back in familiar Japan

Who would have thought that arriving in Japan would give me feelings of returning home? When i descended the escalator to customs, a sign above me read in Japanese "Welcome Home," and underneath it was some Korean, and underneath that was the English "Welcome to Japan." It made me feel like something more than just a regular gaijin, wide-eyed and hesitant, entering a foreign land of mystery. I was returning to something like a home, albeit a strange and foreign one, though not exactly mysterious anymore. It felt somewhat refreshing to be surrounded by a language i partially understood, a language which was composed of sounds i knew, instead of a language that didn't register anything cerebral at all besides the interesting rhythm and how funny the sounds were.

I'm sitting in the Excelsior Cafe in Narita Airport above Terminal 71, the one that connects to the plane leaving for New York in an hour and a half. I've been thinking about this experience as a whole--trying to piece together all the bizarre experiences and memories floating around in my mind in an effort to stitch them into some patchwork quilt that represents a kind of lesson. But perhaps that's effort wasted, and i should let them float around on their own and bump into each other, creating collisions that produce little bursts of sudden revelation--the sheer entropy of memory that assembles and dissolves periodically to fuel our creative thought for the future.

And on that unnecessarily complex and pseudo-philosophical note, i will end this blog and return home once again. Thank you, my loyal readers, and i hope these entries have taught you a thing or two about Japan and Korea, or at least about how one American distorts and perverts their images.

さようなら！
Sayonara!

kimchi to the max!!!

In no elegant order, here are some things i have either done or learned in Seoul.

1. went to the kimchi museum in Coex mall with Jae's sister Minsun and her friend (Jae is a friend from HIF who volunteered the sightseeing services of his younger sister to me when i told him i was coming to Seoul). Coex is an enormous complex that includes a fancy hotel, restaurants, a kimchi museum, a shopping area, a movie theater, an aquarium, and a kimchi museum. this museum has plastic models of every kimchi dish ever conceived by the Korean mind, and even has a computer program that painstakingly details all the ingredients of every dish and the technique with which to create them. we sat next to two Japanese, and the daughter was reading the list of kimchi dishes off to her mother with fascination and zeal. i asked them how to get the movie about kimchi running and they then both expressed to me their love of kimchi and talked with me about mine. this museum is a place where everyone in the world can assemble and appreciate pickled cabbage together.

2. We then went hiked up to Seoul Tower, which rises up above the city atop a mountain in the city center. Minsun's friend related to me how Seoul's skyline is all helter skelter (not using those particular words), spreading out in all directions and making the city look like some petri dish culture left in the heat, unlike the managed hedgerow look of NYC. The bathroom below the viewing area was arguably the most impressive lavatory i've ever pissed in: glass windows allowing a view of the entire city, urinals complete with small image of fly for aiming purposes, a sink with a hodgepodge of faucets emerging from a center mass of metal. Artful and pleasing to the senses.

3. Don't drink too much soju and then go to a bar with a group of foreigners you just met and stay out until 3 am talking to Korean girls who are used to manipulating foreigners into buying them drinks.

4. The bathroom on my floor of this hostel smells like kimchi that's been soaking in urine in a toilet bowl. The funny thing is, there is no kimchi to be found in the entire hostel! I mean, i have not done a thorough search or anything, but i am mystified.

5. Only two more days in Seoul and i must make the best of them. I was kindly invited out to dinner by Jae's family Sunday night, and i am excited about that. Today i plan to venture into a Korean onsen (spa/sauna sort of thing) with my Italian friend and maybe the Finnish dude from our room. Oh, we're leaving now.

And this concludes today's list of lessons learned and experiences well achieved.

say kimchee!

Instead of "say cheese," Koreans say "say kimchee!" That's an example of the extent to which kimchee is essential to everyday life in this fair country. Every meal comes with a number of side dishes, one of which being kimchee, and the others being any number of things, from steamed spinach to little silvery fishes. But enough about spicy pickled cabbage. Let's talk about my stay in Seoul.

Soeul is a real warm place, compared to the cold inhuman feeling much of Tokyo gives me (besides Asakusa and other small neighborhoods like Harajuku). People here seem pretty carefree and happy. All couples hold hands mostly without exception (Japan not so--some do, but most don't), people bump into you without apologies (like New York! feels like home--in Japan you almost always get a vocal apology, and sometimes even some frantic bowing), street vendors aplenty selling everything from huge dried octopus tentacles to meats on sticks to sweet rice drinks (in Japan, you'd usually only find vendors near temples or shrines or during festivals). Seoul just has an atmosphere of liveliness produced by the residents themselves. In Tokyo, this atmosphere felt to me as if it were generated by glowing signs and towering structures, and the residents just droned about consumed with the action of consumption. This conclusion may be a bit harsh, and that is because i am having a good time here and had a disappointing time every time i've been to Tokyo. And this has no bearing on my opinion of the rest of Japan. Anyone who read the previous blogs knows well my undying love for Kyoto.

So far i've been to Chongdeokgung Palace with its "Forbidden Garden" (in older days only the king and his officers could prance around in its greenery, but now it is a bit less forbidden as everyone from me to groups of Japanese tourists can prance around in there too), the pedestrian cobblestone streets of the art district Insadong with its trendy cafes and stationary stores, the foreigner-flooded nightlife district of Itaewon, and an enormous mall/country called Coex by the Korean World Trade Center at Samseong where i met with the sister of a friend from HIF who volunteered to show me around town. I'll be going to a Korean Folk Museum with her and her friend tomorrow, and possibly even to the Kimchee Museum (i know, when i heard the name of this place i knew it was my destiny to go) at some point before i leave.

I depart in four days, and then i spend an ill-fated night in Tokyo before my return to NYC. I haven't decided if i'm going to get a hostel room or brave a bench in Haneda Airport. Either way, i am aching to return to the place of my birth and be surrounded on all sides once again by my own language. And then get tired of it all in a couple of days and want to go traveling again.

Hanguk: First Blood

Hanguk = Korea

So for better or worse, I am now residing in Seoul, the bustling capital city of South Korea. What a different experience it is arriving in Korea compared to Japan. When i arrived in Japan, i was embarrassed because of my insufficient language ability. When i entered Korea, i was immediately struck by my SUPREME LACK of language ability. Compared to a feeling of powerlessness or inferiority in Japan, knowing none of the spoken language is instead a horrifying affair. I realized i didn't even know how to say "yes" or "no." Yes, i should've prepared by learning the basics, but who has the time or the patience? I will write down the Korean alphabet (hangul) after i write this blog and study it meticulously until i can chant the words off a restaurant menu flawlessly, naturally being entirely ignorant as to its meaning. Much like reading from a siddur. Or having a bar mitzvah. Except instead of money from relatives you get a plate of kimchee.

I spent yesterday in Tokyo, and it was a pretty typical traveling day for me. Instead of taking the ordinary path and going to see the city sights or stroll in the city center, i decided to lug my bags around town looking for a locker to store them in for a week, only to find out the limit was 3 days, and then lugged them back to the hostel. I brought my megaton black luggage case and a plastic bag with a ceramic bowl i made to Tokyo Station, which is across town on the subway, and the route features a number of flights of stairs. So there i was, dragging a heavy bag on wheels and carrying a ceramic bowl in a plastic bag in the other hand, for about 3 or so hours all around Tokyo. I finished off the day by buying a small bag of "Flavors of the Sea" peanuts, and sat on the train home eating them as Japanese sneered at me for eating in public. I did learn a lesson though: there is nothing like "Flavors of the Sea" peanuts to make one's breath attractive.

I left the hostel this morning (with the megaton luggage and the ceramic bowl) and was speeding off towards the station when, quite characteristically of me, i realized that i wasn't quite sure which of the two Tokyo airports i was departing from. I rushed into the nearest internet cafe, and after begging the guy to use the net for 2 minutes for free, grudgingly paid the 200 yen and discovered it was just as i thought: Narita airport, not Haneda. I conveniently planned my trip so that i would be sampling all of the airports in Seoul and Tokyo, leaving from Narita, arriving in Incheon, leaving from Gimpo, arriving in Haneda. In reality, i bought the cheapest ticket, and now i must suffer through not two, but four airports in 7 days. I think i unconsciously make traveling hard on myself because i like to kvetch in blogs.

I plan to go out and get something to eat, hopeful soaked in kimchee whatever it is, and then take a stroll around town or something (without luggage for once). More later.

too many festivals

In the past five days I have been at two different festivals: Hakodate's Minato Matsuri (Port Festival) celebrating Commodore Perry's forceful opening of Hakodate's port some 150 years ago that helped spark the modernization of Edo-period Japan, and Aomori's Nebuta Matsuri (Float Festival) which features enormous paper floats lit up at night with internal lights depicting scenes from old tales involving ogres, dragons, and samurai all fighting each other. The highlight of the Minato Matsuri is the Ika Odori (Squid Dance), which is open to anyone with the desire to jump around in the streets to music with an obnoxious singer singing about squid. As you can imagine, this was exactly my cup of tea. I wrote a short piece inspired by the Ika Odori the other day:

The music blaring from the megaphone vans resounded through the cool night air, booming in the ears of the squid dancers, who were dressed in a variety of eccentric garb, ranging from handmade representations of squids themselves complete with dangling paper tentacles, to black coats with Halloween masks. Although from the inside of the bumping mass of dancers everything seemed chaotic and unrehearsed, from the outside everyone more or less followed the same dance routine, prompted by an energetic announcer shouting encouragement and repetitious chants from a podium atop the moving van.The unavoidable thirty-second song that dictated the dance moves was characterized by a sassy-sounding singer with a friendly country twang singing over electric guitar riffs and electronic beats. Sweat was flying, costumed power rangers of all colors were leaping, men with excessive make-up and grapefruit breasts were all hopping to the left, then the right.
Before I got involved all we saw were dancing troops that were quite well coordinated. I was initially standing with some gaijin friends on the sidelines when the squid dancing crowd spit out a fellow classmate, who must have been swallowed on her way to the station and upon seeing us expressed her fervent desire to join the dancing in their contagious prancing and vigorous stepping, but lamented the lack of opportunity for a group of street-clothed gaijin to jump into a group of coordinated dancers with matching costumes. It seemed less than appropriate to barge in and selfishly ruin the synchrony for the unjustifiable reason that we wanted to dance too. In effect, she assumed that we all wanted to dance with equal desire, and it was probably a safe assumption: we had been standing there gawking at the festivities smiling and gape-jawed with eyes asparkle and leg muscles tense. The mood was saturated with anticipation. So when the coordinated troops has passed and a shrieking, leaping crowd of varied wear, zealous air and dubious manners reared their mass at the head of the parade street led by a huge van displaying cartoon squids in festival dress, we knew that this was our chance.

It's kind of in reverse, but that just adds to the anticipation. I will write about the Nebuta Matsuri a bit later, as time is now running thin, but it was equally as thrilling. Love to all.

going to korea!

I bought a ticket to Korea for the week between the end of classes and my plane ride back home. I don't really know what's there except for kim chee, the DMZ, lots of plastic surgery, lots of churches, and fashionable youths. But isn't that really enough? If anyone reading has suggestions on what to do, please inform me. Otherwise I'll be forced to consult some guide book and end up in some cheesy tourist trap, like a kim chee museum or something. Actually, if there is a kim chee museum that might be the first place i'd go! Or useful Korean phrases might help, like: "Do you speak Japanese?" and "Where can I find a kim chee refrigerator?"

I put some new pictures up on flickr (http://www.flickr.com/photos/mdove/), so please enjoy. I am going to the train station a bit later to try and score an overnight bus ticket to Tokyo for the weekend after classes end. Otherwise i'll be forced to spend more money and glide down Honshu on a sweet Shinkansen ride. Damned if i pay more than i have to.

Did i mention i'm in charge of making the school yearbook? I wonder how i got myself into yet another position of authority and responsibility. Perhaps it is due to my constant flitting around from place to place--i never stay anywhere long enough for people to understand properly just how poor a leader i am. Although my resume might say the opposite, i am inept at leading groups, and usually find myself playing the role of disgruntled worker dissatisfied with the leadership of the captain and the direction of the project. So i often think it fit to try out the leader role myself, since i always have so many great ideas when i'm a bystander. Unfortunately, the leader role always enervates me of my passion and reduces me to a groveling cooperation zealot who reprimands the workers for wanting orders, and encourages creative thought like it's the road to salvation. But some people just don't like being creative, and they'd rather be given commands and pushed this way and that, anything to just get the hell out of there and be done with the task at hand. Yes, these are the people who act as the glue for our society, the ones who do not resist nor complain in the tides of injustice and tyranny, and prefer to escape down their rabbit holes when the flood has retreated. I hate ordering these bunnies around! Regardless, i need to have a finished product by next week and i am worrying about how i'll get it done with nearly no material. Something will be figured out. As my theory goes, that has yet to be unproven: everything gets itself done.

time is winding down, yet again

It seems that whenever i am on an excursion to a foreign land, however long it may be, there are three stages.

1. shock--bewilderment--stupefaction--wonder--awe--glee--daydreaming about spending my life there

2. easing into the routine--feeling the effects of some kind of assimilation--getting used to being stared at by natives--starting to do all the things i thought i'd do in the beginning

3. jadedness sinking in--pining for the familiarity of home--feeling guilty for all the pining--feeling as though i really learned something--just starting to make real friends--daydreaming about the plane-ride home--thinking of how i'll feel all nostalgic after i return home

In Madagascar, all the others and i could talk about was what we'd eat when we got home. The detail of these discussions would have surprised even the most culinary-minded connoisseurs. We have yet to establish a running theme for talk of home here in Hakodate, nor actually talk much about it. It lies in the back of my mind, and knowing that i'll eventually return to a place of familiarity is reassuring. However, unlike Madagascar, i do not feel a deep and passionate longing to be on the plane home, instead a more mild and moderate satisfaction with the fact of returning itself. To know i am indeed from a land where nearly everyone speaks my language and has little trouble understanding me (well, the latter is a lie). I am not saying that my time in Madagascar was tortorous by any means, but the conditions were so different and trying that it made me long for the easy life, however selfish and typical of the spoiled spawn of an industrial nation a thought like that is. What doesn't kill me might really in fact make me stronger, or at least fill me up to bursting with memories that i'll feel the need to relate to others in an explosion akin to an erupting volcano. Prepare yourselves, my friends and family.

in the Hot Web Cafe, blasting away at the keyboard

The music is slammin' in the Hot Web Cafe just outside Hakodate Station. The toilet in the Hot Web Cafe, like those in most other modernized establishments, is decked out with the latest toilet gizmos. The one here, the Inax Toilet Shower, is equipped with a boudet (steady and strong stream of warm water aimed directly at the sitter's anus), an electrically-warmed toilet seat, and even a humility button that when pressed, produces an electronic toilet-flushing sound to cover the shameful sound of a huge ripping fart. I've seen more mysterious whiteys here in the past hour than i've seen in the past month around town. What is it with white people and their vicious addiction to the internet? Don't ask me, i'm Ashkanazi. Those "white people" are as much a mystery to me as they are to you, dear reader.

Climbed Hakodate mountain today with all the HIF kids and most of their families. Had a blast hiking through some semi-wilderness again, despite the sad fact that the whole mountain is nearly devoid of wildlife besides some urban birds. The reason--the whole mountain was a huge army base during the Russian-Japanese war of the late 1800s, and it was all dug out to build secret control rooms into the hillsides. There were even huge anti-vessel guns operated by hand-pulled gears that protruded from the mountain top. I know all this because a friend's host dad took me and another kid from my class up to the top to see the secret military base entrances, which have now been overgrown and now look like abandoned mine tunnels. When everyone got to the top we played some corny games like Red Rover (during which whenever someone's name was called they usually ran headfirst into the intertwined grips of a small Japanese child and a skinny girl, or a skinny Japanese girl and a small Japanese child, thereby insuring a safe capture; needless to say, both defenders would have fear written on their faces, the grips usually dropped before each collision) and the game in which one person races on their hands while their partner holds their feet. Fun for the whole family!

Otosan and Okaasan are taking me to an onsen (hot spring) tomorrow, and i am bubbling over with excitement. I've never been anywhere with them before, save orientation day when they brought me home. I can say this much--i appreciate everything they do with me that much more because it so rarely happens. What a splendid way to live one's life--instead of constant endulgeance, scattered and infrequent activites that are infused with much more meaning. After all, i was never one for large showy events and unchecked hedonism. Side note, a skinny Japanese girl was wearing a tee shirt today that said naught but "Hedonism" printed across the chest. I told a friend that i must have a shirt like that, and he said, "But the meaning would be lost if it wasn't worn by a Japanese person." True or untrue, i cannot say, but Japanese youth are definitely more comfortable with their hedonistic culture than us American hedonists are. They feel much more at ease celebrating it than we do.

Only three weeks to go and then I am done with school, and off to start my week or so of free time before my flight to the Big Apple. What to do? Leaving the country would be too expensive (it's O-bon season, the holiday where everyone's ancestors come out of the ground to do some kind of spiritual dance, and all the living dance too, and people eat street food and sing, weee!), but buying a hyper-cheap O-bon season rail pass for young people is tantalizing. We'll see how this all pans out.

to Sapporo to visit Mike Donohue

Speech went off without a hitch, midterm test was like a summer breeze off Mount Hakodate, and my trip to Sapporo was an unmeasurable success despite some faulty travel planning. My initial plan was to stick it to the Man and try to ride the train for free using my expired Tohoku rail pass. Unfortunately, the good men at Sapporo Station actually check dubious passes flashed at them by disembarking gaijin youngsters, and as soon as the attendent took my pass for a second look, i knew that all was lost. He gave it to his superior, who gazed over it while making discomforted faces, and ultimately tried to explain to me a number of things wrong with using said pass:

1. It covered the Tohoku area, which is not Hokkaido. Wrong island.
2. It was about one week expired.
3. There was pretty much no sensible way i could've been confused enough to think it was usable.

I desperately came up with a dumb story about how i mixed up the Japanese year 17 with the date, which was July 2nd, but he didn't buy it. Neither did the English-speaking staff who was sent for to aid in the appropriation of my money. She was quite pushy and told me repeatedly to "pay now," pointing to the paper upon which was written the exorbitant sum of 8800 yen. I had no choice but to pay, giving them all sour looks but secretly thanking the god of business prosperity, Ebisu-sama, for saving me from a night in jail. I mean, i suppose it was slightly criminal, but since it worked before in the boons of Tohoku, where i used that limited pass time and time again even though it should've been used up, i thought it would work here too, in the sprawling metropolis of Sapporo. Think again, bandit! A lesson for anyone looking to cheat the Japanese Railways company--they will eventually catch you and make you pay the proper fare for a one-way ticket, and send you off feeling ashamed and dishonored, which in Japan is worse than paying 8800 yen.

The purpose of the trip was to visit Mike Donohue, a jolly good friend from Duke who is currently engrossed in planning his ambitious master's project concerning agricultural tourism in Hokkaido, apparently a booming financial frontier. He currently resides with his lovely and animated girlfriend Tomoko, who is a woman of many faces, literally. Well, she only has one face, but she manages to contort it into a variety of expressions, all perfectly fitting for the situation at hand. The time spent with them was nonstop fun. We went to the beach and played soccer and volleyball and a sandcastle game with Tomoko's friends, we went to the Sapporo Bier Garten and ate off a grill and drank ridiculously large glasses of beer, we ate at an eel restaurant that served the eel's heart in a salty soup, Mike and I did a two-man karaoke session that was more fun than most four-man sessions i've had, we had a scallop eating fest with delivered microbrew beer at their apartment with friends, but the most memorable moments were spent playing the New Mario Brothers on DS while Mike played Warcraft as sumo blasted on his tv. Man can those Mongolian guys sumo!

I am back in Hakodate now and classes have begun again. We "learned" about how a law gets made in Japan and the structure of the Japanese government today. I put that in quotes because i must have blacked out five times during class from a combination of sheer boredom, complete lack of understanding, and the sheer number of long vocabulary words. I mean, i can't even explain that stuff in English, about my own country! Semester two, here i come!

new photos up, and speech matters

That's right, on Flickr. Please enjoy.

Speech contest is tomorrow and there is absolutely no hope of memorizing my monster of a speech. I could barely read some of the kanji while reading it to Otosan. But it'll be great to speak about whaling in front of an audience, especially in Japan. The gist of my speech is this: "Whaling is an issue worthy of our concern, but when compared to the damage being done to global fisheries by overfishing, trawling, and other destructive consumptive practices, the taking of whales by a few countries is negligible, regardless of our culture's view that whales are cute and therefore should never be killed. It's ironic that a country who once whaled its way all the way to Japan in order to open its borders to trade now wants to stop the practice altogether. Whaling can be ecologically sound if proper management is implemented and laws are abided by. After all, if prolific species are taken instead of imperiled ones, what's the big deal? Let's focus instead on the larger marine problems that plague our day." In much less dignified language, but with complexity enough to ensure my stumbling come presentation time, my speech was written. Wish me luck!

so i guess everything's okay

I'm dealing with it. In response to a vicious session of mixi.jp (Japanese Facebook) complaining, my good friend Akiko from Duke responded as such: "That's too bad that things aren't working out. Well, gambatte ne! (keep doing your best)!" Such a Japanese answer. And such a perfect one. You see, the typical American response would be, "Man, your host parents sound like tools. Get the hell out of there as fast as you can and have some fun this summer!" But the Japanese love trying hard. And I think that's what I'll do. When in Rome and all that business. After all, day to day it's really not all that bad. Otosan had his birthday a few days ago and we celebrated on Sunday with seafood spaghetti and Okaasan-made cake. I even got to play basketball with my neighbor Oniisan (my host older brother-in-law, married to my host older sister) and my host cousins. I think i just need to get used to living here, and to the rituals of my family and their ins-and-outs. It is still hard sometimes, but what the hell, i'll gambatte like the rest of them! Thank you Akiko for your Japanese ingenuity.

I've been biking to school intermittently, and along part of the way is a staggeringly beautiful view of a port along the sparkling ocean. The ride is mostly flat and not that trying on the muscles, but the way back is up a steep mountain and not pleasurable in most senses, but my legs are getting used to it. As per a speech-writing assignment, I wrote a speech about my views on whaling, and I need to memorize it in about a day to present it to class. It's already gone through two drafts, and today i sat with my teacher after class while she hammered me with demands for quick responses to quick questions, such as how to rephrase a number of sentences, and she transcribed my reponses onto paper as i said them. This was almost too stressful to bear, since i usually blunder through broken sentences to get my point across, and rarely speak in grammatically correct and well-thought-out written prose. Regardless, i need to rewrite the stupid thing and hand it in again tomorrow, and since the presentation is in two days i will have but one day to burn it into my brain. I would also like to mention that this speech contains terms like "endangered species" and "overfishing." Gambarimasu! (present-tense form of gambaru, to try hard in the face of difficulty with the intent of succeding... yes, it's a beautiful language).

Going to Sapporo this weekend to visit Mike Donohue, my friend from Duke. He's doing his Master's Project research on agrotourism in Hokkaido, and i'll be staying with him and his girlfriend, i think. Until next time!

got a lot off my chest

You never know how much Japanese you can speak until your emotions take hold. I made an appointment with Ozawa-san, the flamboyantly gay director of student services, last week to talk today about my abominably boring host family, and I just had a long talk with him. He sat and nodded while I rambled in broken sentences about all the things that bothered me about my host family. Apparently Okaasan is notorious around the office for being annoying and too strict with her host students. Ozawa-san said that they could switch me after school break, which is in a week. I'm pretty happy about this. He also encouraged me to start a fight with them, I suppose in order to fan the flames and justify the switch, but I don't know about that. I told him that I don't feel comfortable arguing in a language I'm not fluent in. He looked skeptical. I then said, "Actually, Okaasan is really scary." And then he nodded understandingly. All I want is some fruitful conversation and an occasional outing with the fams. Not too much to ask. And if my family is too busy to spend time with some American guy, fine, but don't participate in an exchange program then. Regardless, I feel good having gotten that off my chest and onto the chest of Ozawa-san, who must now discuss this matter with the office. My fingers, toes, and eyes are all crossed. Okaasan, in her apron holding a dripping sponge, will probably tell me to uncross my eyes when I get home.

fun with O-kaasan

Funny, half of me feels overwhelmed with cultural activities, making new friends, homework, speaking in class, the adventure of living with my host family, and etc. But the other half feels bored in a way, like i`ve been cheated, like other people`s experiences with their host families sound superior to mine. Some kid i talked to got taken to his host dad`s friend`s mochi shop and got taught to make red bean rice cakes. Another girl`s family took her to the Kombu Seaweed Hall, where everything is made of seaweed and you can try free samples of numerous kombu products. Yes, made directly from the stuff of dreams. What does my host dad do? He watches loud tv after dinner and goes to sleep at 8:30. He does wake up around 4, and he is pretty old, but still!
I also feel like i am always saying the wrong things. I`ve been telling my mom the phrase whenever i see her working extra hard and huffing and puffing (which is nearly all the time), because that`s the phrase we used at work in Tokushima when we`ve all been working hard. Yesterday, my host sister (one of the 5 children of ma and pops, this one 30-something with a kid) was visiting and said a less honorific to me because i had come home from school. I didn`t know how to respond properly so i asked her about it, and we began to delve into the deep dark annals of Japanese honorific language usage. When i asked if my semi-honorific was okay to say to O-kaasan, O-kaasan herself put down her dishes and chimed in, "No, that`s not at all appropriate to say to O-kaasan!" I was surprised, and asked her daughter if this was true. It turns out that it`s only okay to use among people of the same group as you, such as co-workers, and not to your O-kaasan. Turning to face me, O-kaasan then said, "Actually, you are the first foreign student to use that term with me. All the others just said thank you." I pleaded my case by reminding her that at my level of language study, while i speak many words, terms, and phrases are floating around in my head, all shouting simultaneously to choose them next. I told her that the other kids probably just didn`t know how to say it any other way, or were too scared to try. This seemed to sate her, but she warned me like so, half-kidding and half-i-don`t-know : "That might be so, but when i hear things like that i am driven to rage" (then a little ambiguous wink).
I am coming to the conclusion that i can`t take any of this too seriously, and letting little things get to me will only result in self-destruction. I must make the most out of these situations and learn from them, otherwise i will be wasting my time here. We had a debate about whether or not to give tax money from working citizens to the unemployed, and i defended an unpopular point, however poorly grammatically and difficult to understand, but nevertheless. I see the progress, but the road is a bumpy one.

hisashiburi da ne (it's been a while)

I've gotten numerous requests to post as soon as i could manage, as i haven't posted in nearly a week. The reason is mainly school. I am stressed after classes are over, and i usually just want to jump on the streetcar and press my headphones against my ears to immerse my head in the healing waters of English. It's not that Japanese is poisoning me or anything, it's just that English sounds that much better after so much Japanese. Like eating a piece of cake after gnawing on a brick of charcoal. But not that gritty.

My mom sat me down the other day and said, "There have been a few things that have been bothering me recently," and then charged straight into a rampage of motherly scolding, Japanese style. Which means that her language was dotted with projectile-like "ne"s (the Japanese variant of "right?") and motherly pats that seemed more like mean pokes.
She asked me, "Has your bed been comfortable every night when you lie down? Wonder why it's so comfortable?"
Then a stare.
"O-kaasan?" I venture meekly.
"Yeah, O-kaasan! I work all day and all night to make this house clean. Clean, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's very clean. Thanks to O-kaasan," I mumble looking at the table.
"And when I clean your room every day, I notice that everything is so messy! Your papers are mixed with your schoolbooks, some papers are on the floor, your bed isn't made..."
"But O-kaasan, it might seem disorganized, but i can find everything just fine--"
"No. When you enter society, you'll need to know how to organize your life! Do other host parents care about these things? No! Do I harbor bad feelings about things my host student does, but instead of expressing them say 'Oh, it's okay. Oh, I don't mind?' No! I say things directly, and it's always better that way!"
And so on...

It was a learning experience. Never got scolded in Japanese before. More later.

school begins

So it seems as though i pulled it off, despite my clawing for the right language during my interview evaluation. I am in the highest level class, called SaiJouKyuu (Highest Level, go figure). I am happy with this, as it is the appropriate level for me, but the teacher speaks with machine gun speed and there is nearly no English in the textbook (which makes sense).

I'm in the computer room with the jerky blond kid, who I shall now call Soyana (Kansaiben, or western Japan dialect, for "is that so?"), and some other kids i don't know. It's pretty late. Soyana got his name because i heard him once again to spurt out some more obnoxious Kansaiben, this time the ever-popular "so ya na!" Inappropriate, as it was to a teacher to whom one must use only respectful language, and out-of-place, as it is spoken by punk kids, comedians, and old people from Kansai--not by stupid foreign language students, even if they're trying to be cool. It really bothers me and Justin, a Puerto Rican New Yorker from Forest Hills in my class. He gets even more worked up about it than me, and professed his hatred for Soyana over and over throughout the day. When we had "tea-time" between classes we looked into his classroom, and lo and behold, he was jumping in place with his headphones on mouthing the words to his music, as if he was jumping rope with an imaginary rope. He then proceeded to do some obscene and fast-paced calisthenics, stretching one leg out while balancing low on the other, and Justin and i were inspired with uncontrollable detestation, not to mention it made us laugh. How could someone so unlikable exist? At least i have the satisfaction of knowing he is in the lower class, and therefore that i am far superior to him.

Besides Soyana, things are looking up. Although i was riddled with hundreds of linguistic bullets by the end of the first hour of class, the sheer density of unknown words that were thrown at me today only entices me to study harder. I want to know all these words like the backs of my hands, which are browning in the Hokkaido summer sun. I think they're also a bit dirty too, and i need to wash them soon.

So just some more tidbits of life in Hakodate:

1. My host mom, Okaasan, keeps worrying that because i don't eat chicken and red meat i won't get enough protein to survive each day. So she has begun giving me a separate bowl of beans with my meals, thinking that this small offering might just fuel me enough to help me to remain alive for the rest of the day. I reassured her that if i was having any bodily energy problems, i'd notify her at once, but she still worries.

2. I played PS2 at my host cousin's house yesterday because Okaasan didn't know what to do with me on a Sunday. This guy is the husband of Okaasan's daughter, so i guess he's my host cousin. He introduced me to a yakuza-themed fighting game, where you're a bad-ass cool-natured yakuza fighting expert who manages to get into fights with nearly everyone he bumps into. Unfortunately, most of the game is listening to the characters talk to each other in what must be the most unnecessarily complicated and long storyline ever. I should mention that yakuza language is nearly undecipherable to the average Japanese student (i'm guessing Soyana is proficient), and host cousin kept trying to teach me words like "interest on a loan," "big brother (gangster style)," and numerous terms for "beat someone's ass down." He loved every second of it, even when we switched games to soccer and he ruled me twice without losing a single point to me. He even served me coffee. Then he took me down to meet my host brother, who was bailing hay in the barn. They started asking me what anime is popular in the US, and were shocked when i mentioned Sailor Moon. I asked him about a cow with bulging eyes, worried that it had a disease, and he simply stated that its eyes were bulging because he punched it in the face. Only after i had sufficiently expressed my horror did he admit that it was a joke, then laughed uncontrollably. Good people. Still don't know about that cow though. In time.

3. My class is pretty cool. It consists of: me, Prieto-san the Puerto Rican from Forest Hills, Kwa-san the Chinese-American from NYC, Choi-san the Korean-American from Chicago, Alverez-san the skinny gay indie kid, some Taiwanese doctoral student who can't pronounce Japanese but knows all the freaking kanji, some red-haired white girl named Kate, some Korean girl who acts way Korean, a Korean guy named Jei who is cool and mellow, and a nice white fellow with messy hair. My teacher, Sakakibara-sensei, wins the award for longest-named sensei in history.

4. Three wasps managed to get into my room yesterday night, probably through the wide-open window that helped dry my bath towel. I got the first two out my trapping them in a plastic tea bottle then shaking them outside. However, i initially tried grabbing the first one in my hand, thinking it to be a soldier ant, and got stung for being dumb. The third one could be anywhere, even under my pillow.

That's all i can stomach right now. I should be getting home, as it's nearly 5:00. More later.

HIF program has begun

So lots happened yesterday and today. Met my host family, had orientation for classes, met the teachers, heard a bunch of lectures, met the sixty of so other students (well, obviously not all of them, but a select few), got a touch overwhelmed. Nearly all the students are American and from ivy league colleges. All have some experience with Japanese, but it varies. For example, at Lucky Pierrot's today one girl could barely read the flavors of shakes from the menu. As a contrast, some jerk with curly blond hair sitting behind me as i type just blurted out some nonsense in Osaka dialect after being prompted by a harmless joke i made to a supervisor containing a single colloquial Kansai word. Where did he learn it? Why did he feel compelled to demonstrate his skills in Osaka dialect jokery? Why didn't i immediately toss him out the window and into the Pacific Ocean? These remain unanswered.

My host family are way cool. They are a dairy farmin' couple in their 70's who live on the skirts of a small forested area, an expanse of which is directly outside my window. Their house is mostly wood and done up in the Western style with one Japanese room (tatami floors). However, the shoes must come off in the genkan (front hallway) and into the getabako (literally geta, or clunky wooden sandals, box) as usual. My okasan (mom) speaks very slowly and is always grabbing me and pulling me this way and that. When she speaks to me while eating, she often sprays crumbs into my eye. My otosan (dad) is a smiley old man who drives a big SUV and delivers milk to the neighborhood every morning. They really are fun people though. When i woke up this morning, a beautiful breakfast was already fixed for me (what service!). Who knows what fun adventures await me on this upcoming weekend before actual classes begin? (The last weekend i have no homework). I hope we get to sit around the table and stare at each other for hours. Or watch game shows all day. Or drink miso soup until i explode.

I had to take a proficiency test yesterday with my old Japanese teacher from Binghamton (both she and my teacher from Duke teach in this program). She kept asking question after question, seemingly with the purpose of finding my cracking point. She asked me first what my area of study was (environmental management), then asked me to explain what that meant. I can't do this in English. I dread to try and remember what i even said. I was then asked about environmental problems, and she came to New York's garbage dilemma. She demanded of me a solution, whereupon i produced the eloquent argument of, "Just move it somewhere else, where there's no people and stuff." I should then have restated the fact that i have a Masters degree. Then she asked me if i liked any Japanese movies, and i naturally picked one with an incredibly obscure and circuitous plot--"Castle in the Sky", or "Laputa" in Japanese. I shouldn't have been surprised when she then asked me what it was about. I came up with something like "together, robots and humans protect nature." What else could i say? But all in all i was hard to shut up--the linguistic drivel i produced was much like a broken fire hydrant flooding the street--so i suppose that is a good indicator of my speaking ability in some warped way. I'll find out my placement results on Monday.

in hirosaki before the plunge

Hirosaki is a small city below Aomori, the capital of Aomori prefecture on the northern tip of Honshu, that features a splendid castle and an interesting display of their famous O-bon festival (holiday where the dead come out), Naputa, which is focused on carrying colorful lit floats several stories high around the streets. Too bad i never saw any of it. The reason i am here is thus: i met a British girl randomly in the Shinkansen station at Shinhanamaki, a crossroads for Aomori and Morioka and other big cities in way-north Japan, i told her i was staying in Aomori and she kindly invited me to come to Hirosaki where she lived, she's a NOVA teacher like i used to be, we bitched about NOVA and had a grand old time, i got her number, called her from Aomori, and here i am. Much went on in between of course. Here goes:

1. Stayed in a hostel in outer Aomori in the mountains along a wide street buzzing with occasional fast-moving cars. Not much up there besides onsens and some restaurants. The owner was quite a character--obsessed with Ireland and Irish beer and liquor to such an extent that he served Guinness using a specialized electric frothing machine and sported an apron strip with the Irish flag colors, baked Irish soda bread and Guinness-flavored cake and served them with herb tea infused with plants from his garden at "tea-time" at 9pm, made salads dressed with edible flowers and homemade jams with muesli and banana juice for breakfast, offered nightly trips to different onsens for a mere 3 bucks a pop (which we all went to together like some kind of family--owner, the mysterious and unspoken female helper, and the guests, which was only me one night and then I and a strange man the next night). The restaurant owner across the street told me as i ate some seafood spaghetti the last night that the girl living there was "suspicious" because the owner was never married. Drama to the max! Did i mention that the owner scrubbed his body TWICE as long as me and the strange man at the onsen? This strange man by the way had terrible excema that made him scratch beneath his shirt like a monkey with lice, had brief and spastic conversations with himself in the onsen while staring down at his enormous paunch, and was a NOVA student for six years and counting. Coincidence? He also mentioned how he loved Canada, and had visited seven times. Coincidence? He started NOVA as a level 6 and now is a level 4 (level 7 is lowest, level 1 is highest). As an old hand to the NOVA scheme, it seems to me this poor chap had been given two sympathy level-ups, for his English was shaky at best. On the other hand, the compulsive owner of the hostel exhibited well-refined English, but only on the final morning. Before this, he only spoke Japanese, perhaps because i didn't speak English to him in efforts to improve my conversation abilities in the native tongue. If only people didn't talk about complicated historical things or strange place names, i might gain more out of these conversations, but i still hold my own.
2. Went to Sukayu Onsen, well-known and appreciated by onsen connoisseurs everywhere. It is famous for the sulfur content of its water (high enough to make you smell like rotten eggs all day, but with beautiful clear skin!), and equally famous is its unisex bathing chambers. The baths are divided into sides for each sex, but with no physical barrier. Therefore, the result is hordes of old sleazy men with shifty eyes soaking their naked bodies in the same water as the huddling group of old women in the corner. Onsen bathers are usually old. I am always the hairiest bather. Always. I am like a chinchilla in a bath with a pack of chihuahuas. And i must say that out of all the penises i have ever seen, Japanese penises make up a good ninety-nine percent. I could say more, but...
3. Before entering this sulfurous and lecherous onsen, i decided to see some more nature before school started, so i hiked up to what i thought was the entrance to an easy nature trail, frequented by old ladies aplenty. The sign was in complicated kanji, and after consulting the map and getting confused, brightly decided that it MUST be the right trail, because how many trails could there possibly be? It was a bit uphill and muddy, but i labored on. Steeper and muddier, and muddier still, until my sneakers were caked brown, and steeper still until i found myself hopping up large stones in an inclined stream up a mountainside. Something told me that this was the wrong trail, but something else somehow managed to ignore this and prodded me on instead, for better or worse. How atypical of my usual approach. I hopped and climbed until i was completely sure that i wasn't getting where i wanted, since the sign told me i still had 3 kilometers left to go. So i turned back in defeat, and was quickly shadowed by a young guy who was nimble as an elf, nearly skipping from stone to stone with his twinkletoes. I saw this as a contest, and went faster, and faster, leaping down with force and scrambling along sideways of mud and moss. Finally, we reached a slowing point and i turned to say a few words to him, and this is when he recognized me as the gaijin dude from the hostel in Sendai--i'd come in as he was leaving and we chatted a bit. What a coincidence! He had hiked the whole way up and reached the top of the mountain where he expected a nice view, but the clouds obscured it and he was disappointed. Bummer. So we hiked down more slowly together and had a fine talk about random things, like how to say "mud" in Japanese and where we were each going next, exchanging emails at the end of our journey downhill. He went back to his campsite as i finally found the entrance to the correct trail, which was incidently a cakewalk compared to that mountain. Many nice flowers in bloom, an underground boiling stream, and meticulously labeled flora with long Japanese names, underwritten in Latin. I also managed to snap some shots of "Hell Lake," a pit of steaming water that the onsen probably utilizes for their insidious bathing purposes. After all, a pipe extends out towards the side that spilled water down some concrete slabs, and a passing woman remarked how it was "thrown away by the onsen." Many clues all pointing to one culprit.

And here i am in this apartment in Hirosaki just bumming a night like the bum i am. The girls living here are much too kind, the non-American type, and have provided both tea and Simpsons, which are both more nourishing than food itself. Not to mention good conversation, including the always essential "bitch about NOVA" session. So refreshing to get to do that all over again. I went to visit their branch earlier, and hearing the electronic bell sound signalling the end of classes nearly made me want to vomit. I think i mentally vomited.
Tomorrow is my long day and night of ferrying and showing up to school on time and zombified from lack of sleep. I refuse to get a room somewhere, and instead plan on staying up all night and finding things to do with my heavy luggage and probable caffeine high. I've got books and a journal and Japanese conversation skills. What could prevent me from having the night of my life?

ate too much handmade candy

Morioka is the attractive tree-lined capital city of Iwate, and where i spent the last two nights. Probably my most uneventful days yet, but i had a great time. The night i arrived i learned of the 11pm curfew, and thought to myself, 'Well, at least i'll save money and go to sleep early instead of do something dumb and expensive, like drink even one beer anywhere.'

As usual, i went out to search for internet, not knowing yet of the extremely fast and thankfully free wireless that i am running on right now, coming from some heavenly source i know not where. I ducked into a hip-looking cafe and asked the goateed proprietor for directions to one. He thought and thought and then slowly drew me a map as if he had to pull the location from some dark recess of his mind with tweezers, or as if he was divining the map from the direction of some supernatural voice. Either way, i had a map, and we briefly chatted about music (the name of the net cafe was sukatto, which sounds like scat, and i asked him if he liked scat music because he seemed the type, but strangely he never heard of it), and then i promptly left after he gave me his cell number in case i get lost. Before i got far it had started to drizzle, and i heard my name being shouted behind me through the pitter-patter of raindrops: it was that cafe guy, with a red umbrella in his hand. What a stand-up guy, thought i.

And so began the journey that ended at a large shutdown warehouse called "Sukatto Internet Cafe." For some reason i didn't really care all too much -- the walk was nice, and what else would i be doing anyway? So then i began searching for dinner, which is always an exercise in finicky compulsion for the simple reason that there are too many choices not to be. Quite anticlimacticly i ended up in a Family Mart combini and got some natto rolls, an egg sandwich with no crust, and a box of watery juice. When i paid for them the girl pulled out a mystery box and requested of me to pick a ticket. Out of the ordinary, but okay! i thought. I picked an ice cream ticket and won some vanilla ice cream! This made my day way more than seeing some more cruddy temples, as you can imagine. I managed to find a seat on a playground contraption near a running track outside a school, and enjoyed my convenience store dinner in peace with my book. On my way home i popped in to the cafe again to return the umbrella and figured i should get a drink, so ordered a chai tea. A smiley waitress with orange hair served me a huge porcelain bowl with a milky, cinnamony mixture at the bottom. It was actually very good, and the fact that i was drinking it from an oversized bowl just added to the fun. I left after getting to a stopping-point in my book and retired to my room, which is a four-person but devoid of anyone besides me. This is when i flipped open my laptop and discovered the internet, and this made my spirit soar. Kind of sick how i have become like a heroine addict to the internet. But how can i be blamed for lusting for communication with people i care about?

Yesterday found me by the station eating a breakfast of buttery toast and coffee cake at the "Pole Cafe." Smoke was everywhere, and it seemed as though when one middle-aged smoker left, another one took their place. A particularly hideous salaryman sat beside me for a while. He had an unnaturally large black wart beside one eye, a nauseatingly poor comb-over with wispy ends going every which way, and he stared into space as he sucked on one cigarette after another. He almost made me want to puke out my toast into his lap, more out of disgust from imagining what his life was like than his present appearance. After breakfast i went to the tourism office and got some information about a handicrafts town a bus ride away with homemade traditional sweets. Can you imagine what my reaction was? I also was informed that a festival was taking place that day, called Chagu Chagu Umako -- a procession of a hundred or so decorated horses and their traditionally-clad keepers from a temple in the north to a temple in the south, taking all of four hours to complete the pilgrimage. Before taking the bus i went down to see Iwate Park, which is laid inside old castle walls and quite pretty, then walked over to a famous local sembei (rice cracker) shop. The local variety is called Nambu Sembei, and some kinds taste almost like cookies. I got a variety pack and have been nibbling on them until now. When i got downtown again, a parade had already started down the main street, and i got to see a number of performances: a marching band playing Spanish marching music that stopped to break out a medley of Disney cartoon songs (they played Ducktales and Rescue Rangers while i was there) as flag dancers danced to the beat, a procession of traditional old women dancers dressed in colorful kimonos and pointy straw hats, a military marching band not playing Disney music, a battalion of high school age batton-twirlers in low-cut black uniforms followed by elementary school age batton-twirlers in sparkly green dresses followed by babies in little dresses just prancing about with their moms by their side, a league of traditional drum players followed by more dancers in kimonos, and finally the chagu chagu horses themselves in full bright regalia flanked by police cars. There was even a pretty woman pulled on a rickshaw waving at everyone (a celebrity?). All in all, a grand time.

The handicraft village must have been built especially for me. I baked my own sembei, watched an old lady fold a log of soft green mochi over a long red worm of red bean paste, ate some dango (glutinous rice balls) covered in black sesame paste, and bought some kinako (sweet bean powder) candy. I also got to see grumbly old men make and paint tea kettles beside a coal furnace. I met a tall red-haired Kentuckian there who lives in the area and just started three English schools with his Japanese wife. *as i type, kendo practice is loudly occurring outside -- yes, i'm staying in a budokan (martial arts building)* He told me about his flirts with tanuki who come trying to eat his garbage, and how they should be glad that he doesn't have a shotgun (i faked a polite but non-approving laugh). He also told me how he wanted to clear all the bamboo from his property up on the mountain, and i then unleashed all my environmental management fury upon him, making him feel small and uneducated about the importance of soil types and ecosystem services.

Getting back to town, i wanted to try another local specialty, called Ja Ja Men -- a kind of cold noodle dishes with pickles and miso. I had seen a restaurant before near the station called "Hot Ja Ja," and decided to try my luck there. Outside the restaurant, a tireless theme song played that went something like this: "Hot, Hot, Hot Ja Ja" with a rumba beat. Unfortunately, upon being seated i learned that the miso paste has "a little bit" of pork juice and beef in it, so i settled for a strange korean soybean soup that was hard to pronounce, even in katakana. It was surprisingly delicious! It was a thick soy-based soup filled with sliced cucumber, raisins, and clear chewy noodles.

And that's about it in pieces. Going to Aomori today, my final destination before my ferry to Hakodate, where my new life begins.

kappa shrine in tono

I stayed in Tono, the land of Japanese folktales, last night. That evening i made the pilgrimage down to the kappa buchi (kappa pool) to see the shrine that some crazy local built (according to my guide book). The kappa is not only the result of unfortunate transformation that can be cured with a green cherry (for dorks only), it is also a well-known legend in Japan. The kappa is a green, frog-looking monster with a turtle shell, a sharp beak, and a dish of water on its head. The dish ensures its body stays moist outside the water, where it makes its home. They are mischievous creatures who coax horses into entering waterways and pulling children in to drown. Upon meeting a kappa, you should always bow, so that he returns the bow, loses all his water, and is forced to retreat back to the river. In Tono, kappa are quite friendly. One even saved a nearby temple from a great fire. In other places famous for kappa like Kochi on Shikoku however, they can be vicious, and have been known to challenge passersby to on-the-spot sumo matches. The kappa shrine was so cluttered with various things, from kappa dolls to prayer seals to a set of kappa journals. I wrote in one and took a photo (soon to be on flickr).

The hostel i stayed in what drop-dead gorgeous. Their ofuro was magnificently modern but also oh so vintage, with a heat-regulated bathtub indoors and a cedar tub outdoors complete with flower garden and little frog who watched me bathe. Manga library downstairs with all the Inuyasha series (no time to read them), tatami reading room upstairs with free tea and coffee. I stayed in the "Kappa Room," how ironic. Some old guy and i were the only guests, and it felt so empty there, but who cares when the place is like a palace? After "tea-time" at 9 pm and some homemade pineapple cake, the manager brought out an array of maps and guides and sat down to teach me about Tono's history, its legends, and all the sites to see. In Japanese. Luckily for us both, he had a dictionary at hand, and words like "incarnation of devil" and "pilgrimage" were soon translated to everyone's liking. One interesting tale was of Oshira-san, who fell in love with a handsome horse and asked her father if she could marry him. Naturally, the father hung the horse in disgust and skinned the poor corpse, rendering the girl sad as could be. She then climbed up to heaven somehow to be with her lover. The next part is hazy, but something with silkworms and carved idols. In essence, people in this region would pray to carved idols of the heads of Oshira-san and her horse lover.

The next morning i set out on bike to see the sights. First up was a "water wheel." Didn't sound that exciting, but who knows? I biked for half an hour uphill and found just that -- a waterwheel. It spun, but nothing was inside to be churned but spiderwebs. Frustration nearly reared its ugly head, but the clean air and mountains in the distance were a good remedy. Next up -- dan no hana -- a place where the upper torsos of criminals were displayed as warnings to all the town troublemakers and ruffians. Now there is only a hill of gravestones (surprising?). Next was some kind of field, and i walked and walked down a muddy path until i realized it was one of those Japanese roads to nowhere infinity (there are too many to count), and turned back only to find a plaquea that said the field was once a spot where old people were cast off to because they were useless (according to legend). Much like our modern old age homes. At this point, i realized it was getting late and pushed on back to the hostel, from which i ejected shortly after. I managed to hitch a ride back to the station after walking along a country road for half and hour with all my luggage, thinking like a genius that instead of waiting for the next country bus in an hour, i would just be a man and walk it. Country roads are no fun to walk with more than 50 lbs of luggage. The driver was an older woman who basically offered me her 28 yr old daughter, but i reminded her i was a traveler who was leaving quite soon and i couldn't possibly accept her generous offer. I think now about how my life would have been like if i had married a Tono farmer girl...

Now i'm in Morioka and have no set plans as usual. There must be stuff here worth seeing, maybe even better than waterwheels and empty fields. It took me a good hour of walking to circles to find this place, remarkably. I was eventually picked up by two dudes in a van who must have watched me walk in circles for a long enough time to pity me. They passenger-seat guy said in English, "Hi! Where going?" And this was the start of a most delightful conversation, as you can imagine. More tomorrow.

update from popeye's internet cafe in sendai station

If one climbs the stairs up the loudspeaker blasting the Popeye's Internet Cafe theme song, one will find a most cozy net establishment near Sendai Station, featuring an old woman in a motorized armchair that pummels the floor so violently it makes one feel as though they are sitting on the top of a speeding subway car. I've just touched up a new set of photos from Arashiyama, and ones from the rest of Kyoto must wait to be named and classified. In time, in time. And dozens more to come. Getting to Tono some way or another with my trusty rail pass and my lovable gaijin grin. Currently charging my poor cellphone at the local Softbank shop because of the unfortunate loss of my own adapter. I managed to explain my story to the guy in the shop after mispronouncing "recharge" three times, and i figured that buying a new adapter costs just as much as getting a new phone in Hakodate. BLARG! What ever should i do? Well, as the Buddha wisely put it, "Mo' money, mo' problems."

hundreds of islands, thousands of words

Upon my return from Matsushima today, I fancied composing a journal entry that accurately and unerringly accounted all the pinnacles of the day’s travels, unlike all my previous entries which ultimately neglected some key events or musings due to on-the-spot forgetfulness and the act of getting carried away. So without further ado—

I woke up at 6:30 after a hard night on a small rough pillow. My neck has been aching for weeks now, and i suspect it is due to poor sleeping habits. Tonight i shall make the big fluffy bedcover my pillow to hopefully remedy my pained muscles. The other kid sleeping in my dorm room got up before me and left the room without a word. I had paid for two breakfasts and waited until 7:30 to knock on the patron family’s door (they are a strange bunch—the son was shrieking like a terrified horse for a good two hours in his little room by the kitchen, presumably at the television and assumingly they were some kind of deranged laughs), so i hesitated to disturb them lest something stranger happen and it ruin my day so early. Well who was finishing up his breakfast but that kid, and i chatted with him a bit in his language to persuade him of my humaneness. Breakfast was extensive—staple rice, hijiki seaweed salad, chopped cabbage salad, some kind of vegetable stem salad, omelet, natto (fermented soybeans), miso soup with no holds barred tofu, a specialty bamboo-leaf fishcake, packets of nori seaweed, cucumber and radish tsukemono (Japanese pickles), umeboshi (pickled plums), and DIY green tea. All self-serve. I left the hostel stuffed and ready for my destination—the glorious multi-islanded Matsushima, home of one of three of Japan’s best designated views. Designated by whom, no one knows (the Emperor? the National Tourism Department? Asashoryu, native Mongolian and current champion sumo wrestler?), but they weren’t way off the mark with this one. I decided to pay my way there because it was cheap, and not risk rail pass fraud again.

FLASHBACK::: On my way to Sendai from Fukushima, with all good intentions i used my East Japan Rail Pass, the particular variety of which can be used four times to travel all one wishes for one whole day each. The card gets stamped when a day is chosen for a travel bonanza. My way to Fukushima cost me one stamp, so on my way to Sendai i had three boxes left. For some reason unbeknownst to me, the station employees to and from Sendai failed to realize that my card needed a stamp, and so i got away scot-free. Therefore, I was naturally tempted to try my luck again for my trip to Matsushima, but the risk of losing a stamp for a 4 dollar train ride seemed foolish.

It took about 25 minutes to get out to Matsushima, and my whole ride was spent watching for the station names when he passed each because the conductor’s voice is never as clear as you want it to be. When i exited the station and walked towards the middle of the information pavilion, i was immediately snared by a “Hello!” I turned to face its source, a Japanese woman behind an info desk, and walked slowly over and said “Good morning.” She looked surprised, as if i said the wrong thing, or perhaps that i was too cool about getting addressed in English by a Japanese, and i said, “You said hello, so i came over to say good morning.” This made sense to her, and she ended up shooting out information and throwing me some maps in pretty speedy English. I almost mistook her for a gaijin until i told her how good her English was, and then it was all Japanese girlish humility. She kept circling sites on an English map in red and asking me if i wanted to do each thing. We decided that i didn’t want no tea ceremony, probably not a charged visit to a Japanese and Western garden, and when asked about visiting an aquarium with seal shows, i said, “I’m a biologist. I like to see animals in a natural way, not performing tricks.” She responded with, “Wow, so nice!”

I elected to take a ferry around the island for a look at all the other smaller islands, and had to run across the trafficked street and through a small field to catch the next one, as one came every hour. Onboard, it became clear that the first floor completely sucked, as it was all big glass windows and stifling room-air, and i began to walk up to the second floor for a breath of fresh sea air when i was stopped and told that it was an extra 600 yen. I sat back down, crushed, and went over again in my mind the monetary worth of being outside on a ferry ride. My conclusion—priceless. I grudgingly paid the 600 yen and climbed the stairs, only to realize the truth of my conclusion. What an awesome sail! We passed so many islands, all different shapes, some swarming with seabirds, other housing Buddhist artifacts, still others with important historical significance as ground upon which Date Masamune (leader of old Date clan and builder of now-broken castle at Sendai, one-eyed and always wears helmet with an uneven crescent on top, kicked some major ass with a cool sword on his valiant steed, also a fervent Zen Buddhist) himself tread. Now i know where the sword from FF6 got its name! (only for dorks). People were feeding the gulls trailing our vessel with shrimp chips, and some even grabbed them from patient fingers. The views were beautiful, but i found myself distracted with taking pictures, and i realized that the annoyance of recording everything you like while traveling is balanced by the joys of sharing the same sights with others upon your return (or with the Internet, right now!). As we sailed, long spurts of history and island nomenclature were rattled off by a Japanese recording from speakers, followed by a Japanese giving an explanation in monotone English. All well and good, except that the English explanation was always at least one-quarter as short as the Japanese. And i kept hearing bits and pieces of interesting things in the Japanese explanation that I wanted to learn more about, but of course the English one failed to even mention it. I felt like complaining, but never did.

After disembarking, I headed to Zuigan temple, the largest Zen temple in Tohoku. It was destroyed a bunch of times, but always restored, and all the more precious and older artifacts are stored in a museum next to it. These artifacts include life-size wooden sculptures of Masamune (commissioned by his wife) and his wife and child, many old stone tablets carved with intricate kanji (the meaning was lost on me), old paintings of growling karajishi (Chinese mythical lion with curling hair and mustaches) and carefully posed monks, ancient tea cups arranged in stacks. There was a large party of obnoxious Americans in the museum with me, and i once again stared at the mirror in horror. But you know what, maybe i can’t blame them. They did strip themselves away from the television, get off their comfortable asses and come here after all. Perhaps they deserve a little merriment and well-deserved ignorance to respecting a foreign culture.

I walked around a bit after this looking for some food, but i found only expensive dishes in the windows. I settled on a bag of sesame sembe (salty rice crackers), and then ended up in a small old kissaten near the temple. I got a local specialty called something like zenda, a sweet paste made from edamame, heaped on way too many dango (glutinous rice balls), with a side of amazake (sweet steaming rice liquor with bits of soft rice). I never want to remember how eating a whole bunch of dango will make my stomach feel like it’s full of boulders. But so worth it! The atmosphere was perfect—tatami floor, shoji doors, pillows for sitting, old lady waitress, summer breeze.

I then headed down to find one of the areas with a good view (there were many on the map), and stumbled onto Ojima (Big Island), an island connected to Matsushima. I walked up and down its rocky paths for a while and admired what this island was famous for (they’re all famous for something): images of Buddha carved directly into the rock. I’m pretty sure this is not the only place in the world to see this, and the images were really too old to be discernable, but it’s a nice island anyway. I went back to the station to ask about finding one of the good vantage points for a view, and was directed to the closest one: Saigyo Modoshi Koen, where a poet named Saigyo had a long and involved argument concerning the tenets of Zen Buddhism with a colleague, conceded to being wrong, and then was too ashamed to return home. I think he eventually did return, because he wrote more poems afterwards that were published somewhere. But he returned in deep shame. I wanted to be a part of Saigyo’s deep shame and stand in the very spot he discovered how worthless he was, so i ended up hiking a mountain for half an hour to reach a little area nestled in a cliff grove. There were benches and pine trees, and a little tablet detailing Saigyo’s story. There was also a pretty good view of some islands and the small town below. However, every ten minutes a squeaky amplified woman’s voice would thunder up the hillsides from the ferry terminal off in the distance. Modern society, must you despoil everything simple and quiet?

I saw a narrow wooden bridge trail below and wanted to ask if it led anywhere to the station, so i walked into a house under construction next the park, from which more bothersome noise droned. There were many inside, the ones in the center enjoying a plate of cakes and cookies arranged around a dish of cream, and two girls on the sidelines who gave me the “if we move he might lunge for our throats” look. The oldest one there, a guy in his forties with a baseball cap, called me over and said, “Take one if you like. But only one, not two, or else there’ll be hell to pay.” I nervously asked if it was okay, he nodded, so i took a cookie. Looks around the room. He then offered me some sembe, which i couldn’t refuse in my state of tiredness and hunger. Only after i took his food did he tell me that the trail ends at a dead-end, and a younger man took over and brought me outside to tell me that the best view was right up the hill with the Buddha statue to our right. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on in there, building a house in the middle of nowhere and having a cake and cream party no less, but i battled on to the top of this hill because i didn’t want to return just yet. That and, if i got back too early to Sendai, i’d have nothing to do but walk around the city again, and i decided i’d rather walk around up here than in a bright shop arcade. I got to the top in five minutes (not a tough climb) and looked around. Couldn’t see a thing. So i entered a brush trail, but besides some old dirty magazines on a metal box, nothing was to be seen. Then i decided to follow some log stairs down the hill into the forest, because maybe they would lead to the view spot. As i descended the slogs became increasingly cracked and rotted, and something inside me said “This can’t possibly be the right way,” but my sense of adventure chimed in and said, “So what? Let’s pretend it is and have some fun.” So i pretended that it might be the right way and forged ahead. Eventually the steps ended and i came to a hill side where the path continued as a bridge of wooden boards connected to a log railing. This was nearly the limit of traversability, for many boards were missing and the bridge, which was littered with decaying leaves, was getting quite unstable. I finally stopped when i found that a thick fallen branch had collapsed the next section of bridge, proving once and for all that no one would knowingly walk this trail for a nice view, especially not a group of old feeble tourists (which make up a majority of tourists everywhere in Japan). After hiking back, i came around to the summit of the hill again and found a stone pedestal with two steps leading nowhere. Steps leading nowhere? i thought, and then it dawned on me that this was the view. Instead of shouting curses down the mountain, i climbed the stairs and took a photograph. I stopped back at the construction site to thank the young guy and to try to tell him my wild tale of adventure, which came out in sections but was somehow communicatable.

Sighing deeply, i embarked on my trek back down the mountain to the station, but was quickly rescued by that same kid in a blue car. “Want a ride down the mountain?” he asked, and i nodded gratefully. We got to the station lickety-split and my feet were thankful for it. Chugged it on back to Sendai station, got a school-kiddy peanut cream sandwich with sealed-shut bread and a DIY natto roll from a combini (convenience store) for dinner, and took a bus home because it was drizzling. Got back to the hostel, peeled off my socks, and sunk into my book with a fistful of asparagus in the other hand (got it from the family in Shiokawa). I must have eaten thirty stalks of asparagus... you never get tired of that stuff! Took a bath, and then fell promptly asleep.

Now that took a long time to write. It was precise, time-consuming, and quite fun to be so meticulous. Hope you weren’t bored to tears.

special update from mediateque in sendai

Yes, it`s true. I am currently exploiting free internet in a large media museum called Mediateque in the bustling city of Sendai in northern Japan. Pulling into Sendai on the Shinkansen was almost like entering Tokyo on the night bus--it really is big compared to the others around here. It`s funny how most Japanese cities look the same, or at least share so much infrastructure in common that it`s often a laborious task to point out the uniquenesses. That is, unless you examine the products for sale in the o-miyage (souvenir) shops. Every city, and often enough every town, usually has their own meibutsu (special product) that is shamelessly advertised all over the place, and usually comes in small packages arranged neatly in a pretty box. Examples are sudachi (small lime)- flavored cakes and liquors (Tokushima), fish-shaped cakes filled with red bean or green tea paste or even cheese (Miyajima), soft rice wraps filled with anything from chocolate banana to strawberry to the ubiquitous red bean (Kyoto), minced fish shaped into a bamboo leaf (Sendai), beer and milk products and chocolate (Sapporo), and the list goes on. Meibutsu are extremely well-known, and often enough people will travel to a place simply to taste the local food.
I am just perusing the city today, which is in a sick way refreshing after being out in the countryside where the trains run every hour instead of every 5 minutes. I might also take advantage of the metropolitan atmosphere and purchase a recharger for my powerless cellphone. Funny, i bought the thing to use while traveling and i immediately lost the charger. The matron of the new hostel is very nice, and her half-English compliments nicely my half-Japanese. Tomorrow i visit Matsushima, a collection of hundreds of variously-shaped islands and a big tourist attraction, much like every place to go in Japan. Touristy-ness aside, it`s usually fun! Once you get past the stifling commercialism.

goshikinuma

The name means five-colored lake, and they ain't lying. I went there today and come back with a whole new appreciation for the colors of small water bodies. Goshikinuma includes a delightful walking trail that passes some spectacular lakes and runs through a beautiful forest that is filled with the steady din of a battalion of hidden cicadas. When i first entered the trail, the lake i saw was so blue that i firmly believed it was dyed by the tourist bureau. I began to worry about the fish getting poisoned from the vats and vats of dye they must have dumped in, if there were any fish at all at this point. But as i admired the scene and started to understand that nature embraced, not shunned, this bluest of lakes, i reconsidered my previous hypothesis of commercially-driven pollution scandal and welcomed a new idea--that i had simply never seen a lake this clean before. I mean, there could also be some algae or other industrious microorganism pumping out blue stuff, or just making an effort to be bluer than nature had ever intended, but who am i to make scientific theories? I ultimately decided to appreciate this blue lake, and the other lakes of incomprehensible blueness, as simply as the aesthete appreciates a fine painting or a carefully kept garden. I said "konnichiwa" to nearly every passer-by and they usually responded with gusto, and i had a few chats about random things with some old people, as usual. I even met an old English teacher and his English-incompetent wife, and we discussed the algae theory. I wasn't the only one surprised at the blueness of the water! But blue was not the only color i perceived in the lakes; there were certainly more than five. There were black tea browns, coral greens, rainy cloud grays, and everything in between. Time to go have dinner with my new friends and probably get drunk with 100-year-old grandma.

tempura dinner at stranger's house

So, after soaking in the onsen with four old guys who acted as if a talking ape intruded into their bathhouse (not rude, but politely taken aback--much like how you'd treat a talking ape), i asked a woman if there was a food vending machine and she more or less immediately invited me to dinner. She asked me if i liked tempura (and who would say no?), and then bid me wait half an hour for her to return. I was never taught properly how to politely refuse enough times to legitimize a social transaction of this magnitude, but i managed to refrain from accepting immediately and admitting to my traveler's hunger pangs. As proof of her allegiance to the plan, she left me with her freshly vended green tea, then ran away, and i was suddenly drinking a cup of my own tea on tatami with a few obaasans (grandmas) and a television blaring some news about a recent politician's suicide. When she returned, trailing behind her were 5 more people--the rest of her family--two girls, her husband, and two old ladies of whose relation to the family i was not clear (two grandmas?). I was especially confused when we all sat down and an even older lady joined us, of a hundred years of age. The dinner was delicious--nearly all vegetarian even though i never mentioned any such desire--and the father was fastidiously insistent on refilling my beer glass to the very top. After dinner he asked me if i liked imo shochu (potato liquor--and who would say no?), praised me for not wanting to dilute it with water as he usually does, and began pouring me copious servings of the stuff. The oldest woman i ever met sat on the other end of the table and intermittently shouted indecipherable words at me while making hand gestures. There were only two she used--one was poking her palm and then clapping with a firm countenance followed by a smile, and the other was miming pulling food from a plate and pushing it into her mouth. I kept telling her i was full, and thank you, and anything to get her eyes off of me, but the daughter told me she couldn't hear very well. So i just smiled back. This whole affair reminds me very much of my visit to a friend's house in Tokushima, except that this time i was having actual conversations (however simple) with people. All in all it was pretty frightening (no one spoke more than 3 words of English), but as satisfying as watching one's feet heal after walking on hot coals. Well, more satisfying than that because tempura and imo shouchu were involved. They've invited me to a "party" tonight, and i am quite sure there will be more to be said later. Today i plan to find some nature.

back in the countryside

It’s finally happened—i am having the Japanese experience of my dreams. After a hard day’s traveling, i find myself in my new hostel, “Aizu no Sato” (Aizu Town). The host is a friendly English-speaking man who was surprised to find a bearded Caucasian speaking Japanese at his doorstep, even though the name i gave him over the phone is obviously foreign-sounding, and our conversation was in Japanese. He related to me that his hostel did not receive many gaijin travelers, probably because this area is so out of the way. When i asked where the o-furo (Japanese bath) was, he told me that an onsen (bathhouse) is just down the road and that he could give me a hundred yen discount! Well, hot damn. To top things off, he opened the shoji screen door to my room and i discovered i’ll be staying in a 9-tatami room (quite sizable) all alone! With a television, and breakfast served at 7am! Furthermore, the room has cool pictures on the walls of hand-drawn maps of the area and a kid engaged in samurai sword technique. What more could i ask for? On to the onsen to clean my pores of everything under the sun.

in Fukushima, smelly as a hobo

I reek off evaporated sweat (otherwise known as solid urea mixed with salty skin sludge) and my mind feels like food left in the microwave too long, but i am finally physically in the first city that marks the second, and much more mysteriously unexplored, part of my pilgrimage to Hokkaido. After disembarking from Shinkansen car number 1, i was greeted by a posterboard above the descending stairs of a squirrel chewing on a large acorn surrounded by many bouncing acorns, bearing the inscription "Land of Many Forests, Fukushima." Ah, was a refreshing sight after the hustle and bustle of five or six morning laps around Tokyo station for various ridiculous reasons. Tokyo station is much like a nightmare in which you are trying to escape from something unseen, but everywhere you turn are either more stairs leading out of sight, or endless hallways leading to places that are probably dead-ends. But now i know it like the back of my hand. I could probably get a fine job leading tours around it, if i wanted. To summarize, i arrived in Tokyo station this morning at 6 am via a night bus from Kyoto that left 10 pm the night before. As you can imagine, i slept like a king in my bus seat, and was fully revitalized to explore the inner channels of Tokyo station ad nauseam. I needed to purchase my East Japan railpass for my Tohoku journey up north, and figured it would be a cinch. After all, navigating around should be easy since it must be in the station, and once i found the right place i was sure that everything would run like clockwork. Naturally, it turned out that neither of these was true. Tokyo station is conveniently composed of two halves that must be half-miles from each other, and staff love to send you to the opposite side when they don't know what to do with you. Further, because of my compulsions with eating breakfast foods, i had to peruse numerous shops before i found one to my liking. And the cherry on top was finding someone who speaks English, since my first time trying to explain what i wanted turned out fruitless and frustrating -- the woman kept telling me i couldn't purchase said ticket without a copy of my return ticket to the US proving i was on a 90-day visit. But how could i have my return ticket if it is electronic and i am not going home yet? This made so little sense my brain almost boiled over on the spot, but i politely excused myself and decided on plan B, which was walk around more. After three or so visits to the same counter (the English-speaking workers i was informed were INSIDE the terminal, meaning that i needed to purchase a subway ticket to speak with them), i happened upon a nice young worker whose English ability surprised me, and i lunged upon him like a tiger on a fallen deer. He told me i needed at least a printed copy of my itinerary. Great, i said, where can i print a single page from the Internet? Hm, he replied, no idea. How could i be so ignorant to think that it would be this easy to print a single page in the center of the metropolitan empire of Tokyo? After asking the cops at the nearest koban (police box), i hiked over to a Kinko's (no less) 5 blocks or so away with all my luggage and printed out the damned page. End of story, i got back to the station, got the sacred pass, thought about taking money out and started to walk a bit and then decided that it would be better to just jump on the next train and say "fuck it," jumped on the next train, and said "fuck it" in my comfortable Shinkansen seat while watching the concrete wasteland of Tokyo speed by and behind me through the thick plastic window. And here i am!

Determination is not something to be snuffed. Now all i need to do is get to my hostel by some bus. But first i need to find its address. That's why i'm in this smoky internet cafe by Fukushima station. The guy beside me has Diablo running, his character standing in place beside what looks like a shop surrounded by other players milling about. Who knows what massive-multiplayer bore he is superbly wasting his time with? If he was playing the game, that's one thing. He leans back in his chair with a manga about basketball and smokes a cigarette. When i saw Diablo i got excited, kind of like if i saw a live dinosaur walking down the street, and asked him rhetorically if that was Diablo he was playing? He didn't move a muscle in my direction. Otaku weirdos. Better to leave them be.

Onward to have more traveling adventures. Hopefully i'll sleep in a bed tonight.

photos & templed out

First off, this is the URL to access my Flickr account: http://flickr.com/photos/72423346@N00/

Hopefully these photos will bring more color to the enthralling journal entries you find yourself reading every day. If you don't like dead fish, there is an obvious Set you should not peruse through.

I visited Arashiyama today in southwest Kyoto, which has the Chikurindou (Bamboo Grove Road) and a bunch more temples and shrines (surprise). I walked alongside a group of schoolchildren led by teachers to visit the shrines, and i got more than a few "haro"s. I turned to one source of a most lively haro and said "ohayou!," whereupon he gave an expression of exaggerated surprise, and i said in Japanese "i can speak japanese, kid." They all got a kick out of that one, and this started a domino effect of haros down the line as they passed me, to which i responded "hey!" They loved that word, and when i saw them a second time, after they all bowed and shouted at me, they all started shouting "hey!"
The bamboo grove road was beautiful, and strolling along it with some soft-serve matcha ice cream just made it heavenly. I also took the opportunity to eat lunch at a Buddhist monk restaurant. They serve up a cuisine called "shoujin ryouri," which roughly means "cuisine of diligence." This may not be the most appetizing name, but i can assure you it was the best meal i've ever had (or perhaps rivaling a similar meal at a tofu restaurant on different temple grounds during my last visit three years ago). Myriad flavors, endless shapes and textures, a delicately chosen assortment of colors, forms of tofu that you've never dreamed could exist. Best 30 bucks i've ever spent. And the only case i'd ever spend that kind of money on a meal -- it's just that good. Did i mention you get to eat it in a beautiful temple-style building, sitting on a red carpet upon tatami on nought but your shins? Or if you get tired, your bottom?
I came back quite early today and entered the hostel even though it was "closed" for "cleaning." I said, "screw that," and just flipped open my laptop at the table. One of the workers came in and was so surprised to see another human there during off-hours he was rendered speechless. I had to make believe i was stupid in order to win back his favor -- i said i thought you could enter, but just not eat at the table, and by golly, i wasn't eating. Being stupid saves much hardship. And other times it is the source of hardship. Hmm... maybe hurdling down that philosopher's road on that rickety bike did have an effect on me...

I'm pretty much templed out now. No more temples will impress me for a couple of days. I hope it wears off soon because i'll probably be subjected to more in a day or two. I am in the midst of slowly planning my wild excursion to Touhoku, which ends with a ferry ride to Hakodate (where my school and future host family are) and probably a torturous and sleepless night, the morning after which i start school and meet my host family! I'll be lucky if my eyes aren't hanging out of their sockets by slimy strings and i don't smell like a sick old goat after a thunderstorm.

very important moss

I'm on Skype listening to some awesome faux-techno music spliced with lively and hip Cingular (the new AT&T) advertisements. And now I'm talking to a middle-aged woman with a Southern accent about canceling my account. And now I'm having my account transferred to a great friend with a 919 area code who is being called at this moment (7:30 am US Eastern Time) to be asked if all this is okay with her. This is just one example of the domestic hassles one finds oneself flustered with while in foreign lands. They eventually get resolved, or else you just pay more money. But i refuse to travel down that road. Better to have your cell phone company phone your friends at 7:30 am and charge them $18.

My first real day in Kyoto, spent on bicycle. I biked from the center all the way up northeast to visit Ginkakuji (Silver Pavilion Temple) for the second time (first time was way back when), mainly because i was there before only at night and was curious to see how more sunlight might enhance the landscape -- there lies a temple and a pavilion, which is called silver yet is composed of ancient drab wood, both nestled in a garden with zen sand paintings, craning twisted pine trees, carp-filled murky ponds -- all covered in a sea of radiant moss. I didn't catch why, but moss is special on these temple grounds. There even sits a stand displaying at least 20 types of moss, and six of them are denoted in English with the sign "Very Important Moss: Like VIP." As soon as i got to the hill path of shops that climbs to the temple grounds, i got myself a sakura-flavored (cherry blossom) ice cream cone. Upon leaving, i already had in my hand some akashiso sembe (rice cracker with red shiso) on a stick, and thus began my day of gorging on Kyoto junk food.
I biked down tetsugaku no michi (the philosopher's path), which i had walked my last time, and found that i failed to achieve the same degree of inspiration while speeding down on a vehicle. Still pretty though. I proceeded down to Nanzenji (South Zen Temple), which features an enormous temple with one of the three largest gates in Japan, and a really cool old guy who was drawing a meticulously detailed picture of an aqueduct nearby surrounded by trees and stones. Unfortunately, an expensive but extraordinary tofu restaurant called Okutan that i dined in last time was closed. It did save me nearly 30 bucks.
I am typing all this on the morning after said events happened. I'll write a more detailed description later.

soaked to the core in kyoto

I'm soaking wet sitting on the tatami floor of my new hostel in Kyoto. In a relatively poor mood, and looking forward to a day of rain-drenched fun in Temple-Central, Japan. Backtrack~~!

Took a night bus last night and managed to sleep in a comfortable yet cramped seat. Woke up and arrived in Kyoto station and stumbled into a manga cafe for cheap internet because i had no idea where my hostel was. Because i'm such a bright young man, i used the map i printed as a bookmark in Tokyo station. To my surprise, when i looked for said map after leaving the small cafe i was wasting time in before my bus, it was gone. I copied down the directions into a notepad, lugged my luggage outside, and realized it was raining. The umbrella i bought in a convenience store not two days ago had similarly vanished. So i had to hike out to my hostel in the rain, and even though i knew the hostel would open at 8 and it was only 7:15, i decided to test the fates and brainlessly complete my quest. I was not shocked when i saw the hostel door shut, and although a head was bobbing around in a room beyond the door, it did not face me and relieve me of the elemental fury that lashed my body and valuables outside. So i walked along back to the station and ducked into Cafe Veloce, a Japanese-style Western cafe, complete with crustless sandwiches, royal milk tea, and small strawberry white chocolate scones in plastic wrappers. I devoured two sandwiches and slurped down some tea while reading some of the same book that carelessly lost my map--Number9dream by David Mitchell. In this part of the story, the main character's life and current trials become intertwined with a video game-style narrative, and it becomes hard to pull the two apart. I trudged back to the hostel at 8.15 in clothes that feel like they'd been stripped off a bloated drowned corpse. Upon entering the now lit hostel reservation room, i found the owner, a slightly bearded Japanese dude on a stool, who greeted me in English after my feeble and tired Japanese good morning. I snapped at him when we lapsed into an exchange of question and answer about internet usage and his "can" sounded much too much like "can't." I felt bad, but i also felt like a water-logged rat who just crawled out of the sewer after a thunderstorm.

And here i am! I am leaving shortly to jump around in puddles and maybe see a rainy view of a temple or two with a girl from Westchester, NY (of all places) that i just met. Although gaijin travelers can be an annoying bunch, most are more than willing to drop everything and go traipse around a foreign town with strangers. More later.

day trip to Nikko

If it was not painfully obvious from the title, I took a day trip to Nikko today from Tokyo. About two hours away and only 40 bucks to see everything and ride the train just about everywhere in the environs, it's a pretty good deal, considering Nikko has some of the awesomest temples this side of Kanto. Nikko also just happens to be one of the most popular tourist sites in the country, and most of those tourists are Japanese. If you're wondering why, I should also mention that Tokugawa Iesyasu himself is buried there. Not to mention the presence of numerous memorable cultural treasures, such as the carvings of the San Zaru (Three Monkeys: no see, no hear, no speak: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_wise_monkeys) and the Nemuri Neko (Sleeping Cat: carved by Hidari Jingoro, a famous left-handed sculptor from the Edo period: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hidari_Jingoro). You may not detect it from the electronic text, but a vein of sarcasm runs through the last line. Although these carvings, and other such "sights to see," may in fact have great importance to Japanese culture, they are nonetheless quite small and would be fairly unnoticeable if it weren't for the 500 yen ticket to enter the area blessed by the Sleeping Cat's existence, not to mention all the Sleeping Cat souvenirs that line the temple walls around it. But i shouldn't be so negative about the sights of Nikko, for there were some very extraordinary attractions: the Naki Ryuu (Crying Dragon), a painting on the ceiling of a temple that supposedly resonates the sound of two wooden blocks striking (a Buddhist monk strikes them as we all look ceiling-wards... perhaps it's the architecture that's the culprit, but who's calling for a detective?); the hyper-cool decorative carvings of dragons, tigers, and old men riding tigers that line most of the temples; the equally cool 10-foot statues of furious gods with Dragon Ball Z-style flaming hair; the forests of thick towering pines that surround the grounds; the hordes of schoolchildren and old women that swarm like locusts around anything of the remotest interest.
After having an overdose of traditional Japanese culture (aka "templed out"... a term used among jaded gaijin), i headed to a stop on the train called Kinugawa Onsen. Onsen means hot spring, and i desperately wanted to soak in hot medicinal water after the long day. When i got there, a policeman told me that the onsen was closed, and i moped over to a manjuu (little cakes filled with red bean paste) store to gawk at sweets awhile before my train came to go home in defeat. I started talking to one of the clerks about onsen and macha, and she dragged another clerk into the conversation who ended up offering me some salty plum macha with little breadcrumbs (delicious!) and driving me to the local bathhouse so i could get in an hour or two with some old naked Japanese guys before going home. Many Japanese are unbelievably helpful and go tremendously out of their way to give you a hand. The bathhouse was everything and more--aside from the pleasures of soaking in an outdoor bath surrounded by forest, i met the man who runs the Snoopy Store in Harajuku. I bowed to the Tokyo manager of Snoopy consumables, and clutching a new bottle of freshly vended cold green tea, i boarded the train back to Asakusa and my hostel.