Soba, Okutama and Miki the cat

Sunday 25th June. I had to get up pretty early which was a bit painful because I had spent much of the night before in and izakaya in Tachikawa. I had been with a couple of friends from work. He had just had the week off to do some back-packing up north and was delighting us with tales of soba gorging. Apparently he went to a restaurant which has an on-going eating contest. The challenge is simply to try and eat as many bowls of soba as you can in one sitting. (Soba is the cold noodles I mentioned before that are served in water and soy sauce.) The servings are small but they constantly refill your bowl. My colleague had managed to force down eighty bowls of the stuff before he reached his limit. However, he hadn't even come close to beating the record, which stands at four hundred!

I was running late but just managed to make it to the shop to buy supplies and then jump on a train to Tachikawa where I was meeting a group of teachers at 12:30. I got a bit confused in the station and couldn't find the platform (as usual) but luckily I made it just in time. They were all waiting for me. I arrived just as our train was just pulling in. There were about fifteen people, all Westerners except for the boyfriend of one of the girls, who was Japanese. He was accompanied by his ginger and white cat, Miki, who crouched in a tartan carry case. I though this was a little strange so I asked him why he was bringing his pet cat on a camping trip to the mountains (for that was where we were headed.) He replied "because Miki is my friend!" Ok.... well, I didn't want to be the one to point out that cats are not like dogs and would probably run away given half a chance. Anyway, perhaps he was well trained I thought.

The journey took about one hour and a half. The scenery was fantastic. We soon slipped out of the city and into the country. The train ran around the steep sides of mountains covered in a blanket of lush green trees, swaythed in mist and drizzle. Far below in a gorge, snaked a grey river whose path we followed all the way to our station stop. We disembarked at the tiny station and waited for some more people to join us who had left earlier for a hike. We then stopped at a sleepy local shop to pick up more supplies; sake, rice beer, barbecue food and fireworks. It had started to rain but I didn't really mind because it was so atmospheric. The mountains rose up all around and it was so peaceful. We crossed a high bridge over the river and made our way into the forest, down towards the creek.

By four we were unpacked and settling into our log cabin in the woods. The barbecue had been lit and beers cracked open. A bunch of people were playing frisby. I watched with faint amusement as our Japanese friend pulled Miki from his case.... As the barbecue was being lit I took the opportunity to catch up with a guy I had met at the training in London. It was such a coincidence - we live in different towns but had somehow got into the same social network and had by chance both been invited to the camping trip! It was really nice to see him. Although I had only known him from the three days training, we greeted eachother like old friends! The afternoon was spent eating, drinking and exploring. I went for a stroll with a guy from New York who is also really into film. Down at the river they were trying to catch fish with their bare hands. It made me laugh - three hours in the mountains and they were already going native! Mind you, one guy actually caught a couple and they cooked and ate them.

As dusk fell I heard Miki's name being called. Why did that not surprise me? A small search party was sent out. By around nine or ten we were gathered by the river to set off the fireworks. Someone made a campfire. It was really beautiful. The mountains sunk into the velvet night, and the river twinkled in the moonlight. By about eleven, people were swimming in the river, and I somehow went too close and was pulled in by some girl! It was freezing! I had to drag myself out and go back to join the other half of the party at the cabin to change. A little while later the others arrived back too; dripping wet and shivering. At midnight I was obliged to bring out my super duper phone so that the hardcore football fans could watch the next game of the world cup. (England vs Ecuador I believe.) It was so funny to see five people trying to crowd round this little screen on the floor, I think I made their day though - well actually Beckham did when he scored the only goal of the match, thus winning the game for England. I was feeling pretty tired by this point so crashed out on a wafer thin futon on the floor. Miki had been found and was asleep on someone's bed.

Early the next morning we were awoken by L telling us to get up. She was cooking sausages. One by one people roused themselves. It was then that someone asked "where's Miki?" A deathly silence fell over the group, and people started looking around them in the hope of seeing a ginger tail poking out from some hiding place. However, the terrible truth soon became apparent. Miki had gone. One of the girls had got up early to go swimming in the river, and we realised that as she had slipped out of the cabin, so too had Miki. Another search party was sent out. I was forced to put back on my wet jeans. (I had PJs but no other change of trousers. Everyone told me to go back home in my PJs but somehow I couldn't bring myself to go back to Tokyo in my slumberwear!) So back on went the cold, wet jeans. Not very nice I must confess. Still, at least I had both my shoes. (The girl who had pulled me in the river had lost one of hers and had to walk back to to the station with one bare foot.) At ten thirty we had to leave, but Miki still had not been found. The group was forced to head back to civilization leaving his deflated owner and irritated girlfiend to look for him.

The rest of my Monday was spent doing useful things with surprising interludes. Back home in Toyoda I showered and changed into dry clothes, and then headed back to Tachikawa. I had to go to the post office to cash some travellers cheques. It was a grey day but I had a very nice phone conversation outside the train station with another guy from the training in London, who had called to see how I was getting on. (He is up north somewhere living within metres of the largest nuclear power station in the world! Not that they told him that before he left the UK. I consider myself to be very lucky!) Whilst I was on the phone, a couple of familiar faces walked by. It was the guy from NY and his Chinese-Canadian friend whom I met once before on one of the Thursday night do's. They invited me to join them for coffee, so I did. It turned out to be a very enjoyable afternoon. Upon green leather seats, in between swapping potted life stories, I drank a bowl of coffee, he smoked cigarettes and she applied lip-gloss....

They never found Miki.

Ueno park, Toshogu Shrine and Ameyoko

Monday 19th June. The day was warm and sunny as I travelled across Tokyo to Ueno. It took a while and as usual I got a bit lost in the metro system. I wasn't too impressed by the area I emerged up into from the depths of the city's underground lair. It was a gritty, noisy, dirty place with the usual blocks and some neon but it lacked the glory of Shinjuku and Shibuya. I felt a bit fed up that I had travelled all this way for this, but I tried not to be despondent. I found my bearings on my worn map and headed for the park. Situated in it's grounds are various attractions inluding; The Tokyo national museum, the national science museum, the national museum of western art (including Rodin sculptures and Monet paintings) The Ueno Royal museum, Ueno zoological gardens (first opened in 1882, housing giant pandas and aye ayes. Apparently the gorilla forest and the amphibian reptile house are a must-see.) In addition, there is the Toshogu shrine and the Kaneiji temple, which is the Kanto base of the Tendai school of Buddhism. It was originally built in order to defend the Edo castle but later became the Tokugawa family temple. With all these wonderful things to see I was beginning to feel more excited about Ueno. However, when I arrived outside one of the galleries I discovered it was closed. What a nuisance. So I decided to head for the zoo, but that too was shut! Upon closer inspection of the guidebook I discovered that everything is closed on Mondays. I couldn't believe it. This always happens to me. I have been to Paris three times now and each time the Musee Dorsay was closed! It's so frustrating. At least I live here though and I can go again, but I can't tell you how annoyed I felt.

It was a lovely day though, so I forged on and made a new plan. I soon found myself on a strange old pathway lined with free standing great bronze garden lanterns. At the end of the long walkway stood the 400 year old Toshogu shrine, glowing scarlet and gold in the late afternoon sun. To my left I glimpsed a five story high red pagoda, just visible through the trees. It was so tranquil. I hadn't seen anything like it. It was much smaller than the Meiji Jingu shrine. I payed my 100 yen and passed through the gate onto the pathway surrounding the building. No-one else was around. I followed the old grey paving stones and slipped my shoes off outside as instructed. The interior was dark and actually rather humble in comparison to the ostentation and sheer domineering magnificence of Christian places of worship. It was dilapidated though; the wood and paint not withstanding the effects of time quite as well as stone. I wandered around and soaked up the tranquility. The exterior was more beautiful. An old crow hopped and squawked on the peeling orange paintwork of the terrace in front. I exited and continued to follow the route back out. Some traditional Japanese music started to sound nearby. I then discovered a small memorial to the atomic bomb. It was a granite block strewn with rainbow coloured strings of origami swans, and inside a hollow, behind glass, flickered a flame that had been lit from the actual fire ignited by the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The flame would continue to be kept alight as a constant reminder of tragedy.

As I left Ueno park I passed a lot of homeless people lying on benches. They live in the park. I saw their little shacks covered in blue tarpaulins in the woods. That was a bit depressing too. They were all lying on the benches sleeping. What was strange was that they seemed to have formed some kind of community; that they were actually the residents of Ueno park, not just random hobos and drifters. I guess there are a lot of them so it makes sense to stick together....

Back out into the grimy city and across the road, I found my way into the bustling market streets of Ameyoko. Overhead, screeched trains on the flyover, and down each side of the narrow streets, there were stalls and shops selling an array of dried goods including; fish, seaweed, fruits and nuts. There were stalls selling raw fish, sliced cuttlefish, eels and squid. Men held out fresh pineapple and melon on sticks, and the shoppers trawled on through. It was great. I loved it. I always love markets. It was a jumble of shops and pachinko, stacks of dried squid, shouting, TV screens, music, dust, people, noodle bars and happy drug stores. I spent the remainder of my afternoon just walking and taking pictures. Off one clamouring street I found a flight of steps leading up to a small shrine. A man in a grey business suit wafted the smoke burning from incense out out of an urn into his face. It was such a strange juxtaposition of spiritual tradition and peace, quite literally against a frenzy of advertising billboards, trains thundering by and people shopping. As the sun was going down I left Ueno and headed for 'home'.　It had turned out to be a good day really. One should try to avoid indulging disapointments, for they are of one's own doing - the result of expectation. If one expects nothing and is positive about as much as possible then nothing will be a disapointment. This is not pessimism but realism in my opinion, and one of the key ways of achieving happiness. It is easier said than done though. I flicked on my i-pod and made my journey, via the madness of Shinjuku Ekimae, back to Toyoda.

Ginza in the rain

Sunday 18th June. Yes I am still a little behind on my posts I know. I don't know why, but I feel I have to write up the weekends because that is when I do something other than the daily grind of getting up at 10.30 am, drink a leisurely cup of Earl Gray to the sounds of the trains thundering by and stroll to work in my suit in the muggy humidity of a new day. It's getting hot now, and the air conditioning in one of my schools has packed in. This, amusingly, results in a show of handy flannels emerging from pockets and bags with which students dab their moistened foreheads nervously. (Sometimes I wonder if it's my teaching methods that does it?) Anyway, have I even reported a typical day? Perhaps not. I will do so at a later date, just for the record.

So, Sunday. I scanned my guide books for inspiration. It was a new and completely free day for me. What should I do? I don't really know why but I decided that I wanted to see the Sony building, the description I read of it sounded rather tantalizing. A train ride later and I disembarked in another crowded station, with my i-pod on shuffle. I figured that whatever tune came on it would somehow be significant. (I guess that there is nothing random about it though, seeeing as I meticulously selected every song that went on it before I went. I mean this is all I have had to listen to for the last month - 248 glorious tracks, that are now becoming rather tired. How depressing. I need to get a stereo so that I can listen to all the mixed CDs that I have either made, or been given by my friends before leaving.)

A short walk later in the drizzle I arrived at a pedestrian crossing. I had an umbrella in my bag but it was warm. I was wearing jeans, flip-flops and a vest, but just didn't care about the rain. I mean I had my music. I was completely anonymous. I would not bump into anyone I knew, I felt liberated and lonely. I just didn't really care. It feels like being invisible in a strange way. I know I can do anything I want and people will either be too intimidated to say anything, because I am Western, or will try and communicate but we will be unable to because of the language barrier. I feel completely alienated from the culture I am living in. But, the thing that makes the experience a positive one is that I am interested in the culture and don't mind being alone. At least not at the moment. Ask me again in a few weeks and I may say something to the contrary. It is funny because sometimes I feel like I stand out a mile. People do look at me on the trains, especially when I am doing the commute. This is because I am out of the center of the city and people here really aren't that familiar with Westerners. (I am not however in Shikoku or Okinawa - now that really is difficult. I have friends out there who tell me they have barely seen a Westerner in the last month.) The other day I was in the local post office and this little kid sat next to me and was just staring at me. It was most disconcerting! The feeling of alienation I guess comes from not feeling connected or related in anyway to the environment one is living in, or the people one is living amongst. That is why people often say that the most extreme loneliness is felt in cities when you are surrounded by people. It sounds like a paradox, but it is in fact true. You become self-aware as a result of the people you interact with. If no-one is interacting with you then you start to feel like you do not actually exist! At least that is how it feels for me sometimes!

A strange thing happened though when I was waiting at that crossing in Ginza, in the drizzle, two Sundays ago. Whilst I was waiting for the green man to appear, and grooving to Johnny Cash's "Hurt" (cheerful) a man offered me his umbrella! I was so surprised! I laughed and declined his kind offer though, showing him the umbrella in my bag - he must have thought I was crazy! But how could I explain to him that I liked getting rained on because I felt alienated from my environment and wanted to feel connected with it in any way I could?! Him offering though made me realise I am not invisible and that I do exist, and that despite how it feels sometimes, I am a participant in everyone of their subjective worlds that I pass through. Maybe I am mad, I don't know, but I wouldn't have it any other way....

I took a couple of one minute videos of orange taxis and skyscrapers in the mist and headed for the Sony building just across the street. It was pretty cool. They had a gorgeous red convertible BMW on a rotating platform that I was rather enamoured by, but, sorry boys, I can't remember the model. It looked good though and one day I will have one, or something better! I wandered around for a while in my flip-flops and soggy jeans but felt a little uncomfortable because all these people kept welcoming me, and it was perfectly obvious I was not going be buying the latest flat screen TV, or digital camera, so I left. Ginza is one of the most famous shopping districts in the world, though apparently lacks the glamour and sophistication of other places. It does however retain a certain snob value because of it's reputation. Designer boutiques and expensive restaurants line its broad streets. It is where the very wealthy go to relieve themselves of wealth, in exchange for something beautiful. It left me feeling depressed and resentful. Am I only worth a nicotine stained wall shoe box to live in? I asked. Am I only worth enough money to scrape buy on, whilst working ten hour days? I can't afford lovely clothes, and I want them. I am not paid enough to walk into the Sony building and buy a camera, and I want to be able to. Ginza left me bitter I am sorry to say. I did however see some amazing plastic food displays and a traditional Kabuki theatre, which were a delight. The weather got me down too I think. The endless precipitation, the umbrellas, the puddles, the humidity, the greyness that seeped into dusk by 4pm.... it was a recipe for gloom.

I was soon back on a train, soaking wet, and in a state of utter desperation. I was engulfed by questions of who I was and what I was doing here. I felt a burning determination to do something, but I didn't know what it was I was suposed to do. I felt/feel there is something important, something profitable I am supposed to do, or could be doing if only I could think of it. I am not afraid of hard work, I would work towards any goal if only I could discover what it was.... Sorry, it's typical 'travellers in their twenties soul searching' stuff. But it is the only life I have ever had, and the process is one I have to go through. Questions, questions., there are so many questions. The thing is that I like asking them and I enjoy being forced to have to ask them by putting myself in difficult situations. I guess this makes me a philosopher of sorts. Who knows? I haven't managed to understand my motives yet.

After Ginza I went to Shinjuku again because it was Father's day and I wanted to send my Dad a video of me in the craziest place in Tokyo. I exited the station and crossed a frenetic zebra of scratching, transparent umbrellas, and hurrying grey suits. The neon that I love so much, was climbing the sides of monstrous buildings in the fog and steam and shrieks greeted me at the gateway of Kabukicho. I made my video and walked for a bit until the rain came down in torrents and I gave up. I pushed through the soggy Japanese and past the howling pachinko parlours back to that station. I hadn't really done anything with my day except walk, think, and get wet. I saw an ad for my phone glow on a screen on the side of the building, and gained some satisfaction in the thought that I possessed one of the newest examples of mobile communication available to the public, on the planet. Even the Japanese are impressed with my new toy. (The Sharp 905SH.) It will be superceded by a better model in a month or two though, so I have to bask in the glory while I can!

Upon arrival back in Toyoda, I went to the supermarket to stock up on the necessaries - wine, fruit and salad and anything that basically looked familiar and wasn't sheets of dried seaweed or polystyrene trays of purple squid. It is always fun going shopping. You never know what you are going to arrive home with. The other day I bought some milk but when I went to pour it in my tea I discovered it was iced-tea! Then there is the comical use of English they use on much of the packaging - for example tins of tuna have 'enjoy cooking with sea-chicken' written on them! I never have much idea about what has meat in and what doesn't. I have bought a couple of salads only to discover slices of ham or dead fish in them. But it is all part of the adventure! As for prices, everything is either the same price or cheaper than in England. Booze is cheap on the whole. I like the 50p cans of beer that is not actually beer. (It is made from rice or something, I am not sure, but it tastes like Budweiser - just a light lager. It's not bad at all.) The pricier stuff is imported, but even then it is not much more than in the UK. I have discovered a source of drinkable Californinan red wine, but I think I am the only person who buys it from that shop! Anyway, the idea that Tokyo is expensive really is a myth. I mean it cost us fifteen quid each to go for a night out in an izakaya, where you can eat and drink as much as you like for an evening. Sure, it is not the centre of Tokyo, and you can spend a fortune, but you don't have to.

Kumagaya and cats with deformed tails

So the day after 'welcome party number one' was the first day of my weekend - half of which I had wasted lying in bed. I finally got up at two in the afternoon and cursed myself for wasting precious time. By four I was on a train to Shinjuku. I received a call from a friend just as I was arriving at Shinjuku station. This resulted in me getting very lost as I was trying to find my way to the correct platform to get my connection to Kumagaya, but wasn't really concentrating on where I was actually going! I finally found the platform and by dusk I had arrived at my destination. There was a light drizzle. I was meeting some friends of mine from the UK who moved out here a year ago. She teaches English and he works in the city as a cultural advisor or something, for Japanese business men. The last time I saw them was in Brighton last summer so it was really rather cool to be meeting up with them again in Japan. They picked me up from the station in a camper van that looked like it had been accommodating gypsies for the last month. A short drive later and we arrived at their little wooden house. It was in traditional Japanese style, with sliding doors and tatami. They had two skinny sick cats with deformed tails that miaowed constantly. It was so nice to see my friends though, especially after so long, and being alone in Japan, it made all the difference seeing familiar faces in such unfamiliar surroundings.

The evening was spent drinking and and talking to a group of other expat teachers and Japanese friends who had all congregated for the party. My friend served a traditional Japanese dish - I am not sure of the name - but it is basically a big bowl of fine noodles in cold water. You take a small portion from the bowl with chopsticks, and slop them into a smaller bowl that is half filled with water and something similar to soy sauce. You then eat it all in one mouthfull, slurping the noodles as loudly as possible to show your enjoyment. It somehow went against all the dining etiquette I had been brought up to observe, but I did my best! There was a guy from Brighton next to me (also slurping noodles) which was a bit of a coincidence. He has been living here for over a year. I asked him how he liked life in Japan, and he seemed pretty unenthusiastic about it. I wondered why he was still lived here if he didn't like it. People have some curious motives for setting up life abroad I think. I have heard of people who have taught out here for twenty years and claim to hate the place. They have become alcoholics, yet they still choose not to go 'home'. The evening ended kind of abruptly with everyone leaving at once. I stayed up a little longer talking to my friends but they too deserted me just after midnight. I was left in the dark with the cats with deformed tails.

The following day I had planned to get up and see something of the city, but I slept in again. My friends had gone to work, so I cleaned up the debris from the night before and watched Lars von Trier's "Dancer in the Dark". Not the most upbeat movie I have ever seen, as those of you who have see it will know. A　truly original musical. I mean I hate musicals, but this was genius. So shocking, so moving. Bjork took the lead role as a naive, elf-like mother, a dreamer, an innocent. It reminded me of his later film "Dogville", in that it looks at the destruction of innocence and purity, inadvertently through the American way of life. The American dream is condemned simply as greed and lies, as rotten and corrupt to its core. I would recommend these films to anyone who wants something other than entertainment from cinema. Mr Trier is an astounding film maker with a highly unique and brutally insightful view of the world. Bjork's performance was superb and I wonder now what Lars did to bring that out in her, for I hear that she absolutely despises him now and has refused to speak to him since the making of the film. What people have to do in the name of art eh? Well. It took me three and a half hours to get back home after my film fest. I kept getting on the wrong trains. It doesn't help that the signs are all in Japanese here....

Welcome party number one

Saturday night, June the 10th.... I finished my days work at around 7.30, a little earlier than the week before as I have a private student who comes only every other week. He is a very nice man, about fifty years old, and very intelligent and hard working. He likes telling me about the house he is building for his family in which four generations will soon be living - his mother, he and his wife, his eldest son, and his wife and their new baby. I thought this was pretty interesting as this sort of arrangement is not one commonly adopted in Britain. He told me that people's attitudes in Japan are changing however and that young people want to be more independant of their families, but traditionally families always lived together. He said it can be difficult at times though. Well, I didn't have the pleasure of teaching him tonight, but that was fine as it meant I could leave early and head back to Toyoda for my first welcome party! Yay!



We all met at 8.30 in an izakaya just around the corner from the school. It was run by one of my students and her family. We had a whole great long booth to ourselves - about fifty people had turned up! There were loads of students and other teachers, and friends of friends. I chatted to loads of people and was plied with beer and sake and plates of curious looking food that just kept on coming. I wasn't too keen on the look of some of it. I haven't managed to get around to trying the sashimi yet (raw fish). It's always beautifully arranged though: neat piles of orange and red fish eggs glinting like glass balls on nettle leaves, scarlet tuna cubes, purple spotted squid and pale salmon slices. There was mackeral opened up like a butterfly, a slab of something upon which slithered a barely cooked egg, salads, tempura, and delicately impaled meats and vegetables on wooden skewers. Nothing live though than God. You pay more for that.

I had a thoroughly enjoyable evening despite the fact I had to get up and give a speech, but it was fun. One of my students gave me a bunch of red roses, and everyone made me feel very welcome. By about eleven or twelve we all left and I was the last to leave, feeling honour bound to thank my student's family, in very bad Japanese for their hospitality! When I got outside everyone was waiting for me to decide whether we would go onto another izakaya or go to karaoke. I knew what my preference was but felt that the majority was hoping I would say karaoke - I didn't want to be a spoil sport so I suggested we had a vote and.... karaoke it was. There's a surprise! It was all a bit of a haze from then on - thankfully! We had another private room for the twenty or so revellers fighting for the mic. Of course, once again I had to do my bit and found myself on stage with one of my students singing a cheesy euro pop song of some kind that I would rather not mention now! I think I got home at about 3am. What a night. I woke up on my living room floor the next morning. I think the ladder to my bedroom had proved too much effort to climb! I blamed my students who just wouldn't stop topping up my glass with sake! In Japan, the person sitting next to you pours your drinks for you. This also means that if they want a drink, they have to top you up first. So there is no escaping, and being English and all, they have high expectations of one's drinking ability! Needless to say I didn't feel too bright the next day. I just hope I managed to maintain a professional image throughout the night ;-)

Thought....

I was just on train coming back from work, and I had what felt like a minor revelation. It just felt really significant to me. I was standing there watching the people get on and off the train and realised that I felt quite at home. The station stops are now familiar to me, I know what stop comes after Kokubunji and Tachikawa, and that after Hino comes Toyoda, which is now a welcoming sign to see. 'Toyoda' now means home. Isn't it strange? Just over four weeks ago I had absolutely no idea about what my life would be like after May 22nd. I could not even visualise the city in any great detail. I didn't even really know of any famous sites I knew I would be seeing in Tokyo. It wasn't like stepping into a Canaletto when you arrive in Venice for the first time - the feeling you have when everything seems so familiar even though you have never seen it before. The only real impression I had of Tokyo was through 'Lost in Translation'. That film actually gave me the best and only real glimpse of life in Tokyo which, according to friends of mine at the time who had been there, it gives a pretty accurate picture. They were right. Anyway, the film was just a film and it only offered a glimpse. Beyond that I had absolutely no mental image of where I would be living or what I would be doing. It was like stepping into a void, as I described in my first blog.

This brings me to my point. I realised this evening that I now know what it is like to be living and working in Tokyo. I have a growing network of friends. The guys in the internet cafe know me now, I know the station stops and I am beginning to get tuned into the language. This place has become my reality. The void was rapidly engulfed by reality. The fact is, most of the time the thing that holds us back is not being able to visualise ourselves in potentially new and different situations. It was a very strange and scary feeling to be getting off that plane, alone, and not knowing what the hell was going to happen or what I would see. In addition, I knew I had signed a contract for a year and this was not going be something I could get out of very promptly if I hated the situation. I asked myself why I was putting myself in this through it? It is a very daunting and at times almost utterly overwhelming sensation. But taking things one moment at a time - literally, I have found it really wasn't so hard. That is the thing. When you are faced with something difficult the only thing you have to deal with is the very thing confronting you at that precise moment in time. If you allow worries about tomorrow flood in, you panic. The amazing thing about people is that they are so adaptable. One's home becomes wherever one sleeps. Even if it is a wafer thin futon in a shoebox room, with yellow nicotine stained walls and trains chundering by every five minutes!

What I concluded in my moments revelation on the train this evening was this: when one is trying to conceive of a future unknown, trying to picture one's self in an alien environment or situation, it is often and inevitably, very difficult to do so. Certainly with any accuracy. For me it was the extreme, it was honestly like a void, a black void. I had no idea. But I have discovered that the void - the darkness is an illusion. All it is, is a black curtain hanging in front of you and all that has to be done is to walk through it. Suddenly you find that there is a whole, undiscovered world going on beyond it, that you had only heard about or seen glimpses of in the movies. I apologise if it sounds like I am stating the obvious here, for in a way I am. But sometimes the most obvious things don't mean anything to one. Cliches are so over-used they become impotent. They lose their impact. One may not even realise why they became cliches in the first place - because within them lay a significant truth about the world. For me, tonight, I discovered something significant within the concept of 'fear lying merely in the unknown'. Things are only unknown to us for as long as we choose not to know them....

The parties and karaoke and stuff.....

Alright bat country well this is for you. You are right, enough of the tiresome, lengthy descriptions infused with contemplative, poetic ramblings. I wouldn't want to read that either! Well, my first night out in Tokyo began not long after our vist to Harajuku and the shrine. We made our way through the busy streets past all the trendy shops and cafes to Shibuya where all the immaculately dressed youth of Japan strut their stuff. I saw some pretty interesting hairstyles and one or two of those Louis Vuitton handbags that apparently I am in contention with. (At the training in London I was told that when we approach students in the renewal campaigns what we had to remember was that their decision, as to whether to renew with the company or not, came down to a choice between a new LV bag or - you, their teacher! Hey ho. Oh by the way the I got me first renewal a couple of days ago, so bonus on the way, hoorah! Unfortunately I don't think it will equal the cost of a Vuitton handbag.)

Anyway, we waited outside the station at the spot where everyone waits for their friends - by the statue of a dog. I can't remember his name but the story goes like this. The dog once belonged to a professor who worked in the area, and everyday the dog would wait outside the station for his master to return and then escort him home. However, one day the professor died but the dog was so faithful he continued his vigil every day at the same time, hoping his master would return, but of course he never did. After a number of years went by, the dog too, finally passed away. The local people were so touched by his loyalty they erected the little monument to him and now this is where everybody else wait too. Well, we were waiting there a bloody long time, probably about an hour, so God knows how the poor dog felt after all those years! Finally a group of about twenty expats had congregated and all the introductions were made. There were a few token Japanese too and we all trooped off to a bar off the main drag. One of the teachers was leaving to return to the UK to do a journalism course, so it was her farewll do. She had organised it somehow so that we had this little bar to ourselves. It was really weird. It was in an old building that appeared derelict and up a few flights of concrete stairs. Further up the road were a bunch of love hotels whose neon signs winked at passerbys.

Ok, so the party started here. It was about 6pm and the deal was you paid 3,000 yen and you could drink as much as you liked for three hours. They also laid on some pretty unappetising food of which you could eat as much as you like. Needless to say most of it was left untouched. The deal was probably a good one for the owners of the venue when their customers were Japanese, but unfortunately they were accommodating thirsty westerners. In those three hours a lot of pitchers of beer and cocktails were consummed!

At about nine everyone trooped out into the craziness that is Shibuya. I chatted to some guy who likes surfing and followed the group across the busy road. I found myself in a brightly lit lobby. We were about to be checked into a karaoke booth. It was like a hotel, only the rooms were fitted with microphones and tv screens, a low stage and comfortable benches (that could double as a bed if needs be.) The toilets there were pretty cool too if I recall correctly - you got the works: heated seat, water jets the whole lot. It's always a surprise! So this was my first karaoke. If it hadn't been for the drinks before hand I would have been doing a runner because that whole thing is really not my cup of tea. To sit back and listen to drunks slur tunelessly into a microphone along to a backing track of Madonna's 'like a prayer' is really not my idea of fun. There was no escaping though. I allowed by new friend to type in 'hot stuff' by Donna Summer and ordered another tequila sunrise. My turn came soon enough and my hilarious effort was greeted by the same applause that all the rest of the inebriated songsters got. It was pretty amusing I must confess but I think I would rather spend my night in a dingy jazz club sipping G&Ts. After a couple of hours there and anouther 4,000 Ys later we were back out in the Tokyo night. The city was positively buzzing and there was some debate as to where to go next. A few people left to get the last train back to sanity but I was having too much fun.

A decision had been made and the remainder of the clan wound up in a strange little underground club called 'gas panic' that played R&B. When we arrived it was almost empty and two cops were standing at the bar. Within an hour or so it was heaving though, a mix of half westerners and half locals. I found myself chatting to a couple of Aussie guys who worked as sound engineers on the Spiderman 2 movie. They were off to Europe the following day on a trip of somekind. By about 2.30 we were all on the dancefloor dancing to some awful noise but having loads of fun all the same. By about 4.30 am I decided I had had enough. The ten or so hours of drinking had caught up with me and I just wanted to go to bed. However I was a 35 minute train journey and a 15 minute walk away from home and the first train was not for a couple more hours. So I decided to get a taxi. My friends tried to warn me against it, telling me how expensive it would be but I honestly didn't care. I just had to get home. I had to be at a lunch with an Japanese women and a colleague at midday and needed some sleep before hand. Their suggestion was to go to another karaoke bar where I could sleep and then get up and catch the last train. I would normally have gone along with this plan, it certainly would have been cheaper, but that night all I could think about was my wafer thin futon which, at the time, seemed so inviting.

I walked with a friend beneath the glare of the Shibuya neon to a green taxi. My compadre gave the driver my address in Japanese and we set off through the city as the sun was coming up. I think I fell asleep because the next thing I knew the driver was asking me for directions to my house. I somehow managed to communicate with him even though I spoke no Japanese and he no English and I didn7t quite know where I was! It was great to get to bed but it really was THE most expensive taxi ride ever. I had to run into my appartment to get hime more money! It's pretty funny really. But that was my first night in Tokyo, it was an experience - an expensive one but a memorable one and I put it down as just unavoidable expense, but one to be avoided in future. Next time I will either get the last train back or do an all-nighter.... Madness!

The shrine

So, it has been as while since I posted anything. I guess that is because I haven't really been in the mood for writing. I end up leaving work at about 10 pm and for some reason I just haven't had the enthusiasm for it this week. Anyway I am on a break now so I felt I really had to take the opportunity to catch up my reports. The rainy season has started here so it is pretty dull and grey. The last time I saw sunlight was on that Sunday I went to Harajuku, which was June 4th I believe. In actual fact I haven't finished my post about that day. It was an epic day too if I recall. Given that I want to bring things up to date I will finish my account of that day.

After the madness of Harajuku, the three of us wandered into the leafy serenity of the park (the name of which I cannot remember right now.) We passed beneath a gateway of great tree trunks and to our left was a long wall of beautifully painted sake barrels, maybe 15 high, and decorated in cherry red, green and yellow, with black dragons, flowing Japanese script and other symbols. Our destination was the Meiji Jingu Shrine. We washed our hands at the entrance, rinsed our mouths and once cleansed passed into an airy, tranquil courtyard. Ahead of us, up a flight of broad white steps was the sacred area, from which could be heard the claps of the those about to pray. I walked up and watched as people tossed coins as offerings. Beyond this are of the shrine was another smaller courtyard that was inaccessible to the public. It was very beautiful. The place had an real feeling of peace about it. It was hard to believe we were still in Tokyo. Back down the steps to the left were the prayer walls which glowed orange in the sunlight beneath the sacred tree. They were covered in little wooden plaques each with peoples prayers written upon and tied with purple string. I saw a girl in a kimono as we walked to the iris gardens. Unfortunately we were a few weeks too early for they were not in bloom yet. We followed the little paths anyway, as they snaked beneath starry acer trees, and then back through the gateway that separated the crowds and the traffic from another world.

Sunday in Harajuku

Yes, upon this day I saw a bunch of leather clad, big be-quiffed, slicked back, cooler than cool, dancing Elvis impersonators. This was no show either. It was a Sunday afternoon in Harajuku. The freaks were out in force. Upon stepping off the train with my companions, the first of them we spotted were a couple of school girls. However, these were no ordinary schoolgirls. A further glance in their direction revealed that they were actually young men. That is not the worst of it either. Five minutes later, through the crowds and onto the 'catwalk' we saw a middle aged man in short flared skirt and bunches, trying to look cute and curtsy for the cameras. It was quite creepy really, he hadn't even shaved! Apart from the genuine nutters it was a good atmosphere. It is just an excuse to go mad for a day and dress up outrageously. The funniest guy I saw was an old man in a blue dress, with a grey handle bar-moustache. His grinning face stuck out of a square cut in the side of a big orange traffic cone, which was wedged over his head. The traffic cone resembled a wedding cake from a distance for it had four or five shelves built around it. On each shelf were stuck dolls and bizzare objects of various kinds. For me, the 'icing on the cake' was the small fish bowl on the lowest shelf, inside which swam five little goldfish.

Across the road a group of goths had congregated. Some wore wedding dresses, others wore leather studded face masks and collars. One girl had a hundred or so coloured hair clips in her hair and about 17 lip piercings. Another texted on her cell phone whilst looking through a black rubber eyepiece held in place with a head band, a mock machine gun hung by her side. The gatherings at Harajuku occur every Sunday. The place is full of gaijin. Most of the crazies just do it for fun I think, to express a little individuality in a society in which self expression is not really encouraged. (Keeping the 'Wa' or 'harmony' and all that.) I heard that the newest high street fashions always start in Harajuku, which is why designers keep a close eye on what is on display here on Sundays. As Gwen said; "It's a kaleidescope of fashions. Their look is so distinctive like DNA. Like nothing I've seen in the USA. The underground culture, visual grammar, the language of their clothing is something to encounter...." But the best thing I saw in Harajuku was the guy with the traffic cone on his head - I mean I can't see that catching on anytime soon!

Lost in Shinjuku and Shibuya.

Toy say: Tokyo totally WOW!!!
Sunday 28th May and I have been in Tokyo almost a week. Had it not been for the few paddy fields I passed on the train towards the metropolis, the spattering of Japanese neon in my town and the local populas I would not really have known I was in Tokyo, Japan. That was until today. I had my first day off after a very busy and intense few days at work. I got up later than I meant to but was on the train directly to Shinjuku by around midday. I had my i-pod and was listening to some tunes and feeling very excited. I had turned down an offer from some colleagues to show me around the local area in favour of a lone adventure into the heart of the city. I wanted to experience it without distraction, without hindrance. I just wanted to take my time, get lost in the streets, listen to my music and take the whole experience in. This however, was in a way, a bit of a mistake....

I stepped off the Chuo line train into one of the world's busiest and biggest stations. About 2 million people pass through it everyday. It took me twenty five minutes to find my way out and when I finally found an exit I didn't know which way to turn. The place was immense. Shops, restaurants, department stores and people, just people everywhere. I abandoned my idea to set foot into the city mapless and went to get one from tourist information. Not that this was any help because for all my efforts I could not find where the hell I was on it! I gave up trying to get my bearings and just turned right and started walking along near the station. It took me about 45 minutes to walk around the whole building and what I saw just blew me away. The great shining grey tower blocks of the skyscraper district, monstrous tv screens playing mtv and adverts, floor to sky neon rammed buildings, everywhere was alive with colour, Kanji, Katakana, sound, black haired, ginger streaked, funky fashions and cell phones. I broadened my circuit of Shinjuku and branched out down frenetic streets, dodging eight lanes of traffic, and noted the half litre cans of Coke in the vending machines that I passed every five minutes. Shining taxis of turquoise, lime and orange. Tramps sat in a square watching Black Eyed Peas on 5th floor screen as Tokyo's black crows flitted above; ominous guardians of the capitalist dream. I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing. I wandered down a street off the main drag and came across some kind of 'happening'. Men and women were sitting about on the pavement, many wearing just synthetic royal blue top garments and nothing much else. On the backs of them were a Japanese symbol in white. I thought it was either a sumo audition or some other sporting event or a religious celebration of some kind. Many were drinking and eating though so to be honest I have no idea what it was about. There were about 200 of them and I was obviously a bit of an intruder. I got a few looks as I walked by them. I tried not to look to curious.

A couple of hours later I still had no idea where I was. I had no idea about what I wanted to do or see that day. I had vaguely considered trying to find the Park Hyatt hotel where they filmed Lost in Translation, but just couldn't find in which direction I was supposed to walk, let alone where it actually was. I gave up on Shinjuku and dived down the nearest Tokyo metro. It took me an hour to get to Shibuya because I kept getting on the wrong train. The Tokyo underground system is really complicated. Or maybe it was just me? I was feeling pretty tried and overwhelmed. My friends at school laughed at me when I told them about this. It turns out that Shibuya is only one stop away on the main train line from Shinjuku. Oh well.... I did insist on going it alone!

I emerged out into a scene from my favourite movie. Crowds, and I mean crowds, of grey suits, punks and wealthy looking youths congregated near the statue of the dog. This is the popular meeting place for young people in Tokyo. Beyond the immediated crowds in front of me, rose from the tarmac a seven story tv screen above a Starbucks. This was the hub of world. The busiest pedestrian crossing on the planet. A hexagon of human traffic and then gleaming cars surging. The traffic has to stop from all dirctions before you can cross which means a wall of people builds up around the crossings. A dense mass standing and then surging, waiting, standing and surging, over and over. I have never seen life in such intensity. Everything just invades the senses. Sound and sight violated and stimulated by movement, symbols. Great faces adorn glass, a dinosaur walking, the hugest working digital watch above a shop blinks red, a black fortress skyscraper from space, a giant crimson crab, flyovers, new car traffic, bubble vans, money, music, head sets shouting. The city really is a buzzing, pulsating organism of Yen. Everything and everyone screams money. It is the life blood of the Capital and never have I seen it manifested in such a dazzling way. You have to see it to believe it. You cannot comprehend such a place. I couldn't anyway. I felt unable to breathe. Not because of the air but because it was just so awesome. By five thirty I was back on the train and heading for the sanctuary I now call 'home'. I had had enough for one day, but it was my first taste of the real Tokyo, and I liked it....

Izakaya nights

Given that none of these retrospective blogs quite correlate to the chronology of the sequence of events so far, I may as well order them as I please. This blog is a little account of my first dining experiences in Tokyo.... Thursday night was preceeded by Saturday night which in turn proceeded Thursday night. In the past 2 weeks only certain points stand out in my memory as being either fun or amazing. The rest is a cloud of lessons and everyday stresses and strains. The monotony of the routine； the commute, the suit, the planning, the paper work. The kids who taunt and throw things, the small talk, the smiles, iced coffee from the vending machine, and lifts to the fifth floor. The picture of the woman on the ticket machine at the station who bows after you make a purchase, an empty appartment with a dim light, 24 hour supermarket and rice beer, trains going by all night. Breathe. The list goes on, the same sort of thing day in day out. (The only thing that makes it interesting is the students, at least no lesson is ever the same. Thank god for that reason the job of a teacher can never become truly boring.)　

The first Thursday I spent in Japan was Thursday the 25th May. My working day ended at the usual time of about 10pm. I had been invited to join the the other expat teachers in the area, for food and drinks at an izakaya in Tachikawa. My school is situated in Toyoda so it was a mere two stops on the train. Tachikawa is one of the larger stations outside central Tokyo. Apparently the Thursday get togethers are a regular event in the teacher's weekly calendar and I was about to face my initiation to the group. I was looking forward to it. It hard been a tough few days. I was on information overload, so the prospect of a beer and a chat was a comforting antidote. The izakaya was just a couple of minutes walk from the station. I passed some homeless people who had constructed pretty impressive little homes from cardboard boxes - even the homeless seem more advanced out here!

Down a flight or two of stairs, just off and below the neon tweaked side street, I took off my shoes and was lead to a merry sunken table, about which sat a dozen westerners interspersed with locals. I sat down on my mat. It proved to be a suprisingly comfortable arrangement - for there was a gap in the ground for what's below one's knees to go. I was greeted warmly by the somewhat inebriated bunch and all the usual introductions were made. A most delicious cold, light beer was presented to me in a tall, frozen glass with a handle - about three quarters of a pint I believe. The table was covered with edibles: little bowls of noodles, brick red raw tuna cubes, squid rings, parcels and rolls of various descriptions and things that have slipped from my mind. I made my first confession of the night - I was a vegetarian. "That's ok we will order for you!" I tried to be adventurous and nibbled a squid ring but discarded it when no one was looking. These items by the way had not been ordered, they were complimentary. They were the equivalent of the stale bowl of peanuts that you might be lucky enough to get in a pub in England, or that chewy, salted popcorn in Italy or Spain.　I was chatting to various genki people around the table. I heard one girl make a comment that stuck in my mind. "I don't like him. I am sorry, but out here you only make friends with people because you have to. Back home I would never hang out with a guy like that." What can I say? There is some truth in that statement but that is part of the fun of travelling and living abroad; of starting a new life. You often end up hanging out with people you wouldn't normally choose to. I mean with regard to expats. Of course the locals are a whole other intriguing bunch of people to get to know. Ithink it is a shame to become cynical though. On the other hand maybe I am being way too green. I am at that stage when everything is new and exciting. I may soon enter the 'culture stress phase' where I start exhibiting signs of 'hostility towards the my host culture and suffer from uncontrollable fits of weeping, rage, excessive sleeping, eating and drinking, isolation, depression and severe homesickness'. Wow, I can't wait for that. I would rather remain a naive innocent, thoroughly enchanted by the serendipity of every meeting, the beauty of every thing and the overall glory in that which is life. God, anyone reading that would think I am disgustingly happy! It's fleeting believe me. As a wise ancient Grecian once said; "One swallow does does make a summer. And neither do brief moments of felicity make a man entirely and truly happy. Happiness is more than momentry bliss."　(Not that I have experienced any bliss either to be honest. Just something that resembles either contentment and isn't stress or anxiety, or sheer awe and incomprehension.)

Sorry I must apologise for I over analyse way to much. I must rejoin the party. There is Tom that American guy who looks like the captain of the Californian football team (and is the new face of geos apparently), and Rita, and Gareth - who showed me a photo of a grotesque bug that was in his appartment last summer, and Takeshi who never takes off his baseball cap and can't stop giggling. Food was ordered and at one point a dish of mackeral was place in my near vicinity, and a salad topped with creamy tofu. I was given a lesson in how to hold 'chopusticku' even though I thought I was doing perfectly well. I had been doing it wrong apparently. The girl sitting next to me pushed the salad towards me. "Here have some salad. If you are stuck you can always order a salad!" Trying not to drop bits on the table, I delicately extracted some greenery from the plate only to notice that my delicious salad had tiny, dried baby fish sprinkled over it; their beady little eyes staring right at me. However, it was not so bad. At least I was not the person who politely chewed away on the deep fried chicken gristle or beef offal.

The Saturday following Thursday started in much the same way. This time however it was just me and two girls from the school and the boyfriend of one of them. The izakaya was within walking distance of the school in Musashi-Koganei. Our shoes were left outside a slightly raised area enclosed by pale sliding screens. The floors were tatami and we knelt this time at a low table. Izakayas are basically, from what I gather, unlike anything in England. You go there to drink but also to eat. You don't order specifically for yourself. A variety of dishes are chosen at different stages in the evening and everyone just has a bit of what they fancy. It seems very civilised and encourages relaxation and bonding, which can't be bad. I had had a tough day at work so the occasion was once again appreciated, and stands out as being one of my first tasters of the Japanese experience. I left with their tip in my pocket, for it is not a custom they indulge here.

Thursday night came around again and I found myself on the train with a colleague heading to Tachikawa. I was on the phone to my mother when I was introduced to Derek on the escalator. It was not Stonecutters this week but another izakaya in a block, along a metal walkway, five minutes from the station. Inside, it was a modern shade of black bamboo. We sat on benches at a regular high table in our wicker booth. Beers were brought forth and index fingers pointed to photos on a menu. Minutes later, to my suprise, food was laid out that looked exactly as it did in the picture. I tried a pale brown spongey thing that I think was some kind of seaweed. Derek cooked his own raw lamb on a little grill and Lia entertained us with a story about her recent mobile phone bill. (She had bought a phone and made the mistake of using it as a modem for 6 hours. She was billed for over two thousand pounds!!! That's no mistake. Ouch.) That night I came across one of the famous Japanese toilets that do everyting. I was beginning to wonder if they were a myth. I mean the ones in Toyoda school are holes in the ground! Anyway, yes it's true - the seats are warmed and they have water jets. No music in these ones though. And I don't remember it cleaning itself. Oh well.

The night air was warm when I left for the station. It was 1 am and there were plenty of people around still. I caught the last train to Toyoda and followed the train tracks back to my appartment. I fell asleep to the ding of the level crossing....

The void

The flight to Japan was strange for a number of reasons. Not all of which I can really explain. I suppose it was because I was going somewhere very far away that I had no real picture of or idea about in my mind, to do something that I had never done before, and for unknown amount of time. I said my goodbyes and took a last look. When would I be coming back? I really had no idea. I asked myself why I was making myself do something so hard. All I knew was that I had to. I had absolutely no choice. A force inside was driving me and I was just going with it. The interesting thing is, the more you push yourself, the easier it gets. It's like an object gathering momentum. There is some truth in the saying 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' (I am sure that's a line from a song - anyone know? Bat country? I also remember something someone once said to me (whilst we are on the subject) . 'You are only half as tired as you think you are.' This I think, applies most significantly to emotional strength.

Every hour that went by on that plane took me further away from everything I knew and everyone I cared about. I was plunging myself into absolute nothingness. It was like walking in a mist that allowed you to see only a few paces in front of you. All I knew was what I had to do in the minutes I was living then, and then, and then. One thing at a time. I remained perfectly calm for I knew that if I allowed myself to consider the potential enourmity of the situation I might fall to pieces. There was no real risk of that though. I felt alive, slightly anxious, but I was looking forward to 'waking up'. The night that never came was interpersed with a dispassionate array of visual films and tv shows. The free bottles of wine and generous measures of Drambuie helped me sleep for a few hours but it wasn't very satisfying. I was served breakfast as we entered Japanese airspace. I was stuck in the aisle in between a dour Dutchman and a sleeping Japanese couple, despite having asked for a window seat, so couldn't see anything of the country I was about to touch down in. The dot on the map of the world on the monitor had made it's slow progression from little England, over Scandanavia, the great expanse of Siberia, and finally come to rest above Tokyo. I followed the people ahead of me in a haze of jet lag, nerves and excitement. I went through the usual immigration checks, they stuck a sticker in my passport and checked my visa. I found my battered suitcase marked with orange tag 'heavy' and exited through the doors to my new life. I saw my name on the sign and he waved....

Life begins in Tokyo - an introduction

Life begins in Tokyo.... Staring here is a bit of a retrospective on the memories I have harvested so far. Memories are life's diary. I believe Oscar Wilde said something to that effect once. Unfortunately they fade rather too quickly for my liking. Especially the memories of the little things which are often the most significant. The feeling a piece of music gave you. The subtle shifting of the emotions that flow through the veins, some familiar, others not so familiar. The little ponderings that bubble up to the surface of the mind whilst staring out of the train window. I always remember something I read in 'the art of travel' by Alain de Botton. He said "Trains are the midwives of thought." Today I thought how cool it would be to edit together a short film made up of well shot 1 minute video clips taken on a mobile phone. Like an intimate and immediate glipmpse into someone's everyday existence. It would be a view of the world that reflected not only the experience of the self in a particular set of environments, but the gathering and recording of these experiences via new technological mediums. Short videos retain the freshness of the moment unedited, uncorrupted; the truth of the moment, whilst providing you with the narrative satisfaction you get from a moving image. The added sense of time moving. It would work well in a place like Tokyo that is a shock to the senses. Everything is so intense. The aesthetics of it would make the film an interesting one if nothing else. Somewhat self indulgent though perhaps....