thduggie’s blog

My trick worked: there was plenty of space for me on all the trains I boarded, and it only took me getting up three hours earlier and traveling an hour longer…  Needless to say, I was looking forward to the benefits of being a frequent traveler, such as the lounge I’d waited in on my flight from Narita to Taipei the last time.

The check-in counter lady first told me I was too early, then called someone and found out she could check me in anyway.  My two suitcases weighed over 38 kg together, a testimony to buying too much junk, but here’s another benefit of flying your bum off: up to 40kg are ok.  I was pretty chuffed that without weighing my luggage I’d gotten them this close to the limit, with the weight pretty much evenly split.  The good news continued as she replied to my inquiry after row 30 (exit row) that she could get me a window seat on that row, pretty much the ideal seat in my mind: legroom and a view.

I got through security much more easily than usual, mostly because of not wearing a jacket and having to take it off and put it back on again.  Immigration was the usual wait.  I had to suppress a smile when the official almost stamped the wrong of the four Japanese visa stamps on that page of my passport.  At least I’m not the only one occasionally confused at my travels.

Once through, I headed pretty straight to the lounge.  “Please show me your invitation,” the lady greeted me.  I pulled out my silver card, and she said: “I’m sorry, but the lounge is only for business passengers and gold card holders.”  Say what?  “But last time I waited here with this same card!”  She insisted, and told me I could go talk with Lufthansa staff, but that I should get the same answer.  So I went, and was informed that Lufthansa didn’t have a native lounge in Narita, so the lounges are only for gold members.
“So there’s no lounge in the entire airport that I can use?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“So what’s this Star Alliance for?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Is Lufthansa doing anything to change this?”
“I’m so sorry.”

I’ll blame my irritation for ordering too much at the Starbucks, but I did feel better after a breakfast.  I do think I’ll write Lufthansa, though.  I find it hard to understand how in Dulles I could use a Northwest Airlines lounge, which belongs to another alliance, and in this hub of Narita there’s nothing at all.
The flight - well, it started with a little girl screaming “Iya da! Iya da!” because she didn’t want to wear the seatbelt.  Mom took off the belt for some peace and quiet until right before takeoff, then the screaming began again until 30 seconds into the air, when the girl collapsed into an exhausted sleep.  I found it confirmed that Lufthansa doesn’t have individual TV screens, so I watched “Night at the Museum” on a 20×15 cm screen two meters away and after plenty of dozing also watched the second half of “Eragon,”  which is pretty much about Aragorn channeling Luke Skywalker on a bad day.  It should be subtitled “Braggin’ about fraggin’ from a Dragon.”  During the landing, the little girl didn’t mind the belt at all, but played some computer game that kept saying “Anpanman! Anpanman!” (at much, much lower volume).  The flight was late, so I missed the Zurich flight, but fortunately there was one less than an hour later.

And now I’m home.

47.5 - they were kind. 

Today are the elections, but my story begins on Friday, with a “Good Morning” by one of the canvassers, followed by a short pause for thought and then “How are you.”  I was in a hurry to get on an earlier train than usual because I was trolling my little suitcase behind me and couldn’t imagine boarding a regular commuter train like that.  The thought of the trip to the airport on Monday suddenly hit with full force: If I was only to go by schedule, the best train would take me into Tokyo in the middle of rush hour with all my kit and kaboodle and pretty soon with all the curses of the other commuters. 

I noticed that the wicker gates are strictly for righties - you can’t stick any tickets in on your left. 

The trip brought me two new Katakana English phrases, which I’ll leave for you to chew on: sutanpurarii and minishikuramen. 

At my destination I almost ran into a guy who kept slowing down to a near stop under the cool air vents in the underground passage.  It was hot outside, too.  Even so, I finished my homework outside to the chirp of the minminzemi, the cicada.  They were playing Soulive, which sounded good, but when you’re facing a day of aircon even muggy outdoors will beat cool interiors with cool jazz. 

It was my last day, and part of my homework was to write and present a self-introduction.  I used it as a means to get everyone’s e-mail address.  It’s a shame that now that I’ve just gotten into kind of a groove with my classmates and we’re familiar enough to actually do stuff together, I need to leave. 

I’m not the only one leaving; the French girl is starting a new job this week and she’d suggested a French restaurant for a farewell meal.  Some of our classmates were busy, but most made it, and although I delighted in the succulent lamb the picture-snapping and evident curiosity of the Taiwanese was priceless.  I asked the guy next to me how he liked it, though, and he said he preferred Chinese food.  Chinese food in Japan, he said, isn’t tasty.  It’s good in China, best in Taiwan. 

I took the train to Kimitsu, which although technically still Kanto is quite a ways away.  I stopped for a necessity and had a weird experience of wondering whether I was really in the men’s room when someone looked a bit feminine out of the corner of my eye, all the while standing in front of a urinal. 

It’s been a while since I’ve read anything by Dave Barry, but the book I’m reading reminded me of him.  All I need to say is Curdie and the Uglies WBAGNFARB. 

A vending machine ate my money and played some silly melody.  I kicked it.  Then I used one that worked and got into a taxi to the Nippon Steel Corporation R&E center.  I only got there a little after four o’clock, so I had to hurry to visit as many friends as possible.  I also met my successor’s successor’s successor, Dominik, who told me he’d read my report with the glossary of terms.  I’d totally forgotten that I’d actually done something useful! 

We went to dinner together with a few folks from NSC and NSTR.  The Futtsu Club restaurant on the premise of the company was surprisingly full, and we had two drunk guys talk to us, one to me, congratulating me on our eternal policy of neutrality, and the other to Mizuno-san, trying to find out if Dominik was a guy or a girl, and then hurriedly assuring everyone he was not a homosexual.  It’s not hard to tell what Dominik is, but he has long hair.  He bore that one with a smile and the assurance that it happens to him in Switzerland, too.  He’ll be fine here.  Sasai-san told of the complaints he’d fielded with my successor and just as I was feeling rather smug added that he’d had a complaint about me, too.  Apparently someone had seen me cycle from the dorm to the company and had complained that that was dangerous and that the company would have to bear the responsibility if there was an accident. 

After dinner we went to Suzuki-san’s house, where shochu replaced beer.  We got to see some of the pictures of their honeymoon trip, on which they’d also paid me a visit.  I’d taken photos then and transferred them to their computer via USB.  It’s a little strange to see your own photos printed out by someone else first! 

At the Futtsu dorm (different dorm than the one I was otherwise staying - the dorm I stayed in 6 years ago), Tomosada-san manned the entrance, and true to form he had an omiyage for me.  He also writes me frequently, and I’m slow to reply (these are real letters, not e-mail).  His gift served to remind me that I’d forgotten Mom’s gift for Sato-san at the other dorm.  Doh!  [Don’t worry, Mom.  I’m mailing it.] 

In the room, I opened my suitcase and a smell of menthol assaulted me.  My shampoo had somehow spilled, and now my suitcase smells of the stuff.  Fortunately it was at the very bottom and didn’t get on anything else.  For the next two days, the room would smell of menthol, too.  It probably still does. 

Saturday my friend Tami picked me up to meet Tsuri-san and Sato-san at a café.  The Garden Café Giverny sat on a hillside in a valley that nobody would find if it weren’t for word of mouth.  I learned the expression “Batsu ichi” there (and, by analogy, Batsu ni, Batsu san, etc.) and managed to land an oyaji gyagu or two, which is the best attempt at humor I can make in Japanese.  A family came in when we were almost done with a very white woman and their little boy, who at first was all smiles whenever he toddled over to us and then suddenly tipped into tantrum mode and wouldn’t stop screaming.  I had to wonder what I would do in such a case. 

I also learned that the word for equator is “Sekido,” red road, not “Akasen,” red line.  I’d misremembered and was then informed that Akasen also refers to the water trade. 

On the way home, Tami made a detour to the Jusco shopping mall for me to buy some mirin and some bread - the type I bought was billed as “burooto.”  That term would fill a whole store back home…

After a nap back at the dorm I joined Koji and some friends for the Futtsu fireworks.  Futtsu is a town of 50′000 people spread over about 200 square kilometers and known mostly for its seaweed and for having an excellent place to dig for a certain type of mussels.  But once a year - this year the same day as the larger Sumidagawa fireworks in Tokyo that are even broadcast on TV - Futtsu sets off a massive display of fireworks, lighting up the sky for over an hour.  The area around the public park swarms with people, many dressed in kimonos or otherwise done up, sitting on blankets and drinking beer and eating food purchased at any one of the countless vendors.  Even with Koji’s and Hiromi’s cell phones it was hard to find her there. 

I’d forgotten how sensory an experience fireworks are, playing not only on the visual splendor but also on the noise and surrounding crowds and the palpable explosions.  Just like with a certain tune or smell, the brain seems to associate these sensory experiences with memories.  The last time I’d been at a fireworks display had been in Basel, last July 31, and back then I’d still held someone in my arms.  On Saturday, each boom bore both a memory and a declaration of finality. 

One of the girls was wearing a T-shirt with a pencil drawing of a foot and Matthew 6:26 on the back and 6:27 on the front.  I’m not sure I got it, and I’m sure I did a bad job of translating that art of the sermon on the mount. 

We were back at the dorm before 9pm, the only benefit I can think of that comes from Japan’s refusal to implement daylight saving time.  Three-year-old Ryo, who’d talked to me a bit on the walk home, became his former shy self when I asked him to put on the mask he scored at the festival.  His main impression of the fireworks was the noise: his dad held his ears all the way through. 

Before bed, I soaked in the ofuro and ate a Calorie Mate block.  (Ok, that link shows a liquid form.  Here’s the Block.  For more details, see the Calorie Mate homepage.) 

Tami picked me up for church this morning, and Koji came to see me off.  We were a tad late, but there were still a few seats left.  Today’s sermon was nearly incomprehensible compared with last week’s.  I only understood that there are similarities between Tokyo and Corinth in Paul’s time, and that we are sanctified, forgiven, and called by God.  It’s times like this that show me how far I still need to go in my Japanese. 

After the service, many of the younger crowd went to Tokyo to check out what another church was doing for its youth programs.  I stayed, and went for lunch with Motohiro, Mrs Hayashi and her son Daiki, and Stuart from Alabama.  We ate at a family restaurant, and at the end Motohiro surprised me by inviting Stuart and me.  As usual in Japan, I vacillated between hesitation and gratitude.  (It goes without saying, of course, that the dinner at the Futtsu club was free for me too.  I often wish I could change that, but I don’t think I can without resorting to trickery.) 

So I got back to the dorm reasonably early and I’m glad for it, because I’ve decided to get up early tomorrow.  I also avoided the brunt of the shower that came in the later afternoon.  Alas, I won’t be able to avoid packing. 

I’ll try to post a few photos of the fireworks once I’m back in Switzerland. 

I think I’ve mentioned it, but I will again: Japan is having an election.  This means the local parties are doing several or all of the following things: walking through town with banners and chanting (with bullhorns), driving through town proclaiming their readiness to serve (with a bullhorn on the car), standing at the station entrance beseeching passers-by politely to please choose this party (with bullhorns, naturellement), and most other things you can think of doing with a bullhorn and a devoted core group of people.  I find it sweet that the persuasive force lies not in party platforms, but in the humble request to please vote for us.  I guess it’s not much different from the posters we’d have, only the posters aren’t (yet) outfitted with bullhorns. 

Once on the train, I thought I needed to check if there are any confirmations on which train lines in Tokyo are the most crowded.  Encarta says it’s the Yamanote line that circles Tokyo, but then, I’m not even sure how I’d define crowdedness.  People per carriage on average during rush hour?  What I can confirm is that my line, the Saikyo line, is the one with the most reported gropings in 2004 and notoriously crowded.  An informal questionnaire reported on another Japan blog confirms my hunch, and shows a neat video of people boarding another train on another line - but it looks the same everywhere.  And even after nearly three weeks, I still feel surprised.  When I leave at Ikebukuro and see people rushing up the stairs to board a train that came crowded and reports a positive net passenger intake in that station, I feel like hanging up a sign saying “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”  All the “kyoryoku,” all the cooperation in the world won’t fit three cubic meters into two. 

Whatever else, if anyone ever asks me to participate in a “How many people can you fit into a VW Beetle” contest, I’ll shrug it off.  Been there.  Done that, with a little help from my station guard friends.  And I’ll point out, ever so helpfully, that beetles weren’t designed for stuffing, unlike the Japanese commuter trains with their stairless entry and minimal seating, and they could fit in a lot more into such a train and a lot more comfortably, too, and they still be able to drive it.   

The Saikyo train had ads for Margaret Comics.   

I wonder at the working hours of the platform guards.  Are they part-time?  Or do they have a long lunch break between rush hour hectics? 

Again, I stopped at Starbucks for homework, but this time I realized ahead of time that what I really wanted was water, not a fancy frap.  And a bottle of Fuji Mineral Water (pH 7.7 and total mineral content around 10mg/l) costs roughly the same as from a vending machine. 

After school I went to the micromachine exhibition to look around.  It was much more geared toward Japanese customers than the nano tech I am used to - hardly any English documentation.  At least some of the booth staff knew English or coped with my poor Japanese.  One advantage of the Big Sight location is that some trains on the Rinkai line continue straight to Musashi-Urawa as Saikyo trains.  To get on that one, I had to wait about a quarter of an hour, so I jumped onto the train in the opposite direction to take me two stops to the end of the line, where I got onto the train I wanted that was waiting there and practically empty.  Enough commuting makes a person do weird stuff, but getting to read for the whole ride is worth being weird. 

I got a bit of a head-ache mid-afternoon, and back home realized I haven’t had any caffeine all day.  That could account for it.  Then I found this site on Frappucinos and felt better about the Fuji Water. 

On the way home I tried to find the scarecrow (it came to me that he was the third character), but couldn’t.  I even asked a mother pushing her bike if she knew, and she took me to another statue of a comic-strip spectacled wolf coming out of a wall, but I pretty readily identified that as not the scarecrow.  I’d also noticed that some of the floor tiles bore paintings of different fairy tales, so I’m guessing the building, as ordinary as it looks, has a fairy tale theme.  I bid farewell and waved good-bye to the little girl, who did me the favor of waving back. 

Asian cup news: Japan lost to Saudi Arabia and South Korea to Iraq, so the two Arabian countries with Brazilian coaches are battling for the title and the traditional heavyweights are in the doldrums. 

Another sunny day, but not as sunny as yesterday, and I didn’t get to see Mt. Fuji because there was a train in the way.  I got shoved into a position in the train where I had to mercilessly wedge myself through the crowd to get off, pulling my backpack behind me.  It brought a smile to my face.  Something must be wrong with me. 

It also made me think that in Japan bananaguards would sell like hotcakes.  A quick look at their page tells me they’ve already thought of that. 

On the subway I realized with pride that I recognized and was able to sound out an entire word.  A split second later, it hit me that I’d forgotten to go to my kanji lesson yesterday.  Oh the embarrassment.  Fortunately, my teacher didn’t seem to mind.  I suppose I’ll be paying for that lesson out of my own pocket… 

We had a test today and I reviewed at starbucks with the same special order frappucino as yesterday.  I think I did reasonably, I’m guessing 40 or more points out of fifty.  Just because it’s usually the answer, I’m betting on 42. 

After school I went to lunch at the smelly place again and ate grilled fish this time.  It wasn’t as tasty as the satsuma-age, and the miso soup contained fish scraps, which made the soup difficult to eat.  Even so, remember I’m only paying 70 yen more for a full meal than for my silly frappucino. 

Most of the afternoon and early evening I spent with our distributor discussing business.  It’s so much easier to discuss face to face, and them having hired a new employee who speaks excellent English really, really helps.  I had to forestall any possible dinner together, because I remembered the laundry I had to do.  And when you’re down to your last pair, that’s a good thing to remember. 

For the first time, I wasn’t the weirdest guy on the train.  A heavyset Japanese with a bulging backpack read without holding on to anything and kept bumping into me and my neighbor, to the point where I shared an understanding glance with my neighbor about a Japanese.  That is like an octopus and a fish reaching a common understanding about another fish without a word being spoken. 

It’s now obvious, but I only noticed this morning that in the bushes in front of the one big building I pass every day there are two statues, one of a lion and the other of a tin man.  I’m thinking there should be a third, but I can’t recall what it should be and can’t see any other statue. 

Well, only two more days of Japanese.  I’m tempted to let homework slide…

I was done with a blog entry, and then Flash Player crashed IE7 and it’s all gone.  All gone. 

Never, ever, ever, forget to save. 

So here’s the short version. 

Up. Sun! Weird. Oh, bright. What’s that blue in the sky? Hey, mountains. Hey, b’gum, Mount Fuji! Train. Starbucks, special order, embarrassment. Homework outside! Kanji test 22/22! Oh well, forget more next month. Lunch with students: Karee. Nostalgia! Homework, Dr. Pepper, terrible drawing on bottle, boycott? Osaki train station: first in line! Confused foreigner. Sacrifice pole position, help. I know this place, Ma’am, you’re on the right track, this is your train, you’ll pay the remainder when you arrive. Back in line, in back. Front of line boards train before mine, back in pole position! Still sun. Stand in train, read. Musashi-Urawa, throng descends. I wait. I think of waiting excuse: Mount Fuji in sunset! Train leaves, clouds, no Fuji. Even so: no drizzle, no umbrella dodging. Breeze of balm! Red glow of Eventide! Dry cleaner’s skeptical grandchild! Dinner: Karee. Double nostalgia today. TV program: Cyril, magician, google him yourself and crash your own IE7. But cool.

I got up too late today, having mistakenly set my alarm for seven instead of for six.  It’s the first time not changing the time on my alarm clock to local time has gotten me.  So instead of dorm breakfast, I took the bread I’d bought yesterday and a bottle of water, dressed, and hurried out the door.  On the subway, instead of the Tanigawadake Ropeway poster, I saw an ad for the Chichibu railway.  It shows the creepiest mascot I have ever seen.  If you know of a creepier one, send it to me! 

Oddly, despite having slept an extra hour, I felt more tired during class than usual.  We had three more presentations, on a Japanese restaurant the Australian girl had gone to with her boyfriend as a birthday surprise for him, on Okinawa and the Hawaiian’s family members standing in front of a big bush trimmed to look like a crab, and on life in Ürümqi and surroundings, which had everyone wanting to go even without showing a photo with cute girls.  Apparently Ürümqi is about as far from an ocean as one can get on earth. 

For lunch, I ate satsuma-age in a cellar izakaya that smelled stuffy and moldy.  The Wikipedia link on satsuma-age says less than I can: shredded fish with carrot and mushrooms fried in a batter and uber-tasty, especially when compared to the 600 yen it cost.  I had soon forgotten the smell of the place, especially as I got to savor a second delicacy: raw egg on a bowl of steaming sticky rice.  Try it! 

Oh, another thing I found out today: the Japan-Australia game was not finished when I left.  It was a quarterfinals game, and the Japanese won in penalty shoot-outs. 

Friday: I was first in line for the rapid train for Ikebukuro.  Consequently, I ended up flat against the opposite door.  I barely managed to read my Bible, holding it just at the focusing limit of my eyes - and it’s a small print edition.  Then came the stop Jujo, where the doors on the opposite side open.  I began to wonder how I was going to manage, especially when I saw that someone else wanted to get in.  I braced myself against the doorframe and pushed my posterior backward, because nothing else could move backward - and it worked!  Somehow there was still room left in that train for another person. 

Friday: I’ve done a bit of fact-checking on the Uyghur arrest, as much as that can be reliably done at all these days.  It appears the case, regarding one Huseyincan Celil, is not quite as straightforward.  For further reading, see the Wikipedia site on Celil and an interesting blog on Celil.  Of course, there’s always Amnesty International for an unbiased opinion. 

Sunday: I filed that entry under food and then remained conspicuously silent about what I ate.  Well, for lunch I had raw okra with mayonnaise, tatsuta-age chicken bits with mayonnaise, and plums from Yamanashi. 

Sunday: I noticed that Mizuho, one of the few young people I remember from when I went to that church six years ago, had cut her hair shorter.  It makes her look sprightlier, and it’s fun to see what a difference six years can make when they’re balanced around age 20. 

Don’t worry, the T-shirt is in the hamper. 

First off, my new favorite Japanese beer: Yebisu ＜ザ・ブラック＞.  Or, in Latin transcript, “za burakku.” 

Now for something more important. 

I went to the Honda chapel church service today.  Getting there from where I’m staying means about 100 minutes of reading time on the train.  I finished John Stackhouse’s “Finally Feminist” and found that he spoke my language and could help me with my textual reservations regarding egalitarianism without simply dismissing or ignoring the text.  For those completely lost, this concerns the tension between gender issues and the Bible.  I prefer an egalitarian position (i.e. women and men have the same rights and status in church and family), perhaps not always out of unselfish motives, but hesitated to take it because I found no way to honestly bring that position and what I read in the Bible into congruence.  Stackhouse does this without bending and stretching the text or taking exegetical liberties that would backfire later, as far as I can tell.  In other words, today I could intellectually arrive at the point where I can endorse women in church leadership.  The question is, what now? 

Well, first, hooray for my pastor-in-training sister! 

A lot of the missionaries that usually come to Honda were on furlough, but many Japanese friends were there.  I was surprised that most of the children stayed in the service this time, which I didn’t remember from earlier services.  They drew in a book and whispered together during the sermon, but I doubt that bothered anyone.  During the songs they stood on their chairs to see the overhead projection, which certainly helped them sing better than a hymnal would have (although, to my relief, like me they struggled to read some of the kanji).  I guess learning hymns by heart would be even better…  One song the congregation apparently sang for the first time is one that we’ve sung before and that I always remember for its Swedish origin and thus the fun name of the tune, “Blott en dag.” 

The sermon used the text from Matthew 1:1-16, the genealogy of Jesus.  This must have been the first Bible passage in Japanese I pretty much completely understood.  Of course, the Katakana names of the patriarchs elicited a smile from me, especially “Aburahamu,” which can be split into the Japanese words “abura” (oil) and “hamu” (ham).  I learned a few Japanese words on the way, because I’d brought my electronic dictionary, and I think I caught the drift of the sermon, but otherwise I struggled. 

For lunch, I joined the youth group.  We went out and bought food from the grocery store and ate in the church, after which we sang some songs with a few short-term missionaries who had just arrived.  For that reason, we sang mostly songs to which we had the lyrics in both languages.  The young Americans were great sports despite their jetlag, and taught the Japanese crowd “round-the-world” ping-pong.  We played a few rounds, and I even got into the finals once, but couldn’t grasp the principle of spinning around my axis between each hit - I have this compulsion to follow the ball I just hit with my eyes, so I’m left with no time to spin. 

I started into a new book on the way home and ate at the “French” bakery for dinner.  The dorm ladies take a break every Sunday.  On the upside, I now have some bread for lunch tomorrow. 

It’s a bit late, but here’s a birthday picture I took.  Maybe when I get back I’ll add a baby picture to this post so you can spot the differences.  Basically, this one’s for Mom, who would, of course, prefer a smiling picture - sorry!  I think it would also make a decent CD cover.