August 01, 2003
The Real Japan
Tuesday, August 1, 1989
In 1966, when I was ten years old, I lived in Okinawa. My dad was a fighter pilot out of Kadena AFB, running sorties to Viet Nam. Once a month, or so, a woman would come to our fifth grade class and teach us a little Japanese culture and language. (I still have my notebook from those lessons). At that time, the Ryukyu Islands, were still under US control. Long before that, Okinawa had a tumultous history as a sovereign nation, sometimes under Chinese control, and sometimes under Japanese control. Although Okinawa would someday be returned to Japan, it retained its own subculture apart from Japan. From those days in Okinawa on, I had always longed to visit "the real Japan".
Now 23 years later, riding on the long bus ride into Tokyo from Narita airport with my own 10-year-old, I look out the window searching for a fulfillment to that long-held dream. In the sprawl of freeway, squat concrete office buildings are stacked together like a child's building blocks. They seem so small and insubstantial, like a giant movie set, that it's easy to imagine Godzilla stomping through them. The freeway is built so close to the buildings, that I can look in at office workers, just on the other side of the window.
We drive and drive. JQS, who has been awake on adrenaline the entire flight, finally falls asleep. This makes getting him off the bus, getting our suitcases and checking in with hundreds of other people on the JET Program, a feat.
At last we are alone in our room. Earlier, I had resented the fact that CLAIR made me pay for half a room for JQS, rather than sharing with another participant like everyone else. But now I'm relieved to have a room to ourselves. We look out our hotel window at the endless lights of Tokyo. We are finally here, but it still seems just beyond our reach.
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We wake up around 5AM Tokyo time. It's too early for breakfast (we have an assigned time so that the hotel can handle our ravenous horde in a orderly fashion), so we decide to explore around our hotel a little. From our window, the most imposing sight near the Keio Plaza is the construction of the controversial new city hall building. It will be the tallest building in Tokyo. Beyond it, though I can see Shinjuku Chuo Koen. I gravitate towards the greenery. I also hope that JQS can run off some energy before he has to stay up in the hotel room alone while I attend a day of orientation sessions.
My normally excellent sense of direction is thrown off. Without a horizon and with rainy skies, I can't get my bearings. Near the hotel, there's a street map. I orient myself north on it, but later I discover that the top of the map is not north. So I'm more twisted around than ever.
This map would have been really useful.
Odd Bits
We will have to buy umbrellas. In front of the hotel, is what I think is an umbrella parking lot. Before you enter the hotel, you lock the umbrella in a slot, rather like a coin locker. No one seems to wear raincoats here.
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August 03, 2003
Why I Moved to Japan
Usually when people ask me this question, they're asking, "Why did you move to Japan?" But lying on my bed in the Keio Plaza Hotel in total exhaustion after days of JET Program orientation, I realize that the better question is "Why did you move to Japan?" At least, that's the one I'm prepared to answer.
Basically, due to lack of experience and lack of money, I'm a lousy traveller. As a single Mom just trying to make ends meet, I've never been on a vacation in my life. Except for the occasional trip to my parents for Christmas, I haven't travelled. I think I've only stayed in a hotel once in the last 15 years.
So being thrown into the Tokyo experience is completely overwhelming for a small town girl like myself. Maybe, if I were younger and didn't have a kid, I'd go bar-hopping with other JETs. Probably not, though. JQS doesn't keep me from doing what I really want to do; he's just a living reminder of the life I prefer to lead.
I have no desire to experience a place by travelling through it. I want to get under the skin of the place. I want to let it get under my skin.
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August 04, 2003
Private School JET
Friday August 4, 1989
Today we meet Murakami-sense, who has come up to Tokyo from our school in Oita to escort us back. The 25 JETs employed by in public schools are all going to Oita together. But there are several of us "odd men out" who are employed by private schools, which have made separate arrangements for us.
Murakami-sensei seems nice enough, but slightly nervous. When we introduced ourselves, I bowed, she extended her hand; then I extended my hand and she bowed. I have to work to catch her English, and I feel bad when I can't understand her since she is the head English teacher at my school, and is frustrated and embarrased when we aren't communicating.
She offered to take JQS on a site-seeing trip in the afternoon, which was nice of her. I expected her to go off on her own, but she signed them both up for some kind of tour. On arriving home, JQS reports, that despite many warnings from tour guide, Murakami-sensei did not make it back to the bus on time and they ended up taking the subway home.
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August 14, 2003
Kitsuki
Monday August 14, 1989
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Today was the first day since we arrived in Beppu-shi that we have not been scheduled for something. We've been shepherded around constantly these last two weeks and today I was determined to do some exploring on our own.
Looking through the many brochures we received at Beppu's Foreign Tourist Information Office, we decidee to go to see Kitsuki Castle, Kitsuki being only about a 20-minute train ride north of Kamegawa. We set out early in the morning, but the first thing we discover when we arrive is that Kitsuki station is not in the center of town, but some distance away. (I learn later in the day that one takes the bus into town from the train station, but I had no idea how to read the bus schedule, so we walked.)
We walked through rice fields, intensely green and filled with the sound of cicadas, the sun beating down on us, the air heavy with humidity. Some distance away the tide is out, and the steaming seaweed smells unpleasantly like dead fish and cooked spinach. As we begin to approach town, a high school girl runs out of one of the houses. "Are you lost?" she asks in English. "We're going to Kitsuki Castle. Is this the right road?" "Kitsuki Castle?" She looks at us dubiously. "Kitsuki Castle far." "How far?" "Maybe hour walk."
I thank her profusely and apologize for her trouble and we set off again. By now JQS, who is not the outdoors type, is quite red and sweaty and I'm worried that he might get heat exhaustion. I'm relieved to get to the center of town and find a modern supermarket which is airconditioned. We buy ice cream and cokes and have a nice long rest before setting out again.
We can see the castle and head towards it. We do not get very far before we meet a very old, bent woman coming the other direction. She seems amazed to see us and is also convinced that we must be lost. She insists on holding her parasol over JQS's head. Bent and shrunken with age, she is not much taller than he is. She is determined to take us to the local Catholic Church where the "padre" speaks English. Reluctantly we are lead and bullied to the church, where we thank her profusely and escape into the sanctuary. I have no intention of finding the "padre", but we wait at the door until she has left, sneak out and head off in the opposite direction.
We do finally make it to Kitsuki Castle. Very few people are there and the curator, Sato Takayoshi, is quite happy to show us around and to my amazement, even insists that JQS try on some armor.
I promise JQS that we will take the bus back. At the bus station, I study the schedule carefully. As we are waiting, a middle-aged woman strikes up a conversation. We exchange pleasantries and I confirm with her the number of the bus we are to take to the train station. Her bus comes before ours, but before she leaves, she calls two high school boys over and extracts a promise from them that they will see that we get on the correct bus. They sit with us and practice their English a bit until our bus comes. They see us on and then wave "bye-bye" and take off. I'm very surprised because I thought they were also on their way to the train station. But apparently, they were just passing by when the woman volunteered them for gaijin-sitting.
We are both exhausted by the time we get home. JQS makes it clear that he is not going on another one of Mom's wacky adventures anytime soon.
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August 15, 2003
Yukata Dreams
Last night, after my shower, I slipped on my old yukata. This is not the fancy dress yukata seen this time of year at bon odori. It's the kind of cheap, loose-weave cotton bathrobe that is laid out on your bed at fancy Japanese hotels, or is worn at onsen resorts like Beppu by tourists as they walk from bath house to bath house.
I haven't worn my yukata at all this summer. Nor last summer. Maybe I'm finally getting away from my Japan acquired habits, but lately I've been lounging in soft cotton pajamas instead.
I had forgotten how loose, cool and comfortable yukata are! A delight to the senses. All night long I dreamed dreams of wearing yukata. I'd dream I was going to work or to school in my yukata and people would look at me like I was crazy and ask "Why are you wearing that?" I felt a little awkward and then decided I didn't care. So, I just smiled and said, "Because it feels wonderful."
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A little yukata history from the Japanese Kimono company.
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August 19, 2003
Amy in Hita
Saturday August 19, 1989
Last Sunday Amy, the private school JET in Hita, called up and asked us over. I don't think that Hita is that far away, but it seems far because there is only a local train and that takes more than an hour from Oita.
Amy meets us at the station and we walk to her house. She has an old Japanese house with a garden to herself. I'm so envious. It's an L-shaped house with the kitchen in the corner of the L. One wing is a one-storey and is two formal rooms, an eight-mat room and a six-mat room. The other wing, which is two-storeys has two bedrooms upstairs, the kitchen and another room where she has the TV and her futon. She seems to camp out in this one part of the house and ignore the rest
Amy used to teach English in Germany and although she's travelled a lot more than I have, she seems to have a much more difficult time adjusting to the Japanese rhythm of things. Maybe it's because she has something "foreign" to compare it with and I don't. She doesn't seem to be happy with her house because it's old and too big and empty...all the reasons that I fell in love with it at first sight.
Her liaison comes over and takes us to the Hirose Tanso Museum and an old-fashioned restaurant. That evening we walk up to the video store and get "The Hunger" and "Daddy-Long-Legs".
Strange to Remember Now
A funny thing that happened when I was with Amy. After a month in Japan, I was desperate to speak English with another native speaker. But when I was with her that weekend, I "cursed like a sailor"--much more than I normally do.
Thinking about it now, I wonder if using very informal language, even rough language, was an attempt to force our relationship into an immediate intimacy--providing the illusion that we were old friends who could say anything to each other.
There are level of politeness in English, too; they just aren't codified by grammar. Even though people (well Americans anyway) like to pretend there are no rules, they're there and people obey them or break them to produce certain effects.
Related
* JBL recollects her own visit to Hita in Hita, Pottery Village Posted by M Sinclair Stevens.Add comment.
