life on a stratovolcano ^{oshima edition}

Saturday I woke up to the wonderful news that a typhoon was going to strike my lovely little island, so I took the liberty of sleeping through the day. Unfortunately, I was rudely awakened by my cell phone ringing from the kitchen. I decided not to answer it, but the damn thing rang for more than five minutes.

Me: “Mmhm… Hello?”
Voice: “Where the hell are you? You were supposed to pick me up!”
Me: “There’s a typhoon outside, but ok.”

It was our good friend Baraq Stein, whom I had promised the previous Thursday that I would pick up. Salvation from horrible dorm food, I suppose. I drove all the way to the other side of the island, fording makeshift rivers that the torrential rain had created, and grabbed his ass. We went and had some lunch at this great little restaurant that is built like an American log cabin, and then headed to my house, where I proceeded to crash for five more hours. Fortunately, Baraq was content to have the internet.

I took him home, and we stopped by the sea to experience the wrath of the storm firsthand. Got a pretty funny video of it, but it’s on Baraq’s camera. I’ll see if I can get it from him.

So I woke up the next day, after another nine-and-a-half hours of sleep, and decided to go for a run (one week until the race!), so I started down the road to the port.

As soon as I left my house, I was assailed by… Sunshine? And warmth?? What was the meaning of this?! Due to the recent unholy weather, I was completely surprised to find the clearest day that I had experienced thus far on Oshima. As I rounded the trees, the full splendor unveiled itself: Mount Fuji, covered in snow. I was shocked; I had never seen a day so clear here. It was as if there was unlimited visibility. This must have been what it was like back before the horrible pollution of Tokyo ravaged the area. I basked in this for a while, stretching in a park by the water.

I continued my run, and as I was passing by the bus station, I noticed a gaijin around my age sitting there with a backpack. I ran past him a bit, and after a few mantras of “please, for the love of god, speak English,” I turned around.

Me: “Hey”
Him: “Sup”

Score!

I started to talk with him, and it turned out that he was backpacking across Japan with his girlfriend. Evidently he had taken the wrong bus and ended up clear on the opposite end of the island from where he was supposed to. They said they were going to camp, so I did what any supremely nice and self-sacrificing person would do: offer up someone else’s house for them to stay at.

Me: “I have a friend who runs a ryokan here for fifteen bucks a night.”
Them: “Sweet.”

So I took them up to the Gus’ house, and saw that he was preparing a massive pot of boiling stuff, and on the table was a receipt for the equivalent of about $150. I then remembered waking up, answering my cell phone, him inviting me to a party, and then falling back asleep. Nice!

I took them up around the volcano and the onsen, and then returned to Gus’ house for the party. We had stocked up on beer and shochu, and were ready to party! I slid the door out of the way, and took a survey of the guests: “Gus, crazy girl 1, crazy girl 2, fishing guy, other fishing guy, middle school teacher, police officer… Uh-oh.” Crouched in the corner, texting on their cell phones, were not one, not two, but three of the student council members in my high school. “This might lead to trouble,” I thought.

Fortunately, though, they were too wrapped up in their cell phones and the big pot of food to even notice my copious consumption of alcohol. I popped the lid off the food pot, and saw a huge and delectable assortment of what appeared to be a wide variety of delicious and interesting foods.

Appearances, as they tend to be, were deceiving, as every single piece of food in that pot was some sort of fish cake. I’m not talking about “fish stick” type fish cakes either, but rather a gelatinous substance scraped from the bowels of hell. These guys ate it up, and while they were as delicious as a gelatinous ball of fish can be, I prefer just about anything else. Once again, forgot my camera, no pictures.

The next day we traveled all around the island, enjoying potato cakes, climbing all over someone we met’s boat, and eating food on the aforementioned person’s tab. It was awesome. I tried kusaya (stink fish) for the first time, and, to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. Abalone is awesome, too.

During dinner Gus and our host, Chibi, were discussing the rest of the night’s plans:

Gus: I thinks we should take them to the “Ghost Hotel”
Chibi: No! No do that! That place is bad spirits!
Americans (in unison): Cooooooooool…
Chibi: I tell you, don’t go ghost hotel!
Gus: No, it’s ok. Not dangerous.

They went back and forth like this for a while, but we had already made up our minds. Would you honestly pass up a chance to go to the abandoned “ghost hotel”?

After a twenty minute drive up Miharayama, we came upon the creepiest looking building I’ve ever seen. Every window was broken and jagged, and plants grew in. The complex looked quite large from the outside, but without daylight it was very difficult to tell exactly how big it was.

We entered through the first floor, which was around the left side. What we saw inside set the mood for the night:

There was a huge pile of clothing that was at least twenty-five years old lying on the floor. We would have to crawl across it to get into the hotel. This place reminded me of every horror movie I’ve ever seen, and seeing the clothes of the victims piled up like this didn’t help too much. We continued into the next room, and I know I keep reiterating this, but it was straight out of a horror movie. The ceilings were all torn down, and the walls all had holes in them. Every bit of metal was rusted. If you’ve ever seen the movie “Silent Hill,” picture the school after the changing and you’ve got a perfect mental image. We headed into the kitchen cautiously, the dripping of water from the previous day’s typhoon echoing through the halls.

Left to right, Gus, Ben, Alex, Sabrina. Apologies to the awful picture of everyone. I promise, these are actually beautiful people.
The weirdest part about the kitchen was how intact all of the dishes were — seriously, you could rinse out a bowl and eat out of it (come to think of it, those were pretty nice bowls… I’ll have to make a trip back).
Dodging all manner of rusty and devious dangling devices, we made our way to a staircase. I think the most used sentence of the night was “Why don’t you go first?” Unfortunately, I was the one elected this time, and ended up stumbling upon a rather frightening spectacle:

Please take the time to notice the pair of slippers, the ash tray, and the flashlight sitting in front of him. I swear I thought these were charred human remains at first.
Anyway, this place used to be an onsen before it was abandoned, so we headed to the steam room, which looked (and felt) like the top to a medieval dungeon.

The ceiling was really cool though.

The sinks outside, however, looked like something out of Saw.

And the hotel is in desperate need of new curtains (aren’t they spooky?)

So we headed down the hallway, entirely too creeped out by the rest of it. Unfortunately, it was a very long hallway, with very creepy hotel rooms every few feet:

We ended up, however, in what used to be a huge ballroom, which now has a seriously deteriorating floor that was rotting and really easy to accidentally step through (it seemed like the floor grabbed me the first time). Notice the strange orbs in the picture. I took 5 pictures in this room, and only this one came out with any orbs at all. Click the picture for super-high-detail.

Anyway, we hurried out as it was getting really late, and made our way down the stairs.

Definitely will be back to pick up more dishes. Happy Halloween everyone!

P.S., some of my students gave me a fruit with a Jack-o-Lantern drawn on it and a hangy-Halloween thing. They are officially the most awesome.

P.P.S. , I cooked pork burgers tonight for the aformentioned students, and they were awesome as well.

-Tyler

I was playing “Simon Says” today with my class, which was a huge hit, as it was a break in monotony from the reviewing for the TOEIC Exam (If they pass, they get to go to Saipan with the school). Unfortunately, I don’t have any “After” pictures, but here’s a “Before.”

See what I have to live with?

Don’t believe the hype: Japanese students are NOT better than American students. I’ve seen feral cats that listen more than these kids.

As I was reminded today, there’s a lot of unintentionally hilarious conversation that goes on when things get lost or confused in translation. The specific instance I am referring to is when I made a student go to the front to play as “Simon”. He paused for a few seconds, and shouts, “Simon says touch your nani nani.” (Nani means “What?” or “Help me out here!”). Of course, the third-grader in me seized control of my body and both myself and Baraq (the American exchange student here) started cracking up.

Juvenile? Maybe. Funny? Definitely. You’d laugh too if the only response that you normally get from this student is the top of their head and a puddle of drool on their desk.

So I started thinking about times that I’ve mixed words up, and remembered a particularly awkward situation about a month into my tenure. I was invited over to a neighbor’s house for dinner, as she wanted me to teach some English to her children. Over and over again, I was saying “Ie wa totemo kirai desu!” Which I thought meant “Your house is ‘beautiful’,” but of course meant something completely different. You see, the Japanese have this system that I’m sure was devised to embarrass the hell out of foreigners trying to learn the words, where they might change a single sound to make something mean essentially the opposite of what you intended to say. So instead of saying “kirei,” (pronounced ‘key-ray-ee’) I said “kirai” (key-rah-ee). Essentially, when I meant to say, “Your house is the most beautiful,” I of course ended up saying “Your house is the most dislikable, disgusting trash dump in all of Japan, and possibly the world.”

I didn’t realize why they seemed put off at the time.

After consulting my phrasebook, I apologized vigorously, and they thought it was absolutely hilarious, but I still think that they hold that incident against me. Especially when I followed up with this when I saw her baby:

Me: “Aww, totemo kowai desu!”
The Mother: (wide-eyed and obviously offended stunned silence)

The vowel confusion strikes once again. If I was more knowledgeable about the Japanese knowledge, I would have said “kawaii,” (ca-why-ee) which means “cute,” but instead I said “kowai” (co-why-ee), or, directly translated, “Your baby is very frightening.”

Two strikes.

Luckily, the rest of the evening transpired without incident, but let that serve as a warning to those of you coming to Japan, especially future JETs =)

Anyway, I’ve been asked to dance in the bunka-sai (culture festival) here at my school, and I’m considering it. They heard that I was playing tuba for the other school’s bunka-sai, so I guess they figured that they get me for something here as well. Show off the gaijin! Too bad I won’t be able to practice except for today, as I’m leaving for Kansai on Saturday! I only recently realized that I’ve only left this island twice since coming here, and one of those times was to go to another island!

I’ll keep you updated and see if I can squeeze another post in in the meantime.

Ok, so somehow I got to talking with Iwase sensei on Tuesday, and somehow he conned me into running in the island’s relay race. A team of five runs between the different towns on the island, and I’m stuck with the Nomushi-Motomatchi route, which is a blessedly short 2.4 kilometers (or, about a mile and a half). This may seem very easy compared to the others, who have to run 6-7k. Unfortunately, my 2.4k is all uphill. Like, seriously uphill. Iwase has also placed a demand on me to do it in a maximum of eleven, but preferably ten minutes. I have exactly thirty days from today to prepare for this race. I’m going to run an 8k to Fudeshima (a cool rock spire in the ocean) and back today. Considering how out of shape I am, I really hope I stay conscious the whole time.

Did I mention that Iwase is 62 years old? And that he ran the Boston Marathon recently? His 6k was 28 minutes last year. I can’t let this guy beat me!

So it seems that I have a new hobby for the time being. At least it’s healthier than not doing anything. On a side note, I’m no longer rocketing the volleyball fifty feet into the air when I hit it. Hey, it’s a start.

There was a level 2 earthquake here this past weekend. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, until I saw stuff rattling around in my apartment. It felt like someone grabbed my computer chair and started rocking it. Honestly, I thought someone had snuck up behind me in my own house. It was a little bit freaky!

Also, I taught little Mario-san here how big English words break down into root words. She learned “antidisestablishmentarianism” today. I’m so proud.

I’ll keep you updated on my progress.

…Because I think that keeping up really long, thought-out posts is difficult. I’ll write part, and then put off the rest until later. So from now on my posts will mostly be pretty short, but daily-ish. Long story short, Derek is gone, the new ALT Alex is here, Baraq Stein is in a really crappy position, and I have to use two different cell phones with two different networks in order to have a hope of getting a connection in my house.

Also, I ran some breakdancing lessons at the school. Some of the classes REALLY got into it, others were very ambivalent. For the record, nothing is funnier than watching girls in school uniforms hit breaks. Also for the record: Japanese school girl uniforms were definitely designed by some fetishist, as they’re essentially sailor outfits with short skirts (and when I say short, I mean short. Their mandated skirt lengths are SHORTER than the MINIMUM length of skirts at my high school in the US). They also like to wear “Playboy” brand stuff. That makes the whole situation even funnier.

I’ve also realized how fortunate I am due to the lack of large venomous insects at my apartment. Walking up to Alex’s place is kind of like visiting a spider zoo. There are two kinds of spiders here: the lightning-quick tarantula-type and the slow but threatening black-widow type. The black-widow type are super-brightly colored (anything that bright has to be poisonous) and build webs. I haven’t seen any of the scary-ass tarantula types in webs yet, but they move fast as hell so I think I like them less.

I had pretty bad weather this past weekend. It sucked because I was supposed to go to Niijima (one of the other islands) for a music festival, but the waves were too big.

Here’s where this post ends and another begins — I wrote this one over the course of a few days, old-style, and figured I might as well go ahead and post it. There’s some redundancy with the one you just read, but here goes anyway.

“Looks like my posting’s becoming a weekly affair — I’m definitely going to need to get on the ball a bit more. I’ve been stupid busy over the past week, as school’s really gotten rolling (though I’m not sure why I’m busy… I don’t actually teach all that much.)

SUNDAY: Derek bounced to Hokkaido (sad times), and his replacement is a guy named Alex. Alex went to UCLA, and he seems like a cool human being. As soon as I remember what his blog address is, I’ll link it on the right. Initially I was freaking out a little bit, since Interac doesn’t have the best track record for hiring people that aren’t completely socially broken, but fortunately Alex broke the mold. We’re gonna bring a bit of American-ness to Oshima, and more than likely have our own reality show on MTV. And everyone who leaves a comment (or sends a care package) will get to be on it *nudge nudge*.

MONDAY: I finally got sick and tired of my damn cell phone not working in my house, so I skipped out of work early and headed to Do Co Mo (the cell phone shop). I went home first, though, to get my phone, and saw a package (yipee!) My awesome girlfriend sent me an awesome care package. +10 points!

Anyway, at the shop the twenty-something girl that sold me my phone was being extremely helpful by staring at my phone and frowning, and then staring in the direction of my apartment and frowning. She doesn’t speak a word of English, so we had to communicate with my retarded Japanese.

(Everything in Japanese):

Me: Uhh, what is it do?
Her: I think we should go to your house.
Me: What?
Her: Do you have a car? You drive.

Naturally, I got a bit nervous, due in no small part to the aforementioned awesome girlfriend. I’d heard of these crazy Japanese types before that corner you in your house and won’t leave. Anyway, I agreed, and we sat in silence the entire way, except when I asked her a rather awkward “where are you from?”

Me: “Doko kara kimashita ka?”
Her: “Oshima desu.”
Me: “Oh.”

The silence resumed.

At about 3:45 We pulled into my driveway, and she started running tests of the phone. I was fascinated by this, as she never actually entered my house. Houses in America are very different than houses in Japan. Unless you’re really specifically invited in with a specific set of words (which I didn’t realize to do), they automatically assume that they shouldn’t enter. This was just fine for me, as it reassured me that she wasn’t going to try and jump my bones. She simply yelled at me through my house to carry out the tests. All this, to no avail. The funny thing is, if you step literally two inches from my apartment, your cell phone will get full service. My apartment is a black hole. After she left, I decided it was time to take a nap.

*ding dong*

My apartment’s doorbell woke me up. It was 6:30, and I was severely underclothed. “Chotto matte o kudasai!” I yelled, as I threw on some pants. I opened the door, and Do Co Mo Lady was standing there, in casual clothes.

Uh-oh.

Then, very uncharacteristically she asks if she can come in.

Uh-oh.

I think for a second about an exit strategy.
Hmm, I can’t fake getting a call on my cell phone. Wait! I have Pictures of the girlfriend; that should do it.
She takes her shoes off, says the obligatory ritual words that you always say when you enter someone’s house, and reaches into her bag. Unexpectedly, she starts going to work. She’s grabbing all sorts of electronic gadgets and phones and antennas out of a Do Co Mo bag that she brought with her. She’s working at a hundred miles a minute, searching every square inch of the apartment for reception. Finally, she finds a small spot on the porch, on the upper-right corner of my door.

“Koko!” she shouted. I came outside, and sure enough, there was a signal.

She wanted to mount an antenna on the door, but funnily enough, with all those gadgets, she didn’t bring so much as a piece of scotch tape. She motioned to me to find something to stick it to the door with. My thoughts snapped to the massive amount of BluTak that I have (the sticky stuff that teachers use to hold up posters), and I made a big ball of it. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t stick to the door. Next, I found a roll of packing tape, but it wouldn’t stick to the glass.

Suddenly, she grabs the packing tape from me, and proceeds to wrap it all the way around the door. Amazingly, she successfully mounted the antenna with tape that wouldn’t stick to the surface she was trying to stick it to. At 7:00 at night (the sun sets at 5:30 here). Points for Japanese work ethic.

During this, I throw some tea on the stove. She evidently sees this as an invitation to stay, as she sits down. More awkward silence ensues, and eventually we start a sort of informal English/Japanese lesson. She ends up becoming very talkative and laid back. She stays for two hours, at the end of which she reverts to Do Co Mo Lady again.

TUESDAY: I decide to mix it up a little and make today an “American Culture” day. I bring my laptop and speakers to school and ask my teachers to make announcements in homerooms that everyone in our classes are going to meet in the Judo room (every school has one, it’s like high school wrestling here). I proceed to teach three hour-long break-dancing lessons in a row. As it turns out, Japanese school girl uniforms are not conducive to break-dancing. Hilarity ensues. On a side note, I am almost certain that the school uniforms here for girls were designed by some fetishist, as the mandatory skirt length is about four inches shorter than dress code even allows in an American high school.

Gus invites Alex and I over for dinner. I’m not really sure what Gus’ real name is, but I know the nickname came from “No Gas,” as in he’s always broke. Tonight, however, he prepared a huge feast for Alex, myself, and two girls. Oddly enough, Gus started playing old tapes of American pro wrestling, circa 2002. Learned a new word today: “shoppa,” which means “salty,” and it’s what you use to describe terrible acting.”