The first quarter of school has come and gone, and I finished up classes a number of weeks ago. I had been fretting about final exams, but the fates were kind and didn’t produce even one. This made the transition from School Time to Summer Vacation much different than it had ever been in the past. Rather than spending the last few weeks of the quarter busting my ass studying for finals, writing papers, and generally doing all of that irksome school stuff, this time around school just more or less plodded along, business as usual, until one day the teachers said plainly, “Okay, that’s it. See ya in about three months.” Welcome to the Japanese university system.
I’ve finally started working, which is nice in a purely “Wow, I have spending money!” kind of way. Earlier in the Summer I decided, at last, to accept some of the English teaching offers I had been receiving in order to make some extra money, and it was a lucrative pursuit while it lasted. The “teaching” gigs, usually one-on-one or with a handful of students, paid anywhere from $25-40 an hour for what would more accurately be called tutoring. I also did an actual classroom psuedo-sensei affair with a class of thirty or so adult students that paid $50 dollars an hour. The work wasn’t difficult in any real sense of the word, especially since the level the students’ English proficiency ranged from Very Little (10%) to Nonexistant (90%). Frankly the job could have just as easily been done by a semi-literate, native English-speaking chimpanzee. As you might have guessed, the money sure bought a lotta bananas.
But the BIG NEWS is that I got a real job recently, and it is one that has allowed me to return gleefully to the world of computers and networks. I’m working as a contractor with a large, American-based computer/data processing company that sets up and manages networks in the Tokyo area. The project I was initially involved with consisted of documenting, mapping, and basically cleaning up a medium-sized network at the corporate offices of one of Japan’s largest manufacturers of women’s lingerie and undergarments. (I swear I’m not making this up.) Probably the toughest part of my work there was finding new excuses to “configure” the single PC located in the photography area, a largish room on the top floor that is regularly filled with comfortably attired lingerie models. “I just gotta edit this CONFIG.SYS file here and you should be–what!, a VIRUS! Well this is gonna take some time.” It was like dying and going to Victoria’s Secrets.
My current arrangement is located a short seven hundred and fifty miles outside of Tokyo, which makes for a somewhat inconvenient commute. Alright, it’s not quite that far, but at times it sure seems like it. The trip actually only takes an hour and a half, but the process itself makes it seem much longer. It works something like this:
Ogikubo to Tsunashima:
The Epic Journey of a Man and His Quest for an Empty Seat
7:20 AM Depart the BH (Bachelor Hovel) in Lovely Ogikubo. Purchase can coffe (yappari, Georgia) at one of the four-hundred and twelve vending machines that line the route to the station like a caffeine gauntlet.
7:30 AM Board morning commuter train to Shinjuku. Cringe. Enjoy the special intimacy that only complete strangers and their baggage can offer. (On some mornings this can be a good thing. On others, well…)
7:45 AM Arrive Shinjuku. Sprint en masse with around 250 others to the Yamanote line platform. Form into orderly rows and frown at the empty tracks until the train arrives.
7:50 AM Board train for Shibuya. Curse under your breath as the gale force air conditioning from seven inches overhead reduces your recently-coiffed hair to what can only be described as Little Rascals Chic.
8:00 AM Arrive Shibuya. Sprint to the Toyoko line platform, then run alongside the waiting cars, head bobbing and ducking all the while as you peer inside for the fabled Empty Seat. Upon sighting one, swiftly dart into the car and employ Densha-do (ancient Japanese martial art for ruthlessly dispatching fellow commuters) as necessary to secure the precious seating space.
8:10 AM Depart Shibuya for Tsunashima. Ignoring the mild pain of assorted minor injuries, you doze.
8:35 AM Arrive Tsunashima. The towering buildings of Tokyo are far behind you now, invisible below the distant horizon. This is shitamachi. Children peer at you, considering the possibilties: Alien life form? Demon? Cartoon character? The pretense and posing that typifies Ginza and Omote-sando is stripped away, leaving behind the essence of Japan; people going to work or school, squinting at the new day’s light as they make their way down the narrow, busy streets. Somewhere a fish monger sings out the catch of the day. The smell of fresh-baked bread fills your nostrils, and–whumph–a hurrying salaryman shoves past you on his way out of the station. You snap out of your reverie and make for the bus stop.
8:40 AM Board bus, praying that the back row, the only place that will accommodate your 38″ legs, still has an opening.
9:05 AM Arrive at the End of the World, otherwise known as Yoshida Shinden. Start off on foot for The Office, its upper floors visible above a thick haze in the distance.
9:15 AM Appear for work. Cheerily greet co-workers. Collapse.
And at the end of the day do it all over again, only in reverse. That’s three hours a day just to get to and from work, and you know what? This is normal here. I mention this to Japanese friends, expecting perhaps sympathy or polite dismay, and they just shrug and say, “Only three hours? Hey, not bad.”
So this is my life. Distracted by the lure of additional funds I inadvertantly became a salaryman, and although it wasn’t on my Japan To-Do List prior to coming here I still think the experience will be valuable. Most importantly, it’s giving me the opportunity to evaluate first-hand the Japanese office environment and observe the way people interact, the language they use, and the clearly-defined roles of the sempai/kohai that have until now been the stuff of Harz-Jordan texts and generic filler for innumerable Inscrutable Japan books. But I feel fortunate in away that the project, and the experience, come preinstalled with a convenient escape clause in the form of a finite, three week duration. If nothing else it provides me with a welcome toe-test of the water before I consider taking the plunge.
Aside from work, I’m looking at dividing my remaining time this Summer between work and vacationing. I’d really like to squeeze in a jaunt to one of the closer vacation spots, like maybe Saipan or Guam, but may just settle for another foray to Izu to play on the beach and explore onsen.
This is my first Tokyo Summer, and things have gotten downright uncomfortable in the past few months. Life without an air conditioner is a hot, muggy business that requires at least two showers a day and a flotilla of oscillating fans. By the time I’ve made the seven minute walk to the station in the morning I can already enjoy the pleasant sensation of sweat rivulets running into my eyes or down the middle of my back. It’s even gotten gotten to the point that I actually like riding the subway these days just for the air conditioning.
In order to find some relief from the oppressive heat I spend a fair amount of my free time at a nearby (Asagaya) outdoor public pool. During the week it’s not too busy, and can be a good place to relax and enjoy the sun. It offers patrons a predictably pool-like atmosphere, and all in all there is little to distinguish it from any neighborhood public pool you might find in San Diego, Dallas, or even Cleveland. There are, however, a couple of differences worth noting. For example, virtually all of the men there wear those teensy-weensy Speedo bathing suits shunned by most American men. The interesting thing though is that, unlike American men, Japanese guys don’t look like complete dorks wearing them. I attribute this to the simple fact that your average Japanese guy is basically more trim and fit-looking than your average McGarbage hoarking Yank. In a rare fugue of groupthink I even went out and bought one myself, but regrettably I must admit that, even though I’m “trim and fit-looking,” I still look like a dork. As long as nobody points and laughs, though, I’m pretty much okay with it.
The other difference, even more interesting than the Speedo Element, is the hourly Enforced Rest Period, fifteen minutes or so every hour where everyone is required to get out of the pool and listen to a litany of PA system announcements reminding patrons to make sure they’ve not lost goggles, earrings, or cell phones; that the water is a drowning hazard for children; that running or diving from the side of the pool is a no-no; that sunscreen can prevent sunburn; and a lengthy list of other cautions and pointers that better belong in a pamphlet titled Poolside Tips for the Common Sense Impaired.
This is but one of many examples of the Social Shepherding conducted or mandated by the powers-that-be in this country. You find the practice just about anywhere, be it in the form of recorded announcements
“The train is arriving at Ikebukuro Station. The exit doors will be on the left. Please take care not to forget anything.”
or large, imposing banners
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DANGER: |
designed to keep the population from venturing too far into the shark-infested waters of autonomy. The amount of (arguably unnecessary) shepherding in this country is mind-boggling, and I’ve had a hard time understanding why this would be seen as a good thing by anyone. There are certainly voices of dissent in the Op-Ed pages, where Japanese people complain about the unnecessary use of the announcement system on trains and elsewhere for dispensing atarimae information. Still, things seem to be getting worse, not better. Moo.
Finally, I’m preparing for the big move to the temple where I’ll be living for the next few months, and the prospect of leaving Ogikubo is not one for which I feel any particular elation. I love the neighborhood here, and the people that I meet, and the coffee house that I’m sitiing in at this very moment, watching the parade of people in and out of the station. The perspective from the second story, expansive thanks to the wide windows that comprise the wall before me, is one of constant activity. The regular arrival and departure of trains, taxi cabs vying with pedestrians for control of the crosswalk, and the single escalator at the station entrance that produces an endless stream of humanity all conspire to create the ubiquitous Tokyo bustle that has come to be familiar, even comfortable, to me. I’ll miss this place.
Ah, Hokkaido. If there be a Heaven on Earth, this is it.
A friend’s repeated encouragements to escape the heat and pavement and crowds of Tokyo for a week in Hokkaido were a siren song I found too difiicult to resist. My work schedule in flux while projects were completed and the next considered, a brief window of opportunity opened, and flight arrangements were made post haste.
Hokkaido is Japan’s northernmost island, and the second largest of the four. It is known for, among other things, having harsh Winters and wonderfully cool Summers. The terrain is mountainous and beautifully green, and dotted with rivers and lakes. The wide open plains recalled my own images of Scotland, as typically represented in travel brochures or posters. All in all, it seemed very unlike Japan to someone such as myself who had been trapped in Tokyo’s urban desert for months. Even the architecture, designed with Winter’s heavy snowfall and freezing temperatures in mind, looks altogether different from what one may think of as Japanese.
The language for daily use is standard Japanese, but even today people often revert to the tongue of the aboriginal Ainu, the primitive people who inhabited the island long before the arrival of the earliest Japanese. In order to facilitate communication with the locals I consulted with University of Washington scholar Dan H. Malsom, a leading researcher in the study of Hokkaido-ben. Professor Malsom explained the syntax and structure of the language to me, and in the interest of conserving space I’ll just summarize the salient points. Hokkaido-ben consists of only about fifteen discrete words, many of which sound not unlike unintelliglble wheezing and grunting to the untrained ear. The limited vocabulary contains only words for those concepts most relevent to the people of Hokkaido, and offer an interesting insight into their antidiluvian culture.
Present in the vernacular are words for snow, sheep, hunt, carotid artery, axe, cold, etc. These words can be combined to create compound words like “sheep-hunt” or “cold-axe” (indifference). The language can be intimidating to the unititiated, especially during mealtime, when any number of Hokkaidoans can be exciteldly grunting and barking dialog back and forth, bouncing in their chairs brandishing sheep forelegs or waving entrails about to emphasize a particular point. I adjusted soon enough, though, and in no time at all I was right in the thick of the group, helping to build a fire, sharpen an axe, whatever.
Okay, I made that last part up. They don’y really wave entrails around. You got any idea what kind of mess that would make? Anyway, I was soon able to adjust and even converse freely with these simple people, and this made the next few days much easier (thanks Prof. Malsom!).
We went out for dinner the first night, well, make that every night for the time I was there. The food in Hokkaido is first class, and Sapporo is especially well-known for its fresh sea fare, ramen, and fruit. We dined on crab, Sapporo ramen, sushi to die for, cantalope and honeydew melon (usually $10-15/each in Tokyo markets), jagaimo, and anything that moved too close to our feverishly snapping jaws. We also made a trip to the Sapporo Beer brewery to enjoy some ales and feast on lamb. They offer a tabehoudai (all you can eat) for about $35 US, and as it included all the Sapporo beer you can pour down your throat, we got our money’s worth and then some. The lamb was great, and we prepared it yakitori style, grilling the thin strips of meat on a dome-shaped affair that dominated the center of the table. The room was a largish, banguet hall kind of affair that was filled with long wooden tables and literally hundreds of eagerly feasting Japanese. They ate with an abandon I’ve rarely witnessed even among, say, starved jackals. It belied a zeal that, according to my friends, only comes from consuming the long-prized mutton.
Sheep are highly-regarded in the North, and their place in Japanese history is a prominent one. Every Japanese has fond mental images of Ancient Japan where, much like the horse of our own Old West, the sheep was an indispensible part of daily life. Indeed, for whom does the image of the proud sheep not evoke a certain nostalgia for days gone past, where brave Samurai would ride into town on the backs of the mighty beasts, sitting stern and upright with regal bearing, the fawning gasps of the local womenfolk in their ears? And in battle, the fearsome bleating of the charging animals would strike terror in the hearts of the enemy. Yes, their history is a long one, and even today Hokkaido school children sing songs of sheep bravery in times past.
Today, with the sheep few in number they are relegated to passive, sedentary lives on preserves, far removed from the battlefields of yore. We visited one of these preserves for a close-up look at history, and I must say that I left the place more than a little awed by the close proximity of the creatures.
I was fortunate that my friend had access to a car, and it allowed us to do some casual exploring beyond the confines of the rail system. We made a trip to a lake, the name of which I’ve since forgotten, and enjoyed evening hanabi and a brief spell in an open-air heated bath. The rotenburo was situated on the top floor of a resort hotel near the water’s edge, and offered a commanding view of the single small island located in the center of the lake. It was segregated, so I had to part company with my female companions and join the handful of anonymous Japanese men simmering in the Guys side. Conversation lurched for a short moment as the tall, naked gaijin emerged from the changing room, hand towel deployed accordingly, into their midst, but the shock dissipated quickly and it was soon relaxation as usual. I basked there for an hour or so, enjoying the splendid view and eavesdropping on the conversations around me. I concluded at length that this was, in fact, the only way to bathe. It was little mystery afterwards what brings tourists to this remote lakeside town that earlier, from the confines of the car, had seemed to offer little.
We also made the trip to an amusement park that had been built in the cradle of a number of mountains, and offered skiing during the Winter months. It offered various roller coasters and other rides that were made that much better by the complete absence of the huge crowds that generally populate places like this, and the most we waited for a ride was five minutes. The park was almost surreal at times, what with the lack of people and the surrounding green hills, and it contributed to a vague Hokkaido=Heaven postulate that had been forming somewhere in the back of my phyche since I arrived.
Back in Sapporo, the neighborhood was gearing up for a big SMAP concert that evening, and it was clear that every Japanese female between the ages of 10 and 16 North of Tohoku was in attendence. SMAP are kind of a Japanese New Kids on the Block that exist in that narrow sliver on the teen idol spectrum that somehow appeals to young girls everywhere in their first few years of puberty, and is characterized by three fundamental traits: identical outfits, singing simple lyrics in unison, and being completely pimple-free. We were too late to get tickets of our own (damn!) but we could hear the show well enough from the apartment building in which we were staying. Hey, that in itself was enough for me.
Another interesting thing about Hokkaido was that I was very rarely subjected to the Whitey Can’t Speak Japanese mindset that seems so pervasive in Tokyo. People would actually just speak Japanese to me, right from the start, even though I hadn’t said a word. For example, riding in a cab to the station we were sitting in traffic caused by the SMAP concert, and the cabbie says, in Japanese, “Boy, can you beleive this traffic? Must be the concert, eh?” I assumed he was speaking to my Japanese friends, but when I looked over I saw that he was looking at me! “Ack, er, yeah, that must be it” came my hastily fashioned response. My friends and then exchanged Oh my God!-looks over the headrest. The first couple of times I was stunned, but then I simply came to appreciate it. I’m at a loss to figure out why things are different here in Tokyo, but suspect it may have to do with the fact that foreigners there can’t simply get by on their English skills, and actually have to learn some Japanese. Perhaps in Sapporo this is the kind of gaijin that the people are used to. In any case, it sure was nice while it lasted.
All things considered, it was a wonderful trip, and I encourage you to take a trip North if you have the opportunity. By the way, much of the information presented earlier in this article is completely ficticious, and was for the most part a little ijime for my dear friend up North. That said, I’ll close now with the traditional Hokkaido-ben for parting, “Ungkh ackh SCREEEE grolfng rak!” (translation: Parting is difficult, like downing a strong sheep!)