The Apartment Entry

A little friend I found in the apartment. His head is facing down.
These critters can jump about a foot off the ground!

 

 

I suppose I should do an entry about my apartment... I know some people are very curious about tiny Japanese apartments. And, indeed, my apartment is a bona fide, standard issue, tiny ass Japanese apartment. Yes sir, it's got all of the modern conveniences necessary to life these days, all practically sized to fit the needs of one individual. Wow. But, I suppose its for the best really. I mean, if I had a great apartment to spend all my time in, what would be the point living in a foreign country? I could spend all day inside in Chicago right? I'll take the optimists' point of view and say that having an unimpressive apartment is inspiration to go out and see the world.

 

La Casa de Trevor

 

 

So, here is the view one is presented with upon first stepping into my apartment. From here, you can essentially see the apartment in its entirety. Kitchen on the right, bathroom on the left, living area to the fore. Oh, and of course, how could I forget the all too necessary cow oven mitt hanging on the wall to the left. Certainly a major selling point for my apartment.

 

Where is the dryer?

Tofu!

 

 

Turning your head approximately 10-15 degrees to the right will reveal the wonderfully convenient washer/kitchen combo. Yes, you can cook your food and clean your clothes or dishes all in one easy-to-manage space. It's amazing how much time I spend shuffling back and forth throughout this 1m x 2m space. WARNING: Dishes do NOT go in the washing machine. 

A roof, four walls, a floor, and a door.

 

 

Three paces forward will bring you through the front hall/laundry room/kitchen/bathroom area into the main living area. Here, you can see my lovely Western style bed (a futon NOT on the floor), television, table, book shelves, low-down couch-type thingy, and a rack for drying clothes inside (come wintertime), air conditioner (thank God), porch, floor, etc...

 

The vast variety of my professional wardrobe.

 

Another eight paces will bring you to the porch door of my apartment. Yup, that's it... this is my apartment in all its splendor. This is where all the magic happens. Be jealous... very jealous.

One day a torrential downpour caused my street to temporarily become a river.
I had to wade my way home, shoes in hand, Huck Finn style.

Yeah...

 

Now take nine paces back toward the front door and turn to the right. Here, you will see my very efficiently designed bathroom. Again, my apartment is fortunately fitted with Western amenities, so I have a toilet I can sit down on. I have encountered the Japanese-style toilets, but that's an adventure for another blog post. Yup, efficiency is the name of the game here and in a space the size of most of your closets I have my toilet, sink, and shower. The one gripe I have about my apartment is the incredibly tiny shower it has. I don't know if it was a matter of design for Japanese people or a complete disregard for the comfort of bathers, but whoever made this shower made it so tiny that I have to stand width-wise down the length of the shower. I have to wash half of my body at a time, and I can't turn around without being attacked by my shower curtain like a wet plastic ghoul lurking in the bathroom.

Yes mom, it is always this clean.

 

 

 

All gripes aside though, I really do love the place! It's finally started to feel like home to me, and I get some satisfaction knowing that it's all mine. It's a comforting feeling to know that I can move anywhere in the world and burrow out my own little niche so that where no matter what, I have a place to call my own.

 

 

And I will leave you with a shot of the night sky from my porch.

One Day in Yono

Not sure what this says, but I imagine it has something to do with
the festival I attended

 

 

 

On my first free day in Japan, I awoke with a fresh sunshine optimism and the realization that I was in a country where I had no obligations and no place I could go where I wouldn't find certain adventure. The possibilities were endless... However, I soon realized that I had no idea what in the hell I should do with myself. So, with an itch to experience real Japanese culture and a lack of knowing what exactly that might actually entail. I decided... to go to a festival.

 

The festival was recommended by one of our trainers and was located in a town only two train stops from Omiya. It was the perfect day trip destination for someone with no idea what to do with their day. Turns out I wasn't the only one and, at breakfast, recruited (or was recruited by?) my friend and fellow trainee Matt. We decided it would be great to get out and see the real Japan and, also, I decided I should probably go use the zillion dollar camera I had just purchased previous to my departure for Japan. We agreed to meet our friend Chris in Yono later in the day also, as he would be spending time with old friends earlier in the day. So, after a cup of coffee and a hot shower, I was ready to go. We walked out the door, laden with cameras and sunglasses (the international uniform of tourists), out into the hot, hot sun.

 

 

A giant half-soccer cleat protruding from the side of an apartment building. I can in no way explain this!

 

 

 

Chicago's summer is hot. Definitely comparable to Japan's summer. But the factor that tips the scales in favor of Japan's summer being the most brutal is the humidity. If you think you know what humid is and haven't experienced Japan's summer, well then you obviously haven't been to Japan. Never before in my life have I ever actually been concerned about the possibility of drowning by breathing air. Walking through the air, you feel like you're wrestling and kicking in a vain attempt to throw off a thick, fuzzy blanket that never ends. So we marched on to the station, soaked to the bones (in mere minutes) with a slick glaze of sweat. (Perhaps the third article of the international tourist uniform.)

 

 

As I mentioned before, Yono is only two train stops away from our town, Omiya, which is wonderfully convenient. Walk to the station, hop on the train, get off in two stops, and bam, festival. Easy, right? Okay, now take into consideration that you've never bought a ticket for, looked at a map of, or know anything about the Japanese train system except that there are indeed trains that you can, in fact, ride. After staring at the train route map long enough to realize that kanji is not read by staring at the characters until their meaning is intuitively transferred into your head, I decided that we needed help. And, being the resourceful, young college graduates we are, we decided to go to the information kiosk. Information was what we needed. Seems like the right place to go right? Unfortunately, THAT information kiosk also provided information in Japanese format only. That is to say... it was all in Japanese.

My two years of Japanese study at Purdue University having failed us miserably... we wandered confusedly back to the ticket machines. Here we discovered the solution to our problem was not to go an information kiosk, as logic would dictate, but, rather, it was to stand there looking as lost and pathetic as two puppies in the rain. Within seconds, we had caught the attention of a friendly, English speaking Japanese man. He helped us find our stop on the map, and in mere moments, and with gracious thanks on our part, we were on our way.

 

 

Mini-Shrine

 

 

 

We arrived in Yono in the early afternoon, but the festivities were already beginning. I'm not sure if this goes for all Japanese festivals, but this particular festival had a miniature, children's version of the festival traditions (all before bedtime, before everyone gets cranky). The main event in this festival features twenty to thirty men (all of whom have been specially trained for the event) hoisting a miniature shrine up onto their shoulders and running it all over town. The feat comes to an frenzied climax in the town center, where the men run around in circles, spinning and shaking the shrine, which, in turn, rings a bell hanging inside of the shrine. The more this bell rings, the more Yono will be blessed with prosperity. At least, that's what I was told.

Mini-Festival

Kids playing shooting games. It is the same all around the world

Yes! That is a Suicidal Tendencies shirt. This kid was the coolest on the street
and did not even know it!

 

 

 

What I saw of the festival was the kiddie sized celebration earlier in the day. In the blazing heat of the midday sun, the children dressed in little ceremonial jackets and carried a wee shrine down one block. Along the way, the children stopped for candy and other treats (as opposed to beer, which would have been offered to the adults during their run). We wandered around the street for a while as the children had finished their part of the ceremony and had moved on to playing games and winning prizes. Heading back to the station, I was stopped by a perfect stranger for what may be the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to me. Nowhere, in all of my life, in any city that I have ever visited, been stopped by a perfect stranger and given... a free beer!

 

 

This guy rules

 Grilled squid!

 

 

The man came wandering around the back of a tent and, seeing me, said something to the effect of, "Hey! Wait!" Thinking I had just stepped on a sacred line on the sidewalk or had committed some other awkward cultural crime, I froze immediately with what I call "Oh no, what did I just do?" fear. The witness to my crime hurriedly ran back into his tent and returned bearing a silver and be-dewed can of Asahi. I felt a rush of mixed emotion from fear receding to relief washing to sudden joy filling my heart. "For you." he said as he offered the cold brew. For me? I thought, thinking that perhaps he had mistaken me for some foreign long lost brother (apparently, we all look alike to the Japanese). Finally I realized that I am a foreigner and, during a festival (or any time really) this was a special occasion for him.

 

 

My new-found friend motioned and called to the rest of my group. "Hey guys!" I shouted to my friends, who were already eying the children's games they might like to play, "C'mere!" They came back and were each awarded likewise with a can of Asahi. The man spoke a little English, so we chit chatted about where we were from and whatnot. Again, he shot into the tent and returned, this time with a plate of Edamame, which is a delightful snack consisting of salted, boiled soybeans. (Don't eat the skin!) This was followed with a second course of onigiri (fish wrapped in a rice triangle wrapped in seaweed) and some other delicious rice ball with red beans (reserved for holidays but I forget its name).

 

These kids wanted to see how they looked in their yukatas, haha!

 

 

 

So after eating, chatting, and taking the obligatory Japanese photos, we had to be on our way. We walked into the sunset full of rice and good humor! "What great people the Japanese are!" we said as we toasted to Japanese people. "Giving beer and food to foreigners, just to make them feel welcome. That's amazing!" I did, however, find out later that this kind stranger who had graciously (and I do mean this) given us free beer and food was actually a good friend of the head of training. Okay, so. Maybe the moment wasn't as magical as I had originally thought, but it was still pretty nice of that guy to show us such hospitality.

Adventures in Omiya

One of the main thoroughfares near the station

 

 

 

As my first exposure to life in Japan, Omiya was, to me, full of intrigue and wonder. By day, the streets bustled with the fervor of its small city economy. Commuters commuted and consumers consumed. It seemed amazing to me that there were enough people in Omiya to flood the streets, let alone enough people out shopping at any given moment to do so. But shop they did. Perhaps it is just an illusion of the streets' configuration (cramped, crowded, and full of hidden alleys and shops), but, either way, it has that "busy Asian-marketplace" feel you see in the movies.

 

 

 

This road leads to a shrine (or is it temple?) that I did not visit

The neighborhood. Viewed from the rooftop

 

 

 

Fortunately, the training facility I would be living in for the next two weeks was removed from all of the action, nestled in a quiet neighborhood. It was nice to have some room to breathe after the intense journey from the airport. The training center itself was actually an old ryokan (Japanese style inn), with the lower level of the building consisting of a library, the main training room, and a small kitchen for the trainees living there. All of the living quarters were up on the second level.

 

 

My house slippers

My roomate, demonstrating the presentation skills learned that day in training

 

 

 

Living at the training facility was a good introduction to life in Japan. It seemed to me an opportunity to dip your toes into Japan and Japanese culture without having to dive in headlong. Yes, we lived in a Japanese neighborhood, ate Japanese food, and took our shoes off in the entrance way of the house, but at the same time we had something of an English speaking family to go home to at the end of the day, when we could stay up late talking about how "weird" everything in Japan is. It had something of a summer camp feel to it, where we would finish with a long day of training, scamper up to our rooms to change into our jammies, and run back and forth between rooms to chat and giggle with each other.

 

 

Everything here is so cute! Even... cheese packaging

OH MY GOD its a tiny beer! 135ml? That`s like, 8 oz.! Why?!

 

 

 

What followed was two weeks of long training days, frequent trips to the Tobu grocery store (for well deserved and aptly named "ToBrews"), and drunken escapades in the Omiya red-light district. No, Omiya is not some special little town that has an infamous red-light district. On the contrary, it seems that a seedy underbelly comes standard in every town here. Well, every civilized town that is. But let's get serious. What's a modern city without a little filth and underground organized crime? It's only appropriate considering that each town in the Tokyo suburban sprawl is a microcosm of city life, with the train station (a suburb's lifeline) at the heart of each town. And it makes sense I suppose.  In the suburbs, having a train run through the shoulder to shoulder towns allows the cities to all stay connected, while, at the same time, allows each a separate (albeit nearly identical) city center. What the individual gets is a small city with everything that one needs in daily life. Shops, restaurants, bars, gas stations... all the amenities of daily life in first world countries. It seems like sensible way to organize space in an area with so many people.

 

 

Apparently these cigarettes will make you white, muscular, and completely hairless. Note the daisy dukes and sleek, shaven legs. I can in no way explain this advertisement

Crane games!

 

 

 

Another of the great amenities of daily life in the first world is, of course, video games. And in Japan, arcades are not just for children. In fact, strolling down the alley in the Omiya red-light district gave us the option of three large arcades. Haven't finished your beer? No problem, just bring it on in with you! Need to have a smoke? Don't worry, there are fresh ashtrays ready for you, should you need to have a cigarette hanging from your mouth as you blast zombies away or skillfully guide the claw of a crane game to that sweet stuffed anime character you've always wanted. Crane games are ridiculously popular here in Japan. You can win anything from a Chip and Dale pillow (currently sitting on my bed, a gift from my friend Chris) to action figures of scantily clad anime women to the little stuffed bear from those fabric softener commercials ( called Fafa in Japan).

Crane games with adult themed prizes!

 

 

 

(Japanese dating tip: Going to arcades and playing crane games promises to be a night full of fun and romance! Just be sure to win her that stuffed whatever she picked out. In Japan a man's skill at cranes games is considered to be an indicator of his skill with women!)

 

 

The seedy underbelly of Omiya

(Good times!)

 

 

 

Yes, Omiya, a city of adventure and mystery. As I found out later, Omiya is not considered to a city of any repute. Well, perhaps some slightly ill repute... if indeed any. When we weren't hanging out at the grocery store, drinking our "not beers" while the old man ringing groceries at 10pm stared angrily at us, diversion could be found in the red-light district. In fact, one of the most entertaining nights I had in Omiya was spent hanging outside of the Family Mart convenience store. There, we spent several hours laughing at English t-shirts (with such witty slogans as "I am mischief"), observing the midnight revelers, and avoiding the "hosts" who were bold (desperate?) enough to approach foreigners.

 

 

A not beer. A concoction of hops, sugar, water, and grain alcohol that is not brewed.

Hence, not beer. (It dodges the Japanese beer tax)

 

 

 

Mention Omiya to any employee who has trained there and you will be met with a knowing laugh and the question, "So, what did you think of Omiya?" I suppose the location wasn't chosen for its fame or sightseeing. After all, we were really there to train. And train we did. Here's a picture of us right after having successfully completed training!

 

 

I requested that everyone pose "gangsta".

First Entry: The Arrival

Three weeks have passed since I landed at Narita International Airport. Three weeks and things have finally settled enough for me to sit down and do some writing. I don't care what anyone tells you, picking up and relocating your life halfway around the globe is a major task with a lot of details to remember and then immediately forget. That being said, learning to take things one at a time makes it a completely manageable task. For those considering doing something like this, my advice is don't stop to think how crazy what you're doing is and just roll with it. Ideally, you'll be too busy to freak out and think... "Oh my God, why the hell am I in Japan as far as physically possible from everyone I know with the exception of landing on the freaking moon?" It's this kind of thinking you want to avoid.



Anyways, being on my own halfway around the world is AWESOME! Japan is really great. Okay, so maybe by coming to Japan, one of the most westernized eastern countries, I'm really doing the "Exotic Adventure Lite," but let me tell you, it is DIFFERENT out here. For one, everything is written in JAPANESE. Okay, except for all the stuff that is also written in English. But that's what you get when living in a super modern-day urban sprawl surrounding one of the largest and most densely populated cities of the world. (That is... Tokyo.) If Spanish is becoming the States' secondary language, then English is becoming, or has essentially already become, Japan's secondary language. Hence, many adventure seeking recent grads from English speaking countries (such as yours truly) are able to secure a foothold in this otherwise very difficult to obtain residential privileges nation.



After landing on the runway, face pressed against the window of the plane, I decided that Japan was essentially like all the other places I have been. The grass looked like grass, the pavement looked like pavement, and the cars, while very tiny by American standards, looked like cars. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this was comforting nonetheless. As I walked off the plane and set my first step on Japanese soil down, I was confronted by my first great adventure. I would have to, wait for it... get my luggage. (Gulp!) After being escorted this way and that way and into this line and that line I was having my passport and visa examined. During the examination, I was asked to pause for a photo to be put into some government database or other and, additionally, had my finger print scanned and saved. Fortunately, I was not randomly selected for the "exploratory" search. (Although I hear this is a perk for some international travelers.)



Long story short, I made it through the extensive international security measures with no problems and had my luggage in no time. I had some free time until my scheduled pick up, so I found a comfy place to sit and did what anyone in my generation would do... updated my FB status. (Which, I'm sure, you all read.) I next went to the designated meeting space and immediately found the trainer I was to meet. Fortunately for us, its pretty darn easy to find a white guy in Narita Airport.

 

 

 

A diagram of the human circulatory system or

a map of the greater Tokyo area train routes?

 

 

We then joined up with the rest of the new recruits and hopped a bus to find the stragglers. In a flurry of excited small talk and introductions made and forgotten, we all managed to stick together, find the later arrivals, and make it to the train as one eleven headed beast, bristling with excitement.

 

 

 

Home sweet home... for two weeks, at least.

 

 

From then on it was a train to train to taxi to front door trip. I don't think I've ever had a more flawless day of travel, to be honest. Even the mad dash through the sea of Japanese commuters to our second train went off without a hitch. Running through the station, luggage-laden, sweating and panting, with the desperation of not losing our herd in our hurried steps, it must've looked like the Japanese version of the running of the bulls. The Gaijin Scramble or something like that. Either way, we all made it safely to our training center, where I gratefully collapsed onto my futon.



More later!