The next morning I head out relatively early, hoping to stop by the local konbini (convenience store) on the way to school. I park my bicycle outside and head inside, only to bump into Eliza, who happened to have the same idea as me at the time. We got some breakfast and headed out towards the school, but before we're able to take more than a hundred steps, it begins to rain insanely. When it rains in Japan, it really rains. It's almost tropical in a sense - it comes insanely fast, rains incredibly hard, and then leaves as quickly as it came. Caught without an umbrella, Eliza and I had to duck under a nearby awning to hide from the downpour, only to realize it was somebody's driveway. "If they mind, they'll probably come out and say something," Eliza says, and we try to wait it out.
After a short while it seems to die down (although it's still pouring) and I peek my head out to look at the clouds. It looked like it was just the eye of the storm, so to speak, so we decide to make a run for it. We make it to the main gate of the college, only to realize that bicycles aren't allowed inside this particular gate for whatever reason, and a short Japanese guy in a uniform (much like the ones at every gate) ushers me out. I tell Eliza to head off and I'll catch up with her later. Soaked to the bone, I hop on the bike and ride all the way around to the other side of the university, getting a few stares as I am literally the only person on the street without an umbrella, and even if I had one, I'd be the only person unable to ride a bicycle and hold an umbrella at the same time, which is REALLY hard... Unless, of course, you're nihonjin. I'm also rushing to make it to the orientation meeting on time, which doesn't help. I make it through the East gate, politely but hastily greeting the guard there, and run inside, just barely on time. Eliza is there waiting for me, laughing a bit at my drenched appearance.
I have an umbrella now, and it's my best friend.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
A couple of Gaijin = pleasant; Twenty Gaijin = .....
As we headed down the streets of Osaka, we immediately realized how out of place we were. It was the first time any of us had really gone out at night, further outside of the relatively country-like Hirakata and into the more urban areas of Osaka. It wasn't quite as accommodating and friendly as when there were only a few of us walking around; instead, there was a giant group of us, and we were fairly loud (though not rambunctiously so), and all of us, save for Yuuki-san, Hana-san, and their two friends, were Gaijin - which immediately draws stares. So instead of the friendly hello and where are you from that we normally get, it was more of a confused look and the thought, "Where did all of these Gaijin come from and where the hell are they going?"
Me and Corey have taken to calling ourselves the 'crazy gaijin', because from an outsider's perspective, we all must look a little crazy. Corey and I have the same thoughts as we are walking through Osaka. They are roundabout and often have nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Typically we're looking off at something in the distance and it has suckered us in with its Japanese beauty that nihonjin must think is completely mundane. For example, another one of the subtle but interesting differences between Japan and America that me and Corey noticed and shared with each other right off the bat:
There are a lot - and I mean a lot - more cars in Japan that are the blocky, box-shaped kind, which are typically perceived as ugly in America. In Japan it makes perfect sense, however. Sure, they aren't sporty, but I think they portray a certain Zen-like aesthetic in Japan; they don't have to look fancy or whatever to get you from point A to point B. Besides, in Japan, it's simply practical. A huge SUV or a giant convertible would simply take up too much space. Since everything in Japan is much smaller - parking lots, roads, lanes, driveways, garages - it makes a lot of sense to have a small, compact little box-shaped car that will fit almost anywhere.
We reach the Karaoke bar, which is on the third floor of a large building, the first, second, fourth, fifth, and sixth floors being entirely different things altogether, including a supermarket and an office. It reminds me a bit of Manhattan as we go into the elevator in two smaller (but still very large) groups and head up to the Karaoke place. As soon as we exit the elevator, right in front of us, is a man playing at a slot machine, a girl (presumably his girlfriend) sitting next to him. We stare in amazement as he repeatedly gets, no joke, three of the same kind, every single time he goes. It's a timing-based slot machine, not like the ones in casinos, so it's pure skill as he mashes the buttons at just the right time to get three sevens, or three whatevers. We wait in line for a little bit while Yuuki explains in English our options, and then tells the lady behind the counter in Japanese what it is that we want.
2000 yen (about 16 dollars). All you can drink. Three hours of Karaoke. We're ecstatic.
At first I'm hesitant - are there going to be any songs I know? Corey has been to Japan before and shakes his head, saying, "You've got it all wrong, man. They have just as many songs in English as they do in Japanese, if not more." Looking through the list of songs, I'm startled. He's completely right. In front of me is a list of Karaoke songs that rivals my iTunes selection - My Chemical Romance, Dashboard Confessional, Fall Out Boy, Maroon 5, The Used, Yellowcard, Queen, Green Day, you name it, they have it. I don't even have to look through the book. We sit down, order our first drinks, and before Hana-san can even finish saying "What should we sing?" I'm punching in the code for Hotel California.
Ordering drinks inside the booth is hilarious for both parties involved. First of all, as 'crazy gaijin', nobody understands what we're saying when we're talking to ourselves in English, unless they happen to know English, and even then we use enough slang to make it impossible for them to understand anyway. Secondly, things that we call one thing might exist in Japan, but under a different name. Corey says, "I wonder if I can get a Jack and Coke", and turns to the lady giving us drinks, whom I will call Confused-san for now, saying, "eh, to... Jakku to kokku?". Confused-san gives him a strange look, and I immediately say out loud, "Dude, there's no way they have a Jack and Coke in the menu. If they did it's probably under a different name." Nevertheless he tries again, this time motioning that 'jack' was one thing - whiskey - and coke was another thing - coca-cola - and that a Jack and Coke, or a "Jakku to kokku", was both mixed together. Clearly Confused-san has no idea what the hell Corey is talking about, so Hana comes over and translates. After describing it to Hana, he hits his forehead, turns to Confused-san, and just says, "Whiskey" (although it's in Katakana, the language used for foreign words, so it comes out as "Uisuki").
Corey turns to me with a disgusted look. "It's just called Whiskey? What the hell? What if somebody just wants Whiskey and doesn't want coca-cola?" I explain to him that it's going to be completely different when you come to a place like Japan; for all we know, a Whiskey with nothing mixed in could be called a Straight Whiskey or something along those lines ("Uisuki storeito").
Sooner or later, Bohemian Rhapsody, Piano Man, and several other songs are sung by all of us at the same time. However, surprisingly, the most people sing at the same time when Cruel Angel's Thesis, the Japanese theme song to the popular anime Evangelion, is chosen. Yuuki, Mana, and Hana are taken completely by surprise by the number of us ryugakusei who know the entirety of the song by heart, and simply because we are insane and really like Evangelion (as well as other anime).
A couple more drinks and many more songs later, we decide to go out with a bang. One of the nihonjin girls with us tells us to sing something out of the ordinary. Me and Corey look at each other and simply nod, putting in the code for Forgotten by Linkin Park. The other guys smile, because they know what's coming. The Japanese girls simply wait, not knowing that any second now, me and Corey are going to start yelling. For my readers who don't know how this song goes, it's two (rappers?) rappers yelling back and forth, their lines sort of overlapping so that when one person's line/rap/yell ends, the next person's begins.
"From the top to the bottom!" "Bottom to top, I stop!" "At the core I've forgotten!" "In the middle of my thoughts!"
The chorus is all singing, but the rest of the song is basically rap or spoken, and the nihonjin are caught completely off guard. The girls think it's both hilarious and cool at the same time, and Hana and Yuuki are simply laughing their ass off. Sure we're making a fool of ourselves. But that's the whole point, ne?
After a while I decide to redeem myself by singing a song I know I'm good at, Sewn by The Feeling. The girl to my left, Amanda, thinks I'm very good, and asks if I know Broken by Seether, a song that has a girl part and a boy part. Nodding, we punch in the code and a friendship is immediately formed.
We head home after our three hours are up, hustling to make it back in time before the dormitory closes its gates. During the orientation week period, we have an 11 o'clock curfew, which is lifted once orientation is over (thank goodness). Talking with Amanda, I learn that she's from Ohio, and that she has absolutely no experience with Japanese whatsoever, and that she's timidly afraid of the path we're walking on, because it's so late. "Don't worry," I tell her, "Japan is one of the safest countries in the world, and there's about twenty of us. Nothing's going to happen." I simply want to reassure her that she's safe at the moment; I don't think it would be quite as safe if she were alone. "You're from New York, I overheard... Is it dangerous there compared to here?" I fidget. I've been to some shady parts of NY, primarily the city where my college is, Schenectady. While I've never been involved personally in any kind of 'danger', like a mugging or anything, I've heard a lot of stories about it happening in Schenectady, so I feel very confident and very safe when I walk around Hirakata and Osaka; as if nothing could possibly touch me here. If I can survive in Schenectady, I'll be perfectly fine here, I think to myself. Amanda still seems a bit nervous, though.
We get back to the dorm on time and say our goodbyes to the generous nihonjin who took us to the Karaoke bar, then depart our seperate ways into the four different "Seminar Houses", which are different dorms. I learn that Amanda and Kim are both in Seminar House 1, where Eliza lives, and that Ruth, Corey, Chris, and a few of the other people I met who went with us all live in Seminar House 4, which is my dorm. We go inside, exhausted and incredibly happy, already planning our next trip.
Me and Corey have taken to calling ourselves the 'crazy gaijin', because from an outsider's perspective, we all must look a little crazy. Corey and I have the same thoughts as we are walking through Osaka. They are roundabout and often have nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Typically we're looking off at something in the distance and it has suckered us in with its Japanese beauty that nihonjin must think is completely mundane. For example, another one of the subtle but interesting differences between Japan and America that me and Corey noticed and shared with each other right off the bat:
There are a lot - and I mean a lot - more cars in Japan that are the blocky, box-shaped kind, which are typically perceived as ugly in America. In Japan it makes perfect sense, however. Sure, they aren't sporty, but I think they portray a certain Zen-like aesthetic in Japan; they don't have to look fancy or whatever to get you from point A to point B. Besides, in Japan, it's simply practical. A huge SUV or a giant convertible would simply take up too much space. Since everything in Japan is much smaller - parking lots, roads, lanes, driveways, garages - it makes a lot of sense to have a small, compact little box-shaped car that will fit almost anywhere.
We reach the Karaoke bar, which is on the third floor of a large building, the first, second, fourth, fifth, and sixth floors being entirely different things altogether, including a supermarket and an office. It reminds me a bit of Manhattan as we go into the elevator in two smaller (but still very large) groups and head up to the Karaoke place. As soon as we exit the elevator, right in front of us, is a man playing at a slot machine, a girl (presumably his girlfriend) sitting next to him. We stare in amazement as he repeatedly gets, no joke, three of the same kind, every single time he goes. It's a timing-based slot machine, not like the ones in casinos, so it's pure skill as he mashes the buttons at just the right time to get three sevens, or three whatevers. We wait in line for a little bit while Yuuki explains in English our options, and then tells the lady behind the counter in Japanese what it is that we want.
2000 yen (about 16 dollars). All you can drink. Three hours of Karaoke. We're ecstatic.
At first I'm hesitant - are there going to be any songs I know? Corey has been to Japan before and shakes his head, saying, "You've got it all wrong, man. They have just as many songs in English as they do in Japanese, if not more." Looking through the list of songs, I'm startled. He's completely right. In front of me is a list of Karaoke songs that rivals my iTunes selection - My Chemical Romance, Dashboard Confessional, Fall Out Boy, Maroon 5, The Used, Yellowcard, Queen, Green Day, you name it, they have it. I don't even have to look through the book. We sit down, order our first drinks, and before Hana-san can even finish saying "What should we sing?" I'm punching in the code for Hotel California.
Ordering drinks inside the booth is hilarious for both parties involved. First of all, as 'crazy gaijin', nobody understands what we're saying when we're talking to ourselves in English, unless they happen to know English, and even then we use enough slang to make it impossible for them to understand anyway. Secondly, things that we call one thing might exist in Japan, but under a different name. Corey says, "I wonder if I can get a Jack and Coke", and turns to the lady giving us drinks, whom I will call Confused-san for now, saying, "eh, to... Jakku to kokku?". Confused-san gives him a strange look, and I immediately say out loud, "Dude, there's no way they have a Jack and Coke in the menu. If they did it's probably under a different name." Nevertheless he tries again, this time motioning that 'jack' was one thing - whiskey - and coke was another thing - coca-cola - and that a Jack and Coke, or a "Jakku to kokku", was both mixed together. Clearly Confused-san has no idea what the hell Corey is talking about, so Hana comes over and translates. After describing it to Hana, he hits his forehead, turns to Confused-san, and just says, "Whiskey" (although it's in Katakana, the language used for foreign words, so it comes out as "Uisuki").
Corey turns to me with a disgusted look. "It's just called Whiskey? What the hell? What if somebody just wants Whiskey and doesn't want coca-cola?" I explain to him that it's going to be completely different when you come to a place like Japan; for all we know, a Whiskey with nothing mixed in could be called a Straight Whiskey or something along those lines ("Uisuki storeito").
Sooner or later, Bohemian Rhapsody, Piano Man, and several other songs are sung by all of us at the same time. However, surprisingly, the most people sing at the same time when Cruel Angel's Thesis, the Japanese theme song to the popular anime Evangelion, is chosen. Yuuki, Mana, and Hana are taken completely by surprise by the number of us ryugakusei who know the entirety of the song by heart, and simply because we are insane and really like Evangelion (as well as other anime).
A couple more drinks and many more songs later, we decide to go out with a bang. One of the nihonjin girls with us tells us to sing something out of the ordinary. Me and Corey look at each other and simply nod, putting in the code for Forgotten by Linkin Park. The other guys smile, because they know what's coming. The Japanese girls simply wait, not knowing that any second now, me and Corey are going to start yelling. For my readers who don't know how this song goes, it's two (rappers?) rappers yelling back and forth, their lines sort of overlapping so that when one person's line/rap/yell ends, the next person's begins.
"From the top to the bottom!" "Bottom to top, I stop!" "At the core I've forgotten!" "In the middle of my thoughts!"
The chorus is all singing, but the rest of the song is basically rap or spoken, and the nihonjin are caught completely off guard. The girls think it's both hilarious and cool at the same time, and Hana and Yuuki are simply laughing their ass off. Sure we're making a fool of ourselves. But that's the whole point, ne?
After a while I decide to redeem myself by singing a song I know I'm good at, Sewn by The Feeling. The girl to my left, Amanda, thinks I'm very good, and asks if I know Broken by Seether, a song that has a girl part and a boy part. Nodding, we punch in the code and a friendship is immediately formed.
We head home after our three hours are up, hustling to make it back in time before the dormitory closes its gates. During the orientation week period, we have an 11 o'clock curfew, which is lifted once orientation is over (thank goodness). Talking with Amanda, I learn that she's from Ohio, and that she has absolutely no experience with Japanese whatsoever, and that she's timidly afraid of the path we're walking on, because it's so late. "Don't worry," I tell her, "Japan is one of the safest countries in the world, and there's about twenty of us. Nothing's going to happen." I simply want to reassure her that she's safe at the moment; I don't think it would be quite as safe if she were alone. "You're from New York, I overheard... Is it dangerous there compared to here?" I fidget. I've been to some shady parts of NY, primarily the city where my college is, Schenectady. While I've never been involved personally in any kind of 'danger', like a mugging or anything, I've heard a lot of stories about it happening in Schenectady, so I feel very confident and very safe when I walk around Hirakata and Osaka; as if nothing could possibly touch me here. If I can survive in Schenectady, I'll be perfectly fine here, I think to myself. Amanda still seems a bit nervous, though.
We get back to the dorm on time and say our goodbyes to the generous nihonjin who took us to the Karaoke bar, then depart our seperate ways into the four different "Seminar Houses", which are different dorms. I learn that Amanda and Kim are both in Seminar House 1, where Eliza lives, and that Ruth, Corey, Chris, and a few of the other people I met who went with us all live in Seminar House 4, which is my dorm. We go inside, exhausted and incredibly happy, already planning our next trip.
Kansai Gaidai at last
The actual campus for Kansai Gaidai is a bit far away; about a twenty minute walk from our dorm room. We'd find out soon enough that a twenty minute walk isn't really that bad; almost everything is at least ten minutes away unless we bike, but not many people have bikes just yet, so until everybody gets one, we walk.
There is an extremely amicable man in a uniform (campus safety I presume) by the gate closest to our dorm, who is always there, and extremely nice to us. When we walk in, all of us bow as we walk by, saying, "Ohayou gozaimasu", a polite way of saying good morning, and he does the same in return. Pretty soon greetings like this become second nature. Bowing is like something that you to do everybody, and greetings are the same way. If you pass somebody on the street, and neither of you look like you're in a particular hurry, it's normal for both people (complete strangers even) to stop and greet each other in this way. This is especially true for campus safety officers, police officers, even construction workers... essentially, anybody in a uniform of some sort.
The campus is very different architecturally from the rest of Hirakata, built very much with a more western style in mind. It's definitely beautiful, but in a different way from the rest of the city. There aren't many Japanese students inside the campus, which at first I thought was strange; everywhere I looked there were ryugakusei, but no nihonjin (japanese people) unless they were workers or faculty. Later I'd find out that the reason for this was because classes for Japanese students at Kansai Daigaku don't begin until the 25th of September. Why they have almost a month with no classes when we have class is beyond me.
There is a boatload of paperwork we have to do for orientation, starting from the day we went into the campus and not ending for quite a while. Insurance. Liability. Payments. Deposits. Privacy consent. Banking. Everything has a form related to it, and if you fill the form out even remotely incorrectly, you have to start over with a blank form. It's like playing the game operation. And I'm seriously not kidding - one of the forms I had to fill out to make a bank account with Suritomo (a bank in Japan) required you to not touch ANY of the lines on the paper when you write on it - none whatsoever - or they make you start over. Why? I have no idea.
The cafeteria is fairly large and run by a group of little old japanese women who are used to having ryugakusei try to order food, but still speak no english whatsoever. Most of us simply order food by pointing at something and saying "Sore wo onegaishimasu", or, "I'll have that, please". The more advanced students will ask if they have a certain item, or ask what is good. The food is absolutely spectacular, and incredibly cheap at the cafeteria. For 400 yen (about $3.50) we had rice with curry and miso soup, and a coca-cola. And by we I mean, all of us had the same exact thing (this was a result of me ordering curry and everybody else saying, "onaji onegaishimasu," or, "I'll have the same").
We have a tour of the campus given to us by a Japanese student named Yohei-san. He's a bit... How shall I say this... Absent-minded. Not unintelligent, but a bit not there, either. He shows us excitedly all the different places on campus, including a convenience store, the bookstore, the ATM, the (a-hem) Makudo-narudo, which is how Japanese people pronounce McDonald's, the library, the registrar, and the Center for International Education building, which is where all of our classes will be held. Yohei-san doesn't have all of the answers to our questions, so better-informed classmates seem to be the way to go when looking for answers.
I didn't bump into Eliza at all, but I did meet some new people when I went back to the cafeteria to get dinner. There was a large group of people, two of whom I recognized, and I immediately got pulled into their group of friends. The group seemed to revolve around two nihonjin students, Yuuki and Hana Ryuichi, who is constantly changing which name (his family or his given name) he prefers to be called by. I'll call him Hana for now, since it's what I hear more people call him. They explain that they get made fun of a bit because Yuuki means snow and is generally a girl's name, and Hana means flower, and, well, you get the idea. With them is Ruth and Kim, two girls from Colorado, who laugh at me a bit when I tell them I like snowboarding ("Snowboarding? In NY? Hah! You don't know what snowboarding IS until you've been to Colorado!"). Also with them is a kid named Corey, who is almost fluent in Chinese and has been to China, and his friend Chris. We sit and talk for a while eating our early dinner, which for me is simply rice and miso soup for a startlingly cheap 200 yen (= about $1.75) and quite filling.
Yuuki and Hana are freshman at Kansai Daigaku, and are studying English rigorously; even more so than our Japanese. They, like most nihonjin, studied English in both middle school and high school, and have taken English courses for six years. They're fairly fluent; so long as you don't talk particularly fast, they'll understand everything you say. They're just as interested in learning English and speaking English with us as we are in speaking Japanese with them, so it works out quite well for everybody involved. Then comes the words everybody was waiting for; Ruth says excitedly, "Let's do Karaoke tonight!!"
... It's amazing how these things spread.
Three hours later, I'm leaving my dormitory with about 20 other people, most of whom I'd just met that day, heading further into Osaka, led by Yuuki-san, Hana-san, and their two friends, Mana-san and another Japanese girl whose name I didn't catch. I'm not exactly sure how I went from knowing two people, Eliza and Aaron, to knowing twenty people, and now I'm going with them to a Karaoke place... But, well, you know what they say: When in Rome... err... Japan...
There is an extremely amicable man in a uniform (campus safety I presume) by the gate closest to our dorm, who is always there, and extremely nice to us. When we walk in, all of us bow as we walk by, saying, "Ohayou gozaimasu", a polite way of saying good morning, and he does the same in return. Pretty soon greetings like this become second nature. Bowing is like something that you to do everybody, and greetings are the same way. If you pass somebody on the street, and neither of you look like you're in a particular hurry, it's normal for both people (complete strangers even) to stop and greet each other in this way. This is especially true for campus safety officers, police officers, even construction workers... essentially, anybody in a uniform of some sort.
The campus is very different architecturally from the rest of Hirakata, built very much with a more western style in mind. It's definitely beautiful, but in a different way from the rest of the city. There aren't many Japanese students inside the campus, which at first I thought was strange; everywhere I looked there were ryugakusei, but no nihonjin (japanese people) unless they were workers or faculty. Later I'd find out that the reason for this was because classes for Japanese students at Kansai Daigaku don't begin until the 25th of September. Why they have almost a month with no classes when we have class is beyond me.
There is a boatload of paperwork we have to do for orientation, starting from the day we went into the campus and not ending for quite a while. Insurance. Liability. Payments. Deposits. Privacy consent. Banking. Everything has a form related to it, and if you fill the form out even remotely incorrectly, you have to start over with a blank form. It's like playing the game operation. And I'm seriously not kidding - one of the forms I had to fill out to make a bank account with Suritomo (a bank in Japan) required you to not touch ANY of the lines on the paper when you write on it - none whatsoever - or they make you start over. Why? I have no idea.
The cafeteria is fairly large and run by a group of little old japanese women who are used to having ryugakusei try to order food, but still speak no english whatsoever. Most of us simply order food by pointing at something and saying "Sore wo onegaishimasu", or, "I'll have that, please". The more advanced students will ask if they have a certain item, or ask what is good. The food is absolutely spectacular, and incredibly cheap at the cafeteria. For 400 yen (about $3.50) we had rice with curry and miso soup, and a coca-cola. And by we I mean, all of us had the same exact thing (this was a result of me ordering curry and everybody else saying, "onaji onegaishimasu," or, "I'll have the same").
We have a tour of the campus given to us by a Japanese student named Yohei-san. He's a bit... How shall I say this... Absent-minded. Not unintelligent, but a bit not there, either. He shows us excitedly all the different places on campus, including a convenience store, the bookstore, the ATM, the (a-hem) Makudo-narudo, which is how Japanese people pronounce McDonald's, the library, the registrar, and the Center for International Education building, which is where all of our classes will be held. Yohei-san doesn't have all of the answers to our questions, so better-informed classmates seem to be the way to go when looking for answers.
I didn't bump into Eliza at all, but I did meet some new people when I went back to the cafeteria to get dinner. There was a large group of people, two of whom I recognized, and I immediately got pulled into their group of friends. The group seemed to revolve around two nihonjin students, Yuuki and Hana Ryuichi, who is constantly changing which name (his family or his given name) he prefers to be called by. I'll call him Hana for now, since it's what I hear more people call him. They explain that they get made fun of a bit because Yuuki means snow and is generally a girl's name, and Hana means flower, and, well, you get the idea. With them is Ruth and Kim, two girls from Colorado, who laugh at me a bit when I tell them I like snowboarding ("Snowboarding? In NY? Hah! You don't know what snowboarding IS until you've been to Colorado!"). Also with them is a kid named Corey, who is almost fluent in Chinese and has been to China, and his friend Chris. We sit and talk for a while eating our early dinner, which for me is simply rice and miso soup for a startlingly cheap 200 yen (= about $1.75) and quite filling.
Yuuki and Hana are freshman at Kansai Daigaku, and are studying English rigorously; even more so than our Japanese. They, like most nihonjin, studied English in both middle school and high school, and have taken English courses for six years. They're fairly fluent; so long as you don't talk particularly fast, they'll understand everything you say. They're just as interested in learning English and speaking English with us as we are in speaking Japanese with them, so it works out quite well for everybody involved. Then comes the words everybody was waiting for; Ruth says excitedly, "Let's do Karaoke tonight!!"
... It's amazing how these things spread.
Three hours later, I'm leaving my dormitory with about 20 other people, most of whom I'd just met that day, heading further into Osaka, led by Yuuki-san, Hana-san, and their two friends, Mana-san and another Japanese girl whose name I didn't catch. I'm not exactly sure how I went from knowing two people, Eliza and Aaron, to knowing twenty people, and now I'm going with them to a Karaoke place... But, well, you know what they say: When in Rome... err... Japan...
Cleanliness is Japanliness
When I awoke in the morning, my roommate had already left for breakfast, although he had told me previously that he'd be back to show me around the campus, since he knew it pretty well already. I did my morning routine and headed over to the bathroom and showers. It was the first time I had seen the a bathroom in our dormitory. My jaw didn't just drop; I think it dislocated. First of all, everything is clean. Like, everything. This is a relatively public men's bathroom and it is practically spotless. This in and of itself is amazing. When you walk in, there are about six pairs of 'bathroom slippers' labeled 'toilet' on them for use while you are in the bathroom; this is a Japanese custom that all households observe, not just dorms, although they are absent from most public restrooms (such as in train stations, restaurants, etc), so I thought it was really cool that they had it here. There are little subtle things about the bathroom that simply amaze me; the soap dispenser is incredibly easy to use, the faucets turn on automatically when you put your hands under them, and the hand dryer is designed in such a way that you simply put your hands inside this little box-like device, and then it turns on, and by the time you've taken your hands out, they're dry.
And then there's the toilet.
This... Cybernetic monstrosity of a toilet. It has buttons. BUTTONS. The seat is warm, and I don't mean warm like 'ew somebody must have just been sitting here' warm, I mean like, electronically heated warm. There are settings to turn the toilet into a bidet, spray water upwards (with an appropriate little pictograph of water splashing on two large butt cheeks), and even PLAY MUSIC. Suffice it to say that this is the most technologically advanced toilet I've ever used.
The showers are incredibly convenient. Instead of strange communal showers or ugly, disgusting showers like the ones in most college dormitories, these showers are private, seperate, and have two seperate little rooms. First you go into a seperate little curtained-off area to put your towel, clothes, etc, the floor of which has rows of blue plastic... things on it, so when you come out of the shower all wet, you don't get the floor wet; instead, you get the blue plastic wet. It's strange but it made sense only after I LEFT the shower, because the area directly outside the curtain has a sort of turf-like floor; it's not quite carpet, but it's not bathroom tile either; it's sort of in between. Anyway, then you go into the actual shower, which is closed off and nice and private, with a door that slides shut and actually locks. Directly outside the shower area with the astroturf floor is a row of sinks and mirrors, where people shave and such.
Once I'm done with my morning routine I head downstairs and meet up with my roommate, who asks my RA, Takafumi-san, who adamantly requests that we call him Taka, if we can borrow his bike. My roommate has already purchased a used bike and doesn't want to have to walk his bike to campus while I walk alongside him. Unfortunately Taka is already headed out and is using his bike, so we walk. Just before we leave about ten people join us, all heading to the campus. This is the first time something like this happens but it is by no means the last. A constantly growing trend seems to be latching on to groups of people who are going to do something, thus making an even larger group, to which more and more people latch on to, until you're less of a group and more of an amorphic blob of gaijin. We head out towards the campus - a twenty minute walk.
More to come.
And then there's the toilet.
This... Cybernetic monstrosity of a toilet. It has buttons. BUTTONS. The seat is warm, and I don't mean warm like 'ew somebody must have just been sitting here' warm, I mean like, electronically heated warm. There are settings to turn the toilet into a bidet, spray water upwards (with an appropriate little pictograph of water splashing on two large butt cheeks), and even PLAY MUSIC. Suffice it to say that this is the most technologically advanced toilet I've ever used.
The showers are incredibly convenient. Instead of strange communal showers or ugly, disgusting showers like the ones in most college dormitories, these showers are private, seperate, and have two seperate little rooms. First you go into a seperate little curtained-off area to put your towel, clothes, etc, the floor of which has rows of blue plastic... things on it, so when you come out of the shower all wet, you don't get the floor wet; instead, you get the blue plastic wet. It's strange but it made sense only after I LEFT the shower, because the area directly outside the curtain has a sort of turf-like floor; it's not quite carpet, but it's not bathroom tile either; it's sort of in between. Anyway, then you go into the actual shower, which is closed off and nice and private, with a door that slides shut and actually locks. Directly outside the shower area with the astroturf floor is a row of sinks and mirrors, where people shave and such.
Once I'm done with my morning routine I head downstairs and meet up with my roommate, who asks my RA, Takafumi-san, who adamantly requests that we call him Taka, if we can borrow his bike. My roommate has already purchased a used bike and doesn't want to have to walk his bike to campus while I walk alongside him. Unfortunately Taka is already headed out and is using his bike, so we walk. Just before we leave about ten people join us, all heading to the campus. This is the first time something like this happens but it is by no means the last. A constantly growing trend seems to be latching on to groups of people who are going to do something, thus making an even larger group, to which more and more people latch on to, until you're less of a group and more of an amorphic blob of gaijin. We head out towards the campus - a twenty minute walk.
More to come.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Everything in Japan is small... Except Pachinko
Me and Eliza got in line under Foreign Entry and waited. And waited. And continued to wait. We saw a few of the other students we'd seen before, but didn't really say anything, continuing our own private conversation. It was a bit frightening; on the wall behind the counter we were headed to was a gigantic sign that simply said, in english, something along the lines of "Due to the threat of terrorism entry process will be strict," or something similar to that. We kept exchanging scared looks, and Eliza said, "I hope I don't get deported," which is, of course, the worst thing she could have said, as it made me realize how bad things could get. Nevertheless, when we reached the counter, we simply handed in our passports and Disembarkation cards, waited a few minutes while the man behind the counter processed the information, and then he gave us back our passports and sent us on our merry way. It was easier than we thought. This ended up being the general theme for the rest of our trip through the airport. We had figured that this would be the hardest part of the trip - after all, now we're officially in Japan - but in fact, it was the easiest. After all of the hassle in SF, we reach Osaka and everything just sort of fits in place.
When we left the immigration area we got to baggage claim. Apparently everybody in our flight had already up and left. Our bags, along with maybe one or two more, were literally the only bags left whatsoever. We pointed at them, smiled, shrugged, took them, and moved on. "That was easy." Next was customs. Shit. We looked at each other, exchanging frightful glances once more. This was actually the easiest part, however. We simply gave the man the customs form we filled out on the plane. He gave it the once-over and let us pass. That was it. For some reason me and Eliza both had the impression he was going to open our bags and look through every little thing we owned. Apparently, writing that we didn't have anything illegal is enough for him. I wonder what would have happened had we actually attempted to smuggle something through. As long as we simply write that we didn't, he won't check? That would sort of be like if I shot somebody in the face, and then when the police officer arrived, I told him, "I didn't shoot that guy in the face," and the officer just nodded and said, "Ah, I see. You're free to go, then." But I'm not really complaining, since it helped considerably in this case.
We then had to find the North Arrival Gate. As soon as we began looking, however, I saw the large sign next to us that said, "North Arrivals", and shrugged. "Uhm... I think this is the North Arrival Gate." and surely, just as I said that, a very, VERY excited looking Japanese person, who looked only a little older than us, ran up to us and said, "Kansai Gaidai?" We nodded and smiled, and he beckoned us to follow him. We followed him to a little area where, it seemed, all of the other students had gone, waiting for the bus to Kansai Gaidai to leave. For whatever reason, all of us seemed to be under the impression that we didn't expect so many of us to be there. So it was pretty awesome seeing so many of us together. We broke off into little groups, looking for food around the airport, as the bus wasn't coming for another half hour or so. Me and Eliza looked about and eventually found a slew of vending machines off to the side.
There's a few things you should know about vending machines in Japan. Firstly, what many people know - vending machines in Japan sell EVERYTHING. I really mean this. There are vending machines that sell beer, calling cards, even girl's panties, from what I'm told. It's insane. But the first thing I saw in a vending machine wasn't something outrageous, it was just wierd. It was a sports drink called - and I'm not making this up - Pocari Sweat. Why somebody would think it was a good marketing decision to put the word 'sweat' anywhere near the name of something you put in your mouth is entirely beyond me. Eliza went up to the machine and bought one, immediately, with no hesitation. I gagged a little bit.
I bumped into Jackie, a girl from my home university, Union College, but had very little time to talk to her, since my bus was about to leave, and there wasn't room for Jackie and the other ten or so students that were with her, having just arrived. Instead, me, Eliza, and the group of students we were with boarded our bus and began the 90 minute ride to Kansai Gaidai.
The trip was enlightening in many ways. There was a period of time, at first, in which all of us looked out the bus windows and thought (or said aloud), "everything sort of looks the same..." But it didn't. We just hadn't noticed it yet. The very first thing that caught my eye was the sheer number of Pachinko buildings we passed on the way to Hirakata City. Pachinko is like a sort of Japanese slot machine game; you put a coin in, a marble drops from the top, hits a bunch of pegs on its way down to the bottom of the machine, and depending on where it lands, you either lose, or win. Essentially, it's a luck-based gambling machine. But for whatever reason it's insanely popular. I really mean insane. Every minute or so, we passed a very large pachinko place. There must have been at least a hundred on the way there alone.
The second thing I noticed was the mountain range in the background. Everywhere one looked, on the distant horizon, there was a ridiculously tall mountain. This could be said for places in America too, but not at all where I lived, in cozy Wantagh, Long Island, where the closest thing we have to a mountain is at least an hour away - and it's really more like a large hill, compared to these mountains. Power lines are everywhere in Osaka. Later, my friend Corey (whom I haven't met yet, if you're reading from the start) would say, "Isn't it unhealthy to have this many power cables running about? Like, isn't that really bad for you?" I imagine it's just out of necessity; after all, Japan is one of the most overpopulated places in the world.
The roads are also very narrow, which is something I noticed on the bus. Very often the lanes were so small that the bus, or other cars, would have to swerve into other lanes (even as far as the other side of the road) to avoid people biking in the street, pedestrians, or cars parked on the side of the road. This was especially true once we got to Hirakata, which is part of Osaka, but not really part of Osaka, if you catch my drift. Hirakata is a bit more country-esque; with the exception of the campus, buildings are rarely taller than one or two stories, and everything looks and feels a bit on the older side. However, it's a mere twenty minute walk (or a five minute bike ride) into the area of Osaka that is more metropolitan.
When we reached the university, I had to say goodbye to Eliza and many of the other friends I'd made, as they were dropped off the students at Seminar House 4 - my dormitory - first. I went inside and was told to fill out - you guessed it - more forms, as well as put my shoes in a small cubby to the left, where my room number was also posted. Everything in the dormitory is very neatly organized. Shoes go in the cubby. Umbrellas go in the box next to the door. Fridges for every single room are in the room next to the kitchen; not in each individual room. Finally, I head upstairs and into my room, only to find that my roommate is not around, although his stuff is strewn about the room, so I figured he was out and about, and that I should make myself at home. I hooked up my computer first, as I usually do when I travel and begin to unpack, but the internet isn't working. Looking through my orientation packet, I notice that we can't use our laptops for internet until we get them registered at the CIE (Center for International Education) building, which is a two to three day process, requiring - yes, you know what's coming - more paperwork. First we have to fill out a form and hand it into the CIE. Then we have to come back the NEXT DAY and drop off our laptop. Then, we have to come back either later that night, or the day after THAT, to pick the laptop up. While I'm not too keen on the idea of leaving my laptop with some strangers, the prospect of having no internet on my private computer is much worse, especially since my computer has Skype, a program allowing me to make phone calls to my parents at home. Sighing, I head downstairs and use the computer lounge to make yesterday's blog post.
When I head upstairs again it's nearly midnight and I'm exhausted from the day-long trip. I unroll my futon and get on - it's surprisingly comfy - very, very comfy - and begin to doze off, when the door opens, and Aaron walks in.
Aaron is, apparently, my roommate, who had just come back from a night on the town in Osaka with some of his friends, who he had made in the four days he was here without me. Feeling a bit silly for coming so late, we talked for a little bit, before he explained he was headed back downstairs to play cards. I was invited, but I decided not to. It was way too late for me. I fell asleep, setting my alarm for 8 AM. Tomorrow would be a long day. And since I'm apparently writing each day's post the day after they happen, I can tell you in earnest that tomorrow - which was today - was a very, very long day. In fact, I can't imagine writing all about it in one post. Maybe I'll make my posts shorter so I can write them as they happen. It'll be a lot easier once my computer is all registered.
In my next post(s), I'll write about today's experiences - the main campus of Kansai Gaidai, weather in Japan during the summer, Japanese architecture, cars, convenience stores, the cafeteria, Yohei the tour guide, Yuuki and Hana, many other people I met whose names are a long winded list, including Ruth, Kim, Corey, Chris, and Amanda, our completely insane trip to a Karaoke bar, fears about angry old japanese people yelling "Gaijin" at us, buying a bicycle and the tiny old man who sells them, and exactly why filling out paperwork in Japan can sometimes be an insane pain in the neck.
Until then,
~ Aidyn
When we left the immigration area we got to baggage claim. Apparently everybody in our flight had already up and left. Our bags, along with maybe one or two more, were literally the only bags left whatsoever. We pointed at them, smiled, shrugged, took them, and moved on. "That was easy." Next was customs. Shit. We looked at each other, exchanging frightful glances once more. This was actually the easiest part, however. We simply gave the man the customs form we filled out on the plane. He gave it the once-over and let us pass. That was it. For some reason me and Eliza both had the impression he was going to open our bags and look through every little thing we owned. Apparently, writing that we didn't have anything illegal is enough for him. I wonder what would have happened had we actually attempted to smuggle something through. As long as we simply write that we didn't, he won't check? That would sort of be like if I shot somebody in the face, and then when the police officer arrived, I told him, "I didn't shoot that guy in the face," and the officer just nodded and said, "Ah, I see. You're free to go, then." But I'm not really complaining, since it helped considerably in this case.
We then had to find the North Arrival Gate. As soon as we began looking, however, I saw the large sign next to us that said, "North Arrivals", and shrugged. "Uhm... I think this is the North Arrival Gate." and surely, just as I said that, a very, VERY excited looking Japanese person, who looked only a little older than us, ran up to us and said, "Kansai Gaidai?" We nodded and smiled, and he beckoned us to follow him. We followed him to a little area where, it seemed, all of the other students had gone, waiting for the bus to Kansai Gaidai to leave. For whatever reason, all of us seemed to be under the impression that we didn't expect so many of us to be there. So it was pretty awesome seeing so many of us together. We broke off into little groups, looking for food around the airport, as the bus wasn't coming for another half hour or so. Me and Eliza looked about and eventually found a slew of vending machines off to the side.
There's a few things you should know about vending machines in Japan. Firstly, what many people know - vending machines in Japan sell EVERYTHING. I really mean this. There are vending machines that sell beer, calling cards, even girl's panties, from what I'm told. It's insane. But the first thing I saw in a vending machine wasn't something outrageous, it was just wierd. It was a sports drink called - and I'm not making this up - Pocari Sweat. Why somebody would think it was a good marketing decision to put the word 'sweat' anywhere near the name of something you put in your mouth is entirely beyond me. Eliza went up to the machine and bought one, immediately, with no hesitation. I gagged a little bit.
I bumped into Jackie, a girl from my home university, Union College, but had very little time to talk to her, since my bus was about to leave, and there wasn't room for Jackie and the other ten or so students that were with her, having just arrived. Instead, me, Eliza, and the group of students we were with boarded our bus and began the 90 minute ride to Kansai Gaidai.
The trip was enlightening in many ways. There was a period of time, at first, in which all of us looked out the bus windows and thought (or said aloud), "everything sort of looks the same..." But it didn't. We just hadn't noticed it yet. The very first thing that caught my eye was the sheer number of Pachinko buildings we passed on the way to Hirakata City. Pachinko is like a sort of Japanese slot machine game; you put a coin in, a marble drops from the top, hits a bunch of pegs on its way down to the bottom of the machine, and depending on where it lands, you either lose, or win. Essentially, it's a luck-based gambling machine. But for whatever reason it's insanely popular. I really mean insane. Every minute or so, we passed a very large pachinko place. There must have been at least a hundred on the way there alone.
The second thing I noticed was the mountain range in the background. Everywhere one looked, on the distant horizon, there was a ridiculously tall mountain. This could be said for places in America too, but not at all where I lived, in cozy Wantagh, Long Island, where the closest thing we have to a mountain is at least an hour away - and it's really more like a large hill, compared to these mountains. Power lines are everywhere in Osaka. Later, my friend Corey (whom I haven't met yet, if you're reading from the start) would say, "Isn't it unhealthy to have this many power cables running about? Like, isn't that really bad for you?" I imagine it's just out of necessity; after all, Japan is one of the most overpopulated places in the world.
The roads are also very narrow, which is something I noticed on the bus. Very often the lanes were so small that the bus, or other cars, would have to swerve into other lanes (even as far as the other side of the road) to avoid people biking in the street, pedestrians, or cars parked on the side of the road. This was especially true once we got to Hirakata, which is part of Osaka, but not really part of Osaka, if you catch my drift. Hirakata is a bit more country-esque; with the exception of the campus, buildings are rarely taller than one or two stories, and everything looks and feels a bit on the older side. However, it's a mere twenty minute walk (or a five minute bike ride) into the area of Osaka that is more metropolitan.
When we reached the university, I had to say goodbye to Eliza and many of the other friends I'd made, as they were dropped off the students at Seminar House 4 - my dormitory - first. I went inside and was told to fill out - you guessed it - more forms, as well as put my shoes in a small cubby to the left, where my room number was also posted. Everything in the dormitory is very neatly organized. Shoes go in the cubby. Umbrellas go in the box next to the door. Fridges for every single room are in the room next to the kitchen; not in each individual room. Finally, I head upstairs and into my room, only to find that my roommate is not around, although his stuff is strewn about the room, so I figured he was out and about, and that I should make myself at home. I hooked up my computer first, as I usually do when I travel and begin to unpack, but the internet isn't working. Looking through my orientation packet, I notice that we can't use our laptops for internet until we get them registered at the CIE (Center for International Education) building, which is a two to three day process, requiring - yes, you know what's coming - more paperwork. First we have to fill out a form and hand it into the CIE. Then we have to come back the NEXT DAY and drop off our laptop. Then, we have to come back either later that night, or the day after THAT, to pick the laptop up. While I'm not too keen on the idea of leaving my laptop with some strangers, the prospect of having no internet on my private computer is much worse, especially since my computer has Skype, a program allowing me to make phone calls to my parents at home. Sighing, I head downstairs and use the computer lounge to make yesterday's blog post.
When I head upstairs again it's nearly midnight and I'm exhausted from the day-long trip. I unroll my futon and get on - it's surprisingly comfy - very, very comfy - and begin to doze off, when the door opens, and Aaron walks in.
Aaron is, apparently, my roommate, who had just come back from a night on the town in Osaka with some of his friends, who he had made in the four days he was here without me. Feeling a bit silly for coming so late, we talked for a little bit, before he explained he was headed back downstairs to play cards. I was invited, but I decided not to. It was way too late for me. I fell asleep, setting my alarm for 8 AM. Tomorrow would be a long day. And since I'm apparently writing each day's post the day after they happen, I can tell you in earnest that tomorrow - which was today - was a very, very long day. In fact, I can't imagine writing all about it in one post. Maybe I'll make my posts shorter so I can write them as they happen. It'll be a lot easier once my computer is all registered.
In my next post(s), I'll write about today's experiences - the main campus of Kansai Gaidai, weather in Japan during the summer, Japanese architecture, cars, convenience stores, the cafeteria, Yohei the tour guide, Yuuki and Hana, many other people I met whose names are a long winded list, including Ruth, Kim, Corey, Chris, and Amanda, our completely insane trip to a Karaoke bar, fears about angry old japanese people yelling "Gaijin" at us, buying a bicycle and the tiny old man who sells them, and exactly why filling out paperwork in Japan can sometimes be an insane pain in the neck.
Until then,
~ Aidyn
Monday, August 27, 2007
Crossing the International Date Line
My name is Matthew Newman. I'm a senior at Union College, Schenectady, NY, majoring in East Asian studies. I am taking a term abroad to study at Kansai Gaidai in Osaka, Japan. This is a record of my experiences, journeys, and adventures.
I'll start by saying I've always been interested in Japan, ever since I first saw the TV show Robotech when I was eight. Afterwards I continued to watch anime, samurai epics, and read books about Japan until, before I had even realized it, the obsession had set in. (cue: I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so.) I import video games from Japan, watch subbed anime and try to understand what the characters are saying without reading the english subtitles, and read manga - you guessed it - in Japanese. Half the time I don't understand a word of what's going on. But I try. I've taken two and a half years of Japanese, one of the hardest languages the world has to offer, and I still speak on a fourth or fifth grade level. It's embarassing, but then I remember, I am a Gaijin, after all. (Gaijin = foreigner).
But enough about why I'm headed to Japan. Let me start my tale.
My mom dragged me out of the house at about 5:00 AM to make my 8:00 flight into San Francisco from JFK Airport. I had barely slept the night before and had an immense trip ahead of me. I got my first cue that something was strange about this trip before I'd even entered the terminal.
On the line to receive boarding passes was an entire class - no joke, at least 30 or 40 students - of Japanese high schoolers, complete with high school uniforms and all. It wasn't a little bit obvious they were headed on the same flight as me; it was DEAD obvious. I concluded right then and there that it would probably be easy to spot who was headed on my flight to go to Osaka, and who was headed on my flight to go to San Francisco, and I was quite right. I soon entered the terminal, leaving my mom behind, and thus began the first part of my journey. Waiting.
Lots of waiting.
As soon as I entered the gate there was an argument going on between several staff members. Apparently, the pilot of my plane had only just come in minutes prior from a delayed arrival, and was, and I quote, "really tired", so we have to give him a few minutes to rest. Normally I'd be okay with this, but I'm already sort of freaking out at the prospect of only having about fourty-five minutes to transfer planes in San Francisco. The man wanted a half hour. Leaving me approximately fifteen minutes to disembark, run to the shuttle going to the international departures, run to the gate where the plane to Osaka would be boarding, and get on the plane. Anyway, after a half hour delay, the airline apparently said, "screw this guy," and brought in a different pilot. Why they didn't just do that in the first place escapes me.
As I sat down to wait for the plane to start boarding, I noticed the student sitting directly to my right was definately a college student, was definately on his own, and was definately headed to Osaka, and immediately I gathered he was headed to Kansai Gaidai, like myself. I didn't exactly feel like starting the awkward conversation that would likely ensue, and it seemed he didn't either, so we just sort of sat there, listening to our iPods, occasionally glancing over at each other's tickets to see if our hunches were correct. Soon afterwards a girl came and sat next to me as well, same deal, although it was even more obvious in her case, as she was holding a Japanese grammar cheat-sheet and studying it intently.
We finally boarded the plane, which was already fourty minutes late (yes, this leaves me five minutes in San Francisco - already I'm plotting what I'm going to say to the staff when I leave the plane). As we stood in line, the kid who was sitting next to me pipes up and introduces himself, and we have our little, "oh, yes, we're going to the same place" moment together. "See you on the other side," I said, and the first flight began.
I sat down at my seat. The girl with the Japanese Grammar cheat-sheet passes me and sits directly behind me. I'm sort of ecstatic. Then a man comes up to the aisle seat in my row and plops a baby chair next to me. Shit. You've got to be kidding me. Well, maybe he's just putting a baby chair there... Doesn't mean he has a baby, right?...
He sits down and plops the two-year old directly next to me. The baby looks up at me with adorable eyes. They're absolutely adorable. They're saying, "I'm cute, and I'm gonna make your flight suck ass. But because I'm cute there's nothing you can do about it." and I have no response other than. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." The man introduces himself to me, he's incredibly nice, and apologizes for the fact that I have to sit next to the baby. "Nah," I respond, as the two-year old grabs my iPod headphones and begins to twirl them about as if he were a rodeo clown. "It's okay, I'll be asleep soon anyway." Adorable kid. Luckily, I was right. I fell asleep before the plane even took off and apparently slept through the entire take-off process. When I woke up, the flight was already about halfway over. The boy was watching Snow White on the man's laptop, playing with his dad's baseball cap. I got into a conversation with the man, who from now on I will call Babyman, because I soon find out that the two babies on the other side of the plane, where his wife is also sitting, are his as well. Babyman tells me that his wife also went to Japan to study, as I am doing now, and that she loved it a lot, and that I'm going to have loads of fun. This coming from the father of the baby whose mouth is covered in what looks like brownie mix. I thanked him and told him a bit more about me (not knowing that the girl behind me was eavesdropping the whole time), and bonded a bit with the kid. Sure, he was a menace, but he WAS adorable, and I gave him a nice wide smile every time he glanced at me. At one point, he dropped his dad's baseball cap, which fell too far to the floor for him to reach. Babyman was preoccupied and didn't notice the two-year old whining and motioning for him to pick it up. I reached over and nonchalantly handed the baby his cap again, receiving the cutest and nicest smile from a baby I've possibly ever gotten. Then he hit me with the cap. Nice kid. Adorable really.
As we landed, I overheard the girl behind me talking on the phone with, presumably, her parents, informing them about the rough schedule in SF. The flight to Osaka had been delayed as well - for once, incompetence is a good thing in this case - so she should have enough time to make it to the plane, she tells her parents. As she hangs up I see this as a good opportunity to strike a conversation. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear... You're headed to Kansai Gaidai, aren't you?" She nods and smiles, and tells me she already knew I was headed there, because she overheard me tell Babyman. We introduce each other - her name is Eliza - and we agree to meet outside the plane so we can make it to the next plane without getting lost. Little do we know.
As we exit the plane, there is a tiny, middle-aged Japanese woman holding up a very small sign, which seems to have been made just now with a red pen and a peice of computer paper. The sign says, "Fight 885 - Osaka". The lady clearly speaks no english whatsoever, as the only thing she says to us repeatedly is the word "Osaka" in various tones. Which makes for an amusing conversation.
"Osaka!"
"Osaka?"
"Osaka??"
"Yes, Osaka."
"Aah, Osaka. Osaka."
Me, Eliza, the boy I met before boarding the plane to SF, whose name is also Matthew, and another boy who we hadn't seen before, whose name is ALSO Matthew, are four of five people doing the transfer to Osaka. The other is a tall Japanese man who speaks very little english and has an identifying black mark below his lip that sort of looks like he spilled something chocolatey on his face, permanently. I decide to introduce myself to the other Ryugakusei - international students - as Aidyn, which is like a nickname that I tend to use with my friends up at Union College. It seemed like it would make it easier, since two of them are already Matthews and I would make three. Matt, Matt, Eliza, Chocolate-Japanese-Man, and I all follow the tiny Japanese lady as she works her way through crowds and employee-only areas to get us onto our plane on time. She looks extremely worried, and urges us to go faster, saying "Hayaku! Osaka! Hayaku!" (Hurry! Osaka! Hurry!). Obviously we're all very worried - but at least her shortcuts are taking out about 10 minutes of holy-shit-we're-lost-in-the-airport time. Eliza smirks and says, "I guess it costs less for the airport to send her to get us there on time then it would to refund all of our thousand dollar tickets..."
We finally make it to the gate. No passengers are around. There is one Japanese man behind the country, waving his hand and beckoning us to hurry, also saying "Hayaku!" as though the plane was already leaving. We rush in and take our seats. The man sitting next to me this time is a Japanese man, wearing a business suit, who is constantly, CONSTANTLY checking his watch, as if any minute now, he's going to begin a heist of some sort. Five minutes pass. Ten minutes pass. I'm beginning to wonder why so many Japanese people were Hayaku-ing us onto the plane when they weren't even ready to take off in the first place. The answer comes in the form of a message from the pilot.
"Erm, we seem to be having some technical difficulties... That is, well, we have an oxygen problem with the co-pilots oxygen mask, and, well, there's no way we're leaving without that, so... It'll take about a half hour to an hour for the maintenance guys to fix it, we're not even sure."
Great. Figures. More waiting.
So now, with all of the figures piled up, we're already scheduled to be about an hour and a half late in Osaka then originally planned. We eventually do take off and head out, and it's pretty smooth sailing (read: flying) from there. Dinner(? not even sure if it's dinner now) consists of chicken and rice. At this point I'm beginning to feel the effects of the crazy time-traveling that's going on; all in all I spent approximately 22 hours in daylight with no sight of nighttime; it was almost as if my 6 and 10 hour flights were only 1-3 hours long each, and I simply imagined the other 12 hours. A few times I got up to talk to Eliza or use the restroom; for the most part, the trip was uneventful. Very uneventful. Although, I did get to see Hot Fuzz and Next, which were entertaining... for about a fourth of the trip. The seat has a live map that updates every few seconds, showing the plane's progress over the pacific, which is like watching grass grow, only you're strapped to the ground and can't HELP but watch the grass grow.
After what seems like an eternity, the map shows that we've crossed the international date line, and coincidentally, the song that comes up randomly on my iPod immediately thereafter is the song "Date Line" by Yellowcard, which has to do with somebody traveling across the international date line in order to escape from their life. Prophetic iPods aside, nothing else happens for the rest of the trip - except for the paperwork.
Yes, the paperwork. In order to even LEAVE the plane, two forms must be filled out while ON the plane - a customs form and what is called, and I quote, a DISEMBARKATION CARD. I'm not even sure that's a real word. Actually I'm fairly certain Japanese people made it up to sound ridiculously intelligent. One thing about Japanese people: they LOVE their paperwork. Just to apply to Kansai Gaidai I had to fill out about 20 pages of forms, then have about 15 pictures of me sent to the school, then fill out an application for an International Student ID Card, then an insurance form, and now, a "disembarkation card". Whatever. But as I look around, I notice something peculiar. Japanese people all around me LOVE filling forms out. They whip out their pens and lick their lips and begin scribbling like they're writing down the answer to the Final Jeapardy question. They smile and nod to each other as if to say, "Here we go! Yes! My favorite part!" Is it just because I'm American that I think this card is a load of bullshit? Or is it just because I'm... Not Japanese? Either way, I finish filling it out and put it aside, waiting for the little plane on my little updating map to get to land.
Soon it shows that I'm over land but as I look out of the plane I see nothing but white. The clouds are too thick to see the land, which is a huge shame, because I've spent the entire flight unable to see anything other than WATER, and I wanna see some land, damnit. Just then I catch something out of the corner of my eye.
In the distance, something strange is poking out of the clouds. At first it's barely visible but as we fly by it, it gets more clear. It's a mountain - THE mountain - Mt. Fuji. Sticking up from underneath the clouds, with its volcano-like concave peak at the top and everything. I notice it minutes before the pilot says, "If you look out of the right hand side of the plane..." The sight was breathtakingly beautiful, and as my very first sight of Japan, it left a huge impression on me. I got up to tell Eliza and show her, then reveled in my luck. As I sat back down, the clouds began to clear and Japan became fully visible for the first time since the plane reached the shoreline.
A few minutes pass, and then the business-like Japanese man who'd been sitting next to me the entire flight began to talk to me. In relatively good english, he asks me why I'm headed to Japan. I respond in english, "I'm a student. I'm studying at Kansai Gaidai in Osaka." Ahh, he responds. "Nihongo wo hanasemasu ka?" He says this way too fast for me. WAAAY too fast. "Ee, to, yukkuri hanashite kudasai," I respond, meaning, 'please speak slower'. He gives me a strange look. Did I just offend him? Have I already messed up my first Japanese conversation? He repeats the question and I still can't quite understand what he's saying. Finally, he says in english, "Do you speak Japanese?" (which is what he'd been saying in Japanese) and I respond, flustered, "I'm trying..." He laughs. From out of nowhere, he smiles and points to his teeth, saying, "I'm a dentist." Ooookay. "So why were you in San Francisco?" I asked politely. Dentist-san, as I will call him now, gives a slight shrug and replies in very fast english, "to visit a congressman." Why a dentist from Japan is visiting a congressman from California is beyond me, and I don't even dare to ask. Is the congressman a friend of his? Perhaps he is proposing some kind of pro-Japanese-dentist bill? Is Dentist-san even telling the truth? Maybe he doesn't know what the word congressman means. Maybe he thought it was a different word. I smile and nod. "Nice." He does the same. "Nice."
Dentist-san is a pretty nice guy. We talk for a bit more, I throw bits and peices of broken Japanese into the mix, and he seems to avoid it and go back to English whenever he gets the chance, probably recognizing that I'm more comfortable with my native language, as much as I try to switch to Japanese whenever the opportunity arises. He's constantly checking his watch. CONSTANTLY. Is he late for an appointment with a patient? Perhaps a congressman from California.
A little while longer, and I leave the plane, giving Dentist-san my goodbyes, and promptly meet up with Eliza outside the gate. We talk for a little bit about the flight, waiting for the two Matts, who don't show up, and we gather that they probably left without us. I don't really mind. We head out towards the first step of customs and immigration, which is called "Quarantine". Yes, Quarantine. "Do we have some kind of disease?" I chime in. Eliza seems to take it in stride. We go through the Quarantine process - which is really nothing short of walking through a narrow hall with a Japanese dude looking at you from behind a counter - and head to the next area, where hundreds of people are standing in line, half of them behind a sign that says "Foreign Entry", and the other half behind a sign that says "Japanese Re-entry". The former is barely moving whatsoever; the latter is moving incredibly fast. So begins the trek through Kansai International Airport.
In my next post I'll describe the airport immigration procedures, customs, baggage claim, bad airport food, vending machines, why I should not have been worried about making it to the north arrival gate, and the journey from the airport to Kansai Gaidai... where I am writing this post from.
~ 'Aidyn' Newman
I'll start by saying I've always been interested in Japan, ever since I first saw the TV show Robotech when I was eight. Afterwards I continued to watch anime, samurai epics, and read books about Japan until, before I had even realized it, the obsession had set in. (cue: I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so.) I import video games from Japan, watch subbed anime and try to understand what the characters are saying without reading the english subtitles, and read manga - you guessed it - in Japanese. Half the time I don't understand a word of what's going on. But I try. I've taken two and a half years of Japanese, one of the hardest languages the world has to offer, and I still speak on a fourth or fifth grade level. It's embarassing, but then I remember, I am a Gaijin, after all. (Gaijin = foreigner).
But enough about why I'm headed to Japan. Let me start my tale.
My mom dragged me out of the house at about 5:00 AM to make my 8:00 flight into San Francisco from JFK Airport. I had barely slept the night before and had an immense trip ahead of me. I got my first cue that something was strange about this trip before I'd even entered the terminal.
On the line to receive boarding passes was an entire class - no joke, at least 30 or 40 students - of Japanese high schoolers, complete with high school uniforms and all. It wasn't a little bit obvious they were headed on the same flight as me; it was DEAD obvious. I concluded right then and there that it would probably be easy to spot who was headed on my flight to go to Osaka, and who was headed on my flight to go to San Francisco, and I was quite right. I soon entered the terminal, leaving my mom behind, and thus began the first part of my journey. Waiting.
Lots of waiting.
As soon as I entered the gate there was an argument going on between several staff members. Apparently, the pilot of my plane had only just come in minutes prior from a delayed arrival, and was, and I quote, "really tired", so we have to give him a few minutes to rest. Normally I'd be okay with this, but I'm already sort of freaking out at the prospect of only having about fourty-five minutes to transfer planes in San Francisco. The man wanted a half hour. Leaving me approximately fifteen minutes to disembark, run to the shuttle going to the international departures, run to the gate where the plane to Osaka would be boarding, and get on the plane. Anyway, after a half hour delay, the airline apparently said, "screw this guy," and brought in a different pilot. Why they didn't just do that in the first place escapes me.
As I sat down to wait for the plane to start boarding, I noticed the student sitting directly to my right was definately a college student, was definately on his own, and was definately headed to Osaka, and immediately I gathered he was headed to Kansai Gaidai, like myself. I didn't exactly feel like starting the awkward conversation that would likely ensue, and it seemed he didn't either, so we just sort of sat there, listening to our iPods, occasionally glancing over at each other's tickets to see if our hunches were correct. Soon afterwards a girl came and sat next to me as well, same deal, although it was even more obvious in her case, as she was holding a Japanese grammar cheat-sheet and studying it intently.
We finally boarded the plane, which was already fourty minutes late (yes, this leaves me five minutes in San Francisco - already I'm plotting what I'm going to say to the staff when I leave the plane). As we stood in line, the kid who was sitting next to me pipes up and introduces himself, and we have our little, "oh, yes, we're going to the same place" moment together. "See you on the other side," I said, and the first flight began.
I sat down at my seat. The girl with the Japanese Grammar cheat-sheet passes me and sits directly behind me. I'm sort of ecstatic. Then a man comes up to the aisle seat in my row and plops a baby chair next to me. Shit. You've got to be kidding me. Well, maybe he's just putting a baby chair there... Doesn't mean he has a baby, right?...
He sits down and plops the two-year old directly next to me. The baby looks up at me with adorable eyes. They're absolutely adorable. They're saying, "I'm cute, and I'm gonna make your flight suck ass. But because I'm cute there's nothing you can do about it." and I have no response other than. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." The man introduces himself to me, he's incredibly nice, and apologizes for the fact that I have to sit next to the baby. "Nah," I respond, as the two-year old grabs my iPod headphones and begins to twirl them about as if he were a rodeo clown. "It's okay, I'll be asleep soon anyway." Adorable kid. Luckily, I was right. I fell asleep before the plane even took off and apparently slept through the entire take-off process. When I woke up, the flight was already about halfway over. The boy was watching Snow White on the man's laptop, playing with his dad's baseball cap. I got into a conversation with the man, who from now on I will call Babyman, because I soon find out that the two babies on the other side of the plane, where his wife is also sitting, are his as well. Babyman tells me that his wife also went to Japan to study, as I am doing now, and that she loved it a lot, and that I'm going to have loads of fun. This coming from the father of the baby whose mouth is covered in what looks like brownie mix. I thanked him and told him a bit more about me (not knowing that the girl behind me was eavesdropping the whole time), and bonded a bit with the kid. Sure, he was a menace, but he WAS adorable, and I gave him a nice wide smile every time he glanced at me. At one point, he dropped his dad's baseball cap, which fell too far to the floor for him to reach. Babyman was preoccupied and didn't notice the two-year old whining and motioning for him to pick it up. I reached over and nonchalantly handed the baby his cap again, receiving the cutest and nicest smile from a baby I've possibly ever gotten. Then he hit me with the cap. Nice kid. Adorable really.
As we landed, I overheard the girl behind me talking on the phone with, presumably, her parents, informing them about the rough schedule in SF. The flight to Osaka had been delayed as well - for once, incompetence is a good thing in this case - so she should have enough time to make it to the plane, she tells her parents. As she hangs up I see this as a good opportunity to strike a conversation. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear... You're headed to Kansai Gaidai, aren't you?" She nods and smiles, and tells me she already knew I was headed there, because she overheard me tell Babyman. We introduce each other - her name is Eliza - and we agree to meet outside the plane so we can make it to the next plane without getting lost. Little do we know.
As we exit the plane, there is a tiny, middle-aged Japanese woman holding up a very small sign, which seems to have been made just now with a red pen and a peice of computer paper. The sign says, "Fight 885 - Osaka". The lady clearly speaks no english whatsoever, as the only thing she says to us repeatedly is the word "Osaka" in various tones. Which makes for an amusing conversation.
"Osaka!"
"Osaka?"
"Osaka??"
"Yes, Osaka."
"Aah, Osaka. Osaka."
Me, Eliza, the boy I met before boarding the plane to SF, whose name is also Matthew, and another boy who we hadn't seen before, whose name is ALSO Matthew, are four of five people doing the transfer to Osaka. The other is a tall Japanese man who speaks very little english and has an identifying black mark below his lip that sort of looks like he spilled something chocolatey on his face, permanently. I decide to introduce myself to the other Ryugakusei - international students - as Aidyn, which is like a nickname that I tend to use with my friends up at Union College. It seemed like it would make it easier, since two of them are already Matthews and I would make three. Matt, Matt, Eliza, Chocolate-Japanese-Man, and I all follow the tiny Japanese lady as she works her way through crowds and employee-only areas to get us onto our plane on time. She looks extremely worried, and urges us to go faster, saying "Hayaku! Osaka! Hayaku!" (Hurry! Osaka! Hurry!). Obviously we're all very worried - but at least her shortcuts are taking out about 10 minutes of holy-shit-we're-lost-in-the-airport time. Eliza smirks and says, "I guess it costs less for the airport to send her to get us there on time then it would to refund all of our thousand dollar tickets..."
We finally make it to the gate. No passengers are around. There is one Japanese man behind the country, waving his hand and beckoning us to hurry, also saying "Hayaku!" as though the plane was already leaving. We rush in and take our seats. The man sitting next to me this time is a Japanese man, wearing a business suit, who is constantly, CONSTANTLY checking his watch, as if any minute now, he's going to begin a heist of some sort. Five minutes pass. Ten minutes pass. I'm beginning to wonder why so many Japanese people were Hayaku-ing us onto the plane when they weren't even ready to take off in the first place. The answer comes in the form of a message from the pilot.
"Erm, we seem to be having some technical difficulties... That is, well, we have an oxygen problem with the co-pilots oxygen mask, and, well, there's no way we're leaving without that, so... It'll take about a half hour to an hour for the maintenance guys to fix it, we're not even sure."
Great. Figures. More waiting.
So now, with all of the figures piled up, we're already scheduled to be about an hour and a half late in Osaka then originally planned. We eventually do take off and head out, and it's pretty smooth sailing (read: flying) from there. Dinner(? not even sure if it's dinner now) consists of chicken and rice. At this point I'm beginning to feel the effects of the crazy time-traveling that's going on; all in all I spent approximately 22 hours in daylight with no sight of nighttime; it was almost as if my 6 and 10 hour flights were only 1-3 hours long each, and I simply imagined the other 12 hours. A few times I got up to talk to Eliza or use the restroom; for the most part, the trip was uneventful. Very uneventful. Although, I did get to see Hot Fuzz and Next, which were entertaining... for about a fourth of the trip. The seat has a live map that updates every few seconds, showing the plane's progress over the pacific, which is like watching grass grow, only you're strapped to the ground and can't HELP but watch the grass grow.
After what seems like an eternity, the map shows that we've crossed the international date line, and coincidentally, the song that comes up randomly on my iPod immediately thereafter is the song "Date Line" by Yellowcard, which has to do with somebody traveling across the international date line in order to escape from their life. Prophetic iPods aside, nothing else happens for the rest of the trip - except for the paperwork.
Yes, the paperwork. In order to even LEAVE the plane, two forms must be filled out while ON the plane - a customs form and what is called, and I quote, a DISEMBARKATION CARD. I'm not even sure that's a real word. Actually I'm fairly certain Japanese people made it up to sound ridiculously intelligent. One thing about Japanese people: they LOVE their paperwork. Just to apply to Kansai Gaidai I had to fill out about 20 pages of forms, then have about 15 pictures of me sent to the school, then fill out an application for an International Student ID Card, then an insurance form, and now, a "disembarkation card". Whatever. But as I look around, I notice something peculiar. Japanese people all around me LOVE filling forms out. They whip out their pens and lick their lips and begin scribbling like they're writing down the answer to the Final Jeapardy question. They smile and nod to each other as if to say, "Here we go! Yes! My favorite part!" Is it just because I'm American that I think this card is a load of bullshit? Or is it just because I'm... Not Japanese? Either way, I finish filling it out and put it aside, waiting for the little plane on my little updating map to get to land.
Soon it shows that I'm over land but as I look out of the plane I see nothing but white. The clouds are too thick to see the land, which is a huge shame, because I've spent the entire flight unable to see anything other than WATER, and I wanna see some land, damnit. Just then I catch something out of the corner of my eye.
In the distance, something strange is poking out of the clouds. At first it's barely visible but as we fly by it, it gets more clear. It's a mountain - THE mountain - Mt. Fuji. Sticking up from underneath the clouds, with its volcano-like concave peak at the top and everything. I notice it minutes before the pilot says, "If you look out of the right hand side of the plane..." The sight was breathtakingly beautiful, and as my very first sight of Japan, it left a huge impression on me. I got up to tell Eliza and show her, then reveled in my luck. As I sat back down, the clouds began to clear and Japan became fully visible for the first time since the plane reached the shoreline.
A few minutes pass, and then the business-like Japanese man who'd been sitting next to me the entire flight began to talk to me. In relatively good english, he asks me why I'm headed to Japan. I respond in english, "I'm a student. I'm studying at Kansai Gaidai in Osaka." Ahh, he responds. "Nihongo wo hanasemasu ka?" He says this way too fast for me. WAAAY too fast. "Ee, to, yukkuri hanashite kudasai," I respond, meaning, 'please speak slower'. He gives me a strange look. Did I just offend him? Have I already messed up my first Japanese conversation? He repeats the question and I still can't quite understand what he's saying. Finally, he says in english, "Do you speak Japanese?" (which is what he'd been saying in Japanese) and I respond, flustered, "I'm trying..." He laughs. From out of nowhere, he smiles and points to his teeth, saying, "I'm a dentist." Ooookay. "So why were you in San Francisco?" I asked politely. Dentist-san, as I will call him now, gives a slight shrug and replies in very fast english, "to visit a congressman." Why a dentist from Japan is visiting a congressman from California is beyond me, and I don't even dare to ask. Is the congressman a friend of his? Perhaps he is proposing some kind of pro-Japanese-dentist bill? Is Dentist-san even telling the truth? Maybe he doesn't know what the word congressman means. Maybe he thought it was a different word. I smile and nod. "Nice." He does the same. "Nice."
Dentist-san is a pretty nice guy. We talk for a bit more, I throw bits and peices of broken Japanese into the mix, and he seems to avoid it and go back to English whenever he gets the chance, probably recognizing that I'm more comfortable with my native language, as much as I try to switch to Japanese whenever the opportunity arises. He's constantly checking his watch. CONSTANTLY. Is he late for an appointment with a patient? Perhaps a congressman from California.
A little while longer, and I leave the plane, giving Dentist-san my goodbyes, and promptly meet up with Eliza outside the gate. We talk for a little bit about the flight, waiting for the two Matts, who don't show up, and we gather that they probably left without us. I don't really mind. We head out towards the first step of customs and immigration, which is called "Quarantine". Yes, Quarantine. "Do we have some kind of disease?" I chime in. Eliza seems to take it in stride. We go through the Quarantine process - which is really nothing short of walking through a narrow hall with a Japanese dude looking at you from behind a counter - and head to the next area, where hundreds of people are standing in line, half of them behind a sign that says "Foreign Entry", and the other half behind a sign that says "Japanese Re-entry". The former is barely moving whatsoever; the latter is moving incredibly fast. So begins the trek through Kansai International Airport.
In my next post I'll describe the airport immigration procedures, customs, baggage claim, bad airport food, vending machines, why I should not have been worried about making it to the north arrival gate, and the journey from the airport to Kansai Gaidai... where I am writing this post from.
~ 'Aidyn' Newman
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