Where's the Fork

Life's a beach

2009-07-27T11:43:00.015+09:00

WTF spent an impromptu day at Chojagasaki beach in Hayama this weekend. We had wanted to swing our clubs at the little driving range on base but it was closed thanks to the wind-which if you ask me is the perfect weather to practice golf in, have you ever watched The British Open-so we walked back home, doused the Kawaii Girls in sunscreen, packed them into the car, destination unknown. I asked WTF Husband to put a little dot of sunscreen on my back to cover a spot I just had removed, not wanting it to darken and he did just that plus some, so now I have a grapefruit size circle on my back that's an entirely different color than the rest of me, thanks Husband for that.

We've seen the beaches of Zushi, Kamakura and Enoshima and wanted to see a different part of the peninsula, so we took a shortcut through Shonan Village and came out in Hayama. After some hysterical moments trying to the turn around and back the car out of a narrow street, which by all accounts should have been a one-way street but was in fact a two lane road, we ended up at Chojagasaki.

Let me take this moment to comment on WTF Husband. He's a passenger in Japan, after years of being the driver. I do all the driving now, in large part because he's always gone and I'm more familiar with the area. While I am mostly comfortable with driving here, I still have pause every now and then on where to make u-turns, so I asked him were a good spot to turn around was but he had nothing to offer except pointing fingers at every driveway and street we passed. So I turned on my blinker-proud that it was actually the blinker and not the wind shield wiper by accident-and waited to cross the yellow solid line into a gas station. He starts in on me that you are not to cross the yellow line...hello, it is was the only way into the gas station but I was going to wait out the oncoming traffic and do it anyways, then he says with a deadpan serious tone, "There's the police don't do it." Now I'm flustered, concerned I'll be arrested and put in jail for 23 days before anyone can help me, so I move along when he says coolly, "Hey, why aren't you turning, the car is letting you through?" Hmm, smart ass, let me think about this. So in my haste and frustration I turn left onto a street that turns out to be more like a hairpin than a 90 degree turn and find myself stuck sideways, trying to back out into the road, surrounded by 5 or 6 scooters that came out of no where. In a sign of how bad it was, the normally very polite and courteous Japanese drivers started honking at me. I guess they didn't notice the shoshinsha symbol plastered on the front and back of my car. That little leaf magnet on the car gives me special license to make boneheaded mistakes and other assorted traffic faux pas'. Really, other drivers are just supposed to give me a wide berth and treat me with special care as a beginner driver in Japan. Same thing. Oh and there wasn't even a police officer, again, thanks Husband.

It was a beautiful gaijin moment. I may have even made one man jump off of his scooter to avoid hitting the car because he didn't show signs of stopping as I was working the 15 point turn to get us out of there. Did he really think I could get myself out of that jam in a couple of seconds? He didn't let go of the scooter though, so maybe we was trying to push it up the hill we were on, but what's the point of a motorized scooter if you have to push it, but I digress. The skirmish wasn't for nothing because I stumbled on The Museum of Modern Art, Hayama rather accidentally thanks to my side street detour.

So back to the beach, if it had been a perfectly clear day, Fuji-san would have been visible on the horizon. WTF will just have to go back to check that out some other day.

Photo courtesy of Shonan Boy's Adventure

We weren't really sure where to park in the lot because several sections were roped off and had signs in different colors. We chose one place that we later moved from because it looked like reserved parking and no one else was parking there. I'm not sure how that is managed since you pay the parking fee at an automated machine when you leave and there are no attendants.

Beach side, we frolicked amongst the other beach goers, splashed in the water and the Kawaii Girls buried each other in the sand. Everyone had inner tubes and little rafts that they floated on out in the water. The lifeguards paddled by on big boards and out in the distance, people swam to a large rock and by all accounts, just sat there taking in the scenery.

Kawaii Girl #2 insisted on being buried with food and drink...smart if you ask me.

When it was time to leave, Kawaii Girl #1 stripped naked, I guess she was done with having sand in her lady parts. At that, Kawaii #2 started to do the same, never one to miss out on the chance to take her clothes off. There just weren't enough towels to cover our embarrassment, or our free-birding girls, but the beach goers seemed to have found it cute, given their watching eyes and smiling faces and a mother and child came up to us at that moment to show us a crab they caught in a bucket. Back at the car, I noticed several other children in the buff so perhaps beach nudity isn't a taboo around here.

Leaving the parking lot and getting ready to pay I noted that the machine only took coins or ¥1000 bills, neither of which I had. Oh great! Stuck cars and beach nudity weren't going to be our only fun for the day. Now we were going to have to sleep in the parking lot. I was glad that we still had some Pringles, despite the can being full of sand from being used as a digging instrument and a half sipped on Capri Sun.

We re-parked the car and I sent WTF Husband, who has zero foreign language ability apart from "cervaza por favor," on a mission armed with an English to Japanese language booklet, the ¥5000 bill and hopes he'd come back with change. I tried to take pictures but cars were in the way. Somehow he managed with showing the parking ticket, the money and holding up five fingers. The Japanese man, who turned out to be a local photographer, handed him change and said in English "same money" noting that it was an exact exchange.

I would have been happy to have been short changed in the deal, a help-the-poor-gaijin fee, I just wanted out of the parking lot and there was no other way without paying the machine. It all makes for a great story however, so if you ask me, WTF's day was a great one-if you ask WTF Husband, well you might get another answer but remember he's just the passenger now and I'm the one writing the blog.

Oishii pizza (that's delicious for you gaijins)

2009-06-23T17:29:00.001+09:00

The Japanese have a thing for pizza. The pizza I've encountered here is either very thin crusted and extremely light on sauce or totally peculiar with popular toppings like mayonnaise, eggs and corn. Those are actually kind of good...but eel, dried fish flakes, kimchi, cod roe and scallop balls aren't my cup of green tea. I won't say that they're an abomination to pizza lovers everywhere, the Japanese just have a very unique taste profile. To each their own.

No mention of Japanese pizza would be near as entertaining without mentioning squid ink pizza though. Yes, that dark substance that is secreted out of cephalopods, like a stink bug I imagine.

Secreted, a world I like to think about while eating. Tasty. Squid ink replaces the tomato sauce in an oh-so-yummy, stain-your-mouth-black, tastes-earthy-like-wet-leaves kind of way. Those poor shrimp look like they're dying in black tar. You find squid ink used often here for sauces and pastas.

When the base WTF lives on opens it gates a few times a year to the local nationals, the first place they bee-line it to are our two pizzerias-Sbarro's and Anthony's. These aren't exactly the finest representation of American style pizza but when you've been eating squid ink and scallop balls (do scallops even have balls?) and thinking it tastes good, the doughy, greasy, gooey, cheesiness of a good 'ole slice of American pizza is probably like the search for a glass of water amidst the dry, sandy emptiness of the Sahara. Anything will taste exquisite.

These ladies were sporting pizza box carriers, because cheap grease is best when served from a stylish print.

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Ikea, say no more

2009-06-05T16:26:00.012+09:00

Armed with an iced chai tea latte and my own personal navigator-who as you later will learn is actually no help in reading signs because she's chatting more than paying attention to the road...of course I'm a model citizen, well, a temporary, long-term visitor in this country, and I would never engage in reckless road behaviors that would steal my attention. So with yen on the ready for the tolls, WTF headed northward, maybe eastward-I actually have no idea what direction we were headed, to Ikea in Kohuku, about 40 minutes from the base.

I've waited all my life to go to this Swedish retail giant. I giggle every time I think that I had to come to Japan to shop Swedish. The parking lot was the most ridiculously large structure I've ever seen-I was suddenly very thankful it was a weekday and not a weekend, my claustrophobia could only handle so much and it would have severely hampered my shopping high if the lot were full.

After cruising the second floor first, we stopped in the cafeteria for some totally delish food. Smoked salmon, Swedish meatballs, potatoes and ligonberries, crusty french bread and creamed spinach soup and even though we didn't imbibe, a very inviting wine bar.

And since I've never been to an Ikea before, I cannot say for certainty that this is another stroke of Japanese brilliance, but how clever to have a rolling cart as you make your way through the cafeteria. I didn't notice this until I had already paid, instead I struggled pushing Kawaii Girl #2 in the stroller and balancing our trays in my hands and on the stroller hood. I was lucky to have made it to the table. There would have been tears if my ligonberries had ended on the floor.

With a full tummy and a shopping buzz, we loaded up the car with our finds and headed for home. Feeling pretty good that I had completed a u-turn, which is most tricky in Japan, we were so proud of ourselves for making it there, making it out and heading in the right direction. Wouldn't you know we spoke too soon.

My personal navigator and I were gabbing away-okay, maybe I encourage our talking as well-and we were a bit too slow to react to the fork in the road and headed off to the right instead of left. In our defense, the text we were looking for was very little and sort of hidden on the sign. Okay, no problem, we had enough yen for more tolls, another 400 for this turn around.

Wanting to be sure of how to correct ourselves, I grabbed my little blue card from my wallet, that says in Japanese, "I'm lost, please help me find my way to Yokosuka." I was so excited to use it. For reasons that cannot be explained, I love figuring my way through this country, making missteps and still accomplishing what I set out to do. Living in a foreign country is, for a lack of a more articulate word, very cool, and whenever the day comes that it is time for us to leave, I will be very sad to say goodbye to this adventure.

Since we were on a time constraint to pick up the other Kawaii Girl, I wanted to be sure we expedited the exchange with the toll booth worker. So between my limited Japanese and the little blue card, he showed me where to circle around and what turns to take.

He spoke with a bit of English and lots of hand gestures and when he was done, he looked through the window to my friend and laughed, a fairly hearty chuckle. You see, my better shopping half is Japanese, her mother from Tokyo, and looks as if she should know what she's doing in these parts, though she speaks less Japanese than I do, which isn't saying much. He said, "Oh, well, you understand don't you?" and then gave us a confused look for why I was struggling with Japanese and he was struggling with English. I couldn't stop laughing, she gave her very best Doumo Arigatoo, we paid our toll and got back on the road.

Geesh, you'd think having a Japanese friend would be useful. We laughed the entire way home and are already plotting our next Ikea trip. Our philosophy is to experience Japan one shopping trip at a time, plus we're Ikea Family now and we need to use our card.

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The Cherry Blossoms have left the building

2009-05-25T19:58:00.021+09:00

Back in April the Kawaii Girls and I headed out on a train to a cherry blossom festival on the grounds of Shomyoji Temple, near Kanazawa Bunko station . I couldn't decide on which photos to post, I literally took hundreds, so I will let the photos do most of the talking and leave my words to a minimum.

These are two things that WTF Husband laughs at...that I suffer from a disease that renders me useless in making simple decisions, such as taking hours to choose photos for a blog that someone spends a quick minute on before moving onto the next, and that I would actually let something do the talking for me.

Well you see WTF Husband I don't always have to talk (or type). I can let things stand on their own. I don't feel a need to narrate everything to within an inch of its life. I mean, really, why would you think I needed to talk, just to hear myself? I am perfectly capable of letting the beauty of the photos shine without setting them up with a backstory or a funny anecdote. See, I can do it. Just you wait. Really. I can do it.

*If you're reading this post via email subscription, click here to see the full post with photos.

Ajiga-ike, or the "Pond of Letter A" and the Main Hall of the temple.

Kawaii Girl #1 pounding mochi and then sampling it. That was some sticky rice, it was stuck to us for hours.

Hanami party, remember this post?

These sweet kids walked all over the festival grounds. Aren't they so...well, kawaii? On more than one occasion we popped for a ¥50 cone of popcorn. A sakura cookie, that's a real cherry blossom inside, given to us by the sweet lady that showed us around the grounds.

On our walk back down to the train station I noticed people kept stopping at this house and looking up at it, like Brangelina were on their way down. Seems very non-descript to me but I thought maybe this is were Shiego Tokuda lived. He is famous unlike anyone in the states.

Alright WTF Husband, maybe I can't help myself...but that's half of my charm!

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Subcribe to WTF

2009-05-23T16:39:00.002+09:00

A quick bit of blog housekeeping.

You can now subscribe and receive WTF posts via email. All new articles will be delivered to your inbox without any effort on your part, so you can spend more time on Facebook trying to figure out which Grease character you are or what color your aura is.

Just head on over to the right hand sidebar, scroll down and enter your email address.

And I promise there are many new posts just waiting to be finished and delivered straight to you, once I figure out if I'm Sandy, Frenchy or Rizzo.

Off-key

2009-05-10T21:08:00.008+09:00

With a little dutch courage down my throat I found myself contemplating unleashing my inner tone def self...and with a whole lotta dutch courage, I found myself deep in the waters of bad, really bad, singing. Karaoke is such a quintessential Japanese experience I couldn't concern myself with the bleeding ears of my fellow karaoke singers.

Karaoke is arguably the most popular social activity in this country. Salarymen visit after work to loosen their ties and drown away their stresses in free flowing biiru and J-Pop. Taken so seriously by some, professional karaoke coaches are employed to help transform the talentless to that of the best of an average American Idol contestant...wait, aren't they all average?

My girlfriends and I visited a karaoke box カラオケボックス, el Notes down on Blue Street. We had our own private room, kitted out with karaoke paraphernalia-microphones, tv video machines and tambourines no less. For ¥2800, the room was ours for an hour and a half and included all-you-can-drink top shelf liquor, though I found the gin and tonic to be more like tonic and tonic. The biiru was surely tasty though and I knocked back my fair share.

Before the singing even started, we were treated to a prelude of what was to come later in the evening??? I don't really know what the heck it was, it was a laughable mixture of the hilarious and the disturbing. That was one drunk panda!

I've got video of my singing prowess, and it is truly spectacular, but now that the alcohol is no longer diluting my blood stream and unless it's 5 o'clock as you read this, it shouldn't be running through yours either, so there is no reason to subject you to the deafening notes that came from my voice. Pictures will have to suffice. I will say that my favorite song to sing was Baby Got Back by Sir Mix Alot and the best showcase of my talent was Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks. And for all my Memphis gals, I closed the night with In the Ghetto by none other than Elvis himself.

Singing it however was a little like guessaoke. I thought I knew the words by heart until it was time to sing it and the words escaped me despite them being on the screen. And there was a little shareaoke, where I tag teamed my way through a song and wandered around the room with the microphone like Wayne Newton and even a song or two of sweariaoke, were some of the lyrics got turned around and we cussed just for the hell of it.

It was a ridiculously fun evening, so much so that I am now a card carrying member of el Notes! To Daisuke Inoue, the man who invented karaoke, thank you for being as tone def and musically inept as me and giving the world over such a good time.

The Zen of Costco

2009-05-07T19:19:00.015+09:00

I walked into Costco and bought a piano.

Okay, I didn't buy the piano but I thought about it. You know you would have too. It's Costco people.

I've been in this country for 3 months now and my pants were on fire to check out the big box store, so on a whim I printed off directions, strapped Kawaii Girl #2 into the backseat and chose the hardest possible route to get there. For reasons that defy common sense, I opted to suffer my way through the narrow and trafficy streets of Yokohama, on a 45 minute drive vs. a 20 minute, quick and straight shot on the toll roads.

I did it for the adventure. An adventure is what I got.

This is the farthest I have driven from the base and before I even started the car, I read and memorized how to get there, complete with drawings of landmarks. I knew to be on the lookout for a Colonel Sanders, of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame, tucked on the side of a building where I was to make my first turn. Kawaii Girl #2 started in on me and after a brief discussion of her losing her after-nap graham crackers dipped in Nutella, I never heard a peep from her again. With that squared away, I started to panic a little...crap, the directions said to turn in 9 kilometers, what was that conversion again?? My palms started to sweat and my eyes started to go cross as I kept glancing from the road to the directions to the rearview mirrors and back to the directions. Ahh, is that chicken I smell? I made my first turn.

The rest of the drive was more relaxed until the directions didn't quite mesh with the actual street I was on. I kept driving deeper and deeper into an industrial area and my language reflected that of a stereotypical American truck driver. Why didn't I take that toll road? After a quick sumimasen (excuse me) I somehow figured out how to ask where Costco was and when the truck driver pointed across the street to the large and familiar looking warehouse, I laughed out loud, a mixture of relief and glee. I bowed and made my way up to the rooftop parking. I may be in Japan, but for this moment, I was home.

Some things that made this Costco unique:

On the way from the parking lot to the store, the downward sloped people mover that magnetically locked the cart in place so it wouldn't roll away. Kawaii Girl #2 began to hold on for dear life when she saw me take my hands off the cart to take the picture. Really, the cart didn't budge a bit. Very cool!

Local fare

Butter in a tube and grated gouda...so cool! Forget Buddha, Gouda is my inner peace.

And the reason you go to Costco:

The gadgets...and the muffins...heaven!

I went for chicken breasts and left with enough bread and croissants to overflow my freezer but just enough to satisfy me until my next trip out here. So I didn't walk away with the piano, it was tempting, but equally challenging, I am now faced with where to put the 10-pack of paper towels.

Rinse and repeat

2009-04-16T12:31:00.006+09:00

It was time for The Warden to get her hair done. It was starting to look like a giant mushroom cloud. You see readers, I have thick hair, thick as in prison-quality oatmeal, thick. And my hair multiplies the more you touch it, sort of like spinning cotton candy.

I knew before moving here that the chances of going to the on base salon were as much as WTF Husband agreeing to a third Kawaii Girl, so I did a bit of research and settled on Kenje Salon just down the street from the gates of the base.

I forgot to bring along my camera. It was the hair's fault. On my next visit, I will be sure to take pictures. If of nothing else, the stylish people running around. Stylish in that way that I could never be. Overly-processed-a-little-dirty-way-too-much-product kind of style that looks totally hip and urban. I have hips...I am not hip.

And I do mean running. I was attended to by no less than 4 people, as were the other 5 ladies on the floor. Watching everyone move was like watching ants bounce off each other when their marching is disturbed. Zigging, zagging, bounding up the stairs, taking two or three at a time, twirling around each other so as to never bump into them or knock product out of their hand. Dare I say I even saw a stylist leap frog over someone who was tucking away an electric cord.

The salon was minimalistic and clean and was full of neat little things, like the wash basin that moved over to me, instead of getting up and walking to it. And a big pulsating wand that misted water or air or product-I don't know what on people's head. I wasn't lucky enough to get that, maybe it was for treated hair. I don't know what it was but dang it, I want to try it.

There was the man who washed my hair, and I was convinced at that time was heaven personified, a blissful 10 minutes where my hair sung in joy. The man who cut my hair, a Japanese champion stylist, who quizzically studied the photo I brought him. He was tall and thin, and sort of looked like the Asian version of Dr. Patrick Drake from General Hospital. Yes, I've been known to watch a soap opera or two on occasion, stop snickering. He wore a holster that contained an assortment of blades and shears. Watching him thin out my hair was a little like watching Edward Scissorhands. He was precise and fast shaping my massive hair.

Then the man who gave me a deep conditioning treatment and later the best orgasm of my life (sorry Daddy if you're ready this). Okay, well not the BEST orgasm of my life but his hands on my scalp...well, it was a magical 30 minutes and I needed a cigarette after he was done. He deserves his own paragraph he was so amazing. Just when I thought he was done, he started to give me a shoulder massage and that is when I completely lost it. My eyes rolled back into my head and I melted into my chair. I may have even let a moan slip through my lips. I couldn't help it people. IT. WAS. GOOD. REAL. GOOD!

Time for another hair wash and dry, then my holster wearing stylist was back refining the cut and doing it dry. This is the mark of a great stylist in my opinion. The great ones are never afraid to cut dry hair. Some amazing product later that left my hair feeling like silk (yes I dropped a pretty yen for the take-home stuff) and I thought surely I was done.

Oh no...in comes a man to massage my hands and arms. It was his first day, a stylist in training. He told me his name but in a million years of practicing Japanese I could never repeat it. He proudly showed me his training badge, like being an apprentice in this salon was a big bag of peanuts, with his name on it but of course it was written in kanji. He was so sweet and visibly nervous. He understood more English than he could speak and I can speak more Japanese than I can understand so our conversation kept us giggling. He kept looking up at me while he massaged my hands from under the shelf of bangs covering his forehead, sort of like he was mesmerized by the American sitting in front of him.

Another stylist came over and helped translate for us. She told me how excited the whole salon was that I was coming in and was very impressed that for the short amount of time that I've been in Japan that I wasn't nervous or afraid to get out and explore, let alone have my hair done.

The experience was all very foreign and completely normal at the same time. One that I hope to repeat again...and again...and again while I live here. I need another cigarette just thinking about.

3:10 to Tokyo - part three

2009-04-06T08:02:00.015+09:00

Am I the only one who misses Paul Harvey? And now for the rest of the story...

The last stop on the 3:10 to Tokyo took us to Asakusa, a district in Tokyo, most famous for the Senso-ji temple and neighboring Asakusa Shrine. There is a whole lotta holiness happening on these grounds. Shrines and temples and pagodas oh my!

I'm going to keep this post short because while there is so much history and significance to these grounds, I barely experienced it because of the throngs of people loping around.

Nakamise-dōri is a street on the approach to the temple. Shop owners were allowed to come in to the area in the 18th century. The length of the street is approximately 250 meters and contains around 89 shops and on a weekend, such as our trip, good luck seeing anything. I saw a woping 2 of those shops. This is not a street for strolling, at least not for gaijins holding on to little hands for dear life.

Nisonbutsu (A pair of Buddha). The figure on the right is said to bring mercy on worshipers and the figure on the left, wisdom.

The Hōzōmon 宝蔵門 is the inner of two large entrance gates that lead to the Senso-ji. The gate features three large lanterns. The largest and most prominent lantern is a red chōchin 提灯 that hangs under the center of the gate's opening. The lantern displays the name of the town Funamachi 小舟町, who donated it.

The urn contains ashes and is used to burn paper wishes. The wishes are purchased at the temple and then placed in the urn, while praying that the wish many come true.

Tōrō, originally used to mean any lantern, has come to mean a lamp of stone, bronze, iron or wood. They are used to illuminate the grounds of temples, shrines and gardens. Many of these still use oil and candles while others have given way to the lightbulb.

Goju-no-Tu, the Five Story Pagoda, is another center of worship on the site. The pagoda contains the ashes of memorial tablet of the Buddha.

Beautiful architecture and paper lanterns lining the approach to the shrine.

3:10 to Tokyo - part two

2009-03-31T19:30:00.014+09:00

Part two of WTF's 3:10 to Tokyo tour dropped us off at the base of Tokyo Tower, an impressive steel structure rivaling the Eiffel Tower. I was hoping to see Godzilla or Mothra battling it out but they must have been taking the afternoon off. We did see the Noppon Brothers though and just like Tiger and Winnie the Pooh before them, Kawaii Girl #1 was unimpressed and rather freaked out.

With the absence of WTF Husband, corralling the Kawaii Girls-sort of like trying to pen a wild stallion with a hand tied behind your back-can be tricky. Once I had geared up and got ourselves situated, my crew was gone. Um, hello, did you forget your friend with the two small children over here?

For a moment, a very long, scary moment, I was overcome with fear that I was in Japan, didn't speak enough Japanese beyond toire desu ka? and was stuck in the middle of a couple hundred people standing outside knowing what they were doing, while I didn't.

Deep breath, inhale in, hold it...hold it, exhale out, okay, grab my hands Kawaii Girls, we're going in.

If I thought outside was overwhelming, inside was in one word, ridiculous. Memories of my honeymoon came flooding back when my claustrophobia first presented itself whilst I was in the dead center of Chichen Itza's pyramid.

Despite being greeted by several lovely ladies that looked more like 1970's stewardesses than modern day tourist movers...who tried to do just that, move this tourist towards the other thousand or so tourists onto an elevator...I opted to forgo the observatory deck in favor of the "aquarium."

Note the air quotes. Nothing more than a bunch of fish tanks ala the aquatic section at PetSmart. For 1000Yen it was a waste of money for what there was to view but I found my breath again. I hadn't realized I had been holding it for the last 15 minutes. Plus the Kawaii Girls were free to roam without fear of being trampled, we sat around a cheesy indoor koi pond that reminded me of my mother (the koi not the cheese) and so in the end, yen well spent. A quick and crazy lunch afterward, we were ready to head to the observatory deck, a staggering 150 meters (492 feet) in the sky. The crowd had thinned down to just this picture. This was only half of the line leading to the elevators. It moved quickly with 3 elevators taking 50 or so people up at a time.

I'll leave you with just a few impressive shots and Tokyo Tower by the numbers...333 13 4000 3000 28000 24 176 360. No this isn't an Episode of Lost, the plane isn't going to crash and you're not going to find yourself in the psych ward.

333 meters tall, besting the Eiffel Tower by 13 meters
4000 tons heavy, 3000 tons lighter than the Eiffel Tower thanks to steel manufacturing advances and construction technology (folks, this is Japan)
28,000 liters of orange and white paint
24 transmitting broadcast waves
176 orange floodlights in the winter, white in the summer
360 degree spectacular views of Tokyo

3:10 to Tokyo - part one

2009-03-30T12:19:00.025+09:00

A little thing like having WTF Husband MIA isn't going to stop this girl about town from seeing...well, the town. Metropolis actually. The Kawaii Girls, two of them, one of me, left our little corner of the world, boarded a bus and headed to Tokyo.

Since I'm all for a laugh, I'll let you all in on a little secret...I've been known to get carsick before, sadly, I've even employed the little paper bag stowed in your seat back pocket on an airplane (that is a whole embarrassing story of its own). There was just something about this bus ride up to Tokyo that put me in a tailspin. I tried to channel every mind over matter technique I know but still found myself in the toilet on the bus. There was no place to stand, bend over and loose it. So there I sat, hovered over a cup sized sink, washing my Raisin Bran down the drain.

Once I had my sea legs back, I found myself at the Meiji Shrine 明治神宮. This Shinto shrine is an oasis in the middle of a Tokyo concrete jungle. 175 acres of an evergreen forest, a shrine like no other here. If you hadn't paid attention to the traffic you drove through to get there, or, ahem...if you were hanging out in the toilet like I was, you would have no clue you were in the world's most populous city, and in a very fashionable part of Tokyo no less. Harajuku is just a short walk away.

This shrine was destroyed by Allied bombing in 1945. Public donations rebuilt the shrine in 1958 and it is now the most heavily visited place in Japan during New Year's. Over 3 million people gather to worship and celebrate, buying good luck charms, or happy charms, for the year ahead.

This torii gate is the biggest wooden torii of the Myojin style. It's 12 meters tall and a bit over 9 meters between the two pillars. Torii gates mark the transition from the the normal, impure world of the outside to the sacred world of the shrine.

The act of passing underneath a torii, along with washing your hands and mouth with water, is an act of sanctification and purification. Harae 祓 is the general term for Shinto purifications. It removes sins, bad luck, disease and guilt. If you are in a state of uncleanliness you are not permitted in a Shinto shrine to pray. Sounds a lot like things we do in the Catholic faith.

These small wooden placks are called Ema 絵馬, which worshipers write their prayers and wishes on. They are left hanging so the kami (gods) later read them. If the wish comes true, the person hangs another ema at the shrine in gratitude.

Sake 日本酒 is often consumed as part of Shinto purification rituals and during ceremonies. Sake brewers will donate barrels of sake to shrines for use during these events. You will see empty decoration barrels displayed at shrines. A great read on the spiritual significance of sake and these beautiful barrels.

A display case of omamori お守り for sale. They are little cloth envelopes that hold a piece of paper or wood with a variety of prayers written on them, bringing the bearer good luck or warding off bad. Recall my blog post about keitai straps, omamori are often hung on cellphones or in cars for safety during travel. If they are opened, they are said to lose their protective abilities and are normally replaced every year.

No fantastic explanation of the history behind these shots. I just marvel at the architecture and artistry.

We were fortunate enough to be witness to a Shinto wedding ceremony. Here is video of the processional after the ceremony. You can here one of the Kawaii Girls talking about God. It was quite amazing and I found it to be very spiritual.

This is enough to digest for one day. Stayed tuned for 3:10 to Tokyo - part two and part three.

Cherry of a forecast

2009-03-25T08:56:00.005+09:00

Even on a tree lined street leading to the McDonald's, you will find Sakura trees with blooming cherry blossoms. Not quite the most serene of locations but a Big Mac sure tastes good sitting under such beauty.

In Japan, cherry blossoms are more than just a pretty flower to look at. They are symbolic of the Buddhist's belief in the transience of life, nothing but a fleeting speck of sand in the time table of existence.

With great anticipation, each February national agencies publish forecasts based on historical data and current weather trends to narrow down the blooming time. The area I live in is forecasted for March 25, today. And they are pretty darn close. Many trees are approaching full bloom, while others are just starting to show their buds.

*Forecast map courtesy of Tenki

Cherry blossom viewing, known as hanami 花見, has been a Japanese custom since the 7th century. All throughout Japan, large cities and small countryside towns come out en masse to revel.

In reading about the history of the cherry blossom I came across the Japanese proverb, hana yori dango 花より団子, which literally means dumplings rather than flowers...practicality over aesthetics. No surprise the preferred food eaten during hanami is the dango, a slightly sweet dumpling. The cherry blossom, for all its beauty and charm, provides the perfect occasion to have a giant party full of good eats and free flowing spirits.

Cherry blossoms are looking sweeter than ever. Where's my Sapporo, I'm headed out to celebrate!

Top 5 unfortunately named Japanese coffees

2009-03-23T17:27:00.009+09:00

Canned coffee, both hot and cold, are staples found in every vending machine you encounter in Japan. WTF Husband and I were giddy (okay, I was giddy, he was thirsty) with excitement when we had our first can of hot coffee from a machine. Then we read the names. No doubt I should be more mature about it, but truthfully, every time I see these, I can't "can" my laughter. No commentary necessary, these speak for themselves:

BM Coffee Deepresso Coffee

BJ Coffee Black Boss Coffee

GOD Coffee

Gaijin 101

2009-03-12T12:57:00.008+09:00

I opted to take human anatomy and physiology in high school, thinking physics wasn't going to be my thing. I have a nagging feeling that I am soon to learn one of the undisputed laws of physics. Am I in a bubble and is it about to burst? I'm not talking about the housing market either. *photo courtesy of Photoshop Phursday and no McDonald's doesn't look like that in Japan.

Why haven't I experienced culture shock? I would kind of like to get it out of the way. It has been 6+ weeks since I arrived in Japan and it strikes me every few days that I feel so completely normal and comfortable here. It is becoming my mantra when people ask me how I am liking it in Japan. "Just great, I feel so completely normal and comfortable here," I say with my trademark toothy smile. This is peculiar given that my house is pure chaos...between the boxes that I frankly am not interested in unpacking at the moment, despite them dangerously teetering on the top step, the kawaii girls who have reached a new level of unruliness and the fact that WTF Husband is no where in sight. Okay, those actually aren't abnormalities in my household, that's pretty much the norm. Still I wait. Wait, wait, wait. "Oh culture shock, where are you, come out-come out wherever you are."

Given that I am thousands of miles away from home, living in a foreign country...a really foreign country with no less than three strange alphabets...I keep expecting it to hit me. Instead, every time I walk out of the gates of the base, I feel exhilarated and somehow enlightened, like thousands of years of Buddhism is welling up inside of me. I'm living in Disney World only bigger and better. And the goosebumps don't go away. This place I now call home is magical. I love how the streets bustle but in near silence, how the girls behind the counter at Vie de France bakery always giggle and wave to me as I pass by their shop or when I walk in cheerfully greet me by saying "Irasshaimase." I admire the incredible attention to detail, how even at the 100 Yen store, my items are carefully wrapped and taped up in a bag. How the smell of the fish market on Blue Street sort of thrills me instead of repulses. Everything is refreshingly new and exciting and wonderful. I want to hang my laundry on the patio to dry, eat rice and drink tea all day long and go to sleep on a futon.

This is where I wish I took physics. Perhaps if I had studied instead of toe bone connected to the foot bone, foot bone connected to the leg bone (ala Dem Bones,) I could better prepare for the inevitable. What goes up, must come down. The culture shock is out there, lurking behind a street corner waiting to tag me. And so I know I will fall from this culture-high I am on. My bubble will burst and I'll be left in a tiny puddle of shock. Until then I am going to continue to smell the cherry blossoms and think of it as the most intoxicating fragrance ever to pass me by.

Good Eats - Sushi

2009-03-01T16:11:00.024+09:00

It's not like I expected the things I know to be true in America to actually ring true here, but I was kind of hoping that I'd see a California roll on the conveyor belt come my way. I didn't. I'm a confessed sushi virgin. Apparently there are still a few of us out there and I'm not ashamed to admit it. On Friday night, when I ventured out on the rainy streets of Yokosuka looking for a sushi-go-round (sushi served on a conveyor belt), I experienced real sushi, for the first time. Streets that while being very densely populated with people, were surprisingly quiet. Well, mostly quite. I was talking, loudly of course.

The types of sushi all my friends and family eat are basically a western invention to suit the American palette. Of course we'd have to do it differently, the majority of us couldn't stomach the the things I saw. However hopeful I was, there were no California rolls of avocado, crab and cucumber...no Dynamite rolls of yellowtail and spicy mayonnaise...no Spider rolls of fried crab...definitely no Philadelphia rolls of cream cheese, salmon and cucumber...and absolutely no rolls coated in fried tempura batter. This is a good article on "Why They Think We're Crazy".

What I did encounter scared me to the point of giggles. Sitting inside a nondescript sushi-go-round, part restaurant, part fish stand, the smell of fish was sobering. I wasn't drunk, though hopeful, but any bravado I had to that point was kicked to the curb like last week's trash. There on the conveyor belt was Nigiri-zushi, little fingers of rice topped with wasabi and a filet of raw fish. I sat stunned for several moments. My girlfriend actually had to nudge me to jumpstart my breathing again. There were a few non-raw specimens, a cooked piece of shrimp on rice, an egg omelet and some inari (fried tofu pouches of rice) all of which I happily ate, while I turned down plate after plate of fish guts, octopus with the suckers still sucking, and something fairly transparent that reminded me of sperm with little eye balls staring back.

After a biiru, lots of pep talks from my girlfriend, even a fellow gaijin stranger prodding me along, the time had come. I settled on tuna. It took me a minute or two, my chopsticks quivering, probably from the laughing convulsions of my nervousness. It is hard to think that I blended with the rest of the patrons.

I didn't eat the whole of the two pieces. I should have because I didn't find it offensive in the least. It was butter tender, with no traces of fishiness. If I had been blindfolded and told otherwise, I would have believed it to be the finest cut of beef available. But I knew. I knew I was eating raw fish and that was stronger than the sweet, delicate taste of the tuna.

For a first timer, I suppose I followed most of the rules of etiquette, and there are quite a few. Thankfully, the Japanese are very forgiving of gaijin misteps, because as it turns out after some research, I made a faux-pas or two. The local sitting to my right kept a watchful eye on me, offering me a plate for I thought the leftover shrimp tails. She quickly waved her hand, made a little noise that I couldn't identify and pointed to the pot of gari (ginger) that you use to cleanse your palette between bites. Oh! Okay, oops! I dipped the whole sushi into the mixture of shoyu and wasabi, which is a no-no, as I learned, it sort of makes a rice soup when the bits of rice fall off. Fish only dipping. Oh! Okay, got it! And as for as mixing the shoyu and wasabi...in my defense that is what my girlfriend told me to do...that is considered an afront to the itamae (sushi chef). Last time I listen to her. He portions the exact amount of wasabi to the proportion of fish and rice. Why then do they provide little packets of wasabi? I guess you're supposed to sneak it on the fish when he isn't looking. What happens when he catches you? I thought he had a more than watchful eye on me.

It has been said (by who I don't know but this his quote) "The only rule at a sushi bar is to eat what you like, how you like it, and as much as you like. Anyone who tells you differently is full of it." So there, I like to dip my rice in shoyu, use a separate plate for my shrimp tails and dare to have the ginger sitting next to the pieces of sushi on my plate. And I like wasabi, far more than the itamae deems sufficient.

As I later learned, this was a pretty hardcore restaurant. Of course, you will find in Japan, sushi restaurants that serve Maki-zushi, which are rice and seaweed rolls full of fish and vegetables, which, ding-ding-ding, is a more traditional version of the California or Philadelphia roll, though you will never find cream cheese in anything here. Heresy I suspect. There are many variations of Maki-zushi, Futomaki - thick rolls, Hosomaki - thin rolls and Uramaki - inside out rolls. Nothing is straightforward here in Japan.

I will try again, next time choosing a more liberal restaurant, one that doesn't scare the wasabi out of me, but I did it, I did what all the other kids are doing, I ate sushi. And as any newly de-virginized gal does, practice is going to make perfect.

Product of the day - kairo pad

2009-02-24T16:10:00.007+09:00

In the category of neat things from Japan, here is a little invention that I could use today. Maybe because I've been sick, but I'm cold. Really, truly, cold. The kind of cold where you wish you could get off the couch to adjust the heat but it is so cold you don't want to move, cold. Is it just me who that makes sense to?

I've seen little warming bags that you put in your pocket to warm your fingers in America, but nothing like this. These come in all shapes and sizes. This particular style is for your shoe.

This little cloth bag gets hot when you open the plastic wrapping. Stick it anywhere on your body, but please do so on the outside of your clothes otherwsie you might just suffer 2nd degree burns. Anything that gets hot enough to burn you is my kind of product. This heating pad - called a kairo pad, warms up to 43 degrees celcius...I'm still learning my conversions but that is about 109 degrees farhenheit. Sounds like heaven on a cold day.

Atchoo

2009-02-23T20:21:00.015+09:00

I'm aware that I’ve probably committed some blogging sin by not updating for the last 10 days. I really had very good intentions and if it is any consolation I’ve got lots of posts in half-finished states that will be ready for reading eyes very soon but with no real good excuse for my tardiness, let’s just jump into my next topic du jour.

Masks. I’m not talking about traditional wooden Kabuki masks or Noh masks worn during Japanese musical dramas. Cold masks. Outside of an operation room, we don’t see many of these in America, ‘cept for maybe a tradesman not wanting to inhale insulation while finishing off the Jones' basement.

From the moment we boarded our plane bound for Japan, we were introduced to this peculiarity of Japanese culture. When the lady sitting in seat 34F next to us veiled her face with one of these masks, my first reaction was one of defensiveness...no lady my kid ain't going to hack on you, really though, she was just concerned that her germs might permeate the air and infect us.

I suppose regarding it as a peculiarity isn't accurate, but this fork loving family just isn't used to seeing a stranger care so much for the others around them. Herein lies a major difference between our cultures. Japan values the group, the collective whole's interests being placed before the individuals. That isn't to say Japan is some utopia where everyone is in perfect harmony with their neighbor but culturally speaking, it is as if part of their genetic makeup calls them to be concerned for the health and welfare of others, lest group productivity be diminished. Someone has to keep the steady flow Toyota Prius' rolling so Al Gore has something to talk about.

Maybe the Japanese people should just stay at home, negating the need to don one of these cold masks. Perhaps they don't get six sick days a year like we do in America. I always used mine, though I can't honestly say that I was sick all the times I cashed them in. I hope you're not reading this Jonathan. They aren't very flattering to the face and it really could wreak havoc on your makeup. And I just imagine that a runny nose isn't very comfortable behind the cotton cup. And what do you do if you have to cough? If you lift the mask off your face, then what was the point of wearing one, but if you cough into while it is on your face, are you not just circulating the germs your body is trying to rid itself of?

I had to speak to a man just a few days ago wearing one. It kept slipping off his nose and he kept pulling it back up, all the while I kept picturing a portly plumber who pulls up his pants so his crack doesn't show. What was the point, it kept falling off. I wanted to giggle but I thought better of it.

It is such staple of every day life here, they even make really fashionable ones, not just plain boring ones like a pair of tidy whiteys. There are even funny commercials selling them. I'm not sure if it is proper etiquette to remove the mask to ohh and ahh over the tiny black dress in the window display, but apparently when talking to your boss, it is expected to remove it. Isn't that going to get him sick though? Maybe that is the idea, get rid of the boss and then go shopping.

The funniest mask I've seen though is the one worn by a man driving his car...alone. It was my first day driving out in town...beads of sweat percolating on my forehead, a death grip on the steering wheel as I tried to navigate the ridiculously narrow street. When I looked to my left and saw this man, I couldn't help but wonder who was he protecting his germs from? And then I almost took out his rear view mirror. Oops, gomenasai, hope your cold gets better Mr. Mask Man.

As a gaijin, we're already prone to looks from the locals. When we're sick, we ought to be prepared to feel even more gaping eyes on us. People will actually step aside from you, turn two and walk in the opposite direction. I even saw a mother grab her child from the path of a sick person, as if they were going to catch death not the common cold. Feel like a leper much?

Knowing this though, trying to understand the cultural differences, makes living here exciting. I'm sick today and wished I had a mask to wear, to show that while in this country, I can get down with the group like the best of them.

Bitter chocolate

2009-02-13T13:01:00.048+09:00

Valentine's Day is a slightly peculiar and ridiculously commercialized holiday in Japan, where the giving and receiving of chocolates has very little to do with the kind of love seen in the classic love story The Way We Were...or in this Brokeback-esque version of Top Gun (no correlation to Valentine's Day, just made me break into a snort or two while laughing).

The rule is simple. Girls give boys chocolates. Period. No girls to girls, no boys to boys. "That would make for nasty surprise for everyone." For an amusing "How to Valentine" Japanese style, check this out.

Valentine's is a twofer in Japan. The chocolate frenzy carries over to March 14 for White Day. It's a confusing mess of obligation chocolates (giri-choko) and love chocolates (honmei-choko). As if women aren't burdened enough, now they have to pass out upwards of 20 to 30 boxes of cheap chocolates to men who they may not even like (which I've been told taste more like waxy plastic than premium chocolate) just because some marketing folks sold them on the idea. And if they don't, men are made to feel embarrased for not receiving any. I don't see this practice catching on in America anytime soon.

Despite thinking Japan's version of Valentine's Day is more bitter chocolate than semi-sweet, it should be said that in the fine Japanese tradition of presentation, the boxes of chocolates are beautiful, even the less expensive giri-choko. Everywhere I ventured today had displays upon displays of their chocolate wares, with the most gorgeous of boxes, tied perfectly with ribbons, with sweet sayings imprinted on them.

If I had stumbled on this, I surely would have bought some. "If both people eat them, there'll be no problem." Makes me miss this from back home.

#4 Oshibori

2009-02-10T17:47:00.004+09:00

In reference to my previous post, 7 Reasons Why Living in Japan is Cool, I've just learned that #4 has a name. Oshibori. It's like the difference between coach and first class. In coach you get a cheap cocktail napkin, in first class you get a warm, damp cloth handed to you. Everything in Japan is first class and thoughtful, right down to the wiping of your hands and face. It's a little thing but the coolest thing.

It’s time to get strapped

2009-02-09T14:45:00.009+09:00

WTF got new cell phones. Cool Japanese cell phones. It is a bit harrowing signing a contract when you have no idea what it says, what with it being in Japanese. I am hoping I didn’t sign away my right kidney or agree to a 1,000,000Yen disconnection fee, roughly the equivalent value of my kidney on the black market. I don’t have the slightest idea of all the things it can do, again, what with the manual being in Japanese. This much I’ve figured out. Buy a train ticket, yes. Track my weight and daily steps, yes. Flash news updates, yes. Navigate me home from my shopping trip, yes. Plan an evacuation route in case of an island destroying earthquake, yes. Fix a flat tire, maybe, I just can’t read the screen to confirm.

The phone is thin and lightweight. Very sparkly too, an added benefit for The Warden, not so much WTF Husband. I think I will call her Baby. Frances Houseman just didn’t sound right. Confused, guess you haven’t watched Dirty Dancing. Baby makes our old phones look outmoded and prehistoric.

Here’s the thing I’ve noticed though. The Japanese people want to ruin my Baby with straps and charms of all kinds. Called keitai straps, that little wrist strap you add to your phone, has become a cultural phenomenon here, well beyond its basic utility. I hate these things. They get in your way of nicely and neatly tucking your phone away in your purse or your husband’s pocket, along with the lipstick and mirror you ask him to carry.

In a small country with such a dense population, I suppose anything to help identify you from the person next to you becomes a necessity. Everyone from karoke-singing, Sapporo-drinking salarymen, to the hunched-over grannies who don’t look before stepping into oncoming traffic, to the Gothic Lolitas in Harajuku all adorn their cell phones with this little, useless strap. To the point that the phone could give you tennis elbow for all the charms and do-dads hanging off it.

Maybe I’m being too hasty. I think I’ll get strapped too, with this Shear Panther Sexy Underwear Cell Phone Strap. For a good chuckle, check out the description. WTF Husband would love a little Erokawa.

*Flickr Photo Courtesy of Skip the Filler

7 Reasons Why Living in Japan is Cool

2009-02-08T10:16:00.003+09:00

Just a few observations from our first days in country. These are in no particular order.

1. Vending machines, everywhere you go, vending machines. We’re not talking about Pepsi vs. Coke. Coffee, fruit drinks, sodas, something confusing called water salad, soups. All in a can, all in a vending machine. Hot drinks, cold drinks. Living in harmony all in the same machine. And in the category of why don’t we have these in the US…liquor, condoms and umbrellas of course.
2. Music playing, heated toilet seats.
3. Plastic food models to help passerbys visualize restaurants’ culinary offerings. Perfect for confused gaijin with limited Japanese vocabulary.
4. Individually packaged, warm, damp napkins available at fast food eateries.
5. McDonald’s (not that we eat there) that looks more like a chic cosmopolitan restaurant than a greesy fast food joint.
5. Real one-stop shopping, groceries on aisle 1, cars for sale on aisle 2.
6. Convenience stores that are truly convenient. Pay your utilities, ship something, and grab a bite to eat. 7 Eleven’s here aren’t like back home, they have a huge variety of top quality, tasty food on the go. Sorry no Slurpies.
7. Kitchen gadgets galore. Wanna a hard boild egg in the shape of a star, this is the place for you. I’m in heaven!

Hachimangu Shrine

2009-02-05T20:45:00.013+09:00

You’d think something as simple as posting a few pictures and coming up with a witty synopsis of our visit to the Hachimangu shrine would be easy. I’ve been slow to see it but now it is clear to me...living in a hotel room, a small, kind of smelly, hotel room, full of four people and ridiculous amounts of luggage and its contents has sucked my brain off all its powers. The concrete walls and forest green, patterned, turf carpeting are working in tandem to drive me crazy. I wake up each morning confused as to what just happened to me. I’m about three days…four…okay, probably more like five, behind in my daily goals. Oh well, you’re patient readers, right?

Our first official tour was of the ancient city of Kamakura. Kamakura was the de facto capital of Japan (at the time Kyoto was the official capital), as the seat of the Shogunate. The Shogun era dominated much of Japan’s history. If you're a history buff or just bored and have nothing better to look at, check out more history on the Shoguns.

Supposedly a picture says a thousand words…really, I’ve actually never heard a picture speak, maybe in my own head, but that doesn’t count. I’m a little off-kilter. Anyways, we’ll give it a shot.

Snoopy, the intercontinental uniter

2009-02-03T05:58:00.014+09:00

Thursday was our forced day *ahem* I mean field trip outside the gates, as part of our Intercultural Relations seminar. I like to fancy myself a big adventurer, spontaneous and easy-going but with WTF Husband standing over my shoulder my stretching the truth abilities are rendered useless without being on the receiving end of an elbow to the arm followed by an inevitable guttural throat clearing. So I was glad that I had no choice in the matter. It was cold and for the fourth day in a row, I had forgotten to buy myself a scarf, even so it was awesome to head outside our very American base and see with my own eyes that I was, in fact, in Japan. I knew this because our group very obviously stood out from the other thousands of people we walked passed on the street. Streets by the way that were remarkably clean for a big city, especially since there were no trash cans anywhere in site. Trash is on a carry-out basis only. I learned this after walking around half the day with a strawberry stick in my pocket. ***Outside Hachimangu Shrine, there was a vendor selling candied strawberries on a ritz cracker. They were delish. We gathered it was a treat meant for little kids, as we heard lots of giggling going on behind us from the school ages girls and boys as we bit into them.*** Anyways, mind boggling numbers of people, who noticed when I got excited to have hot corn soup in a can from a vending machine or when in the absence of any other means of communication had to point to the plastic food model on display noting the lunch I wanted to eat. Fried ramen noodles with vegetables if you’re wondering. WTF Husband wanted to try the sushi go-round and I was willing, even showing an eagerness during the walk from the train station to the restaurant but once I saw it, I knew we weren’t ready for it. We’re sushi virgins and we need a little easing into it and this wasn’t the place for Beginners Sushi 101. California Roll…yes…raw…no.

Soup in a can and plastic noodles aside, there were two great things about our trip; retired Japanese man #1 and retired Japanese man #2. After our walk through downtown Yokosuka, we boarded our first train headed to Kamakura. When we got off the train, we were approached by a sweet old man on a bicycle. Very politely he asked if we were Americans, check, and if we were in the military, check-check. He carefully pulled out of his knapsack a handwritten letter with magazine pictures of sake and gyoza, cherry blossoms (Sakura) and grapes glued to it...is there something special about Japanese grapes? It was a letter to “Unknown Person.” We must have been the tallest and most obvious choices in a crowd full of American military. He asked us to read his letter and critique his grammar. Tidbits of his family life peppered the letter but the focus was on his lifetime dream to receive a letter from an American. His English was very good, his writing even better. I was touched while the ever-skeptical WTF Husband thought he was going to ask us for our account information in return for $134,000 if we could only help him with a small international matter. No, he wasn’t pushing a Nigerian bank scam on us WTF Husband. Now my list of things to do includes fulfilling retired Japanese man #1’s dream.

Feeling pretty good that I had successfully navigated a full conversation with a Japanese local, we ventured from the train station to see Tsurugaoka-Hachimangu Shrine in Kamakura. I’ll save that for a separate post. As we were leaving the shrine, retired Japanese man #2 approached us. Are we really that tall? He told us that he learned English from Snoopy. Reading or watching, I wasn't quite sure. We heard all the details from his one and only trip to America…baseball at Fenway Park, Abraham Lincoln Memorial and the Statue of Liberty. He didn’t allow us too much talking, though I tried to slip in a few Japanese words. If I was going to be his guinea pig, I was going to try and get something out of it myself. He didn’t crinkle up his eyes in confusion or gasp because I accidentally said something lewd or taboo, so I figured I did pretty well with my very limited Japanese. He recited the Gettysburg Address to us, while he held his baseball cap over his heart, something that I cannot even do in full. Then something very familiar happened, he told us about baseball at Fenway Park, Abraham Lincoln Memorial and the Statue of Liberty. I am now officially an international senior-moment identifier, certified in both America and Japan. On the second go round of the Gettysburg Address, we had to skedaddle out of there to catch our next train.

Live and from Japan

2009-01-25T21:27:00.004+09:00

Sorry for the delay in posting folks, but I did just travel 6 hours via car, 16 hours via airplane and 2 hours via bus to get here. Actually, the laptop took a harsh crash from a certain well-meaning little girl and this moment, at 9:29pm, was my first chance to get on here to post. I wish I was feeling more creative and editorial but my body is screaming like 10,000 little pins are pricking it, so I will be short.

We arrived. The damages were minor.

WTF Husband took one for team. The aforementioned well-meaning little girl knocked over a cup of hot coffee off the seat back tray table and Daddy threw his body in the oncoming fire. So he spent the next 14 hours with a coffee stained shirt and pants. Too bad I rethought packing a change of clothes for the adults. Olivia had a mommy-wanted-one-last-good-mexican-meal-before-moving-to-Japan-and-thought-it-was-a-good-idea-to-feed-me-black-beans diaper and exploded out of her clothes and onto Mark's lap. Thankfully, the coffee stains camouflaged the diaper stains. Poor Daddy!

We were on the receiving end of what I am pretty sure was Japanese mocking as we tried to push a stroller, two carseats, a dog kennel and 13 pieces of assorted luggage and carry-ons piled onto 3 airports carts through the airport. Mark took the two heaviest, whilst I pushed one and pulled the stroller and carseats. All the while Georgia yelled that she had to go poop, repeatedly and then again, pause to catch breath, and again. What great ambassadors for the US! The airport itself was easy to navigate and we had no problems going through immigrations, quarantine or customs. My preparedness paid off. Oddly though, I felt proud despite the laughing and pointing fingers. We survived it and did it mostly gracefully, which was more than I had hoped for. Mark and I are still married so that is a testament of our fortitude. Maybe they weren't laughing at us, but rather impressed that a bunch of gaijins did it so well.

Tha-tha-that's all folks.

Government layaway

2009-01-13T07:42:00.002+09:00

Time again for a little government layaway. Didn't we just do this for Hawaii? All that we have to do to get to Japan is put our continental United States life on hold. We'll come and pick you up in 24-36 months. Hope the country doesn't go bankrupt by then and sell our things in a fire sale. I'm holding on tightly to my receipts Uncle Sam. A few notables:

Family and an incredible network of friends. I find the words lacking in how I will miss this everyday part of my life.
Weekly, who am I fooling, sometimes daily, runs to Target. At least I ranked family and friends above Target on my list of priorities, though most of my friends and I enjoy each other's company in those heavenly red and white aisles.
Our church. Mark and I finally agreed on one, it only took six years of marriage, one pink church, one very gay church and a one mistaken Methodist church to find you.
The poorly timed (how were we to know) and newly acquired travel trailer. We thought we'd use you more than twice, dreams of crabbing off a pier in Maryland, instead you get to sit, covered all nice and tight in a gated lot.
The minivan and truck. We can't even enjoy you now that there are no payments left, all the while you'll be depreciating like the state of our stock portfolio these last several months.
*Sniff, sniff* Our house.
Our happy red couch and most other worldly possessions

Just some of the things that we must leave behind and put on hold.

Holy Batman, Japan

2009-01-13T07:36:00.002+09:00

In case you've stuffed your ears with cotton balls to drown out the noise your children make, like I do every day, and haven't yet heard, we're picking up shop and heading westward, way-way-westward to Japan. Consider it a "gift" from the Navy. Years of dedicated service, countless sacrifices for the "mission" and promises of greener pastures (within the great forty-eight) be damned. Okay, so maybe my attitude is a little sour since these orders aren't even close to what we wanted or assured were coming our way, my usage of air quotes was your first tipoff, right? I would have preferred some other kind of gift, like maybe a KitchenAid mixer or riding lawnmower, how cute would I be on a John Deere! Lawn equipment aside, I know what you're thinking, how can you be upset at the opportunity to live abroad, to experience such a wonderous culture? I have to say it though, to get it out of my system, we've already done our overseas tour, remember Navy, we volunteered for that one. There's a Yogi somewhere saying, "cleanisng deep breath...Ommmm, Ommmm." Through countless meditations to reveal my inner peace, I've to come around to this eventuality. Yogi would be so proud. We are moving, no amount of talking will change that, and being upset will get me nowhere. So in the spirit of being adventurous and channeling my once audicous self, I've decided to embrace all the amazing things The Fegley Four are going to be exposed to in Japan.

We just gotta get there. I checked, a cruise to Japan is out of the question. Something about pirates at the Horn of Africa. I thought Johnny Depp wasn't going to make another sequel. *Yes, Husband, I know you'd never cruise in that direction to get to Japan, you'd cruise by Hawaii, but I thought the whole pirates off the coast of Africa showcased my knowledge of current events better. Anyways, we're going to have to rely on the lovely folks at PSD *insert snickers and sneers* to lead us the right way.

Memphis-->Dallas (7 hours driving) to drop off the van in vehicle storage
Dallas-->Seattle (4.5 hours flying) staying overnight
Seattle-->Yokota Air Force Base (14 hours)

They're known as the friendly skies, though I suspect that moniker will change after having Georgia up there for 14 hours. Have you ever seen Georgia sit still? Or be quiet? The child is in perpetual motion and so is her mouth. She is seriously cute and adorable but that wears off around hour 4. Throw wild card Olivia into the mix, who rather run than sit still in your lap, and those skies could get downright warlike. Can you say Benadryl! *no MOMS friends, I would never drug my child, I was talking about myself.

Sorry for the aside, back to the trip...
Yokota AFB-->Commander Fleet Activities Yokosuka (3 hours driving)

Good times.

Ready, set...Blog

2009-01-13T07:20:00.003+09:00

I've spent a lot of time, and by a lot I mean I've neglected my children as they wandered the house looking for me, eating cheerios off the floor because they were hungry and scratching at the office door like dogs to let them in, to bring you this blog and update our website. The move to Japan is so huge and there is so much distance, both tangible and intangible between us, that I had to do this to make our lives more accessible. Also because I like to read my own writing. Back in the day, I used to be quite a talent. That's me looking in the rear view mirror however this is a good way to dust off some cobwebs and see the light is still turned on inside this mommy-brain of mine. So in the spirit that this blog is brought to you, I want you to participate too. Leave me comments. Share this blog with others. Ask me questions about Japan. Come back often.

If you'll turn your attention to the right sidebar. So you don't mistake the time and call me at 2:45 in the morning one day, I've included a very appropriate sushi clock so you'll always be aware that it is already tomorrow in Japan. Also, a lovely weather geisha, a currency converter so you too can be reminded how weak the US dollar is, interesting Japanese news headlines (for both sets of parents who seem addicted to Fox News) and lastly, a totally trivial, but addictive, sushi game to wile your time away. Ooh, I almost forget the best, an audio file so you can learn along with me a new Japanese word or phrase a day. By the time you come to visit, you'll be able to ask important questions like, "how much sake is too much sake", "where can I find the nearest discotheque," or the ever necessary, "where is the toilet."

And now for our technology-challenged readers (I'm thinking you Dad), some pointers on how blogs work: the posts are organized by newest first, and archived monthly on the right sidebar. If you want to check out an old post, just go to the archives to find it. Posts will also be tagged, so if you're interested in food specific posts for example, you can search by the tag "food." Pictures will be clickable to view larger and sometimes I might hyperlink text in another color, meaning you can click on it and be directed to another website with information about whatever topic I was blogging about. Finally, to leave a comment, after the post you will see a link to comments, it might say "0 comments" if you're the first to post or hopefully someone out there will have honored my request for comments and it will say "12 comments". Click, leave your comment and then choose how you want your name to appear. Please leave your name. Most users, at least family members, click on Name/URL and put your name there.

Arigatou Gozaimasu!

Japanese language lesson #1: Thank you = Arigatou gozaimasu (Ah-ree-gah-too-koh-zie-mah-soo)