Sapporo Part Two: Wherein the City is Conquered One Block at a Time in Accordance With the Grid-like System In Which it is Laid Out

(Note: clicking on any of the photos in this entry will allow you to view an enlarged version)

We began our day in Sapporo at the relatively early hour of 8:30 am. It was rather overcast and rainy, certainly not optimal weather for foolish tourists such as ourselves to be wandering the streets. We decided that the first order of business should be locating our hotel, the Toyoko Inn, located just south of the JR station at which we arrived. The main JR station itself is quite nice; newly opened within the past few years, it houses a mall as well as a 38-story observatory tower.

Anyhow, despite the fact that Sapporo is famously easy to navigate (more on that later), we had an difficult time locating our hotel's location on any of the maps we were able to find. Luckily, as we were walking around and getting increasingly wet, we encountered by complete chance the same fellow who had recommended the bus to us on the ferry the previous night. When we informed him of our plight, he led us into a number of establishments where he inquired about the hotel's location until we finally happened upon a group of fellows at a parking garage who seemed to have some idea. If you're out there somewhere, directions-giving guy, I tip my hat to you, kind sir.

Well, as Matt kindly informed me, Sapporo, being a relatively new city, has benefitted greatly from the science of modern city planning. Whereas most Japanese cities (including Tokyo) don't even have named streets, Sapporo has an extremely intuitive and helpful system of navigation built into it's foundation at the ground level (pun intended). The city was planned around a park which was given the coordinates 0,0 and every street is numbered outwards from that central locus. It then follows that the naming convention for streets is the number of blocks from 0,0 plus the direction in which the street is removed from the center. So, the address of a street intersection would be something like 3-North, 5-West. Deceptively simple yet indispensably helpful.


The actual park that sits at the city center is quite a beautiful affair; it sits on a narrow strip of land about four or five blocks long and a block wide and is flanked at each end by the Sapporo TV tower and a statue of some maidens. All of the aerial-looking shots you see were taken from the observation deck that sits about halfway up the tower. The park also features a lively fountain and a surprising amount of open space. It was quite nice to walk around inside of; it was a very calm and peaceful atmosphere that betrayed the concrete jungle that encroached on all sides.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say this little fellow is trying to compensate for something.

One of Sapporo's semi-famous streetcars. It's supposedly a fairly expensive means of transport, so we stayed on our feet, for the most part.

Sapporo's most famous landmark, Tokeidai, the clock tower, which hasn't missed a second since it was first built in 1878.

The exterior of the Sapporo Beer "Factory". While there is something like a mini-museum housed inside, the actual beer museum is located some blocks away in the same area as the infamous beer garden. Since the museum closes quite early, we lamentably never had a chance to see it.

The interior of the "Factory" is actually a shopping mall. As you can see from the picture, though, it's a really nice mall. It even has windmills running inside, although it's unclear what purpose they serve. One thing that was really apparent to me in Sapporo was the state of consumer culture in major Japanese cities. I have never seen a city with so many malls. Just during the relatively short amount of time we spent there, I saw at least four major malls (two of which were underground). And that doesn't include the numerous major department stores which were also almost malls in and of themselves. Unlike the average mall in America, most of these malls sold high-end designer-type goods and they were all full of people buying like mad.


Well, after an excruciating hour-long wait, we were finally permitted to eat at the famous Sapporo beer garden. Of course, we opted for the tabe-nomihoudai, that is to say, all the yakiniku lamb meat and beer that we could consume during the course of 100 minutes. And we took full advantage of it. I would estimate that between the two of us we devoured almost 4 pounds of meat. Which explains the chagrin seen on Matt's face, above. The real highlight was, of course, the fresh Sapporo which flowed as freely from taps as water from a faucet. The most enticing variety was clearly the delicious Sapporo black; I find it almost criminal that they keep this stuff locked away in the beer garden while the rest of the nation drinks aluminum-tainted swill.

Lastly, we walked around the massive downtown area for a while and were quite surprised to see how many people were still out and about. As a matter of fact, the areas closest to Susukino (the red-light district) bustled as if it were still daytime. However, full of lamb and beer and having spent nearly 18 hours wandering around on foot, we soon returned to our hotel room where we slept like rugs on valium. Still more exploring remains to be done in part three, our exciting conclusion...

Sapporo Part One: The Outset of the Journey

It should be clear at this point that somehow, I have become very lazy this week when it comes to blogging. I blame it on my allergies, my busy schedule, general lethargy, political strife at home and abroad and the onset of a sudden bout of depression caused by the shocking realization that I am not the only blogger on this planet, after all. But alas, I digress. Somehow I doubt you all come here for my witty commentary and banter.

Thus, we begin our journey into the belly of the beast, embarking upon part one of an exciting three part series chronicling Matt's and my trip to Japan's northern most island of Hokkaido and it's capital city of Sapporo. Perhaps we are young and naive or perhaps we were simply propelled by a desire for "kicks" worthy of a Kerouac novel. Regardless of our true intentions, the two of us somehow decided that it would be fun to eschew the normal train route and take an overnight ferry from Hachinohe to somewhere in Hokkaido from where we would hopefully make our way to Sapporo by whatever means we happened to find at our disposal (I suppose it's worth mentioning, since I saw fit to bring up Kerouac, that hitchhiking is actually still practiced in Japan, although we were not forced to resort to such desperate measures this time around). Now the only problem with the ferry is that there appeared to be no information on it whatsoever in English. From the little we could understand of the Japanese-only website that Matt found, it seemed like there might be a boat leaving Hachinohe at 10:30 pm, although we had no idea where it was leaving from or how to purchase tickets. Armed with only this knowledge, I found myself standing in Hachinohe station on Thursday night, wondering how best to proceed.

Luckily, the train station houses a visitor's center which is run by an extremely knowledgeable and almost shockingly helpful staff. When I inquired about the ferry, I was provided not only with a schedule but also a map detailing how to get to the dock as well as a detailed itinerary (she wrote it in English even though I spoke with her in Japanese) that told me exactly which trains and buses to take in order to arrive at the ferry on time for the 10:30 departure. By the time Matt arrived at the station, all that was left to do was nourish our bodies for the journey ahead.

Somehow, we ended up at a steak place, where I was more than pleased to find Akagi Weizen, the most palatable (and date I say, even enjoyable) beer that I've had here so far. Could be it was just the shock of drinking something that didn't come out of a can but as I recall, it actually tasted like a weizen. Remarkable.

When they eventually brought our steaks out on sizzling platters, the waiter draped a single napkin over each skillet before presenting them to us. Matt surmised that this was to prevent us from being burned by a stray particle of oil, although I still found it quite strange.

Luckily, the steak underneath the napkin turned out to be quite acceptable, if a little expensive.

About an hour's walk from the train station in the center of the city, we finally arrived at the ferry depot. The ferry itself was an enormous beast, perhaps capable of transporting a hat-wearing whale like that which is seen emblazoned on the side of the vessel.

It appeared as if we had stumbled upon some sort of grand secret because we were clearly the only foreigners on the entire boat. While there were private rooms available at a higher cost, we opted for the second class accommodations, which set us back roughly $40 USD a piece. Compare this to the $125 cost of taking the train and you'll see why the ferry is such a closely guarded secret. So what does second class look like on a Japanese ferry?

Well, it basically entails a bunch of people cramming into a room and staking out space to sleep on the floor (economy class, in case you're wondering, is simply more crowded, full of teenagers and slightly cheaper). While the nine hour ride took place during prime sleeping hours, Matt and I only slept for about 2 of those hours, spending the lion's share of our time wandering about and being entertained by the various groups of middle-aged men who decided to stay up all night drinking. One particularly lively group of postal workers who we encountered on the deck at about 3:00 am readily admitted that they were headed to Susukino, Sapporo's famed red-light district, to enjoy the nominally illegal yet widely available prostitutes. One fellow, who kept urging us to come along, entertained us by repeatedly shouting "FUCKU OKAY!" in his attempt to convince us that despite our reservations, it really is okay to engage in such activities.

When we first arrived on the ferry, the two of us had a short conversation with a youngish guy who knew a bit of English. This chance meeting (as you will later see) turned out to be wholly invaluable. When he asked us how we intended to get to Sapporo and we replied that we had no idea, he invited us to join him on a bus that would cost only $10 USD and would get us into downtown Sapporo in just two hours. And that it did...

The Ironing is Delicious

I've entertained a number of complaints recently that I "haven't updated in a while". Well, quite frankly, I've been far too busy with official office business (i.e. being forced by my co-workers to drink straight tequila until one in the morning) as of late to have any time to make an entry on this thing. Which is not to say, however, that good things aren't in the pipeline; I still have yet to upload and sort through a massive collection of photos that I took in Sapporo over the weekend. I don't know if I'll get around to it tonight though, as the opening of a new Jusco beckons. At any rate, I would highly recommend that during my absence you appease yourselves by watching the video of our trip that Matt posted the other day. As usual, it's a topnotch production, although this time around he's completely edited the two of us out of the footage. It's as if the video were filmed by two foreign apparitions, wandering the streets of Sapporo with some sort of supernatural camera.

At any rate, I couldn't leave you hanging with at least one mildly humorous anecdote, so here it is: casual fans of indie rock and Urban Outfitters shoppers take note, the Japanese are taking the fine art of the ironic t-shirt to the next level. In one of my classes at the elementary school yesterday, a girl was wearing a shirt with the following printed on it in bold letters:

UNCENSORED!
NAKED!
I REFUSE TO WEAR CLOTHES!

There was some fine print on it which I wasn't able to read but I imagine it did not satisfactorily explain the paradox at hand.

It's A Parody, You Guys

You may have noticed that I just changed the name of this blog. How perceptive of you! I mainly did it because that jerk Matt wouldn't stop making fun of me for having a blog with a "generic name". How do you like me now, Cosnett?

Speaking of the devil, Matt and I are planning to visit Sapporo, Hokkaido's largest city, this coming weekend, as it is another long-weekend. I should probably get on calling that hotel, as a matter of fact. My Aichi Expo plans ended up falling through due to a number of factors: lack of interest, reports of massive crowding, difficulty finding accommodations and cost. I guess we probably shouldn't be wasting a grand on a weekend getaway when neither of us have even bought cars yet. I do regret having to miss that Expo, though.

I had a conversation with one of my least favorite "english teachers" at Momoishi Elementary today (in her case, I use the term quite loosely) and it was, in fact, more infuriating than usual. For some reason, she decided to substitute the word "enjoy" for the verb "go" and all its various forms. "Did you enjoy the Momoishi festival? When did you enjoy? I enjoyed on Sunday but I did not see you there. Oh, you enjoyed on Friday and Saturday, I see".

The Holy Pilgrimage

What better way to recover from a weekend of festival-induced partying than a national holiday? This month's arbitrary holiday comes to us courtesy of all those people who obliviously walk in front of your car while you're driving in Japan. That's right, it's respect for the elderly day! Matt and Anna had decided that this would be a good day to see the natural splendor of Lake Towada and I decided that Anna has a car and I don't so I invited myself along for the ride.

The main attraction at the Lake is a hiking path that illuminates the area's many scenic vistas; i.e. a bunch of waterfalls and one really large tree. Before we set out, Matt diligently studied the three dimensional map of the trail.

We then did what all good Japanese tourists do, which is to say that we piled into the car and drove from attraction to attraction. That's right no "survival hiking" for us.




You may not have noticed but an enlarged version of the image above can be accessed by clicking on it. I've been receiving numerous requests from a friend of mine who rocks the ludicrously high-resolutions to allow access to hi-rez versions of the photos on this site. Well, since this would entail shrinking the original image (I take these shots at pretty high resolutions) and then uploading it using blogger's rather tedious system (I use batch edit mode in Photoshop for all the normal images on the site), I can't very well do this for every image I post. So I have reached a compromise: I will make hi-res versions available for those photos that I think might benefit from being viewed at a larger size.

After all of the exhausting sight-seeing and car-sitting, we headed into Lake Towada's touristy area for lunch. One thing that Japan seems devoid of is micro-breweries (and good beer in general). When buying beer in Japan, you usually have your choice of about 4-5 national brands, all of which taste about equivalently bland. I think one major reason is that they don't usually bottle beer here, almost all beer comes in cans of various sizes. This, of course, leads to that distinctive "skunky" metallic taste. It's always best out of the tap, kids. Well anyway, in Towada I happened upon "Oirase Beer," which is apparently locally brewed. They apparently brew everything ranging from a pilsner to a stout but I settled on the weizen, due to my undying love for a crisp hefe weizen on a hot day. So how did Oirase measure up? Well, it basically tasted like a 50/50 mix of hefe weizen watered-down with regular bad Japanese beer. Sadly, that's a whole 50% better than most of the stuff I've had here so far.

After that, we headed down to the lake where we stood entranced by what we saw before us: an army of swan pedal-boats. Despite the harsh warnings from the old sea hands at the rental place (it was really windy and the lake was surprisingly choppy) we decided to rent a boat and head out on the lake.

I wanted to get a dragon boat instead but the rental guys said that it was too windy for those and they wouldn't let us rent one.


Once we actually got out on the lake it became clear that it really was choppy. Steering was difficult and our poor swan nearly capsized dozens of times. It was terrific fun.

For a while it looked like we were on a collision course with this tourist ferry (click to enlarge).

Here I am after surviving our all too brief journey on swanboat #27. My mouth is hanging open in approval and excitement.

After our day in Lake Towada, it seemed like nothing could top our level of excitement. Nothing except for Aomori's most hilarious sightseeing destination: the grave of none other than Jesus Christ. Since this site has been covered in exhausting detail by any number of Aomori bloggers, I won't bore you with the full version of the story. Suffice to say, some Japanese people really do believe that Jesus Christ actually lived and died in Aomori while his Japanese brother (and stunt double, apparently) died on the cross. They even cite a few blue-eyed people in the area as actual descendants of Christ.

Here we have the sign that marks the site (click to enlarge) that tells us the real story of Jesus Christ, as dictated by the son of God himself. My favorite part is clearly "Isukiri casually took Christ's place and ended his life on the cross". I guess it 'aint no thang when your bro is the Lord and Savior, huh?

They even have this plaque next to the grave that was sent as a sign of goodwill from Jerusalem. Now I'm no expert in Hebrew, but my guess is that this plaque probably says "Please stop making fun of Jesus".

Here I am, paying my respects to the Japanese JC.

And what trip to a comically sacrilegious tourist trap would be complete without the whole family posing as the holy family (in Japanese clothes, of course)? After this trip, I think it's probably true that there is a place in hell for me and my friends.

Momoishi Matsuri

Are you beginning to notice a pattern here? Summer is festival season in Japan and every town, whether large or small, holds a town festival (matsuri). From what I've observed, it seems like you could go to a festival every weekend from the end of June through the end of September-without ever leaving your prefecture. This past long-weekend played host to my hometown's festival, one of the last festivals of the season (Shimoda has theirs next weekend). Although Momoishi is a small town (our population is under 10,000), our matsuri is surprisingly robust and runs for four straight days. I was especially amazed by the floats, which were the best out of any I've seen in the Ken. A few nights before the festival, Superintendent Komata took me to where the floats were being built and even after seeing their incredibly-skilled handiwork there, I couldn't believe what the final product looked like.





It's also worth noting that unlike in America, Japanese floats are totally bad ass, as evidenced by all the evil things below.



Thanks to the festival, I was able to appreciate why teaching in a small town is so awesome. I teach basically every kid in this town, from kindergarten all the way up to the last year of junior high school. Consequently, when I show up at something like the town festival, I'm immediately mobbed by crowds of excited children. Below are just a few of my adoring fans, always ready to flash a peace-sign in the event of a photograph.




Also, I got to see my students participate in various events, which was cool. The students below got to ride on one of the floats during the parade and played the drums. I went to drum practice once and I can tell you, it was no easy beat that they were playing. I was actually supposed to drum in the parade myself on Saturday but when I showed up to the festival, it was over. Turns out that I misheard the superintendent: what I had thought was nijuujisanjuupun (20:30 or 8:30 pm) was actually nijisanjuupun (2:30 pm). Whoops.

There was also a drumming competition with various teams competing. Again, all of the participants were students of mine.


Finally, there was the arcade area, lined with numerous food booths, fishing games and vendors selling everything from plastic masks to playstations.

There are a number of traditional Japanese festival foods and luckily for me, they are all deep-fried. I chose to partake of some takoyaki (octopus balls). They look rather disgusting but taste pretty good. Take my word for it.

Little Rascals

I had another day at the middle school today. I've noticed that the middle schoolers are really big on hurricane Katrina jokes. The teachers made worksheets with questions about me on them and in two separate classes when I asked "Where am I from?" some joker yelled out "HURRICANE KATRINA! NEW ORLEANS! LOLOLOL!" Um, too soon guys.

The other big joke of the day was kids "cleverly" using the 'I like ______' structure to ask if I like the teacher or some random girl in the class. LOL guys!

Anyhow, the kids had to write letters to me today (in English) and I thought that I'd share some of the results with you. You know, because we're such good friends and everything.


A pretty large percentage of the kids drew anime-style drawings on their papers. This one is notable as it's a drawing of the English teacher that I taught that class with.


Why is this one so gratuitously and unnecessarily decorated with stickers and various colors? Because it was made by a Japanese schoolgirl.


I'm sorry Noriko but I don't think I can do that.

Perhaps you've noticed that my good friend Leo has been sporadically posting funny things his students write on his blog. Well, I'm hoping that this drastic move I'm about to make results in a veritable arms race of funnies between the two of us. Leo, I hereby challenge you to beat this (sorry it's hard to read, I should have probably scanned these):

When It Rains, It Pours

I find that rain is one of those things that's nearly impossible to represent photographically. It can be raining super hard but if you try to take a picture of it you come nowhere close to accurately representing nature's fury. Thus, I have (perhaps wisely) chosen to pursue abstraction rather than mimesis.

As I walked out of my apartment this morning, I noticed a stray cat scuttling away in the periphery. He had been sitting outside of my door trying to avoid the unrelenting rain but little did I know that he was there for another reason; this cat was a textbook bad omen.

My office is situated literally one block from my apartment. The total time it takes me from walking out of my front door to punching my timecard is usually an even two minutes. Despite the duration of the journey and the fact that I was holding an umbrella over my head while on my bike, by the time I arrived at the office it looked as if I had stopped on my way to take a quick dip in the pool. Of course, the moment I sat down at my desk, I realized that my lunch was still sitting on my kitchen table. Luckily, I was to be driven by one of the office ladies today so I was able to avoid trudging back in the rain.

Well, when it rains this hard, it eventually has to let up, right? Right? The rain continued all day, showing no decrease in determination. At the end of the day, the office ladies told me to bring my bike inside the building to be stored overnight so that I could walk home with my umbrella. "That's okay," I said, "I'm planning on going to the supermarket after it stops raining so I'll just walk it home". "But Mehan-San," the oldest office lady interjected, "according to the weather report, it is not going to stop raining today". Of course I doubted the veracity of this statement but since one of the office ladies offered to drive me to the supermarket while I was on the clock, I agreed. Man, am I glad that I took her up on that offer. It is still raining. In half an hour I will have been awake for 12 hours and the entire time it has been raining non-stop. I usually leave my kitchen window cracked and the pots adjacent to it were full of water when I returned home.

I've been teaching junior-high/middle school lately (whatever you call it) and man, does it suck. I know how to deal with kids who are hyper, disruptive, loud, obnoxious, obtrusive, socially inept, daft, a danger to themselves and others, boisterous, uncooperative and even that kid who takes his hand out of his pants only to shake my hand. But what do you do when you're stuck in front of a classroom of kids who are completely apathetic and uninterested? These guys seriously don't give a fuck. No, let's make this absolutely clear; these kids don't even give one-tenth of a fuck. The only time any of them open their mouths is to make fun of me.

You know how Japanese schoolchildren are supposedly unnaturally hard-working and vigorously disciplined into an army of respectful pupils? That is a lie. In one of the classes I taught, half of the boys were asleep. No, they weren't simply dozing, they were sprawled out on their desks with their tongues hanging out of their mouths. What's more, the teacher made no attempt to rouse any of these students. While the rest of the class filled out worksheets, Sleeping Beauty and company remained undisturbed.

Then there's the guy who wears a huge chain around his neck that supports a stolen Mercedes-Benz hood ornament and who refuses to communicate with anyone. If I didn't have my kindergartners to look forward to later that day I might have stopped communicating myself.

What's That Strange Noise?

Oh, it's nothing it's just the GRASSHOPPER INSIDE MY FUCKING APARTMENT

Towada Matsuri

So, this past weekend was the Towada festival. As Ewen apparently drunkenly declared onstage last year, it just might be the best festival ever. The organizers of the festival graciously reserve a float each year to be carried by gaijin and invite all of the JETs in the area as well as any American military personnel who wish to participate. Towada is a pretty big city (according to Sunil, it may now be close to Aomori-City in terms of population) and fittingly, has a pretty big festival. In case you haven't figured it out by now, Japanese festivals are comprised of three key ingredients: Large, usually elaborate floats, copious amounts of good food and dangerous amounts of alcohol.

Small booths like the one pictured above lined every available inch of real estate along the parade path. Most sold various grilled meats, fried meats or things with meat inside of them. Ah, Japan.

This Godzilla float wins my official award for coolest fucking float of all time ever.

Pictured above is a Japanese child perusing the selection of kabuto mushi, known in English as huge, disgusting beetles. Japanese kids love these things, although I'll never understand why.

When I told the people in my office that I was planning on going to the Towada festival, the senior office lady told me that I had to play the fish game, "It's very difficult but very enjoyable," she said. Upon arriving in Towada, I realized that the game entails trying to catch goldfish with a scoop. If you are successful, I think you get to take the goldfish home with you. That's really exciting, I guess?



So the float was really heavy, obviously. At first, I naively thought that we were simply charged with carrying it down the street. Wrong as rain. As soon as we hit the pavement, the guys marching alongside us started motioning for us to raise and lower the float as we walked, so as to create a lowrider-like bouncing effect. Luckily, there were a bunch of big, brawny military guys there who didn't seem to mind carrying the burden while pipsqueaks like me simply pretended to be helping. Soon I found out exactly why G.I. Joe and company were in such high spirits when faced with the prospect of carrying this thing for the length of the parade route: the festival organizers saw to it that everyone was properly lubricated for the event. At the end of each block we were told to put the float down. Then, people brought a cart up from the rear, filled with ice-cold beers. Then, after about two minutes, we would move the float another block and then stop again. So, of course, what ended up happening was beer chugging on a scale so massive it would make a Dave Matthews-listening, frat boy date rapist blush. Unfortunately, a sudden downpour forced us to take the float back more expediently than initially planned. Usually parades in Japan stop for nothing but it was really coming down this time.

Every time the float was either lifted or lowered, we had to perform a ceremony afterwards which consisted of hand-clapping and shouting. The dude pictured here rode on the top of the float and clicked those sticks together to tell us when to stop and start.

Afterwards, we all went back to the town hall for some sort of international welcome party. They attempted to placate our Western palates with McDonalds hamburgers and American-style delivery pizza. They were successful. Did I mention that they continued to supply us with free beer throughout the party? Consequently, as seen above, Ewen entertained the assembled crowd with a repeat performance of last year's drunken speech. This year's topic of discussion was the greatness of Scotland and how England is comparatively "fookin' rubbish".

After they kicked us out of the welcome party, we all went out en masse to some bars and karaoke places and eventually splintered into various smaller groups. I eventually ended up at a bar interestingly named "Cherry Beans" with Sunil, Charlie, Ryan, Mike, Andy and the crazy Japanese dude pictured above talking to Sunil. I forget his name but his English was really good and he was a real riot. I think we eventually turned in to Sunil's house at about 4:00 am, fully satiated by the nightlife that Towada had to offer.

Hairdresser on Fire

I'm not sure what's happening in America right now but I'm assuming that television sets across the nation are inundated with memorial specials for the most important political event of Mr. Bush's career, that which he so affectionately refers to as "nine eleven". I'm also assuming that the major news networks are repeatedly showing some of those really distasteful images and video clips of the disaster in lieu of a more dignified memorial.

Well, here in Japan, it's election day. In case you haven't heard, this election is quite possibly the most important in the history of the postwar Japanese state. Due to some rather radical moves made by longtime Prime Minister Koizumi in conjunction with his plan to privatize the Japanese Post Office (the world's largest bank, in case you weren't aware), his Liberal Democratic Party is facing the first real threat on its power in over half a century of almost uninterrupted control. Anyhow, the normally politically apathetic Japanese are now faced with a significant decision, the outcome of which will effect everything from the hot topic of Japanese foreign policy towards China and Taiwan to the status of foreign government workers like myself. As a matter of fact, one of the parties running in this election is making the expulsion of foreigners from Japan a part of their platform. Charlie believes that this party may have parked their annoying campaign van in the parking lot of his office so that they could broadcast their nationalist message over loudspeakers to the people inside. People are really getting worked up about this election, with reactions ranging from cautious excitement to the the downright bizarre.

Well, I figured that there was no better way to exercise my rights as a non-citizen than by getting a haircut. I have been needing a haircut rather desperately for a few weeks now but I didn't really know where to go. Charlie recommended the salon in the mall to me, so I decided to give it a try. I went in and despite the fact that I was clearly the only dude in there, I asked for an appointment and was told to come back about half an hour or so later. When I came back, I was ushered to the back of the salon where they washed my hair. They put a little towel over my face which was quite nice as I'd rather not have to awkwardly stare up at the person who is washing my hair for five minutes. They also put a little pink towel around my neck and covered me with a smock. I could almost feel the last shred of my tattered masculinity give way. After this, I was taken to the stylist who set a stack of magazines on the table in front of me to read while she cut my hair. One of them was a porno. I told her simply not to cut it too short and after confirming with me how short I wanted the front, she set to work.

Since my hair is generally pretty low maintenance, it's kind of rare that I get a bad haircut. Thus, I generally grade a haircut based on how much time the stylist spends and how willing they are to go back and fine tune. In that respect, this may have been the best haircut I have ever received; she slaved over my head for more than half an hour, meticulously cutting, texturizing, clipping and shaving. Afterwards, I was taken back to the sink where they washed my hair a second time. Then, another woman came and sprayed some cold stuff on my head and proceeded to give me a head massage. The massage basically consisted of her punching me in the back of the head for five minutes but I felt like a million bucks afterward. Lastly, the stylist put some sort of gel or something in my hair and carefully and deliberately disheveled it for me. The final product:

I'm so ashamed that I took a picture of myself in the mirror but I couldn't think of any better way to do it. I feel like I need a fucking Myspace or something now.

Afterwards, I went to the novelty store where I fed my increasingly unhealthy obsession with Japanese toy collecting. If you're not familiar with Japanese toys, many small toys come in what is called "blind box" packaging, that is to say, you cannot see what the toy inside of the box looks like until you buy it. Most of these boxes have pictures on the side of the different toys you might find inside and some even list the probability of getting each toy. However, some blind boxes have no pictures of the toys whatsoever. I really like buying blind box toys despite the possibility of getting two of the same toy; it makes it a lot more fun and exciting to go home and open them up. Anyway, all of the toys I bought today came blind boxed.


I'm really excited about the last one, it comes from a series that immortalizes in plastic important moments in the history of one Mario the plumber.

Afterwards, I went to the supermarket to stock up on munitions. I found some things that I'm almost positive are the equivalent of regular hamburger buns, so I decided to make burgers tomorrow. I asked someone working there where the teriyaki sauce was and he gave me a really confused look. He then led me to the sauce aisle and pulled a bottle of takoyaki (octopus ball) sauce off of the shelf. "No, teriyaki," I told him. He just returned a confused look. "You mean, like what you put on a hamburger?" he asked. "Yes, that's correct." He then stood there looking awfully confused and mumbled quietly for a few seconds before pulling out his phone, which he proceeded to stare at. Teriyaki sauce is Japanese right? Why should this be so confusing? "It's okay, you don't have it. Thank you," I said and walked away. Halfway down the aisle I spotted a bottle of teriyaki sauce and placed it in my cart. About 10 minutes later, as I was just getting in line to pay, the same guy ran up to me and said "Here it is, I found it". Thanks, buddy.


Remember how I ate a fish head at that barbecue? Of course you do. Well, this is what they look like, pre-cooking. I briefly considered buying a few to feed my evil twin who I keep chained up in the basement but quickly decided against it. He doesn't deserve that good.


Some eggs in Japan have individual expiration stickers on them. I think that this is a terrific idea.


We are apparently getting a Caprisiosa in the Shimoda Mall. Other JETs will be very jealous of me as this is without a doubt the most beloved/overhyped/hated restaurant in the Aomori JET community. The pizza is really good, it's just a bit expensive is all.


I have been watching the development of this building with keen interest for some time. It used to be an expensive home furnishing store just outside of the mall but they closed down about a week or two ago. They then painted the building blue and yellow which got my hopes up that it might become something cool. After a few days the enigmatic word "GIGA" appeared on the building in tall yellow letters. What could it mean? The following day "OUTLET" appeared underneath. Today, as I biked past, I was greeted by a disappointing revelation. The text under Giga Outlet reads "Home Interiors". Oh cruel fate.

Superintendent Komata is a Very Elite Person in Town

From what I've observed, one of the perks of having seniority in a Japanese office is that you can disappear for long periods of time during the workday, as long as you announce where you're going. I've observed both my boss and the local Superintendent, Komata-San, simply announce that they were going to the post office or a school and then proceed to disappear for an hour or two.

Earlier today, Komata-San had me translate a postcard into Japanese that the American home-stay students had sent him from Maine. I didn't think that I did a very good job (and had to take a few interpretative liberties) but he seemed pleased that he was able to get the gist of it. Perhaps to thank me, he walked into our office later in the day and announced "Mehan and I are going to the town office now".

Next Febuary, our town and the next town over, Shimoda (home of Charlie Mac, the mall and the train station) are merging to form Oirase-Cho. The fashion in recent years has been for small towns to continually merge, forming slightly larger small towns and I suppose even Momoishi couldn't resist the urge to merge (thanks, I came up with that myself). As such, local students have been invited to submit designs for the new town logo. The designs (I would estimate that there were probably 500 different submissions in all) are being exhibited at town hall, where people can go and vote on which one becomes the Oirase-Cho logo.

When we arrived at town hall, Komata-San initially pulled into a parking spot but then changed his mind and pulled forward so that he was effectively parked across three parking spots. We then went inside where he told me that you are only allowed to vote once, for your favorite design. For some reason, he voted three times. The room that the designs were being exhibited in was also host to an old ladies exercise session. There's really no adequate way for me to describe the exercises that they were performing but they involved two people, two strange inflatable devices and some new age music. After voting, Komata-San stood around and watched the old women exercise for a good 5 minutes. Next, we walked into the administrative office where he announced "I would like something cold to drink" and we were immediately provided with iced barely tea. He then sat around for about half an hour talking to the secretaries while I looked around the room in boredom.

Someday, I hope to be a big shot, just like Superintendent Komata.

Late Registration

If you're a first time ALT like me, there are two words that you're probably used to hearing by now. 挨拶 (aisatsu) means "greeting" or "salutation". 自己紹介 (jikoshoukai), on the other hand, is usually translated as "self-introduction" and generally refers to a formal introduction speech. As I've been teaching these past two weeks, my co-workers have told me that I will be doing aisatsu every time that I have taught a new class. Only once so far have I been expected to make an actual introductory speech and that time I was told in advance that I needed to prepare a jikoshoukai. Today I was scheduled to teach at Momoishi Elementary School, where I have been teaching for two weeks now. For some reason they wanted me to come in at 8:00 am but I figured that it was just because I was teaching older kids this time. When my co-workers told me that I would be doing aisatsu there, I assumed that they were referring to the fact that I was teaching the fourth graders for the first time.

Anyway, I woke up a little off schedule this morning, so I ended up running a little late. I have not been late once to the office or to any of the schools yet. In Japan punctuality is taken very seriously and being late somewhere is often interpreted as a personal insult. Anyway, I figured that since they usually have me come in a good half an hour or so before I have to teach, I would probably be able to sneak into the teacher's office undetected.

I arrived at the school at 8:06 am. As I sat in the entranceway putting on my school shoes I couldn't help but notice how eerily silent and ominously empty the school was. Without warning, the school principal appeared from out of nowhere. I apologized to him for being late and he wordlessly motioned for me to follow him. He was clearly not pleased. "Are you ready to give your speech?" he asked me tersely as we walked towards the gymnasium. When we arrived, I saw that the entire school was assembled, watching my welcoming ceremony. Meep.

When it came time for my speech, they had me stand at a podium on a stage in front of all of the teachers and students. I recited off of the top of my head all that I could remember of my introduction speech that I had written earlier. I messed up at least once but other than that I think it went reasonably well. As is customary, every teacher in the school came up to me afterward to tell me how good my Japanese is. However, they would have done this had I just gone up there and said "Konichiwa" and waved.

My "pin the pieces of the face on the egg man" game went over really well with the fourth graders. They got really excited and yelled so loud that it was deafening. And when I asked for volunteers, practically every hand in the class shot up. So much for the reticent, quiet Japanese student. Two of the teachers ran to get digital cameras during the classes-I think they had never seen a game like this before. One of them came up to me at the end of the day and said "That was very enjoyable".

In one of the fourth grade classes I taught today, at least two girls were wearing Playboy t-shirts. I wish I had brought my camera.

Duck, Duck, Goose

As I was leaving a first grade class today, after teaching a lesson, one child extended his hand for a high five (or "high touch" as they call it here). I assumed that no harm could come of a high five and obliged. Little did I know that this was a huge mistake. Immediately, the entire class rushed me in an attempt to procure a five, inciting a genuine first grade riot. While the kids whose faces were being stepped on didn't seem to mind much, I resolved to be far more cautious in such matters in the future.

My kindergarten classes went well as usual. One girl closely inspected my socks and my keys before declaring that they were "cool". She then insisted on sitting on my foot while I read a story to the class. I ended up with more extra time than I had budgeted for, so I taught them duck, duck, goose, an old favorite of mine. I figured that this would be an easy enough game, as it only uses two English words. I didn't really know how to explain the difference between a duck and a goose in Japanese, however, so I told them that a goose is "a big duck". Everything went off without a hitch until the last round, when an argument over whether the goose was safe or not ended with the victor crying. The teacher had to reassure him that the game was over but he had won. He still kept crying.

Roughing It

Despite what you might think, Japanese people enjoy the great outdoors just as much as the next guy. There are major differences in how they choose to experience the wilderness, however. For example, there's the Japanese version of "camping" which basically entails staying in a "cabin" (more akin to a nice hotel room in a faux log structure) located in a somewhat wooded area. What we normally call camping is referred to, ominously, as "survival camping".

This weekend was the AJET welcome party for new JETs which saw gaijin from all over the prefecture converging on Moya Hills, a ski resort that doubles as a "camping" area in the summer. The basic idea was that AJET set up some grills, designated a few people to grill some meat and played Michael Jackson and Fallout Boy songs on a boom box while a million white people stood around outside drinking beer and talking into the wee hours of the morning. Here's the exterior of one of the oddly-shaped cabins:

Having eaten our fill and having exhausted the option of talking to a number of people whose names I couldn't remember, Matt and I retired quite early to the cabin where we found Charlie comically sprawled out of the couch (the victim, apparently, of the bottle of Korean sochu that he foolishly purchased from a convenience store in Aomori City). We awoke the next morning and wandered around the battlefield at just before ten in the morning where we were greeted by the following sight:

For reasons unknown to sane men, Mark was making a serious effort to keep the party alive (and still drinking, for that matter). By this point, Mark's various drunken escapades have succeeded in making him a bit of a celebrity within the ken; one episode worthy of note ends with him being woken up by the angry manager of an onsen (public bath) after having fallen asleep in a massage chair after close. He was, of course, both drunk and naked. At any rate, either every stereotype about Irishmen is true or Mark is simply a walking caricature. Since I haven't seen him attempt to fight anyone yet, I'd be inclined to believe the latter.

After a rousing game of ultimate frisbee (during which I was a member of the team that had no hope of winning, fittingly enough) we hit up the rollercarts. I'm going to suggest that a more fitting translation would be "roller death carts" and you'll soon find out why. Apparently some ski resorts in Japan see fit to attract visitors during the summer months by allowing them to rocket down ski slopes in these flimsy little numbers. While an attraction this dangerous would surely be crushed under the weight of lawsuits in America, the inefficiency of the Japanese legal system allows the rollercart to thrive. Having been thoroughly regaled with tales of JETs with protruding bones and such, Matt and I promptly purchased six rides for about $26 USD. After taking quite a long chair-lift ride to the top, we were greeted by two carts, just barely large enough to accommodate our foreign frames. However, we were halted at the top of the run before beginning and when we stood up to see what all the commotion was about, we saw a female JET being carried into a waiting van. There are various warnings along the course that tell you when to brake and slow down and if you comply, the course is exhilarating without being too dangerous. However, if you can't read Japanese or if you're brazen to a fault, you might find yourself in a rather dangerous predicament. This particular young lady apparently catapulted head-first into a barrier where her chin was promptly split open. As Mark, who was there, compassionately noted, "It was just pissin' blood". They let us go down once but at the bottom we were told that the course was closed "because it is raining". It was not raining.

Originally, Matt and I had hoped to hitch a ride to Misawa, where the American Air Force base was holding its annual air show which also provides an opportunity for the general public to tour the base. Unfortunately, our ride bailed on us, so we ended up climbing into Alex's car, hoping to get to a train station. It turns out that they were headed into Aomori City for kaiten (revolving) sushi. In case you're not familiar with the concept, the entire restaurant is organized around a conveyor belt that's carries sushi around the room. Different plates (like the one pictured below) have different costs printed on them and you simply pull whatever sushi you want off of the conveyor belt and eat it. At the end, they tally up the cost of the plates that you've eaten.

You can also yell out to the chef in the middle of the conveyor belt, if you want something specific or soup or something. Since we went during lunch, all plates were an even ¥105.

Perhaps due having exerted myself physically during the sporting events, I was able to eat a heroic ten plates of sushi. This only cost me about $10.50 USD. Afterwards, there was only one clear course of action for Matt and myself:

Mister fucking Donut.

Toy Story

If I have developed one vice during my short time here, it’s wasting money on various toys at the mall. Predictable, I suppose. But dangerous, nonetheless. I am particularly proud of the Gloomy Bear that now sits atop my television set. If I am not mistaken, Gloomy is the adorable bear who children love but, for some reason, he must feast on human flesh. The bottom of the box that it came in depicts gloomy clandestinely slashing away at the corpse of a young boy. Gloomy is apparently the product of the imagination of Japanese comic artist Mori Chack, whose towering blond afro threatens to overshadow his work, both literally and figuratively.



The little turtle guy comes from a series that depicts him participating in various exciting activities (jumping out of a plane, riding a dirt bike), all while maintaining a look of complete apathy on his face. He is, apparently, one jaded turtle.

When I returned to the office today after a full day of teaching shougakkou, my coworkers appeared to be in the middle of a discussion on the topic of hurricanes. In Japan, typhoons are simply numbered (1,2,3, etc.), so they were quite perplexed as to why Katrina was named so. "Do all hurricanes have women's names?" my supervisor asked. After explaining to him the alphabetical naming convention that is followed he noted that "m" is only three letters away and asked me, "Will they name it hurricane Mehan?" I told him I didn't think that they would.

(In other hurricane related news, the American Red Cross is accepting disaster relief donations via Yahoo)

No Women Were Oppressed During the Making of This Bento Box

After just a week of teaching, I already feel like a seasoned pro. I’ve now taught every grade level from kindergarten to sixth grade, at three different schools in the area. While each class is different and the responses to my planned activities have varied, I’ve still managed to have extremely positive experiences with every class. I’m now quite used to my standard introductory routine; I introduce myself, speak briefly about Chicago, compare Chicago to Toyko and America to Japan, play head, shoulders, knees and toes (if the kids are young enough) and then I usually segue into either the face drawing game or the animal drawing game. I feel like my lessons have been a real hit at most schools and the kids, especially the younger ones, often cannot contain their excitement when I walk into the room. I’m not sure if this is going to get trying after a while but as of right now, it seems like it has to be the best job in the world. Think about it: I come into the classroom once a week, teach the fun lesson and then I’m out. I don’t have to deal with discipline, no one tells me what to teach and the kids are almost always enthusiastic. Plus, I'm being compensated in a manner unheard of for young teachers. It’s like teaching without all of the stuff that usually makes it such an undesirable profession.

The only downside is that it’s hot and I’m all dressed up. At the school that I’m at right now, the dress code seems pretty relaxed; most of the teachers around me are wearing t-shirts and shorts. There’s this one fashionable young math teacher who keeps pulling her compact out of her desk and checking her makeup. It’s possible that she’s trying to attract the attention of the rugged looking soccer coach sitting next to her. Anyhow, I think I’m going to stick it out, at least through the rest of the summer, in a shirt and tie. Hopefully it will help me make a good impression.

Lunch at the various schools has varied considerably. At the school closest to me, they serve us school lunch and all of the teachers eat together in the office. Last time I was there they served fish, rice, some sort of stew and some sort of vegetables with mayonnaise. During lunch, the teachers entertained themselves by taking turns asking me what liquors I drink.

At this school, I am supposed to bring my own bento box. I didn’t know this yesterday so I ate with the younger children, who are supplied with two pieces of bread, butter and honey (in one of those lunchable-style squeeze things), a hard-boiled egg, a container of cherry jello-esque stuff, a small package of dried fish and almonds and milk. All of the kids dutifully opened their bread, removed it from the plastic wrapper and preserved the wrapper to store the pieces of the eggshell in. They then proceeded to eat their meal in the specific order of bread, egg, jello, fish, milk, while classical music was piped over the loudspeakers. I ended up making the beginner’s mistake of peeling my egg onto my tray, which became quite a source of amusement.

Most days, however, I wait in the teachers’ office until I receive an invitation from one of the classes to eat with them. Today I was invited by the kid that I saw at Jusco the other night, to eat with his third grade class. As I walked up the stairs with him, I asked if he liked Jusco. He said that he did, so I asked him what his favorite store in the mall was. “Mos Burger,” he replied. We then bonded over our shared love for the delicious ebikatsu burger.

The third graders all bring bento boxes with them, which are painstakingly constructed by their mothers to supply both a well-rounded and tasty meal as well as an aesthetically pleasing one. In recent years, some Japanese feminist scholars have written on the topic of the bento box and the manner in which it becomes a societal tool of oppression. As ridiculous as that may sound, Japanese mothers are under a great deal of pressure to produce an acceptable bento every day, as it really becomes a point of pride for the children when they compare their lunches (which they really do). Recently creating bento boxes that resemble cartoon characters has become en vogue and magazines are available that detail how to strategically place rice, vegetables and fish in a box so that they resemble the face of Doraemon.

I didn’t see anything quite like that today, as a matter of fact, my humble tupperware box was the point of central focus. This is probably because they had never seen a bento box before consisting of a salami and cheese sandwich, snyders pretzels, a tangerine and a coke. One intrepid lad even saw fit to call me “Cola Sensei”. While I was eating my sandwich, my friend from Jusco inquired as to its contents. “Ham?” he asked. Not knowing what to call salami in Japanese, I nodded my head and said “and cheese”. I’m not sure why but this was a shocking revelation for the entire class. “CHEESE?” they yelled out in amazement. “Hey Mehan Sensei!” shouted one kid from the other end of the class, “Look, I have a piece of cheese in my bento too!”. My friend then revealed to the table that he had two lil’ smokie-style sausages in his possession, filled with cheese. In a show of solidarity, he deposited one of these newly cool sausages in my lunchbox.

One similarity that I have noticed between the lunchrooms of my youth and the Japanese equivalent is the traffic between lunchboxes; indeed, the concept of the trade is alive and well. I ended up passing out a pretzel to each member of the class, much to their delight. They had no idea what it was (funny, because I bought them at Jusco) but they liked it. In return I received such items as a pieces of crab and a slice of apple. I also shared my tangerine but lamentably only had enough for the kids at my own table.

After lunch, all of the children collapse and fold their milk cartons so that they can be recycled, dispose of any burnable trash and then go out to the sink and brush their teeth. It’s kind of like watching an army of ants dutifully carry crumbs to the hill. The brushing of teeth might be a relatively recent addition to the lunchtime routine; hopefully it will do something to combat the dental problem that is so painfully evident here.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to reading a book and getting handsomely paid for it.