Scaling the Fuj

Guess who saw the sun rise from the summit of Mt. Fuji?

Yup, around 30 other JETs and I tackled the tallest mountain in Japan this weekend. Booyah! We bussed out of Shizuoka City around 9 Saturday night, and started about halfway up Fuji-san, at the fifth station, where most people begin their climb. We were pretty far up, and had a beautiful view of the city! It's like someone nestled a monstrous Lite Brite in front of alpestrine contours and under the watch of Orion and company, who were all completely visible on a crystal clear night. Gorgeous, desu ne? The altitude also brought a light, brisk, track jacket-demanding wind, which was a welcome climatic change!

Anyways, the only mountains I'm extensively familiar with are those of the rolling, lush Blue Ridge and Shenandoah, which are knoll-y compared to the volcanically active Fuji-san. Still, it's not frightening. On the Lufkin Death Crag scale--ten being Everest and one being a large jungle gym--the Fujinator is probably an approachable 5, maybe even 4. It was about an eight hour hike to reach the summit 12,000 feet up, with around 11 stations (including station "seven-and-a-half") altogether. It was actually a great workout; wanderlust and endorphins propelled me to the top!

Speaking of which, I must've underestimated my fitness level, because I thought the actual climb was pretty manageable. It was the descent that was hellacious. Since you're walking on mostly pebbles, ash, and other slippery sediment, it's easy to fall and hurt yourself. You have to walk super deliberately with your feet at an uncomfortable 70-degree angle, which really puts a lot of pressure on your knees. Bow-legged stumbling isn't the ideal way to descend a mountain, but options were kinda limited! I suggest they implement some kind of slide system, preferably one emptying into a massive ball pit.

The trail itself was pretty crowded. The hike is actually more of a queue that densifies as you get closer to the summit. We ran into a lot of other gaijin, including a couple from Texas who were on their honeymoon, I think. Also, can I throw out that Japanese people are friendly as hell? Politeness manifests itself in all settings around here, from hotel lobbies to public restrooms and to Fuji itself. On the way down, climbing passerby greeted me with a sincere smile and "Ohayou gozaimasu!" ("Good morning!") Though sleep-deprived and famished, I mustered a friendly response every time, as the muscles used to smile were the only ones not burning with pain and enervation. The summit's vista was amazing, but I don't think I'll be scaling Fuji's igneous incline ever again.

So what else did I do this weekend, besides climb one of the most famous mountains in the world? Ate a delicious croque-monsieur at a sandwich shop in Shizuoka Station, slept for a glorious 10 hours Sunday night, and took pictures of Josh in a cow costume, while bemused Japanese fondled his rubber udders.

I start teaching tomorrow--God help us all.

The time, how she flies!

As of today, I have lived in Japan for one month.

This calls for a celebratory Pringles run! Yes, the stackable snack is available here, but in such flavors as grilled shrimp, "winter BBQ" (I have no idea) and French consummé. I am finding this country--as well as its takes on American junk food--to be more endearingly wacky by the day.

Hi, Japan? ...Hey, it's Bryan. Listen, um... I know we haven't known each other that long, but, well... I think I'm falling for you. Be my steady?

Keitai Kraziness

Cell phones are odd in Japan. For example, when texting, you can choose from close to 500 emoticons to include in your message. The phone comes with standard smiley faces, but also has some (scratch that--mostly) obscure and bizarre choices, such as a bobby, a half-eaten croissant, the Star of David, and a bloody syringe (?!). It's too time-consuming to actually key in a text message, since auto-complete only activates if you're typing in Japanese. So, from now on, I think I'll just use emoticons exclusively. It'd be a lot quicker, not to mention delightfully hieroglyphic. For example:

[fork] + [fish] = "Want to get sushi?" or,
[German flag] + [crown] + [man with black hair and small mustache] + [animation of gun being fired] = "Want to off a Nazi leader?"

(And yes, all of those icons are actually on my phone.)

My favorite (God, is it hard to choose!) has to be the smiling pile of poo. Yes, you read correctly--I'm talking about felicitous feces; elated ejecta; a delighted dump. The actual graphic looks like a vermillion meringue peak with a happy face; squiggly stink lines hovering overhead. Wow--where else can you text cutely personified human excrement to all your friends? Only in Japan!

In other news, I need to start mentally and physically preparing myself for climbing Mt. Fuji this weekend, since my Slim Jim-fed and shamefully unfit body is probably not going to make it to the summit. I'm thinking of making an emergency fitness purchase:



Uh, on second thought, maybe I should just stick to squat thrusts.

Tea Nation

The strangest thing happened the other day.

There I was, standing in the shower, when the water started to run a weak earthen brown. Suddenly, scents of jasmine and oolong filled the room. Then I realized--tea was transpiring through my pores! Dear Lord, am I steeping? I rushed to the hospital, and was told tea had replaced water as my body's main constituent, and that the number of tea leaf remnants in my circulatory system now outnumbers my red blood cell count. Cool! I'm a walking, breathing oddity. Tea Dude! Calling Discovery Health--get me my own hour-long special, stat! Move over Siamese quadruplets and two-ton man, there's a new medical miracle in town, and he's chock full of antioxidants!

All joking aside, I really have consumed more tea in the past three and a half weeks than I have in the past year. The Japanese love the stuff. It's what they give you in waiting rooms, lounges, and serve it instead of water at restaurants. Sorry, coffee drinkers... the omnipresent o-cha is king here. Y'know, kind of like fried baloney in Southern Indiana.

These feet were made for rubbin'

When you hear the word "massage," what do you think of?

Lavender-scented oils? A day at the spa? Sitting by the fireplace with your best gal, a box of Franzia and the music of Enigma?

Whatever your connotation, I bet a roomful of sockless Japanese teachers ain't it! Apparently at our school, "teachers' meetings" is a term open to wide interpretation, as Christina and I found out yesterday. We were all corralled in the faintly air-conditioned multi-purpose room, where some guy in gym shorts led us in group "exercise" and taught us about reflexology.

Basically, the dude told us that if you massage certain parts of your foot, the muscles in a corresponding body part would be relaxed as a result. For example, if you knead the fleshy part of your sole underneath your pinky toe, any stiffness in your neck will be instantly alleviated. So, we all proceeded to massage our feet (our own, mind you); about thirty people rubbing their dogs in unison, some more vigorously than others. Expectedly, the activity yielded no bizarre bodily reactions or muscle relief. And oh yeah... this was all done without socks on. Hey, what's a little toe jam between friends? (Or in my case, non-English speaking acquaintances?) It was weird, because I've always associated reflexology with the other crock sciences, like alchemy or eharmony.com.

Next, we had to break off into partners. When I first heard them say "pair massage," I panicked and started having horrible mental images: being forced to straddle the stocky gym teacher's back and effleurage up and down his spine, for example. (Daffy Duck voice) *gulp* Mother! Thankfully, all it entailed was holding your partner's arm up over their head while they sat in an office chair. How they call this "massage," I'll never know. They kept asking me, "Kimochi, ne?" ("Feels good, doesn't it?") like we had just spent three hours under the formidable forearms of a brawny chick named Olga.

I think the purpose of this meeting was to teach us ways to de-stress during the upcoming school year. The activity was part team-building and part physical therapy, all wrapped in a thin veil of something resembling voodoo mysticism, and I loved it. Mostly because it's nothing you'd see in the States, at least to my knowledge--who really knows what goes on during teachers' in-service days, anyway?

Tokai the Terrible!

There are some things in life you never want to be told, such as:

1. A virus has infected your iTunes account, replacing all your songs with Ace of Base singles,
2. your secretive girlfriend's clandestine sex change was a complete success, or
3. you live in one of the most earthquake-prone countries in world, and the Big One is liable to happen at any given second.

I spent the last few days at yet another JET orientation, where I received some unsettling news. Unfortunately for everyone living in Shizuoka prefecture, item #3 on the above list is a harsh, realistic, stone-cold possibility.

In brief, a huge earthquake called "Tokai" is supposed to strike Japan, mostly affecting the Shizuoka area. It occurs every 100-150 years, and the last one struck around 154 years ago. We had to watch a video and read reams of literature about it. I'll spare you most of the ghastly details, suffice it to say the terms "massive," "disastrous" and "catastrophic" were thrown around a few times. The quake is supposed to exceed an 8.0 on the Richter scale, triggering tsunamis and possibly causing Mt. Fuji to become active again, engulfing terrified Shizuokians in whelming cascades of molten lava.

So... yeah. Earthquakes, tidal waves, and volcanic eruption. Tokai: putting the "threat" in "triple threat"! Personally, I kind of like living with the perpetual risk of impending doom. It's adventurous and pleasantly precarious. However, I'm still looking for some help in building a titanium-and-diamond enforced bunker, or maybe a Ripley-style escape pod. Anyone know a guy?

East, meet West.

Gaijin is the Japanese word for "foreigner," and they're as common around here as cool summer nights and public trash cans (i.e., not common at all).

On Friday, our Japanese friend Yoshiko drove me, Micah and Christina to the rural outskirts of Fujieda, a neighboring city. Before taking us on an awesome mountain tour, which included a 200 ft. tall waterfall (I need to start having my camera on me at all times...), she treated us to snow cones at a local mom-and-pop joint.

While we were eating, an old Japanese woman walked in with her granddaughter. The girl stood inches from our table, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Her grandma tittered amusedly and said something to us in Japanese. Yoshiko translated, saying that we were the very first non-Japanese people the little girl had seen--ever. We asked how old the girl was, and she was nine! I could understand if she was barely out of diapers, but she was practically a tween. Welcome to the countryside, eh?

Personally, if Japanese toy companies and ad execs could tap into such children's intrigue and consumerism, I truly think millions could be made. I can see it now... Introducing: "My Very First Gaijin"! This lifelike figurine comes complete with three different outfits, Aryan features, and a clueless grin--and he's ready for your love! Open his Utility Fanny Pack to find Lonely Planet literature, a passport and passport accessories (including working visa stickers, in five fun colors!) and directions to the nearest McDonald's! Now with 20 new action phrases, including "Is that cooked?" and "How do you flush this?" Supplies limited; pre-orders available now! ("Sexually Neglected International Businessman Looking for Tail" action figure sold separately.)

The exchange was very weird. After ten minutes of her staring, I started to feel somewhat exposed and exoticized, but who's to blame her? Wouldn't you be curious too, if you've spent your whole life on a homogenous, isolated, island nation? She was a cute kid. Hopefully my wrinkled shirt (being SpaceBagged in a suitcase fort two weeks does that) and sweaty, incorrigible Einstein hair didn't give her a bad impression of foreigners. We don't all look like we live in a broom closet, I promise!

As for the snow cone, it was delicious, and could be considered haute cuisine in the frozen treat circuit. A huge scoop of shaved ice, nearly the size of a small grapefruit, soaked in fresh milk and topped with macerated strawberries... Yeah. Suck on that, Flavor Ice.

Fun at the Onsen! or, I Bathed with Strangers

My second night in Haibara? Spent soaking in a pool of hot water, next to a sleeping octogenarian and directly in front of an overly doughy fellow proudly sitting full-spread eagle on the ledge, hips thrust out farther than I thought capable of any normally-jointed human. Oh yeah, and we're all completely naked.

Hey, when in Rome! (So to speak.)

Micah, Nicole, and Mike stole my onsen virginity last Thursday. An onsen is a natural hot spring—sometimes indoors, sometimes outdoors. The one we went to was both. With its hardwood floors and rafters, dramatic backlighting, and maple furniture, it was reminiscent of a posh ski loft, and also had a built-in restaurant. I ate a soba and miso soup bento before the bath, and mind-bendingly delicious soft-serve ice cream after. They also have a spacious tatami (straw mat floor) lounge with pillows and a couple TVs, as well as a massage parlor.

After a bite, it's time to bare all. You're separated by gender (sorry horn dogs, no skin snorkeling allowed), shed your clothes in a locker room, and proceed to the bathing area.

When you enter the soaking room, you must first crouch in front of a mirror in a mini-stall and wash yourself with body soap and a hand-held showerhead before entering the baths. Like the rest of the building, the bathing room was gorgeous: black tile, stainless steel showers, potted plants with oversized leaves, dimly lit ambiance. The whole point is to provide serenity and immense relaxation. There are two hot baths: one inside and the other outside in a fenced area, under a Japanese-style gazebo and sheltered by stones and trees. There's also an ice-cold bath and a sauna.

The little kids there were downright obsessed with each other's peckers. Trying to grab them, waving them at strangers... wacky li'l sprats. With traditions like onsen, it seems like Japan is pretty open with nudity, even at a really early age. I wonder why that is? Moreover, why are so many Westerners uptight about it?

Admittedly, the experience tweaked me out at first. I can't say I enjoyed having to look at Great-Grandpa Saggington, or the individual who I firmly believed to be a hermaphrodite. I mean, man boobs are one thing; palpable fun bags are another. And its legs—as shiny and smooth-looking as a polished eggplant! I would've gawked more, but I was too busy being enveloped in geothermal goodness.

And that's the beauty of the onsen! In the end, no one really cares about your unsightly back hair, or if you're morbidly obese. They're just there to relax and re-center after the onerous daily grind. As for me, it was the first time I truly felt rejuvenated since coming here, and will totally go back again. Weariness and stress fade away, as do your inhibitions. Such is Japan.

Nature's alarm clock.

Since coming to Japan, I've been getting up at around 6 every day--not because I'm an early morning go-getter, but because this place is infested with noisy, insufferable insects. Hundreds of cicadas inhabit the area surrounding our apartment, and these suckers are loud. I've never seen anything quite like it. The din is just as clamorous and constant as the pachinko parlor pinball machines, except this sounds more like an alien in heat and comes from the tree outside my window. I thought Japan was supposed to be tranquil and Zen-like?

Last night we got our keitai denwa (cell phones). It took four hours, but now we have them way before most other JETs! We circumvented Japan's fancy pants rules and regulations... take that, bureaucracy! Fun fact: Many Japanese cell phone ads feature extremely well-known American celebrities. I doubt the likes of Cameron Diaz and Brad Pitt would normally hawk text-messaging plans, but they seem to have no such qualms here in Japan. Anything for a quick buck!

Japan, aka: The Surface of the Sun

Have I mentioned that this place is hot? The heat has actually melted my clothing; the sweat fusing it to my flesh to form something of a cotton exoskeleton. Cool! Too bad I won't be able to molt until the temp drops, or until the humidity slips below the current 90% (not exaggerating).

But weatherly discomfort is nothing compared to how much of a blast I'm having here in Giappon! After orientation ended on Wednesday, the 30-odd Shizuoka JETs took a three hour bus ride to Shizuoka City, the prefectural capital. We stopped at a really cool rest stop—it had a machine that dispensed free green tea! (Pokemon is also still HUGE here—I saw a lot of posters for some Pokemon-related event festooned around the rest stop. Pikachu and company are laughing all the way to the bank, they's is.)

At the prefectural building, about 40 representatives from Shizuoka's Board of Education met us for yet another welcoming ceremony. Each of us had to stand up, one at a time, and give a brief self-introduction in Japanese to the crowd of teachers—slightly daunting; I felt my mouth twitch a lot.

Haraguchi-sensei and Matsuda-sensei, two of my school's JTEs (Japanese Teachers of English) and two incredibly friendly guys, picked Christina and me up and drove us to Yoshida. (My situation is rare, in that my school will have two JETs—Christina and myself. We'll be co-workers and neighbors; having her here as helped in acclimation already.)

Christina and I have gotten settled in, and met our respective predecessors, Nicole and Micah. They're both really cool and I'm sad to see them leave. They've shown us so much already: school, locations of nearby konbini (convenience stores)... they even took me to my first onsen! Yes, those public bath houses where you get naked and sit in a hot spring with a bunch of other naked people (that adventure warrants its own post).

Anyways, the Yoshida/Haibara area (we work in Yoshida and live in Haibara) has a great surfer culture, being right on the beach and all. I went to an izakaya (Japanese bar) right on the coast with a bunch of other JETs the other night, and ate the most slammin' fries I've had in a really long time, maybe ever. The beach bum presence was strong; apparently the owners and many of the regulars surf a lot, and have spent time in Hawaii and California.

Photos of my apato and town to come soon! Be patient, bated-breathed readers, I know the suspense is almost too much to bear!

JETlagged

WARNING: The following entry violates the journalist's "short, succinct paragraphs" rule of thumb. D'oh! My posts usually aren't this long, Ernie Pyle, I swear! Anywho:

A weary traveler I be!

Tired, mosquito-bitten, slightly sunburned, and sweatier than a constipated hog in a steambath--but I've finally made it! I'm in my new apartment in the humid-as-hell small town of Haibara, located in Shizuoka prefecture, Japan. Too surreal for words. This last week was an exhausting blur (I remember my ears popping a lot...), but I'll do my best recount the events:

Day 1:

After a tearful bon voyage, I said goodbye to my parents in Chicago and boarded Japan Airlines Flight 009, O'Hare to Narita. The flight was only 11.5 hours long, which was shorter than the expected 14. We flew west, through Canada, over Alaska, along eastern Russia and into Japan. The plane itself was a huge, two-story 747.

This flight was cush, dude. We were fed constantly—three meals or so, including snacks and sandwiches, juice and soft drinks, as well as booze (don't worry, Mom and Dad, I abstained). You could listen to Japanese radio on your built-in headset, but I opted for the American hip-hop/top 40 station. Each seat had a TV in the back, which included a movie channel that featured 10 different films, and you could even play video games, like Tetris, Reversi, Solitaire, etc. Bad news? My remote control's cord got stuck in the crevice of the armrest around hour 6. I couldn't pull the remote out of its cradle, rendering it useless. I tried my best to get it out—I think it was somewhere over the Bering Strait when I tried using my old Lowe's employee ID card to finagle the cord free, without waking up the Japanese guy next to me. Eventually gave up, though. Ah well.

Let's not forget the "in-flight exercises." Every couple hours, we had to watch a video of some Japanese chick breathing deeply and massaging her feet and calves. Guess JAL doesn't want any of their passengers to throw a blood clot—ain't that sweet?

My first impression of Japan was that it hot and humid. One of these would be nice right now... where's Sharper Image when you need it? The JET orientation peeps met us at the airport and shuttled all 2000 of us to the ultra-swank Keio Plaza in downtown Tokyo. After settling into our room, my roommates and I left the hotel to explore the Shinjuku district. I was surprised at the low activity and how few people there were (unlike Shibuya; see Day 2), as well as how spotless the city was. For dinner, we stopped at a shady, hole-in-the-wall ramen restaurant—when we walked in, the cook was sitting on a bucket behind the counter, asleep with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. God bless'im.

Best shot I could get from my room; a honkin' skyscraper obscured most of the view:



Day 2:

Tokyo Orientation attire was business, which meant incubating in my suit for the entire conference. I had been awake for 19 hours the day previous; dressin' all snazzy and sitting through speeches and workshops was the last thing I wanted to do. At least the hotel staff was really courteous... I'm still not used to the whole bowing thing. Because I was a patron of the hotel, housekeepers, elevator attendants, and busboys all bowed a full-out, ninety-degree bow—the most respectful of all Japanese gestures (the deeper the bow = the more respect shown). What an ego boost, eh?

Breakfast was an interesting buffet; an amalgam of Western favorites. It included bacon (not as cooked and crispy as in the States, though), fruit, weird-looking scrambled eggs, steamed vegetables, cereal, salad, as well as cheese and French fries. (Cheese and fries? They know what we like!)

TV crews were there to cover the opening ceremony and keynote speech. Japanese social hierarchy was evident throughout the morning. One presentation included a panel of Ministry bigwigs, seated behind a long table up on stage. Whenever one panelist was about to rise or sit, a breathless subordinate would scurry over, crouch, and pull the chair in or out for his superior. Wow. They keep 'em on a tight leash!

After an afternoon of workshops, there was a gorgeous evening welcome reception; yet another buffet of succulent dishes: Szechuan beef with bell peppers and onions, penne, what I believed to be coconut shrimp... and Japanese food too, of course, like sashimi, tempura, all beautifully styled, like it was out of Gourmet magazine. There was also an open bar, with all kinds of Japanese beers. The reception was fun and boisterous, but like any good time in Japan, it must always start with kanpai (a toast and cheers). No one may start eating or drinking until this revered rite has concluded. It was super formal; the Ministry and other Japanese government officials marched in single file, while we stood in silence, charged drinks in hand. After some brief kind words and a warm welcome, everyone cheered and exclaimed, "kanpai!" Finally, we were granted permission to horf down alcohol and skewered meats.

That night, about 20 other JETs and I went out to the Shibuya district in Tokyo—the real crazy neon stuff you see on TV. I was dumb and didn't bring my camera (perhaps the jetlag and three bottles of Asahi clouded my judgment at that point...) so I'll just a-Google a pic for you, to get an idea:



Shibuya Crossing (Nihon's Times Square, basically) is one of the most-traversed crosswalks in the entire world. After navigating the subways (which were so crowded for a Monday night--'twas a sea of people), we ended up in a karaoke bar. It was really fun; only 800 yen, or 8 bucks, for your private karaoke room, all-you-can-drink, so it was a really good deal.

Sleep came a bit easier that night.

Day 3:

The conference was more of the same. That night, we wandered around some more, briefly ducking into a pachinko parlor. The noise was absolutely deafening; I fail to see the appeal.

We also went to McD's, where I ordered a famed terikyaki burger. Think McRib basted in watered-down Kikkoman. It was a beautiful McDonald's, though; immaculate (like everything else in Japan) and had multiple stories.

Day 4:

We divvied up by prefecture and peaced out to our respective destinations, yadda yadda yadda, here I am!

Let me leave you with this:



The toilets here are incredible. Heated seats, self-cleaning capabilities... you can even, um, "cleanse" your "area" after going poo. A simple push of a button releases a small jet of water into your derriere, and I must say, I was caught off guard and rather disturbed by its force and precision. Yikes—at least buy me a drink, Japanese Toilet of the Future.

Yokoso!

I'm here! The past week has been exhausting (and humid as the dickens...) and alas, Internet access is limited at this point.

Never fear, loyal readers (all one of you)! Updates await!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the konbini to buy some of those pizza-flavored potato chips. Mata ne!