Departing Reflections

I’m sitting in Narita International Airport with a few minutes before my connection and reflecting on the Tsunami I lived through, well, the Tsumani I created for myself, in Japan. An obvious question is what I will miss most.

Some things are obvious. Living a 50 second walk from a convenience store, and a 90 second walk to my

preferred

Konbini, or 90 seconds in the other direction to a huge used Manga/Anime/CD store. Or the fact that you can eat amazing food for less than $10 almost anywhere. Netcafes, Anime at the Theater, Band-aids that kick way more ass than American Band-aids, Milk Tea, brown rice tuna mayonnaise onigiri, no tipping anywhere, etc.

And of course I’ll miss the fact that my greatest daily worry was getting my –te form conjugations corrrect. As difficult as Japanese is, finally having students to struggle next to was fun. There’s no way to explain to you dear readers why the word “Gerbil-tachi” still makes me laugh uncontrollably.

Of course, it will also be the little things. I’m dreading the silence of walking in and out of a convenience store the first time I go in. I have a feeling it will be a little haunting. All after I've finally figured out how the odd shower/bath combination works. After stumping me for 5 days, I realized the genius of the Japanese shower - it's built for you to take a shower while sitting down. Think that's ridiculous? Well, after having the kinds of days I had, sitting down was a dramatic luxury.

Maybe I’ll miss just how safe Japan is. Moving out, I left my keys in the mailbox for the Apartment management, and it was the first time I realized that the mailboxes were set up so that I could have taken any mail from any mailbox at any time. The office mailbox wasn’t even locked. And aside from crime, despite the tiny streets and complete lack of traffic enforcement, I saw nary an accident or near collision. The care everyone takes for each others safety is staggering for a former New York City regular.

Of course, one factor that has driven this trip for me is being willing to try new and crazy things. Pictured to the right is me, in my apartment in Tenjin, Daimyo, doing something called "ironing." When you are out of school clothes (ok, 5.11 pants, but still...) and don't have a dryer, this is a great way to quickly get clothes ready for class. Man, I did some crazy new things on the other side of the world!

Maybe what will shock me the most is the general disorder of everyday American behaviour. Right now I’m watching a 4 year old kid walk over and deposit his plastic water bottle in one of the 4 impossibly complicated trash dividers all by himself. My connection from Fukuoka boarded and cleared out so fast I was stunned – I briefly wondered whether Japanese people drill getting in and out of planes regularly as children to prepare them for daily life.

Ever wonder why it takes so long for people to get on and off a plane? I now know the answer. It’s because they are not Japanese. The solution to quick boarding and disembarking is to only allow Japanese people to travel on airplanes.

On an escalator they line up meticulously on the left (drive on the left, stand on the left, I guess.) No one has to tell them, they just do. On a jog one day I ran past a group of 13-year old kids putting up a tent for a track meet. One of had taken charge and was directing the group, who in complete unison on her order lifted the tent into the air to complete its construction. Watching the cabin crew demonstrate the safety drill on the plane was like watching a Kabuki performance, all of them moving simultaneously with precision.

Sure, the Japanese economy is obviously bloated with idiotic and duplicative jobs that are a complete waste. But every one of those needlessly duplicative or pointless employees busts their ass at their job anyway. I’ve grown so used to employees of the book store, fast food restaurant, or bakery bolt across store at top speed to complete some quotidian task that I have almost grown to ignore it.

But this concern for order is coupled with a concomitant concern for the well-being of others. And the truth is simply that I’m going to miss the Japanese people the most. They have survived for thousands of years as a unique and resilient culture by constantly adapting, growing, and reinventing themselves while remaining true to their true nature, a nature that as generous and welcoming as I’ve experienced. I left home expecting a week of crazy robots and silly “Engrish” signs and am leaving deeply grateful for a genuinely wonderful journey.

When I boarded my connection from Fukuoka, I watched a teenage kid walk up to an old woman who was obviously confused about her seat and walk her all the way to the other end of the plane where her seat was. Total strangers will do that for one another and I’ve seen it repeatedly.

Hell, if nothing else they were incredibly forgiving of my idiotic mistakes. It wasn’t until my third day that I realized I had been handing store clerks money while simultaneously saying “here, give me this.” The bus driver finally gave up trying to explain how to use the unnecessarily complicated payment box and carefully took my coins one by one from my hand, all the while apologizing and bowing. While sitting next to a woman on the train, I proceeded to ask her incessant questions, if only to practice my vocabularly and grammar, until I discovered that she was dying of cancer. Never meaning to pry, of course, I was speechless; something I should have been to start with, really, but I was being an eager student…

Still, it’s a good thing I’m returning to America. First of all, I’m sure that Sonia is ready to kill me. Secondly, my spelling is already starting to deteriorate. I struggled over the spelling of “parallel” last night (I finally had to google it) and I just noticed I spelled “behavior” with the British spelling above. Language immersion is the only way to learn a language and a surefire way to ruin your own.

Well, that’s all for now. I’ve already started the progress of re-acclimation to the states. Step one: One order of mikusu pisa (mixed-topping pizza) and Potaato (fries). Delicious-janai, but it’s a first step.

Ja, Mata!

Dazaifu

When I woke up this morning, even I had to admit that it was time for some simple peace and quiet. A nice tranquil day at a temple and garden - that's sort of what I imagined Japanese tourism to be, and why not do that at least once.

Well, I got that. But like everything else Japanese, it shoved my expectations into a locker and took their lunch money to take their mom out to dinner and a movie.

And I don't have a photo to go with any of what happened. But that's OK with me.

To start with, someone at school mentioned I should visit Dazaifu Tenmangu Shrine, an 1100 year-old temple outside the City. A quick train ride and I was there. A 3-hour tour, I figured. A 3 hour tour.

On arrival I got distracted by a small path that lead off to the side of the main temple. The path was unmarked, except for some small flags with Kanji beyond my ability. So I followed it. For a long time. Long after it stopped being paved, or marked, or whatever. Unfortunately, the main shrine is a tourist trap, as beautiful as it is. The approach is lined with an attractive row of cheap tourist shops stocking food and souvenirs. It is pretty, but there you go. So when I saw the barely marked, tiny path off to the side, I set off where no one else was going.

If I can describe my approach to Japan, it is this exact attitude. That I will just go somewhere or do something, despite how fruitless it appears, because I know deep down that Japan is going to reward me with something amazing. Finally, after I reach the peak, I came upon this beautiful, tiny shrine built directly into the mountain.

I felt pretty proud of myself for climbing to the top to find this place, until I turned around to find an elderly man who had done the same thing and was there to pray.

However, other than the old man, I have to say that much of this visit I was struck by one repeated thought.

The Japanese are idiots.

The main temple is fine, and all, but as I wandered I began to discover temples and shrines that were as stunning as they were deserted. Take Komyozenji Temple, for example.

This zen temple is 800 years old and is astonishingly beautiful.

And astonishingly deserted. There was someone else there - I saw shoes at the entrance. But I never saw that person, or anyone for that matter.

Not that I'm complaining. I wouldn't have had it any other way. I ask for some peace and quiet, and Japan gives me a moment of perfect contemplation. Wow.

At a certain point in this trip, though, I started to notice that my instincts are usually to avoid going down the unknown path, to defer risk, and to stick with the known. And every time I've defied those instincts, it's lead me in amazing directions. When I noticed that absolutely no one was following the road to "Kyushu National Museum" which, admittedly, was clearly a long hike up a mountain road, my mind said "that trip will be a complete waste of time."

So, off I went to Kyushu National Museum.

A quick word about Japanese customer service. It is amazing, and they take it very seriously. At the Konbini (convenience store) the staff will cry out, in unison, at the top of their lungs, "Irrashaimase!!!" when you arrive, as will every shopkeeper and restauranteur in the entire prefecture. And woe if you are standing behind someone else in line. The 7-11 clerk stocking in the back will bolt to the front of the store to serve you so you don't have to wait 12 seconds to buy your pack of gum. I'm expecting to feel particularly empty when I walk into 7-11; many people have asked why Japanese people almost never emigrate to the US. I'm starting to understand.

Hell, last night when my schoolmates and I got lost on the way to the bar, we asked a guy handing out flyers for a different bar and he not only told us how to get there, he lead us there on his own.

But Kyushu National Museum is staffed better than the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and was entirely deserted in the middle of the day on Saturday. There were maybe 30 visitors in this enormous and gorgeous, modern building. Every exhibit room had a staff member who would quietly operate a video projector that presented information about the artifacts, some of which dated back 15,000 years to early settlers in Japan. The woman at the information desk was delighted to speak English with me, and I did not deprive her of the chance to use her English, probably for the first time all year.

Oh, and Myo Sim readers - Two Words: Muramasa sword. Amazing.

Kyushu National Museum.

That done, I did want to see something more. The map I picked up was entirely in Japanese, save a couple of unhelpful words. So, off I went through the Dazaifu suburbs to see I could find some of the other ancient temples that were apparently marked on the map.

A quick word on how you can identify a Buddhist temple in Japan. Japanese Buddhists do not shave their head in solidarity with neo-nazis. What you see pictured here is NOT a swastika. What you see on the left is a "Manji" or reverse swastika. It is an ancient Buddhist symbol that some parents still sew into their children's clothes to protect them against evil spirits. And dates with Western girls, I expect...

Anyway, armed with a map covered in swastikas, I began to wander.

Boy did I wander.

I found a quiet temple at the top of these stairs in a Dazifu suburb and discovered that I'm not the only one who realizes how deserted these shrines are. I found two high school kids whom I clearly disturbed in a moment of awkward intimacy, made staggeringly more awkward by the appearance of a bearded American with a camera. Oops. Should have left a scrunchie on the statute of Kannon, kids....

But I digress...

I finally find what I thought to be a minor shrine off to the side of a street in town. It was quiet and, of course, empty. This shrine also appeared to be in operation of some kind, attended by a woman wearing all black. I asked if the residence is open to view and she happily directed me inside. After laughing at me while I looked at some statutes of musicians that she explained were part of her collection and decidedly NOT national artifacts, I ask her about the large shrine before me.

She tried to explain what it is, but I didn't understand her words, save references to "Kannon,""priests,""old," and "child space robot pilots", I think.

After we talk some, she asked if I would like to see the inside. Of course, I reply, not realizing what I was asking.

She disappeared and reappeared with a key, leading me to the back door, a huge and ancient door secured with a padlock. A quick warning about "Shashin Dame!" (no photos) and I am directed inside, and then abandoned inside.

Even if I had been able to bring the camera, the photo and the words would fail what I found myself standing before after winding my way through the entry hall. The woman had left me alone in a shrine containing an enormous, two-story golden statue of Rusyanabutsu Buddah roughly 1000 years old. I cannot tell you how long I stood there. My sense of time and space completely disappeared as I stood in awe of the moment and this astonishing sight. Stunned, that is, until I heard the loud clatter of a coin offering behind me - behind me, and the locked gate that separated the rest of the public from this shrine.

The old man there to pray before Buddah certainly gave me a strange look - the same look you might give a Japanese man with the Declaration of Independence in his hands during your visit to the National Archives.

You see, I thought that I was at Kanzeonji Temple, which is a temple mostly made famous by the Tale of Genji. Not a particularly special temple, but according my reading of the map and my pathetic Japanese, that's where I was.

CHIGAI.

Wrong Again.

I was standing inside Kaidanin, which throughout Japanese history has been one of only three places in Japan where Buddhist monks could be ordained. This fact I realized only after I left and ran smack into Kanzeonji, next door. Oh crap...I should have bowed WAY more than I did and jacked up the politeness level to ultra-formal. Too late.

My feet were killing me. I was tired, now, and definitely had reached the height of my day. I decided there was no reason to go into the tiny Kanzeonji museum that lay hidden in the garden and ignored by all but a few picnickers. It was almost entirely unmarked and adorned in windowless concrete. A complete waste of time, from the outside.

I don't have to tell you that I went inside.

OK, first of all the guard was about 80 years old and spoke really good English. The entry was tiny and, by Japanese standards, a little run down. Kyushu National Museum this was not. In this case, I cannot blame the Japanese for ignoring this site. It appears to be almost deliberately abandoned.

How anyone was supposed to know that upstairs stood 15 of Japans most ancient and enormous Buddhist stautes, I don't know. I do know that someone went to the trouble of printing an English guide in a font that bespeaks of an issue of National Geographic circa-1974.

No photos allowed. That was OK with me. Annie might be able to describe the feeling of standing before am enormous, 17-foot tall 1000 year old image of the Buddhist god Amoghapasa cut from wood and adorned with gold. I'll just tell you that it takes the ground out from under you.

I found myself wandering the Dazaifu suburbs for a while after that. By 4 pm, it was time to go home. One thing was for sure. I had failed the one thing I had on my list the whole time. To visit a real Japanese sword shop. Well, that's OK. Bound to be that way.

I sat on the Japanese train reading my manga and eating my rice ball like a good commuter. By the time I reached Tenjin it was 4:45. I had an approximate location for a sword store, but there was no way I'd make it in time.

Impossible.

There's that word again, I thought. Impossible. How it was that a week into my Japan vacation I still believed that something wasn't possible I cannot explain. Well, if a fruitless journey was to be, then so be it. I found a bus thanks to a helpful old woman and off I went.

I did not find a sword store.

Again, my Japanese intelligence had failed me. The directions were not to a sword store at all. At least not a store like I had expected.

I found a sword making store. That is two say, I found two men seated on the floor polishing Katana blades in the manner that has been in place for over a 1000 years. There was a man there with an enormous book discussing, well, I don't know what he was discussing. It was definitely about Katanas and Kendo teachers. That much I got.

I just sat and watched for about a 1/2 hour, until closing. They must have thought me nuts, enraptured while they mixed clay and water and carefully polished their craftsmanship with the same stones I had seen in George Moody's basement before he was murdered. Other than the electric lights over their heads, what I was watching I could have seen 500 years ago in Muramasa's workshop.

I didn't even bother asking to take a photo.

Some things aren't meant to be asked.

So that's it. A quiet day in Japan. I could have spent days touring Dazaifu. I was limited only by time, hunger, and my lack of additional band-aids for my feet.

And the truth is, I could have spent another week in Fukuoka and still never have seen the simplest of places. When I booked this trip, I didn't even know that there was a place in Japan called Fukuoka. I found Genki JACS by accident while looking for a Japanese school in Tokyo and accidently running a google search without including "Tokyo." If they hadn't been the only school to allow a single week of study, I'd have gone to Tokyo in a heartbeat.

And I'm not the only one who feels that way - I saw maybe one foreigner a day, outside of school, that is. This is a city by Japanese, for Japanese. And maybe that's why it was so special. Maybe Americans and Westerners haven't ruined it yet. Either way, the only reason I'm sitting in this chair writing this right now is that I can't stand on my feet without feeling pain.

And it's the best pain I've felt in years.

Damn Asian Drivers

Look, nearly everyone in America would rank our Asian-American bretheren as being a little jozunai when it comes to driving.And I’ll admit that my first couple of days here, I repeatedly blinked in amazement at what I perceived to be the worst driving I’ve ever seen.

That’s in addition to the bicycles, which nearly everyone rides with the seat all the way down and on the sidewalk.From an American point of view, this is doubly idiotic, regardless of how omnipresent the behavior is. And of course, fundamentally, Japan is a bicycle culture. Bikes are omnipresent and the primary form of transportation. Women ride them to work wearing skirts and suits.

No Need for Giant Parking Garages at a Japanese Train Station

I even caught a story on the morning news about efforts to raise awareness of the dangers of texting while biking, and holding an umbrella while riding, complete with experiments testing stopping distance, reaction time, etc. But all of this just reinforced my perception of the Japanese being driving-wa jozunai.

But like most other things about Japan, I had it all wrong.

The Japanese are the best drivers in the world.

Bar none.

Think I’m wrong? You are looking at one of the many streets in Daimyo, Tenjin. Typical street, some are smaller, some a little larger. And before you say, hell, I've driven down streets like that, try this - this is a two way street. And sidewalk. And bike lane.

So you think the Japanese are bad drivers? I’ll give YOU a car and send you driving down a sidewalk and then make you pass another car coming the other way while avoiding dozens bicycles and pedestrians who are oblivious to your presence.Then I’ll occasionally stop a delivery truck in the middle of the sidewalk and make you repeat until you get it right.

Don’t worry, I’ll bring a snack and something to read…

In the meantime, bow down and respect the Mario Andretti’s of Western Japan.And as for the bicycles, I couldn’t raise my seat on my rented bike and, consumed with frustration, rode off imagining myself in Ring #2 at Barnum & Bailey with a pair of giant red shoes and a seltzer bottle.That is, until I realized the reason for this idiotic setup – what you lose in power and speed, you make up for in control.A good thing when you are sharing the sidewalk with dozens of pedestrians and having to stop on a dime repeatedly.

Oh, and your face won’t get sliced up by a thousand umbrellas.So you’ve got that going for you, which is nice.

And by the way, they regularly ride while holding an umbrella. I can barely take my hands off the handle bars to signal a turn. These people ride one-handed in the rain through a crowded street shared with cars and a thousand pedestrians.

Or maybe I’m just getting too Japanese for my own good.Today at school I found myself pronouncing English with a Japanese accent when I spoke to another student from America on the way to lunch.Uh-oh….

The Moon Cannot be Stolen

Today was just like any other day in Japan.

Which is to say, it started out badly and ended by blowing my socks off so fast they spun the earth backwards on its axis, simultaneously leaving me breathless and saving Lois Lane from dying in some idiotic deus-ex-machina landslide/earthquake.

I'll get right to it. Bike tire was flat when I woke up, this makes me mad for reasons not worth getting into, except that it involves me getting splashed with rusty rainwater, etc. etc. No lunch break leaves me exhausted, I leave school in a sour mood, and because of the bike, don't get to the temple before it closes, whatever.

SOOO...I go shopping at Canal City Hakata, which is sort of a trendy spot with lots of expensive shops and gift items. Wandering through, I accidently run into a movie theater, and reading the titles I realize they are showing the new release of Neon Genesis Evangelion - ok, now skip the rest of the paragraph if you are not an anime fan. It was freakin' awesome, the theater was packed, and interestingly there is now significant product placement in Anime - Panasonic, DotComO, etc.

Movie was great, and looked amazing.

So, back to my story. I leave the theater with little idea of what to do, except to walk down this street by the canal and see what's up.

It's a series of Yatai (street food vendors) set up on the left, with the Canal on the right. The night is beautiful, it's 9:30, and I have no idea of what to do, except that I have only 2 more days in Japan after tonight.

But I'm starting to think that I've done it all. In fact, I'm starting to be concerned that the whole thing was a mistake - staying in Fukuoka the entire week. A couple of guys are taking the Shinkansen to Tokyo tomorrow and I'm thinking of joining them. What more could I do here, after all?

And what

happens next....well, give me another 2 paragraphs. I promise it's good.

This next vendor catches my eye. It's a bucket of Unagi (eel) and a woman with a tiny grill. The idea is immediately obvious. Catch your own eel, and eat it. 500 Yen - 5 bucks.

OK, Japan, let's do this.

I go fishing.

Now, I'm not a fisherman; I've never been fishing. And that becomes immediately obvious after I break two of the fishing rods. The woman finally cries out "Dam-e!" which translates into "cut it the F*&# out you idiot foreigner."

So anyway, this guy next to me looks sympathetic and steps in to show me how its done. His technique is actually quite good and he catches an unagi quickly - but returns it to the tank. In the meantime, he notes that I am wearing 5.11 pants. That I find VERY unusual. Normally only military, law enforcement, or holster-sniffers thereof know what these are. In Japan it almost knocks me over. So he and I chat some, and I start to realize that the people there are treating him with a level of respect that is palpable. He is also conjugating his verbs in a very unusual fashion.

So I ask him what he does for a living...and he refuses to answer the question. He just sort of mumbles and looks away, in a way that only a Japanese person can.

"Oh crap," I think "I think I'm hanging out with a Yakuza (gangster.)"

Then again, it's Japan, so what do I care?

The respected man is handed Unagi that I never see him pay for, and in turn he offers it to me. It was absolutely amazing. Delicious. So we sat down on tiny stools and talked over fresh grilled eel.

Anyway, you have no idea how hard it was to figure out, using my Japanese, that the man was not a gangster at all. He was the Sergeant in charge of gang investigations for the Fukuoaka Police Department (something he only admitted to me after I told him what I do for a living.)

OK - I know, I know.

I'm a prosecutor, for goodness sake. I KNOW that he could be making that up. He gave me his card, but that will take me 14 months to translate. He had a badge, but he also has internet access. So sure, it could have all been a lie.

Until he offered to take me out for Sashimi.

"Sashimi wa daijobu?" (Is Sashimi OK)? Keep in mind that in America, I won't eat a tuna sashimi, and I know what's coming. In fact, I have almost never eaten real sashimi. So of course, I happily reply "Daijobu!" and followed him down alleys and back stairs until we entered some basement restaurant in Hakata.

Close your eyes for a moment, and think about what you think would happen when the chief inspector for the gang investigation unit of the prefectural police walks into a Sashimi joint in Asia. Got that in your mind?

THAT is what happened. The staff almost tripped over each other trying to get him a table, and quite nearly threw out someone who was at one table because they needed the space. The Japanese can be obsequious and phony, but what I saw was no act.

But the Inspector was fantastically kind, generous, and patient. We talked for hours and stayed well after closing. The staff there apparently are quite fond of him, and by extension, me, at least for the night.

I cannot convey to you how amazed I was at this entire experience, except to say this: we sat and talked for 2 hours, and had an amazing time, and I was so blown away by everything that I barely noticed that I was eating a fish called, according to my dictionary, a "Stinger Fish" while it was still breathing and looking back at me, occasionally audibly snapping its mouth while we ate its flesh. I barely blinked while eating Fugu (blowfish) that is actually WORLD FAMOUS for being deadly if not prepared correctly.

One inevitable question is, what can you talk about for hours with a man who speaks almost no English and you speak terrible Japanese. All I can say is that there are certain experiences that all law enforcement share. Bad judges, retirement issues, chasing around bad guys who are always younger even though every year you get older, etc.

Plus, it being Japan, he is also a Kendo instructor and studies Jujutsu. Most Japanese Police Departments have a Kendo school, in fact. So at the end of the night, we talked kendo some before the wait staff decided to come hang out with us and they all taught me Hakata street slang and laughed as I tried to pronounce it.

So there you go - Japan is more astonishing than eating another living creature while it looks back at you.

'nuff said.

Never Leave Home Without Your Camera

And here, I was worried Japan was starting to get a little boring.

Never leave home without your camera. I'm not the first to say that, and now I believe it. I've already missed a couple of cool shots - the guy riding his bike wearing a completely normal outfit, except for the red pumps, the girls dressed in club clothes carrying their kids, etc.

But this one ends it all for me.

OK - setup is important. In Japan, they have vending machines for everything, blah blah blah, you've heard all that before. The reality is that 80% of them are for beverages, and 19% for cigarettes. The remaining 1% sell clothing, distributor caps, haldron colliders, and whatever else will keep Japan on YouTube when people start to think they aren't the strangest country on the planet.

There is a sign telling kids they cannot buy cigarettes if they are under 18, which is sort of like putting up a sign in front of an open dog food bag and trusting his sense of moderation and respect for your will while you leave for the weekend.

So here I am, walking to the Konbini (Convenience store, AMPM in this case) for breakfast for tomorrow. Orange Juice, Natto, and Onigiri. (My first Natto experience - I'll let you know.) And as I'm walking out I see the girl with her 1000 Yen note staring at the machine. And I think "No way."

"No way."

So I pull out the camera, which I brought because I've been repeating to myself I have to carry this with me everywhere I go now, and....

I get this shot. She buys the freakin' cigarettes. I miss the shot once, getting some lady walking by, but shot #2 comes out perfect. Here's the closeup, for those of you crying "Uso" (Liar.)

Everytime I think Japan is going to get boring, it wakes me up at 3 am and throws a bucket of ice water filled with electric eels on my face while blasting Madonna through the car stereo of a Hummer parked in my bedroom.

Hunger Paens

The definition of trust in human society is taking food from a complete stranger and eating it voluntarily. I have repeatedly found myself at the mercy of hunger and illiteracy, resulting in some acts of faith I would never have performed at the local Applebees.

My first full day here I walked for over 6 hours before I realized that the promise of food at the top of this park I was visiting was an illusion; the promised sidewalk vendors arrived for the Cherry Blossom

Festival and left soon thereafter. All that was left was an old man in a truck that seemed permanently affixed to the ground

and his 50-something friends who sit around and smoke and watch the feral cats

and dogs that live at the top of this park. He spoke in a thick Kyushu dialect and it was all I could do to read the Katakana menu and find an item I could pronounce. What I got was this:

Can't decide between a hotdog, a hamburger, or a cheesteak? Why not get all three in one? This would be banned immediately in America, but I'll say this - it was freakin' amazing.

Trust, then, is walking into Lawson's convenience store and asking what the items are in the hot food case (sort of like the 7-11 hotdog case). When the clerk explains that the 3 varieties are "regular" "hot" and "cheese," I pick "hot." On the face of it, this is total madness. Really? Just bring me the hot thing. I don't know what it is, but I guess it will be spicy.

Whatever it is, it's my new favorite food, and I found out that 2 other students live off it too.

Or my night of Kendo-exhaustion, when I decided to visit the restaurant across the street - hell, it's always busy, so it has to be good, right? Upon receiving the menu I realize I can't speak Japanese at all. So the waitress take my order: "Please, just bring me anything." "How many anythings?" she asks? "3 please" I reply.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Look, she tried to explain what the food was, but I kept thinking, "Lady, I speak enough Japanese to tell you that 'My apartment is....' but not enough to know how to say '...on fire'. I think that's in Level 3. Anyway, either you bring me something or I'll pass out on the floor in your restaurant."

I still couldn't tell you what I ate, but it was fattier than anything I've eaten in America, and there was a picture of a pig on the menu, so I guess it was pork. Except I don't think there are pigs in Japan...

Or yesterday, when I read the word "Ramen" on the sign to this shop and decided to give it a try.

This should be easy.

The inside looked totally normal, and quite relaxing.

I know the words for various types of ramen, so why not give it a shot.

I try to order, and the woman politely points to the vending machine. She knows the English word "ticket," for some reason, but no other english, but that's enough to make me realize that I have to buy a ticket from this machine to order my food. Now that makes absolutely no sense.

But this ramen was awesome.

My school doesn't give me a lunch break - damn Japanese and their "Gambatte!" attitude. Gambatte, for those of who who don't know, means "Life is pain, suck it up, loser." So I took my 5 minute break between classes to run to the grocery store under the school. No time to read labels - I watched two men in the prepared food aisle stare at the selection for a minute and then grab the same thing. Well, I'll take that. It has to be good, right?

ah, so...

You know what the difference between men and women is?

I don't think it would have taken a woman 3 days to realize that the linens in the closet are for her bed and that she's been sleeping on a bed without linens the entire time.

Me, on the other hand....

Best Day Ever

I started the day with only 3 blisters on my feet, a bicycle that worked, full of energy and plans to study all night. It's now midnight, I haven't even started my homework, I have skin on the bottoms of my feet ripped off, both my hands have skin ripped off, I no longer have my $100 SureFire tactical flashlight, I still have to take a shower, and my entire body feels like I was trapped in a combine.

I am on cloud nine.

Here's the deal - my schedule, compacted as it is, calls for class all day. No break for lunch (freakin' Japanese and their "Gambatte" attitude). So the day is over, I still have to get a card reader (thank you Apple store, once again), but before I leave the school I get this vague rumor that there is a Kendo class on Monday nights across the street at the youth center. 6 pm.

I figure, hey, I'll never get to see that again - I'll just go at 6, watch a kendo class, and then get dinner and do my homework. The whole thing will take 2 hours, tops. Quick stop to 7&i Holdings, Inc. (Apparently there is no need for a fictitious trade name in Japan for 7-11 - the full corporate title works just fine) for an onigiri (rice ball) and some lemon milk, and off I go.

First lesson - never trust your intelligence. 6 pm was NOT correct. After an incredibly confusing conversation with the old man at the counter, during which I think I may have told him that I was at the gym because I had learned that the Youth Center had just acquired warp technology, I figured out that he was saying wait until 7 pm, that's when class begins.

CRAP. No time for homework, no time for dinner.

7 o'clock rolls around. No Kendo. Just these two wackos. Who inflate this giant rubber ball and begin to toss it back and forth for no apparent reason.

At this point I'm so goddamn tired I actually fell asleep sitting there watching this madness.

Then, out of nowhere, in walks Yamasaki Sensei. He is immediately fascinated with my visit.

Now, keep in mind that I have read one thing over and over on the web: One absolutely, positively, NEVER may just walk into a kendo studio and just "take a class." You must appear with an introduction, preferably from a reputable school, and with prior arrangement.

You cannot show up in 5.11 tactical pants, your Commonwealth Attorney Polo Shirt, and beginner level Japanese and get invited to practice.

Lesson Two: The Internet is no match for the Japanese, who have got to be the most welcoming people I've ever met.

I'm handed a shinai and off we go.

For the Kendo students, a brief summary - the workout was intense, focused, innovative, and fascinating. I've got a bunch of new exercises for you all. Just don't plan to walk the next day...

Then out come the Katana. And for reasons I will never understand, he hands me a Katana and we set into Iai. Of course, I have no idea how to properly perform the Japanese Iai, and so this does not go well. But we end class with Yamasaki Sensei demonstrating a number of the old Iai forms, which up until now I have only seen in archival footage. These are simply amazing. I nearly started to cry watching him perfom these kata. However, that might also be because my hands and feet were in excruciating pain....

Yamasaki Sensei is clearly having a great time, though - we take lots of pictures. He makes me pose for him with his sword (I'll try to get the pictures from him, I have his email) and we take lots of group photos.

His student wasn't too h

appy about the whole thing, I think. I'm sure I got WAY better treatment than he did on a daily basis. Then for some reason Yamasaki sensei asked the ball-throwers to join the picture. What is the deal with these people?

And here's where the whole thing turns quintessentially Japanese - HE invites ME to coffee - so off we go! Starbucks, right? The guy is a simple civil servant by day (I think, at least - my Japanese is so bad that he might have told me that he was the Emperor's personal bodyguard), so nothing fancy, I figure.

Hells no.

We walk straight into the Fukuoka Grand Hotel's coffee room, which is sort of the Fukuoka equivalent of Tea at the Ritz. 3 bedraggled, sweaty, smelly strangers walk into this beautiful tea room and the staff greeted us like royalty. Japan, baby. It rocks.

Although I have no idea how I survived the conversation, it was just amazing. And he started giving me gifts!! Little fans, but still - what's up with that? I knew he would insist on paying (thank god someone warned me not to offer to pay - he might have cut my head off right there if I had tried to pay. Thank you to whoever gave me that warning.)

But I had nothing to give him; I didn't exactly come prepared for a kendo lesson from a true Japanese Kendoka. The only thing of any value I was even carrying was my tactical flashlight. I never travel without it....but tonight.... well, let's just say that I was glad to let it go.

What can I say. When I got outside the tire on my bicycle was flat, I had eaten exactly 3 rice balls and nothing else the entire day, it was 10:30 pm, and I still had homework and laundry.

And 3 days into my trip I have done more than I ever dreamed of.

Now, if I don't figure out the past indicative form my Sensei is going to chase me down and smack me. And I am in no shape to run very far....

Everything is Burnable

A quick word on trash, packaging, and this insane place.

First, the Japanese pride themselves on being green.

Second, they wrap EVERYTHING in 12 layers of plastic.

These band-aids had a package. Then each band-aid had a smaller package. Once you opened it, the band-aid itself had a protective layer of packaging that was only used so you can put the band-aid on without touching it. Then, once you've applied it, you remove that packaging so that you can now remove the last pieces of band-aid packaging (the little strips we always use), and bang - you are now carrying a handful of trash instead of thinking about your feet bleeding.

But here's the thing. There are no trashcans here. I walked for over 7 hours yesterday and found 2 trashcans. You wouldn't know it, of course, because there is absolutely NO TRASH on the streets. I guess everyone just carries it. Maybe that's why all the men carry purses.

Anyway, so here we have trash out the wazoo, and the Japanese are crazy about their trash, so you have to separate your trash into 3 categories that I do not understand at all: burnable, recylable plastic, and robot, I think. I have no idea what's "burnable," so I'm not throwing anything out. If you really ask yourself "could I burn this?" long enough you start asking alot of questions about yourself you don't want the answers to.

Fukuoka At First Glance

Still struggling with the memory stick issue. Right now I'm at an Internet cafe, sitting in a high-end massage chair, eating noodles, and finding it hard to be that concerned. I have a Japanese movie playing in the other window on this computer, and will end up paying less than $10 to sit here, in a massage chair, for 3 hours watching whatever movies I want, all the soft drinks you can drink, heck, even if I need a shower they have them. And tanning beds, for some reason. There is a machine that dispensed my noodles, and will give me about 10 other hot foods. Or I can order a Pizza - that might be a bad idea in a land without cows.

This place is amazing. I've already met my first goal of eating at a sidewalk noodle shack (yatai) in the rain while people walked by with clear plastic umbrellas. Fortunately Edward James Olmos was a no-show. Maybe I'm not a replicant...

My best comparison for Fukuoka right now is Cambridge, MA for those of you who've been there. Maybe Brooklyn after that. Lots of tiny streets, high-end boutiques and trendy second-hand stores, right next to ancient temples and antique-looking restaurants. A working city, with a large, young, bohemian contingent.

Tonight is my second night going to bed after midnight (a.k.a 11 am to the rest of you). I don't feel any jet lag, but I just don't see the value of sleep. After all - I can sleep when I get back to work. Last night I fell asleep to a TV show that taught Chinese - in Japanese. It was great review of both languages, actually. I should find this on DVD. If I'm not careful I'm going to fall asleep here in the internet cafe; which, by the way, is the recommended way to stay cheaply in Japan if you have to extend your stay one night or get here a day early, according to my school. It's cheaper than a hotel, and nicer to boot. Name me one hotel you've stayed at that has a free massage chair, free internet, free movies on demand, free drinks, and hot food 30 feet away. All for under $10 per 3 hours.

Anyway, sleep is for suckers. I woke up this morning after 4 1/2 hours of sleep, ran for 1 1/2 hours, took a shower, bought my adapter, and then headed out. 7 hours of walking later I had hit the beach, Hakata (canal city), several neighborhoods, all in all over 7 miles of walking and the blisters to prove it. I am officially out of band-aids. Even my replacement Japanese ones.

All this time, however, I ran into Westerners exactly 3 times. Once, while running near a popular hotel, then at the beach, a German family (used some German, in Japan. Double points for that), and then at a man-made lake. Each time, there was this funny greeting we made, as if we knew each other from "back home." It's bizarre. It's the camaraderie of being the handful of Westerners in a city that is NOT a tourist destination for Westerners.

Favorite interaction of the day, though: Riding the elevator at Hakata Station with a 5 year old boy behind me. I said "Konnichiwa!" He replied "Konnichiwa, Ji-San."

Translation: "Hi, Old Man!"

Not good.

More pics tomorrow, if I can get a computer to read this damn memory stick. No luck here.

Oh, and it's my first day of school tomorrow.

Wish Annie a Happy Birthday if you haven't already!!

First Day In Japan

This is, hands down, the most fun I've had on a vacation by myself ever. Fukuoka is totally amazing. I'm going to try to put lots of pics up and try to make this blog interesting for people, but we'll see how that turns out in reality...

It’s my first full day in Japan. I’m sitting in my apartment in Fukuoka City, a nice sea breeze blowing in from Tenjin, a game show running in the background for company. Not many lights and sirens – as best as I can tell, it consists of two guys in suits playing scrabble with Kanji. There are two very serious judges scoring them. Not to say that I didn’t see insane game shows last night while I was going to sleep.

Sleep, by the way, is not something I’ve been that into in the last couple days. Last night I went to bed around 1 am and woke up at 6. Why sleep when I could go for a run in Japan? After an hour and a half of running through the city (personal record, btw) I realized I might be going a little insane.

So, why has it taken me so long to post anything? Well, sitting on my table back home is the two-prong attachment for my Mac. Japan, for those of you who don't know, is 2-prong only. No adapter, no power.

Of course, that wasn't a problem. I just had to walk to the Mac store, which is 4 blocks from my apartment. Of course. If you are looking for it, just look for the Starbucks. No, not that Starbucks - the Starbucks across the street from that Starbucks. If you get lost, just look for the Starbucks 2 blocks away. "2 blocks away, but in what direction?" you ask.

In any direction.

No pics yet -- why do I buy things from Dynex? They never work...including their 5-in-one memory card reader. Don't buy it, btw. Back to the Apple store, I guess...

OK - so, a few observations, and then I have to get out of here...

The Flight

I learned a few things that I'd like to share:

1. ANA is the best airline ever

OK, so I was stuffed into a tiny seat next to some 260 pound guy. That's economy class for you. And nevermind that by my calculations, there was $350,000 worth of airfare on that Boeing 777. But it's an airline- that's supposed to happen.

But the staff were incredible -- nice, attentive, thoughtful -- constantly and thoroughly attentive the whole time. And the food was awesome; they gave me the Western meal (crap) but it was pasta and it was amazing!! Breakfast was Onigiri (rice ball), with the nori (seaweed wrap) separate so it wouldn't get soggy. Tea served constantly, and I have to find that brand of tea because it either had morphine in it or it was some secret blend of amazing tea.

2. We Make Our World Miserable

And by we, I mean westerners. Traveling in an airplane full of Japanese people is like a Montessori field trip. I watched four year olds carry their trash to the trashbin on the other side of the plane. Repeatedly. The plane was so clean I wondered if it was new.

The last flight I had to Orlando was in a flying dumpster. There was trash in the seat. When I got on the plane. What? I was afraid to touch anything for fear of getting TB.

Which, by the way, explains why Japanese people at customs all wear surgical masks. Hell, if I grew up in Japan, I would wear a mask when dealing with foreigners too. We are disgusting.

3. When the Lady at the Ticket Counter Asks If You Want An Exit Row, You Say "YES"

10 feet of leg room. 'nuff said.

Next Post - Fukuoka City, and my Apartment.