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....