Twilight Zone Weekend

This event actually happened back in early July but I’m just getting around to posting the blog since it’s fairly lengthy. I’ve emailed a condensed version of the story to some people but figured I should write up a more detailed one than what was sent out via email.

There are days in Japan where I’ve had these Twilight Zone, almost “out-of-body” experiences like a weekend I had in early July.
I decided to explore more of the Shinagawa area where my apartment is. The Shinagawa Tourist Bureau website mentioned a tourism campaign called the “One Hundred Scenic Spots of Shinagawa” so I decided to see how many I could find one Saturday. A lot of the sights are old Shinto Shrines or Buddhist Temples but some were newer tourist attractions like the Shinagawa Aquarium and the Nori (Seaweed) Museum. Yes, they actually have an entire museum dedicated to seaweed; how it’s harvested and processed etc. I actually went in. How could you not? Fascinating subject, just fascina….zzzzzzzz.
So as I’m wandering around Shinagawa, I stumble across a Park, called Heiwa-no-Mori. The park had some tennis courts and a really cool obstacle course for kids. There are actually several parks in Tokyo that have obstacle courses for kids to run around and wear themselves out in. They even have water hazards, no joke. But Heiwa-no-Mori Park also had an archery range, two actually. The first one was for modern compound bow archery. Most of the people practicing were younger, high school age kids. As I walked past this one I then saw that the second range was walled off and there was a building adjacent to it. I luckily caught a glance into the building and realized that it was a Kyūdō Dojo. Kyūdō means the “Way of the Bow” and the Dojo is “The Place of the Way” or a training hall. Basically it’s a place where people come to learn the lifestyle of the bow or classical Japanese archery. It’s not considered a sport. It’s considered a way of life with physical discipline, courtesy, politeness and self-control.
As I am peering in from the outside, the Sensei or Master of the Dojo sees me and waves to me to come inside. The Sensei is a tiny, old man and I’m just towering over him. He’s talking up a storm and I can’t understand a word he’s saying but I realize he wants me to come in and watch the Kyūdō “students”. I say “students” because the youngest was around forty-five and the oldest was probably in his seventies. I must have sat there for thirty minutes while the Sensei continued to talk to me explaining Kyūdō and the equipment. He’s using a lot of hand gestures which is why I was able to generally understand what he was saying. In between his diatribes he would correct the students posture or form and then come back to continue the one-sided conversation. After practice ended and the students put away their equipment and uniforms, they came over to introduce themselves to me. Two of them spoke enough English and explained that the Sensei was 95 years old! Ninety-five?! The guy talks and acts like he’s thirty. While they’re talking with me, the Sensei magically produces a pack of cigarettes from his uniform and proceeds to chain-smoke through the pack. He’s still going non-stop in Japanese and the students are trying to explain in English but they can’t keep up with the Sensei. The guy’s energy was unbelievable.
One of the men then explains that the Sensei wants me to come to their Kyūdō tournament on Sunday. He explains that the tournament will be held in Hiratsuka during the Tanabata Festival. Normally I would have no idea where Hiratsuka was or what a Tanabata Festival was but the concierges in my apartment print out flyers of Monthly events and one of the events they described in detail was the Tanabata Festival in Hiratsuka which happens to be the biggest one in Japan. I was debating going to the Festival just to get out of Tokyo for a change and now that I had a personal invite, I figured why not. I excused myself from the Sensei and left the Dojo. I wandered around Shinagawa for a few more hours but made it back to the apartment in time to talk with the concierges about the train to Hiratsuka. I also made sure I picked up several different gifts (omiyage) in case I ran into the Sensei again. I’m glad I did as you’ll see.

Sunday I left my apartment fairly early and caught the train to Hiratsuka. The concierge explained I should catch an Express (not Shinkansen) and I was able to make it to Hiratsuka in a little over an hour. I wandered over to the Buddhist Temple grounds where the Tournament was to be held and found the event location. It wasn’t scheduled to start until the afternoon so I had a few hours to kill at the Festival. The city center was pretty much closed down to automobile traffic so that the downtown became one big pedestrian walkway. In many ways, the festival is just one massive summer block party similar to what some cities in the U.S. host albeit this is on a much bigger scale. There are plenty of vendors selling their wares throughout the downtown. For food, I tried some okonomiyaki and takoyaki (octopus balls….poor octopus!). Just kidding, sort of. It just refers to the shape although considering whole octopus is diced up I’m sure the reproductive organs are part of the concoction (pun intended). Other food vendors were selling whole, charcoal grilled fish and there were plenty of yakisoba (fried noodles) vendors. A lot of the vendors were targeting their wares at kids which included various anime action figures and stuffed toys. However, some vendors were selling “kids” toys which consisted of lifelike M16’s, Beretta 9mm’s and various other sidearms. These “toys” had no bright orange parts on them or other distinguishing feature to let you know they weren’t real. I’ve held and fired a Beretta 9mm before and the weight of the toy was the only difference from the real deal. But it gets better. One stall I walked by had brass knuckles. Notice I didn’t write “brass” (as in simulated plastic) knuckles. They weren’t plastic. It was really brass knuckles. When I was ten growing up in Scranton and if I found a vendor willing to sell me real brass knuckles, my older brother would have been in for quite a surprise the next time he picked on me. The vendor was even selling various sizes to fit all hand types. Unbelievable.
(On a side note, I picked up a pair my size. Even though I’m now bigger than my big brother, this year’s family Thanksgiving dinner is going to be interesting. Payback’s coming, Rob!).
In the heart of the city they put up a grandstand and various dancers and musicians were performing traditional Japanese songs and dances.

I roamed through the Festival for a few more hours and then returned to the Tournament grounds. There were already quite a few people sitting down on the bleachers awaiting the tournament start. As I’m looking for a seat, I catch site of the Sensei making a beeline for me. Gee, how’d he spot me in this crowd? The Sensei takes me by the arm and starts leading me away from the tournament grounds. I’m trying to explain to him I want to find a seat but he’s not heeding anything I say. I wish someone had videotaped this tiny old guy pulling the American Godzilla through the crowd. He leads me into one of the Temple buildings where the Tournament contestants are about to have lunch. I find one of the English-speaking gentlemen from the Dojo and he explains the Sensei wants me to have lunch with him. I’m stuffed from the Festival but when a 95-year old Sensei says eat with him, you eat. After lunch I present the omiyage to the Sensei. I had brought a good bottle of California white wine and various American chocolates, candies, nuts etc that I was able to pick up in a store that specializes in American goods in Shinagawa. One Japanese custom satisfied. The Sensei then leads me back to the Tournament grounds and, of course, by this time, a lot of people have filled in the bleachers so I’m thinking I’ll have to find a spot way in the back. Nope, the Sensei leads me up to the front where he’s got a reserved bleacher in the second row. Hmm, it’s good to be the King. The Sensei then hands me his digital camera and from his gestures, I guess he wants me to take pictures of the tournament for him. Considering all the markings were in Japanese and I could barely figure out how to use the damn thing, he also got pictures of the dirt, peoples backs and some lovely shots of the trees.

The Tournament first started by having a formal procession from the building where lunch was held through the Temple grounds and into the Temple. All the contestants were dressed in traditional costumes or formal Kyūdō uniforms. After a blessing by the Buddhist priests, they marched onto the Tournament grounds and everyone took their assigned seats. This is quite an impressive and solemn affair and very colorful. I’ve included a lot of the photos in an album at the end of this blog and encourage you to view the Tanabata Festival and Tournament photos.
The tournament proceeded by having two archers from the Dojo I visited compete against two archers from another. There is a rather elaborate process by which the archers approach the shooting line and move into position. The movements are very slow, graceful and deliberate. One of the gentlemen I spoke to on Saturday was honored with having the first shot of the competition. Talk about a pressure shot with all eyes from the spectators and your 95-year old Sensei watching you. On Saturday, I didn’t see this guy hit the target once in thirty minutes. But he had his Kyūdō game face on for the Tournament. He carefully and patiently moved himself into position. You could see him intently focused on his breathing and lining up his shot. Keep in mind, with a yumi (Kyūdō bow), there are no sights on it as is the case with modern bows. The whole concept of becoming “one with the bow” is a reality. He let the arrow fly and was rewarded with a loud crack as the blunt-tipped arrow struck the thin wooden target at the end of the range. The audience broke out into loud applause and for the briefest of moments; an ever so slight look of pride was on the archers face. But within a millisecond he realized his error and all hint of pride was immediately wiped from his face and replaced with the blank solemn expression that the rest of the contestants had. The tournament proceeded with about eight archers from each Dojo. The Dojo I visited was the eventual winner but only by about two points by my count.
After the tournament the Sensei’s and contestants lined up for a group photo and I’ve included these shots in the album.
I returned the camera to the Sensei and started to make my exit but once again he led me by my sleeve to another building and a banquet hall. “Now what”, I thought? The English speakers informed me there was an after Tournament party for the contestants. They said the Sensei insisted I join him. This was a long day at this point but once again, when the Sensei invites you, you go. So there I am sitting in a post-Tournament party drinking saké with the 95-year old Sensei, he’s going through his pack of cigarettes like their Tic-Tacs, he’s talking non-stop to me and I’m just nodding my head throwing in an occasional “hai” (yes). Who knows what he was saying.
At moments like that, you just sit there and ponder the strange path that life takes us through.
Complete Twilight Zone weekend and also one that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Or until I kill enough brain cells from the alcohol abuse.

Hiratsuka Tanabata Festival and Kyudo Tournament

Strangest Food Poll

As my four months in Tokyo comes to an end, I’ve been reflecting back on some of the various experiences I’ve had and especially some of the unique dining ones. Although I have my personal favorites, I was curious as to what the readers thought was the strangest food item I’ve consumed. So I’ve put together a quick poll of ten items I’ve eaten since being here.
Let me know what you think.
The poll is posted to the right side of the blog.

Spicy Food in Japan.....Part 3

Last night I had one of the spiciest dishes I’ve had in a long time. Except it wasn’t Japanese, it was Thai. One of my co-workers is married to a Thai woman and they recently celebrated the birth of their first child. His wife wanted to give birth in Thailand so that her parents could help out after the birth. He’s been in Thailand the past three weeks but returned on Sunday. I invited him out for a celebratory dinner and he decided on a Thai restaurant. I asked him whether he really wanted to have more Thai food especially after being there for the past three weeks but he said it was okay and knowing my penchant for spicy foods, he wanted to take me to a restaurant that his wife said served really authentic Thai dishes.
The restaurant was called Chao Thai in Shibuya but it’s really a chain of Thai restaurants. They had a very extensive menu and also offered set course meals which looked really good but my co-worker insisted we order multiple dishes from the menu. We started off with Po Pia Sod (Springs Rolls) and Tod Man Pla (Spicy Fried Fish Cakes). The Fish Cakes had some heat to them but, had I known what was to come, I would rate their overall heat as “Sissy”. We then stepped up the heat level with a spicy vegetables dish consisting of a Chinese green vegetable that had hollow stems and sliced chilis. Very spicy and very good. The vegetables were followed by a mixed seafood dish and a green curry with chicken (one of my favorite dishes). The mixed seafood also had sliced chilis and I was starting to feel the heat. My co-worker than asks if I’ve ever had Papaya Salad. I’ve heard of it but never ordered it. He insists we get it and says it’s incredibly popular in Thailand. He orders it “Thai-style” which sounded ominous but since my co-worker is the same one who took me to the Chinese red restaurant discussed in the first “Spicy Food In Japan” blog, I’m “assuming” it’s not going to be that hot. You know what happens when you “assume"............you get the sensation of lava being poured into your mouth against your will. That dish was so f’ing hot but it didn’t hit you immediately. This one lulled you into a dull stupor by first giving you the taste of sweet delicious papaya and then when your guard was down the freakin’ chilis kicked you in the gonads followed by the oh-so-enjoyable sensation of licking a red hot poker from a flaming fireplace. My face was red and tears were streaming from my eyes. I had to eat more of the green curry to cool down. After having the Thai-style Papaya Salad, the green curry tasted sweet and had no heat whatsoever. My co-worker was equally red, which looks even funnier on a Japanese person, and his forehead was one big sweaty mess. After I cooled down from the initial assault, I looked at the dish more closely and realized that the chilis used in this dish were the very small Thai chilis or what’s often called Bird’s Eye Chilis. The chilis from the earlier dishes were more likely a Jalapeno-like chili. The difference on the Scoville Scale is that the Thai chilis can easily be twenty times as hot as the Jalapeno. No wonder I was on fire. Oh, and if you think we wussed out and stopped after the first helping, you’d be wrong. We finished the damn dish but after the first wave, your mouth and face feel like they melted away so the pain is irrelevant at that point.

I English Speak Good

Last night I happened to have dinner with a visiting U.S. co-worker and relayed a story that happened in May that I have not yet blogged about. He found it very amusing so I thought I would share in the blog.

My apartment has two restaurants in the building although they’re both part of the same restaurant called Sakura (Cherry Blossom). Although the first floor restaurant is a pretty sad affair (it doubles as the breakfast room in the morning), the VIP Lounge on the Penthouse floor (24th) of the apartment is very nice with a limited menu. So one Friday night in May I found myself bored and looking for something to do so I decided to go and visit the VIP Lounge. I figured it might give me a chance to meet some of my fellow apartment dwellers and I knew there were quite a few Westerners, including Americans, staying at the apartment complex. I entered the lounge around 8:30 PM and there was not another soul, other than myself, in the bar. Sad, very sad. I sat down at the bar anyway and after about ten minutes the bartender/waiter/busboy/chef appeared. Although he didn’t speak English it was easy enough to order a beer (Belgian Hoegaarden at $10/bottle, pretty typical). After trying to talk with the bartender/waiter/busboy/chef for a few minutes, he signed for me to wait and disappeared. A few minutes later he returned with the Manager and we performed a formal introduction.

A quick side story before I continue. Formal introductions are very important in Japan especially with respect to business. Business cards, therefore, are treated with the utmost respect. When you first meet someone in business, you hold the card with two hands and while bowing formally present the Japanese or English side depending on their expected language preference. You clearly pronounce your name and then let them know what you expect them to call you. Since the Japanese have trouble with the letter “v” in my last name, I always tell them to just call me Craig. They will always add “-san” on the end which is the equivalent of “Mr/Mrs/Miss” so I’m called Craig-san or Mr. Craig. The other person will then formally present their card and you are to take it with two hands and carefully read everything on the card and especially their title. If it’s in Japanese, you pretend to read it. The card must be treated very respectfully. You shouldn’t write on the card or stuff it in your pocket or make an origami animal (although cool) from it.

So as I made my formal introductions with the Manager, I learned that her name was Nahomi-san (Mrs. Nahomi). She spoke very little English but through a combination of her broken English, my broken Japanese and simple hand signals, I learned she briefly lived in Montreal with her husband who is a chef and I explained a little of my background and family. We carried on a broken conversation for another thirty minutes or so and then, amazingly, someone else joined us in the lounge. The third person was an Indian gentleman and after briefly speaking to him I learned he was a computer consultant temporarily in Japan supporting a contract for a telecommunications company. Here’s where the fun starts. After Nahomi-san formally introduced herself to the Indian gentleman, she asks him, in English, “What would you like?” The Indian is looking at her like she has two heads. I realize he couldn’t understand a word she said not because he didn’t speak English but because he couldn’t understand her accent. So I “translate” which in this instance was to repeat exactly what Nahomi-san said. “Oh, I see” said the Indian. “I’d like to see a menu”. Now it’s Nahomi-san’s turn. She looks at him and then at me. Same situation. Although she understands some English, she can’t understand his accent. Craig the parrot to the rescue. In English, I tell Nahomi-san he wants to see a menu. “Ahh”, Nahomi-san mutters. She quickly provides an English-language menu to the Indian. I have a feeling at what’s coming next since I’m familiar with the menu and there are almost no vegetarian items on it other than a few vegetable side dishes but certainly not enough for a meal. The Indian asks Nahomi-san if the chef could make him a stir-fry of just rice and vegetables. Once again, she looks at him and then at me. I dutifully repeat. “This is getting ridiculous”, I’m thinking. “You’re both speaking English!”
“Daijoubu”, Nahomi-san says which is slang for “No problem”. Off she goes to the kitchen and I tell the Indian she understands. He says to me, “I’m glad you’re here, I don’t speak Japanese.” “Neither do I”, I tell him. “She’s speaking English to you.” With all seriousness he looks at me and says “You’re kidding me!” The rest of the Indian’s dinner proceeded as before with me “translating” English to English between the two of them. Eventually the Indian left to go back to his apartment.
I was still drinking and talking with Nahomi-san. Once she knew the Indian gentleman wasn’t around, she says to me, “What room are you in? If he comes back another night I’m calling you up to translate for me. I couldn’t understand anything he said!”

If my current job doesn’t work out it looks like I might have a second career as an English translator. “So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.”

Lost In Translation

Prior to reading this blog, you may want to read the last section of the Politically Incorrect Tokyo Observations blog. It’s definitely relevant to the following blog.

Last weekend was a pretty busy sightseeing and souvenir shopping weekend. One of the souvenir shops I had planned to visit was the Oriental Bazaar in Harajuku. You may also remember that Harajuku is the area I refer to in the Sunday Freak Show blog. I visited Harajuku on Saturday which is the less busy day and it was still packed with people. I made my way through the crowds and found the store which was only about three blocks from the train station. Great store, a lot of touristy type items but decent quality and a great selection. Some of the items I was looking to buy were kimonos and yukatas. A yukata is a cotton kimono usually worn in the summertime but also used in the onsens. I was looking to buy a kimono for Ellen and a yukata for myself. One nice thing this store offered was both metric and English measurements but the measurements were only listed for the polyester and cotton kimonos. For the silk kimonos, there was no measurement. They had several hanging on the wall and they all looked like the same size but I wanted to be sure. So looking around the room, I saw a store employee working the area. The employee was a young guy, probably early twenties, with dyed blonde, spiked hair which is not that uncommon in Tokyo and especially in Harajuku. He saw me approaching and I asked him, “eigo wo hanase masu ka” (Do you speak English?). In a clear American accent and lacking any masculine tones, he says “Yessssssss”. Dom Deluise’s Director-character Buddy’s line, from Blazing Saddles, immediately comes to my mind, “Sounds like steam escaping”.
I ask for help with the kimonos and he “sashays” over to the kimono section.

The following is our conversation:
ME: Do the silk kimonos come in various sizes?
HIM: No, it’s only one size. Do you want to see the length?
ME: Sure. I’m interested in this one.
He takes the kimono off the wall.
HIM: Is this for a man or a woman?
ME: [Thinking to myself] Why would he ask that? Aren’t these all women’s kimonos?
ME: It’s for a woman.
HIM: [Sounding disappointed] Hmmm.
HIM: How tall is she? Is she taller than me?
ME: No, she’s just a little shorter than you.
HIM: [All excited] I’ll try it on!
He proceeds to slip on the silk kimono.
HIM: What do you think?
ME: [Being a wise-ass] It looks good on you.
The above was clearly “Lost in Translation” or he just didn’t care.
HIM: I know. I love silk against my body.
He’s rubbing the sleeves against his arms.
HIM: Do you want it?
ME: I’ll take it.
I pause and thinking more about his comment, I clarify
ME: Yes, I’ll take “the kimono”.
He continues to rub the kimono against his body.
ME: I think I’ll take this one here [as I proceed to take a different one of the wall] Thanks for the help.
HIM: [Sounding disappointed again] Okay.

You gotta love Harajuku.

I've Met My Match

As readers of this blog may have surmised by now, there’s not much I won’t try food-wise. And usually, my stomach doesn’t bother me afterwards so whether it’s eels, sea urchins, fugu or a jalapeno cheeseburger, no problems afterwards. Not this weekend. I finally met my match.

Dinner on Saturday night was, in order, Beer, Ox Tongue, Shark Fin & Noodle Soup and Blue Liquor. You may be thinking, “Well, Ox Tongue and Shark Fin Soup aren’t that unusual.” In fact, some people reading this blog may even have tried these culinary treats. But I guarantee that you’ve probably never had them served the way I experienced them on Saturday. You see, those were all ice cream flavors. Yes, that’s right, ice cream courtesy of Ice Cream City in Namjatown.
A few weeks ago when I joined my co-workers for dinner at Namahage, I knew that the restaurant served raw horse (basashi). I decide to learn more about this Japanese delicacy and my subsequent Google query brought up an entry for basashi ice cream that was served at Ice Cream City so of course I needed to visit this unique attraction.
Last Saturday I boarded the Yamanote train and after thirty minutes arrived at Ikebukuro station. Ice Cream City is a section of an indoor theme park called Namjatown which itself is located inside a mall called Sunshine City 60 in an area of Tokyo called Ikebukuro.
Ice Cream City within Namjatown has about five or six ice cream stations where you can try Turkish pulled ice cream, Europrean-style gelato, or visit the Cup Ice Museum. It’s the Cup Ice Museum that I made my way to as they have hundreds of ice cream flavors all served in little cups that are about 4-5 ounces in size. A typical cup sells for about $4.00 but the most expensive flavor was caviar at $16 for a four ounce container. I walked around the Cup Ice Museum coolers for quite some time before finding the “alcoholic” ice cream flavors. Where else do you think I would start? The Beer-flavor caught my attention immediately and since my Japanese dinners have always started with a beer, why break from tradition? I sat down, popped the lid off and on the top was some salted nuts. Beautiful. This was my favorite flavor of the night. Japanese beers are not overly hoppy so the ice cream flavor met my expectations. If you’re thinking beer-flavored ice cream is disgusting, have you ever had an Ice Cream “Malt”? Think about it and you’ll realize that those flavors can work well together. If only I had stopped there I would have been a happy man. But greed and curiosity got the better of me. I next grabbed the ox tongue-flavor. Mistake #1. How bad could it be? When I popped the lid off, I knew right away something was NQR (Not Quite Right). There were small chunks of beef tongue riddled throughout the ice cream and the ice cream itself had a strange off-white color to it. My tongue (the human kind) was probably still a little frozen from the beer-ice cream so the first few spoonfuls didn’t quite get the flavor across. Mistake #2, I then made the error of letting a large spoonful of the ice cream melt on my tongue. Imagine enjoying a nice cool creamy treat (the ice cream base itself was okay despite the off-white color) and then suddenly your taste buds experience a shocking splash of juicy beefy tongue. Mmmm. The brain struggles to comprehend what is occurring. Mistake #3, for some dumb reason I finished the whole cup. Immediately my stomach started churning a little bit revolting at what I had just eaten. Did I quit then? Hell no, that’s for amateurs and intelligent people. Mistake #4, I actually bought a bottle of water not to clean the taste out of my mouth but to cleanse the palette so I could better taste the next ice cream. Mistake #5, for some stupid reason I went with Shark Fin & Noodle Soup-flavor next. When I removed the lid, on the top was what I assumed was some kind of candy concoction. It wasn’t candy. I don’t know what it was but it wasn’t candy. After eating the topping and about half the cup, I had enough. I don’t know whether it was the fishy cartilage taste or the cold slimy noodles but this wasn’t a winner. Just writing this blog now and thinking about those flavors is causing me to fight back the bile in my throat. Mistake #6, to finish the meal I decided to have an after-dinner drink flavor (Blue Liquor). It seemed logical at the time. I assumed “Blue Liquor” was going to be Curaçao, the bitter orange liqueur of the Caribbean or Blue Triple Sec which is also an orange-flavored liqueur. Truthfully, it may have been this but I certainly didn’t taste orange in the ice cream. Frankly I didn’t taste much of anything at this point other than a slight alcohol taste. It could be that after four months abusing my taste buds in Tokyo, they committed suicide en masse.
Nonetheless, those four unique flavors made for an interesting train ride back to my apartment. I was breaking out in cold sweats the whole way home and for me this is usually a prelude to a good projectile vomiting session. I used every mental distraction technique I could think of to get my mind off of the feeling in my stomach and not launch on the train. Many Japanese already think most gaijins are disease-carrying creatures as it is. I’ve watched them try to furtively apply a face mask if I get too close to them on the subway so you can imagine their reaction if I started spewing cold, milky, tongue-chunky fluid around the train. Actually, that sounds like a great “Jackass” bit but since I’m just days away from freedom and not wanting to be quarantined, I did everything I could to hold it in. My stomach settled down as I walked back to my apartment and even though it was only about 6:30 PM, I actually crashed on my bed for an hour just to further let the feeling pass. Luckily I was able to sleep through the worst of it but the rest of the night and for most of the following morning, my stomach did not feel right. Cool and horrible experience all at the same time.

Ice Cream City

Mistake #7, I’m probably going back this weekend. I never said I learn from my mistakes. There are way too many freaky flavors that I want to try. Here’s a list of some of the other unique ice cream flavors that were being offered at the time of my visit. The ones in blue are the ones I’m most interested in trying:
Adzuki Beans
Avocado
Blue Liquor
Buckwheat
Caviar
Cheese Risotto
Chicken Wing (not Buffalo)
Crab
Deep Seawater (?)
Eel
Eggplant
Fish Sauce
Flat Wheat Noodle
Garlic
Garlic & Mint
Grated Yam
Health Food (lots of veggies)
Indian Curry
Miso Noodle
Natto (Fermented Soybean)
Octopus
Old Taste (WTF?)
Ox Tongue
Potato & Butter
Powdered Pearl (most popular)
Rose
Saké
Sea Urchin
Seaweed
Shark’s Fin & Noodle
Shochu (Barley Liquor)
Shrimp
Soy Sauce
Soybean Flour
Squid
Squid Ink
Sunflower
Tofu
Tomato
Tulip
Viper (Mmm, snake)
Wasabi

Minor Tokyo Annoyances

Well, here I am back in Japan. But this is a short trip and potentially my last. I return to the U.S. on Sept 3rd but I’ll have a few more blogs before then for everyone’s amusement.
Today I figured I would spout off on a few little minor annoyances with living and working in Tokyo.

Beware Decorative Marble!
The National government of Japan and the local Tokyo government are constantly warning the average citizen and tourist about various dangers. You hear and see these warnings everywhere you go. As an example, on the subway there are posted signs warning you of getting stuck between the doors when they close. Not that the door would crush you as they don’t close that quickly and they also automatically spring back when they encounter resistance. However, the Government still wants to make sure you’re aware of the danger (or lack thereof). My understanding of the warnings is that the Government truly wants to warn the citizens and not because they’re afraid of litigation. Their society is just not as litigious as the U.S. In most cases, I have no idea how you could possibly be injured by the particular threats the warning notices are conveying. I guess there are idiots in every country that can’t walk and chew nori at the same time. The warnings are not the annoyance however. It’s the lack of warning where there are real threats that are the annoyance. As an example, many office buildings like to decorate the outside plazas of their buildings with marble. But they don’t just put the marble in columns and walls; they actually put marble on the plazas and walkways. I’ve included two examples.

The first photo is taken right outside of my apartment and I’m highlighting the marble in red on both photos. The marble outside of my apartment is used to separate the sidewalk from the plaza area outside the office and apartment buildings. In the second photo, this is the walkway into the Shinagawa Post Office. I’ve highlighted two marbles slabs but you can see the marble goes all the way out to the sidewalk. So what’s so dangerous about the marble? Nothing on a nice sunny day but on a rainy day which is pretty much every day from mid-June through mid-July, these become sidewalks of death. The first time I stepped on a wet marble slab I nearly went flat on my back. The acrobatic maneuver I performed to stay on two feet was quite impressive but I probably did more damage tearing muscles and ligaments than if I had just taken the fall. I now realize that these slabs are probably meant for the amusement of locals.

Enjoying the View?
The men’s room in my one office has floor to ceiling (about 12 feet high) windows. Although there are vertical blinds on the windows, they’re almost never closed so when you use the urinals you use them in full view of a major hotel and two office buildings. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against public urination as long as the proper amount of alcohol has been applied to my system but there’s just something odd and annoying when you’re stone cold sober. The girls in the office building across the street don’t help when they hold up a score for each of the guys.

Musical Trains
I’ve yet to completely figure this one out. Sometimes when I take the subway from my Roppongi office back to Shinagawa apartment, the train will stop after a station or two and everyone must exit that train, cross the platform and board the next train on the opposite tracks. You do not want to be on these “Last Stop” trains. I’m assuming the trains are going into scheduled maintenance but it’s just frustrating because it typically happens during rush-hour. This happened to me last Wednesday night. When I got on the train in Roppongi, there were not as many people on-board as there usually is. That was my first clue that I might be on the “Last Stop”. Sure enough, as we approached the second stop, everyone began fidgeting and pushing their way towards the doors. Because once the doors open, there’s a mad dash across the platform to the other side. If you don’t get a spot in the front of the line, you might not be able to squeeze onto the first train and have to wait. That’s musical trains and it’s just as annoying and frustrating as the kids game.

Spicy Food in Japan.....Part 2

I’ve got my name on the wall!
My Japanese co-workers know I like really spicy food. They recently found a curry restaurant (Robinson's) in Shinagawa where you can personally order your heat index. If you order and finish a curry meal with a heat level of fifty or above, they print out a page with your name and comment and pin it to the wall. The first time they went, the hottest they ordered was five but Liu-san, a Chinese co-worker married to a Thai, said it was weak and thought he can handle more. Today we went back to get our names on the wall. There were six in our party, three Japanese and three foreigners (Chinese, New Zealander, and me). The three Japanese all ordered a level five and the three gaijins all ordered a fifty. My lunch was the first one out and the three Japanese were concerned because the color of the stew was red when over here it is normally brown. The chili oil was even starting to pool on top. They watched as I took the first spoonful and although it was spicy, I knew it wasn’t going to be difficult to finish. I’ve had much hotter Indian and Thai dishes. When I come back at the end of August my name should be up by then and I’ll get a photo taken. Plus Liu-san and I are determined to go for 100 as the next level. There were plenty of other higher scores, 100s, 300s, and three people who did 5000, 7000, and 8000. My co-workers all said they must have been drunk to do that. I’ll see what 100 is like and go from there.

Did You Ever Notice.....Part 2

Once again, it’s time for a quick trip back to the U.S. so I’ll be taking a short break from the blog. I’ll be traveling back to the States from August 6-16 to see the family. Here are some more observations and stories that don’t fit into any specific blog I may have posted so far.
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The Japanese are terrified of rain.
The moment one raindrop hits the sidewalk, out come the umbrellas and they go into doubletime. Now, I understand why the umbrellas are necessary because some of the downpours are quite significant. That just makes sense but many of the rains are very light, sporadic sprinkles but the Japanese still act like a monsoon is hitting. I always carry an umbrella with me but the moment I realize it’s a light shower, I’ll put it away. They just stare at me and I can tell they’re thinking, “Hey, crazy Gaijin, are you too stupid to realize it’s raining!” This is happening more frequently as we’re coming to an end of the rainy season in Japan. The best explanation I’ve heard so far came from one of my Japanese co-workers who is an exceptionally small guy. As we were walking to lunch one day, a light rain started. I opened my umbrella like the rest of them but put it away when I saw how light the rain was. My co-worker asked me “Are you immune to the rain? Aren’t you getting wet?” When I replied that it wasn’t that heavy of a rain to warrant the umbrella, he replied, “Perhaps you don’t realize the proportion of a raindrop hitting your body versus one hitting mine. It hurts.” F’ing brilliant. That line had me laughing all afternoon.
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Since I’ve been in Japan, I am aware of only two earthquakes that have occurred in the Tokyo area. One occurred while I was sleeping and the other was East of Tokyo and I never noticed the effects even though many people in Tokyo felt it. I will say that a few times a week I do feel the ground move and spin and I will get a sudden wave of nausea that will hit me typically around 10:00-11:00 PM on Friday and Saturday nights usually after I’ve left the Izakaya (Bar). It’s curious that the earthquakes regularly hit around this time.
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Take a look at the following picture. It’s a snapshot of various beer cans that are available in my local supermarket. This isn’t an optical illusion and I didn’t manipulate the photo. From largest to smallest:
Bomber-size (500 ml or 16.9 ounces)
Standard-size (350 ml or 11.8 ounces)
Pony-size (250 ml or 8.5 ounces)
WTF-size (135 ml or 4.6 ounces)!
For what possible reason would you sell a 4.6 ounce beer can other than for some Gaijin to buy and include as a photo in his blog?

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I love Japanese konbinis. A konbini is a Japanese Convenient store and includes chains like 7-Eleven, AM/PM, FamilyMart and Lawson’s. They’re everywhere in Tokyo. I believe there’s a Japanese law that you must have at least one konbini on every city block. In addition to carrying your typical water, soda and iced tea (green, of course), you can get beer, wine and liquor. Many of them actually have a pretty good selection. And, if you’re looking for snacks, they have the standard candy bars but also squid jerky and dried fish. Mmmm, chocolate and dried salty fish, the latest craze soon to be sweeping America. When you’re drunk and got the munchies, you tend to get creative in your snack selection.
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Over the last few weeks I’ve become a regular visitor to my apartment’s gym on the 24th floor. Don’t jump to conclusions; it’s not what you think. I happened to stumble up to the bar, also on the 24th floor, and accidently turned left into the gym instead of right into the bar. Surprise, surprise, I was still able to get the same end results for a lot less money. Take a look at this snapshot of the gym’s vending machine. As you can see they have energy drinks and healthy green tea but they also sell beer! 220 Yen ($2.30) for a 12 ounce Asahi or 290 Yen ($3.00) for the bombers. That same 12 ounce Asahi is probably $8.00 in the bar. What a bargain. My fellow apartment dwellers aren’t so happy with me since I don’t buy just one and leave. The recumbent bikes are right next to the vending machine so you can plop yourself down on the bike and take a nice leisurely ride with your cold brew(s). One word of advice from experience talking, stick to two or three and then leave. Six or more could potentially result in nausea and regurgitated maguro sashimi is very difficult to clean out of the cracks and gaps of a recumbent bike.
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I forgot to blog about this men’s fashion trend earlier but many Japanese business men wear a style of dress shoes that are easily three to four inches longer than their feet. Here’s a picture of the oversized, square-tipped dress shoe.
The first time I saw this style I was on the subway. I was packed in like a sardine and looking down at the floor and saw what was probably the equivalent of a U.S. Men’s size 13 shoe. I followed the shoe up to the person expecting a six foot and above individual and instead this guy was probably five foot five. When I looked back down at the shoe, you could see where his toes were within the shoe and clearly there was at least three inches of shoe beyond his toes. WTF? The more I started looking around; I started seeing this style of shoe everywhere. Why would short Asian men want to give others the impression that their feet are really bigger than they really are? Hmmm, maybe this is the equivalent of an American man’s sports car complex?
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Back on July 22nd, Asia experienced a major solar eclipse. The best viewing in Japan was down south in the Okinawa area. In Tokyo, we were predicted to have about a 75% eclipse. On the day of the eclipse, a co-worker and I headed outside to see if the eclipse would be visible even though it was an incredibly cloudy day. As soon as we walked outside, the clouds parted briefly and I was able to get this quick shot with my Blackberry Storm. I took several shots after that but the first one was the best. Most of my co-workers didn’t get a good shot and my lucky snap became the de facto image passed around the office.

Fugu You Too!

Another epicureal peak conquered! I have eaten fugu. Unfortunately the view from the summit was not as grand as I would have imagined but there was a hidden gem discovered as will be described in the blog. As many followers of the blog have read, I’ve been “dying” to try fugu or Japanese pufferfish. My co-workers and I finally were able to make a reservation for five at “Genpin Fugu” in Roppongi on Friday night.

We arrived at the restaurant and first ordered a beer. This seems a fairly standard ritual at most of the dinners I’ve been to and you toast each other with “Kampai” and clink glasses. Some rituals are just universal. What surprised me most was that I noticed my hand was shaking a little when we toasted. Now, I’d like to think this was because it was 7:00 PM on a Friday and I’d yet to have a drink. Normally, I’d be six deep by seven but, in truth; I realized I was bit nervous about the meal. Oh sure, the odds were definitely stacked in my favor. This was a fully licensed fugu restaurant and most fugu poisonings in Japan are the result of fisherman eating their catch but, the more I thought about it, this was a really dumb idea. I’d like to think I’m not prone to doing stupid things but this was one of them. But as I’ve said previously in this blog, I’m using my trip to Japan as a way to experience new things and not allow my normally logical mind to stop me from enjoying these experiences. So when the waiter placed our first fugu course in front of me. I dove right in. The first course was Fugu Skin Sashimi and it’s what I’m eating in the photo to the right. If you think about this for a second, you might realize what the texture was like. The pufferfish, when threatened underwater, can inflate itself with water, until it’s almost spherical in shape. Once it’s no longer threatened, it deflates itself. So the skin is very elastic in nature, almost like a balloon. So as I popped that first piece of Fugu Skin Sashimi in my mouth and bit down, that’s what I thought I was eating…..a balloon. Texturally, it was horrendous and I made sure my facial expressions did not give away my personal feeling. I also noticed a faint, what I’ll call “medicinal” taste on the far back of my tongue near the throat. It wasn’t pleasant or unpleasant, just noticeable. So after much chewing and pondering whether that “medicinal” taste would subsequently lead to muscle paralysis and then death, I completed the first course. One fugu dish down.

But we were a long way off from being completed with the meal. The second course was fugu sashimi where the meat is sliced very thin. A wedge of lime was provided and was squeezed over the sashimi. The sashimi was then dipped into soy sauce with green onions and radish. I eat sashimi weekly but normally with maguro (blue fin tuna), sake (salmon) and saba (mackerel). I assumed that since the fugu was sliced thinly, it would be tender just as the other types of sashimi are. Nope. It wasn’t as rubbery as the fugu skin sashimi but definitely very chewy. My jaw was going to get a workout tonight (nudge, nudge, say no more squire). Once again, that same “medicinal” flavor was hitting the back of my tongue.

One of my co-workers then suggested we have some saké (rice wine not salmon which is spelled sake). Of course, we couldn’t have just everyday saké. Instead we were served Fugu Hire-zake or Pufferfish fin saké. The fish fins are deep fried then soaked in some kind of liquid combustible. The fins are then lit aflame and dunked in the warmed saké. They place a lid over the flaming saké cup and after about twenty seconds, you can start to drink. In general, I like saké. But then again, there are very few alcoholic beverages I don’t like. However, I’m not sure placing the lid over the cup before all the liquid combustible is burned off is such a good idea as the first taste was not that of sweet saké. I thought, “Won’t this be ironic if I am poisoned in a fugu restaurant but not by the fish but because of some un-ignited chemical fuelant”.

The third course was a chunky fugu sashimi but this was placed on a piece of Chinese cabbage and topped with a spicy sauce and green onions. This dish I liked a lot and for some reason the fugu wasn’t that chewy. Probably my jaw was numb at this point. No “medicinal”
taste but then again I’m a believer that a good sauce can mask almost any food.

Fourth course was deep-fried fugu. I watched as my co-worker popped a piece of the fried fish into his mouth and I did the same. Before he had a chance to warn me I bit down and felt something akin to a razor blade slicing into the roof of my mouth. I heard him say “Be careful, you have to eat around the bones”. Why would the restaurant serve chunky (boneless) fugu sashimi but when it comes to coating the fish and frying it, they keep the bones intact?! More amazing still, my co-workers popped chunk after chunk of fried fish into their mouths and would then remove a 3-D jigsaw puzzle-looking bone that was picked completely clean. A little Blazing Saddles Taggart comes to mind: “God darnit, Mr. Lamarr, you use your tongue prettier than a twenty dollar whore”.

Fifth course they brought out a small charcoal grill and cooked up several pieces of fugu similar in size to the fried fugu. The ashes from the grill were floating everywhere, in the dipping sauces, in my saké, even found some in my underwear later on. Don’t ask. Let’s just say I had a lot more Fugu Hire-zake after the first.

Sixth course was fugu hotpot also known as shabu-shabu (“swish-swish”). A big bowl of water was placed on the center grill of the table and boiled. They then placed a layer of fugu chunks in the bottom, followed by Chinese cabbage, big chunks of tofu, ginger bulbs and mushrooms. While this was cooking up, they provided various cuts of fugu that you quickly dipped (swish-swish) into the hotpot to lightly cook and then dipped in a tangy ponzu vinegar sauce. The flesh portions were similar to the fugu sashimi and a light cooking made them easy to eat. However, my co-workers insisted I try something from another plate which I have no idea what part of the fish it was. I believe it was the egg sac where the roe is held but honestly I am not sure. Nonetheless, it was impossible to eat. I was chewing and chewing but the material just wasn’t breaking down. I eventually had to swallow the item whole. I would liken that experience to the following; imagine if you found a whitish-pink balloon that had been sitting outside all summer in a fetid puddle of water such that the balloon was all coated with a thick slimy layer of scum and little back spots where mold and mildew had adhered to the balloon. Then, since you missed lunch you decided on a little nourishment and popped that elastic morsel into your mouth but rather than having the common sense to spit out, you gnawed and chewed like a wild animal before powering it down like a Columbian drug mule prepping for her trip to America. Mmmm, slimy moldy balloons.
It was during the shabu-shabu, however, that I discovered the hidden gem. In addition to the various ingredients that were added above, there was also a green leafy plant that was also provided for consumption but it wasn’t added to the shabu-shabu while the soup cooked. The diners were allowed to quickly boil these green stalks and then dip in the ponzu and eat. I tried one and it was delicious. There was an initial floral taste to the plant followed by a slight bitterness which was counter-balanced by the sweetness from the ponzu sauce. Fantastic. I asked my co-workers what it was and they said Shungiku. If you’re like me, that meant nothing. My co-worker than used my blackberry to look up the English word and he replied “Garland Chrysanthemum”. Okay, not much better other than knowing that a Chrysanthemum is a flower. But it was still delicious.



After most of the soup ingredients are consumed, they then add rice and eggs to the broth and make Zosui rice. The rice/soup is served with green onions and nori (seaweed) and a side order of Japanese pickles.

And then finally we finished off the meal with some dessert which was a mango ice cream.

Throughout the meal, we primarily drank saké. For the early part of the meal, I was drinking the Fugu Hire-zake. They only light the first cup on fire and after that just refill your cup which I did multiple times. One of my co-workers considers himself quite a saké aficionado so I asked him if he would recommend a little sampling of sakés which he was pleased to do. We tried three different sakés all with the latter half of the meal. I told him I would withhold my comments and rankings until I tried all three that he selected. They served the saké in a tall glass shooter that was placed in a lacquerware box and they overfill the glass so that the lacquerware box is about half-filled. You drink the shooter glass first and then the saké in the box. Since these were all better quality sakés, they were served cool not warmed. The first saké was excellent with a really clean taste. The second was acceptable but I did not like it as much as the first. The third was a sweeter variety different from the first two and one that many Americans would probably enjoy. When I completed the sampling, I told my co-worker that, for my tastes and what I thought was the better quality products, the first saké was the best, the third (sweet) saké was second and the middle saké was last. My ranking really surprised my co-worker as he said that is how a Japanese person would rank them. As a side note, they’re always amazed when a gaijin can do something that they consider “Japanese”. I occasionally will use (properly pronounced) various Japanese phrases that I’ve learned and you would think they were watching a dog talking. I probably should be insulted by it but I generally find it more humorous and like surprising them. My co-worker was so pleased that I appreciated quality saké that he brought in a bottle of saké for me on Monday which is one of his favorite brands. I am now obligated to search out an equal quality product and bring that back from America as a gift. Not a problem. I love international cooperation.

Cockroach Cojones

I’ve developed a new routine over here that I like to partake in about every two weeks. I’ve also got new friends to share the routine with. Frequently my dinner consists of raw fish (sashimi or Nigirizushi), soba noodles or beer (very nourishing). But every week to two weeks I need to break out of these habits. If I can get out of work early enough and get to the grocery store before the main rush, I like to pick up some bell peppers ($2.00 for one small), oversized green onions (these things are 2-3 feet long!), and some nice Kobe beef steaks. A quick seasoning of the steaks and a light sauté of the beef and vegetables in some good quality soy sauce and that is one easy and fantastic meal especially when topped off with a Sapporo bomber. I’m really going to miss Kobe beef when I get back to the U.S.

After the meal, I make my way down to my apartment’s outside patio area along the river and enjoy a Cuban cigar, usually a Montecristo #4 which is one of my favorites.
I’ve included a night shot of the outside patio area.

Not the best since it was taken with my blackberry.

The first time I enjoyed this routine and was sitting at one of the tables, I happened to glance down and thought I saw a lot of leaves moving in the wind. Except it wasn’t windy and there’s no leafy trees in the immediate area. When I used my blackberry camera flash on the ground, I realized it wasn’t leaves but cockroaches moving around.

These things are pretty robust. About 1-2 inches in length but they have wide bodies and really hard shells (discovered when I applied my foot to one of them). The amazing thing is that they don’t run when you come at them. If anything, they’ll come running at you. The one I crunched was really done in self defense. I swear that thing was eyeing me up like a Kobe beef steak. Now I’m sort of used to them. We’ve reached a mutual truce. When I come outside for a smoke, they leave me alone and when they swarm a small passing Japanese citizen, I leave them to their meal.

Mystery Meat

On Friday I was invited out to dinner with a few co-workers. The restaurant is called “Namahage” (Demons) and is located up in Roppongi. The restaurant is a bit touristy since the Namahage demons come out later in the evening and scare the diners into being good. Typically, if someone told me they were going to take me to a place like that in the U.S., I’d pass but my co-worker who set up the reservation did two things that piqued my interest. First, he said the price (5000 Yen/U.S. $50) included all you could drink of beer, sake, shōchū and umeshu for two to three hours. More on this later but one of my co-workers and I made sure we got our money’s worth. At one point in the dinner I had a glass of beer and three glasses of different shōchūs in front of me. The second thing my co-worker did was to show me the menu and some of the items we’d be having. One item, in particular, I’ve been searching out and was able to cross off my list of “bizarre foods” to try while in Japan.

The dinner started with a little cup of soup. As typical with many Japanese menu items, there’s always something familiar about the item but on the other hand, the individual components seem completely unfamiliar and unidentifiable. So although the soup had a familiar miso/soy sauce base, it also had an unfamiliar green leafy vegetable matter which my co-workers described as a plant that only grows in the mountain ranges in Japan and I thought had a peppery, spicy flavor (very nice). There was also a sticky, glutinous substance that seemed to float in the middle of the soup cup which if I understood my co-workers was a type of potato or yam that was grated. They then brought out a vegetable plate with ginger dip and a grilled meat and vegetable plate. Both nice but nothing particularly unusual. The next dish was thin slices of raw beef. These were dipped in a mustard sauce. Enjoyable but, once again, not what I would describe as unusual.

Finally, the mystery meat dish I had been waiting for arrived. First visual inspection is nothing unusual as you can see. Beefy looking in appearance but probably not as fresh as could be since the meat is also called “sakuraniku” or “cherry blossom meat” since it should be pink in color. This course was served as “basashi” or as sashimi (raw) slices. The white matter underneath the red slices I first thought was daikon radish slices but upon closer inspection realized I was getting an extra treat as they were also including slices of neck fat(“mmmm, neck fat”) with the sakuraniku. The accompanying sauce was soy sauce and you mixed in sliced green onions along with freshly grated ginger and radish.

Clearly this was a photo op and one of my co-workers, who was not partaking of the basashi, snapped a nice photo of the moment. I did a light dip in the soy sauce and then popped the meat and neck fat into my mouth. Initial impression was that these slices probably could be thinner. Texturally, chewing a thick piece of raw meat and a thicker piece of raw neck fat is not the most pleasant, but overall the taste was okay. It must have been because I tried it twice more. What was the mystery meat? It was horse. Unlike the U.S., many countries do not have a taboo against eating horse. Japan is one of those countries and “when in Rome”, why not give it a try?
After the horse sashimi, there was a pork and noodle dish which was tasty and a nice mango ice cream but both were anti-climatic to the raw horse. Check that food off the list.

Let’s switch from food to drink now.
Joining me for dinner Friday night was one of the Directors in the Marketing Department. In talking with one of my teammates, he explained that he was proud of his drinking capability and wanted to see if he could out drink me. Foolish man but I admire his tenacity. We started drinking beer and we each threw back about three glasses. He decided to change tactics and ordered shōchū (see first Izakaya visit for more about shōchū). The first glass was really crisp and clean. That was my favorite brand of the night. After I threw back the first glass, he then ordered two more types. Those were thrown back in rapid succession. I asked for a beer chaser and he joined me. About this time, we noticed a ruddy glow coming over our co-worker. He then ordered three more glasses, two new shōchūs and a repeat of the first one. I’d like to say I wasn’t feeling the effects but that would be a lie. But I certainly was in much better shape than my co-worker who at this point was well lubricated. I’m pretty sure we had maybe two more after that but I really lost count when the three were placed in front. When we left the restaurant, our other two dining partners excused themselves and went home but not my new drinking partner. We stumbled into an Italian restaurant and polished off two bottles of red wine together. It’s amazing how much better my Japanese was and his English was at this point. Beer, shōchū and red wine, not a good combo, and one I definitely felt in the morning. I got back to my apartment about midnight and was out cold within one minute of my head hitting the pillow. I have a feeling we’ll have a repeat performance in the future.

Japanese Orgy

Today I needed to work at the office in Roppongi which is further away from my apartment. Unfortunately I also left my apartment late which means I was going to get to experience what I call the “Japanese Orgy” also known as the 8:00 am trains from Meguro station to my destination of Roppongi-itchōme. To complicate the commute, it was also raining in the morning which meant more people would probably be riding the trains versus biking or walking to work. Ugghhh. My first train from Shinagawa to Meguro was crowded but not inconvenient. It almost never is. I knew the next connection was the troublespot.
When I first started taking the trains, there were many times I would wait for a second or third train just because they were so crowded. Or at least I thought they were crowded. I now realize there’s always room as long as you have a productive posterior. What does that mean? It’s a Japanese technique that I call “Back that Booty Up”. They use this technique to cram every last human being in Tokyo on your train.

Here’s how it works. You stand in line with what appears to be 10,000 other people. When the train arrives maybe one or two people will get off the train. That means that another 100 can get on. If you’re in the front of the line, you’ve got it made, walk forward onto the train and try to find a handhold. The tops of little old ladies’ heads don’t count. Their ankles are too weak and they’re sure to go flying when the train takes a corner at Mach 5. If you’re in the back of the line wait until the train looks like it’s about to explode due to the volume of people and that means there’s also room for you since it didn’t explode. Think positively! Turn around so that your butt is facing the people on the train and start to “Back that Booty Up”. You may need to shimmy it side to side a little bit to create a wedge into the masses. No bending at the waist. That’s bad form. It’s more of a backwards shuffle step and wiggle your butt side-to-side. Once you master this technique, there’s no train in Tokyo you can’t get on.

So as I made my way down the stairs to the platform, I could see that there was already a train in the process of boarding and it was mine. I was at the end of line but I am now a booty shuffle sensei. I wedged on and another 10 people followed me. Let the Japanese Orgy begin. The Japanese are masters of living inside their minds and not letting the close intimate contact of a train ride bother them. Each train car becomes one big mass of arms, legs and miscellaneous body parts all rubbing up against each other. On very rare occasions, I might have a lovely twenty-something woman wedged up against me but more often it’s a little old lady. I know I’m in trouble when they see me and a little smirk comes across their face and they start trying to wedge up against me getting their freak on. I’m usually yelling “zutsū ga shite imasu” (I have a headache!) but it never works. I always feel so cheap and used by the time I get off the train.

If you think I’m exaggerating about the trains, I’m really not for once.
If you don’t believe me, go to YouTube and enter “tokyo subway rush hour” into the search field and enjoy.
I’ve also found one that is more extreme but not uncommon:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQdS5HY_O6k

"Hanging Out" in Japan

My apologies for the following blog.
Some of the mental images I will conjure up may scar some of you for life.

This past weekend was a three day weekend in Japan as Monday was a National Holiday known as “Umi no hi” or Marine Day which celebrates the blessings of the oceans. So rather than stay in Tokyo I decided to explore further afield and headed West across the country. Although I was looking forward to seeing the Japanese countryside and especially the Nihon Arupusu (Japanese Alps), the main purpose of the trip was to stay in several ryokans which is the Japanese equivalent of a bed & breakfast. I was also determined to find one that had an onsen (hot springs) as part of the ryokan. The onsen can be either outdoor or indoor but the ones I stayed at included indoor pools or hot tubs and frankly they’re not difficult to find although the quality can vary greatly. These are really fantastic places to stay but one requirement is that you must throw away the concept of American embarrassment towards nudity. So read on if you dare because you know where this is going.

Friday night I found a Ryokan tucked up into the hills of a city called Suwa which is in the geographic center of Japan. The city overlooks a small rectangular shaped lake that is about 2 miles by 2.5 miles in size. As typical in Japanese homes and lodging, you take off your shoes in the entrance area but the procedure takes a little getting used to and requires a bit of a balancing act. The idea is as follows: walk into the hotel or ryokan and take off one shoe on the stone or marble floor but don’t place your shoeless foot on the stone or marble floor. That would get your sock or foot dirty and would track dirt into the main lobby which is the same as wearing the shoes into the lobby. Big no-no. You place your shoeless foot on a little step next to the floor. While balancing on the step, take off your other shoe and then stand on the step with both feet. On the main lobby floor are hotel or ryokan provided slippers. You slide into the slippers from the step and then walk into the lobby and the Registration Desk. Complicated? You bet. Try remembering all that when you come stumbling in drunk from the local sakeya. Of course, for me I can never actually achieve the slipper part because they’re typically about a Men’s size 8 and I wear a size 13. As I walked towards the Registration Desk in my socks the first night the clerk began pointing excitedly at the slippers as I was violating the protocol. I picked one of these elfin flip flops up and held it against my foot showing him there was no way on Buddha’s green earth that toy was gonna fit on my boat feet. The clerk let out an astonished string of Japanese words (who knows what he said) which made both of us laugh. The clerk spoke enough English and escorted me to the room which was really nice. It was actually three rooms which is pretty unusual; one room for eating and watching TV, a bedroom area, and an in-room bathroom with just a toilet and sink, no shower or bathtub. The TV room and bedroom contained Tatami (rice straw) mats throughout the rooms. These are actually quite comfortable to walk on and I like the scent that they add to the rooms. The clerk then told me to wait while he went to retrieve my “yukata” or cotton kimono that I was supposed to wear while visiting the baths. I knew there was going to be a problem when he came back and said, “biggest one we have”. Why would there be a problem? Well, you generally don’t wear anything underneath the yukata. It’s perfectly acceptable to walk through the lobby in just your yukata and slippers or tabi socks as you go to the onsen. Of course, that assumes the yukata will actually cover your body. I slipped mine on over my clothes as a test and the clerk said, “that’s fine” and left. “That’s fine?!” I knew right away that it was not fine. As long as I didn’t breathe, bend, or move I was fine but otherwise, I was truly going to be “hanging out” in Japan. But don’t think for a minute that was going to stop me from visiting the onsen. I stripped off my clothes, slid on the yukata (left side over right as proper, right over left is how they dress the deceased), and tied it close with the obi sash. To say I “gingerly” made my way down to the onsen on the first floor would be an understatement.

I stood outside the door to the men’s onsen (women have separate bathing facilities) and the only thing that went through my head was Peter Graves’ Captain Oveur voice “Joey, have you ever been in a Turkish prison?” No guts, no glory. I slid open the door and stepped inside. The first room you enter is a changing room where you store your yukata, tabi socks and/or sandals. Standing there naked as the day I was born, I just had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. What the hell was I doing on the other side of the world standing naked in a men’s bath house? Don’t answer that! This is Japan, don’t question, just go with it.

You then enter the bathing area. Prior to actually soaking in the onsen, you must first thoroughly soap, shampoo and rinse yourself. It’s considered bad manners to enter the onsen without first cleaning oneself thoroughly. I’ve borrowed a picture from the Wikipedia Onsen article to give you an idea of what a bathing area looks like.

The photo is pretty typical. You’re provided

a little stool to sit on while you clean yourself.

How my fat ass didn’t break the damn thing

I’ll never know but I looked completely silly washing myself while sitting on that little bench.

After making sure all the soap was rinsed away, you can now step into the onsen area itself. The first night’s ryokan’s onsen was really nice. Their facilities were top notch. They had a large rectangular hot tub that was probably 6 x 10 feet and they had a large circular tub that was about 7 feet in diameter. Both tubs sat in an enclosed area outside decorated with various pines and plants which added to the overall atmosphere. I opted for the circular tub and joined two Japanese men. They asked me a question to which I replied in Japanese “Sorry, can’t understand, I don’t speak Japanese, only English” response. That seemed to satisfy them and we just sat there for a few minutes soaking. You really can’t sit long in the onsen area itself. The water is incredibly hot. They left and I sat for a few more minutes floating in the onsen alone with my own thoughts. A light rain was hitting the onsen’s roof top. I could hear the traffic in the distance on the road that circled the lake. What a great f’ing night.

What’s the lesson to be learned?
I really can’t answer that for anyone. You need to answer your own questions.
I’m just trying to give everyone a perspective on life in Japan and hopefully do it in a humorous and thoughtful way.
One thing I do know is that this assignment has been many things to me.
Frustrating and lonely…..absolutely.
But also incredibly rewarding and I’m glad I was given the chance to experience it.
I do know that each of us are given various opportunities in life. Some small and some big.

Just don’t be afraid to take advantage of those opportunities.
I’m not saying you’ll become a better person for doing so, only that your life will be more enriched as a result.

The Date's Been Set

Well, after much negotiation and coordination between co-workers, the date has been set. On July 31st, I and my colleagues will be visiting a fugu (pufferfish) restaurant. For those not familiar with fugu, here’s an excerpt from Wikipedia:

Fugu contains lethal amounts of the poison tetrodotoxin in the organs, especially the liver and ovaries, and also the skin. The poison, a sodium channel blocker, paralyzes the muscles while the victim stays fully conscious, and eventually dies from asphyxiation. Currently, there is no known antidote, and the standard medical approach is to try to support the respiratory and circulatory system until the poison wears off.Wait, say what? Yes, that’s right; the Japanese apparently have a fondness for going to restaurants where if the chef is having an off night, you die. I was discussing fugu with my co-workers at lunch yesterday (see side story below) and they’re amused that I find it disconcerting. One of my co-workers tried to assuage my concerns by saying that when I fly, I’m putting my life in the pilot’s hands. True, but I responded by saying that is a choice made due to necessity. If I need to get somewhere in a reasonable amount of time, flying is an acceptable risk, but just because I need food does not logically mean I should seek out a source that can kill me. They just laughed. This is going to be interesting.

Lunch Side Story: My co-workers took me yesterday to the “crab” restaurant. Guess what their specialty is? There was a huge tank as soon as you walked in filled with enormous crabs of all varieties. So when I asked the kimono-clad waitress what she would recommend for lunch, she said “unagi” which is freshwater eel?! Having been in this country for about 3 months now, I’m sort of immune to these contradictions at this point. They’re more amusing than annoying. So what did I order, the unagi, of course. Why, well there’s a general belief that you should eat eel on one of the hottest days of the summer, usually in July, and yesterday was a scorcher. High heat and high humidity. If you do this, the eel, supposedly, will provide strength and vitality for the rest of the year.