Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Today we were up early and had breakfast about 9ish and after a couple of hours on the beach we rented a scooter and toured the island in the afternoon, albeit slowly as I didn’t want to become on of those vacation horror stories that occur all to frequently with two-wheeled vehicles and tourists. Koh Chang is probably the best beach we’ve been to in terms of compromise between what I like and what Pocky likes. It’s beautiful and clean with a fair amount of vegetation right up to the shoreline. It even has those tree with trunks that lean out over the water and whose name escapes someone with the vegetal knowledge of myself – that’s like carnal knowledge, but, oh never mind. On the other hand there are far too many Germans and vendors for my liking. The happy medium seems to be the choice of restaurants and drinking establishments. Although Malaysia (the Perhentians) was idyllic and isolated, we were reliant on a poor, and poorly managed hotel restaurant for all our dining. I suppose that what pleases both parties is really for the best – minimizing complaints, hence tension.

Thursday, December 23, 2004,
One thing I really like about Thailand right off the bat, is that there aren’t the same space issues that exist in Japan. With about half the population of Nippon and approximately the same land area population density isn’t close to as high in the Land of Smiles.

Friday, December 24, 2004
Slowly, but surely the relentless train of vendors and parade of tattooed Germanics are starting to get me down on Koh Chang. Not that I’m rescinding my initial diagnosis in terms of what is the ideal balance for us as a couple, it’s just that this beach seems to have answered the unposed question, “What do people do when not making Mercedes?” The other bit about the vendors is a tricky one. Certainly, the locals should have a chance to cash in on the tourist boom, and it is more than obvious that the ambulant beach hawkers are on the lowest end of the economic ladder – many of them are selling massage or cheap trinkets that would require little outlay of capital, nonetheless there really should be some regulations surrounding how many of them are allowed to roam the beach. It felt like every thirty seconds the sunlight was blocked out by one of these blockheads. No, really, I empathize, but I can’t see how non-regulated beach vending will have anything, but a long-term negative effect on tourism. Then again, maybe I’m wrong – Koh Samui doesn’t appear to suffer for them. As for regulating Germans and Swedes… I’m all for it.
On the upside, I had an utterly relaxing moment about fifty meters off the beach lazing on a floatation device looking back at shoreline. It really is spectacular. The palms trees shoot up from the white sand and there are heavily treed mountains just behind the beach that contrast nicely with the foreground. The hotels and bungalows are, for the most part, hidden behind the greenery. I truly had one of those moments where you think anyone who isn’t me right now is a real sucker. It’s good to be alive. The sunset was also superb. I’m no sun worshipper. Both Pocky and I have been heading to restaurants, internet cafes and hotel rooms between the hours of one and four to avoid the brunt of the sun, and in the morning we basically hang in the shade of a palm tree. In spite of my solarphobia, there really is something about the beach that I find extremely pleasant. It may be the lack of obligation to do anything, the ability to gaze across the horizon, or just some mysterious quality of land meeting sea. In any case, I am glad I came.

Saturday, December 25, 2004
Time has melted and morphed to make for the quickest five days of my life. I really don’t know what we did, but it wasn’t much. Another great day on the beach, the weather has been nothing short of immaculate the whole time we’ve been here. I was contemplating the life I’ve left versus the one I’m starting as I lay floating on the raft today. It’s funny, I feel like it’s just another vacation and the day after tomorrow will see me back at work, but of course that isn’t the case. Part of me thought that I would never leave Nova; it was such an easy gig, probably a bit too easy. I don’t think I’ll miss the monotonous teaching aspect of the job, though I’m sure I’ll miss the paycheck and the friends. Whatever’s in store for me next, I can unequivocally say that my time in Japan was well spent and just a few days out of the routine has made me believe that my choice in moving on was also the right one. The day to day of work and life in Japan wasn’t bad, but the least I can say is that my horizons were not expanding. I’m already getting into the Thai language a bit, more interestingly is simply observing the way people interact here – markedly different from the Japanese.

Wednesday, December 29, 2004
An interesting last several days, on Sunday we made our way back to Bangkok and spent the night on the infamous backpacker-cum-tourist haven, Khao San Road. Incidentally, a huge tidal wave hit the Andaman Sea on Sunday. Fortunately for us, we were staying on the other side, the Gulf of Siam. After a long bus ride on Sunday, we repeated the same feat on Monday to make our way slowly (six hours) to Khon Kaen. We rented a car and headed off to Nong Sao, pronounced like the cutting instrument, where we arrived at eightish.
So, I find myself back in the village. It’s always a great place for a bit of introspection and philosophizing on the state of man. Of course, this is an internal process as none of the villagers can speak even rudimentary English and my Thai is faltering at best, and my Lao non-existent. I imagine that the etymology of the word privacy may have some relationship to the word privy, the loo, in short, the vestibule where one passes water and moves one’s bowels. In the village the idea of privacy doesn’t exist, even in the privy, as it were. The villagers truly live a communal lifestyle. Visiting the village is like taking a trip back in the history of human development. Here we find ourselves in the heart of a group-oriented, agricultural society. At some point in the development of any nation such a lifestyle must have existed, at least for a brief space in time. The morning market must resemble something that existed in New England in the 19th century. To be sure, barter is not practiced, but human societies have been using money-currencies for some time. I once saw an anthropological documentary talking about the development of the human dwelling. According to the show, it was a great step forward when humans started to divide their dwellings into individual rooms. When the human was afforded some deal of privacy his/her intellectual development jumped ahead. In Nong Sao most houses still seem quite communal in design. It got me to thinking about human progress. We build as a group, but create as individuals. Great manpower is required to run electricity wires across a country, a group effort is necessary in building hydro-electric damns, and other power plants, but if not for Thomas Edison where would the idea of electricity sprung forth? Yes, some other individual might have made the discovery, but that is, in the end, the point; an individual sparked on an idea and the group implemented it. There is no conclusion here, nor will I attempt to bring this full-circle to refer to Nong Sao, however the village certainly does inspire me to consider humanity as an ever-evolving species and human society as a work in progress. Perhaps in the future I will try to synthesize a bit of the loss and gain in developed nations versus the developing nations, or is it more to the point to talk about the urban versus the rural, the city and the village.
We did something rather fascinating today; at least it was fascinating for me. We went out and saw some kind of Buddhist soothsayer/healer. We traveled several villages over and stopped at non-descript village house. Inside the house was a room that had been converted into something temple-like. A woman, the woman, sat on a sort of alter, her back to an image of Buddha surrounded by statues, pictures and other various religious paraphernalia. Most interestingly was that on her right side was a rotund water vessel and on her left and vase embossed with Chinese characters that served as a spittoon. I invite the reader to envision the scene. An older lady who evidently had some sort of stomach ailment approaches the woman on her knees, she prostrates herself three times in the Buddhist tradition, the healer/soothsayer/beetle nut chewer recites something I assume to be in Pali, then she takes a big gulp of water from a ladle that she dipped into the vessel on her right. Now this is where it gets good for the non-familiar, e.g. me. The spiritual medium, tooth-gap large, lady, then spits the water all over the ailing woman’s naked torso. Then our water/beetle-nut juice expectorating friend lights a bundle of candles and runs the flames over the saliva and H20 doused area, all the while reciting more Pali. She repeated the same thing for another woman, but this time on the woman’s head – Suffering from migraines? Try a mouthful of this. – Finally, she called my girlfriend and I forward despite protests from myself (I was assured that it would just be talking, implying no oral imitations of a fire hose). The lady rubbed some gold flecks into my palms and forehead, and continually uttered “three years” in Thai. Evidently, that was some type of prediction. Pocky thought the worse and assumed it meant our relationship would only last three years, but as there was no supplementary explanation, I tried to put a spin on it meaning we would be married in three years, or some other positive make believe. The world over fortune tellers pull the same racket. It consists of being as utterly vague as possible in order that they are never responsible for any mispredictions and are able to twist their mumbo-jumbo to fit any occasion. I apologize if I sound over judgmental. I could go in for the whole good luck thing, I do have certain Buddhist inclinations, and I don’t reject believing in the unseeable part and parcel, but don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. And, by all means, don’t spit water on me and mutter some arbitrary period of time!

Friday, December 31, 2004
The last day of the year and I can honestly say that I am glad to put 2004 in the history books. If we’re doing the obligatory year-in-review, then the theme of ’04 has to be work. Damn I busted my ass to get myself here. One vacation in May, but otherwise 6/7 day workweeks coupled with moving (twice) and endless errands (many) in prep to move to Thailand with some money in the bank. Unfortunately, the year end doesn’t mean an end to the moving or other chores. Anyway, it is good to close the Japan chapter as it felt like living in limbo for the last half year. I’ll hope for the best in ’05.
On a more mundane level, yesterday we went to Khon Kaen from the village. Ostensibly, we went to look for a place to stay, but really we were just bored and the town of Kalasin, the closest place to the village that isn’t a village, with its population of 40,000 has only one or two internet cafes filled with schoolboys playing video games, so it was a bit difficult to get on the net and check some info around Khon Kaen. KK is a university town with about 150,000 people, so a bit urban, very urban and urbane compared to Nong Sao. So there we were in the big city, we needed gas so we stopped in the same gas station/convenience store that we had rented our car from by pure chance. While getting gas Pocky asks about a real estate agency. The owner’s wife comes out, and guess what, just so happens that along with managing ‘servos’, Aussie for gas station/conbini, the owner happens to dabble in real estate development. Long story short, the guy drove us out to this housing development in progress. The houses are in the typical Mediterranean villa style that seems so popular with the upwardly mobile Thai. For purely informational purposes I allowed myself to be dragged through the various model houses. Actually fairly nice and with small yards that were nonetheless playing fields compared to what you find in Japan. The houses were going for about 70~90,000$, not bad considering that most of them had as much floor space as one would find in the average American home. Not that all of this house viewing got us anywhere closer to finding a place to live, but interesting all the same. After that song and dance I went to the internet café to find that most everyone I know has taken me for dead. The outpouring of concern was touching, but I wasn’t able to respond to most of the emails due to slow internet connection and some snag with sending a mass email. Oh well, I will heighten the drama when I announce my continued existence.

Oh yeah, I forgot the most salient bit of the day for the overseas reader. We bribed a cop. Well, actually it sounds more salacious than it is. Pocky was driving the rental car to Khon Kaen. This may have been a lapse in judgment due to the fact she doesn’t have a license – no one’s perfect. So we were going through an intersection with a rather poorly laid out traffic light that you can’t really see until you’re into the intersection itself. We were following a line of cars and the light turned red as we came through. Surprise, surprise there was a posse of Thai law enforcement officers camped out under a tent like they were having some kind of garden party (This is quite common along Thai highways). Actually, they weren’t having a garden party, they were fishing. And they caught a live one in us. So they waved us over and we shat our collective trousers because of the license, or lack thereof. The Kingdom’s finest pointed out the fact we had run a red light and asked for Pok’s license, which she had ‘left at home’. That’s ok because it turns out our representative of the local constabulary wanted to make a donation to the local temple and discretely dropped an envelope into Pok’s lap that she may aid in the said donation. Two hundred baht later (5$) we were forgiven our traffic code violation. The officer also wanted to know where I was from, if we had children and if I was ‘a good foreigner’. We assured him I wasn’t some dirty Burmese refugee and he smiled and waved us on our way. All and all, I think we got off pretty well. Imagine in the US driving without a license and paying the arresting officer a cup of coffee and donut to look the other way… I just have a hard time envisioning it.

This will be the second to last day I sit at home and wait for OT (tomorrow being the last). The end is truly in sight now. I have eleven days left and almost as many drinking engagements. I feel a lot more relaxed now that I have got everything, almost, out of the way. One thing about leaving a place is the interminable goodbye parties that go on. I now realize it is impossible to both be a good friend and not get roped into more of this farewell shindigs than my liver and wallet can really afford. Certainly I want to say my goodbyes, but it is funny the people that you weren't really great friends with that crawl out of the woodwork and want multiple get-togethers right before you go. I shouldn't complain about having friends, on the other hand when I get to Thailand I'm looking forward to boring nights of sobriety... and maybe something else.

Winding up to wind down and completely wound up. Well, it appears as if OT has utterly dried up in my company, as well as planning periods for those of us, like me, who are ostensibly in charge of the branches we work at. It might just be the ideal moment to jump off the Nova boat, if it weren't for the gadloads of money they throw at me for flapping my jaw - relative to teaching in Thailand of course. I think I've got everything pretty much cleared up minus a couple things to be sold, thrown out or given away. The social calendar is really starting to fill. In fact, I got a bit of a surprise visit from Molly Fitzpatrick the other day. She was returning from Southeast Asia where she was doing some work related to a travel agency she works for. Living at home in Keene, she was bemoaning life in the US a bit, which always makes me feel justified in my choice not to return and take up my rightful place as an entry level insurance salesman, or junior department manager at Walmart. Plus, Molly assures me that all Americans are just as discontent as their televisions and print publications tell them they should be. Actually, now that I understand and can read Japanese, the very same thing could happen to me, so it must be the ideal moment to haul my ass out of here and to some place where three square is a worthy accomplishment.

Elated by W’s victory I decided to take the day off work; it
‘s my company after all, I’ll do as I please. Turning the key in the ignition, I rev the engine of my Suburban several times in a symbolic gesture to those who would cripple America’s oil supply. Although I have the time and the McDonald’s is not crowded, I opt out of eating in. Instead I order my Big Mac Super-Sized Meal via the drive-thru (eating while driving is a true act of Patriotism and I’ll do anything American on this fine day). After washing down the burger and fries with one of those gargantuan Cokes that resemble a carton more than cup I find a parking space on the main street. A shelter-impaired individual sits on the street with an empty Starbuck’s coffee cup full of change. I’m feeling so good Junior’s back in office that I give the man a swift kick to the face (instead of the ass where he needs it) and grab his cup of change, thereby enabling him to reclaim his financial independence, rather than leeching of the system. In what could only be described as serenedipiditious coincidence I notice the meter has expired on a parking space in which sits a Mercedes E class. Using my newly acquired change, I fill the meter and help out the unfortunate owner of such a fine piece of engineering (albeit not American, but our unknown driver is no doubt Republican, so I forgive this). In a celebratory mood, I make my way into Mike’s Gun Emporium and treat myself to a little number that I’ve had my eye on since the assault rifle ban ended last month. It’s an AR15 with telescoping stock, a 30 round magazine and bayonet fix. Thanks to my man George I can finally get my hands on this little guy. Back into the Suburban, I aim it homewards. On the way, I spot two long-faced liberals pulling up Kerry/Edwards signs. I roll down my window and pump several rounds into the damn Democrats. The Bible tells me ‘Thou shall not kill’, but truly these guys did not love America. At home I turn on my Direct TV to further revel in the win. Tonight I will make love to my wife for the first time in months (so what if she’s overweight, more than half of the population is, which is just about the same percentage of people who got GWB back in office). My wife loves America and so do I. We will fall asleep, ensconced in our Martha Stewart (BTW, insider trading isn’t such a big deal IMO) bedspread that is in the design of Old Glory, the American Flag. I will pray to the Lord thanking him for once again putting Bush/Cheney in the White House where they belong. God Bless America.

Sitting at home waiting for a call for OT. I've been going at it like mad. I already have 29hours this month. I had 46hours last month. All this work doesn't leave for much time and what little free time I've had has been spent doing an online TEFL course (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) . I've succesfully sent off three boxes of stuff to Thailand and Jenjira is moving out of Bangkok next month to live with her mother up north until I come. We plan to live in a city called Khon Kaen, but in the interim she'll stay in her hometown, which isn't so far from KK. My course of vaccinations are almost done and next week I'll pick up a tourist visa at the Royal Thai Embassy of Tokyo. Almost there. It's been an extremely stressful half year for me. I'm sad to be leaving Japan, but definitely looking forward to the move.

Back at this after a long time absent. I logged 56 lessons of OT in the month of July, hence only two days off. Due to this work intensive lifestyle, I haven't had much time for anything of interest. All work and no play makes Matt a dull boy. I plan to keep up at this pace until December when I move to Thailand. My apologies for lack of wry prosiac insights into life in Asia, but I''ve never felt more Japanese than when doing fifty plus hour weeks.

Been a while since I've updated primarily due to the recent move that I've made. That done, I again have some free time, but not much as I'm pulling six and seven day work weeks in preparation (financial) for my upcoming move to Thailand. Tentative date is December 15th. I hope to be a bit better about contributing to this, but I am still at the mercy of my room mate as I sold my desktop and have yet to get a laptop.

Anyway, great stay in Kuala Lumpur at a very expensive hotel that was well worth it just for the view of the towers. We also had lunch at a rotating restaurant on the KL tower, so I got a good feel for the city and its layout. We took a plane for about one hour and a taxi for another to get us to a jetty from where it was another thirty minutes to the island. The journey was worth it for the isolation. It was probably the nicest place I've ever been in terms of well preserved beach/jungle and lack of people. However, we were reliant on the resort for all our meals and the food and service left something to be desired. The snorkeling was great. Coral lay at both ends of the half-moon shaped beach. It was the best snorkeling I've ever done and it was right off the beach - no boat necessary. Coming back we stayed at Khota Baru one night. It's a conservative Muslim city - everyone in full dress. Very interesting. I claimed I was Canadian at this point in my stay when questioned by a vendor sitting directly in front of a mosque, otherwise I said I was from the US and didn't get any special reactions. All and all another excellent trip that was much too short. The pics this time around weren't great, but definitely worth a glance. Just check out the picture link at right.

I'm back from Malaysia. Great trip...for the most part. Fascinating mix of cultures, ethnicities and religions. As usual, I've got a slew of pictures that I will post, but as I'm now at the mercy of internet cafes and friends for my online access, I will not be able to post pictures immediately. A quick rundown of the trip - after one night in Bangkok (no not the song by Murray Head)we flew budget airline Air Asia - you have to pay for food and no assigned seating - to Kuala Lumpur. After a long taxi ride we arrived at the Mandarin Oriental. This five star hotel was situated right next to the Petronas Towers, the tallest buildings in the world. From the 21st floor of the hotel we still had to crane our necks to look up at the towers. Anyway the hotel room was expensive, but well worth it. We hit a posh nite club and drank too much. The next day was shopping and a great Indian restaurant. (To be continued)

I've been told that this blog hasn't been online, but then again neither have I. Off to Malaysia today. Will keep you posted as much as　possible, but my modem is busted so...

The Alien is very tired, even exhausted, so it's probably good luck that he couldn't find overtime today. You can tell things are coming apart when you start talking about yourself in the third person. My passport came back with some new pages inserted. I'm very excited. I'm also reading a book by Anthony Burgess (wrote Clockwork Orange) about the post WWII period in Malaysia. Very interesting stuff. I think that I'm up to about two fifty in page count on the novel. I think I should take a nap. I'm looking for a new default homepage as I've decided that reading the New York Times everytime I sing on the net is depressing. Oh, by the way, the Alien has gone vegetarian, well, not really, but a little. It's almost impossible to avoid meat in Japan. The other day I bought a piece of bread that was advertised as corn and mayonnaise, but the still managed to conceal some ham in it. You may ask, "why the reduced meat diet?" That's for another entry.

Funny thing going to the American embassy in Tokyo, the security was tighter than a virgin's..., whoa, hold up, my mom reads this thing. Anyway, before I even got within three blocks of the building there was a cop asking me where I was going and why. I told him I wanted to get pages added to my passport. He let me through, but I played the Q&A game twice more before arriving at the gate. Before getting buzzed through the gate I had my bag searched and went through a metal detector. I was, then in the compound, but not in the building. Once in the building there was another metal detector and a Marine behind bullet proof glass buzzing people into the area, where, finally, I could talk to a paper-pusher about my passport pages. I felt damn important, I'll tell you that much. Thing is, after all that serious security, I get to talk to your typical happy go lucky American embassy staffer who can't resist sharing the latest lawyer joke he's heard. Gotta love the States.

In unrelated news, I'm adding a Japan section to my picture pages, so click on the pictures link to see what I've put on recently.

Undoing the chain and turning the lock simultaneously, he opened the door. She walked in holding the tray at chest level. There was no water. This maid looked a bit young, not young and pretty, but young nonetheless. “Where’s the water?” She was headed toward the dresser to set down the tray. “Water?” He asked again. She didn’t seem to understand. There was something about her uniform. Paul blocked her path and lifted the silver food cover. Nothing. Set up. Somkiat was already coming through the door with the shock stick. Paul grabbed the tray and flipped it sending the few utensils on the floor. Holding it like a shield he tried to block the two electric prods on the end of the baton. Somkiat kicked the tray hard. Paul was on the ground. He shit himself. The big Thai had his ankle in one hand and was applying the stun gun to his right thigh with the other. He yelled hoping someone would hear. The skinny Thai was closing the door now. Too late, he already had the metal taste in his mouth again.

Interesting to be in Japan right now. The kidnapping of three Japanese journalists has further polarized public opinion around the Japanese presence in Iraq. The usually opinion-less Japanese are actually expressing some views on this issue, albeit relatively subdued and wavering views.

In other news, I've been a bit stressed out running all over the greater Tokyo area, chasing down overtime on my days off all the while trying to grind out pages of my novel. Tomorrow I'll go into to Tokyo and add some pages to my passport. The good news is that today is payday, which means... I'm getting paid. And it's about time as I don't have any money in the bank. Nothing more relevant to add, sorry.

Our Sprawling, Supersize Utopia: "Just out of reach, just beyond the next ridge, just in the farther-out suburb or with the next entrepreneurial scheme, just with the next diet plan or credit card purchase, the next true love or political hero, the next summer home or all-terrain vehicle, the next meditation technique or motivational seminar; just with the right schools, the right moral revival, the right beer and the right set of buddies; just with the next technology or after the next shopping spree -- there is this spot you can get to where all tensions will melt, all time pressures will be relieved and happiness can be realized"

Not much of note, however our school 'hanami' party was rained out. Hanami is an excuse to get wasted. It means 'viewing cherry blossoms', but really just means sitting under the trees and drinking sake. Unfortunately the season is really short (like a couple of weeks at best), so we've probably missed our only opportunity for a hanami party. Anyway, the cherry blossoms are quite beautiful, even for a jaded bastard like myself. The page count is now 220. Thanks for all those encouraging emails that have been flowing in (sarcastic smile). Later.

The alien is being overworked. In Japan you have to renew your lease every two years by paying an extra month's rent. Why? Because landowners can do whatever they want. I think it's about time for serfs like myself rise up against our feudal lords, burn their houses, pillage their grains and livestock and hang their loved-ones from their feet allowing the all the blood to rush to their heads, knocking them out and eventually causing their greedy brains to hemorrhage... or I could work three days overtime this month.

Closing in on 200 pages. The most intimidating thing now isn't completing the beast, but rewriting it. Oh well... Not too much to report otherwise. I'm already starting to get stressed out about moving nine months time, which is fairly irrational. Really what worries my is money, but that's nothing new or unique to me. Wish I had more to say, but I don't - so I won't. If you want to see continued postings of novel excerpts, let me know.

175 is the page count now. I've been planning a trip to Malaysia, so if you've been (Madeleine?) give me some advice. Actually, today's venom is reserved for those pedantic people whose plaintiff whining and pithering prose populates the post boards of Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree. While it can be a forum for decent travel advice, it often devolves into the backpacker one upsmanship that I so detest. Basically you write a post asking for advice about a place and seventy percent of the responses ring with "don't go there, it's overrun by tourists", and even obscure, off the track places. I'm going to jokingly post for advice on travel in the Sahara desert just to see if some soft-skull doesn't write back to tell me to avoid the place because it's gone touristy. What is it with these wankers? Why can't they just hand out some decent advice without making everything into a high-minded diatribe on how the best places are gone, or better yet - "that was good when I was there, but now..." I'd like to find one of these unshowered, unshaven heathens, grab him by the dreadlocks and say, "At least tourists don't stink" before popping him in his overpriced Oakley sunglasses sending him sprawling across his vegan dinner. Whoops, sorry about that, got a little carried away.
Later.

Still at the novel, but not at the frenetic pace I was before. Now I'm around 160 in the page count. I enjoy the process, but it can seem overwhelming at times, especially given that knocking out three hundred plus pages is only the beginning, then comes the rewriting. In other news, I celebrated my 29th birthday meaning the three ohhh is, ohhh so close. I'm finalizing a timeline for my move to Thailand. I just signed another contract with Nova putting me at 18 paid holidays - coincidentally the same number of working days I'll have in December. Guess who will be getting a month's pay out of the big guys as a sort of severance? That's right, if things go to plan I'll leave Japan at the end of November. It's about time. My raise plummeted this year from 15,000 yen to 5,000. That's a good enough sign for me. I'm out, but not so quick. I'm expecting a trip to Thailand/Malaysia in May and then I'll work through the last hot, humid summer in Japan (I'll be able to look forward to much of the same in Thailand). That'll bring me into the fall and clearing out the shitload of, well, shit that I've accumulated since arriving in Japan before I take off. Anyway, stay tuned...

Sorry. Haven't had time to post. I'm going at the novel full tilt - now up to page 130. A couple excerpts can be found below.

“It’s the pussification of Japanese society,” Phil said often when talking on the subject drunk. “The Samurai spirit has been lost. It’s been replaced with bloody Hello Kitty and fucking Pockymon. To think that a once proud culture is now reduced to dirty cartoons and video games. Only one percent of the population in this country is foreign, but go into any karate, aikido, or kendo dojo and take a look around. Bet you anything more than thirty percent of the class is non-Japanese. Kids in this country can’t wait to get home from school to turn on the Playstation. At best, when they do sports, it’s baseball or now, soccer as they say. They’ve even taken the American word for football. One of the most famous kendo dojos in the country, over in Yokohama, is headed by an Australian couple. France has more bloody aikido dojos then anywhere else in the world. Imagine if our kids want to study a traditional Japanese martial art, they’ll have to travel to Frogland. It’s gets me fuckin’ goat, that does”

When the Katana is held correctly the left pinky finger is the most powerful finger in the grip. A stroke’s power originated in the legs and hips, traveled down the shoulder and into to the forearms with a extension of the elbows, and through the hands with a snap of the wrist. The fingers held the handle gingerly at the top and tightly with the pinkies allowing all the energy in a swordsman’s center to flow out his hands and down the blade to the point of impact. Properly executed, a stroke could severe skull.
If a Samurai was to have his pinky finger amputated his grip would be severely compromised and his technique diminished. Less ability with his sword would force him to rely more on the protection of the clan, and its lord, the daimyo. This was the origin of yubizume, cutting off the pinky as a sign of apology, still practiced by the Yakuza. A first offense would mean the top joint of the pinky, a second offense – the lower joint, and so on until the finger was gone and onto the next. Not many Yakuza lost more than one finger, those who so frequently fucked up were more likely lying in a bed of concrete than walking fingerless.

Graham Edward’s passion for the planned language, as it was known in academic circles, of Esperanto was never easily explained by his sons, or for that matter, anyone who knew him. “It’s just my dad’s hobby, I guess,” both Ben and Tim would say when pressed on the point. They didn’t really understand it themselves, the obsession. The language, on the other hand, they grew somewhat familiar with until their mother stepped in and put an end to the daily Esperanto lessons that interfered with baseball, piano lessons, boy scouts and other normal after school activities. Graham did not wear the pants in the family, so when Margaret forced the issue he agreed that dinner time discussion in Esperanto could substitute for the afternoon instruction. Eventually even the dinner time conversation in Esperanto disappeared as if the whole Esperanto learning experiment in the Edward’s household were a microcosm of the artificial language itself

“I got about two months in Southeast Asia. A man like yourself might have some advice on where and how I should spend my time. Care to impart any of your travel wisdom?” Ben’s tone bordered on flattery, but with a hint of sarcasm.
“Listen, mate. You can go North or South. If I was you, I’d head North first and then reward yourself with the beaches later, but it’s all a matter of taste. I suggest you head up toward Laos. You can skip Chang Mai – tourist trap nowadays. They say Chang Rai is the new Chang Mai, but that’s bullshit. Give it a miss and skip the Thai hill tribes. It’s fucking Disney World now. They got markets set up just waiting for a fresh group of trekkers to come through. If hill tribes is what you’re after than try Laos, although don’t expect much better than Chang Mai in that respect. Thailand is just the hub these days. A drop off point, so get out as quickly as possible. Do Laos, Nam’, and Cambodia. There’s a whole traveler’s circuit. Hard to avoid, but not so bad for a first timer like yourself. Once you’ve done the North, head down to Andaman Sea. Stay away from Phuket or Samui unless you’ve got a thing for fat Germans in tight thongs. Krabi isn’t bad, but filled with Swedes. Nice place if you’re looking for a bit of Swedish tail. Malaysia worth it if you got the money, but a touch more expensive than the Land of Smiles. Too bad you didn’t get yourself here about ten years ago. It was very, very, good at that time, mate. India’s really the place now. That’s where I’m headed, but frankly I hear the best spots are already overrun. Bloody tourists, but what’s a fella to do, yeah?”

Quick post. I've been busy writing a novel, hence little time to devote to the 'Alien'. I'm about fifty pages into it. The below passage is taken from the novel. I'll try to post excerpts, but I don't want to give this thing away; it's gonna make me rich.
Cheers

After filling in the resignation form he grabbed his student files and planned a lesson much as he had done for the past five years. He waited for the bell to go and then walked into the classroom. For the first time in as long as he could remember he liked the job again. He liked teaching. Even if it was only conversational English. Even if other ex-pat types looked down on teaching English, fuck them, at least he was trying to do something positive for the local population and not just money grub like the rest of the world. The students seemed to enjoy the lessons and it made him feel like he was wanted and welcomed in Japan. He felt refreshed and new, reborn. Although his elation was mostly due to the fact that he knew he was on short time. He saw the light at the end of the tunnel. The fact was that conversational English teaching was a psychological grind, a constant repetitive and monotonous exercise in patience. There were only so many times you were willing to teach irregular verbs, only so many times you were willing to correct the same mistake. In the middle of his lesson one of the students declared that she had ‘gone to shopping’ the day before. He let the mistake pass. Ben always felt it important to give his all in the classroom and often would think about how the students were paying their hard-earned, or in the case of many housewives - husband’s, cash to take lessons. However, he couldn’t muster the courage to correct certain mistakes any longer. It was partially a warning that he should start moving on. His father had always ingrained in him the 'any job doing is worth doing right' maxim. He tried to follow it.

Hashi joozu!*
(or The Pleasure Of An Opposable Thumb)
*You use chopsticks well!

“The chopstick is multipurpose; it serves the Japanese as fork, knife and spoon. They eat soup with it they cut food into small morsels with it; and they use it to pick up food and carry it from the plate to the mouth. You can do it, too.”
-unknown (as found on an internet guide to “Things Japanese”)


“Can I really!?”
-me (upon reading above quote)

If I had a yen for every time a Japanese person complimented my chopstick use, I would be able to open a performing arts theater at which I would charge admission to the viewing public to watch me manipulate food items into my mouth with the damn things. I would then bring out a troupe of well trained primates and have them use chopsticks for the pleasure of my audience. I envision several gibbons, a couple of baboons and a chimp all dressed in kimonos. And I would stand in the center wearing my jinbei (think Japanese robe with knickers) surrounded by my monkey friends and after much applause we would hold hands and bow in unison. But alas, this will remain only a dream for, although I am often paid compliments on my chopstick dexterity, I have yet to be paid in money.
It is beyond me why anyone who has used chopsticks would think it a feat of small motor skills to eat with them. Granted chopsticks can prove awkward to the novice user, though even the novice should be able to shovel food from ‘the plate to the mouth’ as expressed by the anonymous, semicolon-loving author of the above quote. After several days of applied practice all but the most clumsy should be able to keep their clothing stain free while using chopsticks. I dare say that one could outright master the use of hashi, as they are called in Japanese, within the space of a mere week. I don’t intend insult my Japanese hosts in making such a bold claim; surely they all struggled long and hard to master the tricky utensils, but perhaps they should be reminded that the foreigner struggles to master fork and knife when he or she was three years old as well. Approaching adolescence with one’s hand-eye coordination at full development it should not be considered especially challenging to hold two small pieces of wood in one’s fingers. Writing, sewing, tying shoes, walking and chewing gum at the same time may all be thought of as human accomplishments on a par with the use of chopsticks. So, for those who would be prone to undue flattery, please compliment me on my ability to knot my tie or on the ease with which I teach irregular verbs and decide where to drink beer after work at the same time, but not on my use of the cursed hashi ! Thank you.
Among other annoyance that I have encountered on the subject of chopsticks is that of waribashi. These are disposable, wooden chopsticks that keep whole lumber companies in business and leave whole swaths of forest razed. I fear researching the true extent to which these wasteful little things are responsible for environmental destruction (let’s not lie, I’m just too lazy). Imagine a world in which metal forks and knives only existed in homes and every restaurant, eatery, store and shop that served food distributed disposable, wooden utensils instead, and you pretty much have Japan. In addition to being horribly wasteful, I often have little choice in whether I want them inserted in my shopping bag or not. For instance, I have frequented the same convenience store for several years. As I don’t cook, I venture into the establishment once a day, if not more. In the course of my time spent in the store I have made friends of the clerks. However, for every time I politely ask them not to deposit the little timber-killers in my bag, they sneak them in three times without me noticing. I can’t quite figure it. They know I live nearby. It’s not like I’m a construction worker on lunch who’s going to picnic in front of the job site. Do they think I don’t have access to chopsticks in my apartment? Like I wouldn’t be able to purchase a pair anywhere in Japan. My mom pulled the same thing nonetheless on my first Christmas home after moving to Japan. Unbelievably, she put a pair of chopsticks in my Christmas stocking (yes, I still get a stocking. Stop chuckling!). They came in their own wicker carrying case. If my mother were as sarcastic as I, the joke would have been a good one. My mom was completely on the level, though. Of course, I have abused her on the subject ever since and I promise this is the last time, so here goes: Mom! What the hell were you thinking? I live in a country where chopsticks outnumber people at a ratio of a thousand to one. Why would I want to come back to America and get a pair of them in my stocking!?
Not only are waribashi a terrible environmental idea, when you do need them they are always substandard. There are several classes of waribashi: The ones that are attached at the top in a block shape – they’re the best, they always break apart clean. The ones that are attached lengthwise, but are long and often come with a toothpick – because there was an acre of woods still standing after the chopstick quota was reached. The ones that are sized for a preschooler and double as a toothpick – because the eatery you’re at is exceptionally cheap, not because they care about the forest. The first, and best, category is reserved to izakayas and other restaurants where washable, reusable chopsticks would be a feasible alternative. The second, and second best, category of chopsticks is usually found at stores in close proximity to your domicile, thereby rendering them unnecessary. The third category, which should be reserved to day care facilities and orphanages, will most likely be found anyplace where you would actually need to use waribashi. Oh well, shiyou ga nai (let’s ignore the problem). That’s life.
The lesson to be learned about chopsticks is this - if we continue to produce disposable, wooden chopsticks at such a rate, we will soon deplete the earth of precious woodlands. Among the negative effects of lost forests, species such as the gibbon, baboon and chimpanzee will decrease in number, nearing extinction. Should this come pass, the only place you would see such wondrous primates is at zoos and amusement parks where they will display their virtuosity with the tool of their very destruction…along side a jinbei clad gaijin who rants like a howler monkey.

Hidden Gorge
(or A Day Out With A Thousand Of Your Closest Friends)

Several summers ago I was invited to go on a road trip to the countryside. The proposition was an attractive one as my routine rarely took me too far off the railroad track, never mind the beaten track. My friend had that rare commodity for an English teacher in Japan – a car – which meant freedom from the drudgery of public transportation, so I didn’t hesitate to accept his offer. Evidently he knew of an area where he had done some fishing that would make for a nice barbecue and beer venue. I was more disposed to the beer than the barbie myself. In any case, that Saturday came and the weather was great. We all piled in the car and headed out for a bit of R&R, a day away, a communion with nature, fun in the sun – enough already.
When I was in High School there was this great little swimming hole that we used to go to when the weather warmed up in late May or early June. It was called Troll Bridge Road because it was located off Troll Bridge Road; I don’t claim we were particularly clever with our topographical nomenclature. To get to the swimming hole you would park your car in what was a dead end road leading into a field. Then, you would hike a quarter of mile across the field, duck into the woods, follow a path several hundred feet and you were there. It was a magical place. I don’t mean in a JR Tolken sort-of-way with hobgoblins and fiendish elves (or trolls, a bridge or even much of a road), rather it was quite beautiful and secluded. There was a river that had formed a pool where the water backed up due to a natural half-dam. The pool was deep enough to swim, even dive in, yet the flow of the river kept the water cool and prevented stagnation. On the far bank a rocked leaned over the pool and someone possessing as much daring as they lacked sense had fixed a rope swing to a tree limb that overhung the water. A fair number of people knew of the place and you could expect to find a few kids skipping class out there on any given afternoon. Despite its popularity, you had a feeling of solitude, or at least intimacy when you went there. I mention Troll Bridge Road because it immediately jumped to mind when my friend started to describe the river area where were headed while in the car.
As we drove away from the urban sprawl of the greater Tokyo area, I had a sense of elation and realized that I had only been out in rural Japan on one previous occasion when I traveled to Gunma by car. We exited the highway and weaved through a series of back roads, one becoming less trafficked than the next until we found ourselves in the forest. Imagine, a forest in Japan. I was taken aback. We even had to stop and ask for directions from a local farmer’s wife whose surprise at being asked for directions in that neck of the woods was easily doubled upon spotting the white people sitting in the back of the car. We eventually came to a spot in the road where there was a small dirt parking lot that might accommodate three small cars if the occupants didn’t mind exiting through the sun roof. The parking area sat on the top of the river gorge, thought the view was obscured by heavy forestation. We had to walk down the road several hundred meters before veering down a treacherous footpath that was fairly well-disguised. After an ankle twisting descent through the trees we emerged onto the river. What I intend with the description is this – the place was damn hard to find! Damn hard to find is a good thing when living in one of the most densely populated countries in the world. Damn hard to find means escape from the constant brushing up against others, scooting aside, shifting in the aisle to let-someone-byism that is life in Japan. Ah, the open air, I was refreshed and relieved, if not somewhat disappointed to find that the river was more a riverbed due to the lack of water and that the riverbed was more a concrete bed due to the, well, uh – concrete. Nonetheless, we had achieved relative isolation. We dropped our coolers, popped open our sun chairs (the concrete proved a stable surface, at least) and prepared to relax. We even cracked a beer in celebration though it was not yet noon.
And then it happened. I can’t remember a precise time, but I had already finished one Asahi beer, which added a surreal quality to the spectacle. It was most likely just before noon. The salary man must have risen a bit late after a hard Friday night’s drinking. The wife had probably already prepared the bento boxes the night before. I imagine the kids were only waiting for Dad to hop in the driver’s seat and captain the adventure, so that by the time he did get up and into the car they probably had drank enough green tea to drive them and their little bladders into a frenzy, which meant at least one stop at the konbini (convenience store for the layman). So, by the time they arrived and parked – god knows where – the wiley English teachers had already cracked open their first beer and kicked back to relax, but not for long.
The flow of people was like some sort of dike breaking. It started with a trickle of people bobbing down the trail and emerging onto our riverbed. And then, it increased to a steady stream of Papas and Mamas and little Takahirokuns and Emichans all rambling down the path and setting up shop. They seemed to be coming in waves after a certain point – probably my third Asahi because now I really started to drink. The whole thing became fantastic. They were coming from all directions, walking out of the woods, appearing forth from small caves, emerging out of the stream itself. Dozens, hundreds, could there possibly be thousands? Was I really in Shinjuku? JR Tolken-like, trees transformed into tots, the shrubs became salarymen, water fountained up into human form unfolded a beach chair, said ‘sumimasen’ and sat down beside me – arrrggggggghhhhhhhh.
I had been an utter fool to think that I could escape the masses so easily. I was so shortsighted that I never took into account the fact that many Japanese people, like my friend, own automobiles for the express use of ‘getting out’ on the weekend. Perhaps, it was the long drive or the seeming obscurity of our chosen spot, but somehow I had naively believed that I had found somewhere in Japan where the people weren’t. I saddened slightly and brushed past a few strangers while excusing myself on the way to our cooler for another beer. I was going to get drunk, if nothing else. My problems took a more serious turn when the urge to urinate took me. As the day wore on I found myself hiking further and further into the woods to relieve myself - this despite the fact that the average Japanese taxi driver or Oyaji, they are often one in the same, drains his waste on your flowerbed at high noon.
And so I gloomily drank and wished I was in an izakaya where I wouldn’t have to get my own drinks or walk so far for the toilet. As the sun set I waited in line to hike back up the trail, get in the car, wait in traffic, eventually arrive home to my chicken coop of an apartment to resume life in the most densely populated region of one of the most densely populated countries in the world, all the while haunted by memories of elves, hobgoblins and a place called Troll Bridge Road.

Safety Japan
(or The Kindergarten Society)


The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.
H. L. Mencken (1880 - 1956)


I would not be surprised to discover that the famous US editor, H.L. Mencken had spent some time in Japan. Certainly, if he hadn't, he would have found ample evidence of his above assertion. Several years back there was a public safety campaign aimed at drivers. The catch phrase was Safety Driver , as in "I'm a safety driver". This slogan evidently adorned bumper stickers. Unfortunately the campaign had ended before I arrived in Japan. I say unfortunately because I enjoy Engrish as much as anyone. The remnants of the campaign nonetheless can be heard frequently in the speech of my students who believe the word 'safety' is an adjective. In a discussion I had with a student when I first arrived in country I specifically remember him telling me, "Welcome to Safety Japan." I was forced to wonder if there existed in some parallel universe a Dangerously Japan, but my thoughts were cut short as I was given a rundown on the various features of Safety Japan, none of which I can accurately recall.
Part of my loathing of Safety Japan is that the whole notion is not based on the fact that Japanese people are necessarily safer than other nationalities. What is safety after all? Crime rates slightly lower, cancer rates slightly higher, where's the gain?- rather the idea of Safety Japan is based around the preconception that other places are more dangerouser, I mean more dangerous. Certainly Japan rates statistically well relative to other countries when talking about violent crime, but one could find striking disparities within a nation from one area to the next. There are certainly parts of Tokyo that I would not care to venture after dark. Not that I have ever felt threatened in Japan, but then again, I never felt threatened in my small New Hampshire hometown. Regardless of what would be obvious to most travelers that safety has more to do with being in a particular place than a being within a national boundary, for many Japanese the rest of the world is dangerous in varying degrees. For instance, everywhere in America is dangerous, but Canada is devoid of danger. Australia isn't dangerous because there are many Japanese tourists. Same goes for Hawaii, which means Oahu and more specifically Waikiki for the Japanese traveler. While we are on the subject of Hawaii it should be noted that Hawaii is a good place for Japanese people because many Hawaiians (i.e. second or third generation Japanese) can speak Japanese, or at least so I have been told by my students who are all paying me fistfuls of cash to speak English. Is anyone confused?
So the world is a dangerous place. And who is profiting from this? To the best I can tell it is the Japanese travel agencies in cahoots with Japanese owned overseas tourist ventures; hotels, restaurants, souvenir shops, even hostess bars (I meet a hostess who had worked for years in Australia and never spoke English there). The package tour is Japan's answer to the American RV motor home. Mostly retiresed by retirees, these package tours offer airfare, hotel, tour guide, meals and every assurance that no tour member will have to come into contact with the indigenous population - phew! Usually the package tours are grossly overpriced. However, if you are looking for upscale accommodations, there are deals to be had. Several non-Japanese friends of mine have used the tours and the insight they gained was remarkable. At certain points in the tour they were herded into souvenir shops and told that "these are the best prices you'll find". Of course there was no comparison shopping, stop at one store for Hawaiian shirts, stop at another for Macadamia nuts. My friends, not fearing the locals, went out on their own and found that, shockingly, the stores connected with the tour were not necessarily giving the best deals. To believe that such chicanery exists in the Japanese travel industry makes me question the fundamental notion of Safety Japan. I, for one, am outraged. Well, not really. People pay for their ignorance and ignorance exists to be profited from.
It is not only the world outside of Japan that is dangerous. Japan itself can be a dangerous place. I have to believe this is the case, why else would I see the plethora of warning signs and hear an incessant cacophony of announcements that contain words like be careful, dangerous, watch out. I am constantly reminded that I must step off the escalator or that I should stand away from the train tracks. I hear that running to board the train is 'very dangerous' and I shouldn't do it. No matter where I go I am told to watch my step. I wonder at how many times I was pulled back from the brink of discovering my own mortality by one of the above-mentioned signs. Doubtlessly I have escaped sever maiming due to an altruistic announcement made in a train, bus or department store. To think that in some places such preventative measures are not taken makes me truly feel happy to be in Safety Japan. Some signs that I see are not necessarily for my safety, but they benefit myself and others anyway. Take the sign that reminds me to flush the toilet, it's really helpful. Then there's the female voice at the department store that says "Thank you for your coming." I always check my fly after that one before realizing that it's only Engrish for "Thank you for shopping with us".
The sum total of Safety Japan is that it is a place where everyone can be happy and avoid unpleasant experiences that may happen elsewhere (unless you consider being pushed into a packed train and then commuting for two hours an unpleasant experience). I feel that I should give something back to this society for having harbored me in its protective womb for so long. I would like to propose that there be a sign or announcement, if not both, at Narita airport somewhere in the international departures area, perhaps in the immigration lobby or at the metal detectors, that states in several languages the following, "You are now leaving Safety Japan. Please do so at your own risk and be careful! Have a nice trip." You never know who might accidentally exit the country without meaning to.

I have received some disgruntled email from a reader who wants news of me "...getting drunk and puking on some Japanese girl's shoes." I'm sorry I can't provide you with such salacious hijinks every time I make an entry, but I did have a couple with the guys last night, though no vomit, Japanese girls, or soiled footwear was present. I try my best to bring you decent entertainment, but I'm just a humble English teacher, not a drummer from an eighties hair band. My day to day routine would bore a shoe salesman. Enough about shoes already, I have to get going.

As faithful readers may have noticed (I think there's only one of you), I have posted several of essays from my "Japanecdotes" series. The reason for this is two fold: Firstly, there are decent and deserve a forum. Secondly, I have been to lazy to put down a worthwhile entry. In any case, I have several more that I have yet to post, so you can look forward to reading them or avoid this blog for the next few days - whatever you like.
Cheers,
Matt

Natto
( or Why I Am Still Here)

When meeting an individual that is not from Japan it is the duty of any patriotic Japanese person to ask of said individual whether or not they like natto. Natto is some bean-like thing that is enveloped in a gooey film; imagine the dung of a small rodent if you will. The smell is off-putting and in the animal kingdom a species typically will not try to ingest something that smells unpleasant - call this a defense mechanism, I think it is quite sensible. Somehow or other, someone, at some point in the history of Japanese culinary development put their survival at stake and risked poisoning to confirm that natto tasted bad. How then is it that natto became a mainstay of the breakfast meal for many Japanese? I leave this question to someone more diligent in background research than I am. It suffices to say that natto is an unpleasant, yet edible bean that a nation full of people pride themselves on being able to stomach. Which leads me full circle to where I started. A Japanese person will invariably ask, at first opportunity, someone of different nationality if they "can eat natto". (If the question is in English I always respond "yes, I have a mouth" and play upon the translation error that has been made). Essentially, the questioner wants to know if I like the mean bean and I don't. Now, I could write off the question to cultural curiosity, but what fun would that be? Instead, I have developed an entire thesis around why Japanese people consistently put forth the question, which will eventually lead me to explain why I have spent so much time being asked the question.
It is well known to any student of Japan that the Japanese consider themselves to be quite unique. They often will go to great lengths to point out just how unique they are. I am also unique; I have a birthmark on my left hand. Anyway, the old "Do you like natto?" routine is further proof of this (that the Japanese think themselves unique and not that I have a birthmark on my left hand). It goes like this. The general Japanese populace has discovered that natto is unpopular with foreigners. This should really come as no surprise because I am sure that many Japanese people persist in eating the acrid stuff out of national pride. In any case, alerted to the fact that foreigners don't like natto, the Japanese see a great chance to score a double victory. By liking, or claiming to like, natto they assert their uniqueness, "You see, we Japanese are truly different!" and they gain points for being tough, as in "Wow, how can you eat that!?" We all remember the kid in elementary school who would eat anything on a dare in a pathetic bid for popularity, or at least notoriety. "Hey guys, how much will you give me if I eat this beetle?" So, there we have it, the Japanese have scored twice in one-fell-swoop and this within only our first meeting.
From now on let the one-up's manship continue. Today it is natto tomorrow it is the unique Japanese summer with its humidity (only the Japanese air becomes damp) and then on to the Japanese four seasons (as opposed to the one or two enjoyed by the rest of the world). So, you now understand that asking whether or not someone from abroad likes natto is a clever plan on the part of our Japanese hosts to keep us locked in a brainwashed state of submission to their uniqueness.
Wherever there is deceit and cunning I will make my presence felt. Like a fraternity member who fills his brothers cups from the keg first, I must make a stand and defend my fellow gaijins. To this end, I have stymied the Japanese and their natto scheme for years by following this simple, but brilliant scheme. I lie. I lie like a prizefighter at the end of his career in gambling debt to the mafia. I lie like a whale committing suicide on the shores of some cape. I lie like the ill-conceived bridge that connects Chiba to Kanagawa and cost millions of yen and that no one uses so that they charge a toll fee equivalent to one months salary of a sushi chef, which further makes the bridge unpopular. I lie and tell every last person who cares to ask that I, a foreigner in Japan, like natto. In that instant I perceive a certain defeat in the eyes of my interlocutor, away washes the humidity of the summer, away washes the four seasons and I am triumphant for a brief moment and then I am asked, "So, can you use chopsticks?"
The fight goes on. And that is why I have been in Japan so long.

Going to shopping
(or The National Hobby)

The two most prominent mistakes, or errors for the academic – because you must first have knowledge of something to make a mistake, made by Japanese students of English are the phrase 'going to shopping', which is simply caused by inserting a superfluous preposition, and the use of the word 'hobby', as in "What are your hobbies?", where the word 'interests' or another phrase, such as "What do you do in your spare time?" would be more natural. These errors are somewhat revealing. One is a grammatical inaccuracy, while the other is a matter of natural phraseology – both areas of difficulty for Japanese learners of English, but I digress. The irony is that these two frequent errors are often spoken in the same breath. “My hobby is going to shopping.” Linguistic problems aside, this seems to summarize the behavior of Japanese people when they aren’t at work. That is to say, they go to shopping. Wherever that is. Going to shopping is truly the national pastime, I mean hobby.
Actually, I have taken some liberty with the reader and led him/ her to believe that I am ignorant of the whereabouts of Shopping. In fact, I have been there. Of course, like most newly arrived in Japan, I spent a fair amount of time speculating on the location of this mythical place called Shopping that I was always hearing about. “I went to shopping yesterday.” “We’re going to shopping after class.” They all seemed to know where it was, but I was in the dark. I figured that Shopping was a katakana derived name for a mega-shopping-complex that the locals all frequented. Imagine my disappointment when a less green resident put me on to the fact that the students were simply making a translation mistake. Kaimono ni iku. Kaimono means ‘shopping’, ni means ‘to’ and iku means ‘go’. The mystery unraveled as did my hopes of discovering the fabled consumer Eldorado. This said, with the blindfold removed I was able to appreciate the true nature of Japanese shopping for it existed all around me. There was nowhere I could venture where the signs of this activity were not prevalent. Be it Department Stores, Outlets, Supermarkets or even the local Convenience store, I soon realized that going to shopping was omnipresent. It was a satori-like experience. The world as I saw it before was but an illusion and as if a membrane was removed from my third eye I awakened in a consumer paradise that far exceeded my whimsical expectations of a mere mega-shopping-complex that existed somewhere. It existed everywhere.
The Japanese are voracious shoppers. They do shopping like Americans do burgers – in a frenzied state of excitement. I sometimes find myself completely ignored in a shopping environment. Surely someone should be staring at me. But when there is shopping to be done even Gaijins must be disregarded lest the last 500yen blouse/shirt/hat/freeze-dried pack of natto be missed out on. Hordes of middle-aged housewives roam department stores on the weekdays sniffing out bargains on anything and everything. The only variance on their routine is that the weekend sees the husband and children in tow. You see, shopping is the national pastime, er hobby.
Some say that the Japanese are Shinto when they are married and Buddhist when they die. The marriage ceremony in Japan is often Shinto (although this is rapidly changing toward a more Western style) and funerals are Buddhist. Otherwise, most Japanese have little day to day religion, or so it is thought. In my mind, the Japanese are Shinto when they marry, Buddhist when they die, and shoppers at all other times. So, I am raising the bar. Shopping is not the national hobby; it’s the national religion. Like all religions, there must be a deity/deities, a temple of worship and offerings to be made - enter the depato, Hello Kitty™, and the ichiman (10,000) yen note. The depato is actually Japanese for department store and one of these divine halls can be found immediately proximate to any self-respecting train station in Japan. A depato is made up of numerous clothing shops and cosmetics stands with typically a supa (supermarket – you’re catching on) in the basement. For those who reside under rocks, Hello Kitty™ is a nauseatingly cute cartoon character that adorns a host of nauseatingly trivial items that can be purchased for the purpose of gaining merit with the shopping gods. To make such purchases, you will need at least an ichiman yen note because there is very little you can buy in this country for less than that sum. That withstanding, even the less fortunate can partake in the national religion (the clergy would never forget the masses) at the local one hundred yen shop, the US equivalent of ‘Everything-for-a-dollar’ stores. 100yen shops are found in all but the most posh depatos and offer the little guy his place in the sun even if he can’t spare ichiman yen (though don’t think there’s too much Hello Kitty™ to be had for 100yen).
I am a bit too harsh, a bit too sarcastic. I understand the need of the Japanese to shop. It is, after all, a consumer society. Food and sundries must be had to live. Furthermore, in such a populace country it is hard to find a place where one can stroll around protected from the elements, not too mention noise and air pollution. I certainly prefer the relatively breathable and acclimatized air of the depato to that of my neighborhood. If you live in the Kanto area, you will have to drive for hours, probably in traffic, to arrive at any area of natural value, so a trip to the depato might be more economical and even environmental (there’s usually plenty of bicycle parking). Really, I shouldn’t be too harsh on the Japanese about their shopping addiction. In fact, I don’t have much on the agenda this afternoon; maybe I’ll go to shopping myself. Now where was it again?

Pissing on the tracks
(or the apology of the oyaji)

I am often asked what my first impression of Japan was. I cannot say that I clearly remember, so much being modified by the passage of time. I can, however, say that the one impression that I had of Japan that was truly erroneous was that of the wise old Japanese man, the Zen-like, silver haired gentleman who went about his affairs with a sense of higher purpose unknown in the West. I had viewed the different genres of Japanese film and whether it be the stone faced business tycoon or the nerves-of-steel martial arts sensei, all had a great reverence in their behavior that imbued me with respect for their age and wisdom. Sadly, that impression was done away with the first time I witnessed the urinary behavior of a certain old man that couldn’t quite resist the urge to have a ‘slag’, as the British say, from the platform of the train tracks at my local station. From that day forth my image of the stately, elderly Japanese man has transformed into an image of an intoxicated buffoon whose best gag is to utter ‘OK’ in the presence of a foreigner in ordered to exhibit his command of the English language – well, at least he’s not pissing on my pant leg.
The word Oyaji in Japanese might be rendered by the English word ‘geezer’ except that it finds its way into everyday speech much more commonly than its English counterpart. Perhaps this is a reflection of day to day reality in a country whose population is so rapidly aging that they predict the year 2050 will see one million centenarians. An oyaji has many identifiable features; sake-stinking breath, a disregard for anyone around him, a penchant for hacking up phlegm (and almost as often spitting it at his first convenience - in the middle of your path, undoubtedly), a gravely, emphysema induced growl for a voice, and most of all a love for the drink. I imagine that for every Aikido master that spent his formative years learning the art of self-discipline and violent agility, there are a thousand Japanese men who spent their evenings in the izakaya refining their vulgarities and enriching beer brewers. The worst of it would be a trifle if they remained at the izakaya , but there reaches a point in every evening when the oyaji must make his way home and often he finds himself hopelessly trashed on the last train where he does one of the following: a) urinates in between the cars b) vomits between the cars c) urinates on the tracks d) vomits on the tracks e) in a sad, but true case, falls into the tracks and is run over by an oncoming train along with two would-be rescuers who, all three, perish. So, as you can see, the oyaji is a sanitary, safety, and social hazard.
What gave birth to such a crude creature? In most countries it is the youth who run wild. Why is it that public enemy number one in Japan looks like your grandfather? I have a theory by which there is an inverse relationship between the rising price of golf course memberships and the consumption of sake by Japanese men over fifty. Stateside our seniors are kept out of trouble by pursuing a small white ball over great distances of terrain rendering them too tired at the end of the day to find their to the local public house. Unfortunately, Japanese seniors are left unoccupied for the better part of their day and with increase in ‘early retirement’, read obligatory retirement, the only amusement they can find is the pachinko parlor or the bar. If you lose at Pachinko you will want to drown your sorrows with a drink and if you win, then you will want to celebrate your good fortune with a drink. In either case you’re drunk. To further complicate matters, we know that elderly people often suffer from bladder issues, to state things lightly. It is not too much of a cognitive jump to figure out why peeing against walls, down drainage ditches, off platforms and into train tracks has become something of a national pastime for the oyaji.
There are, of course, other manifestations of drunkenness we can observe from our friend. He is known to practice a mean golf swing on the train with an umbrella in place of a club (I am always amused when his glances up as if to follow the flight path of the imaginary shot – I wonder if he is seeing two balls?) I already eluded to his profiency in foreign language. “Hallo. How al you? Fine tank you!” At which point it is strikingly obvious who is ‘tanked’. Occasionally he shows off his dance prowess with a two-step jig that is also know in some countries as stumbling drunk.
His ability for throat clearing might find him a mate on the plains of the Serengeti. Alas, I have probably overlooked some of his other talents, but our hero needs not me to sing his praises. He sings them on nightly basis. He will be playing soon at a train station near you. If you’re quiet, you might be able to hear him now. Just don’t get too close; he likes to mark his territory.

A quick rundown on the different levels of ability that exist among Japanese students at my English school. I have given them a rating of 1-9 with 1 representing an absolute beginner and 9 being the other end of the spectrum. Here goes...

1) Student is unable to form coherent sentences. Language is a series of words or stock phrases. Typified by asking 'like' questions - "Do you like Japan?"

2) Student's sentence structure remains rudimentary. Some experimentation with open questions. "What do you like in Japan?"

3) Student starts to acquire a tense awareness. Delves into the questions about the past.
"Why did you come to Japan?"

4) Student is introduced to modal verbs and tag questions. Overuse of recently learned material is frequent. "You must like Japan, musn't you?"

5) Student begins to experiment with conditional statements and questions. "If you hadn't come to Japan, what would you have done?"

6) Student learns to speculate with a varying degree of certainty. "It seems likely you probably don't understand Japanese, perhaps."

7) Student begins to justify opinions. "Many foreigners in Japan don't truly understand we Japanese because they, themselves, are not Japanese, nor from Japan, for that matter."

8) Student's language is approaching that of native-ability, but would not yet be mistaken for a native-speaker. "It is usually stated that Japan and the Japanese are a unique country and people due to that we are different and special from countries that are not Japan and people who are not Japanese."

9) Student realizes that there is life outside Japan and topics of discussion other than those centered around Japan. "So, what's new?" (Note: category 9 is an ideal, theoretical model, no such students exist.)

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. That's how I'm feeling sitting at home waiting for a call from the personnel section for overtime. I need the money, especially after my recent vacation, but who really wants to work. The catch is that I'm stuck at home in the morning, though once noon comes around I can pretty much write off my chances of getting work. Nonetheless, I could have stayed in bad another hour. Certainly now that the temperature has dropped one would far rather stayed ensconced in his covers than shiver through the morning routine of shower & shave. OT has gotten harder these days as the company has come up with little ingenious ways to ....Ha, as I was writing that they called. 5-9 shift at Chiba Honko. Actually, that works out. It will give me the afternoon to hit the bank and Post Office. Now my day has purpose! Well, at least I have something to occupy my evening. I've lost my train of thought. Anyway, another exciting day off for yours truly.

Trying to get back into the swing of work, but finding it real hard after a three week vacation. On the flip side, I am so relaxed I can hardly remember how I ever became worked up about anything work related. As if teaching conversational English should cause anyone any stress. Yet, I notice that some of my coworkers, who will remain anonymous, seem to be just as stressed as pre-vacation.

Today was "Seijinshiki" or "Coming of Age Day" in Japan. It's when 21 year-olds put on kimonos and suits and celebrate their entry into the dreary life of a Japanese adult who will be consigned to the next 44 years of commuting in crowded trains to monotonous jobs with pointlessly long hours. Congratulations seijintachi!!!

Please note that the entries during my trip from December 17th to January 7th have been purposefully back dated to give a sense of temporal immediacy. Furthermore, the time marker is irrelevant, but most of my journal entries were made at night. Isn't that exciting?

Reporting back for duty after a three weeks of R&R. I just spent several hours uploading pictures of my trip, so please click on the pictures link to view them. I will give a full account of my trip, but I need to take a slight computer break before doing so. Hope you enjoy the photos.

Back to Japan at 7am after a cramped, uncomfortable and most importantly, delayed Air India flight. Don't fly these guys even if you are saving 20,000yen. I'm back in one piece, so no real complaints. Passing through immigration at Narita is always fun. At the health counter they were passing out questionnaires. Here's what it says. "It is generally known that there are many kind of serious infectious diseases abroad, which have not occurred in Japan." It goes on to say that you should see a doctor if you have certain symptoms. I just love the way it reads "It is generally known..." By who!? The Japanese!? Why don't they just write "It is generally known that the outside world is a terrifying place that is fraught with disease, pestilence, rape, pillage and every sort or malevolence possible." They have neglected to mention that there is one serious disease that has occurred in Japan and not yet in the outside world. It's called 'lamebosis' and its symptoms are typically a vacant stare and lack of spontaneous thought or behavior. Although not fatal, 'lamebosis' has been known to lead to depression and suicide, not only for those afflicted, but also for those in proximity to someone suffering from this uniquely Japanese disease.
Anyway, I was able to get home at 9:30, sleep for two hours and then make it to work in a general state of fatigued bewilderment.
I'm Back (yawn).

What a day! We were up and packing for a noon check out. We finally got everything together and headed to the airport when...for the third time this trip someone almost forgot something. Pok left photographs under the bed. Ironically, I actually checked under my side of the bed as my mommy always told me to do when leaving a place. So, a return trip to the hotel for her. The airline was another fiasco. I had tickets with Thai Air. "Sorry Thai Air doesn't run flights today", "That's a bit inconvenient as they sold me a ticket saying THEY DID". After much confusion and use of what looked to be a computer, though I suspect they were using Morse-code and a telegraph, they determined that we would be flying on PB Air. Whatever, we got to Bangkok on time. Back to her apartment around 4ish. Because my flight today doesn't depart until midnight. Guess what. Pi Nan, who had the apartment keys, was nowhere to be found. We had to pay about t 10$ to have Management open the door - by breaking the lock. After a teary dinner we headed back to airport at 10pm to check in. "Sorry flight delayed three hours. Please check in at midnight" Fuck me. Jump to midnight. "Sorry flight delayed another three hours, departing at 6am. Please come to hotel for rest". Fortunately Jenjira had stayed around at the airport, so I had a companion to share my misery with. Air India put us up in the Amari Airport Hotel which goes for 150$ a night, but mainly because it's the only hotel adjacent to the airport. We checked in midnight and they promised a wake-up call. I was tossing and turning expecting a 4am call. Never came. Nor at 5, 6, or 7. Finally called down and inquired. "Looks like late afternoon". At least I could sleep in peace. When we went down for the complimentary brunch the ETD had been pushed back until 10pm. I spent most of the day in the hotel room watching TV and on the toilet. In huge bit of irony, I hadn't had any diarrhea problems the whole trip - even in the village - but I'll be damned if that fish soup I had for dinner hasn't gotten me. Another meal in the airport this time and now it looks like AI 305 won't depart until 11:30pm, almost a full 24 hour delay. Shit! - literally.

Today is our last full day of vacation, a bittersweet moment. We departed on the riverboat at about 10am. It was just the two of us and a driver, so nice and quiet. We took a slow boat. Did see some jet boats, but wouldn't suggest them as they are dangerous and ear-shattering. The Mekong is beautiful and I thought the boat ride was worth the expense. About one and a half hours into the trip we stopped at a village known for its Lao whiskey production. It was a complete tourist trap. All of the huts had been converted into shopfronts housing the same textiles that could be found at the hill tribe market in Luang Prabang. It's funny the economics of tourism. You got the feeling that only several years before the villagers were all engaged in agriculture and fishing, but now everyone had become retail shop owners. I wondered if the boatmen got some sort of commission for stopping off here. After leaving the village we sailed for another half-an-hour to the Pak Ou caves. The caves contain a collection of Buddha statues and have a ceremonial function once a year. Cave rating: 6 out of a possible 10. They weren't the most jaw-dropping thing I've seen in Laos, but I appreciated the boat ride to get to them as it was a great chance to view the Mekong. In summary, to those who would travel there - do the boat ride, but remember that "success is journey, not a destination".
In the evening we went to see some traditional Lao theater. It was really just a photo op for most of the tourists who paid as much as 10$ to see the show (a veritable fortune in Laos). The performance went far too long. The caucasian audience seemed to miss the finer points of the song and narration in Lao. It was comic to look around and see everyone try and skillfully hide their boredom. After the Lao performance there were several small shows put on by different hill tribes. The whole thing was worth checking out for the photographic aspect, but to skip if you don't have a high boredom threshold (I teach conversational English, so it was a breeze).

Again we rented bicycles today. I would suggest this is the way to get around Luang Prabang. The city is small and quite bikable without too much in the way of hills to contend with. We visited several more temples, including That Makmo. Lunch next to the Khan was relaxing. The pace of this place is quite laid-back; there's no need to run around, just sit back and take it all in.
This evening we reserved a boat to take us down the Mekong to the Pak Ou caves - 15$ for the two of us. After that we had a terrible pizza, but washing it down with some Beer Lao mellowed my disappointment. Note to those who are interested: Beer Lao is excellent and comes in liter bottles for 10,000kip or 1$. I even broke down and bought the cheesy tourist t-shirts.

Rented bicycles for 40Bht a day and toured around the relatively small city of Luang Prabang. It's absolutely gorgeous. We visited Wat Xieng Thong in the morning. Built in 1560 in the typical Luang Prabang style, it was one of the prettier temples I've had the pleasure of seeing during the trip. We did a short climb of Mt. Phousy from where you have a great view of Luang Prabang and its surroundings.
Tourism in Luang Prabang seems to have been approached in the right way. Indeed there are a lot of restaurants, shops and travel agencies, but they have respected the general aesthetic of the city with wood-carved signs and buildings renovated in a traditional style. There's none of the garish flamboyance that you might find in Chang Mai, Koh Samui or other major Thai tourist areas. For all that, the number of visitors is quite high, so you're not really breaking new terrain here. Backpackers who pride themselves on discovering the next best thing have moved on from Luang Prabang long ago.

Today we ran around Vientiane getting photos developed, buying postcards and exchanging books before our 6pm flight to Luang Prabang. We actually got to the airport before 4 o'clock and were put on the 4:30 departure. Thanks Lao Aviation. We arrived in one piece in Luang Prabang, despite my concern about the safety of the airlines (Is it normal that the passengers should have to push the plane down the runway and then hop on before it takes off?). We got to Luang Prabang and just from the landing approach I could see some of the natural beauty. It's a small city that sits between the Mekong and a tributary called the Khan. The surrounding area is hilly and mountainous, very pleasing scenery. Our hotel is called the Villa Santi and it's a former residence of a princess. The hotel is excellent with a local decor that is very well put together. There are no TVs in the hotel room, and frankly that was a welcome relief for one of us who was tired of listening to Thai soap operas while falling asleep. After checking in we strolled down on of the main streets. It's quite a charming little place. Coincidentally, we ran into the Swedes. I asked them about Vang Vieng. "Ja, der was a little problem because, you know, da bus ride is so long end we fell asleep end when we stopped we tought it was to take a piss end then later we asked 'when are we arriving at Vang Vieng?' end dey said 'we already passed it'." Oh well, so much for that. Tomorrow we'll check out the city in full.

I should be relating how hungover I am after a wild night of partying. (Un)fortunately, I'm feeling pretty good. The Khop Jai Deu party was good, but I almost couldn't stay awake and was actually whining to go back to the hotel at 11:30. Thank God the girlfriend had the sense to say no. What lame-ass I've become. At least I can say I spent New Year's 2004 in the capital of Laos. Not too much to mention about the festivities, but we did meet some Swedes who were supposed to get up early this morning for a 10hour bus ride to Luang Prabang via Vang Vieng. Vang Vieng is this backpackers' hangout, so I decided that we'd give it a miss, in addition to which the 10hour bus ride sounds less appealing than the 40minute flight, even if it is Lao Aviation. Still, I'll be interested to hear their story when and if we meet up in Luang Prabang. For all I know, they're still asleep in their hostel given their state last night.
This afternoon we went to the Lao version of the Buddha Park (see 12/28 entry). It was made by the same mad monks who put together the park in Nong Khai. I loved it, but I give Nong Khai the slight edge. Same degree of bizarre, but on a smaller scale. If you are in the area compare and contrast the weird wackiness of both places. As it was New Year's day there were a lot of Lao at the park having lunch and the atmosphere was nice. Upon coming back we dropped of some film to be developed and had lunch at a Vietnamese place that served a great baguette sandwich. We came back to the hotel and hung out inside. We seem to be getting a bit run down with the sightseeing. I don't mind the slow pace, however. We could have done Vientiane in about two days, but we had time, so easy does it. Tomorrow we depart at 6pm for Luang Prabang, the final stage of our trip.