draining? Well, me quite frankly. Try travelling with the Geisler family once in a while and you'll see where I'm coming from. Today was all about lying around. Breakfast was relaxed and unrushed, as was the rest of the day. After watching some TV and reading up a bit on Thailand, Christy and I were off find a wicked poster of Hakuba. Along the way we found some postcards as well. The only thing we were unsuccessful in finding was a decent place to eat cheap. We ended up at the convenience store along with the promise to ourselves that we would find something better when we got closer to home. We walked to loop and back up to the information center that housed that fabulous curry cart we found the first day. The curry wraps were gone this time, so we took the rice bowl instead. We sat at one of the large round tables inside the information center and started to grub. Instead of the typical Japanese short-grain we were treated to a delectable brown rice with vegetarian curry atop. At this point the information center had grown busy and the second table filled quickly. A group of two white men, two Japanese women with one baby in tow soon followed after. With nowhere to sit, and Christy and I with way too much extra room at our table, we offtered the group to take a seat. They did, and we quickly struck up a covnversation. The man sitting next to me began to tell us about his time in Japan. He started out 15 years ago teaching English and is currently the vice president of a bank, or trading company, I can't quite remember. He woman, fell in love, got married, had a baby, and were currently on holiday for the New Year. He and his friend were from Cananda, this guy from Vancouver, BC, himself. We were regailed with stories of living and Japan, and returning home, and retreating back to Japan again. His wife and baby go back to Vancouver every summer. This helps to improve the English of both ladies. What a cool family! I told him how wonderful I thought it was that he and his wife were choosing to raise their daughter bi-lingual. I told him I hope I can do this when I have children.

We left soon after our conversation and I was again able to reflect on the joy of meeting people while travelling. You meet the coolest people! This was probably the highlight of my day, as Chirsty and I returned home, tired, and happy, and full of delicious curry. Everyone came home and it was a nice, easy night. We relaxed together, talked, and ate dinner. We were in bed on the early side. An easy day indeed.

January 3, Day 6:

Here we are at the beginning of the end of our trip. We were to be out of the room by noon, but were told we could hang out until our bus was to leave. We awoke around 11, were down to breakfast, then back to the room to clear everything out. Luggage in place in the foyer of the lodge, Paul and Heidi, and Mark and Sarah took off in two different directions to walk around before leaving such a beautiful place. Christy and I set ourselves in the lounge and began a mini-marathon of Sex and the City. Kiah watched with us, and I slowly started to drift off. Really, I only closed my eyes, as I was fully aware of the current place in the storyline, but it was nice to feel as though I could have fallen asleep at any time.

Before we left we said our goodbyes and were off to meet the bus. We managed to get on the first stop, therefore getting seats next to each other. Kiah and Anton were on the same bus, transfering in Nagoya to one of the local trains which would take them home. The road home was certaily not the one less travelled. Before even leaving Hakuba we were stuck in traffic. I didn't notice this as my nose was in a book, and after that I fell asleep. The traffic slowed our progress by an hour, which meant the trip home was going to be a long one. Along the way we stopped twice at random roadside markets that were big enough, but didn't cater to those without time to sit and have a meal. I got an ice cream and was not at all satisfied. We rolled into town around ten. With crap in hand, and on back, we headed home. It was great. Our apartment was more inviting than ever. It welcomed us back with open arms, and we felt like we were home. It's a great feeling!

XOXO,
Mary

Hakuba, Part 4

2007-01-14T08:04:00.000+09:00

January 1, Day 4:

In the original plans for the day we were going to get up and head off to Nagano city by bus, then hop another bus to a random location an hour outside of the city to go see some snow monkeys. Well, we were out the door sometime after 1pm. We got to Nagano city just after 2pm, and had to wait until 3 pm for the next bus to take us out. We got on the bus, rode the hour, then were dropped off on the side of a road in the middle of some random Japanese highway. We had to walk 50 down the highway and attempt to read a sign in Kanji that may or may not be pointing us in the direction of Snow Monkeys. We start walking up another road that winds up and around a hill. We pass several Ryokan, which are traditional Japanese hotels, and their parking lots, so something tells us we may be heading the right direction. We walk another five minutes up the hill, and come to the beginning of the forest we saw in the distance when stepping off the bus. There is a sign with a little cartoon monkey encouraging us to walk through the woods. At this point it is just after 4pm. We walk through the woods for about 25-30 minutes. There is snow on the ground, and where there is no snow, ice has taken it's place. I haed the notion that my little Nikes would do the trick. After nearly sliding off the edge of the trail I realized I was wrong.

We come up to a little lodge blocking the path to the snow monkeys indicating this is where one is meant to pay. The cost was 500 yen, not too bad to see some monkeys, however, upon arrival of the little hut we found that the park was indeed closed. It closed at four. Christy and I were none too happy, as we had both been up at 8 am and ready to head out early. However, being as how we are in Japan, there were no actual gates or barriers to keep us out of the monkey viewing area, so we walked right in. You walk down a little path and come to a lovely river. The bridge crossing the river allows you to walk up to the onsen made only for the monkeys. This is also the area which they probably find food during the day. Back across the bridge and further down the stairs you are at river level, where the monkeys are seen playing and bathing, and hunting for more food. At least, this is what we would have seen, had there been any monkeys. As the part closes at four, so ceases the monkey food. It also around now that it begins to get darker in the mountains, so the monkeys retreat back up to their homes in the highlands. Apparently the monkeys just come down for the day to hang out, eat, and pose for pictures. Although good luck getting one to actually look at you. In the monkey world, looking at the face of another monkey is an act of agression. A veritable monkey throwdown if you will. The park recommends humans avoid this as well.

With the park being closed there were all of four monkeys idling about waiting for us. Four monkeys! During actual business hours there are supposed to be hundreds! Kids, this is why it pays to stay off the hooch--if you drink too much you will never see the snow monkeys. Well, that being said, four monkeys would have to do it for me. The little bastards refused to look at your camera (agressive act and all) so when I was within three feet of a little bugger I really couldn't get a good shot. That and they really don't like to stop moving. Nevertheless, I have a picture. It's getting darker by the minute, as it is pushing 5pm now, and Mark tells us there is a bus we have to catch that comes in 20 minutes. It took way more than 20 minutes to reach the park, so I am nervous. We start up the trail, and Mark and Sarah take off. They have hiking boots, so running on the trail is proving unproblematic for them. I'm in my damn Nikes and Christy has her giant camera with her, as well as some slippery shoes. Running for us is definitely problematic. We run in the places we can, but we are definitely bringing in the rear. God only knows where Mark and Sarah are, and Paul and Heidi are a few hundred feet in front of us. The trail bends and dips and winds around. It's icy, and snowy, and the sky is getting darker. The trees take away any real chance of light in the forest, and I'm getting a little concerned. We can't see our friends, God only knows if our cell phones work? Are they going to catch the bus without us? I'm getting a little peevedat this point. Guys, isn't this the type of situation when people are supposed to stick together? What if a stray monkey happens upon us, and I accidentally look at his face, and he thinks I am being aggressive, and then attacks me. Who's going to be the one to tell my mother why I was attacked by a monkey on New Years Day? That's right....no one raises their hand. That's what I thought.

We finally make it off the trail, now it's back down to the highway. We are still running at this point, but at least now there is gravel, and it's not AS dangerous. By the time we get to the highway the bus should have passed about three minutes earlier. Mark and Sarah are down waiting; I am sweating beneath my three layers of clothes. As I didn't know I would be running later that day, I decided to wear my thermals below my jeans and layers of shirts. Hold hell was I warm. Don't you worry though, it only takes about three minutes for the weather to catch up with your body, and as the sweat cools, one tends to freeze. The bus hadn't come yet. We wait for five minutes and a bus rolls down the hill and stops for us. The busdriver says this is not our bus, buthe'll call the driver to come pick us up. Okay, seriously? The schedule on the side of this shitty pole is really just a formality? The bus doesn't actually come until someone calls it to come? That's cool. I'm glad I almost killed myself by running off the side of a mountain in order to make a bus that never had any intentions of leaving it's depot in the first place. I am more peeved, but maintain the smile on my face.

We get home to Hakuba late, but not too late to wander around the small mountain tourist town in search of dinner. Several nights earlier we read about a small hole in the wall called Uncle Steven's. It really should have been called Tio Steven's because it was a Mexican restaurant and oh Lordy was I in the mood for Mexican?! We heard the food wasn't great, but it was cheap. Turns out the food wasn't great, and it wasn't all that cheap. I had the burritos that came wrapped more like enchiladas. What was supposed to be chicken was some unknown mystery meat paired with a big hunk of no-flavor frijoles. I gotta tell you...the Japanese man pretending to be Tio Steven did not do quite enough research on the food he was attempting to serve. Hey, at least it came with cheese and sour cream. I've missed proper dairy. I sure as hell had my fill on this trip: milk, yogurt, sour cream, cheese, tis the stuff heaven is made from. I would have ordered a margarita but they were 900 yen, 1000 if you wanted it frozen, you know, because it should cost more to throw something in a blender and push a button for ten seconds. I stayed with the burritos, which did not come with anything on the side, not even chips...a rare commodity in this country. God how I long for tortilla chips! If nothing else it kept us from starving and was better than food to be had from a convenience store. All in all the day did not go exactly as planned, but it kept us entertained!

Love from the mountains,
Mary

Hakuba, Part 3

2007-01-08T22:48:00.000+09:00

January 31, Day 3:

That's right kids! It's NEW YEAR'S EVE!!! Another early morning to start things off right. Another killer breakfast which consisted of fruit, yogurt, granola, toast, and a peanut butter sandwich for the road. Yes, this makes me sound like a fatty, but think of the calories about to be burned on the mountain! It was delectible...even better knowing it was free. We were dressed, fed, and out the door before 8:15.

Today's mission: Goyru. This is on the other side of the mountain from Hakuba 47; they connect at the top. In order to launch quickly into the day I decided to hurt myself right off the bat. After the chairlift dismount disaster from the day before Christy and I were hesitant. Walsh, Mark and Sarah caught the first three-seater, Christy, Heidi and I took round 2. I knew in my heart of hearts that I would either come off the chairlift in the beautiful, impressive manner of a veteran, or plunge my head into the snow within the first half second of gliding down the hill. Turns out there was a middle ground! Damn my luck. I started out great. I was on the board, coasting, gaining speed, wait, speed?!?! Who said I wanted this thing to go faster? After about twenty feet I panicked, lost control, and allowed my feet to swing out from under me. The only thing to cushion my fall was my shoulder. Did you know the shoulder was not meant to cushion the weight of an adult body? And sure as hell not this adult body. So there we have it...Mary is no longer pain free. I ached for a few hours, but luckily that was the extent of it. Nothing major much to the relief of myself, my parents, and my bank account.

The best piece of advice anyone gave me this trip came from Mark. He told Christy and I, "don't worry about the people behnd you, just make sure not to hit anyone in front of you. Most importantly, look out for yourself." Apparently there is mountain etiquette which states that one is responsible for not slamming into someone further down the mountain. This goes double when the person further down the mountain is most clearly a beginner. Well, apparently one douche bag missed this memo! Here I am, making my way down the never-ending slope, which is taking me damn near eternity, when this 60-something moron on skis decides it's going to be fun to freak out the White girl. He comes tearing down the hill, in a straight-as-an-arrow line, with me in his path. It was like he was a heat-seeking missle and I was a ball of fire. At the last minute, just as my heart is about to give out, he decides to cut off the his left, my right. I must tell you here and now that he was most unsuccessful! The bastard knocked me over and rammed his ski pole into the fleshy part of my arm, you know, where a bicep should be. Have I mentioned I haven't worked out in a while. What the hell happened to ski slope etiquette you prick? I was steamed...so heated I was melting snow. (Okay that and the sun was in full force that day.) Luckily Christy was further down the mountain at this point. She saw the whole thing and was able to reasure me that the "run in" was not my fault. It took another 45 minutes to make it to the bottom of the hill. By this point our calves were burning...our bodies needed rest, and by golly, more nourishment.

The best part of the day is here. At Goyru, there is a Subway Sandwich shop. I'm not even going to go into it, as my stomach is already growling, and a litle puddle of drool has formed next to the keyboard. It was delicious. That's all you get.

Having refueled and re-energized, I was ready to go home. Aren't I a punk? Hey, I was tired! Besides, this was New Year's Eve. I had to save some energy for later in the evening.

Back at home base, Christy hit the onsen, I stayed back at the lodge to recoup. I really just wanted to read, so I set forth for the lounge. There was me and another girl, Kiah. We started talking and wouldn't you know it, that book didn't advance one page that afternoon. Kiah, I learned, was from Canada, and hear with the JET program. Her and her boyfriend Anton were staying in Hakuba the same days as us. A truly lovely couple. Anton is from Australia...love that accent! He works for another private company, and works in a junior high school. Kiah works for an elementary school. We talked for what seemed to be five minutes, and ended up several hours. Such a nice way to unwind after beating my body to hell on the mountain. That afternoon I learned an important lesson: some of the most intersting people I will ever meet, I will meet on this adventure. Kiah and Anton have travelled (separeatly, they met here) before coming to Japan, and will continue to do so upon departing Japan (this will most likely be done together). Meeting these two was special indeed, it gave me a glimpse at what I can expect in the months to come, when Christy and I are on the road, for what I hope to be months at a time.

Flash forward several hours. After showering and a quick meal the group of six were off to ring in the new year. We started at a small bar on the way to The Pub. There was a large green plastic bottle of Heineken outside a small white house, the only indication that the main floor indeed contained alcohol. Upon entering the bar we were faced with a large table, currently occupied by six Japanese people, and two smaller tables, both able to accomidate the six of us. The two owners of the bar quickly moved the six Japanese people to one of the smaller tables. This was both embarrassing and entirely unnecessary. However, nothing we could do about it. We sat, ordered, drank, ordered, drank, and were on our way. The next spot? Most obviously The Pub! We went to our usual place upstairs where the boys could run the only pool table (they were 9-0 in doubles that night) and the four girls could sit around a coffee table and do what we do best....gab. We had a great night, we ordered spicy fries, beer, grapefruit and gin for me, tequilla shots, pizza, more beer, more grapefruit and gin, more and more and more, with several random whiteys making there way up to the lofted second floor to mingle. Paul and Mark created an impressive record of doubles matches in their evening of billiards. I'm pretty sure they forgot the females were there. At midnight we all set off noise poppers and hugged and kissed and danced and sang. It was a great night, perhaps better than the States. It was nice to see a New Year in, in a different country. As New Years is a huge deal to the Japanese we were able to attach meaning to our celebrating. Sufficiently drunk, and very tired, we headed home shortly after 1 am.

Sarah and Heidi crashed early, Paul followed suit soon after. This left Christy, Mark and myself awake and in the mood to play cards. And play cards we did, until about 5, and then we called it quits. It's my belief that staying awake warded off the inevitable hangover, smart move on our parts...the next day was to bring a new adventure. Two words...Snow Monkeys.

Mary

Hakuba, Part 2

2007-01-08T08:08:00.000+09:00

January 30, Day 2:

After being all too willing to crash early the night before, our second day in Hakuba found everyone awake at sometime around 6:30. Why, one might ask, were six people on vacation awake so early? The answer is simple my friends, the mountain was calling. I really didn't so much hear my name, but Mark, Sarah, Paul, and Heidi (the people who actually had previously participated in mountain sports) heard their names loud and clear. For the sake of keeping the group together, Christy and I awoke early as well. Truth be told the two of us were rather excited to snowboard for the first time. Have I mentioned it was our first time....for a snow sport....on a mountain.....ever? Well, in case the memo has not yet hit your desk at work, first time! Now, Christy has an excuse, she's from LA, and although having lived in Eugene for four years, I think she is exempt from any ribbing. Myself, on the other hand...I am indeed an Oregonian, although not a true Oregonian, as I have been told, because I have never attached myself to any sort of sliding apparatus, and hurled myself down the face of Mt. Hood. Crazy as it seems. So yes, it would appear that I have traveled across the world to attempt snowboarding for the first time. But I digress...

After mowing on our free breakfast at the lodge, we grabbed our gear and were out the door. Our first day up we were hitting Hakuba 47, just one of three mountains quite close to us. Due to the snow Hakuba had received the three days prior it seemed conditions would be perfect for the newbies. Now just to interject a voice of reason, courtesy of my father, Christy and I were to take a lesson and stick to the bunny slopes, at least for our first day. Well, that's all well and good, and sounded quite reasonable, minus the fact that we were unable to locate an English speaking instructor, matched with the fact that the Japanese do not believe in bunny slopes. So there we were, it was sink or, well, snowboard. We all took the gondola up to the middle of the mountain. Mark and Sarah took off on a chairlift up to the top, while the ever-patient Paul and Heidi sat us down and helped us on with our boards. We were taught the basics--bend your knees, keep your back straight, shift your weight here to here, and always look in the direction you want to go. In case there are people reading with severe ADD, this may not be the sport for you. An easily distracted person could find themselves in a world of trouble! And so it was time, up we go, time to board....backwards. Backwards? What the hell do you mean backwards? I don't want to go backwards, how am I going to see what I am about to inevitable crash into? As I learned, backwards is a pretty good route to take as a beginner. We all have a tendancy to lean forwards when found off balance. So, would you rather face-plant your way down the mountain, or fall gently onto the snow while staring at the peak? Trust me people, the latter is just better. Much easier on the body, as well as the ever-so-fragile spirit of a person on the mountain for the first time.

To spare you the time I will not recount every incident, but just tell you that Christy and I fell....a lot! There was one point when we were starting down our first run, and couldn't stay up long enough to change directions. Finally I was up, and staying up, but there was a Goddamn tunnel ahead of me! Who the hell puts a tunnel on a mountain? That is just one giant boundary that I did not need. Mark and Sarah had caught up to us at this point, and Mark decided to help me out. While on skis, he decided he would help guide me through the tunnel and then let me go. Had there been an arial shot of this, it would have made for a great cartoon. We went in, and didn't come out. We crashed into the wall, I almost broke Mark's leg. Naturally I was injury free. Kharma?!? Mark was fine, but done with helping. He had more mountain to cover! After living through the God-awful tunnel experience we sent the crew on their way. Christy and I didn't want to hold the others back, and felt a lot less pressure on our own. We were at each other's same pace and could take care of each other and ourselves just fine. We said we would meet up at the bottom of the slopes around 1. And so we were left to fend for ourselves. Sink or snowboard. And so we did. We boarded our way, slowly and surely down the mountain, making sure to fall over every few feet, as to not do too well and in turn inflate our egos. Okay, that, or we just plain sucked the first day. If nothing else the workout was incredible. There was pain in my legs that I had been craving for over a month and a half. We had a great time and it only took us once down the mountain until we had to meet up with the gang.

After our first run, a successful and more importantly injury-free one at that, we broke for a quick lunch and then decided to get back on the snow. Christy and I were about to face our newest challenge....getting on and then OFF the chairlift. Apparently this is supposed to be easy, well, once you know what the hell you're doing. Basically, I got legs tangled together just as we were about to attempt our dismount, I twirked the hell out of my left ankle, and missed my most opportune time to remove my ass from the wabbling bench. I had to quasi-jump from the lift, which resulted in my legs somehow flipping over my head, and me tumbling down the official "get the hell of the lift" area. The only advice we were given prior to this ordeal was to make sure you get out of the way as fast as possible. So after summersaulting down small hill, and re-orienting myself as to which was is indeed "up" I began my struggle of crawling out of the line of fine while one foot is attached to the massive board. I soon found out I had little to worry about as the person manning the top of the lift stopped the whole damn operation once seeing this moron American at the bottom of the hill was more likely to get runover than move into the clear. Thank God she was watching...who am I kidding? At this point everyone on the mountain was watching. Unforetuantely no one in our party were able to capture this on film, it would have made for a great addition to our post! I managed to laugh my way through the entire five minute ordeal, it felt good to be okay with looking like a dumbass.

One more run and we called it quits. I had somehow managed to not hurt myself physically (it was really just pride) so we were able to continue on with our mountain adventure. Slow and steady was the theme of this run. We were focused more on staying up than making it a quick run. It felt good to attempt and tackle a new sport. After only two runs, which in reality took hours to complete, we were spent. The night ended with everyone returning home, a group dinner and cards and drinks. It was here where I felt like this was a true and official ski trip. Yes, we had cocoa, and yes, it was spiked. It was one hell of a day!

Snow love,
Mary

Hakuba, Nagano

2007-01-05T08:57:00.000+09:00

In the beginning...

Late October, 2006 -- There were four avid mountain folk--two snowboarders, two skiers, respectively. Taking pity on the two new kids in town an invitation is extended to join Mark, Sarah, Paul, and Heidi for a holiday in the mountains. The new kids have never been much into snow sports, but figure what better place to try it out than a site which hosted the 1998 Winter Olympics. The four old friends and two new friends waited two months for this trip, but planned it in a matter of days. They were to leave for Nagano early on December 29th, and return on the evening of January 3rd. And so our story begins...

January 29th, Day 1:
After getting all of an hour and a half of sleep Christy and I were up and milling around the apartment at about 6 am. We were dressed, packed, and ready to go just before our meeting time drew near. We watched what we could of the sunrise, as there are way too many tall buildings to allow any decent view. We grabbed our gear, which included: one bag, two snowboards, all our mountain gear, a small backpack, and two purses. With that we were out the door. We met at the My Convenience convenience store downstairs and watched as the first snowflakes of the season hit the streets of Nagoya. Our faces lit with anticipation. We were on our way! A short walk to the bus station, a simple five-or-so hour trip and we were faced with the frigid mountain air of Nagano prefecture.

It was amazing. Snow on the ground, the cleanest air we had breathed in three months, and four really cool people to share it all with. As soon as I realized where I was, the cold hit. Nagoya is a cold one, the wind really adds a chill to the air, but good God Nagano was cold! We had all worn our snow jackets, but this did not deter Winter from ripping through our clothes, and then our bodies. As awful as it was, it was refreshing and invigorating also, and so it was welcomed. We were dropped off by the bus company and picked up by a guy in a van who took us to our lodging for the week: Morino Lodge. The two guys who own and run the lodge are incredibly cool people. The came from the UK and Canada to teach English in Japan and ended up in the mountains with a business. This is their first year, we all wish them the best of luck! We were taken to a Japanese style room with tatami mats and futons. We dropped our stuff, set up some beds, and made our way out to explore and find a rental shop.

First order of business: lunch! We wandered up towards what appeared to be a visitor's center and walked around to the side entrance where a guy, who was not Japanese, was selling curry out of a truck. It was vegetairian, so everyone, including Heidi, our resident vegan, could enjoy lunch together. The curry guy normally sold rice and curry, or a curry wrap, but the only option available was the latter, so that's what we ate. Our frist meal in Hakuba we dined on curry wraps and diet cokes. It was a pretty sweet gig.

After lunch came the rental shop. Mark and Sarah needed ski equipment and I needed to rent snowbaording boots. For those of you who have never been snowboarding, finding boots the first time is a pain in the ass. You have no idea what they are supposed to feel like, and three people asking you different questions all at once: where's your toe? How does it feel here? Are your ankles moving? I have screwed up feet, people. That doesn't make this task any easier, let me tell you. We were there for about an hour. I left with the third pair of boots I tried on. They were stiff and rubbed my leg just below where my calf muscle likes to hang out. My legs were slightly raw by the time we were back in the Lodge. Now let me just say, here in Japan, no matter where you are, it is customary to take of your shoes before entering a home of any kind, this includes ski lodges in the mountains. This adds a certain degree of annoying when you are dealing with wet shoes and snowboarding boots. Everyone's stuff is piled up in front of the dooway, and no matter how hard you try, inevitable your socks get wet in the process of coming or going. However, I cannot complain, such is the life of a snowboarder.

After rentals we were again in need of sustenance. The grocery store was the next stop, as well as an ATM. We were informed that all banks and ATMs would be closed the first three days of January. Best to stalk up on money before hand, and that is what we did. Christy and I bought soups and break annd bread and rice to be used for later meals. We came home and started cooking. Mark and Sarah generously provided the group with a penne dinner and soon after we were heading out once again. I decided that in order to break my boots in, or rather break my body into the boots, I should wear them around town as much as possible. Good God, what a mistake! By the end of the night I was hurting like no other, and I had large pink lines just under my calfs where the boots were rubbing me raw. The only way to fix this? Hit The Pub. And no, it wasn't just any pub...quite literally, The Pub.

Paul and Heidi had been to Hakuba the year before, and found this place during their stay. It was a quant little spot that made us feel as though we had left Japan. I'm not sure where we were, but it certainly wasn't Japan.....perhaps Aspen, or the Italian Alps, maybe Switzerland. We walked into the spacious establishment that had the feel of mountain cabin meets snow lodge meets bar. We grabbed the long table near the back and proceeded to order drinks to warm ourselves up. About an hour into our time there Christy discovered anothe way we could warm up: the floors were heated. Everyone removed their shoes and sat in comfort as our bodies were heated from the bottom up, and thanks to the booze, from the inside out. We drank enough to bring smiles to our faces and the ability to laugh a little easier at someone's dumb jokes, but not so much that we couldn't wake up early enough to hit the slopes.

We left The Pub on the early side, but happy knowing that we would indeed be back. We made our way home, walking softly on the fresh snow on the ground, cold, and tired, and happy. Lights out came quickly. Everyone rolled into bed at different times, the latest being 10:oo pm. Yes, you heard me. For a group awake at 6:00 am, having faced a long day, it was a late evening indeed. We crashed, hard and solid. The snow outside continued to fall. We were ready for the mountains, I'm just not sure the mountain was ready for us...

Mary

Christmas in Japan

2007-01-04T10:08:00.000+09:00

Well, we did it. We officially survived Christmas overseas, sans family and friends from home. As forementioned in previous posts, Christmas here is quite different from the states. I decided somewhere around the 23rd that I would start saying Merry Christmas to people as part of my goodbyes. This was most often met with a confused smile or an attempt at a Merry Christmas back to me. I'll took either of these just fine. Most people in Japan recognize that although Christmas is really not so important to the Japanese, foreigners really rely on some Christmas spirit, so they play along. It was nice.

For the last several weeks department stores, grocery stores, and most other public venues with high traffic flow have been playing Christmas music. The songs are in English, pro, but they only play about three of them....over, and over, and over....con. I have heard Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas," and Wham's "Last Christmas" so many times I think I may never actually enjoy them again. Nice to have Christmas music, but I would have much prefered carols. Walking through the grocery store on the 24th was certainly a sight. Christmas Cakes were everywhere, ranging from affordable to "Are you kidding me? That's more than the fruit basket!" And we all know about the cost of fruit! To add to the Christmas Cake and sky-high priced fruit, chicken was in abundance. Clearly the hot commodity for the evening. It was roasted and flavored beautifully. Had I not been working until 9:00 that evening, I would have splurged on the 1000 yen chicken leg. I'm glad I didn't, however, as the next night we were planning to have a nice dinner out, nice meaning, "Man is this going to cost us!"

The next day I was among the lucky few who either had the day off or had a very short shift. I worked three hours (four lessons) in the morning. I was off at one, and on my way home at 2. Risa, one of our Japanese staff was helping me with a project. See, Christy and I had been invited about a week and a half earlier to go out to dinner with a few guys in the building. Well, as you can imagine, allowing two guys to plan the evening, nothing was actually planned. So at the very last minute Risa and I tried to find some sort of reservation at a decent eating establishment. We finally found the number for the Hilton, and I reserved the last table for Christy and myself...sorry boys.

At ten to seven we were dressed and ready to go. We walked to the subway in high winds and even higher heels. It was nice to be dressed up, not work dressed up, but really nice, on the way to having a night on the town. We arrived at the restaurant in the Hilton at 7:15 sharp. The meal was buffet style and ranged from salad and pizza to grilled prawns and Christmas roasts. It was 4500 yen. Expensive, and in the end worth every penny. We both figured a glass or two of wine with dinner would suffice. That is until we found out that for the cost of three glasses of wine we could order the wine and champagne buffet as well. As you can imagine there was no doubt in my mind as to what I was ordering. So for the extra 2800 we were set for drinks the whole evening, or at least for the 90 minutes that we were alotted. Yes, apparently in Japan you can eat all you want at these buffets, but there is a time limit. I started the evening with a glass of Champagne, Crhisty a glass of red wine. From there we hit the buffet, and hit it hard. The food was amazing! The hihglights: roasted vegetables (pumkin, leeks, and potatoes), grilled prawns in a chili sauce, the amazing salad bar, roasted turkey sliced very thin, and a delightful tomato bisque that I had not seen in Japan until this point. To follow the initial glass of champagne there were several glasses of white wine, and several more classes of Asti and champagne. All in all, great food, great drink, and wonderful company. It was just the two of us, and oh so much fun!

When we got home we were expected to join a party on the 13th floor, but we wanted to open presents first. We decided to just exchange the presents we got each other, and all the family gifts would wait until the morning. It turned out we both did an excellent job choosing gifts. Luckily it just so happened that we were also on the same page as far as a gift budget. Back in October Christy and I were shopping in this really cool second-hand shop in Komaki. She saw this beautiful long, black, winter coat, but at the time just couldn't justify spending the money on it. The sad thing was that the coat was stunning on her, and fit perfectly. I told her to leave and check back in a week even though we still wouldn't have any cash. If the coat was still there then she was meant to have it. I went back the next day and bought the coat. Now, as please as I was that I got a gift I genuinely thought my roommate would like, I was more please with the fact that I was able to conceal this gift for over two months, and remember we moved in that time! I am a tricky little bugger. Since moving to Japan I have told Christy that I would like to diversify my jewelry collection. I brought very little jewelry with me and i figured this was an opportunity to expand my style. She said she would help me find some good stuff, as I am always coveting her earrings. So sure enough, when I opened my gift I found a great pair of earrings....big and round and black, unless you hold them to the light where they are dark brown. They pretty much go with anything. They're beautiful. Turns out we both did pretty well!

After the presents we grabbed a bottle of wine and headed upstairs to 13 to join our friends at the Christmas party. It was a great night. There were only about 15 people there, but in these tiny apartments of ours that was actually probably at capacity. We had great food, great drink, and a lot of great laughs. Another major Western holiday celebrated overseas, and definitely one that will not be forgotten.

Merry Christmas!
Mary

P.S. Pictures will be up soon, check back.

Adventures and Misadventures in Kyoto

2006-12-27T12:57:00.000+09:00

It has been far too long... For those of you who actually read the blog with regularity - I'm so sorry it has been such a long time since our last entry! In such a situation it is necessary to do a bit of backtracking... This blog centers around our weekend holiday to Kyoto in the beginning of December. Enjoy!

***

Thrilled at the prospect of having some spare cash, Mary and I decided to take a two day excursion to Kyoto, one of Japan's most treasured cities. We booked a hostel over internet which seemed to be centrally located and extremely cheap - 1950 yen for a bed, shower, kitchen, a personal space heater sounded perfect to us. As we are continually learning to live creatively on a very limited income we also cut some costs by taking the local trains to Kyoto. Granted, the local trains take about 2 and 1/2 hours as opposed to the Shinkansen which gets travelers from Nagoya to Kyoto speedily in 36 minutes. Looking to make the most of out two days off, we woke up pre-dawn to pack and get ready to go. Tired, but excited to travel, we headed to the station, picked up some food for breakfast, and went up to our platform. We had it all figured out; Nagoya to Ogaki, Ogaki to Maibara, and finally Maibara to Kyoto. The train times seemed a little off, but we headed up to the platform without worry. Shortly there after the train arrived, we boarded, and I realized that we were on the wrong train. Awesome. We had put ourselves on the local orange line which stops at every single station on the way to Ogaki, meaning - it would take hours upon hours to arrive at our desired destination. To remedy this we simply got off the train and turned around, easy fix right? Ha. It being 8 am on a week day and the idea of hundreds of people commuting into Nagoya for work had never crossed my mind until the doors of our train open. The car was filled wall to wall with Japanese people, and soon us with our bulky backpacks and bags. We managed to get on the train and were quickly squashed on top of other people as several other individuals loaded into the train behind us. As I have previously experienced in many situations, Japanese people tend to be extremely non-confrontational. Thereby, when the train is packed so tight that all persons aboard feel like hundreds of cattle shoved into a 10x10 foot pen, people start to get onto the train backwards. It is kind of like a breech birth version of transportation. Butt and back first, people pile into the train using their backside as a battling ram to move you out of the way and closer to death via bodily crushing. At this point the door closes - not without problem however. One man's briefcase is stuck in the doors and they won't open up at all. What does he do? Well of course the logical thing - the starts pulling and jerking at it in some attempt to free his luggage from the tightly clenching train doors. As a result, he thrusts his elbow and body into the entire crowd behind him - as we are packed so tightly within the confines of an oh so luxurious train car, his every pull, jerk, and attempted thrust reverberate throughout the car of people - similar to a rock thrown into a still pond, but with large amounts of body heat from fellow passengers and also - pain. After a few minutes of trying he successfully loosens his bag, and the train takes off - mind you, not with out one more final blow to the crown behind him. The ride back to Nagoya station is improved with the addition of even more passengers at two more stops, and a virtual drought of handles or railings. Because Mary and I oh so conveniently located in the dead center of the car all we can do is sway and fall onto the people surrounding us. Not to mention that people do no speak on the train, so we are surrounded by a harsh and increasingly odd silence. What are you meant to do in such a bizarre situation? I burst out in a fit of laughter - the kind of laughter where I cackle and throw my head back enough to where one is able to see my fillings. So inappropriate. They turn on me - glares from my fellow cattle come from all directions, as my abrupt whole body laughter coupled with my being white is highly offensive to all. Finally the train arrives back in Nagoya and people literally pour out of the train, like it had been holding fish in a tank and was tipped over just as the doors opened. The laughter and the stares continue. Mary and I find a bench, wait for the next (correct) train, and continue to break Japanese customs by eating in public. The actual train ride to Kyoto was beautiful. It took us through the gorgeous snowed on mountains in the Gifu area and finally down into Kyoto. We had arrived.

***

From the JR train station we took the subway and a short walk to our Hostel, the Uno House. After checking and dropping off our bags we were off - but oh wait, we didn't have a map. The kind woman who checked us in at the hostel drew one for us and walked us out to the street. After fifteen minutes of large hand gestures, broken English, and broken Japanese we made it to the bus station. We were off to Gion, a famous district in Kyoto because of the Geisha. From here we were meant to find a bridge and meet up with our friend Alec, the UO Delta Sig who was on our flight over from LA to Osaka. He lives just outside the city and came in to play tourist and show us around. It was great seeing a fellow duck (a Greek one at that), and together the tree of us decided to start our on a temple trek. After figuring out which bus would actually get us there, and with some help from a random man who lived in Georgia for several years before returning back to Japan, we literally ran down the street to chase a bus. What a sight we were - it was like Baywatch with several more layers and without and ocean. Soon enough we found ourselves wandering through the grounds of the Ginkaku-ji temple, aslo known as the Silver Pavilion, built in 1474. The temple sits in the hills of Kyoto and has a great view of the city. Very zen, and very beautiful. We wandered down through the hill area, did a little shopping and treated ourselves to some mochi. Heading back towards central Kyoto, we opted to go on a bit of a hike through another hilly region which is full of winding streets, shops, temples, Buddhas, and even Geishas. After throwing in a coin, ringing a bell and praying at a shrine we decided that we should probably get a bottle of wine. It was really cold and you can drink in the street, so we figured why not? Our walk lead us through amazing areas and finally up to a hill top near a massive Buddha statue at about sunset. The sun collapsed into the mountains behind an ancient pagoda and the whole city seemed to melt away. Just before our second bottle of wine we did a bit of shopping and followed a few Geishas around. After disembarking from their man-towed rickshaw, we played foreigner and asked to take a picture with them. It was so very surreal. They were so dainty and carefully put together that I felt like I would somehow ruin them if I got too close. With the end of the light hours of daytime our hunger mounted, so we headed to Yoshinoya for a cheap eat. Following dinner we made our way to a popular shopping area, and stopped in at a dessert shop. We ordered a slice of pumpkin pie and another slice of cheesecake. They were awful, so bad that it would be doing all desserts everywhere to classify what we ate as such. Bitter, we cracked open a bottle of wine at the table in the restaurant. It would be fair to say that the manager was less than happy with us, but of course would never say anything because it's just not the 'way'. We then headed back to Kyoto station where they had set up a massive multi-story Christmas tree. Mary and I indulged in our first 'gankey drink', a redbull-ish energy drink with 8 cigarettes worth of nicotine. A bit fearful, we powered it down and met up with some of Alec's friends for drinks and Karaoke. We all met up at the banks of the river (nearly froze to death) then headed off to a nearby bar. Next we belted out some classic Christy/Mary tunes including: Borderline, SOS, and Bette Davis Eyes. Mid-way through the karaoke session another girl arrived, Becky. Turns out she lived in Manhattan Beach over the summer before coming to Japan, and she dates a guy I went to high school with. Could the world get any smaller? Exhausted from the day we finally headed 'home' to the Uno House and crashed out.

***

Day two. We were on a mission to see the sights and get home in enough time to get a solid night of sleep before work the following day. After checking out of the hostel we went back to Kyoto station and unloaded our possessions into a coin locker. From here we hopped on a bus to the famous Kiyomizu-Dera temple which dates back to 798. In order to get to the temple one must walk up a steep pathway lined with shops and filled with people. Hoping to beat a tour group we powered up the hill. The fall leaves were spectacular. Trees were on fire with oranges, yellows, pinks and reds. The temple was busy, as it is a major attraction and is also nominated for the 'new seven wonders of the world' that Mary has blogged about. Seated higher in the hills than most temples, the view looked upon the spread of Kyoto and the greater valley below. Next on the list was Chion-in. The opening to the temple area is quite a sight - a 79 foot San-mon and massive set of stone stairs welcomes visitors onto the grounds. At the top is the main temple site where we walked around, lit a wand of incense, and bathed in its smoke while praying. From here we took what seemed like the longest bus ride of all time to the famous Kinkahu-ji temple or Golden Pavilion. Approaching sunset we laid our eyes on the former villa constructed in the 1220's. The entire building is coated in gold leaf, hence he title of the Golden Pavilion. Surrounded by fall colors, a magnificent reflecting pool and the beautiful light from the almost sunset it really was a sight to be seen. A path guides visitors around the grounds, up to a viewing area, and back down to a shrine. Following tradition, Mary and lit candles and placed them inside the shrine. Each candle has a different purpose, and represents a different hope or prayer. For a person who isn't very religious I had done quite a lot of praying on this trip. Though there is a different feeling in Kyoto, and in Japan as a whole. There is no tie to God, but a greater appreciation for spirituality. Following the delightfully zen experience of the Golden Pavilion we brought our trip to a close, retrieved our items from the station locker, and managed to get on the right train back to Nagoya. We walked in the door around 10 o'clock and promptly passed out.

From Kyoto with love,

Christy

2006-12-11T10:09:00.000+09:00

CNN, FOX, and ESPN are the three channels we receive in English here at Freebell. Although seemingly limiting, it tends to provide enough entertainment so that we are not bored out of our minds. Last night after returning home from hours of being social, Christy and I managed to come across the 22nd Annual Miss Hawaiian Tropic International competition.....lucky us. Surprise, surprise, this came curtousy of FOX. This was a horribly wattered-down version of an actual beauty pagent. This particular event is essentially used as a showcase to herd beautiful woman from around the world, all representing Hawaiian Tropic, into a theater, where they do nothing but walk around in hideous half-dresses and bikinis, all for the sake of brand recognition. I felt like a dirty, old man for even watching the damn thing. Most, if not all of the women, displayed minimal natural beauty. Something was altered on every girl, from hair, to lips, to breasts, and beyond. What the hell is the point of a pagent that only judges a person's beauty, when the beauty doesn't even natuarlly belong to the person? It was purchased for crying out loud! How's that for Americana?!

Now I am not educated on the history of beauty pagents, where and when they started and the like, but I can certainly postulate that America has popularized the event. Every little girl who grows up in America is exceedingly aware of the social pressure to become an ideal form of beauty. We have pagents designed for when children are as young as 6 months old. Who honestly feels the need to enter their baby in a beauty pagent? Don't they all look the same at that age? What, is one bald head more beautiful than the next? We're corssing bridges here for which there is no going back. From babies to pre-teens, and teens to mid-twenties, and many even into the "elderly" category, pagents have become a mark of success, and for many the making and breaking of confidence, self-image, and worth.

When living in Komaki, and bored to tears with the lack of social opportunities, I began to bring home two-year old UK and Aussie versions of Marie Claire and the like. In one of the magazines was an article about a beauty pagent in China in which the "ugliest women" in the country go out and have a ton of plastic surgery, then come back and compete to see who has transformed into a real knockout. What the hell?! These woman are actually going under the knife spending a huge amount of time, money and pain to suit the asthetic needs of others. China has actually endorsed this behavior and holds several pagents like it every year. They have head hunters that are responsible for walking the streets in search of ugly females. This makes me sick, and believe it or not, it gets worse. When woman are perusing the beauty menu at the plastic surgeon's office, many opt for a more Western look. Big shocker there! Do you know what acheiving a Western look entails for Asian women? Let me start by saying it involves bone removal. Because the facial structure of an American is generally less broad that that of an Asian woman, bone is actually chiseled away from the face for a more streamlined look. This is done to the cheeks, nose, and browridge. In the end there is minimal difference to the actual appearance of the woman's face shape (in my opinion) however quite the large dent is noticed in the bank accounts of these "contestants." Just another great example of the influence Americana has on the rest of the world.

So after reading the articles, and watching the pagents I am left to reflect on my own lack of conventional beauty, and to ponder the question: is it all worth it to be considered beautiful? This question goes asked, and unanswered (as I am a total whimp when faced with these brooding questions imposed by myself), on a daily basis. As a 23 year-old, white, American woman out of college for a year and a half, the last ten years of my life have been spent around my male counterparts who only find beauty in what magazines deem as such. Men, or rather, boys my age wouldn't recognize real beauty if it stared them in the face (which happens on a daily basis). Without blonde hair, large breasts, long legs and a perfect butt about 65% of us are out of the running for any potential attraction. We often aren't even given a chance, and I know the witty repartee of which these women are capable. Belive it or not we have something to offer besides deep blue eyes, and the body measurements of a Barbie doll. And look at how many women in Hollywood are increasingly more beautiful with age: Jennifer Aniston, Michelle Pfiefer, Demi Moore. Yes, these women were beautfiul in their teens and 20s, but in their 30s, 40s, beyond these women are listened to, as well as gawked at. They speak (outside of a script) and have opinions, and act with intelligence. Doesn't that add to the beauty? How many women in Hollywood in their 30s and 40s act like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan, partying every night making an utter ass out of themselves? Now ask yourself who is more beautiful: Jennifer Aniston or Paris Hilton? I guess the inevitable point to my ongoing rant is that so many of us are looked over, or not looked at period, because we do not match the bullshit that Hollywood and Cosmo spew out every season. And now these rediculous ideals, piggybacking on Americana, are reaching every country in the world and acting as a social poison.

So in between the bouts of self-loathing, self-deprication, and self-hate, I reflect of the progression of our society and I am sad. And as I age, the sadness lessens, and pity fills the void left behind. I relish the fantasy that as I grow older I will gain more and more beauty points, and that perhaps my male counterparts wise up and see the beauty women really have to offer, beyond the batted eyelashes, and into an intelligent conversation. And I hope that woman will see past the smokey head of the "great and powerful Oz" and take a look behind the curtain, and then call that squatty, little man on his bullshit antics. Maybe if we stop giving in to what others tell us we should be, we'd all be a little happier. It's just a thought.

Maime

Santa meets Japanland!

2006-12-09T20:57:00.000+09:00

Allow me to indulge a little here folks. The following (pulled from The Nagoya Calendar, a publication courtesy of the Nagoya International Center) is a glimpse of Christmas history here in Japan:

Christmas first came to Japan in 1552 in the form of a mass held by a Portuguese Catholic missionary in front of a small congretation in the town of Su in Yamaguchi Prefecture. In the 1600s the Tokugawa shogun banned Christianity. Until the Meiji Restoration of the influx of Westerm culture the number of freely practicing Christians in Japan remained low. The sale of Christmas-related goods boomed after debuting in the Meiji Department Store in Tokyo's Ginza district. The first Christmas cake was sold by Fujiya chain in 1910, and took form of a sponge cake decorated in chocolate and strawberries, topped with lashings of cream, and an icing-sugar figurine of Santa Claus. Christmas remained confined to the urban shopping centers until popularized by American occupation and made affordable to the average Japanese family by Japan's post-war ecenomic boom. It was during the 1950s, but before the spread of home refrigeration units that the phrase "spoilt like Christmas cake" was born. It compared an un-refrigerated cream topped Christmas cake after December 25 to an un-married woman over the age of 25. (Do you all see what I am saying?!?!)

The tradition of celebrating Christmas, like Valentine's Day, is purely commercially generated. The 'tradition' of eating fried chicken on Christmas Eve is not an imported Western tradition, but was started in the 1970s by KFC to kick-start their sluggish sales in Japan; marketed as a special treat with employees wearing Santa suits, KFC's sales rocketed; a 2005 survey found that 1 in 3 adults now partake in this annual tradition. The 'tradition' of eating Christmas cake, started by Fujiya, is enjoyed by 3 in 5 adults. Without Sata on top, there is no real difference between a Japanese Chirstmas cake and a 'traditional' Japanese birthday cake. Unlike the Western image of over-the-top household decorations, decorated pine trees and illuminations hanging from the rooftops, Christmas decorations in the average home are less prevalent and less conspicuous; candles, wreaths, and illuminations are seen in less than 1 in 5 households.

It is unliklely that Christmas will ever become a national holiday in Japan. Despite not using the holiday to celebrate its original purpose, many Japanese see through the commercialism and follow the Western tradition of Christmas being a day for families, friends, and loved ones to get together.

I must say that I completely disagree with the last paragraph. In my opinion most Japanese people do NOT see through the commercialism of this holiday, I mean, you read the above paragraphs right? They eat cake and KFC and those are two major traditions! Lights go up in October and as soon as the 24th is over the all come down again....that's right, the 24th! Here Christmas Day means virtually nothing. Christmas Eve is the big show in this country. Fine, weird, but fine. So I posed a question to some students today: Why is Christmas Eve so great and Christmas gets squat for recognition? Naturally this was asked with a little more eloquence. I will leave to you decide whether or not the answer makes sense. I was told that because the Emperor's Birthday is the 23rd of December, making it a national holiday, the 24th is just a more convenient day to celebrate the birth of the second in command of a major religion!

This brings us to another interesing topic brought up today in our voice lesson. We started discussing what we all like to do on our birthdays, and one woman, after annoucing she was a Christian, professed that because Jesus did not say it was okay to celebrate one's birthday, one should not celebrate. Now, I have never heard this rule, but who am I to jodge another person's beliefs? So the birthday theory is one thing, but then this woman took it a step further. This came when we brought up why Christmas Day was not celebrated much. Her theory is that Christmas should not be celebrated as the day Christ was born because the history books, aka The Bible, are inaccurate. Apparently in ancient Jerusalem, the weather in December was much too cold, and there never would have been shepards keeping watch in the fields. I do not know why this means baby Jesus could not have been born in December, but according to my student, Jesus was actually born somewhere around October 1st. Now I KNOW this one is not a common belief. I remember not paying much attention in religion class when I was attending Catholic school, but I am pretty sure October 1st was never associated with Christ is any way. Perhaps I am wrong, maybe I missed that day in religion class. I've been known to have these things fly way over my head. Anyone feel like shedding some light on the subject?

Confused,
Mary

Sayonnara Party

2006-12-09T08:00:00.000+09:00

Last Sunday, although feeling like utter crap, Christy was able to convince me to go out to a party being held for a girl named Julie. The same Julie who happened to live in our Komaki apartment for about two years before we did. The reason for the event--Julie is leaving. It is very common for Nova teachers to hold a "leaving party" just before they take off. In attendence, predominently other Nova teachers not privileged enough to get the H out of here, and many Japanese staff members and even students. Although I have only been here a few months I have already formed strong attachments to many students, I can only imagine how strong those bonds are made after a year, or for some teachers, several years. It's no wonder so many people end up coming to said events. So even though neither Christy or I really know Julie we had several of her friends (such as Paul and Heidi) invite us along.

The party took place at a bar in Sakae called The Elephant's Nest. It's an English style pub, which in Japan basically means they attempt to offer English fare for appetizers and among the various Japanese drinks, some Guiness and English beer are offered at a much higher cost that is, in my mind, appropriate. The decor...well, I can't really recall. Obviously nothing obscenely English. The place was crammed with people, and besides our party there was a group of about six White people sitting at a table by themselves. Beyond that, well I was far too wrapped up in what was going on at our party to really notice. Most of our Komaki crew were out that night, so Chirsty and I were much too busy playing catch up, as well as people watching. Believe it or not when you get a large group of English teachers together, add a ton of booze, and mix well, it provides for some great people watching.

Besides all the fun being had around the bar there was the lingering feeling of finality as someone was preparing to leave behind a life they had made for themselves in a foreign country. Having left the only home I have really known only a few months ago, the night was slightly nostalgic for me. As much as I am loving my time in Japan I am missing home and am getting the itch to start moving around again. I have found in the last few years that I begin to feel stagnant after about three months. The sense of adventure found in traveling and the need to explore continue to call to me, but after three months I tend to be ready to move on, keeping in mind, of course, that between adventures I am used to returning to the familiarities of home for period of time. As I am rapidly approaching the three month mark here in Japan, thoughts of Portland continue to waft in and out of my mind; some days the thoughts linger a little longer than others.

And naturally this is compounded by the holiday season closing in, ready to to slap me right in the face. Christmas in Japan is different, certainly, but not in the way that elicits an excitiement and sense of curiosity of a possible world of different traditions and interpretations on a seemingly timeless holiday. No no, Japan's version of Christmas is the one taken out of a commercial. However that evokes another blog entry entirely. Anyhow, with Jack Frost nipping at my ass (and not in the good way), and the faux Christmas punching me in the gut I am longing for anything familiar and sopping on Portland, friends, family, or any random combination of the three. As Abraham Lincoln (arguably) said, "And this too, shall pass."

Love from afar,
Mary

The Great Americanization!

2006-12-02T01:18:00.000+09:00

Day after day I find myself sitting in a see-through cubicle sitting across a kidney bean-shaped table from several of Aichi prefecture's finest citizens. Each day we discuss topics designed to aid students in the struggle that is learning English. These topics vary of course, depending on the level of the student. As you can imagine, the low level students get topics like "ordering at a restaurant" and "talking about family" while high level students may have topics such as "the language of advertising" or "pros and cons to cloning," not exactly light topics. Inevitably, as their teacher is American, my students are forced to hear about America on a rather regular basis. This is not to say that I talk about how great my country is, but rather point out that there is a compare and contrast opportunity, as our countries tend to differ on most things.

Being as how America comes up quite often, especially among the high-level students, I have taken the chance to ask the ever-important question: why is America so great in the eyes of Japanese citizens? Mostly I am given the same tired answer that everyone gives when faced with the rather difficult question. I am told that America is the land of opportunity. One can seek out the "American Dream" and become famous and wealthy. Yes yes, the American Dream, if I have heard this once I have heard it 5,000 times. I get that this country is the land of opportunity. I understand that this country was built on opportunity. I realize that when people first came to American they all promised each other that this country would be different--here one won't hear the word "no." Not a bad deal when you move to a country that has to start from scratch! There was so much work to be done who in their right mind was going to set any sort of limitation? Roads, railways, cities, a governing body, all had to be built from the ground up. So yes, America was thwarted with opportunity, and what our original citizens promised each other, we continue to promise today. We maintain that in our country anything can happen for anyone. People believe this, and flock towards the light.

But this is not really the answer I am looking for, as my students are answering the wrong question. I guess I am asking the wrong question. What I want to know is, why is Americana so great? Why does it seem that more than half the world is obsessed with our culture? Yes, Nike is an amazing example of a few gentlemen who had a vision and turned it into an empire. But why the global following? The shoes were great, the are great, but people are not covetting the performance enhancement received, but rather the envious looks from friends. This obsession travels beyond Nike, and fashion even, and stems further into music, movies, food, everything America is willing to export, the rest of the world craves. So, why? Where does this obsession come from? Why America and not England, Italy, China, any other country that has been around for more than a few hundred years? Perhaps a question which cannot be answered in a single blog entry. A new mission has unfolded for the next ten months, a new question which I myself will attempt to answer: how has the obsession with Americana become so widespread and unwavering? A questiong I have had that has only gotten stronger as my time in Japan increases. We'll hit on this more, don't you worry.

That's all I got!
Mary

2006-11-28T19:51:00.000+09:00

Day off.

Mary kept with her trend of working overtime, while I stuck with my routine of not. After a glorious sleep in I got up and decided to go to the Nagoya/Boston Museum of Fine Arts in Kanayama. They are currently showing an exhibition entitled "Five Centuries of Portriature". A small collection, but a really great one at that. The exhibition featured works from Titan, Velazquez, Van Dyke, Van Gogh, Manet, Degas, Matisse, Picasso, and many more. Because this museum's counterpart is the famed Boston Museum of Fine Arts they were able to put on quite the little show. It is always amazing to see works you have only seen in print, but there was something more about this gallery showing. Few things are better than walking around in the silence of a museum surrounded by works that seem to scream from the walls. The museum featured mostly paintings, but displayed a print by Julia Margaret Cameron (portrait of Alfred Lloyd Tennyson and his sons) - I probably stood in front of it for a half an hour. They also featured Picasso's Portrait of a Woman, the gateway work to his later famed cubism pieces. It was fantastic, and an interesting concept for an exhibit. There was not one single man in the building, only women at the museum. Who knows exactly what that means but it was noticeably interesting.

Following my calming trek to the museum, I headed over to a near by Starbucks. I know, I know... Starbucks? Well I wanted some tea and a place to read. It was perfect. They were playing Christmas music and I could disappear into my book, tuning out Japanese and anyone around me. Wrapped up in a wool sweater, and knowing that it was snowing in Oregon, I was feeling very holiday-ish. Japan has nothing, however, to hold back Christmas. At least we have Thanksgiving at home, but not here - and they don't even celebrate the damn holiday! Feeling in somewhat of a trance, I hopped on the train and headed toward home. Nagoya station has been decorated with an elaborate display of Christmas lights and a holiday slide show for weeks now, but tonight was the first night I really appreciated it.

-CD