| The Story So Far | 08/08/04 |
Overview
On with the show!
The leaving do was great: an opportunity to meet all the people I knew in a state that meant that none of us would actually remember what had actually happened. Fortunately, the camcorder came out with us, and whilst it did get us into mild trouble, its facilities will prove invaluable in penetrating the shroud of mystery that hangs over My Last Night In England For A Fair Old Time.
After spending the night in beautiful Slough, my parents and I headed for Heathrow, where the well-oiled machine that is JET processed me and my possessions onto the plane. My worries about baggage allowances, which had been catalysed by the constant stressing in all correspondence from JET that 20 kilos was the absolute limit for everything you take with you to Japan, were unfounded. Thanks to my parents and all the people who told me this, I reckon I took about 40 kilos to Japan, which is still a piffling amount, but a lot better than 20. Everyone else had exceeded their limits by exploiting the miracle of hand-luggage too, which could explain why our plane took a disturbingly long time to take off.
On the Virgin Atlantic Airbus, all of the JETs were sat together. All the JETs, that is, except me. I was sat next to a Japanese lady who turned out to be very interested in telling me anything I wanted to know about Japan. I thought this level of courtesy was an anomalous trait. It turns out that in Japan, it is not. Whilst a lot of the information I have been told about Japan is in fact non-fact, the polite Japanese have stayed.
(click on any of the photos for a bigger version)
As an example of Japanese politeness, today I was shopping with Dahlia for cordial to put in our water. The Japanese assistant we asked for help was unable to help us, but she still tried. Then another shopper approached, and joined our quest for concentrated beverage, eventually managing to find some on the other side of the store, we thanked her and she left, which is good because the cordials were utter garbage, and I did not want to ruin our entente cordiale over something as trivial as cordial.
The plane took off, and flew over Copenhagen on the way out of Europe. I was planning on sleeping, but then I took a look at the on-board entertainment system and realised that there were films and shows that I needed to watch, and sleep would have to wait. On arrival at Tokyo Narita, I had seen Kill Bill One, which I don’t think impressed my travelling companion, two episodes of Little Britain, a guide to Japan and listened to some decent tunes on the sound system. The steam filling the plane via the air vents gave an indication of the intense heat and humidity that was to come.
By the time I had checked in to the Keio Plaza Hotel, I had been up for 22 hours, and I had Tokyo to explore. I went to bed for a quick nap, and accidentally woke up at eight fifteen in the evening, which was bad because I had arranged to meet Tom at eight, and of course contacting him was not an option. I had just decided to go out and see who else was about, when I heard a knock at the door. It was Tom. He had arrived late, and miraculously managed to track me down, so we went to do some sightseeing.
By some odd twist of fate, we ended up in one of the less reputable areas of Tokyo, Kabukicho. Within 5 minutes, a lady had grabbed my arm and told me, “You very happy … you come in here.” Since I have no understanding of Japanese writing, and I could not think why being happy would make me want to enter her building, I told her that her appraisal of my mood was quite accurate, before having to employ a surprising degree of force to extricate my arm from her impressive grip, and we went on our way. Tom and I just took in the overwhelming difference of everything.
I expected the ubiquitous neon lighting: one alleyway felt like daylight, despite the fact that there was no natural light. I did not expect the squalor of street-level. There were men sleeping at regular intervals on the streets, and the park near the hotel was full of suit-wearing salarymen who had lost their jobs, and lived under blue tarpaulin shelters, but who stayed in Tokyo in the vain hope that someone might come and re-hire them. Since this is Japan, some of the cardboard abodes of the homeless are pretty advanced: some are even on two levels…
We found a noodle bar and realised that nothing was in English. This was pretty daunting, until we looked in and realised that people were not ordering from people: they were ordering from a machine, of course. We went in and managed to figure out the machine, and placed our order. The noodle dish was ready in about 10 seconds and served with a smile and a torrent of incomprehensible words. I was so pleased to have conducted a transaction in Japan that I asked for a piece of bread-type food to go with my soupy noodles. The server-chap duly picked one up and placed it in the same bowl. Not what I expected, but it was actually a pretty good way to do things. A good analogy for a lot of the things one sees in Japan.
After some more meandering, we chanced upon a place called “Hot Men’s Box”, which had cunningly employed the HMV logo for its own means. Since we were not in the market for boxes, and certainly not those belonging to hot men, we decided that that the best possible resolution would be to go for a pint. After meeting three Irish JETs in a pub, we went to a club called Tokyo Loose, which as its name predicted was utterly, utterly heinous. When we arrived, we were the sole customers. The upshot of this was that the barman gave us free tequila. After the shot-downing, the upshot seemed empty, and when an attempt to play darts led to me inadvertently picking up an escort, we decided to call it a day and return to our hotel.
The first day of the orientation was pretty good fun. We had breakfast on the 42nd floor of the hotel, and then headed down to the opening ceremony: 3000 of us packed into a conference hall. There were people from all over the world wearing suits in 90% humidity. Over the couple of days we were taught about driving (how to avoid getting fined by pretending to be stupid), saving money (put it in a high-interest account and don’t buy expensive things) and travel (it is relatively simple to arrange, but it costs money).
On the night of the first official day, Rita and I crashed Tom’s prefectural social event, since neither of us had anything set up. We discovered the wondrous Japanese concept of Tabihodai: 2 hours of all you can eat and all you can drink for about ¥2000, which equates to £10 in England. This concept probably usually pays in Japan, since pubs are open all the time and they therefore do not drink like someone is taking it away from them. Since we were English, however, we took full advantage of the concept, finishing up with some warm sake. On leaving the establishment, we met some Japanese kids who were in high spirits, so we decided to show them how to meet and greet the Western way.
We then headed to a Karaoke lounge, for a Nomihodai (singing and free booze). All of us displayed our exceptional levels of talent. Once it was over, four of us decided that we needed to sing more. We duly went to another place, and ended up with the manager singing in our booth. After that it was time to go back to the hotel, and sleep.
The next day, I awoke at
1020. My roommate was also asleep. The conversation went a little like this:
“Shit! It’s ten twenty!”, said I.
“What?”
“It’s ten twenty, we were meant to start at nine.”
“Oh okay.”
“We really need to get up.”
“What?”
“We should be at the conference.”
“Nnnnngh.”
We were smartly dressed five minutes hence, and ready to face the day ahead of us. It was an odd day. I came out of it feeling that very little had been learned, but that all day there had been minor earth tremors, or that someone had turned the floor into a bouncy castle. It was most peculiar.
That evening, all the British JETs ended up at the British Embassy, for a finger buffet and a drumming demonstration with the ambassador. It was good fun, and we all felt rather pleased with ourselves. There was a very impressive photo-montage by David Hockney by the staircase. I mused on it with Jennifer, before we returned to the party. After that, it was my prefectural night out. We all met in the lobby of the hotel in our civvies, and headed out for tabihodai, which was most appreciated. Some people carried on to karaoke, but I uncharacteristically elected to return to the hotel with some of my fellow prefecturalists. Interestingly, the people who had gone to the karaoke, including Boris who sat next to me on the plane up to Aomori in the morning, all smelt of ethyl alcohol: perhaps they were worried about their blood freezing in the northern reaches of Japan.
On our arrival in Aomori on Wednesday 28th July, there was a reception at the airport. We all had to stand in a line and walk forward when our names were called. When it was the turn of Dahlia and I, our advisor Shobuke did not bow, nor shake hands. He hugged us both. When the ceremony was over, Dahlia whispered to me, “We got hugs!” Things were looking good. After a couple of hours’ journey by coach to our city, Hachinohe, we were shown the town hall, and then our office, where we had to introduce ourselves in Japanese, before we went to our flats to unpack.
Soon it was time to go out: Shobuke took us into town, where we had went to an inn and had some some food and drink, which as usual was of amazing quality. Most of the others left, so it was just me, Cathy and Frodo. Cathy was leaving a week later. After we had finished at the Inn, we went walking round and found a little open air place, where I chanced upon my predecessor Chris. Cathy and Frodo said they would show me home: Chris’ old apartment. Frodo disappeared somewhere along the way: maybe he had put his ring on his finger. Cathy could not find the place, so in the end we had to call Chris, who kindly took a taxi out to show us. We were ten metres from my apartment. Chris showed us in, and it was Goodnight Vienna.
The next day, Chris and Thomas showed up at 10am to take Dahlia and I to the office, and since neither of them really wanted to go to work we looked at my place for a bit. Chris showed me how to use the various appliances. Operating a washing machine might sound easy, but when all of the symbols are in kanji script, they might as well all say ‘button on this washing machine’ on them. We cruised over to work, which basically involves sitting at your desk doing what you want all day, since the kids are off school. It is important to look as if you are being useful, but as a gaijin (foreigner), you are cut quite a lot of slack.
Mike, an American guy turned up half way through the day. He had already been here for three years, in Nara, near Osaka, and had moved up here to stay for another. After work, we went for a meal to celebrate the arrival of the first batch of JETs.
After work on Friday, Mike wanted to go out. I said I would meet him. I pranced onto a bus, and headed into town. It was only on the bus that I realised I had not picked up any money. This meant that I was in a country where I was effectively illiterate, with no cash, and enough money for one minute of phone calls.
I picked up the first phone I found after I got off the bus, and it was dead. The next phone was quite some way, but I gave it a whirl. Mike answered, and I tried to explain the situation. It took so long to do this, due to our lack of local knowledge, that I had to put my last coin into the phone before Mike said, “Okay, I’ll walk to where I think you are, and you call me in about 2 minutes.” “Mike, I’ve just put my last coin into the phone.” “Oh.” At this moment, Mike walked out onto the road. It’s quite easy to recognise a white guy in Japan, especially when he has a blonde afro and a penchant for wearing bright colours. The bacon was saved.
We celebrated by going to a place that sold food items for 60yen (about 30p), and we ate a lot, including raw squid and octopus dumplings. Mike also took the time to introduce me to schochu: a slightly more raw version of sake. Then we rocked back to mine to watch Shrek 2, which should actually be called Shrek of the Rings, due to its shameless ripping-off of said film.
The next day was Saturday, and we went shopping. I discovered the wonders that are Recycling Stores, and 100 yen shops. Recycling Stores are nothing to do with saving the planet. In fact they are the result of the Japanese obsession with newness that is doing the opposite. Recycling stores are full of nearly-new and sometimes even new products that people do not want, so they are sold at very low prices. Snowboards for £25, Scatman John albums for £1.50 (actually that’s overpriced), full wardrobe/desk sets for £5. They are ace. 100 yen shops are pretty self-explanatory: they are like Everything’s A Pound at home, but the main difference is that the things that they sell are actually useful, and they have an extensive range. I managed to pick up a cup with a picture of The Beatles, two of whom have blue hair, Concorde landing, and a cameraman, over a background of Louis Armstrong, the Sydney Opera House, The Titanic and a Hoover. Bargain.
On Saturday evening, we took a look at the floats for the up-coming carnival. They were really impressive. I was also impressed to learn that the representatives for each float, including children, pull them through the streets of Hachinohe during the festival period. I was less impressed to learn that we were pulling one of the floats. We went for an Italian meal, then headed out on the town again.
Sunday arrived, and I met Cathy at Universe the supermarket, where I had to get my suit from the dry-cleaners, before we headed into town. After some mild faffing, Mike, Chris and I managed to secure some beer. We also happened upon a totally ludicrous shop. More about that later. We headed over to the float-pulling area and commenced. Our float looked like it was covered with eighties new wave musicians, although I think they were supposed to be angry old-school Japanese guys. Either way, it looked impressive, in a kind of a camp way.
Sunday night was Chris’ last night out in Hachinohe, as he was leaving on Tuesday, so we went out. We played some pool, then took our photo in the pellicola, which was an interesting experience. Usually frequented by teenage Japanese girls, they are an opportunity to have your photo taken with all your friends, then decorate the photos and print lots of copies for each other. The results speak for themselves…
Monday 2nd August, it was back to the office, and I started wearing more fitting clothes: the suit was out of the question in the prevailing weather conditions, but I had persevered with it in my first week, until we were told to be casual if we wanted to be. Shorts were still out of bounds, but short-sleeves and lighter materials made a massive difference. I was still losing prodigious amounts of water via my skin, but at least now it evaporated faster.
On Monday evening, I met up with Cathy, which was interesting: she was having a final meeting with a Japanese businessman who she taught English. He was very friendly, and rather drunk. This meant that he relentlessly engaged me in what he obviously believed to be a conversation I was capable of understanding, until he realised that even he did not understand what he was saying, at which point he would either tap his temple in some sort of signal of insanity, or simply say “Ohhhhhh.” And get up to go elsewhere in the (empty) bar at the top of the Washington Hotel in Hachinohe. After this incident, Cathy, her friend who was also leaving and I went to a nice little Thai-themed bar called “Bon”. It had a great atmosphere, and I had a nice coconut and sweet potato curry. I was offered what I believed to be ice wine, but it turned out to be rice wine: sake. The voyage home was certainly interesting.
Tuesday was a day off from hectic socialising. In the morning, we saw Chris off at the local station, then headed to the office. Dahlia and I went shopping after work, and I purchased a digital camera. ‘Hurrah!’, thought I. Now I can record all the little things that have been catching my eye recently. Things like lorries called ‘Canter Guts’, signs for pet shops that feature a composite image of a cat with its paws on a labrador’s tongue, and the disturbingly graphic neon sign on the natal centre.
Wednesday was the day I resolved to try to learn Japanese with a vengeance. I learned a little Kana (the phonetic alphabets), and did some exercises, but the book was so boring that I could not concentrate properly. In the evening, it was Cathy’s leaving do. We went for pizza, then headed straight for the karaoke joint, where more fun was had. Since the skintight lycra Nippon suit was unavailable this time, I settled for the ensemble of a monkey suit with a cow’s head. I was again told after most songs, “Do it again but 3 octaves higher please.” Tsk.
On Thursday morning, we went to see Cathy off at the railway station. During the day, I had a go at Hiragana: the Japanese phonetic alphabet. This is one of the three Japanese alphabets, the other two being Katakana, and Kanji. They are all freely intermixed on signs, which also include Romanji (western writing). Hiragana is the best to learn first, as it links directly to Japanese pronunciation. Katakana is the next to learn. It is similar to Hiragana, in that the sounds represented are the same, but the distinction is that it is used for the translation of western words, to underline the fact that they are alien. The Japanese make no bones about separating Japanese and non-Japanese things: I have had to apply for an “Alien Registration Card” for my ID whilst I am in the country, as are all non-Japanese.
The highlight, in a manner of speaking, of Thursday, was the fact that Dahlia and I tried nato for the first time. It came in our lunch-time bento boxes, in little tubes of rice. Mike pointed them out to us and laughed, saying that we had to try it once... Essentially, nato is fermented soy-bean extract, and as such is utterly disgusting. Mike went first, so then we had to try it. When we picked it up, the nato left a trail of slime linked back to the surface it had been resting on. Apparently about four fifths of the Japanese love the stuff. I put it in my mouth, and Dahlia tried it too. Instantly, both of us clasped our hands to our mouths, and started chewing the nauseous chew of people eating something their bodies really did not want them to eat. Finally, we swallowed, and the taste remaining on the palate was as bad as the sensation of eating the nato itself: it leaves its slime wherever it touches. I guess it is an acquired taste.
Friday was an interesting day: the morning was spent meeting the mayor. I was a little apprehensive, since I had elected not to shave my beard. When it came to the event, I shook his had, said “Yoroshiku onegaishimas.”, or ‘Pleased to meet you.’ in Japanese, and he responded with “Nice beard!” in Japanese, whilst touching his chin and smiling. Time to re-grow my hair then!
After meeting the mayor, we all headed over to Aomori for the Nebuta festival. We again partook of the festivities. This time, we gaijin had to hop all the way round the town for about three hours, shouting our heads off. We were covered in bells, which are apparently good luck for the spectators to catch when they fall off, accidentally or otherwise. It was great fun! It was good to see all the people from all over the Aomori prefecture who I had met at the orientation again, and find out how they were getting on.
After the festival, Mike, Thomas, Charlie, Jeff (Mike’s mate) and I went wandering the streets to find some locals. We met some kids who were really cool. One of them had limited knowledge of Britain: his two favourite sportsmen were Michael Owen, and Steve Davies. After this, I headed to the obligatory karaoke bar to meet the other new people, and to engage in some nomihodai. One hour turned into two, and our singing turned from restrained but skilled to uninhibited but dangerous to the mind. Bradley decided to sing a very, very silly Japanese song. Marvellous.
So that is the story so
far. There’s still a lot to come, most notably teaching, which starts
on Monday. I will keep you posted.