京都の旅行：Kyoto Trip

Well, I can’t say the rather rowdy group of foreigners that was our small troop leaving from Shinjuku’s bus terminal was a welcome sight for the other passengers of the night bus, but damn it we had to do something to pass the time. The cheapest ride from Tokyo to Kyoto runs about $60.00 each way, and is a 7 hour jolting roll along Japan’s midnight highways. Assuming the worst for our evening sojourn, we liquored ourselves up just enough to aid the coming of sleep in the approach to the wee hours of the morning. Of course, in the process we may have become slightly verbose, but only to the point to perturb the most irritable of our nighttime compatriots. Had we known what we were truly getting ourselves into, I am sure the one bottle we brought for all six of us would have become six so as to adequately knock ourselves out. The night was spent in inordinate amounts of sleepless discomfort. Within an hour, the second story windows of our double decker vehicle became awash in the precipitant of fifty odd bodies, and the air left a lingering taste of humanity at the back of the tongue. The cramped seats afforded no comfortable sleeping position, an irritation exasperated by the snores of the Japanese passengers. The Japanese have the uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time on their feet, the street and occasionally even in their own beds.

We debarked to a brisk fall morning in front of Kyoto Station, a greeting of rather surprisingly modern architecture compared to the traditional side of Japanese culture that we had traveled so far to see. A short train ride and long walk later, we were meandering down a side street in search of our youth hostel. The first quality of Kyoto to be noticed is the sky. While there are several tall buildings, nowhere in Kyoto do colossal skyscrapers blot out the sky. The most limiting factors to the view of the horizon are the colorful mountains that surround the city.  The man from Amsterdam and I fell back as others in our group surged forward down the street as the typical click-click of a rushing Japanese woman’s heels grew louder in our wake. I turned in response to the light tap on my upper back to find a, generously, five foot in stature, young woman huffing and puffing having just caught up to our long strides. “Are you guys looking for the hostel?” After a quick mental double take at the perfect English with which we had just been greeted, we affirmed her suspicions and flagged the other four members of our group. Apparently six lost foreigners in Kyoto stick out like a sore thumb. Especially the six gaijin who had made a reservation at the hostel they had just walked past without a second glance. The hostel had opened its doors just that morning and we were the second guests to check in. Our room may have been absent a trash can, but the three bunk beds with memory foam mattresses and pillows were a welcome sight.

The sheer amount of traditional Japanese culture nestled throughout Kyoto feels so right. The temples do not seem as out of place as they often do in Tokyo, where foreign influence cannot be escaped and fellow gaijin roam every street. While the temple grounds of Tokyo sometimes seem to remain standing despite the encroaching modernity, Kyoto’s old places of worship stand because they belong there. Not to say that wooden structures still erected in Tokyo are out of place, but the hustle and bustle of the metropolis detracts from the atmosphere of peace and reverence that was at the forefront of the minds of the ancient architects. The most evident difference between the two cities is not so easy to discern, but the longer one spends time away from any major city the sweet silence that relaxes the ears becomes palpable. However, silence may be too strong of a word. Kyoto is not noisy but the sounds of the world can be heard without the swelling population of Japan’s capital… wind ruffles the leaves of trees and birds twitter about their daily business. What is not so overbearing though, are the revving of bus and taxi engines, the chatter of multitudes lining sidewalks or the screech of trains on their tracks that life in Tokyo would not be complete without. In Kyoto, I could hear myself breathe. I will not waste words on the serenity of the temples; rather I will let them speak for themselves.

Half an hour from Kyoto Station is Nara. I frolicked with deer in Nara. Compared to the other areas of Japan which I have seen, Nara truly is a place of silence. Tourists do create some white noise, but that is to be expected. As night fell though, and we continued to enjoy the scenes of Buddhism after dark, the quiet set in. Funny to think that the one place where whispers were the most audible was under a bell. This was another place where pictures speak much louder than my words.

Food was a delight in the higher altitude. The rotating sushi shop we brunched in had an interesting novelty of delivering special orders via small bullet trains (see video). The sushi was surprisingly tasty despite the rumors that surround kaitensushi restaurants in Japan. Simply put, they sell a product at a price so cheap, there is no way for them to make a profit unless they are cutting corners. It comes as no surprise when sushi at one of these places of business is lackluster in flavor with disguised fish composite being used instead of real slices of sashimi. Our dinner that night was an amazing okonomiyaki and yakisoba meal that left all of us satisfied to no end. In my past experiences with okonomiyaki, it has always been delicious despite being perhaps a little too flat or lacking in meat. The okonomiyaki at this restaurant were like pies sizzling in front of our eyes. The yakisoba was remarkable as well, the best I have had in Japan, which is saying something. Yakisoba is everywhere, good yakisoba is not. Finally, the next night we went to what turned out to be a chain establishment, Akakaranabe (literally red and spicy nabe). The Korean barbecue sizzled and popped before the main course was revealed in its devil adorned crockery.

Stuff to look for in the future: Crazies Encountered in Kyoto and embarrassing a construction worker, weird small errors in Japan

If you enjoy my writing please share it so others can do the same. And don't forget to subscribe using the services below or my RSS feed located HERE so you know what's new!!

ハロウィーン：Halloween

This post is going to be somewhat picture heavy. Halloween is just better when it’s seen and not heard.

I must say the week and a half ordeal that was Halloween in Tokyo was quite entertaining. We were the costumed crazies who went to clubs, drank in public, and sang our hearts out in karaoke. To be perfectly honest, Halloween in Tokyo is not so different than in the states except that, maybe, what is shockingly odd here involves a weirdness of a much higher magnitude than back home. Most costumes were relatively typical or admirable in their standing out from the crowd, but there was one person who managed to take the creep factor to the next level. No, it was not the guy that showed up in Whinnie-the-Pooh tighty whities and suspenders, or the girl who decided to do a crack whore rendition of Lady GaGa (well maybe it was just a regular GaGa costume). Rather, this young man put a lot of thought and effort into his costume, which words do not suffice to describe. The weirdest thing about it was how well he wore his clothing and played the character. The day before I saw him at the party, I had asked this mouse named individual what he was going to be. His response? “Well, a couple people have seen it… and they’ve all just said ‘What the fuck?’” When I saw this, this thing, it smiled at me with bright red lipstick smeared across its lips. All I could do was say I needed a few minutes to gather myself. You’ll see him easily.

At the club, our quartet was admired by quite a few of the Japanese patrons. Roppongi is the clubbing district that is geared more towards the Japanese who live in Tokyo as opposed to Shibuya which is more foreigner friendly. I will cover the outside area of Roppongi and why I may never go back in the future but inside club Vanity we had a great time. Several drunk individuals tried to drink my head, and one Japanese girl actually tried to pull my hat off. Halloween is not that popular in Japan, most people do not celebrate it. For the four of us to go in costume, a week before the actual holiday to a club that was primarily Japanese was definitely going to make us stand out. The Doraemon, beer head, cop, school girl combination went over great.

oh yeah, and i did get chased by a tigger with a whip

Pictures!!!

If you enjoy my writing please share it so others can do the same. And don't forget to subscribe using the services below or my RSS feed located HERE so you know what's new!!

ちょと違う: A Little Different

Sorry for the Delay!!! I don't have internet at my homestay house anymore so I'm having trouble balancing things out so I have time to post at school. Hope everyone is doing good

After donating another couple hours to my time studying kanji last night, I could not take any more. My solution?.. a dose of fiction. Books closed, lights off, my choice was far from difficult. Perusing several videos on my hard drive, I already knew what my selection would be having been locked away from American film for over a month. I wanted real acting, craved depth in plot, needed to satisfy the shaky fingers indicating withdrawal from works of art worth watching. The definition of pulp fades in and out on the screen. A young(er) Tim Roth sits across Amanda Plumber enjoying breakfast at a roadside diner and discussing their previous financial endeavors. Decision made, they pull their guns out and the frame freezes in place. The music came first, a deep base line struck fast before the guitar and trumpet build to match the tempo. A Band Apart’s logo burns in and out, yellow on the black background; the silhouettes of four reservoir dogs easily recognizable before the director’s name makes a brief appearance. As the volume increases so does rise the title of this iconic work of ’94, Pulp Fiction.

As you can see, I am quite a fan of Quentin Tarantino’s films, but in this most recent viewing of Pulp Fiction, one scene especially resonated with me. The two hitmen driving along converse about John Travolta’s character’s recent three year foray into Europe and the surrounding area. In an effort to describe the land, he claims the other side of the Atlantic is not so glaringly different from America, rather it was the small differences that made it all sink in. His primary example, the Royal with Cheese, reminded me of all the McDonalds’ and Burger Kings I walk by on a regular basis on these eastern streets. Instead of the typical Big Mac so aggressively touted on television in the States, what has been cropping up during commercial breaks and on advertisement posters has been the tamago Mac. Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese… the works immortalized in song are accompanied by an ingredient not so familiar to American burgers. The flat disc of an egg is not a bastardization of real American food but a strange twist that causes, at the very least, a swift double take to make sure that the golden arches are still the company that has been flooding the American fast food market since the beginning of time.

The addition is such a minute change, but the inequalities fail to stop there. Without a doubt, there is a typical psychological response to the idea of dining in at one of these burger establishments in the states. Employees there purely for the paycheck, counters and tables streaked by the hasty wipes of a moderately clean rag and industrial strength cleaner, long neglected corner covered in a shadowy silk of grime years in the making. The restaurants themselves are merely the medium through which a three dollar meal can be purchased and ingested hastily before shuffling out the door to greener pastures. The lack of tlc given to these so called quality franchises is so evident that I personally would remain moderately unsurprised if under almost every roof, offenses against health and safety codes could be found biding their time until they become realized in stomach pains or worse. Erected contrary to these expected malpractices are the manifestations of fast food here, in Tokyo.

More than the general shining cleanliness of the, get ready, Makudonarudo found here, there is a sense that the employees take their profession seriously. The smile found with the service here, while most likely mandatory in the job description, does not conjure feelings of pulled teeth or a weary spirit. Makku, for short, is not a sore spot in the topic of employment that it so often seems to be in the West. While there remains a definite impersonality in the service, what can be expected of a place where food is premade and sits under a warmer for even hours at a time after all, there is a tangible sense of pride in a job well done. Perhaps it is merely my foreign mind playing tricks on me as it is wont to do, but the noticeable resignation of a worker to a job he obviously does not want is not so evident in Japan.

Then again, after talking with a couple friends about the notion of working a fast food joint, it becomes quite clear that the sunny disposition that greets each customer truly is a farce. Managers will chastise employees without a second thought if the drone is not happy enough. In Japan, appearances are everything. The façade that is dutifully maintained in every major business gives customers a sense of peace, and while it would be wrong to say exemplary treatment pads their ego, were a shop to refrain from pandering to such high Japanese expectations, the cheeky tumbleweed would roll between the aisles. The struggle to keep up the image does not halt at mere visual cues. Language itself transforms into a whole new beast with just about every bit of vocabulary being exchanged for more polite speaking. American establishments make this upward shift as well, which is why the stark change in intonation and pacing becomes undoubtedly audible each time my foot touches the tiled floor inside Tokyo’s fast food purveyors.

The only way I can think to translate this experience is through a handshake. We have all had to make those exchanges of congratulations or agreement be them work related or between friends. A good handshake is firm, both people stand with great posture and look each other dead in the eye before two, maybe three, curt up and down shakes. Bad handshakes occur when one’s partner fails to reciprocate with strength and instead presents a dead fish to flop along reminding you that maybe your partner just is not as dedicated or well meaning as you. In Tokyo, you are served, looked in the eye, and taken care of. In America, you are a wallet waiting to be emptied. Regardless of if one of the uniformed people behind the counter actually cares about you, they care enough about their job to do it right, and that I feel, is just a little different.


If you enjoy my writing please share it so others can do the same. And don't forget to subscribe using the services below or my RSS feed located HERE so you know what's new!!

カルチャーショック: Culture Shock

I was instructed to write the following as a response for my online intercultural communication course.  We were told to address the four stages of culture shock.  Here you go:

Eager Anticipation Stage: This being my second foray into the Far East, I bypassed the majority of this anticipatory stage in culture shock development. Thinking back to last November and December, I recall the sheer uncertainty of it all. Japan remains unrivaled on the world stage in its otherworldly nature. I was going to the place that invented anime and for which, being physically pushed onto a train is a daily occurrence of the morning commute. The sheer lack of knowledge of what actually goes on here lends so much to the mind’s conceptions and misconceptions of what is about to be encounter encountered. The first arrival in Japan encourages only more questions in the same way as progressing in the language only serves to remind the student of how little he or she really knows. In a previous post, I mentioned the staggering number of convenience stores that line the streets of Tokyo. The sliding glass doors to each place of business are portals to rooms of things never before encountered. What is that vat of broth and floating brown meat or ball of amorphous white goo are questions asked in expectation of the most wondrous answers. Everything is new and clean waiting to be discovered by the open foreign mind.

OMG What a Cool Cemetery

Everything is Beautiful Stage: At this point, Japanese television will still be the most interesting thing the newcomer has ever witnessed compared to programs of home. The endless array of cooking shows or comedic lookalike contests evoke laughter in the midst of a complete inability to understand what is actually happening. All that matters is that these people are absolutely insane in their hundred meter bowling competitions and escapades to the Japanese mountains and countryside to discover the most delicious of foods. Venturing out at night, the skyline of neon karaoke parlors and clubs beckon, inviting the casual stranger to come and partake in the most widespread of Japanese nightlife activities. The tourist spots around the city are places the gaijin has heard tales of from friends who have already made the trip or sank themselves deep into the world of cartoon representations of Tokyo. Visiting those mysterious locations finishes with cameras filled with hundreds if not thousands of snapshot memories to be later be reminisced over with circles of friends. The places themselves are again permeated by shops selling both the most Japanese and souvenir worthy trinkets. One shop will sell the samurais’ katana next to the golden kitten waving for customers to come into the store in front of a row of plastic umbrellas which for some reason are astounding. Nothing is simply what it is at this point in time. The umbrella is not just an umbrella, it is an umbrella in Japan!

A Tired Godzilla

Everything is Awful Stage: The stage from which I am currently clawing my way out. Japanese food, while still healthy and delicious, has lost its luster as I recall the steaks and melted cheeses I thoroughly enjoyed in the West. The fact that everyone is Japanese is also no longer as amazing as it once was with some of their customs shifting to nuisances as they lose their novelty. I want to wear my shoes inside; it is easier that way. I hate having to carry several day’s worth of currency on me at all times; credit cards are all but useless moving from store to market here. Where is the space I left behind; I do not enjoy having to stand on the step behind and in front of people on an escalator. If I end up sneezing the person in front will get a nasty shower, and as for the person behind, he or she will get a face full of something with which they would rather not become acquainted. Everything is more expensive than it should be with the American economy faltering and the Japanese economy surging forward (and hurting itself in its success). The seeming technological illiteracy of so many institutions is evidence of the traditional Japanese refusal to progress with the times. Yes, Japan is technologically backwards with a thousand paper forms for the most mundane of record keeping tasks, and there is no way to work around Japanese deadlines. I have had enough headaches brought on by having to be at a certain place at a certain time even though I may have class or a previous obligations put on by the same organization. (/rant)

Just Some Regular Dudes

 Everything is OK Stage: Despite this dissatisfaction that I’m sure came across above, I assure you Japan is not all cramps and unhappiness. Once I got passed the desire to make everything more than what it was, I experienced a backlash in my missing everything I had in America that is not to be found here. The trick, I believe is to stop embellishing everything in my mind. What I have before me is not the magical Japanese culture, it is just the Japanese culture. In this mental change I am not taking anything away from Japan, rather I am giving back to it the humanity with which all cultures are imbibed. There is no mythical existence here, nothing fantastic. What takes place in daily life here is merely the other side of the coin, practices that we of the West cannot fathom because for the vast majority of us, Japan remains a fairy tale carried by those who made the flights here and back long ago. To force any more than the reality of what Japan is onto this already overcrowded set of islands is to lose one’s self in what the mind believes should be happening. A person who only dwells on the future will lose sight of the present. Similarly, travelers coming to Japan searching for anything more than an experience of another culture will be sorely disappointed because they won’t be able to see the culture that is already here. And what a culture it is.  

If you enjoy my writing please share it so others can do the same. And don't forget to subscribe using the services below or my RSS feed located HERE so you know what's new!!

授業: Classes

Japan is very much a system of predictable events in the foreigner’s perception of an endlessly outlandish world. We gaijin marvel at the machine wrought of punctuality and hardened in a logic that truly takes the whole before each individual piece. Japan’s methodologies are a river and the people within its borders are mere drops of rain. Sure, there are ripples here and there, but those are soon lost in the inescapable current pulling us all along. In the past couple weeks, several events have transpired that have made this concept of sameness all the more evident in my eyes. I have noticed a phenomenon where, for the sake of the machine marching forward, the value of individuality gives way to what is supposed to happen. There are no exceptions.

I have found my future being shaped by preconceived systems that are determined to tell me where I belong now that I have entered into this Eastern society. The first point of no return came while I was still lounging in the plush northern californian suburb of my stateside residence. In order to test my Japanese proficiency, I was required to take an online exam. While the reasons for utilizing a dynamic problem set in an internet based placement test are not lost upon me, each question’s being timed did not lend themselves to my answers being of the highest quality. Perhaps I should have conducted some more research on the JCAT, but I contend that at the very least, that number of questions, multiple choice vs. written answer, and amount of time allowed to complete the test are superficial qualities any student has a right to know before being assessed on their ability to do even the most rudimentary academics. Keep in mind that while I may have been displeased with the conduction of the test, I scored and placed above my expectations.

I am so focused on the unforgiving nature of the JCAT due to my host institution, Waseda’s, abusively taking the results of the test and etching them in stone. For the first time, adjustments to class level are wholly unavailable to students; the score one receives in the space of forty-five minutes determines the standing with which one enters the Japanese program on campus. Despite the likelihood that the majority of students are placed into their courses correctly, there is no failsafe for those who may have had a single bad test day for any number of reasons. The school claims students may take a more difficult one credit elective class to compensate, but that does nothing to ease the grinding seven and a half hours the misdiagnosed student will be spending in the wrong intensive Japanese class each week. Luckily, the process of delineating Japanese classes to non-Japanese students described above has few far-reaching effects beyond the chip found on several international students’ shoulders thank God.

Course registration, purchasing a cell phone and every single adventure through the maze of subway lines and stations are all unquestionable examples of the system for the greater good, but where so much faith is placed on a single system I have to ask how sure these people are that their system is perfect, but before that, the end towards which all these means endeavor must itself be examined. My experiences being limited to Tokyo, I see the sole purpose for the endless amounts of regulation found in this urban landscape as funneling as many people through the motions as possible in the quickest amount of time. Without prior knowledge, navigating trains and applying for (yes applying, not getting) a cell phone require one to bend over backwards to merge with Tokyo’s society for the first time. There seems to be a severe lack of trust on the government’s part as to whether citizens can fend for themselves if allowed to move freely outside the binding world of contracts. In the overwhelming amount of paperwork and number of applications to do anything, I cannot fathom the amount of invisible red tape operating behind the scenes or the sheer number of bureaucrats having a heart attack each time they see my name written in English letters and not their own.

An example for the imperfection of a Japanese system that I can provide is Waseda’s course registration. In applying for classes (again that damn application), I was denied from two of my six classes meaning that instead of the 17 credits I should be working on now, I only have 11. I understand that classes fill up or get cancelled, that is expected, but what does not make sense is the fact that I now cannot register for my replacement classes until a week after they have started and can only check prospective classroom locations from a single notification board. Without allowing individuals to make instant changes to their own lives and schedules the odds that the same issues will arise the second time I have to abide by the same rules in the same system are relatively high… and let’s not forget the several instances of misinformation being unintentionally distributed. It’s not the system’s job to work for us; it’s our job to work for the system: An alien concept.

One Big Drop

p.s. little bit of a vent here, course scheduling is frustrating


If you enjoy my writing please share it so others can do the same. And don't forget to subscribe using the services below or my RSS feed located HERE so you know what's new!!

飲んでいる：Drinking

Commence Nomikai

A man of class in whom I have found an interesting friendship has never shied away from any bottle in the states. If the luxury of choice is not available for financial or opportunistic reasons, the bottom shelf rums and very special brandies may give him reason to wince at the point of ingestion, but as anyone would contend, these crimes against humanity are acceptable in the pursuit of drunk. Hooch, as he prefers to call this chosen vice, is being mistreated and abused in ways I could not have begun to fathom in America. Until making my first real foray into the Japanese drinking methodology, I simply had no concept of what real drinking is supposed to be. My apologies to my fellow compatriots if you disagree with me in this post, and believe me when I say that I do, in fact, maintain a continued enjoyment of American drinking as well, yet class, it seems, has escaped even the best of us Yankees. Chugging? A healthy portion of inebriating one’s self. Shots? There is certainly no stigma around those. Getting hammered? Well, that stumbles hand in hand with alcohol.

At Asakusa

The funnels and shot-guns are not to be found though, as well as any external drinking apparatus aside from glass, can, bottle, or sake cup which leaves me wondering if therein lies the key to the real difference between the American and Japanese practice of inebriation. There is a severe lack of competition in Tokyo drinking that very subtly surprised me in its absence to such an extent that the thought did not strike me until two days later. Drawing purely on observation, my mind forever American and unable to think Japanese, here, a man’s inability to continue consumption does not lend itself to his emasculation as it would in the States. There are no jeers at the refusal of the next shot or beer. Not to say that there is no disappointment between drinking partners, but through understanding that a line has been or will be crossed, all parties know to be true that it is far better to keep the contents of one’s stomach than to showcase it on the table, floor, or even your own Prada shoes.

At Ueno

The other key incongruence between my culture and the Nippon practices here lays in the mentality behind drinking parties dubbed social gatherings by my esteemed school’s rule book. While oftentimes it seems that the night does not start until after the pregame in the West, in the East, the concept of drinking before you get to the party is backwards in every sense of the word. Here, the idea is not, “Let’s get drunk and see what happens,” but, “Let’s get together for the night and by the end of it we all know we’ll be drunk,” which is why last night’s nomikai (literally drinking party) was such a great experience。Our day started with freshman lead tours of Asakusa and Ueno which are both stunning in their beauty and proximity to metropolitan areas. Asakusa’s traditional temples and entertaining vendors were a reminder that being Japanese is not all sardined subway cars and sushi while the park at Ueno was a welcome escape from the roar of bus engines and flashing traffic lights. We walked for hours reveling in our foreignness before coming back to Takadanobaba station and venturing over to the izakaya, a specific genre of restaurant with a vast variety of small plates to be shared and an equally choice selection of (here comes some class) adult beverages.

Nomikai

Stepping into the establishment, we were greeted with the roars and thunderous applause of other organizations already well underway in their merrymaking. Shoes off, we picked our way through the pillows littering the tatami floor until we found spots at one of the nine or so tables being occupied by the Waseda international club, Nijinokai (directly translated: Rainbow Club). On the tables sat fried chicken, fried potatoes, raw squid and perspiring forties awaiting the night’s celebration, and around them, Japanese and foreign eyes alike grinned in anticipation. The purpose of the gathering was purely to get to know people from other cultures so we did. Amidst shots of whisky, endless glasses of beer, games of call (everyone chants at you while you drink) introductions were made and pacts formed between the French, Italians, Germans, Russians, Chinese, Koreans, Canadians, Japanese and the smattering of Americans populating the crowd. I cannot help but bask in the memory of an evening sadly passed, yet no amount of words on a page can do these events justice. Our time up, we made our exodus out into the night air. Some walked, more tripped, but everyone smiled as we gathered in the neon glow of Tokyo knowing that this was how things worked in Japan. Truly drunk but managing a straight line, I began the walk paced by the tunes of Lupe Fiasco, that lead to a karaoke pit stop and hour long train ride at the end of which I managed a few hours of shuteye. The next morning I woke up to go see a castle reminding me yet again, I do not know the depth and breadth of Japanese culture. I do know, however, that I am here and a part of something to which anime inspired dreams cannot hold a candle.

Moé and Parents in front of Castle

If you enjoy my writing please share it so others can do the same. And don't forget to subscribe using the services below or my RSS feed located HERE so you know what's new!!