If You Can't Take the Heat, Get Out of Japan
Second email home. Sometime around June 2005. Still a rough cut, the polished version of events is sprinkled throughout my book.
Well, I've just made it through almost 3 months here and you are about to make it through my second mass email, which will be quite an accomplishment judging by the length of the last one!
Since then I have found cockroaches in my bed, under my bed (and I am an anal "vacuum twice a week" kind of gal), in the bathroom, in the kitchen, etc. (granted some are babies and teenagers who are not nearly as heart-stopping). What is even odder is that I have been the only one to see such an abundance. I have started seeing them when they are not even there, just flashes in the corner of my eye that make me jump.
Tokyo was fantastic and really reminded me of New York City. It was a totally unexpected surprise to find breathing space and beautiful parks and greenery. I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least (not at all the "Lost in Translation" electric suffocation that I had anticipated). In one day I ate the most exquisite chocolate croissant ever made, strolled down tree-lined streets reminiscent of boulevards in Paris and window shopped, bowed at a stunning Buddhist temple, watched about 20 dancing Elvis's in a park filled with Japanese teenagers dressed up like gothic renaissance dolls, had a picnic overlooking a lake filled with a picturesque bridge reflected in water, complete with wading ducks, and I shopped until I dropped. It was vibrant, overwhelming, serene, indescribably Tokyo.
On my second day in Tokyo, I experienced some famed Japanese hospitality. I heard the familiar tune of a song I had heard every weekend since I'd arrived in the park that I frequent every weekend. I was drawn to the sad moans and ended up in a dingy little stall masquerading as a CD shop. Inside I inquired as to the identity of the song and was told with not a little excitement that the tune I was hearing was "The Japan Song" and in a matter of seconds I had a CD ready to be bought and paid for resting in my hands. I flipped over the CD to determine the offending price (I had not seen a full CD in Japan up until this point for less than 30 dollars) and saw that it was only 15 dollars, so I made the split-second decision to purchase the disc. The patron was so excited by this that he started frittering around like a little school kid and ran to get his wife, who then motioned to a corner of the shop where some plastic bags sat and within minutes I had a towel and a pretty nice t-shirt draped over my arms which were "presents" from the owners to me. Then I was asked to pose with the owner, shaking hands and holding up the t-shirt, and then with his wife. At the end of the interaction he says to me "American, right?" and I said quickly "No, Canadian". I can't help but have sensed a slight sigh of disappointment at this confession, but anyhow.
That evening I realized that I had already run out of my wad of cash (darn Tokyo shopping arcades) and I went to get some cash at the local Citibank when I realized that none of my cards worked in the ATMs. I called the emergency bank hotline, and after 15 agonizing minutes was connected to an English-speaking operator who informed me that my cards must have been demagnetized. But of course. Being alone in the streets of Tokyo with no money is not a comforting feeling. I was hatching up ideas on how I could sneak out of my Ryokan the next morning with my two big bags without getting noticed. Luckily the next day was not yet a holiday and I went to the nearest Citibank where the staff promptly informed hysterical me that I had been putting the card into the machines upside down (because mine was a foreign card, I had to do the opposite of what the picture on the machine told me to do, go figure!) "Stupid foreigner" I could almost hear the woman at Citibank think.
After Yokohama, I took another night bus to Nagoya and arrived at about 6 in the morning. I was so spent and there is so little to do in any town at 6 am that I headed straight for the ritzy Marriot Hotel and spent about 30 dollars for their huge breakfast buffet. It was pure bliss. I found an English newspaper, parked myself in front of a window with an 18th-story view of Nagoya and I dug in. Ahhh, I felt like a Queen. It was a much-needed reprieve before the campy days I had ahead of me. Nagoya was also beautiful: a nice castle and good shopping, but by 4 I was on a train to a remote town in the Kiso valley that I had read about in a New York Times travel article. The town was called Tsumago and it sat on what was the old highway between Kyoto and Tokyo. There was a walking path connecting many of the towns on this road, so I was to stay in Tsumago for one night and then hike to another town, Magome (they would transport my bags), and then stay there for the second night. The main draw of the towns (besides the fact that they lay nestled amidst the Japanese mountains which offer a completely opposite view of Japan than that which is experienced in the urban sprawl that covers much of habitable Japan) is that they are maintained as living museums complete with Edo period style buildings and no street lights or wires above (the town is lit by lanterns).
The small towns were the perfect anticlimax to a Tokyo go-go week. Strolling down the lantern-lit streets with the black rolling hills silhouetted on the backdrop of a dusky blue sky, which quickly turns to gray to black, illuminated by rural stars. It is one of the quietest moments I've had since arriving. Well minus the random car speeding down that darn country highway, and the sounds of my tired Adidas sneaks crunching on stray pieces of gravel. Then there's me randomly yet consistently slapping my leg to murder a mosquito, the faint whispering in my ear of the travel nurse in Canada saying, "you should have spent the 500 bucks and gotten vaccinated for Japanese encephalitis". Charlotte's web style silky webs shine in the lantern light. The place was empty except for me and the odd curious local, wondering who this hooded figure in black was as I tightly clutched my hoodie around my neck, wondering why it still felt like I had about 100 mosquitoes on me. The fresh mountain air was laced with incense, fish cooking and my muskol mosquito spray.
Before my walk, I reprised my role as the demanding tourist and I asked to move my room to the one that overlooked a big balcony over a waterfall. It was smaller than my first room, but much more "retreat-like" I thought. I was enjoying the cool breeze from the sliding door in my room and as I departed on my evening constitutional, I left the window open and my light on. Most of you can guess what transpired while I was out. When I returned to my room I opened my door to find about 100 little flies congregating around my lamp, bumping into it and falling dead upon my beautiful white futon bed. I quickly called the owner of the Ryokan and not wanting to admit my error asked her, as best I could not speaking the language if this was a normal occurrence. She went "eeeaaheee" and ran to grab some spray and a broom. She then started spraying like a mad woman and then dusted the flies off my bed and swept them into the hall. Let me tell you that my sleep that night was not that of someone in a retreat. I woke up every 2 hours to sweep what I felt were a thousand little flies falling gently onto my sleeping soul through the night. Eeek!
The next day I departed for my hike and was warned by the Ryokan owners about bears. The warning consisted of them motioning excitedly at a flyer produced by the tourist agency outlining that I should ensure that I have a whistle or a bell to let the bears know I am around (I don't know about you, but I would rather they didn't know I existed). It was raining outside and I had no raincoat, so the tourist bureau fashioned me a fabulous parka out of a stray garbage bag. So here I am, trekking through the woods covered in a bag, spraying my Muskol mosquito spray every 10 meters to ward off the thirsty bloodsuckers and whistling every 20 meters to let the bears know I was on my way. As usual I was a slightly comical sight.
I arrived in one piece, albeit a few chunks of skin missing I'm sure. Magome was equally beautiful and the hike over wet but wonderful. I had another day and night filled with local shopping, relaxing and hiking, having tea at cafes overlooking mountain vistas and hiking up to hidden temples. I was given a free coupon for my first Onsen (hot spring bath...a naked hot spring bath). The last time I went to one of these was in Germany and it was co-ed, which was something else entirely. Thankfully this one was segregated, however it was slightly uncomfortable being the object of others' curiosity when I was already quite vulnerable, being in the buff and all.
While staying in these traditional Ryokans I of course had the traditional Japanese dinner and breakfast which usually consisted of a fish…that looked like it had just been caught (with eye and skin and all). I had to cover the eye with a pickle before I stabbed into the meaty flesh and then I had to hide it behind some of my other dishes when I was finished. The rest of the meal was a smorgasbord including rice, pickled everything, some vegetables, some noodles and a few other dishes. It was such a large meal with such strange components that at one point I had to tell myself that I was on fear factor and that I had to eat every unusual thing on my plate or else I would go home empty-handed. The mind trick seemed to work. Overall the trip was riveting, though not that relaxing!
Well I'm afraid I must stop myself now and give those of you who are diligent enough to read my whole scribe a bit of a break. Miss you all! Please send me your news as usual…I love getting updates…
Until next time it's all Japanese to me! If I can continue to look the right way when crossing the street, not blowing up when not understood (yes I do realize that I am the foreigner, but it doesn't always quell the frustration at my own stupidity), and limiting the inhalation of the excess amounts of second-hand smoke I am being exposed to, I will be doing just fine!
I am writing you with chalk-stained hands, sweat beading on my brow. A little bit lighter, always wiser (never wise enough). The old adage does ring true for me here in Japan: "Wherever you go there you are…" though the "you" is constantly evolving, like life's gentle water slowly but consistently eroding our base form into the masterpiece of our lives. Welcome to my stream of consciousness...
Where do I start when life is an experience a minute and a lifetime in a week. I feel like I've been here for ages and just got here yesterday all at the same time. I am at that stage where you start to catch yourself in moments of "waking sleep". Where you start to find that at points during the day: on that familiar route to work; as you get ready for bed, where you are on autopilot and you no longer notice the intricate details of your surroundings. When you arrive at your destination and can't remember the route you took to get there. When things become familiar and normal. This is both scary and reassuring.
Where do I start when life is an experience a minute and a lifetime in a week. I feel like I've been here for ages and just got here yesterday all at the same time. I am at that stage where you start to catch yourself in moments of "waking sleep". Where you start to find that at points during the day: on that familiar route to work; as you get ready for bed, where you are on autopilot and you no longer notice the intricate details of your surroundings. When you arrive at your destination and can't remember the route you took to get there. When things become familiar and normal. This is both scary and reassuring.
Cockroaches for Breakfast
I know that since my last email you have all been wondering and worried about the cockroach situation (and secretly wanting to hear all about it so that you can sleep soundly in your beds tonight with the superior feeling of being in a home that has not seen a cockroach, never mind scores). My first cockroach sighting was actually quite dramatic. I now have a cool old-school wooden sign with the name Cassie painted on it, amidst a large hot rod-style flame, which sits outside my door. I found it in an American second-hand shop where you can score an old, yellowed Old Navy shirt for a mere 20 bucks (do they sell anything for over 20 dollars at Old Navy? I smell a budding business opportunity here. Quick, send me all of your old clothing!). The sign is a tribute to the never-ending stream of students who insist on calling me Cassie.Anyway, I heard a large crash outside my door and it was my Cassie sign, which had been knocked over by a massive cockroach that was sheepishly hiding beneath it. I flipped over the sign letting out a shrill scream as I watched it scuttle (more like a sprint) across the hall toward my bathroom. There stood my half-naked roommate, who had just emerged from the shower, stopped dead in her tracks, as was I at the other end of the hall. We furiously discussed our next move. The cockroach, utilizing this time to his short-term advantage, scurried around my roommate and vanished from sight. The next morning I found the suspected insect hanging out in a puddle in the bathroom and I ran to find a sacrificial magazine, threw it on top of the cockroach and started jumping hysterically on top. Looking down I saw some clear liquid squirt out from under the filthy rag and I nearly passed out. I had to call upstairs for one of my male roommates to come and clear away the scene of the crime. I was not impressed.
Since then I have found cockroaches in my bed, under my bed (and I am an anal "vacuum twice a week" kind of gal), in the bathroom, in the kitchen, etc. (granted some are babies and teenagers who are not nearly as heart-stopping). What is even odder is that I have been the only one to see such an abundance. I have started seeing them when they are not even there, just flashes in the corner of my eye that make me jump.
I went all out the other day and bought up some more luxury cockroach hotels (I currently have a trapped cockroach in the bathroom cupboard) and I bought some heavy-duty poison spray, which I diligently distributed around the entire perimeter of my room. It is my insect-sized "Do Not Disturb" sign. Take that you filthy beasts! I didn't however realize in my zest how strong the stuff was, and I started to get overwhelmed by a terribly toxic smell. I got a little bit paranoid about having potentially given myself cause to not wake up the next morning, so I wracked the web for information on home insecticide poisonings, my heart quickening with every hit on my Google browser. I finally found a site that spoke of a particular insecticide that had poisoned many commoners, not unlike myself, and then it said, "it killed over 1000 people last year in Japan alone". Of all of the countries in the world, they pick Japan to reference. I was just beyond my limit of sanity at that point and I dashed into the kitchen to analyze the can of insecticide to determine if it contained the harmful ingredient I'd read about. Of course, to my ignorant surprise, the entire can was in Japanese and out of the 10 people I live with not a single one could determine what the can said. I finally found out that the poisoning I read about was for herbs and realized that I would make it through the night. As a result of my obsessive fears of the little buggers, I am essentially banned from speaking about cockroaches in my house, which is why you are all getting an earful!
The Weather is Alive
It is quite clear to me at this point that the weather here is a living and breathing organism. As most of you who know me well are quite aware, I am normally the last one to complain about anything (ha) however, I have not been able to hide my discomfort at the increasing humidity in this country. The fact that it is only spring and I am already unable to get through 10 minutes in the morning without sweat stains on my shirt is not a good sign. My roommates keep telling me that this is perfect weather. That pretty soon I will not be able to breathe outdoors without breaking a sweat and I will be so exhausted that it will be an effort to drag myself out of bed in the morning. That too is not good news. My only comfort at this point is another quickly muttered statement by my roommate that I will lose pounds of sweat and that I will have no appetite come summer. Now, this is what I'm talking about. Bring on the "I'm so hot I can't bother to eat" diet. Sounds like a good plan to me! (Though I've already discovered 10-cent Popsicles and Green Tea Haagan Daas Ice cream).
I would normally put my roommate's comments down to a bit of an exaggeration, however, visiting the local mall leads me to believe that her comments are not far off. If you visit the local pharmacy, you will notice that hundreds of varieties of facial oil sheets have just hit the stores. Department stores are humming in the fan and parasol sections. Women flitter around trying to pick out the latest Burberry or Nina Ricci fan at 40 to 300 dollars a pop. And there are hundreds of varieties of handkerchiefs with every imaginable design and fibre formation made by Chanel, Burberry, Calvin Klein and a long list of the cool club of designers. However, it goes a bit further as it is suggested that a handkerchief may not be the most appropriate sweat rag and that is why there is an entirely different section dedicated to fashionable facecloths, which are better suited to soaking up swaths of sweat. Then there are the sweat pads. Like sanitary napkins for your armpits. Let me tell you, there have been a few occasions where I could have used one. But I completed an experiment the other day in one of my University classes where I wore a sweat pad under one arm and went without under the other. At the end of class, I went to the lavatory to check on the results, and I couldn't find the sweat pad. I experienced a moment of panic where I thought that I had maybe dropped it while writing on the blackboard or something, and then realized that the rag had travelled down to my elbow. Thank goodness it stopped there.
Restaurants have started to serve cold tea, and the train attendants have switched to their summer outfits. BUT, many of the air conditioners are not turned on as of yet as it is not yet "time" according to Japanese rule and custom. Though I have not gotten my hands on a copy of the rulebook. I'm sure it is all for some perfectly logical reason (at least it was at some point in history).
From earthquakes to the bone-drenching rainy month of June, to the Typhoons, to the creepy cockroaches and merciless mosquitos, to the excess murder-inducing humidity and the cold winters. I have a new respect for anyone who calls this country their home.
From earthquakes to the bone-drenching rainy month of June, to the Typhoons, to the creepy cockroaches and merciless mosquitos, to the excess murder-inducing humidity and the cold winters. I have a new respect for anyone who calls this country their home.
Tokyo Trip
As if living in Osaka was not adventure enough for one gal, for Golden week I went on my first travelling adventure filled with excessive touring and endless movement. I started my trip out on a night bus to Tokyo, sitting high atop a deluxe double-decker, entertaining glares from my Japanese co-travellers who were quite annoyed at my desire to open my curtains and look out my window (apparently there is no talking allowed and you must, read MUST fall asleep the second the night bus pulls out of the station).Tokyo was fantastic and really reminded me of New York City. It was a totally unexpected surprise to find breathing space and beautiful parks and greenery. I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least (not at all the "Lost in Translation" electric suffocation that I had anticipated). In one day I ate the most exquisite chocolate croissant ever made, strolled down tree-lined streets reminiscent of boulevards in Paris and window shopped, bowed at a stunning Buddhist temple, watched about 20 dancing Elvis's in a park filled with Japanese teenagers dressed up like gothic renaissance dolls, had a picnic overlooking a lake filled with a picturesque bridge reflected in water, complete with wading ducks, and I shopped until I dropped. It was vibrant, overwhelming, serene, indescribably Tokyo.
On my second day in Tokyo, I experienced some famed Japanese hospitality. I heard the familiar tune of a song I had heard every weekend since I'd arrived in the park that I frequent every weekend. I was drawn to the sad moans and ended up in a dingy little stall masquerading as a CD shop. Inside I inquired as to the identity of the song and was told with not a little excitement that the tune I was hearing was "The Japan Song" and in a matter of seconds I had a CD ready to be bought and paid for resting in my hands. I flipped over the CD to determine the offending price (I had not seen a full CD in Japan up until this point for less than 30 dollars) and saw that it was only 15 dollars, so I made the split-second decision to purchase the disc. The patron was so excited by this that he started frittering around like a little school kid and ran to get his wife, who then motioned to a corner of the shop where some plastic bags sat and within minutes I had a towel and a pretty nice t-shirt draped over my arms which were "presents" from the owners to me. Then I was asked to pose with the owner, shaking hands and holding up the t-shirt, and then with his wife. At the end of the interaction he says to me "American, right?" and I said quickly "No, Canadian". I can't help but have sensed a slight sigh of disappointment at this confession, but anyhow.
That evening I realized that I had already run out of my wad of cash (darn Tokyo shopping arcades) and I went to get some cash at the local Citibank when I realized that none of my cards worked in the ATMs. I called the emergency bank hotline, and after 15 agonizing minutes was connected to an English-speaking operator who informed me that my cards must have been demagnetized. But of course. Being alone in the streets of Tokyo with no money is not a comforting feeling. I was hatching up ideas on how I could sneak out of my Ryokan the next morning with my two big bags without getting noticed. Luckily the next day was not yet a holiday and I went to the nearest Citibank where the staff promptly informed hysterical me that I had been putting the card into the machines upside down (because mine was a foreign card, I had to do the opposite of what the picture on the machine told me to do, go figure!) "Stupid foreigner" I could almost hear the woman at Citibank think.
Ancient Highway Treks
After Tokyo, I moved on to visit a girl from Toronto in Yokohama, a large city about 40 minutes away from Tokyo. I was less impressed, but it is still a beautiful place on the water. We enjoyed some nice dinners and as it was a holiday I caught some fun festivities. On the second day there we got lost on the way to a mountain village nearby and ended up arriving at about 3 in the afternoon when most of the tourists were on their way out. It was quite comical riding up the chairlift while everyone was travelling down. We already get noticed as foreigners and this just added to our marketability as a sideshow. The kids on the opposite chairs were getting a kick out of saying Konnichiwa to us as we made our ascent. The mountain was stunning. Breathtaking vistas and challenging treks. We tried this noodle dish at a restaurant on the way up where you take your noodles, dip them in some sauce that has the consistency of spit and then eat it. I can openly say that it is not something that I will try again. We did provide some good entertainment for others in the restaurant as we tried to navigate our way through the meal.After Yokohama, I took another night bus to Nagoya and arrived at about 6 in the morning. I was so spent and there is so little to do in any town at 6 am that I headed straight for the ritzy Marriot Hotel and spent about 30 dollars for their huge breakfast buffet. It was pure bliss. I found an English newspaper, parked myself in front of a window with an 18th-story view of Nagoya and I dug in. Ahhh, I felt like a Queen. It was a much-needed reprieve before the campy days I had ahead of me. Nagoya was also beautiful: a nice castle and good shopping, but by 4 I was on a train to a remote town in the Kiso valley that I had read about in a New York Times travel article. The town was called Tsumago and it sat on what was the old highway between Kyoto and Tokyo. There was a walking path connecting many of the towns on this road, so I was to stay in Tsumago for one night and then hike to another town, Magome (they would transport my bags), and then stay there for the second night. The main draw of the towns (besides the fact that they lay nestled amidst the Japanese mountains which offer a completely opposite view of Japan than that which is experienced in the urban sprawl that covers much of habitable Japan) is that they are maintained as living museums complete with Edo period style buildings and no street lights or wires above (the town is lit by lanterns).
The small towns were the perfect anticlimax to a Tokyo go-go week. Strolling down the lantern-lit streets with the black rolling hills silhouetted on the backdrop of a dusky blue sky, which quickly turns to gray to black, illuminated by rural stars. It is one of the quietest moments I've had since arriving. Well minus the random car speeding down that darn country highway, and the sounds of my tired Adidas sneaks crunching on stray pieces of gravel. Then there's me randomly yet consistently slapping my leg to murder a mosquito, the faint whispering in my ear of the travel nurse in Canada saying, "you should have spent the 500 bucks and gotten vaccinated for Japanese encephalitis". Charlotte's web style silky webs shine in the lantern light. The place was empty except for me and the odd curious local, wondering who this hooded figure in black was as I tightly clutched my hoodie around my neck, wondering why it still felt like I had about 100 mosquitoes on me. The fresh mountain air was laced with incense, fish cooking and my muskol mosquito spray.
Before my walk, I reprised my role as the demanding tourist and I asked to move my room to the one that overlooked a big balcony over a waterfall. It was smaller than my first room, but much more "retreat-like" I thought. I was enjoying the cool breeze from the sliding door in my room and as I departed on my evening constitutional, I left the window open and my light on. Most of you can guess what transpired while I was out. When I returned to my room I opened my door to find about 100 little flies congregating around my lamp, bumping into it and falling dead upon my beautiful white futon bed. I quickly called the owner of the Ryokan and not wanting to admit my error asked her, as best I could not speaking the language if this was a normal occurrence. She went "eeeaaheee" and ran to grab some spray and a broom. She then started spraying like a mad woman and then dusted the flies off my bed and swept them into the hall. Let me tell you that my sleep that night was not that of someone in a retreat. I woke up every 2 hours to sweep what I felt were a thousand little flies falling gently onto my sleeping soul through the night. Eeek!
The next day I departed for my hike and was warned by the Ryokan owners about bears. The warning consisted of them motioning excitedly at a flyer produced by the tourist agency outlining that I should ensure that I have a whistle or a bell to let the bears know I am around (I don't know about you, but I would rather they didn't know I existed). It was raining outside and I had no raincoat, so the tourist bureau fashioned me a fabulous parka out of a stray garbage bag. So here I am, trekking through the woods covered in a bag, spraying my Muskol mosquito spray every 10 meters to ward off the thirsty bloodsuckers and whistling every 20 meters to let the bears know I was on my way. As usual I was a slightly comical sight.
I arrived in one piece, albeit a few chunks of skin missing I'm sure. Magome was equally beautiful and the hike over wet but wonderful. I had another day and night filled with local shopping, relaxing and hiking, having tea at cafes overlooking mountain vistas and hiking up to hidden temples. I was given a free coupon for my first Onsen (hot spring bath...a naked hot spring bath). The last time I went to one of these was in Germany and it was co-ed, which was something else entirely. Thankfully this one was segregated, however it was slightly uncomfortable being the object of others' curiosity when I was already quite vulnerable, being in the buff and all.
While staying in these traditional Ryokans I of course had the traditional Japanese dinner and breakfast which usually consisted of a fish…that looked like it had just been caught (with eye and skin and all). I had to cover the eye with a pickle before I stabbed into the meaty flesh and then I had to hide it behind some of my other dishes when I was finished. The rest of the meal was a smorgasbord including rice, pickled everything, some vegetables, some noodles and a few other dishes. It was such a large meal with such strange components that at one point I had to tell myself that I was on fear factor and that I had to eat every unusual thing on my plate or else I would go home empty-handed. The mind trick seemed to work. Overall the trip was riveting, though not that relaxing!
Well I'm afraid I must stop myself now and give those of you who are diligent enough to read my whole scribe a bit of a break. Miss you all! Please send me your news as usual…I love getting updates…
Until next time it's all Japanese to me! If I can continue to look the right way when crossing the street, not blowing up when not understood (yes I do realize that I am the foreigner, but it doesn't always quell the frustration at my own stupidity), and limiting the inhalation of the excess amounts of second-hand smoke I am being exposed to, I will be doing just fine!
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