In 1986, Izu Oshima's Mt. Mihara erupted, sending a plume of lava a mile high and a kilometer wide roaring into the sky. All of the island's ten thousand frightened inhabitants were evacuated, including the ALT positioned on the island. Dozens of boats, both military and civilian, assisted in the exodus. Typhoons have wreaked destruction on a massive scale here, sending waves up to twenty feet high over the sea walls, destroying vehicles and homes alike. Earthquakes are commonplace, as are tsunamis. On this island of calamities, one question stands tall above all others:
What the hell am I going to do when I'm stuck at a desk for nine hours a day?
Just watched Spider-Man in Japanese. Mom’s coming in tomorrow. This evening I just saw the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen in a while. On Oshima, a few minutes after the sun sets, there’s a period of about three minutes where the entire sky explodes into color. I haven’t seen anything like it anywhere else in the world.
Life is good.
I tried to get on the jetfoil to help mom get in, but unfortunately the ships were canceled due to the insane wind and waves. My neighbor told me that one of the teachers got stuck at sea on the jetfoil for four hours, and everyone was getting horribly sick. Glad I wasn’t there.
So mom’s on the ship alone right now. I hope she sleeps through the ride and doesn’t eat too much jet lag — especially since I reserved the ticket weeks ago and I still couldn’t get her a reserved spot. She has to sleep on the floor.
Damn, I’m tired. I just wanted to get something up here.
I just had one of the more awesome nights ever. We went to a Brazilian bar in Roppongi that was closing down, and they offered up a 3000 yen all you can eat/drink for the last night. It was unreal. My camera got passed around like a two-dollar hooker, so I might post pictures here, but I’m afraid my family might have heart attacks.
I began my post last Thursday;; my apologies for the anachronistic nature of it.
It seems like the Internet Monster ate my last post — it evidently decided to interpret my clicking on the “Save” button as “I want to delete this”, which really sucks because it was long and all about my insane birthday weekend.
I’ll just sum it up, instead, because I really don’t feel like writing it again. Went to Tokyo, got my new camera, met friends, ate Mexican Food, went to Womb (the club from Babel), had a run-in with a yakuza with missing fingers and crazy tattoos, met a lot of new people, and bought matching running shoes with someone.
Anyway, Rebecca’s been here, and it’s been quite a nostalgic time for her. She’s my predecessor, and as such, it’s gotta be kind of weird for her to be staying in my apartment, since it used to be her’s. She had a hell of a day yesterday though — she helped teach a class, went swimming in the ocean, ran 5k with Mr. Iwase, went to the onsen and met a writer for Lonely Planet. Afterwards, we played volleyball and ate yakitori.
Speaking of volleyball, it’s kinda turned into Baby Hour, since four different people in the volleyball club had babies within a few months of each other. Babies EVERYWHERE… But they’re cute, I like them, and, most importantly, I don’t have to take care of them, so they are tolerated.
This morning, I woke up to a disaster siren. I still don’t know what that was about. I figured if it was anything too important (specifically involving lava or that little nagging “Great Tokai Earthquake”), someone would knock on my door.
Anyway, I guess I’ll try and recap as much as possible from the weekend:
My Vice Principal was nice enough to let me go an hour early so I could catch the boat on Friday, so I hopped onto the jetfoil and, after a pretty interesting conversation with a Japanese farmer, popped into Takeshiba port and made my way to Shibuya, where I checked into my capsule hotel.
Capsule hotels are one of my favorite things about Japan; they’re somewhere between bunk beds and beehives, and they’re really comfortable and surprisingly private. When you check in, you put your cash into a machine, which spits out a ticket, and you hand that ticket to the man behind the counter. You remove your shoes and step up onto the platform, and the man hands hands you a key for the shoe locker. Unsurprisingly, you put your shoes in there, return the key to him, and he gives you a wristband-key for your main locker. You go up to the second floor on the extremely small elevator, and try to cram all of your things into the tiny locker. You then change into the capsule hotel’s signature super-thin robe (even though there’s security cameras watching you at all times — nudity just isn’t a big deal here).
From there, you step back into the cramped elevator and make your way to the third floor, where there is a public bath with a hot tub, sauna, cold bath, and showers. Public bathing is a big thing in Japan — people love getting naked with each other, their kids, or with whomever, and soaking in giant tubs. Back before America started pimping their culture on Japan after World War II, the bathing was completely co-ed. Now that we’ve forced our Christian morality on them, they’re exactly how God intended them to be — separated and scared of people with different genitals.
Anyway, after your bath, you shower off again and take the elevator to any one of the eight floors of capsules. You check the number on your rubber wristband, and match it to the numbers on the different doors, and then you make your way through the mazes of little pods. They’re stacked two high, and have a three foot circular opening on the front. They’re a really neutral shade of beige, and quite boring. Once you’ve found your pod, you either crawl into it or climb into it, and you are greeted by pristine white sheets and blankets over a futon. You don’t really have enough room to move around (or sit up), so you generally don’t go in there until you’re ready to go to sleep. There’s a TV molded into the plastic ceiling, and there’s a control panel that’s nearly as confusing as those on Japanese toilets. You can adjust everything from to the music to the lighting and climate in the pod from the comfort of your bed.
ahh, home sweet home…
In a shocking deviation from the usual “Do I really need a button to play music while I’m on the toilet?” bountiful nature of Japanese technology, there’s only one “channel change” button and it circulates amongst the twelve channels available. All of the channels display one of the three most important segments of Japanese culture — the Game Show, the Cooking Show, or the Infinitely Bad Pornography. Considering there’s not too much to do in a capsule, it’s easy to sleep (as long as you can ignore the drunk and snoring businessmen), and you have the satisfaction of knowing that you’re not wasting more space than you need to. For thirty-five bucks, it’s about as good of a deal as you can get in Tokyo.
From there I got a text message from Paulette and she got me to come out with her and her friends. Because I took the metro line, I was at Shinjuku-Sanchome Station, which is several blocks east of Shinjuku Station. I called Paulette.
Me: “Where are you guys?”
Paulette: “We’re on the east side of the station.”
Me: “Where on the east side? It’s really big.”
Paulette: “Well… We’re sort of… Uhh… Do you know where the ABC Mart is?”
Me: “How about I call you when I get to the station?”
Paulette: “Yeah, good idea.”
So I took the ten minute walk to the east side of the station and make the call.
Me: “Okay, so where are you now?”
Her: “We’re at the entrance to Sakura street.”
Me: “Where’s that?”
Her: “Well, we can see the Epson sign from here.”
Me: “So are you under the Epson sign?”
Her: “No… It’s kind of far.”
For those unfamiliar with Shinjuku, the Epson sign sort of dominates the skyline in a several kilometer radius. At this point I sort of got agitated and decided to ask directions. I started walking, and there my destination was: a full block and a half from my starting point of Shinjuku-Sanchome Station. I was in too good of a mood to be bothered by this delightful twist of irony, so I didn’t bring it up.
Paulette’s friends seemed to be pretty cool. One of the guys, Zac, seemed to be allergic to Paulette though, as he kept on getting hurt around her to such an extreme that I’m unconvinced that his trip to America wasn’t just to get away from her. This was made even funnier the next day, when Paulette called me and told me that he bashed his head on something while helping her, requiring much stopping of blood. His mother will be thrilled.
Anyway, we headed to the Hub Pub that night — a bar that has way too many locations in Tokyo — and caught up with Paulette while drinking a pint of Tokyo’s finest. Specifics are a bit hazy, but I remember heading outside and Zac searching for food. We walked up to one of the unmistakable red kebab stands.
Kebab stands in Tokyo are as plentiful as all the fast food restaurants combined in America. You can’t go a block without running into one, and they all serve crazy good food. They also all have these spinning towers of delicious looking meat that are dripping with some unknown yet appetizing brown glaze.
Him: “This looks pretty awesome. Do you want any?”
Me: “I dunno, I’m really full. I guess I’ll have a bite.”
Me: “Good lord that’s tasty… Paulette, you wanna split one?”
Her: “Nah, I’m not hungry. I’d probably spew if I ate that.”
Me: “Then can I borrow 150 yen?”
After shaving some meat off the tower, he stuffed it into a pita with lettuce and tomato, and then covered the whole thing in a white sauce and handed it to me.
Paulette: “Give me a bite.”
Me: “Here ya go.”
Paulette: “I MUST HAVE ONE.”
So one by one we fell victim to the contagious “kebab lust”. So is life in Tokyo. We all parted ways and took our respective trains back to our districts. I got off the train, weaved my way across Hachiko Crossing, and up the hill past the iconic Shibuya 109, eventually landing at my capsule hotel.
The next day I woke up and headed to an internet cafe, where I scouted out a Mexican restaurant for the birthday feast. I found a place called “Salsiatas” near Hiro-o station, and it looked pretty good, so I jumped on a train and made my way there. I made reservations for eight people, which they said they’d really have to squeeze in, and gave Paulette a call. She said that she was going to the Brazilian festival in Yoyogi park (they like to have international fests there every other weekend — last time I went it was Jamaican). This sounded like a really great idea, so we decided to meet up one stop over where she was. She said, “I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at the West Entrance of Ebisu.” About twenty-five minutes later, I get a call from her telling me to come to the gates, and we jumped on the train to Harajuku to meet up with her friend John.
To put it mildly, Harajuku is a very, very weird place. People in strange costumes posing with tourists dominate the scene, and wildly dressed up-and-coming bands slam out power ballads on their instruments and professional-grade amps in order to promote new albums and club tours. They don’t accept handouts, either, which is a really refreshing and seemingly professional difference between these guys and bands back home. Here, it’s all about the publicity.
We climbed the stairs that connect Yoyogi Park with the area where the festival was being held. I could smell the inordinate amount of seasoned beef cooking from all the way over here, and was starting to get pretty hungry. John was waiting at the top for us.
We all headed down into the yellow and green-clad crowd, where people were kicking soccer balls around, eating Brazilian food, and playing capoeira. The pop music from the stage across the festival contrasted pretty harshly with the rhythms of the berimbau from the capoeira. We ate lots of meat, met with lots of new people, and had a blast.
A bit later on, I headed back to Harajuku proper to search for some shoes (I only brought sandals with me in hopes of ditching them). So I did the unthinkable: I, Tyler, the whitest guy you’ll ever meet, bought a pair of Pumas. The leather kind. Screw you — it was my birthday. Anyway, it was time to get back to the group. I called Paulette again, and she told me that she had crossed over into Yoyogi Park, so I jumped the fence next to the sidewalk, and made my way through the trees. Amazingly, they were right on the other side (Yoyogi Park is a pretty big place.)
From there, we all went to Salsitas, and had a great time that I can’t really describe without pictures, so I’m going to wait until I get home to do it. Stay tuned for Part Two!
I just realized I’m going to Tokyo tomorrow and I haven’t done my laundry. Laundry is a funny thing here, because it’s so humid that you can put your clothes outside on a bright sunny day to dry, and they will still be damp in the evening. That drives me effing bananas sometimes.
But yeah, I’m leaving for Tokyo, which should be awesome because it’s my birthday on Saturday and good things happen on birthdays. Well, good things happen on birthdays except last year’s, when there was a typhoon and I went swimming and almost got killed and then had to board up my apartment. That sucked. This year will be better though, since I’m completely stoked about going to Shibuya. I’ve decided Shibuya is my favorite place in the universe by the way. Maybe after the next Kanto earthquake I’ll move there.
Oh yeah, on Tuesday Rebecca will be coming to Oshima. She’s my predecessor, so this should be a pretty good, nostalgic time for everyone. Unfortunately, this means I have to clean the hell out of my not-so-clean apartment this evening. Oh well, anything to get me off of my ass.
Classes went well for the most part today. I’m falling in love with my students all over again, and I’m really glad that I’m here for another year. Intern girl has loosened up a lot, and has decided to help me study my kanji by writing down anything I ask on the whiteboard that shares her desk. The vice principal gets a little bit too happy whenever he sees me studying Japanese. At least I know how to get out of hot water with him. But yeah, today’s the first day that I’ve even remotely considered recontracting for a third year. I’m really good at teaching! But a LOT of unforseeable extremely good things would have to happen to make that occur. I place the odds firmly at 10%.
So due to my birthday madness, I won’t be posting over the next few days unless I manage to sleaze my way into an internet cafe in Tokyo. Don’t panic and assume that I’m dead. Or do, if it makes your life more interesting. I’ll have my camera as soon as I buy it from the guy in Tokyo tomorrow. Rock on!
Or so said one of my students in a writing exercise yesterday. I love those accidental not-so-innocent comments. Especially when they come from the shy girl who rarely talks. Anyway, Oshima is really kicking into high gear now that school is back in session. I think that’s one of the reasons why I’m finding it so easy to blog right now; if I get too bored, I’ll get paralyzed by the boredom and not do a damned thing. Now I have some forward momentum, and can take Japanland head-on again.
I’m back at the north school, Oshima HS, which has a much different feel than Kayou Koukou. At Oshima, there’s no students hanging out in the staff room shooting the shit with the teachers, kids aren’t sleeping on the couches in the hallway, the sounds of electric guitar and drums aren’t a constant assault on your ears, and everyone just seems a little bit more tired and depressed. KK is a school for kids with behavioral issues, but I’ll be damned if I don’t identify with the kids there a whole lot more. Their English level is pretty darned good, and they’re eager to get up and interact, but also really eager to get distracted and give me a lot of hell.
But I’d rather take the hell than have to do what I do at Oshima HS everyday. Today I was teaching a class on the Olympics, and where everyone at the previous school was imitating athletes and being super fun about it, I struggled to extract even the slightest response from my students today. Seriously; it was like trying to feed a ringing alarm clock to a cat.
Me (hand raised): “Please raise your hand if you watched the Olympics.”
Them: …
Me: “Okay, please raise your hand if you DIDN’T watch the Olympics.”
Them: …
Me: “Fine. Yuki, what sports did you watch during the Olympics?”
Yuki (shocked, pointing to herself in disbelief): …
Me: “Yes, you. What is your favorite Olympic sport?”
Yuki (shaking her head, eyes wide like I’m about to kill her dog): …
Me: “Yuki, answer me or I’ll rip your arms off.”
Yuki: “Eigo shabenai. (I don’t know English)”
…and so on, for the next fifty minutes. If you’ve ever gotten angry at your dog and started yelling at it, only to have it look at you confused, cock its head to the side, and then walk away, you have an idea of what this was like. Every Wednesday morning this ritual repeats itself, and every Wednesday I pray to whatever’s up there that there will be at least one troublemaker in the class that day to shake things up. Alas, none. It’s a class full of silent, robotic, unresponsive Japanese kid-drones.
Mind you, their inability to answer “Yes” or “No” questions, even after I translate them into Japanese, is after four full years of English language education. They’re all incompetent due to no fault of their own, but rather the system’s for drilling English grammar and vocabulary until the cows come home. Unfortunately, this system isn’t going to change anytime soon, and any school that doesn’t have an ALT gets the same “Sunshine English” or “Expressions” textbook approach of listening to a CD and filling in the blanks, or rearranging sentences, or repeating after the teacher’s terrible accent.
Sorry, I could go on forever about how unbelievably shitty the Japanese foreign language acquisition program is, and there’s lots of articles out there about that already, so I’ll spare you that.
We did get a new Vice Principal today, though. I saw him yesterday at KKHS. Unfortunately I didn’t recognize him the second time, so I succumbed to the dreaded “Double Hajimemashite” (the equivalent of saying “nice to meet you” to someone twice). Doing that showed that I’m a terrible foreigner who can’t tell the difference between Japanese people. It’s going to be a fun year with this guy.
When I saw him yesterday, he was with the principal of Oshima HS, but they were in KKHS for some odd reason. Then something altogether unexpected happened: all within one frame of vision, I saw all of my vice principals and principals from both schools in the same place at the same time. I thought my eyeballs would melt Raiders of the Lost Ark style due to the sheer volume of concentrated evil in the room. I had to go back to the staff room.
Later on, I was walking across the skyway between the two buildings of the school and caught a glimpse into the Principal’s office, which resembles a board room in Hell, and saw all of the administrators around the table inside. It not-so-subtly reminded me of a comic book den of evil villians plotting and scheming about how best to take over the world.
Anyway, I need to go — I have a lot of important daydreaming and not working to catch up with.
