An essay on 'culture stress'.

The idea of moving to Japan was for me, one of mild, nagging anxiety and stress related to the practicalities involved in such a big upheaval. The fact that I had very little idea about what to expect may in some ways have reduced the potential fear I could have experienced, but at the same time it probably instilled a feeling of numb terror. Like standing on the edge of a high building knowing that in a minute you will have to throw yourself off it. That is a really dramatic analogy to make, but it is the only thing I can think of to compare it to. One can't really imagine the experience of death and likewise I could not imagine what my life, my whole reality, would be like after a certain point in time. It was not like going on holiday. When you visit somewhere you know it is only going to be for a finite period of time, and if you don't like it you can find comfort in the knowledge that in a few days or weeks you will be back in your own bed.

However, for me, the prospect of flying to a country on the other side of the globe to start a new life felt like facing a void, an eternity. I felt 'internal blindness' for I could no longer visualize where I would be or what I would be doing or living after May 22nd. To me there is a comparison to be made with the experience of facing death. That is how I felt. Although I must add that I was not afraid. I wasn't really excited either, or happy or sad, I was mostly just sort of numb.

I had been warned that once I had arrived in Japan I was likely to experience 'culture shock' and 'culture stress'. Although what exactly this entailed I had no clear idea. One imagines that a country like Japan is going to be so alien and I was prepared for this. Although it was actually for this very reason that I wanted to go, I wanted to experience something very different. I wanted the thrill and the challenge of a culture I knew little about. So of course I imagined that I could be shocked by this but in actuality I was not concerned about it, for I felt I would be embracing those differences in culture as opposed to fighting them. (Which is what I have tried to do.)

However, 'culture stress' was something I could not really prepare myself for because I would not know how it would manifest itself. Everybody reacts differently to life in a foreign country and thus the causes and the symptoms are often unique to the individual. I felt optimistic though. I figured it would be a challenge but I was not afraid of negative emotions. I decided that whatever happened would be ok because at the very least it would give me something to write about. Thus even bad experiences and times of unhappiness have a purpose and can suddenly be perceived as positives. Writing therefore, creates an emotional escape route which always exists.

Symptoms of culture stress include: Depression, isolation, severe homesickness, uncontrollable fits of weeping, excessive eating or drinking, insomnia, hostility towards host nationals, hostility towards cultural practices, negative stereotyping of members of host culture, rage, despair and apathy. Also, "....Excessive socioemotional dependence upon fellow foreign nationals and expatriates like themselves, and the inability to form socioemotional relationships with members of the host culture. Escapist behavior such as excessive sleeping, a solitary immersion in reading books or other solitary activities, an all-consuming desire for news from home, daydreaming about foods from home and alcohol and drug abuse."

A little research on the internet revealed a rather interesting explanation of culture stress that I felt was worth posting.... (Feel free to skip it if you are not interested!)

"Contemporary research in the areas of neural, perceptual, cognitive and evolutionary psychology support the idea that we operate within and upon our physical and social environments by way of evolved and hardwired neural-circuits which guide our species-typical behavior at a macro level. In addition to these are the more plastic neural networks and resulting neuro-perceptual-cognitive maps that allow us flexibility and adaptive variability. Large numbers or bundles of these species-typical content-specific neural-circuits are what allow for the great problem solving abilities of the human mind and the species-variability of behavior in response to environmental differences. These patterns of responses we call culture. Species-variable cognitive maps are both physical networks of neurons in our brains as well as informational networks of content accumulated and defined by sociocultural experiences and stored as memory. These cognitive maps operate at both the individual and collective levels, and people who share a culture also share aspects of the collective cognitive map.

Both the physical neural networks and the informational content of these culturally influenced networks are somewhat flexible due to our neural plasticity and can and do change and adapt through experience and learning and through both conscious and unconscious effort. But our tendency is to rely on these networks or mental maps in a relatively consistent and stable manner, unless forced to change in order to adapt. These networks provide proven and somewhat predetermined maps for us to use in the processing of information from our sociocultural and physical environments. They are more than just memory and they allow our brains to negotiate our environments without having to reinvent responses all the time. Once these neural networks and cognitive maps are laid down and used for many years they become somewhat difficult to change and require considerable effort to do so. A mismatch between our neuro-perceptual-cognitive maps and our physical and sociocultural environments can therefore cause considerable uncertainty, confusion, insecurity and anxiety. The complex of thought, emotion and behavior caused by this mismatch is called culture shock."

My company warned that the first two months can be the most difficult for expats because this is the time that culture stress can be experienced most acutely. People either deal with it and get through it, or succumb to it and plunge into a very negative emotional state from which the only perceived way out is to return home. For recruiters for positions overseas, this must be a very significant factor in deciding who to employ and who not to. Not only must they look at the skills each candidate has, but at their personality too. They must try and make a judgment about whether or not they think they can work successfully in a different culture. At the training sessions I attended in London a fair bit of time was allotted to discussing the topic of culture shock. Apparently when one first arrives a 'high' is experienced because everything is new and exciting. However, after a week or two this wears off as one is forced to deal with the practicalities of daily-life. It is at this point that culture stress sets in. It can last for any amount of time, and will probably continue to, to a lesser degree in the future. The critical time though is in the first two months. Life can be an emotional roller coaster. One can slide into severe depression unless attempts are made to keep 'on top' so that in time one will eventually settle down.

Well my two months in the 'high-risk zone' have now passed, and looking back on my time so far, I have come to realise some interesting things. About two weeks ago I started to notice that I was feeling different. I was more relaxed and accepting of my new life. I think the process one goes through when adapting to a major life change is similar to the way humans and animals react to all traumatic experiences. I once read that someone who is faced with death (for example they are diagnosed with a fatal illness or are grieving the loss of someone), go through a series of similar emotional states. First there is numbness. Then denial and isolation followed by anger. Then comes depression and finally acceptance. I also read that when grieving for someone who has died, acceptance is composed of various stages which include; recognition of the loss and then the release of emotions of grief. Once through this phase people tend to need to develop new skills as a way of moving forward with their lives and start work on reinvesting their emotional energy into the present.

"This work involves the need to take on new roles and make new kinds of contacts in the world. Making a new set of friends, finding a support network, relating to others in a new way, taking on new roles in the family, and becoming more independent may all be part of this process. Underlying this work is the work of incorporating the experience of the loss into one's identity. The opportunity for personal growth and development is perhaps most clearly seen in this part of the grief work."

After reading this I felt that my comparison of the emotional journey I made when moving to Japan and death or more precisely, grief, was actually very appropriate. A few years ago I live in Italy for 5 months and when I returned home I experienced an inexplicit form of depression. Something I was not really conscious of, but that my Father pointed out was a form of grief. I loved my life there, and my return home had torn from me what made me happy, what had become 'me' - Italy had been my reality, and I was emotionally attached to it. Therefore, I believe that much of what is labeled as 'culture shock' or 'culture stress' is actually grief for what has been lost culturally.

The numbness I experienced before leaving, and in the first week after arrival, was certainly like the early stages of grieving for everything and everyone I was about to lose. So far, I think that has been one of the hardest stages of this journey - mainly because I wanted to feel something, I felt I was meant to be, but just couldn't. It was disconcerting, and yet just out of reach, beyond the numbness lay this ache of fear and stress and pain. Anyway, I don't want to make out that it was all doom and gloom, for it wasn't. I was excited and this is what I wanted to do, and I am happy. It is just that now I have achieved some clarity and can start enjoying the experience as opposed to just coping with it.

So did I feel denial and isolation I wonder? Yes in a way I think I did. I felt restless and found myself thinking a lot about what I would do after my 'Japan adventure'. I spent evenings looking at university courses in London, looking wistfully at maps of the world, dreaming about where I would move to next. I shut myself in my classroom in between lessons and wrote in my journal or read books. It wasn't severe but it was significant I believe. I made plenty of effort to be sociable but it required effort, I didn't actually feel like it. I did it because I knew that to do otherwise would not help my mental state.

interestingly, I remember one night in June I dreamt that I just returned home. I was in The Dragon bar and all my friends were there and they were so pleased to see me. But after a little while the conversation shifted away from me, and I was no longer the center of attention. It was as if I had never been away. I woke up in a start, unsure of whether I really was back home or still in Japan. When I heard the early morning train thundering by I felt relieved because I knew I was still in Tokyo. It was then that I realised I didn't want to go back home yet. That despite the difficulties there must be something about the experience that I was enjoying. One's subconscious can be very revealing at times. This realisation was a milestone for the end of the stage of 'denial and isolation' I believe.

So what about anger? The psychologists describe rage as a symptom of culture stress as well as grief. There were moments when I felt (and still do) extreme frustration at being unable to communicate. For example I wanted to phone my parents and had obtained a free phone card that simply required topping up with credit. But every time I went to a convenience store and asked them to do it (or rather gestured for them to do it) they looked blankly at me. One guy even look scared and hurried over to his colleague and talked earnestly in hushed voices. He then returned looking confused and blank and just stared at me until I gave up and walked out. This made me so mad because I knew they had the ability to do it, it was the right store, my friends had done it there, but for some reason they wouldn't do it! It took ten days to finally get it done - it turned out it was actually my fault because I hadn't registered it, but how was I to know?! I had blamed the of shop assistants and gotten angry, and they didn't have the ability to tell me why they couldn't help me - frustration and embarrassment all round really. Language is such a useful thing!

There has been only one occasion that truly took me by surprise. Situations such as the one I have described above suggest a good reason for getting angry about something, but there was one evening that I experienced almost completely unfounded rage, and I think this was certainly a dose of more acute culture stress.

I had attended a picnic in the park with a large group of co-workers and students as part of a renewal campaign. It was hot and humid and the sky was threatening to rain all day. We had a few beers and played frisbee and all in all it was a very pleasant afternoon. At about 5 o'clock it started to pour so we left the park. Someone decided that it would be a good idea to walk back to Tachikawa in the rain and then go to an izakaya to continue the party. By the time we arrived at the restaurant I was wet and wondering why on earth we had walked instead of getting the train. We sat down and beer and food was ordered, and for a while I was having fun again. Yet as usual the choice of vegetarian food was limited and the menu was all in Japanese so I had to let other people order for me. (The inability to read or understand the spoken language instills within one a feeling of stupidity, of inaptitude. In effect it is a form of deafness and blindness. It is highly frustrating.)

The tofu salad once again arrived with dead baby fish on it. The green soy beans had minced pork (no not nuts) mixed with them. The 'potato dish' I had just tried was swimming in a pool of raw egg that I had noticed only too late. People were laughing and tucking into their sashimi squid and god knows what else. One of my students was so drunk he had fallen asleep sitting up. Everyone was laughing. Their joy in everything left me feeling worse and worse. I started to resent having to pay the same as them for food I didn't like. I found myself asking why anyone would drink until they fell asleep at the table - "why can't they hold their drink?" I thought. (Cultural stereotyping.) The girl opposite had a big glass of clear liquid and was stabbing a rotten looking fruit - a putrified plum, in the bottom of it with her chopsticks, until the whole drink was clouded with swirling mush. I watched with disgust as she stabbed and sipped, stabbed and sipped.

A red vaporous rage was flowing through my veins. "Why can't they drink normal drinks? Why are they laughing at things that aren't funny? Why can't I have a normal conversation with anyone? Why do I have to continuously make small talk with people? No one knows me here. I feel so alone...." This overwhelming rage was so shocking to me and so debilitating I had to leave. I couldn't handle being there a moment longer. A short train ride back to Toyoda later, and the rage had transformed into despair. I barely had the will to walk and I couldn't understand why I was feeling so negative. It wasn't like me. Anyway I knew what would cure it. I went home and watched a 'Legally Blonde' a ridiculously upbeat Hollywood teen movie. A good dose of the American dream, it never fails! (Now what does that say about the link between culture and personal identity? Not that I am American of course but I guess I relate to their culture far more than I realised.)

As for depression, I think that that that is something I have experienced since the beginning - in small doses though throughout the weeks. After the night of rage I did have a week of feeling pretty low. Actually that was transformed rather suddenly one night when I found myself unable to sleep. I felt almost as low as I ever have, and made myself work through it in my head. I asked why exactly I was feeling like this. After several hours of staring at the ceiling and allowing myself to feel the pain of it I came to a realisation. I knew what I had to do to make myself feel better. I had been 100% honest in my thinking and I had achieved clarity. Although this didn't relieve the depression immediately, within a day or two I was feeling very upbeat and positive. It was like I had to experience that low to then be able to move forward into the acceptance stage.

"Culture shock can be prevented by striving to become more culturally relativistic and flexible in your thinking and behavior, by developing a real enthusiasm for learning about the host culture and by forming real intercultural relationships. Successful cross-cultural communications is a fairly straightforward proposition. With the correct attitude, a few good cultural informants, a few cross-cultural communications concepts and some time spent as a participant-observer, a person will quite naturally develop a repertoire of intercultural interaction skills. And, when a person begins to move further along the continuum of cross-cultural understanding and interaction, they will more quickly put down ego-identity roots in the new host culture and feel more at ease with themselves and their surroundings. They will become more happy and productive at work, at home or while moving about within the society at large. They will no longer be negatively affected by disconfirmed expectancies. They will understand more and be understood more by others. In short, they will have become bicultural individuals."

As part of my plan to take control of my new life and start making the most of it, and build up my rather flagging self-esteem, I got a hair cut and joined the gym, did some sight seeing. Next week I am starting Japanese lessons. The problem is of course, that even though one may discover a new found energy for life, obstacles still rise up to challenge you. Just because you choose to embrace life, it doesn't mean that life will suddenly become easier. For example, when I went to join the gym I had to fill in forms and read through pamphlets and try to communicate with non-English speakers. It took ages. When I finally got my ticket to the swimming pool and found my way to the changing rooms, I discovered that in Japan there aren't any!?! There is a big locker room and everyone just gets changed together, the showers are communal too. For the Japanese this is completely normal. At the hot springs people bathe naked too, they just do not have a problem with public nudity. For me on the other hand this is not something I feel comfortable with. The experience was quite traumatic really! When I stepped out into the pool room I was then greeted by a lifeguard who welcomed me and introduced herself. (She knew a colleague of mine who told her that I was going to come.) I just wanted to get some peace and have a swim.

As a Westerner I felt like I was unable to get the privacy I craved because I stood out like a sore thumb. In many ways I am a very private person, I like my personal space and time alone, and do not always feel sociable. My job as a teacher kind of contradicts a lot of what my personality makes me inclined to feel. As a Westerner in Japan I tend to feel either like a ghost-like outsider, or the centre of attention, and neither are particularly nice. I am endeavoring to get over my issues of being naked in public now but it is extremely difficult. The exercise is partly a philosophical one and partly a pragmatic one - I mean I want to use the swimming pool!

"A person can experience considerable stress and anxiety when they are living in a different culture with different values from their own. A person may find that some of their own cherished and deeply held values and assumptions about life may not be equally important to members of their new host culture. The areas of religion, moral behavior, justice and fair play, racial equality, work ethic and privacy are areas where there may a great deal of cultural relativism, and people living and working overseas need to learn to deal with these differences in a relaxed and nonjudgmental way."

What is interesting though with the gym scenario is that it illustrates rather explicitly the dramatic cultural differences one can come up against. They are often surprising and unforeseen, and highlight how much we are a product of the society we were bought up in.

"The disconfirmed expectancies that we experience when living in a different culture contribute to uncertainty, insecurity, anxiety and stress. In addition, individuals also experience anxiety and stress due to ego-identity diminishment. Our identities are rooted in our home culture and its particular physical and sociocultural environment. When we leave that particular complex of sociocultural and physical environmental factors we also leave the roots that support and nourish our personalities."

Roppongi

After a hard days work there is nothing better than the prospect of an all-nighter in Roppongi. There is little to commend this part of Tokyo in the daytime, but at night it is the party capital. After sun-down the place becomes infested with cocktail swilling, dolled-up boys and girls looking to rave it up til dawn. I had been warned about the place - you either love it or you hate it. It has been described as 'the filth', 'a meat market', 'a veritable sin den'. I had been invited to join a group of international expats and students for a taste of Roppongi, and tonight it was to be 'Vanilla'.



It was with an unexpected wave of anticipation and enthusiasm that I found myself at Shinjuku station and heading towards the Kabukicho exit. It was my first time here at night, and the place was dazzling. The neon is more brilliant at night, the air more intoxicating, the music and voices more vibrant. I was introduced to a 'newbie' from New Zealand, who told me twice in the space of fifteen minutes that she had only been here for 3 weeks. She seemed fun in a dizzy kind of way. Perhaps the effect of Tokyo. Then there was a blonde from Australia who was leaving Japan in a month or so. The others were science students - aquaintances of a friend of mine. One girl was from Germany, the other from Turkey and the guy was from Tanzania. They were studying for two months in Tokyo, so were keen to lap up some of the night-life. The others were guys I already knew; all teachers.


First stop was a warm up for Roppongi - two hours of karaoke in a room the size and appearance of a garden shed. I half expected to see cockroaches scuttling over the benches. A modest screen was jammed into the corner and a couple of microphones lay haphazardly on the low table. I have never seen people get so excited about singing cheesy songs in a grotty room. The toilets were unisex - basically a urinal that you had to squeeze past to get to a lavatory that lay just beyond a rickety door. Nice. Beer was ordered via a grimy telephone on the wall every 15 minutes, whilst the microphones were passed from one to the other. It was a 'drink-as-much-as-you-can' affair, for 2000 yen. We cheered and applauded every cringeworthy performance and laughed a lot. I managed to avoid singing this time, and somehow I don't think anyone noticed. (Thank goodness. I hate to be boring but it's just not for me. At least not that early in the evening!)


Our time was up at 12.14 and we were back on the streets of sleaze that is Kabukicho. (Nothing compared to Amsterdam though which is far more ignominious.) Taxis were hailed. The newbie from New Zealand confessed that she couldn't drink as much as she liked to, and slid gracelessly onto the floor of the cab where she remained for the extent of the journey. We were deposited at Roppongi crossing, the main drag, and walked a short distance to join a queue outside a rather impressive looking venue called 'Vanilla', a gleaming black towerblock. I was amazed to discover that it only cost 1000 yen (5 British pounds) to get in and this included two free drinks (that is if you had the energy fight your way through the bodies to the bar.)

The air was thick with moisture and cigarette smoke and it was positively heaving with people. It was huge. We were immediately forced by the flow of people into the mass of pounding hip-hop heaving. Dancing ensued. The group then emigrated to the next floor up, which was Japanese dance music, VIP lounges, hordes of Japanese girls fighting to dance on wooden stages, and thousands and thousands of people. It was a vast place. The German girl and I made a trip to the bar to get our complimentary drinks only to return 25 minutes later. The night continued in much the same way: the group moving from one floor to the next. I think there were three or four floors in all. Then I suddenly became aware of the fact that I wasn't actually enjoying myself. It was impossible to communicate exept by shouting, I didn't like the music, and I could barely breathe or even move. I felt claustrophobic. I thought I was going to be crushed at one point. It was horrible.

I wondered why I was the only one not enjoying this experience. What was it that I was missing? What is it that all these people are enjoying so much? I mean what is so great about being crushed to death to the sound of hip-hop whilst dying of dehydration? I felt like a traitor to my generation as I told my friends I was going outside for some air. I had little intention of going back in. It must have been 3.30 am and the first train was at 5.30. I sat down outside with a bottle of water. The bouncers were very nice and said I could go back in whenever I wanted. They seemed pretty concerned about my well being actually. Why wasn't I having a good time? Why would I have preffered to go to a Jazz club and sip a G&T? I felt annoyed and confused. I was young and carefree - why wasn't I behaving like all the rest of them? I decided it didn't matter, that loads of people I knew didn't like Roppongi and they weren't questionning their identities because of it. I mean I like clubbing if the music is good and the atmosphere is positive....

I reassured myself that I wasn't getting old before my time and then fell asleep. I was awoken at 5am by my friends. It was light and some of them were going for a curry breakfast. I passed on that, opting instead to accompany the scientists back to Shinjuku on the first train. The streets were filled with drunks, people passed out in doorways, groups of jaded business men staggering in their bedraggled suits, and us. I just wanted to get home, but a two hour journey in the grey and morning drizzle lay before me. My friends and I parted at Shinjuku where I sat on the platform to await the connection to Toyoda. It was like after a festival or something, there were so many people everywhere. I fell asleep on the train and by some miracle woke up at my stop. I trudged home in the rain feeling despondent. It was 7am when I climbed the ladder to my loft. I drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the early morning trains thundering by.

Bento Boxes - a form of communication

I was still up at 3am last night, and had switched on the tv, and to my delight there was a programme on in English! It was about bento-boxes. In Japan, mothers prepare these lunchboxes for their children to take to school. A lot of thought and imagination goes into these meals because the child must have a different well balanced meal everyday. The bento-box is actually a sign of how much the mother is perceievd to love the child. One mother who was interviewed on the show, said that the lunchbox is an important form of communication between her and her child. If her daughter brings home an empty box, she is happy because then she knows her child enjoyed it. However, another mother pointed out how difficult it can be to create these miniature meals for kids, because there are so many foods they dislike.

The pressure on mothers can be immense. A child may be teased at school if their lunchbox is not up to scratch, and teachers have been known to have a discreet word with such irresponsible mothers. As a result, mothers often attend special cooking classes to get tips and recipes for creating perfect bento-boxes, and the market for bento cookery books is huge. Apparently there should be 5 basic colours in a bento-box: white - which represents carbohydrates (usually rice), black - for minerals (maybe seaweed), red and green - which are vegetables and fruit and yellow - which represents protein (often fish, chicken or egg.) There should be between 4 and 7 tiny, individual snacks inside the box. Many of these can be time consuming to make. On the tv show we see a bento-chef teaching mothers how to make such things as a seaweed, bean and rice heart shaped treat. Last nights pasta salad in a paper cup baked for a few minutes and topped with cheese, and a special weiner ring. The cocktail sausage must be sliced almost all the way through in 8 places and then placed in a ring shape and deep-fried to retain the shape. Then two soy beans are place in the centre. The food must be well presented. Some kids are lucky enough to get 'hello kitty' rice balls and hard-boiled eggs with faces on. The bento-boxes for special occassions such as birthdays and picnics are more like works of art, requring many hours of preparation.

The importance placed on healthy eating in Japan is quite amazing compared to the UK, but what I found fascinating was the feeling that food forms a bond between members of the family. I think this is an ancient and fundamental aspect of all human interaction and communication and one that is neglected in the west. However, I do not envy the role of the Japanese mother.

Tokyo News Today

"Passengers using streetcars in Kumamoto are able to borrow an umbrella during unexpected showers now that the transport company recycles some of the 1700 umbrellas left behind on its networks each year."

"Osaka officials say taste tests prove that the city's tap water is more delicious than imported mineral water."

"Two stolen flutes worth 12 million yen were found in a coin locker in Tokyo station."

"Companies and government offices in Hokkaido told their staff to come to work an hour early over the summer to prove to the powers that be that adopting summer time in Japan would be a good thing. The morning sun wakes most of us up early anyway, so we might as well be doing something productive."

"Roppongi is cursed because of the destruction of ancient shrines in the area and the arrival of 'foreigners who worship their own deities' according to a feng shui master in The Japan Times."

"Three experts from the Japan Toilet Maintenance institute were dispatched to Singapore to boost morale among local toilet cleaners, teach new techniques and impart 'the right values' for world-class toilet specialists."

"Members of the Japan Adoring Husband Organization have designated January 31st 'Adoring Wives Day", on which they will stand in a field in Gunma and shout declarations of love."

"Some universities are providing free breakfasts to encourage students to come to class and 'lead stable lives'."

"In Nihonbashi, salarymen can grab 40 winks (40 minutes) in a lounge chair at Good Sleep Salon Napia for 800 yen. However, the salon recommends 30 minutes tops to avoid drowsiness."

"JR East raised the air conditioning on the Yamanote line by 1 degree celcius to 25 C following complaints."

(Metropolis Magazine)

Stats of the day:

• 24.8 billion chopsticks are used in Japan anually.
• 13, ooo Yen is the price of one of Japan's famous square watermelons.
• There are 539 types of cosmetics for men stocked at Ito-Yokado in Hachioji.

People spotting in Tokyo

Blue List....

Too cool for school

Tokyo. Peculiarity and eccentricity walk the streets with the cute, the weird, the freaky and the funny. The perfect place for people watching.... #1: Skinny guy in a fur hat wanders down street in 33 degree heat. He fans himself concertedly.

One sheep short of a flock
#2: Nishi-Kokubunji station. Voluptuous teenage girl with bleached blonde hair in bunches, knee-high striped socks, and red and white polka-dot bo-peep dress, strides purposefully towards the exit.

Someone's grandfather
Harajuku on Sundays is THE place for a glimpse of the 'freaky or uniquey'. #3: A short, elderly man approaches. He wears a blue dress and upon his head is sat a traffic cone. A window is cut in it side through which he grins. It is adorned with shelves that each support an array of strange objects including a bowl of live gold fish.

One for the road
#4: Drunken, grey-suited salary man sleeps with forehead head resting against door of train. The trains approaches the station and the doors open. He falls flat onto his face. He then picks himself up, and gets back onto the train and assumes the same position.

School uniform
#5: Chubby, nine year old school boy grins a gappy smile. Brown satchel on his back. Short shorts, tight fitting short-sleeved shirt and white sailor hat; the string that holds it on grips a little too snugly round his chin.

Reality TV
#5: Friday night. Outside Tachikawa station an old homeless woman has set up camp. She has blankets and cushions to sit on, a radio playing and a delightful selection of MacDonalds is spread before her. She watches the world go by; as it pretends to ignore her.

Private joke
#6: Young man laughs hysterically and walks back and forth down the train. He stands by the window and looks out at the night and bursts into laughter. Everyone tries not to look. What is his story? I would rather be misunderstood and happy, than 'sane' and depressed.....

He's alive!!! Alive I say!
#7: A group of leather-clad, immaculately be-quiffed Elvis impersonators, have gathered at the entrance of the park. A crackly amplifier blares out the King. They spin their combs and run them through their hair, then spontaneously dance; legs flailing, hips twisting.

Mistaken identity
#8: A couple of school girls hang outside a local station, cell phones in hand, giggling. They wear short, flared, tartan skirts, and knee-high 'play boy' socks. However, a second glance in their direction, reveals that they are actually men.

Ko Gyaru
#9: Groups of girls hang on street corners in Shibuya sporting mini skirts and sparkling high-heels. They drip with jangling accessories and cell phones and have bleached hair that is either ginger, yellow or grey. What really makes them stand out though is their fake orange tan. I sometimes see the odd one passed-out outside pachinko parlours.

Philosophies for lonely travel

Blue list....

Take pleasure in difficulties
Most travellers, particularly those who travel alone, do it for the challenge. When one is lying on a bunk bed beneath an itchy brown blanket that hasn't been washed for months, wondering why the hell you are putting yourself through it; rememeber "what is difficult is always worthwhile." Plato

Find where humour hides
Laugh at the absurdity of culture. Laugh at futility. Laugh at error. Laugh at misadventure. Laugh in the face of bad luck, chaos, misfortune and hostility. "Life can be a comedy or a tragedy　- it just depends how you look at it." W. Allen

Drink yourself into oblivion...
....hit rock bottom, and then open your eyes. People are adaptable. We secretly like and need to go through cycles of pain to then fully appreciate the intensity of the good times. Sometimes you need to wallow in misery. Do it until you are purged and then move on. Move up. "Happiness is more than momentary bliss." Aristotle

Write to give meaning
Travel is a bittersweet experience, as is starting a new life abroad. "Why do something so hard?" we ask ourselves. "Why do I feel I have to do it?" Write it all down. Capture something of the essence of your unique experience and your journey will become significant.

Discover what you don't want
People often say they travel to discover who they are and what they want. I say, travel to discover what you don't want. This is a fair more achievable goal. In doing so you will actually discover what is important to you in life.

Take chances
Chaos is to be embraced. Travel is unpredicatable. It is an adventure. Thus the traveller must welcome uncertainty into his fearful heart. Give yourself up to chance and in time you will be truly free.

Introspect a little
It is easier to access one's own mind when one is not in the comfort of one's living room. Question your thought processes, question your beliefs, question your identity, question your fears and your passions. Travel will isolate or liberate; think, and the choice is yours to make.

Philosophies of Chance

One of my Lonely Planet 'Blue lists'....

Philosophies of Chance for the Lonely Traveller

Freedom
Freedom is an ideal. True freedom however, exists within the self. Think of things you have never done before, and then just do them. Be it sitting in a bar alone, karaoke, nude life-modelling or speaking a foreign phrase. If one so chooses, lone travel will liberate you from fear and conditioning.

Coincidence
Most travellers are familiar with the phenomenon of coincidence. You bump into an acquaintance in a bar in Barcelona or pass your long-lost sister on an escalator in a random airport somewhere. What does it mean? Maybe nothing, but maybe something. Just think about it.

Signs
Whether you believe in fate or not, it is an interesting concept to toy with as alone traveller. Always look for signs and opportunities. Life is full of them and you can choose to let them pass you by unnoticed, or you can choose to observe them. The path this leads one down will only be a rich and exciting one.

Gambling
Taking intelligent chances is the key to successful and rewarding experimental travel and indeed living. Chance and danger is what most people lack in their everyday life which is why they seek it out. Don't buy scratch cards. Book that flight, talk to a stranger, ask for the job, bin the map, deliberately miss the last train and see what happens.

Cause and Effect
For every event there is a cause and an effect, or so modern thinking leads us to believe. For every daily occurence, be aware of the effect this has on the self. Then consider the cause, that through us, it could have on the future. Shape the past that produces your future.

Serendipity
For every person you meet on your travels, or even at home, listen to what they have to say. Every person has a story. Consider what you can learn from every encounter you have. The meaning of life lies within the significance one perceieves in every human interaction.

Opportunity
Never turn your back on opportunities even when it requires effort or discomfort. Pursue them, seek them out, follow them. However, never be foolhardy. Question everything and trust your instincts, they are always right.

Limits
Push the limits within you and the world will expand and unfurl. Taking chances, using your imagination and developing awareness will bring you not closer to the edge, but reveal the joy of the endless possibilities of life. But take care, 'controlled chaos' is the goal.

Luck
Think of yourself as lucky, beause you are. Believe you are a lucky person and you will be. When confronted with difficulty, pain, injustice or frustration, remind yourself that in the future, 'luck' is now in your debt, and it will repay you.

Morning work-out

This evening I went to TGI Friday's in Shibuya for a surprise birthday party. I was a little late arriving for I had not been up for long. I had been partying in Roppongi the night before and didn't get home until 7am, so had been forced to spend the day sleeping. I had one beer and nibbled at a few of the meatless dishes that were spread across the table for everyone to share. It was nice to be presented with proper cutlery for a change! At nine o'clock we had to leave (I been there for an hour and a half). Due to the fact that the bill is always split I got a bit of a raw deal this time - 20 quid for a beer and a bit of food!! What a rip off. The party moved onto an overpriced English theme pub, that charged 5 pounds a pint. I was beginning to wish I hadn't forced myself to go out and be sociable, instead of staying at home and watching a movie, which is what I felt I preffered to do. It had already spent more than I had bargained.

It proved to be a jolly evening though and I caught the last train home with a few friends. Of course the usual jokes and attempts to communicate in English/Japanese ensued, and we laughed at the drunk people lying on the platforms, and made small talk about plans for the rest of the weekend. One of my Japanese co-workers said she would be getting up at the usual time of 8.30 the following day. We asked why of course - for most people enjoy a lie-in when they have the chance. To my astonishment she said that she had to get up at this time to do her exercises. This may not in itself sound strange, but the absurdity lies not in the action but in the reason for it. Every morning at 8.30 the local office block plays a special work-out tune on a load speaker, so that employees can exercise in the lobby or the car park before they start work. Given that my friend lives very nearby, and well within earshot of this chirpy tune, she takes advantage of it; also rising early to join them in their quest for fitness, but in the comfort of her own appartment....! I wonder if I will ever really get accustomed to the little peculiarities of this culture? I hope not.

Today's News from Tokyo

"An unidentified woman approached a school girl in Aichi, snipped off 15cm of her hair and ran away."

"Lawson opened a test store targeting the elderly, with brown decor, comfy chairs, easy-to-read price tags, wide aisles and blood pressure monitors."

"Kanebo launched a new brand of chewing gum that supposedly makes the body smell like a rose."

"Japan's Takeru Kobayashi, 28, won the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest for the sixth straight year and set a new world record of 53.75 frankfurters in 12 minutes."

Stat of the day: "There are 8.68 million bloggers in Japan."

(Metropolis Magazine 07/06)

Asakusa and the prophesy

Monday 17th July.

I travelled for an hour across Tokyo to 'Sin Den' in Shibuya - ku. I had seen an ad in Metropolis magazine for this hair salon that employed English speaking staff and I felt like a bit of pampering so emailed them and arranged an appointment. They emailed me a map of how to get there, which I thought was pretty cool. The girl who cut my hair was a bleached-blonde mohawk-sporting Serbian. We chatted about Thailand and Tokyo clubs. She recommended a club that is supposed to be the biggest in the world called 'Agaya' - it has ten floors and swimming pools, bars, chill-out rooms, everything. I have to go there it sounds insane! I was given a head massage on a red leather bed, a complimentary cafe con crema and then my restyle. It was nice to be around English speakers, it gets so frustrating having to work so hard to make oneself understood.

It was a grey day again and I left the salon at about noon. I had roused myself at some ungodly hour for the appointment - I can't imagine what I was thinking, I mean it was the weekend! Anyway, the good thing was it meant I had the rest of the day free to do some exploring. After my bodily rejuvination I sought some kind of spiritual replenishment so went back to the metro and hopped on the Ginza line to Asakusa, the last stop. A friend at work had recommended it. It is an older part of Tokyo composed of traditional wooden houses, shrines and temples, humble lodgings, souvenir shops, the odd Buddha statue and mint-green and pink plastic flowers which hang from the lamp posts. Apparently when Japan ended its self-imposed isolation, it was here in Asakusa that the first cinemas opened.

I was uncertain of which way to walk when I arrived at my destination. I wanted to get to the temple. I took a chance and crossed the road, passing beneath an archway that framed an entrance to a bustling street. The shops sold everything from freshly cooked sembei rice crackers to handbags, from wigs to fans, postcards to porcelain and colourful boxes of edibles. I followed the crowds and found myself in a covered walkway lined with hanging red and orange paper lanterns. Souvenir stalls stretched as far as the eye could see. It was National Sea day, a public holiday, so the place was packed with Japanese as well as Western tourists. I dodged between push-chairs and shoppers, and peered at the trinkets as I went. The air was filled with the smell of oriental food, incense, barbecue and bird song.

My meanderings finally bought me to a square. A cloud of perfumed smoke rose up from a great lead cauldron a few meters ahead, and beyond it rose the magnificent Senso-Ji temple. Above the summit of its steps, beneath the curved roof of the entrance, hung a monstrous red lantern with a white symbol painted on its side. This temple is supposed to be one of the oldest in Tokyo. Well that is what it says in my guide book, however, further reading has revealed that it was actually destroyed by bombings in WW2, and rebuilt in 1950. But upon this site a golden image of Kannon, the Buddhist Goddess of mercy, which was miraculously fished out of the river in AD628, still remains enshrined - or so legend has it.To my left stood a proud five-story high pagoda, and a couple of stands selling barbecued meat.

I stood awhile and watched the people - some of whom were there for spirtual purposes but many of whom were tourists like myself. They gathered around the smoking urn holding smouldering josticks, which were then placed inside the urn in a deep bed of ash. The smoke rose up in clouds and they wafted it over their heads and bodies. It is supposed to have healing powers. Others washed from the blessed water that spouted forth from the golden dragon fountain on my right. The water is poured ceremonially over the left and then the right hand as part of the cleansing ritual, before entering the temple. What really intrigued me though was the clattering sounds. On either square of the broad walkway leading up to the temple were low wooden huts. Inside some of them were Buddist monks selling charms and incense, But between were banks of little wooden drawers, each with a different character painted on it. Inside these drawers were sre sheets of paper on which fortunes are written, in both Japanese and English. For the price of 100 yen (50p) you can have read your fortune. The way your fortune is selected is by shaking a heavy, hexagonal shape steel tube, inside which are many wooden sticks. There is a small hole in the top. After a few shakes a stick comes out. On the end of the stick is painted a character. You then have to match the character to the appropriate drawer and thus may take a copy of your fortune.

I had been watching people do this for some time. Those with bad fortunes have to fold the paper and tie it around a wire on a rack so that the wind with carry it away. It was fascinating. (What spoiled the it for me though, was the little old man who was going around pulling off all the bad fortunes and throwing them in the bin! I thought that at least he could do that at night when everyone has gone.) Anway, I thought it might be fun to get my fortune. I shook the container and got my stick, by I couldn't find the right drawer to match it with, so I asked a Japanese girl who was standing next to me. She opened the drawer and took out the fortune. Her face fell, "oh, its a bad one. But don't worry, don't worry!" (Minutes before, she had been jumping for joy because she had a good fortune.)

Ok. I read it. It said something about the fireflies in the garden being evil and the people in the sky turning their backs on the people in the garden. It then said: 'The patient will not recover. The person you are waiting for will not come. The house you are building will fall down.' Oh dear. I folded it up, tied it to the rack and walked off feeling a little disapointed. I thought about doing another one - I mean maybe I would get a better one a second time round? It must have been a mistake! I walked up the steps to the temple, and decided not to. Perhaps this was significant in some way. In actual fact, maybe I had now rid myself of my potential bad fortune and should be pleased! I am not superstitious, but I tossed a coin into the box in front of the alter anyway, where people stood contemplating or clapping, and then wandered back out to watch a performing monkey.

Buddhist Temple in Asakusa, Tokyo

LP Blue List

Check out my 'blue lists' on the lonely planet website....
"Philosophies for Lonely Travel", "Philosophies of Chance for the Lonely Traveller" and "People Spotting in Tokyo."

TFI Friday's, Tower records, and Frog's Legs

Sunday 2nd July

I waited by the 'Hachiko the dog' statue outside Shibuya station for my friend to arrive. Actually, I don't really know her at all. She was one of the girls I did my training with in London, and lives relatively near Tokyo, so it seemed like a good idea to meet up. She had a co-worker with her. The three of us headed out in search of Tower records, which I have passed at least once on my adventures in Shibuya. Yet my prediction of its location proved to be incorrect. We forged through the crowds of punky girls clad in designer mini-skirts, excessive make-up and perfect hair, and guys in white vests, silver chains. In fact many of them had better hair styles than the girls. The effort that these people put into their appearance can be quite amazing. I guess they are the privelleged generation of Japan. They live off their wealthy parents, don't work, and just party. A responsibility-free group who pour money into the economy, buying the lastest fashions and parading them through the districts of central Tokyo. If Harajuku is for the freaks, Shibuya is for the chics.

We took a pit-stop at TFI Fridays, which as it happens is a five minute walk from Tower Records. The clientel was made up of at least 50 per cent Westerners. It was like being back home! The menu was in English, the signs were in English.... In a strange sort of way it was quite comforting. We ordered some drinks and looked out from the 6th floor, over the busy streets below. The last time my friend had been in Shibuya was for a mad night out, a week after her arrival in Japan. Unfortunately she had walked into a door and broken her nose, after too many drinks at the karaoke bar! She went to hospital, had to borrow money to have it fixed, and then had to go back to the karaoke bar at dawn to meet her friends. Oh dear. The poor thing had to teach with two black eyes for the next week or so....

We ascended in the glass lift on the exterior of the building, to the seventh floor of Tower Records. The floor was dedicated completely to English books which, for me was more like seventh heaven. We spent a good hour or so in there. I bought a couple of books and resisted buying many more, including: a flick book of the 'Napoleon Dynamite' dance sequence. (If you haven't seen this movie, you must.) I have to go back and get it some time. I realised that if I hung out here for a day, I would probably meet some really interesting English speaking people. I might try it one day and catalogue them all as an experiment. In fact I will. Perhaps next weekend.

I spent the last of my money in there, so we went in search of a place to cash a traveller's cheque. It was a Sunday evening though and we had no joy, so I had to borrow a few Yen to get me through the evening. We had a pub crawl around different English/Irish pubs in the area and chatted about our experiences to date. At nine we decided to go Japanese and pay a little less for our beer. We went to an izakaya just up from the famous crossing by the station. For the first time the menu for Japanese cuisine was in my mother tongue. Tonight they were serving: crab guts, raw horse flesh, fried edible frog, deep fried offal and sashimi squid. I think this is standard, but it was the first time I had seen it written down. So, not much choice for vegetarians or those who prefer not to dine on the raw, the peculiar or the innards.　My friends were neither of these, so bravely ordered up a dish of crab guts and frogs legs (attached to torsos may I add). At least there was no mention of the orange juice with fresh turtles blood here that I had heard about. Yuk. I think I picked at some mackeral and a strange extra thin gorgonzola cheese 'pizza' with honey.... not quite the best meal ever I must say! Funnily enough, my friends agreed.

Humour

Saturday night, July 1st.

The night had been a strange but highly amusing one. I finished work at the usual time of about eight and had accepted an invitation to meet for drinks with the guy from NY and some of his Japanese friends. We met in an English pub in the near vicinity of the station. It would have been just like being back at home except for the fact that it was accessed via several flights of steel stairs in a grotty block, and through a heavy fridge-like door. Several TV screens were playing an homage to Germany, hosts of the World Cup. Behind the bar, a bald Japanese man wearing a bowler hat, polished glasses. I was introduced to a young guy wearing a black Rolling Stones T-shirt, that was studded with diamante, front and back. He proudly announced that it cost him 150 quid. At that moment three of American expats, possibly army bods, sauntered in.

It was weird because when you see fellow Westerners you sort of have the urge to acknowledge them. You don't though, and force your self to ignore them. I mean what could you say? "Hi. So you are Western too. What are you doing here?...." It is like you are all members of a group united only by the fact that you do not really 'belong'. You are from elsewhere, and for some reason have chosen to move to the other side of the world to start a new life in (or visit) Japan. You somehow feel connected because of this, but in reality you are not. One shys away from other Westerners unless they are formally introduced. I sort of find myself resenting their presence at times, (if they are strangers). Perhaps because I feel they are intruding on my experience of this foreign culture, reminding me of home.... I don't know. All I can say is that the experience is a strange one. Actually, I can't remember now if I mentioned this before, but I passed a Western guy in the internet cafe, and we both spontaneously said hello to one another. I almost laughed afterwards wondering why we had done so. He probably thought the same.

A little while later we found ourselves an eaterie that claimed to be an Italian restaurant. We were greeted by a youthful and very bubbly bunch of Japanese. One guy had the longest hair you have ever seen, which is certainly a rare sight out here. The evening was spent drinking and when the bill arrived I was pretty irritated to find I was sharing the cost of all the food they had eaten. However, it had been an entertaining evening so I didn't complain. The shaggy haired guy had falled asleep at the table. I haven't come across quite such an eccentric fellow for quite some time actually. He had been ludicrously drunk and had attempted to chat-up all the girls in the restaurant, but failed miserably because he was so ridiculous and comical in his approach. He tended to slap his face whilst singing "pah, pah, pah, pah, paaaaaah!" and then ask them what their name was! It was so very odd, and reminded me a little of the bizzare scene in 'Lost in Translation' where Bob meets the gameshow host.

I have not watched very much TV since I have been out here but of all the eight or nine channels available, there is really nothing I would want to watch. The last time I tuned in at around 9 pm. There was a game show of some kind on. The two guys, who were wearing very little, had to fight each other and then launch themselves down a plastic slide, whilst covered in oil. Their families cheered proudly as they did this. I had absolutely no idea what on earth it was all about. Give me 'Countdown' any day!

The night ended as all nights do - with me catching the last train home. It had been fun, but I left feeling sort of empty. As if, although I had laughed, I had somehow missed the joke....

Katabasis

"The feeling that the music or the novel engenders - a feeling of appreciation for small acts of kindness - may be termed katabasis, a going down. It is worth dignifying it with a special name because, although generally unremarked, it is one of the most significant and valuable movements of consciouness that art can achieve. It is a counterpart of the famous notion of the sublime, in which we come to an ecstatic self-awareness. In the moment of katabasis we come down from the ordinary plateau of indifference, we recognise the dark background of existence - its loneliness, disapointment, fragility - and from here we see clearly just how much we need (like the emerging melody) the hesitant tenderness of another person. It is not suffering as such that makes someone appreciate love, it is only when suffering pierces our vanity - which happens when we do not blame someone else for our pain - that it awakens a deeper respect for love."

John Armstrong
'Conditions of love - the philosophy of intimacy'
P. 143

Quotations

"Ithaca.

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca, pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge. The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the angry Poseidon -do not fear them: You will never find such as these on your path if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine emotion touches your spirit and your body. The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter, if you do not carry them within your soul, if your heart does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long. That the summer mornings are many, when, with such pleasure, with such joy you will enter ports seen for the first time; stop at Phoenician markets, and purchase fine merchandise, mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony, and sensual perfumes as you can; visit many Egyptian cities, to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind. To arrive there is your ultimate goal. But do not hurry the voyage at all. It is better to let it last for many years; and to anchor at the island when you are old, rich with all that you have gained on the way, not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage. Without her you would never have set out on the road. She has nothing more to give you. And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not decieved you. Wise as you have become, with so much experience, you must already have understood what Ithacas mean."

Constantine Cavafy (1863-1933)
Translated by Rae Dalvern

"According to the writer Jorges Luis Borges, the idea of the Zahir comes from the Islamic tradition and is thought to have arisen at some point in the eighteenth century. 'Zahir', in Arabic, means visible, present, incapable of going unnoticed. It is someone or something which, once we have come in contact with them or it, gradually occupies our every thought, until we can think of nothing else. This can be considered either a state of holiness or of madness."

Faubourg Saint-Peres
Encyclopaedia of the Fantastic (1953)

These are quotes from the introduction of the book by Paulo Coelho 'the Zahir' which I have just started reading. I picked the book up because I remember seeing it advertised on a billboard on the London underground a week before I left for Japan. I have read several of his other works including; 'the Alchemist', 'Veronika decides to die', and 'Eleven minutes', all of which I thought were excellent. I bought the book with the last of my money, because I felt I was meant to. I don't know why. I just felt it was important. Anway, we will see.

P.10 'the Zahir'.

"The inspector says I'm free. I'm free now and I was free in prison too, because freedom continues to be the thing I prize most in the world. Of course, this has led me to drink wines I did not like, to do things I should not have done and which I will not do again; it has left scars on my body and on my soul, it has meant hurting people, although I have since asked their forgiveness, when I realised that I could do absolutely anything except force another person to follow me into my madness, in my lust for life. I don't regret the painful times; I bear my scars as if they were medals. I know freedom has a price, as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile, even when that smile is dimmed by tears."

P.11

"Freedom. The freedom to be wretchedly alone."

The other book I bought was a slim Penguin paperback by Alain de Botton called 'On Seeing and Noticing.' It has a comical and poignant illustration on the cover. A headless girl is slipping off the strap of her top; but not from off her naked shoulder, but a coat hanger. For 500 yen I would have bought it just for that image but I was fascinated by the content of this collection short essays on life too. For me it was money well spent. When I returned home late last night, I lay on the floor of my appartment (for I have no furntiture) and read the first essay.

P. 6 - 7

"On the pleasures of sadness.

Few places are more conducive to internal converstations than a moving plane, ship or
train. There is an almost quaint correlation between what is infront of our eyes and the thoughts we are able to have in our heads: large thoughts at times require large views, new thoughts new places. Introspective reflections which are liable to stall are helped along by the flow of the landscape. The mind may be reluctant to think properly when thinking is all it is supposed to do. The task can be as paralysing as as having to tell a joke or mimic an accent on demand. Thinking improves when parts of the mind are given other tasks, are charged with listening to music or following a line of trees.... At the end of hours of train-dreaming, we may feel we have been returned to ourselves: that is, brought back into contact with emotions and ideas that are important to us. It is not necessarily at home that we best encounter our true selves."

Arriving wet at the dry cleaners

As soon as I awoke today, just before noon, I had to pick up the new book I bought yesterday from the 7th floor book shop of Tower Records, Shibuya. It is called 'The Zahir'. It's Paulo Coelho's latest novel; "a haunting and redemptive story about obsession and its potential to fulfill our dreams and destroy them". I will tell you more about this later however. The strange thing was, that today I am filled with the compulsion to read and write. It is as if I have suddenly understood why I am here and what the purpose of it is. This feeling may be short lived but I feel that I must make the most of it. I read a few pages of the book and then got up and tidied my appartment, in between kneeling on the floor to jot down thoughts in a notebook.

A sullen and oppressive air seeped through the mesh of my window. The use of the air conditioning unit was not an option because it smells of stale cigarette smoke. I prefer real air anyway. I had a few necessary things to get done. It was my second day of the weekend and I had considered doing another trip somewhere, but instead I decided to have relaxing day and give myself the opportunity to do some reading and writing. Although I often do, after work during the week, I am usually rather fatigued, and it can become a chore. Today was different though. I felt it was a significant day and I should not ignore the urge to be creative.

I set off in along the road by the railway. The sky had darkened despite the fact that it was early afternoon. Thunder rippled across the sky as the gates of the level crossing ascended. I hurried towards the town, my bag of books over my left shoulder, my suits in a carry bag in my right hand. I had no umbrella for I had left it outside the internet cafe yesterday because I couldn't be bothered to carry it. Minutes later the heavens opened and the rain lashed down unmercilously. I sheltered beneath a tree next to a mother and her two children, but it was futile. It was like having buckets of warm water thrown at one. Yet another weekend in wet clothes, I thought. I considered going home to change and wait until the rain had stopped, but I had to get to the bank before three, to withdraw some money from my new 'hello kitty' bank account. (Only in Japan would you be offered a 'hello kitty' account! Bizarre.) So I forged on and within five or so minutes the rain stopped and the had sun came out.

I felt like such a foolish, wet and pathetic gaijin as I entered the dry cleaners with my soggy suits. The interaction was as awkward and amusing as ever. The old woman took my suits and asked me a few questions to which I just smiled and nodded. I didn't have a clue what she had asked! Then she rang up the cost on the till. I was afraid she would do this. I knew I should have gone to the bank first. I had considered it but I didn't want to make my first attempt at withdrawing money over the desk (I had no cash card yet) with all my dripping burdens. So I figured I'd drop off the suits and then go to the bank, and I would probably pay for the cleaning of them when I collected them. However, I was wrong. I had to pay for them now, and I had about 14 yen to my name. Oh dear. 'Chotto matte', I said and gestured toward the bank.　I think she understood. Anway, back outside the sun was shining, it was a glorious day. How embarrasing I thought, to arrive in the bank sopping wet. It somehow seemed more embarassing because the rain had stopped. I felt like saying 'you must understand, the reason why I am standing here in wet clothes is because there was a hellish rainstorm just minutes ago!' Only now the was almost no trace of one. What choice did I have though? I had to get some money.

As I entered I was greeted by two or three clerks calling out the usual welcome greeting. I wandered about looking confused for a few seconds until a woman approached me, bowing. Wow, I couldn't believe that she was bowing to me! In most countries I am sure they would have ignored a dripping foreigner entering a bank. I showed her my little withdrawal booklet and she took me to a desk, gently placing a small white form infront of me to fill in, whilst bowing after each sentence she spoke. I filled it in as she instructed, and stamped my signature in red ink in the appropriate box, with my newly acquired 'hanko'. (This is a small, cylindrical wooden stamp that was hand carved with my name in Japanese characters. Everyone in Japan has one. They are used to stamp all official documents with and are essential for opening banks accounts and such like.) I then went to the counter with the ticket she had given me and the transaction was made within a few minutes. Hoorah, I had money again. I trotted out of Mizhuo bank, leaving a trail of water droplets behind me on the pale grey carpet. I nipped back to the dry cleaners with my crisp Yen notes, and exchanged them for a receipt. I am quite sure she thought I was very odd, but I somehow felt I had a good reason to be. I was just a clueless foreigner. I didn't know how to avoid torrential rain, or withdraw money from bank accounts, or communicate what day of the week I wanted to collect my dry cleaning. I nevertheless left in my soggy rags with a smile on my face. Somehow feeling I had discovered great comedy in what had occured.

An hour or two later I arrived at the internet cafe, which is where I am now. As I reached the top of the steps and was about to pass through the sliding doors into the comic book/net cafe, I saw my umbrella on the ledge upon which I left it yesterday. I was so surprised. I felt this spoke volumes about the nature of Japanese people. I didn't pick it up though. I will get it later.