J125 Saturday August 25th
Saturday was busy, as always, but it went by fast. One of my classes is a free conversation with a businessman for an hour. It's a really interesting class, because I learn a lot about Japanese life from him. We talk about everything, sports, nature, science, current events, whatnot. I've had many informative conversations with him, though none spring to mind now. It's raining as I write this, and storms always make me a little fuzzy.
Saturday night was split between two gatherings. One of the part-time teachers at my company was throwing a BBQ party on Ose beach. After work, I headed home and cleaned up. I've come to relish my semi-daily cold shower after work. It helps wash away the sweat and grit of teaching, and refreshes and invigorates me. Plus, it helps me cool down, which is always nice. I headed back out after an hour or so to Ose beach, where a small crowd had gathered.
Several students were there. Soon after I arrived my manager and some of the other teachers and staff showed up. The organizer of the party had bought tremendous amounts of meat and beer, and returned with the latter a few minutes after I got to the beach.
Someone had purchased some cheap gas lanterns. They were predominantly plastic, how they didn't melt I will never know, and whilst being lit they gave off the dizzying smell of burning polycarbon. The source of the smell was not the body of the lantern, as I had assumed, but rather some plastic loops to which price tags had been attached. One lantern didn't quite work correctly, and its fire got almost out of control. My students and I quickly doused it with the best fire-retardant system we had available; the ocean. The three other lanterns worked quite nicely, thankfully, though still there lingered the smell of burning plastic.
Two small grills had been set up, using large chunks of Japanese charcoal. We set about cooking the meat that had been purchased. The teachers started, but I grabbed a clean pair of chopsticks (someone had purchased a huge bag of some 500 pairs) and assisted. Turning and shepherding the roasting meat as best I could. In the dark of night it was sometimes difficult to judge the meat's done-ness, but thanks to some small flashlights, including my ever-useful (but dying) keychain LED flashlight, we did okay. My coworker had prepared some delicious (but different) Malaysian-style chicken to grill. I enjoyed a few pieces, but the fact that the skin was still on *and* the pieces I got weren't cooked all the way through didn't endear it to me.
After a few hours of talking and grilling I decided to move on to G-Bros. Tonight was to be the final meeting for the Fuji group, and I needed to be there. I bid the gathered crowd farewell and headed back up the cliffside switchbacks to the main roads of Hitachi. I got to G-Bros quick enough, and was surprised to see Josh amongst the gathered Gaijin.
A few of the Gang discussed and planned Fuji, but most of the group was talking amongst themselves. As always, Josh and I struck up a geek-themed conversation. We covered our mutual love of comic books, including the ingenious (and apparently not dead) work of Warren Ellis, Nextwave.
Two or so hours after I'd arrived I called it a night. The schedule for transport had been arranged, with the people going to Fuji-san meeting at the train station the next day at 1:15PM. The plan was to arrive at Fuji after sunset and begin a night ascent, so as to see the sunrise from the top.
J126 Sunday August 26th
Today was to be the beginning of...something. I cannot adequately represent with words what transpired that day. I will report the facts, the events and their sequence, even my emotions and feelings, but understand that this was an experience that went beyond what I am. I would not say this "changed" me, but it did have a profound effect on me.
I was up and about early Sunday morning. I needed to purchase supplies for my trek up the mountain. I went to Sakura City, the other big department store in Hitachi; they have a big sports store, and that would probably suit my needs.
I found a good utility knife, a LED flashlight, a signal whistle, a good light jacket, a poncho, a really REALLY nifty Camelbak waterbottle, and to my utter amazement, Power Bars. I took my time looking through everything, making sure I wasn't spending too much or too little on my gear. This stuff was going to help me survive a very difficult journey, and I didn't want anything to crap out on me. The Power Bars, especially, were a treasure to find.
I purchased these items and then went down into the grocery store in Sakrua City's basement. I purchased a few bags of dried nuts and fruit, along with a small breakfast. I rode back home on my bike, eager to prepare. I ate my breakfast/lunch, showered, and packed my bag. I decided on the following for my gear:
1 single-strap backpack
1 750ml water bottle (filled, stored in backpack's bottle bag)
1 pair blue jeans (rolled up, stored in backpack's main pocket)
1 long-sleeved button up shirt (rolled up, stored in main pocket)
1 light jacket (rolled up in storage bag, stored in main pocket)
1 pair socks (stored in main pocket)
1 pair insulated gloves (stored in main pocket)
4 Power Bars (stored in main pocket)
1 Bag of Mixed Nuts (stored in main pocket)
1 Bag of Raisins (stored in main pocket)
8 AA Batteries (stored in backpack's small pocket)
1 LED Flashlight (stored in small pocket)
1 Signal Whistle (stored in small pocket)
1 Wallet (stored in small pocket)
1 Set of Keys (stored in small pocket)
1 Utility Knife (stored in small pocket)
1 Tengui (long handkerchief, stored in small pocket)
1 pair hiking shorts (worn)
1 t-shirt (worn)
1 straw hat (worn)
1 pair socks (worn)
1 pair shoes (worn)
1 belt (worn)
1 Casio QV-R62 Camera (worn on belt)
These, and only these, things I would bring with me. I managed to fit everything into my bag, somehow. It was weighty, but well-designed to distribute weight along my shoulders. I rode down to the station with a few minutes to spare, meeting up with the rest of the gang. Ascending the mountain were my coworker, M-sensei, Dan, Clive, myself, Erin, and Jeanie, who was already in Tokyo, having left earlier in the morning.
We took a local train to Tokyo, in communication with Jeanie several times. She had been working out the train schedules in situ in Tokyo, and was passing the info along to us. We were a little turned around after a while, but we managed to parse her instructions.
The train down to Tokyo was a local. By the time we got to the city it was already 4:30PM, and our respective morning meals were fond memories. We all were getting hungry, but knew that we couldn't stop for food, or else we'd miss trains. We all soved on.
We boarded an Express train from Tokyo to Kawaguchiko, one of the towns at the foot of Mt. Fuji. Aboard this train, which is laid out much like an airliner, I sat next to Dan. We enjoyed the slowly setting sun as the train sped along. I managed to procure a pork sandwich from the food cart, and Dan was kind enough to treat me to some Chu-Hai, a lemon liquor similar to beer, but not quite. Think lemon juice and light vodka. Very...interesting.
As we neared Kawaguchiko, mountains began to appear around us. Much taller than the ones in Hitachi, these cast bold shadows on the tiny, flat valleys between their sudden bulk. Mountains in Japan are very different than the ones in America. They start very quickly, seeming to spring out of the ground. The same was true here. The train tracks wound through mountain valleys, elevated above sleepy villages and towns. The sun, already low on the horizon, disappeared behind the tall mountains, darkening the world all the quicker.
When we arrived in Kawaguchiko, it was nearly 9PM. We'd spent almost 8 hours on trains that day, and were eager to stretch our legs. The train station at Kawaguchiko resembled a huge log cabin, made entirely out of wood in a style reminiscent of mountain lodges from the Alps. It almost seemed out of place, but it had just enough Japanese aesthetics such that it fit. It was fun to look at; like a magic eye picture before it resolved itself.
The platform itself was tiny, and there was no overpass for travelers to cross the tracks. You literally walked across the rails to get out of the station. There were cross guards, though, so you never ran the risk of getting hit by a train.
We decided to start from the 5th station, a tiny cluster of buildings and looped roads that was some halfway up the mountain. It's the starting point of nearly everyone who climbs the mountain. Mt. Fuji's base is clad in a dark, dense forest. Paths cut through it, but starting from the bottom adds nearly 5 hours to an ascent, and we wanted to see the sunrise from the top of the mountain. The fact that Fuji-san's forest is a favored spot for suicides helped our decision.
We found a bus, the last one in fact, from Kwawguchiko to the 5th station. We had about 30 minutes, so we prepared ourselves. We made use of the bathroom facilities and grabbed a quick dinner from the train station's gift shop, on the verge of closing and thus limited in food selection, and from a nearby 7-11.
Waiting for the bus we ate and drank in the dark. Sitting next to our group was a young man clad in a brown leather coat and sporting a massive afro of brown curls. I had spied him earlier in the train station, and he had helped us determine the bus schedule. I had yet to introduce myself, though, so after finishing my meal I did so.
His name was Harry. He was from England and was on vacation, having spent nearly a month in Japan on his own. He'd finished high school before coming, and wanted to see the world. His original plans had been to come with a cousin and spend 6 months, but his partner pulled out at the last minute, causing him to readjust his plans. His flight back home was in a few days, and this was the last major thing he'd do before going home.
He was a steampunk enthusiast. Being one myself, our kindling friendship virtually exploded as we fell into a jovial, Victorian mode of speech.
Our bus arrived and we all boarded. Harry and I chatted on about many a subject, technology, fiction, the internet, all of it tinged with steampunk and its tropes. It was as if we'd been friends forever, meeting after a long absence.
After a 30 minute bus ride, we arrived at the 5th station. The first thing I noticed was the cool air. Kawaguchiko was warm in the way Japanese nights tend to be; slightly sticky and close, like a thick blanket. Station 5 was noticeably cooler, so much so that I decided to change into my warmer weather gear. Station 5 consisted of a looping cul-de-sac, with the main road curving back down the mountain, and broader, dirt road arcing up. The circular road described an empty plaza, and to either side of the loop were buildings. The only one open at that time of night was a souvenir shop. Lots of Fuji related kitch could be purchased, including tall, octagonal walking sticks topped with bells. These were a common purchase for climbers. At each station one could purchase a brand that was stamped on the wood's surface. Climbers would leave their bells at the summit, as a testament to their conquest of the mountain.
I changed in the back of the souvenir shop where some coin lockers were located. A dozen or so other men and women, mostly Japanese but with a few foreigners mixed in, were changing. I joined in the festivities, such as they were, and soon sported my jeans instead of my shorts. I rejoined the group outside, and we started our climb.
Recall, reader, one of my favorite suggestions for doing things in Japan. Follow the crowd. Even at night, there were TONS of people climbing Mt. Fuji. Some were like us, small groups of casual hikers. Others looked like they were getting ready to tackle Everest, their massive camping backpacks bulging with gear and their hands tightly grasping one, sometimes two, walking sticks. High tech walking sticks. With lasers.
Harry and I walked together. I soon became separated from my group, but I wasn't particularly worried. There was really only one path up and down Mt. Fuji, and it was impossible to get turned around. We started out in the dead of night, the sun having set a few hours before. The moon was out, and almost full. The path was a stamped flat road of dirt and stones, curving gently around the wide base of the mountain.
Our first spectacular view was very soon into our climb. On our right was the mountain's ever-rising bulk. To our left was nothingness. The mountain fell sharply away from the path's edge, and we could see out into the cloudy, fog-covered valley below. Between two massive spurs of Mt. Fuji we saw the shimmering grid of a small town. Clouds clung to every inch of Mt. Fuji like a veil, obscuring its true size and shape from us. These same clouds also hid the fusion of the mountain to the Earth itself, giving the illusion that the mountain itself was somehow floating in a sea of clouds. Pale trees, curving out from the soil to the left, over empty space, and then sharply up toward the sky, looked like the ribs of a mighty beast in the light of the bright, coy moon.
Up we climbed. We kept pace with my group, but soon it stretched out. Clive, M-sensei, and Dan steamed ahead, whilst Harry and I walked at our own pace. Jeanie and Erin, though not together, were somewhere behind us.
Harry and I met another group of foreigners ascending. Truth be told, there were hundreds of climbers, but these stood out in that their geekishness shone out from the dark and synched with our own. The other group was led by a strapping young man about my age named Cash. I would later learn that he is employed by my own company, though we had never met before that night on the mountain. I cannot recall the names of the other three members. Liz, I think, was one of them. As was LaShay, though I cannot be certain. Hank was the last. These names could easily be erroneous, though.
We soon left the relative ease of the dirt road and came to the first of many switchbacks. Carved into the sides of the mountain is a dizzying array of zigzag pathways. Their sides are reinforced by bulwarks, some stacked stone, others fabricated steel and wire. The going soon got tough, though Cash, in one of the rare moments where we occupied the same relative space on the trail, assured us this was nothing. He had climbed Mt. Fuji before, and knew what lay ahead.
After an hour's worth of climbing, we made it to Station 6. Every station on Mt. Fuji is unique, but all of them provide some basic services. Toilets, which one must pay for, are provided, though the disposal measures leave much to be desired. Travel food and drinks are also provided, though they start immensely expensive and steadily grow moreso as one nears the top. Many of the stations have bunk houses, open spaces where a somewhat reasonable fee (around 5000 yen, or $50) gets you a tatami mat (90cm by 180cm, or 35in by 70) worth of space to sleep. Staff also lived in small houses, old-fashioned Japanese style houses heated by tiny wood fires, to man the booths and provide assistance, should the need arise.
It was another 100 minutes to the next station, so our small English-language map said. I downed a bottle of water to keep myself hydrated. Harry noticed my difficulty breathing, and purchased a bottle of oxygen for me. A long drag of pure O2 had me on my feet again.
Around this time, I think, it ceased to be Sunday, and was magically a Monday.
J126 Monday August 26th
Up we climbed. Endless upward motion. With every step I felt fatigue seep into my bones and muscles. As we climbed, we found other smaller substations where we could sit and rest.
Up we climbed. Meter after meter. With shocking suddenness the terrain switched from hard-packed dirt to volcanic rock. The bumpy, oddly smooth rock that flowed from the mountainside felt like stone wax as we scrambled up its sharp sides. My gloves came on soon after we hit volcanic rock, protecting my hands from both the cold and the jagged terrain.
By the time we reached the 7th Station I was having doubts as to whether or not I could finish this. To say I was tired was an overstatement. My backpack's weight pulled at my shoulder, and the cold quickly sapped my strength when I summoned it. Harry's words of encouragement, though helped me. I downed more air, as well as a power bar, and we resumed our climb.
Up we climbed. Soon my every move was painful. The muscles of my legs and abdomen were worked beyond my comfort limits. My stomach felt uncomfortable, so much so that keeping food down was a challenge. I knew my body needed nutrition, though, so I rationed my supplies and fed myself slowly.
The 8th Station. Rest and food. Up we climbed.
Before I had left the station the previous day, I had searched for information on Mt. Fuji, wondering what I would experience on the mountain. The Wikitravel entry for Mt. Fuji was very informative. I also looked at the Wikipedia entry, and one piece of information therein stuck out in my mind. The first known ascent of the mountain was done in 663A.D. by an unknown monk.
As I climbed, as my body protested and I thought semi-seriously of just stopping and laying down, I thought of him. Young, perhaps. Probably no older than me. He wore a homespun robe, with maybe an undershirt. Sturdy straw sandals wrapped around his feet, probably with stout socks. He may have had a short length of rope, but probably not. Maybe he had a little bottle of water carved from a bamboo shoot.
Alone. On this mountain. No, you can't call Mt. Fuji a mountain. It's beyond being labeled something so small. Mt. Fuji is...this thing. A monster. A beast. It's not vicious or cruel. It doesn't hunt. But it's almost incomprehensible. It is so big you can't see all of it; it hides itself. Bulges of rock and clouds hide its true size and shape from you.
Alone, straddling this monster, with no equipment. No stations to guide him. No path designed by brilliant young engineers or carved by strong young workers. No help. No one. Alone. On this monster.
I felt a fire, in me. It wasn't a big, passionate bonfire. It wasn't a blaze or an inferno. It was like a little candle. But, I knew, that it would never go out. Ever. It would gutter, and there would be times I felt like I would surely die from what I was doing. But every time I did, I saw that young monk in my mind's eye.
Alone. On this monster.
I picked up my right foot, and put it in front of my left one. It was all I could do, but it was enough.
Every step became torture, but I didn't care. I was beyond it. I knew that I could survive. I knew that I had already beaten the biggest enemy I had; myself. Only I could turn around. The mountain was there, it was just a big rock. It was a beautiful rock, born in titanic violence and filled with mysticism, but it was still a rock.
There is no 9th Station. It's called the Old 8th Station. By this time the sun was nearly up, and though we could finally see the summit from where we stood, we knew we couldn't make it in time. We would climb the mountain, Harry and I, but we wouldn't kill ourselves doing it. I ducked in to a small, heated hut and feasted on a cup of instant ramen. It was the same brand I'd lived on for my first few weeks here in Japan. It was made with hot water from a small electric heater. It was the most delicious food I have ever tasted.
I used the time in the hut to shed some layers and feel less bulky. After finishing my meal I suited up again. Harry had enjoyed the outdoors, resting himself as the other climbers walked by. When I exited, we continued.
Up we climbed. This was the steepest part of the trail. The mountain's slope had slowly increased in sheerness, like a tangent line on a graphing calculator. We had neared the summit, and the switchbacks became nearly vertical. The path alternated between switchback and stair, with some parts of the trail mercifully flat.
A few hundred meters above Old 8, Harry and I watched the sun rise. Out of a sea of white clouds, so thick they obscured everything, a blood-red dawn was born. Fire leaped in slow motion from beyond the edge of the planet as the Universe moved, and I was lucky enough to intercept the photons of another beautiful sunrise. I felt then, as I do now, not smallness, but wonder at the scope of the Cosmos. Perched atop a rather large volcanically extruded jag of rock, I was witness to the motion of everything. I won't say I felt a cosmic oneness, because I didn't. I understood, or shall I say comprehended, yet again, my place in the Universe.
I recall as I write this a notion from one of my favorite manga, Planetes. One of the characters waxes poetic about where space begins. Space, it is commonly held, begins anywhere between 50 to 100 miles above the surface of the Earth. This character remarks, quite correctly, that such a distinction is merely a human delineation. There is no true vacuum in Outer Space. It is quite sparse, don't misunderstand, but there's still stuff in every cubic meter of space. A molecule or two, at least. Our atmosphere is ludicrously thick compared to space, but the difference between the two is merely a matter of density. Space, this character states, is all around us.
Standing there, near the top of Mt. Fuji, I understood this concept very clearly. As we ascended Harry and I broke through the lower ceiling of the clouds. The night sky above us was clear, more clear than either of us had ever seen. The stars shone and glittered like diamonds and sapphires above us, and even the lens of the galaxy could be seen. The mountain hid the moon for a while, and our view was unspoiled by light.
As we climbed a storm brewed far off in the distance. We were above the ground-hugging storm clouds, and well far off, so we were in no danger. Purple flashes through the clouds told of lightning. We saw far more than one would standing beneath the clouds.
I finally saw the curve of the Earth. The limb, the edge of the world, beyond which I could not see, unless I climbed higher still.
Up we climbed. The sun warmed us as we ascended. As we ascended our breaks grew longer and more frequent. Every three steps and I would catch my breath. A step up something winded me. My bottle of O2 kept me going, though, and never once did I feel truly faint from lack of air. One of the longer stops was near the top, where Harry and I sunned ourselves as we lay within a small fold of rock. Every time I would look up I would feel my hurts sing in agony "No more!". I remembered the monk, and soon ceased to look up.
Finally, there were no more steps. Without realizing it, consciously at least, Harry and I had reached the top of the mountain. I looked down at the trail below me. I saw, in the way only a mountain climber can, the odd geometry of my conquest as it swept away from me into the sky.
The caldera of Mt. Fuji is inactive, a massive pucker in the mountain that does not smoke or hiss. The highest point on Mt. Fuji is on the opposite end of the caldera from where I stood, a small weather-monitoring station. Harry and I rested in a small shop at the top, buying a souvenir with the day's date hammered into it by one of the shop keepers. I enjoyed a cup of hot tea, eager to warm and hydrate myself.
I met Dan, one of the trainees that was with me my first week here in Japan. This is a coincidence of truly epic probability, though I will not say I was terribly surprised. Merely amused with the Universe as a whole.
After we'd gathered our strength, Harry and I began our descent. We would not go to the highest point; we were too tired. We had climbed the mountain, and a dozen more meters and a photo op, while quaint, would not feel rewarding after the monumental task we had just achieved.
Down we walked. This side of Fuji-san was switchbacks all the way down. These steps, though, were swept through the volcanic rock, soil, and predominantly dust of the mountain's last eruption. This was, quite possibly, the worst part of the journey. It was very, very boring. Going was slow; if you went too fast or too slow you'd slip and fall. The view was maddening, too; an endless scope of cloud and reddish stone as far as the eye could see. Beautiful at first, but soon monotonous.
Down we walked, keeping our spirits up with discussions and songs. Down we trudged, exhausted and dehydrated. Harry had carried no water that I'd seen, and had purchased none as we climbed. I had tried to keep myself fairly well lubricated. My own water supply dwindled as we walked, my patient rationing of it used to keep my fleshy bits moist in the rare atmosphere.
We soon came to the cloud ceiling, and were wrapped in thick fingers of cool cloudstuff. Our skin was soothed by cool breezes as we walked down the mountain. The sun sizzled our skin, but the clouds kept us cool.
We saw tractors climbing the trail we were on, distributing people and supplies to the stations and staff houses we passed. Signs dotted the mountainside, providing very incorrect data as to our location and the distance to the next station.
We finally reached the end of the switchbacks, finding ourselves nearly a quarter of the way around Mt. Fuji's middle from where we'd started. Down we walked on a far gentler slope, still difficult due to exhausted muscles, along a path that gave us a fantastic view of the cloud-wreathed forests that grew along Mt. Fuji's sides. We saw horses, blanketed against the night's chill and watched by half-dozing handlers. Their small fire crackled happily as we passed, and the horses watched our crossing. We reached a crossroads of sorts, and felt slight panic when the signs we spied began to point us back up the mountain. We asked some passerby and were pointed in the right direction, down a path we had not seen given our elevation.
We reached a variant of the 6th station, more a staging point than anything else. A large crowd had gathered and were preparing for their own ascent. I used the facilities there, despite the barbaric state of the portajohn I found there. Harry and I walked ever-downward. We met a family, Midwesterners by their accents, who asked for our own tale of the mountain. They were going up as we were going down. We told them of our ordeals and wished them luck. They informed us that we were very close to the 5th Station, upon hearing which I desired to buy them all a steak dinner.
We finally found the trail we had started upon the night before. The moon-kissed forest had transformed into a more mundane one in the light of the sun, but it was no less beautiful. The haze of the night's clouds had lifted, and shimmering like mirrors set into the Earth we saw some of the lakes that arced about Fuji's northern face.
We finally, finally reached the 5th Station. It was far more crowded than the night before, with hundreds of people finishing or starting their climbs. Parents shepherded children, buying gifts and treats.
Harry bought some souvenirs as I changed and repacked my bag, sorting the trash from the rest of my possessions. The bus we had caught that took us up the mountain had included a return ticket. I got the information to the next bus that would take us back down the rest of the way. Harry and I, immensely hungry now that we were no longer walking, had a simple breakfast of toast and jam at a nearby cafe.
We boarded the bus down to Kawaguchiko at 1:30PM. In front of us were a trio of Australian travelers (one Liverpudlian immigrant, his Australian wife, and their Australian friend). I struck up a conversation with them, finding them to be positively wonderful people. They ran a tattoo shop in Perth, and were in Japan for a tattoo convention that had happened the week before. They offered Harry and I seats, which we gladly took on the packed bus.
Harry fell asleep as I talked to the Australians about many a thing. Mostly politics, tattoos, and culture. The bus ride was long, and I enjoyed the conversation. My talks with Harry had slowly devolved as we climbed up and then down the mountain, exhaustion robbing our conversation of much meaning.
When the bus pulled into the station, we all disembarked. Harry and I said our goodbyes and parted ways. He and I had shared a close bond while we climbed, helping one another and keeping our collective spirits up. He was off to Tokyo to sleep and recover, and would catch his flight home the next day. I wished him luck in his endeavors.
I chatted a bit longer with the trio of Australians, helping them find a hotel and conversing more about life, the Universe, and everything. Finally, I realized that I needed to start back home, as the journey was long and the day was almost half-done.
I boarded a local for Tokyo, switching to an express at a station partway between the mountain and the city. In Tokyo I took the Yamanote line to Ueno where I attempted to get a ticket home. My money supply had dwindled, despite my careful rationing, and I was without funds to purchase any ticket home. I found an ATM outside of the station, though, and was able to procure enough funds to buy an Express ticket to Hitachi as well as a well-deserved (and much needed) dinner. I boarded the train and enjoyed my evening meal as it zipped through the night toward my home.
I napped a bit, but fear of missing my stop kept me awake. I had purchased a notebook in Ueno and jotted down some brainstorming notes for my D&D game.
At long last, a mere day and a half (a thousand years) after I left it, I arrived in Hitachi. I caught a cab home, not trusting my rubbery legs to bike or walk my way back. I showered and felt clean for the first time in what was surely decades and, without fanfare, unfolded my futon, and slept.
Showing posts with label exploring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exploring. Show all posts
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Saturday, September 1, 2007
And a-one, and a-two
J115 Wednesday August 15th
I did nothing the entire day. I ate the leftover burritos and watched Conan the Barbarian. There is something...sublime...about a day of sloth. I needed a non-mobile day, after the seemingly endless motion of the previous week.
Conan was delightful, as I remembered it to be. In fact, it was probably the first time I'd seen the original, non-TV-edited version in years. I was surprised at the overall silence of the film; there is very little spoken dialog. There are plenty of special features, including a making-of featurette which I watched a part of. It was quite an up-and-down production, with lots of drama about who would play whom, what the film would be like. Oliver Stone wrote one of the first script drafts, intending the series to be 12 films long (!) and staying very faithful to Robert E. Howard's stories of the iconic black-haired barbarian.
Alas, like all things Hollywood touches, such grandeur and respect was not to be. Now, don't get me wrong, I really like the Conan movies. Both of 'em. They're campy and pulpy and cheesy at times, but they get it right a surprising amount of the time, too. Seeing a 12-film epic, detailing the rise and fall of Conan the Barbarian, though, is the kind of thing I dream about, and don't tell anyone.
Wait...oh, crap.
Anyway. Nothing much happened other than that, today.
J116 Thursday August 16th
Back at work! This week is going to be only 3 days long, so that's a bonus. Today was uneventful, really. Just getting back in the swing of things, getting my teaching legs back, as it were.
J117 Friday August 17th
So uneventful, I can't remember anything!
J118 Saturday August 18th
Busty, as Saturdays always are, but uneventful. I'm pretty sure I went to G-Bros for a few.
J119 Sunday August 19th
Decided to go exploring today. I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, after being cooped up in the school for so long. I fear I'm developing an addiction to physical activity and the outdoors. God help me.
I had heard from a few students and friends that there was an Airsoft store near the local college campus. I set out to find this mythical store, knowing roughly where Ibaraki University was, but unsure as to how to get there exactly. I set off down and then up a series of hills to the south, testing my physical endurance. By the time I got to the top I was working up a healthy sweat, and I enjoyed the test of my body. My growing health and strength continues to amaze me, and it is a joyous thing to finally realize my physical potential. Plus, I look great.
I soon found myself lost, trying and failing to find the University. I ranged far, far south. I followed the main road quite a ways, and then turned west, knowing the University was on tha side of Route 6. Before I headed back north, though, I kept going West, toward the mountains. I found a river and followed it. On my side were houses and buildings packed, in the Japanese way, against the foot of a startlingly tall mountain. The river itself was walled, also in Japanese style, with steep walls of concrete blocks, like a canal. The riverbed was stony, and the water was shallow, but swift. A few bridges crossed the river, but I was content to peddle along a small pedestrian walkway alongside the road for the moment. I spied a trio of young Japanese people as they frolicked in the river, trying to stay cool in the heat of the day.
I saw that the road ahead quickly entered the mountains, and though I desperately love those regions of Japan, I was still keen to find the Airsoft store. I crossed a small car bridge and turned back east and north. I stopped almost immediately, though, because I had found a torii. I parked my bike and ascended the extremely steep, rough concrete-and-stone stairs. The shrine was a small one, set atop a high ridge with another set of steps leading up. The ridge was a borderline for a pressed gravel parking lot, nestled behind a small block of apartments. As I took in the scene a toddler from one of the apartments vocalized in the blissful joy of childhood.
After a brief moment of contemplation I descended the steps and mounted my bike once again. I had started the day with a refreshing bottle of Aquarius, a sports drink similar to Gatorade, but had finished my modest bottle quickly under the sun's rays. I purchased another bottle from a nearby vending machine and was on my way.
Down the curvy, twisty back roads of Hitachi I rolled, finding the main street once again. I took another detour, back west, hoping to find the University once again. Around the bend of the road I found myself on peeked another torii, this one set into the folds of a larger mountain. I parked my ride and investigated. This shrine was a much larger one, but it seemed very run down, almost abandoned.
I ascended the steps quietly and slowly. The sun, already beginning its downward arc, and was setting before me as I climbed. The air was filled with a golden light, soft and hazy through the cedars. The trees had become quite large since their planting and had begun to break through the concrete steps. Several of the trees that lined the steps were strung with paper charms and prayers, signs of divinity and respect for the tiny gods that lived within them; one was a massive tree trunk, capped in a copper lid. Another, a trio of cedar trees, were the ones doing the most damage to the stairs.
As I climbed, I was accompanied by a beautiful black and blue butterfly. He flitted about, staying near me but always out of reach. I tried to grab a few pictures of him, but I'm not sure if I succeeded. At one point he charged me, but at the last minute swerved skyward.
The stairs led to a small plateau, carved from the side of the mountain, upon which balanced a handful of buildings. The shrine itself looked better than what I'd imagined. It looked like it hadn't been swept in a few years, but it wasn't falling apart. I saw another set of stairs, moss-covered with a beautiful green carpet of life, which I gingerly climbed. At the top of this stair was a small graveyard and a road that led to an elementary school. A few kids played in the sandlot and their cries carried through the trees and sunlight. A low wall that held up the school's yard from the road was decorated with monsters and robots fighting one another, in a style no master painter could duplicate.
I turned around and walked down the stairs, pausing at the first plateau to offer my prayers at the main shrine. Down I went the main steps, meeting an old man ascending. We nodded an unspoken greeting/farewell, and I returned to my bike.
I rode on still, passing houses and businesses. Down one small side road I spied a branching path leading into the darkness of the mountain forests. I parked my bike and investigated this tiny patch of black. Nearing it made the shadows lighten, and I could see a narrow concrete stair case extending up a very shallow path of the mountain. I trekked upward, the little concrete steps snaking back and forth through the old forest. The smell of trees and summer breezes was everywhere, and the shadows were wet and cool.
The stairs ended in a broad concrete path which continued its inexorable climb upward. The path looked like no one had walked on it for years. It was covered in moss and twigs. Cedar skin scraped along in the gentle wind. Cicadas were chirping everywhere, all around me.
I reached another stair, this one of much broader steps and including a hand rail. I climbed this, curving around a small mountain peak. I exited the forest into what looked to be a neighborhood. I had climbed up the mountain and into a residential area. Cozy Japanese houses crowded around me as I walked. The mountain forest continued on to my right as I walked, with little gardens bursting with tomatoes and sunflowers sitting in a dozen feet of cleared ground.
I got to a cross street and stopped. Before me, to the north, the mountain curved down gently, giving me a view of the buildings off in the distance. The mountains marched from west to east, framing the scenery with their unmoving beauty. Above them, in stark contrast, was a highly mobile cloud. It was very large and very white, reflecting sunlight in sharp chiaroscuro, a battle between bright white and the cool azure of cloud-shadow. The cloud moved steadily from west to east, appearing to mock the mountains in their stillness. The other clouds of the day were wispy and hazy smears of color, like an impressionist's work. This cloud, though, was massive and bold. A king.
I marveled at the sight, taking a few pictures. Part of me wished I had brought my bike, so as to careen down the mountain and see what lay in that valley beyond. I still wanted to find the Airsoft shop, though, so I turned around and began to walk down. On the way toward the broad stairs I saw a pair of cicada pressed together, no doubt well into their own reproductive cycle. I observed them for a bit, as the large bugs are prone to hiding despite their size. I disturbed them, thinking at first they were dead, but an angry click from one as it flew away informed me I was incorrect. I apologized to the remaining bug and moved on.
I was reunited with my bike and wheeled on once more, down twisty roads. I found myself coming upon a large, densely wooded area contained within a tall fence. I quickly calculated my position and determined that I was near where the University should be. I followed the sidewalk, which hugged the fenced trees. Though closely packed, I could spy buildings and broad lawns on the other side, and a realization crept into my head. Arriving at the end of the sidewalk, where the road dead-ended onto a larger thoroughfare my assumption was correct; I had found the University, quite by accident.
I went south on the main street, not Route 6 as I had originally estimated by a smaller road that ran parallel. Rapidly finding nothing resembling an Airsoft store, I turned around. My searching was finally rewarded, for not even a block from the university I found it. A small hobby store, peddling fake guns, model trains, and tactical gear, sat in front of a small house. The house's lawn was quite beautiful; much care went into the maintenance of this yard. The grass was a bright green and it was dotted with tiny trees and stacks of stone.
I entered the shop, taking in the different models and accessories that were within. Airsoft, for those of you who do not know, is a hobby similar to Paintball. Airsoft guns are low-velocity weapons designed to look like real guns, but fire plastic pellets. One can purchase a spring gun, weakest of the propulsion methods, a gas gun, using compressed Green Gas to propel the pellet, or an electric gun, using a motorized mechanism to punch the pellet out of the gun. The guns can range from super-cheap to mind-bogglingly expensive.
I found a model I liked, a thick-barreled revolver, for about 5,000 yen. I decided against purchasing it, however, given that I was short on cash, and didn't see much point in buying a gun I was probably never going to use. Getting it back to the States would be a real pain, too, so I'd rather just save my money.
I noted the location of the store, in case I ever wanted to return, and made my way back toward Hitachi. I swept down a hill and realized where I was. With an odd click inside my head the day's journeys resolved themselves in my mental city map. I was still feeling energized from the day's activities, so I decided to investigate Ito Yokado for shopping opportunities.
On the way to the store I ran into Erin, a new teacher. This was her third week in Hitachi, and she was headed for the beach to enjoy the last few hours of sunlight. I offered to show her Ose beach, the beach most of the Gang uses, which she accepted. We chatted as we walked. When we got to the unfinished sea-bridge, she waited for me while I sped home and got my swimsuit. I dashed up stairs, changed into my trunks, and stuffed a towel into my backpack. I sped back to the bridge, making the entire round trip in less than 15 minutes.
Erin and I continued our walk, down the steep switchbacks to the seaside road that runs the length of Hitachi's beaches. When we got to Ose, there were a few groups of people enjoying the sun and surf. The waves were high, though not especially rough. One of my students was there with some of his friends, and we greeted one another. He was deep into his cups, though, and aside from joviality, didn't say much.
Erin convinced me to swim in the sea. I'd been leery of doing so before, given the numerous chemical plants that dot the countryside here. Still, there were plenty of people who swam and surfed here, and I had yet to see anyone with chemical burns. Erin and I took to the water. It was quite cold at first, but soon my body adjusted and it felt pleasantly warm. The water was murky, and even a few meters out from the shore you couldn't see or feel the bottom. The waves bobbed us up and down, and a few took us by surprise. In all, though, it was a good swim.
We got out after an hour or so and toweled off. We rinsed our feet at the near by water spigot and made our way back home. We wanted to get cleaned up and do something fun, but didn't quite know what to do. We decided to meet in about 30 minutes at G-Bros.
I went back home and showered. Though not deadly, the ocean had left a thin, greasy residue on my skin. I won't be swimming every day, that's for sure. In a fit of inspiration I grabbed my easel, crafted weeks ago but until now unused, and sketched my face in my dressing mirror. I don't know why I did it...it was just sudden creativity. I resolved to paint it the next day.
Erin and I met back up at G-Bros. There were plans for the Gang to get together and do something, but that was some time away. I took Erin to Kumamoto Ramen, seeing as how she hadn't been there yet. She was amazed at the size of the servings; never let it be said that Kumamoto skimps on portions.
The plans were scrapped for the Gang, and those that were interested decided to meet at Gusto Burger. Erin and I walked down, leisurely, and joined my coworker and Claire there. Matt joined us soon after. We all chatted happily. Claire informed us as to the intricate nature of politics and factions in England, Scotland and Ireland. I didn't know how complicated things were there. My coworker told me about a film he'd found on the Internet, called Zeitgeist. I'll talk more about that in a later entry.
After Gusto we all went our separate ways. Those gathered headed for the beach, but my day's explorations were weighing on me, and I decided to head home to sleep. Off I peddled, west and then south, until my little apartment building glimmered in the darkness of night. I enjoyed a few minutes on the Internet, but soon I felt sleep calling. I unfolded my futon and went to bed.
Monday's adventures to follow! I promise I'm still writing! It's all going on paper, now. I'm transcribing it as I find time.
I did nothing the entire day. I ate the leftover burritos and watched Conan the Barbarian. There is something...sublime...about a day of sloth. I needed a non-mobile day, after the seemingly endless motion of the previous week.
Conan was delightful, as I remembered it to be. In fact, it was probably the first time I'd seen the original, non-TV-edited version in years. I was surprised at the overall silence of the film; there is very little spoken dialog. There are plenty of special features, including a making-of featurette which I watched a part of. It was quite an up-and-down production, with lots of drama about who would play whom, what the film would be like. Oliver Stone wrote one of the first script drafts, intending the series to be 12 films long (!) and staying very faithful to Robert E. Howard's stories of the iconic black-haired barbarian.
Alas, like all things Hollywood touches, such grandeur and respect was not to be. Now, don't get me wrong, I really like the Conan movies. Both of 'em. They're campy and pulpy and cheesy at times, but they get it right a surprising amount of the time, too. Seeing a 12-film epic, detailing the rise and fall of Conan the Barbarian, though, is the kind of thing I dream about, and don't tell anyone.
Wait...oh, crap.
Anyway. Nothing much happened other than that, today.
J116 Thursday August 16th
Back at work! This week is going to be only 3 days long, so that's a bonus. Today was uneventful, really. Just getting back in the swing of things, getting my teaching legs back, as it were.
J117 Friday August 17th
So uneventful, I can't remember anything!
J118 Saturday August 18th
Busty, as Saturdays always are, but uneventful. I'm pretty sure I went to G-Bros for a few.
J119 Sunday August 19th
Decided to go exploring today. I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, after being cooped up in the school for so long. I fear I'm developing an addiction to physical activity and the outdoors. God help me.
I had heard from a few students and friends that there was an Airsoft store near the local college campus. I set out to find this mythical store, knowing roughly where Ibaraki University was, but unsure as to how to get there exactly. I set off down and then up a series of hills to the south, testing my physical endurance. By the time I got to the top I was working up a healthy sweat, and I enjoyed the test of my body. My growing health and strength continues to amaze me, and it is a joyous thing to finally realize my physical potential. Plus, I look great.
I soon found myself lost, trying and failing to find the University. I ranged far, far south. I followed the main road quite a ways, and then turned west, knowing the University was on tha side of Route 6. Before I headed back north, though, I kept going West, toward the mountains. I found a river and followed it. On my side were houses and buildings packed, in the Japanese way, against the foot of a startlingly tall mountain. The river itself was walled, also in Japanese style, with steep walls of concrete blocks, like a canal. The riverbed was stony, and the water was shallow, but swift. A few bridges crossed the river, but I was content to peddle along a small pedestrian walkway alongside the road for the moment. I spied a trio of young Japanese people as they frolicked in the river, trying to stay cool in the heat of the day.
I saw that the road ahead quickly entered the mountains, and though I desperately love those regions of Japan, I was still keen to find the Airsoft store. I crossed a small car bridge and turned back east and north. I stopped almost immediately, though, because I had found a torii. I parked my bike and ascended the extremely steep, rough concrete-and-stone stairs. The shrine was a small one, set atop a high ridge with another set of steps leading up. The ridge was a borderline for a pressed gravel parking lot, nestled behind a small block of apartments. As I took in the scene a toddler from one of the apartments vocalized in the blissful joy of childhood.
After a brief moment of contemplation I descended the steps and mounted my bike once again. I had started the day with a refreshing bottle of Aquarius, a sports drink similar to Gatorade, but had finished my modest bottle quickly under the sun's rays. I purchased another bottle from a nearby vending machine and was on my way.
Down the curvy, twisty back roads of Hitachi I rolled, finding the main street once again. I took another detour, back west, hoping to find the University once again. Around the bend of the road I found myself on peeked another torii, this one set into the folds of a larger mountain. I parked my ride and investigated. This shrine was a much larger one, but it seemed very run down, almost abandoned.
I ascended the steps quietly and slowly. The sun, already beginning its downward arc, and was setting before me as I climbed. The air was filled with a golden light, soft and hazy through the cedars. The trees had become quite large since their planting and had begun to break through the concrete steps. Several of the trees that lined the steps were strung with paper charms and prayers, signs of divinity and respect for the tiny gods that lived within them; one was a massive tree trunk, capped in a copper lid. Another, a trio of cedar trees, were the ones doing the most damage to the stairs.
As I climbed, I was accompanied by a beautiful black and blue butterfly. He flitted about, staying near me but always out of reach. I tried to grab a few pictures of him, but I'm not sure if I succeeded. At one point he charged me, but at the last minute swerved skyward.
The stairs led to a small plateau, carved from the side of the mountain, upon which balanced a handful of buildings. The shrine itself looked better than what I'd imagined. It looked like it hadn't been swept in a few years, but it wasn't falling apart. I saw another set of stairs, moss-covered with a beautiful green carpet of life, which I gingerly climbed. At the top of this stair was a small graveyard and a road that led to an elementary school. A few kids played in the sandlot and their cries carried through the trees and sunlight. A low wall that held up the school's yard from the road was decorated with monsters and robots fighting one another, in a style no master painter could duplicate.
I turned around and walked down the stairs, pausing at the first plateau to offer my prayers at the main shrine. Down I went the main steps, meeting an old man ascending. We nodded an unspoken greeting/farewell, and I returned to my bike.
I rode on still, passing houses and businesses. Down one small side road I spied a branching path leading into the darkness of the mountain forests. I parked my bike and investigated this tiny patch of black. Nearing it made the shadows lighten, and I could see a narrow concrete stair case extending up a very shallow path of the mountain. I trekked upward, the little concrete steps snaking back and forth through the old forest. The smell of trees and summer breezes was everywhere, and the shadows were wet and cool.
The stairs ended in a broad concrete path which continued its inexorable climb upward. The path looked like no one had walked on it for years. It was covered in moss and twigs. Cedar skin scraped along in the gentle wind. Cicadas were chirping everywhere, all around me.
I reached another stair, this one of much broader steps and including a hand rail. I climbed this, curving around a small mountain peak. I exited the forest into what looked to be a neighborhood. I had climbed up the mountain and into a residential area. Cozy Japanese houses crowded around me as I walked. The mountain forest continued on to my right as I walked, with little gardens bursting with tomatoes and sunflowers sitting in a dozen feet of cleared ground.
I got to a cross street and stopped. Before me, to the north, the mountain curved down gently, giving me a view of the buildings off in the distance. The mountains marched from west to east, framing the scenery with their unmoving beauty. Above them, in stark contrast, was a highly mobile cloud. It was very large and very white, reflecting sunlight in sharp chiaroscuro, a battle between bright white and the cool azure of cloud-shadow. The cloud moved steadily from west to east, appearing to mock the mountains in their stillness. The other clouds of the day were wispy and hazy smears of color, like an impressionist's work. This cloud, though, was massive and bold. A king.
I marveled at the sight, taking a few pictures. Part of me wished I had brought my bike, so as to careen down the mountain and see what lay in that valley beyond. I still wanted to find the Airsoft shop, though, so I turned around and began to walk down. On the way toward the broad stairs I saw a pair of cicada pressed together, no doubt well into their own reproductive cycle. I observed them for a bit, as the large bugs are prone to hiding despite their size. I disturbed them, thinking at first they were dead, but an angry click from one as it flew away informed me I was incorrect. I apologized to the remaining bug and moved on.
I was reunited with my bike and wheeled on once more, down twisty roads. I found myself coming upon a large, densely wooded area contained within a tall fence. I quickly calculated my position and determined that I was near where the University should be. I followed the sidewalk, which hugged the fenced trees. Though closely packed, I could spy buildings and broad lawns on the other side, and a realization crept into my head. Arriving at the end of the sidewalk, where the road dead-ended onto a larger thoroughfare my assumption was correct; I had found the University, quite by accident.
I went south on the main street, not Route 6 as I had originally estimated by a smaller road that ran parallel. Rapidly finding nothing resembling an Airsoft store, I turned around. My searching was finally rewarded, for not even a block from the university I found it. A small hobby store, peddling fake guns, model trains, and tactical gear, sat in front of a small house. The house's lawn was quite beautiful; much care went into the maintenance of this yard. The grass was a bright green and it was dotted with tiny trees and stacks of stone.
I entered the shop, taking in the different models and accessories that were within. Airsoft, for those of you who do not know, is a hobby similar to Paintball. Airsoft guns are low-velocity weapons designed to look like real guns, but fire plastic pellets. One can purchase a spring gun, weakest of the propulsion methods, a gas gun, using compressed Green Gas to propel the pellet, or an electric gun, using a motorized mechanism to punch the pellet out of the gun. The guns can range from super-cheap to mind-bogglingly expensive.
I found a model I liked, a thick-barreled revolver, for about 5,000 yen. I decided against purchasing it, however, given that I was short on cash, and didn't see much point in buying a gun I was probably never going to use. Getting it back to the States would be a real pain, too, so I'd rather just save my money.
I noted the location of the store, in case I ever wanted to return, and made my way back toward Hitachi. I swept down a hill and realized where I was. With an odd click inside my head the day's journeys resolved themselves in my mental city map. I was still feeling energized from the day's activities, so I decided to investigate Ito Yokado for shopping opportunities.
On the way to the store I ran into Erin, a new teacher. This was her third week in Hitachi, and she was headed for the beach to enjoy the last few hours of sunlight. I offered to show her Ose beach, the beach most of the Gang uses, which she accepted. We chatted as we walked. When we got to the unfinished sea-bridge, she waited for me while I sped home and got my swimsuit. I dashed up stairs, changed into my trunks, and stuffed a towel into my backpack. I sped back to the bridge, making the entire round trip in less than 15 minutes.
Erin and I continued our walk, down the steep switchbacks to the seaside road that runs the length of Hitachi's beaches. When we got to Ose, there were a few groups of people enjoying the sun and surf. The waves were high, though not especially rough. One of my students was there with some of his friends, and we greeted one another. He was deep into his cups, though, and aside from joviality, didn't say much.
Erin convinced me to swim in the sea. I'd been leery of doing so before, given the numerous chemical plants that dot the countryside here. Still, there were plenty of people who swam and surfed here, and I had yet to see anyone with chemical burns. Erin and I took to the water. It was quite cold at first, but soon my body adjusted and it felt pleasantly warm. The water was murky, and even a few meters out from the shore you couldn't see or feel the bottom. The waves bobbed us up and down, and a few took us by surprise. In all, though, it was a good swim.
We got out after an hour or so and toweled off. We rinsed our feet at the near by water spigot and made our way back home. We wanted to get cleaned up and do something fun, but didn't quite know what to do. We decided to meet in about 30 minutes at G-Bros.
I went back home and showered. Though not deadly, the ocean had left a thin, greasy residue on my skin. I won't be swimming every day, that's for sure. In a fit of inspiration I grabbed my easel, crafted weeks ago but until now unused, and sketched my face in my dressing mirror. I don't know why I did it...it was just sudden creativity. I resolved to paint it the next day.
Erin and I met back up at G-Bros. There were plans for the Gang to get together and do something, but that was some time away. I took Erin to Kumamoto Ramen, seeing as how she hadn't been there yet. She was amazed at the size of the servings; never let it be said that Kumamoto skimps on portions.
The plans were scrapped for the Gang, and those that were interested decided to meet at Gusto Burger. Erin and I walked down, leisurely, and joined my coworker and Claire there. Matt joined us soon after. We all chatted happily. Claire informed us as to the intricate nature of politics and factions in England, Scotland and Ireland. I didn't know how complicated things were there. My coworker told me about a film he'd found on the Internet, called Zeitgeist. I'll talk more about that in a later entry.
After Gusto we all went our separate ways. Those gathered headed for the beach, but my day's explorations were weighing on me, and I decided to head home to sleep. Off I peddled, west and then south, until my little apartment building glimmered in the darkness of night. I enjoyed a few minutes on the Internet, but soon I felt sleep calling. I unfolded my futon and went to bed.
Monday's adventures to follow! I promise I'm still writing! It's all going on paper, now. I'm transcribing it as I find time.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Vacation Recap!
J110.1 Friday August 10th (Part 2)
My last post was written in the middle of the day, so a few more things happened. I met people!
On my way in to the Internet cafe, I struck up a conversation with an Italian gentleman by the name of Fabio. He used to be a table tennis player for quite some time, but now works for an advertising company. Hearing his Italian origins prompted me to mention my own heritage. For those unaware, I am 3rd generation Italian on my mother's side; my great-grandparents were born in Sicily but immigrated to America before my maternal grandfather was born. So, yay Italian genes!
I've noticed, however, that when I mention my Italian heritage to an Italian person, or someone similarly-descended, it's like I announce that I'm their long-lost brother. A switch goes off, and they turn from jovial, good-humored individuals to very generous, super-friendly people. They go from nice to amazingly nice.
Fabio and I had both purchased an hour's worth of time, and agreed to meet again once our time was up. I relished the air conditioned interior of my cubicle and the respite it gave my already-aching feet and legs. My last post was made at great leisure.
When my hour was up, Fabio was waiting in the lobby for me. We settled our bills with the staff and walked a while, exchanging stories. He told me of his life as a table tennis player for a team in Japan some years ago. I told him of my graduation from college and my job as an English teacher. When I mentioned I had no plans for the rest of the day, he insisted that I accompany him. He was in the market for some digital cameras, both for personal use and as gifts to friends, and we set about to find some good deals.
We walked back toward Akiba station, ending up in a deceptively large electronics store. Fabio educated me on the differences between several models, and while he haggled I browsed the laptop section. Japan's shops offer a large variety of portable computing solutions, and I've had my interest piqued by micro laptops. My current machine is a good computer, but it's somewhat bulky (as laptops go) and it's my only system. It's my link to the outside world, and I only take it out of my apartment when it's absolutely necessary.
I'd love to have a small, rugged machine that I could take with me when I go out. Nothing fancy. Nothing I'd be able to game on. Just something with basic internet connectivity, wireless if at all possible. A small platform upon which I could write, or check email, or display documents and other media to friends and associates. An actual mobile media platform. But not a micro computer. Not some tiny, 7-inch display thing that more resembles a chunky cell phone. A Sidekick or Blueberry would be nice, but either would be too small for my purposes.
The store I was in, and many others in Japan, offer many different models of small laptops. Their capacities range wildly; some use top-of-the-line processors, others use ones half a decade old. Some have only 10 gigabytes of hard disk space, while others boast quadruple that number.
Fabio suggested a few models, citing Toshiba as a good manufacturer. He also recommended another model, one that I scratched the name down, but I can't recall at the time of this writing.
Sorry, tangent.
Fabio purchased two cameras from the store, and we set out into the growing twilight. Akihabara is also known as Electric Town, so night never really comes. The sky darkens, of course, but the streets and alleys are lit by ten thousand shades of neon. LEDs blink from shop windows, warning passerby of alarm systems. Everywhere people check their email or the time from PDAs and cell phones. Akihabara is never dark.
We both felt the pang of hunger, and Fabio offered to buy me dinner at a nearby burger joint. This wasn't fast food per se; the hamburgers were actual grilled meat rather than a lamp-warmed discus of compressed "meat".
We chatted about life, as Italian folk so often seem to do. He shared some insightful advice with me, beseeching me to find my path in life and follow it with gusto. Being undecided about your future, he said, was a tragic thing. Find your goal, and then take steps to reach it. Common sense advice, perhaps, but something you don't hear every day.
In the middle of our meal, the seats next to us (we were sitting at a pseudo-bar in the middle of the eatery) two other foreigners sat down. They were both NOVA teachers from Canada. One, who's name I cannot recall (so let's call him Bob) was a self-proclaimed aboriginal Canadian, hailing from a reservation near Toronto. The other, Nick (that is his name) was of European decent, from a town near the reservation. They were friends, Bob having come to Japan with NOVA two or three years ago, and suggesting Nick come a few years after. Very similar to how I got this job, with my friend Tara suggesting I apply, given her overall happiness with the job.
Nick, Bob and I began to talk. Bob was leaving for Canada the next day, and was gearing up for a sort of last huzzah. Nick was along for the ride. They also work (in Bob's case, worked) in NOVA's Akihabara branch. They both were also unrepentant nerds, easily in my own league of fandom, which was amazing. They teach in a place that is so well-known amongst the Japanophiles of Earth that many would do...questionable things...to attain their position. Nick swore up and down that his post was attained through random chance, and that he in no way assassinated a high-profile target to get it. Honest.
Fabio had finished his meal by the time the two had sat down, and he decided to move on. We swapped numbers as he left; he was going to Kyoto, and wanted me to get in touch with him when I got there. I thanked him for the meal for what was probably the eighth time, and we parted ways.
Nick, Bob, and I soon engaged in full-blown nerd speak. Some of you may have experienced this phenomena. I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but I think I'd like to go into more detail.
Nerds know one another. There is a...sixth sense, I guess you could say...that we have developed. It's a survival mechanism, one developed so as to identify allies in a battlefield rife with hostile opponents. It's subtle things; body language, stance, eye contact. There are obvious signs, of course. One could wear a shirt proclaiming them to be a flaming Dr. Who fan, which is a dead giveaway. But those of us who must suppress our nerdity, lest it become a distraction or a hindrance to 'normal' social contact, must utilize well-honed, social minutiae, ninja-like in subtlety.
When this sense pings, when we catch the vibe, we begin tentative contact. An initial probe, to see if our reading is correct. One usually starts with a quote or reference to something nerdy, but not something super-obscure. This is testing the waters. A Monty Python quote will do, or if you're not adept, something from Star Wars. Most people have seen these media, and have enjoyed them, but nerds have a fundamentally different response to these stimuli. Non-nerds will laugh and say "Hey, that's from Monty Python, isn't it? That was a funny show."
A nerd will say something like "Funny, but I find the Cheese Shop sketch to be better." or "Dude, Star Wars was awesome until the second trilogy."
Success! Initial contact has been established! Warm up the engines!
What follows next is something akin to when a modem connects to the internet. You know that high-pitched squawking your computer made, and then that hissing sound? Well, nerds are like that. We engage in this...information exchange. Through carefully selected references, commentary, and conversation branching, one can communicate volumes about their particular style of nerd. Some nerds only enjoy science fiction, others fantasy. Some enjoy mostly books, while others are suckers for movies. Some enjoy tabletop gaming, or board gaming, or only video gaming. Some enjoy one of these intensely, while others sample from them all.
This establishes common ground. It lays the ground rules for the conversation. You know what to and not to talk about. If you like the latest Star Wars trilogy (and the devil take you if you do) and your newfound friend does not, you know not to talk about it, lest you actively detract from the conversation.
This is what Bob, Nick, and I did. For about 30 minutes, we talked at rapid speed, informing one another of our own tastes, likes, and dislikes. We discussed many things, mostly politics, and decided to quit the eating establishment and get some fresh air. We wandered Akihabara together, finding the RPG-specialized Yellow Submarine. Come to find out, Nick is a very, very big tabletop gaming nerd. This was a joy to discover, as I have been hurting for a good RPG fix, and have made little progress getting a group together. He and I share a love for many systems, though his knowledge is far more deeper than mine. I'm more of a breadth guy, while Nick's love of a few systems has granted him very intense knowledge of those handful. I, for one, salute him. Plus, he really likes Exalted, and that makes anyone awesome in my book.
We walked and walked, talked and talked. At a model shop, Bob and Nick had to call it a night. There were plans a-foot to rent movies and watch them with friends before Bob had to leave, and I didn't wish to interfere with their merriment. I decided to call it an early night, even though it was hardly 9 PM. I'd been walking all day with a full load, and was in desperate need of sleep.
I decided to return to the Internet Cafe. They had sleeper cubes, and was lucky enough to get one for the night. It was around 4000 yen for 12 hours, enough time to let me sleep in the next morning. Showers were available, but there was some sort of...difficulty...that I couldn't quite understand. My Japanese still is far from perfect, and many Japanese people aren't able to speak at a low enough level for me to understand them easily. Nevertheless, I found a place to sleep for the night.
A sleeper cube is a simple thing. It's a little longer than a normal cube, and instead of an office chair, it has a tiny futon. The futon rests on a large wooden cabinet and can ratchet in the middle, allowing the user to surf the internet from a relaxed, reclined position.
No sheets, blankets, or pillows were provided, but that was no problem for me. Something relatively soft and an air conditioned room was perfect for me. I used my handkerchief as a blindfold; the lights were dim, but still bright enough to make sleep difficult. I woke up several times through the night, but always managed to get back to sleep soon. In all, it was a restful night, and I was ready for the next day's adventures.
My last post was written in the middle of the day, so a few more things happened. I met people!
On my way in to the Internet cafe, I struck up a conversation with an Italian gentleman by the name of Fabio. He used to be a table tennis player for quite some time, but now works for an advertising company. Hearing his Italian origins prompted me to mention my own heritage. For those unaware, I am 3rd generation Italian on my mother's side; my great-grandparents were born in Sicily but immigrated to America before my maternal grandfather was born. So, yay Italian genes!
I've noticed, however, that when I mention my Italian heritage to an Italian person, or someone similarly-descended, it's like I announce that I'm their long-lost brother. A switch goes off, and they turn from jovial, good-humored individuals to very generous, super-friendly people. They go from nice to amazingly nice.
Fabio and I had both purchased an hour's worth of time, and agreed to meet again once our time was up. I relished the air conditioned interior of my cubicle and the respite it gave my already-aching feet and legs. My last post was made at great leisure.
When my hour was up, Fabio was waiting in the lobby for me. We settled our bills with the staff and walked a while, exchanging stories. He told me of his life as a table tennis player for a team in Japan some years ago. I told him of my graduation from college and my job as an English teacher. When I mentioned I had no plans for the rest of the day, he insisted that I accompany him. He was in the market for some digital cameras, both for personal use and as gifts to friends, and we set about to find some good deals.
We walked back toward Akiba station, ending up in a deceptively large electronics store. Fabio educated me on the differences between several models, and while he haggled I browsed the laptop section. Japan's shops offer a large variety of portable computing solutions, and I've had my interest piqued by micro laptops. My current machine is a good computer, but it's somewhat bulky (as laptops go) and it's my only system. It's my link to the outside world, and I only take it out of my apartment when it's absolutely necessary.
I'd love to have a small, rugged machine that I could take with me when I go out. Nothing fancy. Nothing I'd be able to game on. Just something with basic internet connectivity, wireless if at all possible. A small platform upon which I could write, or check email, or display documents and other media to friends and associates. An actual mobile media platform. But not a micro computer. Not some tiny, 7-inch display thing that more resembles a chunky cell phone. A Sidekick or Blueberry would be nice, but either would be too small for my purposes.
The store I was in, and many others in Japan, offer many different models of small laptops. Their capacities range wildly; some use top-of-the-line processors, others use ones half a decade old. Some have only 10 gigabytes of hard disk space, while others boast quadruple that number.
Fabio suggested a few models, citing Toshiba as a good manufacturer. He also recommended another model, one that I scratched the name down, but I can't recall at the time of this writing.
Sorry, tangent.
Fabio purchased two cameras from the store, and we set out into the growing twilight. Akihabara is also known as Electric Town, so night never really comes. The sky darkens, of course, but the streets and alleys are lit by ten thousand shades of neon. LEDs blink from shop windows, warning passerby of alarm systems. Everywhere people check their email or the time from PDAs and cell phones. Akihabara is never dark.
We both felt the pang of hunger, and Fabio offered to buy me dinner at a nearby burger joint. This wasn't fast food per se; the hamburgers were actual grilled meat rather than a lamp-warmed discus of compressed "meat".
We chatted about life, as Italian folk so often seem to do. He shared some insightful advice with me, beseeching me to find my path in life and follow it with gusto. Being undecided about your future, he said, was a tragic thing. Find your goal, and then take steps to reach it. Common sense advice, perhaps, but something you don't hear every day.
In the middle of our meal, the seats next to us (we were sitting at a pseudo-bar in the middle of the eatery) two other foreigners sat down. They were both NOVA teachers from Canada. One, who's name I cannot recall (so let's call him Bob) was a self-proclaimed aboriginal Canadian, hailing from a reservation near Toronto. The other, Nick (that is his name) was of European decent, from a town near the reservation. They were friends, Bob having come to Japan with NOVA two or three years ago, and suggesting Nick come a few years after. Very similar to how I got this job, with my friend Tara suggesting I apply, given her overall happiness with the job.
Nick, Bob and I began to talk. Bob was leaving for Canada the next day, and was gearing up for a sort of last huzzah. Nick was along for the ride. They also work (in Bob's case, worked) in NOVA's Akihabara branch. They both were also unrepentant nerds, easily in my own league of fandom, which was amazing. They teach in a place that is so well-known amongst the Japanophiles of Earth that many would do...questionable things...to attain their position. Nick swore up and down that his post was attained through random chance, and that he in no way assassinated a high-profile target to get it. Honest.
Fabio had finished his meal by the time the two had sat down, and he decided to move on. We swapped numbers as he left; he was going to Kyoto, and wanted me to get in touch with him when I got there. I thanked him for the meal for what was probably the eighth time, and we parted ways.
Nick, Bob, and I soon engaged in full-blown nerd speak. Some of you may have experienced this phenomena. I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but I think I'd like to go into more detail.
Nerds know one another. There is a...sixth sense, I guess you could say...that we have developed. It's a survival mechanism, one developed so as to identify allies in a battlefield rife with hostile opponents. It's subtle things; body language, stance, eye contact. There are obvious signs, of course. One could wear a shirt proclaiming them to be a flaming Dr. Who fan, which is a dead giveaway. But those of us who must suppress our nerdity, lest it become a distraction or a hindrance to 'normal' social contact, must utilize well-honed, social minutiae, ninja-like in subtlety.
When this sense pings, when we catch the vibe, we begin tentative contact. An initial probe, to see if our reading is correct. One usually starts with a quote or reference to something nerdy, but not something super-obscure. This is testing the waters. A Monty Python quote will do, or if you're not adept, something from Star Wars. Most people have seen these media, and have enjoyed them, but nerds have a fundamentally different response to these stimuli. Non-nerds will laugh and say "Hey, that's from Monty Python, isn't it? That was a funny show."
A nerd will say something like "Funny, but I find the Cheese Shop sketch to be better." or "Dude, Star Wars was awesome until the second trilogy."
Success! Initial contact has been established! Warm up the engines!
What follows next is something akin to when a modem connects to the internet. You know that high-pitched squawking your computer made, and then that hissing sound? Well, nerds are like that. We engage in this...information exchange. Through carefully selected references, commentary, and conversation branching, one can communicate volumes about their particular style of nerd. Some nerds only enjoy science fiction, others fantasy. Some enjoy mostly books, while others are suckers for movies. Some enjoy tabletop gaming, or board gaming, or only video gaming. Some enjoy one of these intensely, while others sample from them all.
This establishes common ground. It lays the ground rules for the conversation. You know what to and not to talk about. If you like the latest Star Wars trilogy (and the devil take you if you do) and your newfound friend does not, you know not to talk about it, lest you actively detract from the conversation.
This is what Bob, Nick, and I did. For about 30 minutes, we talked at rapid speed, informing one another of our own tastes, likes, and dislikes. We discussed many things, mostly politics, and decided to quit the eating establishment and get some fresh air. We wandered Akihabara together, finding the RPG-specialized Yellow Submarine. Come to find out, Nick is a very, very big tabletop gaming nerd. This was a joy to discover, as I have been hurting for a good RPG fix, and have made little progress getting a group together. He and I share a love for many systems, though his knowledge is far more deeper than mine. I'm more of a breadth guy, while Nick's love of a few systems has granted him very intense knowledge of those handful. I, for one, salute him. Plus, he really likes Exalted, and that makes anyone awesome in my book.
We walked and walked, talked and talked. At a model shop, Bob and Nick had to call it a night. There were plans a-foot to rent movies and watch them with friends before Bob had to leave, and I didn't wish to interfere with their merriment. I decided to call it an early night, even though it was hardly 9 PM. I'd been walking all day with a full load, and was in desperate need of sleep.
I decided to return to the Internet Cafe. They had sleeper cubes, and was lucky enough to get one for the night. It was around 4000 yen for 12 hours, enough time to let me sleep in the next morning. Showers were available, but there was some sort of...difficulty...that I couldn't quite understand. My Japanese still is far from perfect, and many Japanese people aren't able to speak at a low enough level for me to understand them easily. Nevertheless, I found a place to sleep for the night.
A sleeper cube is a simple thing. It's a little longer than a normal cube, and instead of an office chair, it has a tiny futon. The futon rests on a large wooden cabinet and can ratchet in the middle, allowing the user to surf the internet from a relaxed, reclined position.
No sheets, blankets, or pillows were provided, but that was no problem for me. Something relatively soft and an air conditioned room was perfect for me. I used my handkerchief as a blindfold; the lights were dim, but still bright enough to make sleep difficult. I woke up several times through the night, but always managed to get back to sleep soon. In all, it was a restful night, and I was ready for the next day's adventures.
Monday, July 30, 2007
that is IT. I am POSTING.
J86 Tuesday July 17th
Everyone in Hitachi is talking about the earthquake. Little damage, and so far none of my coworkers or students have had any injuries or deaths in the family. Thank goodness.
J87 Wednesday July 18th
Same old same old. Busy day. Talked to Dad a little. Says that he will have E.J. over for a while, and that they'll be sending me a package for my birthday. Sounds awesome!
J88 Thursday July 19th
My pokemon collection grows. I've taken to playing it during my office hours, given that I now have some free time in the heat of the day.
J89 Friday July 20th
Josh invited me to hang, but I felt really drained. Today's Genie's (one of the Nova teachers) year anniversary in Japan, but I'm so wiped I didn't want to attend. I decided to drop by G-Bros for five minutes to give my congratulations and leave. Josh was there, with two of his own coworkers. I told him my plan, and he understood completely.
We had a short hang-out session wherein he told me of Beats of Rage. It's an open-source programming project where one can download (and add to) a side-scrolling beat-em-up ala Double Dragon or Final Fight. Decided to investigate later.
J90 Saturday July 21st
Busy busy Saturday! But, no biggie. I'm a pro, now. A cool, collected individual well-tuned to his students. No repeats of last Saturday's stomach distress, thank goodness. Managed to get an interesting article about a mysterious person in Japan.
The short-short version: a person (or persons) has been going around leaving envelopes of 10,000 yen bills the men's bathrooms of municipal and government buildings. Every envelope comes with a hand-written letter, in formal kanji, that bids the finder take only one bill, and use it to absolve past sins or further one's spiritual enlightenment and fulfillment. This has been happening for about a year, give or take a month or two.
Now for the weird parts. One, the handwriting and grammar structure are very unique. They appear to be from the hand of a very old-fashioned, religiously educated man. The grammar is very formal and has structures only used by members of Buddhist clergy. Furthermore, the handwriting is getting worse. Shaky and sloppy. Mr. X, as he is called, is dieing.
Additionally, the envelopes have been found everywhere from Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan, to Okinawa, the southernmost island chain. Envelopes have been found thousands of miles apart, but separated in time by mere days. Mr. X is logging a lot of frequent flier miles.
No one knows who he is. Is he real? Is he even a he? Is this money legit, or is it from illegal gambling or dealing? Is this an act of compassion, or a loyalty test? Very mysterious.
Anyway! Saturday night was to be very fun, indeed. Also, tiring. Went to G-Bros, as is my custom. After a big dinner (I was super-hungry) we all went to the beach to set off fireworks again. You can buy really good (and really bad; be careful) fireworks everywhere in Japan. We brought a couple of sacks of fireworks to the beach and proceeded to battle the elements to light them. A heavy mist had sprung up and was blown by strong winds. Nevertheless, we persevered, and were rewarded with a delightful light show of our own making.
After we'd fired everything off, it was getting late. Some of the others wanted to check out a haunted house. I decided to accompany them. I lugged my bike, along with Mike (from Amity, my company's sister school), K, Greg (the teacher I replaced) and M-sensei, my coworker. We crisscrossed Hitachi, finally finding ourselves at the foot of a steep mountain road that lead way up into the hills. Predawn light filled the sky with a misty azure light as we ascended, seeing many beautiful, silent vistas as we climbed.
We passed the ruins of what we assumed (and later confirmed to be) the haunted dormitory. We made it to a massive hillside graveyard on our descent, after climbing to the end of the road, and were greeted with a beautiful predawn view of the city. I took a few pictures, some of which contain Orbs, thought to be paranormal evidence of ghosts.
We climbed down around the edges of the graveyard, stopping to ring a massive brass bell and take pictures of a HUGE spider. We ascended the next mountain spur via a tall staircase, having seen a mysterious, citadel of a building at its top. We found it to be a government building of some sort. We rested at the top of this hill, and then decided to head for our respective homes.
I got home, covered in mud and grass and bug bites, my feet aching. I shucked my muddy clothes and took a shower. I collapsed in bed, drawing the shades tight, and sleeping. It was 7AM Sunday morning.
J91 Sunday July 22nd
I was a zombie all day. Didn't move much. Didn't eat much. Just kind of stared into space. Was super-tired. Got out long enough to see if I could buy the newest Harry Potter book, but was met with failure. I got back and gave Amazon a spin. Mind you, this was the first time I'd ever used Amazon. Realize that, for all my love of technology, I can be a luddite sometimes. I was impressed.
I ordered the book, in English, next-day delivery, cash on delivery. Totally sweet. I spent the rest of the night just vegging.
J92 Monday July 23rd
I wanted to go out, but I couldn't because I had to wait on my book. So, I stayed in again. All day. It wasn't, bad, though; gave me a chance to recharge a bit for the upcoming week. At last, at 8PM, my book arrived. I paid the delivery man and began to devour the book. Worry not, for I abhor spoilers as Evil does the Good Book. I got almost 3/4 of the way done before I slept.
Everyone in Hitachi is talking about the earthquake. Little damage, and so far none of my coworkers or students have had any injuries or deaths in the family. Thank goodness.
J87 Wednesday July 18th
Same old same old. Busy day. Talked to Dad a little. Says that he will have E.J. over for a while, and that they'll be sending me a package for my birthday. Sounds awesome!
J88 Thursday July 19th
My pokemon collection grows. I've taken to playing it during my office hours, given that I now have some free time in the heat of the day.
J89 Friday July 20th
Josh invited me to hang, but I felt really drained. Today's Genie's (one of the Nova teachers) year anniversary in Japan, but I'm so wiped I didn't want to attend. I decided to drop by G-Bros for five minutes to give my congratulations and leave. Josh was there, with two of his own coworkers. I told him my plan, and he understood completely.
We had a short hang-out session wherein he told me of Beats of Rage. It's an open-source programming project where one can download (and add to) a side-scrolling beat-em-up ala Double Dragon or Final Fight. Decided to investigate later.
J90 Saturday July 21st
Busy busy Saturday! But, no biggie. I'm a pro, now. A cool, collected individual well-tuned to his students. No repeats of last Saturday's stomach distress, thank goodness. Managed to get an interesting article about a mysterious person in Japan.
The short-short version: a person (or persons) has been going around leaving envelopes of 10,000 yen bills the men's bathrooms of municipal and government buildings. Every envelope comes with a hand-written letter, in formal kanji, that bids the finder take only one bill, and use it to absolve past sins or further one's spiritual enlightenment and fulfillment. This has been happening for about a year, give or take a month or two.
Now for the weird parts. One, the handwriting and grammar structure are very unique. They appear to be from the hand of a very old-fashioned, religiously educated man. The grammar is very formal and has structures only used by members of Buddhist clergy. Furthermore, the handwriting is getting worse. Shaky and sloppy. Mr. X, as he is called, is dieing.
Additionally, the envelopes have been found everywhere from Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan, to Okinawa, the southernmost island chain. Envelopes have been found thousands of miles apart, but separated in time by mere days. Mr. X is logging a lot of frequent flier miles.
No one knows who he is. Is he real? Is he even a he? Is this money legit, or is it from illegal gambling or dealing? Is this an act of compassion, or a loyalty test? Very mysterious.
Anyway! Saturday night was to be very fun, indeed. Also, tiring. Went to G-Bros, as is my custom. After a big dinner (I was super-hungry) we all went to the beach to set off fireworks again. You can buy really good (and really bad; be careful) fireworks everywhere in Japan. We brought a couple of sacks of fireworks to the beach and proceeded to battle the elements to light them. A heavy mist had sprung up and was blown by strong winds. Nevertheless, we persevered, and were rewarded with a delightful light show of our own making.
After we'd fired everything off, it was getting late. Some of the others wanted to check out a haunted house. I decided to accompany them. I lugged my bike, along with Mike (from Amity, my company's sister school), K, Greg (the teacher I replaced) and M-sensei, my coworker. We crisscrossed Hitachi, finally finding ourselves at the foot of a steep mountain road that lead way up into the hills. Predawn light filled the sky with a misty azure light as we ascended, seeing many beautiful, silent vistas as we climbed.
We passed the ruins of what we assumed (and later confirmed to be) the haunted dormitory. We made it to a massive hillside graveyard on our descent, after climbing to the end of the road, and were greeted with a beautiful predawn view of the city. I took a few pictures, some of which contain Orbs, thought to be paranormal evidence of ghosts.
We climbed down around the edges of the graveyard, stopping to ring a massive brass bell and take pictures of a HUGE spider. We ascended the next mountain spur via a tall staircase, having seen a mysterious, citadel of a building at its top. We found it to be a government building of some sort. We rested at the top of this hill, and then decided to head for our respective homes.
I got home, covered in mud and grass and bug bites, my feet aching. I shucked my muddy clothes and took a shower. I collapsed in bed, drawing the shades tight, and sleeping. It was 7AM Sunday morning.
J91 Sunday July 22nd
I was a zombie all day. Didn't move much. Didn't eat much. Just kind of stared into space. Was super-tired. Got out long enough to see if I could buy the newest Harry Potter book, but was met with failure. I got back and gave Amazon a spin. Mind you, this was the first time I'd ever used Amazon. Realize that, for all my love of technology, I can be a luddite sometimes. I was impressed.
I ordered the book, in English, next-day delivery, cash on delivery. Totally sweet. I spent the rest of the night just vegging.
J92 Monday July 23rd
I wanted to go out, but I couldn't because I had to wait on my book. So, I stayed in again. All day. It wasn't, bad, though; gave me a chance to recharge a bit for the upcoming week. At last, at 8PM, my book arrived. I paid the delivery man and began to devour the book. Worry not, for I abhor spoilers as Evil does the Good Book. I got almost 3/4 of the way done before I slept.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Part 2: The Sequel. II
J78 Monday, June 11th 2007
Okay, I really need to do this more often.
To continue from my last post about last Sunday (a week ago):
I saw a small torii, shinto gate, at the top of a tiny mountain. More like a huge hill with steep sides. There was a switchback carved into the rock face, and coated with concrete in a cool warped grid pattern. These sorts of earthworks are everywhere here in Japan, but I'd never seen one so up close.
I parked and locked up my bike at the foot of the mini mountain and started my ascent. I found the torii lead to a pair of small shrines on a tiny plateau. I left some offerings at both and looked out across the valley. Nestled between the spurs of the mountains were the little neighborhood I had biked through. I could see the martial arts gym and the massive factories behind it, their machines singing deep in the baritone registry of industrial machinery.
I noticed a path leading up the mountain, beyond the plateau I was on. I decided to see where it went. Up I walked, though somewhat dense underbrush. Tall grass and shrubs, bowing trees, and everywhere young bamboo grew. The path was overgrown, but still visible, and I had no trouble following my way up the mountain. After about 10 minutes of navigating the undergrowth, I found myself at a curious sight. Exiting the lush, green forest, I discovered that the mountain continued in an expanse of fine black sand. Large pipes snaked their way through the air before me, a low and constant rasp speaking of their rushing contents. The occasional hiss of loosed gas would crescendo from the various junctions and valves that the pipes twisted through.
I had found my way into a quarry. I'd seen it before, during Golden Week, from the valley below. I ducked beneath the piping, eager to see what else was there, when I heard voices. Guards? Miners? I found a paved road and crept up it, quick and quiet. To my shock, just around a wide bend, I found a baseball field. Here, halfway up the mountains, wedged between a highway an a rock quarry, was a baseball field. On it, a team was practicing. I nodded a greeting to those who saw me, and they smiled back. I rested in the shade, the first chance to do so after visiting the dojo nearly an hour previous. I watched them practice, and I have to say they were good.
Their uniforms were blue and white. One team, but the players alternated home and away colors, so as to have two virtual teams with which to practice. They had a pitcher, but he didn't throw the ball. Instead, he mimed the action, and right next to him another player would push a ball into a batting machine, hurling a perfect pitch to the batter. It was funny to watch the pitcher put his all into a phantom throw, but I guess it was good practice for his gross body movements.
I watched for the better part of an hour, resting and wishing I had a drink. The teams hit a lot of deep shots. Their teamwork was good, but like all things in the sports world they had room to improve. After my rest I stood up again to explore the quarry.
It was like being on another planet. I walked down a gentle hill of equipment-packed black sand into the main pit. All around me were towering hills of the stuff. Refuse littered the ground, but all finely pulverized. Bottles, spare bits of equipment, even printed circuit boards were present, but all shattered by some unknown force and distributed across a large area. Huge tracks of heavy equipment flanked me as I descended, but not a soul was present. Over this alien landscape was another factory, probably a refinery or processing plant. No one noticed my presence, though, or if they did they didn't bother me. I was quite alone; not even the shouts of the ball game reached me, despite the relative proximity of the playing field.
I noticed lots of animal tracks. Small ones and big ones. Something told me it was probably foxes and wolves. I found them pretty, and a little reassuring. I hadn't seen any wild animals aside from birds, and I had begun to wonder if they had been driven off due to the heavy industry that peppers Japan's landscape. These tracks were fresh, though, no more than two weeks old, if that. As an amusing aside, when I told this part to some of my friends here, a few of those gathered got a little freaked out. They said that had they have seen wolf tracks, they would have left immediately. Just kind of funny, 'cause I never felt any discomfort of unease.
The sand soon gave way to hard, dry dirt, which in turn gave way to the green of the mountain. I decided to turn around, figuring it was probably about time to head back. The heat wasn't bad, but it was constant, and without a drink I knew I would get dehydrated if I stayed out much longer. I was already beginning to feel the fatigue set in from my day's exertions. I ascended the long sand ramp, kicking up a smoky black dust with every step. I took a short detour to the other side of the quarry, having seen a few interesting objects on my initial descent. I found an old, abandoned civilian bus. The keys were still in it, but no signs of habitation were present. A bucket of brown water was filled with cigarette butts, and there was a baseball on the console. The doors were unlocked, too. I had a brief temptation to have a joyride, but I then realized the size of the book they'd throw at me, and thought better of it.
The side of the quarry I found myself on was very flat, aside from the land that had been chewed up by equipment below me. I was on top of a cliff of black sand. More prints, foxes on this side I think, and even less vegetation. I felt exhaustion's inexorable tug again, somewhat more urgently. I trudged back to the lip of the black sand mountain and began a (gravity assisted) descent down the mountain. I passed the shrines, and left another offering at both of them in thanks for a safe trip up and down their mountain path. It was another quick minute, and I was back at my bike at the foot of the mountain. Over 2 hours had passed.
I made my way back along a familiar road. Atop another ridge I saw something that reminded me of something E.J. had said. He talked about exploring on his own, finding a huge graveyard on the side of a hill and a large temple complex that accompanied it. I pulled my bike up a steep flight of stairs (they have ramps on either side for bikes to be pulled, luckily) and found myself face to face with the temple E.J. had found almost a month ago.
A large temple greeted me, friendly and old, it's once-black roof tiles stained a sky blue after years of rain and exposure. My bike left at the foot of a small set of stairs, I trudged up to the temple, in awe at the beauty that surrounded me but still exhausted. I left an offering, said a prayer, and continued to look around. This complex was very active, as temples in Japan go. Most temples and shrines that I've been to don't have active caretakers. Bigger ones can, sometimes, but most of them are so small or remote that the few monks and priests that exist can't stay at them all the time. Most are left to their own devices. Popular or easily accessed ones are cleaned semi-annually by roaming caretakers. But this one, thanks to its massive, popular graveyard and close proximity to Hitachi, was staffed by no less than 2 priests that I saw, with evidence to suggest more.
As I wandered one said hi. He spoke a little English, and we had a short conversation. He was a young man, maybe a few years older than my 24. He was really friendly, with a big smile that came out often. He wanted to know the standard battery of questions: where was I from, what did I do for a living, how old I was. When I told him I was a teacher here in Hitachi I swear his ears perked up. It's somewhat rare to see a foreigner living in an area as rural as Hitachi, and he was positively delighted.
He left me to attend his duties, and I strolled around the graveyard for a little while. Still, my strength was fading fast, and I knew I needed to get back home. So, with a parting bow to the temple, I hopped on my bike and raced home. I took a detour, hoping to find a Recycle shop nearby. Recycle shops are used goods stores that sell a variety of previously-owned merchandise, much like a thrift store, but things tend to be in better condition. Since space is such a premium, people in Japan tend to resell their old media, books, comics, music, DVDs, instead of boxing it up or throwing it away. It nets them some cash, clears up space at home, and (yay for me!) lets poor or cheap people buy stuff at low prices.
Alas, after half an hour of going up and down massive foothills along side a busy highway, I decided to call it a day. Finally, after hours of walking and hiking and taking pictures I headed home. Down massive hills. On a bike. Cue the Dukes of Hazzard music. I was doing 40 mph, easy, dodging pedestrians (of which there were few) and the obstacle course that is the sidewalk as I streaked downhill and back toward home.
When I finally got back, in one piece, I cooked dinner and collapsed in my office chair, soaking up the internet, before falling into a blissful slumber.
Okay, I really need to do this more often.
To continue from my last post about last Sunday (a week ago):
I saw a small torii, shinto gate, at the top of a tiny mountain. More like a huge hill with steep sides. There was a switchback carved into the rock face, and coated with concrete in a cool warped grid pattern. These sorts of earthworks are everywhere here in Japan, but I'd never seen one so up close.
I parked and locked up my bike at the foot of the mini mountain and started my ascent. I found the torii lead to a pair of small shrines on a tiny plateau. I left some offerings at both and looked out across the valley. Nestled between the spurs of the mountains were the little neighborhood I had biked through. I could see the martial arts gym and the massive factories behind it, their machines singing deep in the baritone registry of industrial machinery.
I noticed a path leading up the mountain, beyond the plateau I was on. I decided to see where it went. Up I walked, though somewhat dense underbrush. Tall grass and shrubs, bowing trees, and everywhere young bamboo grew. The path was overgrown, but still visible, and I had no trouble following my way up the mountain. After about 10 minutes of navigating the undergrowth, I found myself at a curious sight. Exiting the lush, green forest, I discovered that the mountain continued in an expanse of fine black sand. Large pipes snaked their way through the air before me, a low and constant rasp speaking of their rushing contents. The occasional hiss of loosed gas would crescendo from the various junctions and valves that the pipes twisted through.
I had found my way into a quarry. I'd seen it before, during Golden Week, from the valley below. I ducked beneath the piping, eager to see what else was there, when I heard voices. Guards? Miners? I found a paved road and crept up it, quick and quiet. To my shock, just around a wide bend, I found a baseball field. Here, halfway up the mountains, wedged between a highway an a rock quarry, was a baseball field. On it, a team was practicing. I nodded a greeting to those who saw me, and they smiled back. I rested in the shade, the first chance to do so after visiting the dojo nearly an hour previous. I watched them practice, and I have to say they were good.
Their uniforms were blue and white. One team, but the players alternated home and away colors, so as to have two virtual teams with which to practice. They had a pitcher, but he didn't throw the ball. Instead, he mimed the action, and right next to him another player would push a ball into a batting machine, hurling a perfect pitch to the batter. It was funny to watch the pitcher put his all into a phantom throw, but I guess it was good practice for his gross body movements.
I watched for the better part of an hour, resting and wishing I had a drink. The teams hit a lot of deep shots. Their teamwork was good, but like all things in the sports world they had room to improve. After my rest I stood up again to explore the quarry.
It was like being on another planet. I walked down a gentle hill of equipment-packed black sand into the main pit. All around me were towering hills of the stuff. Refuse littered the ground, but all finely pulverized. Bottles, spare bits of equipment, even printed circuit boards were present, but all shattered by some unknown force and distributed across a large area. Huge tracks of heavy equipment flanked me as I descended, but not a soul was present. Over this alien landscape was another factory, probably a refinery or processing plant. No one noticed my presence, though, or if they did they didn't bother me. I was quite alone; not even the shouts of the ball game reached me, despite the relative proximity of the playing field.
I noticed lots of animal tracks. Small ones and big ones. Something told me it was probably foxes and wolves. I found them pretty, and a little reassuring. I hadn't seen any wild animals aside from birds, and I had begun to wonder if they had been driven off due to the heavy industry that peppers Japan's landscape. These tracks were fresh, though, no more than two weeks old, if that. As an amusing aside, when I told this part to some of my friends here, a few of those gathered got a little freaked out. They said that had they have seen wolf tracks, they would have left immediately. Just kind of funny, 'cause I never felt any discomfort of unease.
The sand soon gave way to hard, dry dirt, which in turn gave way to the green of the mountain. I decided to turn around, figuring it was probably about time to head back. The heat wasn't bad, but it was constant, and without a drink I knew I would get dehydrated if I stayed out much longer. I was already beginning to feel the fatigue set in from my day's exertions. I ascended the long sand ramp, kicking up a smoky black dust with every step. I took a short detour to the other side of the quarry, having seen a few interesting objects on my initial descent. I found an old, abandoned civilian bus. The keys were still in it, but no signs of habitation were present. A bucket of brown water was filled with cigarette butts, and there was a baseball on the console. The doors were unlocked, too. I had a brief temptation to have a joyride, but I then realized the size of the book they'd throw at me, and thought better of it.
The side of the quarry I found myself on was very flat, aside from the land that had been chewed up by equipment below me. I was on top of a cliff of black sand. More prints, foxes on this side I think, and even less vegetation. I felt exhaustion's inexorable tug again, somewhat more urgently. I trudged back to the lip of the black sand mountain and began a (gravity assisted) descent down the mountain. I passed the shrines, and left another offering at both of them in thanks for a safe trip up and down their mountain path. It was another quick minute, and I was back at my bike at the foot of the mountain. Over 2 hours had passed.
I made my way back along a familiar road. Atop another ridge I saw something that reminded me of something E.J. had said. He talked about exploring on his own, finding a huge graveyard on the side of a hill and a large temple complex that accompanied it. I pulled my bike up a steep flight of stairs (they have ramps on either side for bikes to be pulled, luckily) and found myself face to face with the temple E.J. had found almost a month ago.
A large temple greeted me, friendly and old, it's once-black roof tiles stained a sky blue after years of rain and exposure. My bike left at the foot of a small set of stairs, I trudged up to the temple, in awe at the beauty that surrounded me but still exhausted. I left an offering, said a prayer, and continued to look around. This complex was very active, as temples in Japan go. Most temples and shrines that I've been to don't have active caretakers. Bigger ones can, sometimes, but most of them are so small or remote that the few monks and priests that exist can't stay at them all the time. Most are left to their own devices. Popular or easily accessed ones are cleaned semi-annually by roaming caretakers. But this one, thanks to its massive, popular graveyard and close proximity to Hitachi, was staffed by no less than 2 priests that I saw, with evidence to suggest more.
As I wandered one said hi. He spoke a little English, and we had a short conversation. He was a young man, maybe a few years older than my 24. He was really friendly, with a big smile that came out often. He wanted to know the standard battery of questions: where was I from, what did I do for a living, how old I was. When I told him I was a teacher here in Hitachi I swear his ears perked up. It's somewhat rare to see a foreigner living in an area as rural as Hitachi, and he was positively delighted.
He left me to attend his duties, and I strolled around the graveyard for a little while. Still, my strength was fading fast, and I knew I needed to get back home. So, with a parting bow to the temple, I hopped on my bike and raced home. I took a detour, hoping to find a Recycle shop nearby. Recycle shops are used goods stores that sell a variety of previously-owned merchandise, much like a thrift store, but things tend to be in better condition. Since space is such a premium, people in Japan tend to resell their old media, books, comics, music, DVDs, instead of boxing it up or throwing it away. It nets them some cash, clears up space at home, and (yay for me!) lets poor or cheap people buy stuff at low prices.
Alas, after half an hour of going up and down massive foothills along side a busy highway, I decided to call it a day. Finally, after hours of walking and hiking and taking pictures I headed home. Down massive hills. On a bike. Cue the Dukes of Hazzard music. I was doing 40 mph, easy, dodging pedestrians (of which there were few) and the obstacle course that is the sidewalk as I streaked downhill and back toward home.
When I finally got back, in one piece, I cooked dinner and collapsed in my office chair, soaking up the internet, before falling into a blissful slumber.
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