Iroiro

Even at home, if I find myself without a notebook and I need to write things down, I do it in a text message on my cell phone and save it as a draft.  Here are just a few from these two weeks in Japan:

1. Discussing the old style toilets we occasionally run into.  The positions you must be in when using them are Tai Chi moves.  You know, Fair Maiden Pulls the Weeds...Snake Creeps Down.
2. Anthony: "...a chip off the ole polyglot, eh."
3. Best toilet paper brand seen at the market: Silltty Roman.  Spelled just like that.
4. Favorite Japanese phrase: Shouganai (it can't be helped).
5. Sweet Japanese businessman who offered to take our picture for us.  "Ooookaaay.  threeee.  twoooo.  oonne.  zeellllooo!" *click*

I want to elaborate on the toilet thing.  My initial encounter with the toire in our room left me puzzling over the English translations posted on the wall, instructions for how to properly use this thing.

When you sit on the seat, automatically
the cold water flow.  Wait for "off"
the lamp to wash.

(it's like an alternative haiku if you read it right)

When you sit on the seat, "STAND BY" lamp
starts flashing, if you press [button that looks like water] upon seating,
you may have cold water spray.

There's also knobs and buttons and optional settings, such as "bide" written in katakana (pronounced bee-day), and "oshiri" in hiragana, which means butt.  It wasn't until I finally got the hang of things and started feeling spoiled by these genius toilets (most seats are heated!!  do you know what it feels like to be wandering through a foresty temple area with a full bladder in the middle of winter, find a small shack of a bathroom that looks straight out of the Meiji Era, and stumble inside the poorly lit walls, only to find yourself sitting on a futuristic, fully heated toilet seat!?!!  I was peeing left and right in those woods!!) when I encountered what Anthony had been saying he couldn't wait for one of us to encounter: the handlebars.  These are the old-style Japanese toilets that, for whatever reason, some building owners nostalgically choose to hold onto (hold on to, I said).  I call them by this name because there is literally a handlebar in the bathroom, and it's there so you can hold onto it.  Picture yourself riding a bicycle.  Only rather than each leg going up in turns, both legs are bent up at once.  Only instead of being on a bicycle, you're standing on the floor like this.  But the handlebars remain.

Arimasu

It does exist.

There were souvenirs to be purchased, themed candy to drool over, and decorated store windows to stare at.  I got two keychain souvenirs--one of Baltan and one of Urutoraman.  My favorite thing about Soshigaya-Okura, though, was that even the street signs and banners, posted and displayed all up and down the cozy, narrow shopping streets, had images from the show and of the characters.  Or maybe it was the lamp posts, which were designed in a way so that rather than being straight and vertical and, you know, lamp-posty, they curved way over at the top into what looked like giant hooks looming over the street sides.  It only took me a second of staring to notice how the two oval light bulbs at the top of each post, lined up to the left and right of the hook, created Ultraman's head.

...I'm gonna say it again.  The lamp posts on the streets in this neighborhood were designed with Ultraman in mind.  Somewhere, during some moment in the past, a group of professionals were huddled over blueprints, deciding how they could make these functional and necessary poles of metal and large light bulbs resemble a cheesy 60's superhero head.  SSsssswatch!

There was also a medium-sized flying Ultraman above one of the street entrances, and a large Ultraman statue with glowing eyes right outside of the station.  You're damn right I posed in front of the big one!

Even after all of this paradise, when I bought my ticket to head home and stood on the platform waiting for the train, I just didn't feel completely satisfied.  Anthony and I started talking about where we wanted to go for dinner when it happened: an instrumental, 8-bit version of the theme song began playing, and ended just in time for us to hop on our train and head back to the Science Patrol Building.  Another day saved.

Watashitachi wa nichiyoubi ni baka no eiga wo mimasu.

Sunday was my last night with Takuji and Sachi.

We met in Shimokitazawa--the area Takuji grew up in.  Part of a town within Tokyo, it is "famous for the rock bands."  He took us to his favorite restaurant, a small and cozy place called Hiroki.  Popular and easily packed, we stood in line outside for our chance to sit down, meanwhile taking advantage of the wonderful waiting period to talk and let our hunger stir.  We talked about everything from our trip thus far and our plans for these next two full days, to the business of Lomography, to the traditional Japanese "American Christmas" holiday and the KFC fried chicken dinner that is its centerpiece.  Sachi said McDonald's is now trying to steal away the business by expanding from chicken nuggets to the inclusion of drumsticks and such on their menu.  We all laughed at what gets lost in translation.  They said Christmas is a romantic holiday, similar to our Valentine's Day.  It is apparently very important to have a date on Christmas Eve here.

At one point during our wait to be seated, there was room for two of us to step into the inside waiting area and out of the cold, so Takuji and Anthony remained outside and had man-time while us ladies moved in and continued chatting about education and friends and traveling to places such as India and Italy.  We were brought menus while waiting in line, and Takuji once again took on the responsibility of ordering for all of us while accommodating superbly to my vegetarian needs.  This restaurant is known for okonomiyaki, or what Sachi tried to compare to a pancake, only with meat and Japanese vegetables in them (I'm told the ones we ate were Hiroshima style).  Takuji has been eating at this restaurant since he was ten years old, and he knows the menu in every direction.  He ordered for us the best okonomiyaki they have.  There was a sauce on top kiiiiind of like teriyaki and also slightly sweet, but much tastier.  The dishes were tall and fat.  While waiting for these main courses, we had Takuji's favorite appetizer: beer, and a small dish that contained deliciously flavored mushrooms along with some scallops and baby tomatoes.  The food could not have been better.  It felt very necessary that we consume all of this before returning to our homes in America.

After dinner, we wandered around the small and colorful streets of Shimokitazawa, lit up and foggy and bustling during this Sunday night.  We went into a hilarious shop filled with all kinds of oddities, souvenirs, funny items...kind of like a lot of stores I've seen in Ashland, only all in the same building (and there was even a toy camera/Lomo section).  We picked up things and tried on things and made jokes about things and stood in awe at things.  Then, Takuji led us to Cafe Ordinaire, an adorable and hidden cafe (hidden = no line to wait in!) that had vintage posters adorning its walls and old, faded looking Japanese books lining its shelves and counters (and you are welcome to browse the books while you're there).  We came here for dessert and drinks.  I had a slice of banana cream cake, with almond flavoring and chocolate chips and a small pile of homemade whipped cream with a mint leaf beautifully resting on top of it.  I've never eaten cake like this: modest in sweetness in order to activate taste buds which my American tongue was not previously aware of.  The slices were small and perfect, and we ate them with tiny forks that made everything feel just right.  We had talked about getting coffee and sweets, but we all kinda knew we could go for another beer.  Anthony and I compromised and had kahlua on the rocks, and our mouths and bodies couldn't have been happier.
We talked about the stupid movies we love and Takuji and Sachi's honeymoon and our favorite beers and death.  We constructed the ties that all strong and sincere friendships are based on.  It was only my third night seeing these two people who, until these last two weeks, I had only known through the internet and mail.  Yet something about this friendship, and the four of us sitting at the same table in a neighborhood within Tokyo, made so much sense.  Takuji and I met through Lomography and our shared interest in analogue photography, and soon after we were mailing film to each other from 5,000 miles apart and shooting double exposures over each others pictures.  Now, on this Sunday evening in Tokyo, we were sitting a foot apart, sharing food and drinks and stories.  It has been a very personal and genuine friendship from the start, and the fact that my once in a lifetime, first-time-out-of-the-country trip led me to him and his wife's company is proof of that.

When the night was over, we walked back to the train station and said goodbye to these two amazing people, vowing to someday again spend time together, be it in Tokyo, along the West Coast or in Rome.  I felt sad as I shook their hands one last time, but I knew it was more of a see you later than anything else.  I'm thinking now about all of the hands I've come in contact with on this trip, and the similarities between here and home in how we use them: for introductions, body language, and aid when ordering things at a restaurant (I love when menus have photos...kore, onegaishimasu); for locating, exchanging, and typing love letters to people far away; for respect, for spirituality, and for extending a bit of love to someone in a temporary goodbye.

And of course, for camera holding.

Watashi wa Amerikajin desu ne

I'm self-conscious in a very humbling way on this trip.  Or rather, that's what I'm hoping I'll remember once I'm home.  What I'm doing here is causing embarrassment to myself and my fellow traveler on numerous daily occasions.  Whether or not I am trying to represent or feel attached to a certain culture, I can just imagine the eyes on me at points throughout the day: ...sigh. ...stupid American.

Let me explain this way: There's been construction going on outside our hotel all week.  Some days, our entering and exiting causes the men to have to stop what they're doing, lay down a wooden board for us to walk across, and kindly lead us out to the street with their arm gestures and nodding heads.*

Yesterday, upon leaving our hotel, a little old Japanese construction worker was sweeping something near the front of the building.  Noticing this, I consciously chose to hop over the area he was working on as I sped by.  Once past him, I felt his head turn toward me.  I looked back and nodded, held back an arigatou gozaimasu, and continued on my way.  Anthony was behind me, and we walked a couple hundred feet in the direction of the station.  Then,

Anthony: You know you just stepped in wet cement, right?

Apparently that was why the man was looking at me.  He had looked down at the footprint and was then putting a face to the horror.  *Sigh*...baka na Amerikajin.  At least I hadn't thanked him.

*On a side note, there is really something to be said about this: along with how seriously the Japanese appear to take their jobs, there seems to be a job here for everything: when construction of any kind is going on in an area of land, one or two men are always standing guard at the front of the site, waving their hands and letting people know that it's still OK to continue along the sidewalk.  Or at parking garage exits, not only are there lights that flash when a car is about to pull out, but two men with glow sticks are kindly asking people to chotto matte, kudasai while then proceeding to guide the car out and onto the street safely and efficiently.  Sometimes I don't even notice a reason why people are stretching out their arms in the direction I am already going, but I'm reassured nonetheless.  It feels as if we encounter someone every few hundred feet who is getting paid simply to remind us that we can continue on our way, providing it is safe to do so.

***

I have been craving a big, filling meal for the past 3 days.  Don't get me wrong, the food here is amazing.  The perfect combination of taste and health.  But being a vegetarian, there's only so much goodness I can partake in, and when it comes to the fried and oily foods, I have to settle for watching Anthony do his thing.  I don't usually crave greasy food.  In fact, when I do get a craving for something, and it's not in the sugar family, it's often something comparable to the food served here, which I've had daily access to since arriving.  Despite this, I have never so badly wanted to give someone money in exchange for bringing a box of pizza to my front door.  It's funny how you can go into a situation already "knowing" what to expect from it or how much fun you'll have, or possibly expecting too much or too little, and be completely surprised by the outcome.

Yesterday we rode a new line from Yokohama to Shin Yokohama, where we paid 300 yen a piece to enter the Ramen Museum.

The price was cheap, and we'd been talking about going since first planning this trip.  But I think our reasoning was more for the sake of being able to say, Yup, I've been to the Ramen Museum.  I had no idea it would be one of the coolest things we'd do while in Japan.  The top floor was sooort of like what I imagined (although in my head, it was a long, skinny aisle with fancy tapestry that you walked along, viewing on your left and right glass cases with replica ramen dishes of all shapes and varieties).  There was a fair amount of information on the history of this dish, and the transformation that took place in 1958 when instant noodles were invented and Japan was "transformed...into a nation of ramen connoisseurs" (taken directly from brochure).  There were interesting souvenirs, kitchen utensils and dishes for cooking and eating ramen at home, and possibly the most badass digital photobooth.  Ever.

The little caption above our heads in the one picture says something along the lines of, If we don't hurry up and get home, Mom's gonna scold us!  Notice Anthony's pumped fists.

When we went downstairs to the lower level, however, it was like stepping into another world.

A "1:1 replica of a section of Tokyo in the year Showa 33" greeted us so realistically that I wondered if we'd accidentally skipped out on paying some extra fee just to be down there.

There were old looking shops, decorations, signs, stations...everything.  There were also about 10 different old style restaurants that you could eat at, which served...ramen.  Of course.  (I got a dirty look from the woman working at the restaurant we stopped at because I ordered nori (seaweed), gohan (rice), and bean sprouts; I've just had my fill of noodles and soup).  I also bought, for 150 yen, a fat piece of agepan at a little bakery that sold 4 flavors of it--I got cinnamon--along with a bunch of old looking sodas.  The little alleys that you could walk through on this floor of the museum were amazing, and occasionally it felt like a haunted house.  The sound effects and the music on top of the decor completely put us in the time period it was mimicking.  We were also able to briefly catch story time in the center of the floor, where a woman dressed in traditional clothing enthusiastically told a children's story on this old, stand-up board where she swapped out pictures as the plot progressed.  Anthony took a shot at an old game booth for 50 yen where he loaded a rifle with what looked like a tiny cork and tried to shoot a prize off of a shelf.  I put a 100 yen coin into a box and pulled out a fortune that I'm still trying to decipher along with Anthony's help.

Shin Yokohama was just a beautiful area in general, and we had so much fun that we ended up arriving late to the Lomography Gallery Store Tokyo grand opening party.  On our way there, I finally got to experience this:

Not my photo, but this looks like the same line we took.

It was Friday night, and apparently we'd gone back to the hotel early last week, because we had yet to see the trains get so full.  There was no need to hold onto any railings inside; the people around you held you in place.  The trains would approach, and what you'd see from the platform would be faces and limbs pressed up against the foggy windows.  It was hilarious and exciting and awful.  I think we both were secretly happy to have "experienced" it, but there's nothing more anxiety inducing than being stuffed in the back of the train and trying to work your way out when your stop is up and you're the only one needing to get off.

The Lomo opening party was spectacular.  The cute and cozy new shop was packed to the brim, especially the upper floor where free food, beer and wine were being handed out generously.  All of my friends from the night at the izakaya were there, along with a ton of Lomographers and people interested in learning about this photographic philosophy.  The products beautifully lined the shelves.  People were talking and snapping photos and taking videos all night.  I spoke with a variety of people.  Sometimes I didn't even find out names.  There was some kind of instant connection, being in a room with people wearing their Dianas and Diana Minis and walking around with Colorsplash flashes attached to their LC-As.  We all routinely stuck our hands up over our heads and took shots of the mingling crowd.  Occasionally I'd see a Horizon pop out above me.  I smiled and took photos.  What was your first camera? and So how did you get involved with Lomo? were the questions of the night.  A man in a business suit asked me a question in Japanese.  I said, Mouichido (one more time).  He asked me again; he wanted to know if I was a Lomographer.  I responded with a firm Hai and then used a phrase I'd been wanting to say to someone this entire trip: Nihongo ga chotto dake wakarimasu (Japanese) (a little) (only) (understand).  He nodded and spoke to me in broken English.  I didn't need to know anybody's name; I already knew them all.  I had photos taken with people.  There was a giant LC-A cake that my friend Takuji along with Shintaro, the store manager, ceremoniously cut into as we all aimed our lenses and cheered.

I thought I was going to drink a lot that night.  Takuji was determined to begin getting drunk around 9.  Anthony had a headache and left early to cope by playing games down the street at the Taito arcade station.  I'd already had two beers, and in the midst of the crowd and the heat, I started zoning out on the language being spoken around me.  I occasionally heard some German.  I was in a room full of people I didn't know, but I knew completely.  I started feeling homesick and hungry.  I needed two more beers or I needed to walk off what I'd already had.  I'd never before felt so caught in the middle of equal places.  I wanted to be more buzzed or less buzzed.  I wanted to transport myself home to my bed and my cats.  But I wanted to transport my bed and my cats to this place.  I felt really lonely, especially with my partner in crime being down the street, but I felt completely surrounded by this room full of friendly people taking photos.  My friends Takuji, Katharina and Nao all looked charming and finely dressed for the occasion, and they walked around greeting everybody and taking photos of their own, representing the new store with grace and confidence.  I wanted to stay out all night with these friends who I may not see again for a very long time, our homes being in three different countries.  I wanted to catch up with Anthony at the Taito station, but by the time I had that though, I figured he was on a train headed back to the hotel.

It was Friday night in Shibuya and everyone was drunk and merry.  It was Friday night at the Lomo Tokyo store opening and I became a part of their history.  The weeks before leaving for Japan reeled through my head, while I simultaneously envisioned my world once I'm home again, living my American life, most likely dreaming about being exactly where I was currently at.  In a moment of impulse, I grabbed my backpack, stuffed my camera into it, and began the long walk down the street to the Taito station.  Anthony was still there, playing Pop'n'Music, exactly where I hoped he would be.  I walked up to him and smiled.  There was a Sbarro pizza place next door.  I'm gonna go see if it's still open, I said.  And they were.  And I ordered pizza and Coke, and got wonderfully, sickly full.

day eight--kono mama

I can't get enough of Japanese TV.

Last night I was watching this show that I assumed at first was some sort of dating, match-making thing.  There was one main girl dressed up really nice.  There were people sort of in charge of things.  It seemed like a reality based show.  But then I saw that the table of guys--who I thought maybe she had to choose from--were all wearing chef hats and coats.  And then I saw this little dish that looked like a fancy dessert, kind of decorated in the spirit of Christmas.  At this point I thought maybe they were cooking for her and trying to win her over, but when the "judging" started happening, it was the chefs holding up score cards.  I couldn't figure out what they were judging, especially because I assumed that they were the ones making the food.  As if assuming that the American viewers would be confused up until now, the creators of the show kindly put the judging categories in English (but nothing else).  These were the categories:

• Safety
• Heat
• Impact
• Name
• Color
• Oishii (delicious)

The show ended without me ever figuring out who or what was being scored.  I do appreciate, however, that while forming opinions of the thing (or person) at hand, the judges (chefs?) had to keep in mind not just the tastiness and quality of color, but whether or not any danger was at hand.  I'm also extremely curious what was meant by impact: emotional impact?  the overall punch that the product (person?) gave to the viewer (taster)?  The influence that the dessert (the girl?) will have over the consciences of these men?  The physical impact such a thing (or female) may have on the body?  Or perhaps the Japanese run their game shows in a different way than us, and rather than the girl having to score these men (or their food??) after only just meeting them, they were actually scoring themselves for her.  "Watashi wa "atatakai" toiu hito ka "iroiro" toiuno janai kedo, tashikani shinchouna hito desu yo!"

***

On a related note, I had an epiphany while watching TV in bed a few nights ago: The Japanese lived through the 70's and 80's, too!  And not all that differently than America.

This was from the most amazing and engaging show I've watched yet in our hotel.  Some kind of old music countdown, with a small audience that would watch music videos and then discuss each one and reminisce about them.  And maybe one or two of the people themselves were singers from the past.  And then they started bringing these old singers out on a stage to once again perform their hit songs, and everyone was freaking out and screaming and like "oh my god I loved Whoever-San!!!"  And then each performer would mingle with the audience members when their song was over, only to be equally surprised when the next old singer was brought out, because of course he or she had been one of his or her idols growing up.  I realized, after a long time of watching in amazement, that my legs and hips had been moving for a while.

Seriously, you don't need to know what they're saying.  It's all there.  And notice the little box in the upper right corner showing various audience members singing along.

 Who needs the internet when you could be dancing like that?

***

Today we went back to Harajuku and ate near the downtown shopping area.  Then, we went a few stops further and ended up back in Shinjuku, the skyscraper district.  We walked to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Office Building, where you can ride the elevator to the 45th floor and walk around the observation deck--for free; the view is said to be even better than what you pay to see at the Tokyo Tower.  Of course, the way they getcha is with all the little souvenir stands in the middle of the floor.  I'm already a sucker for souvenirs and quarter machines (plus my cats love to play with the little plastic containers!), and the things you can find here so far have been much more impressive than anything I'm used to seeing at Food 4 Less or Winco.  This was part of my daily contribution to the Japanese economy:

A soramame--I'm assuming a relative of the edamame family--that pops out one of its beans when you squeeze it.  See how it's crying?!  It's homesick and misses it's lover-bean.  Coincidentally, I ate these for the first time last night when we had dinner at a restaurant near our hotel.  They're significantly bigger than edamame, and slightly more textured.  They had a sharp flavor, maybe a little pungent but in a good way.  Like little protein pills that you can chew!
The other thing is a miniature sign from the train stations, specifically from a stop along the Yamanote line, which we have been relying on for at least 1/3 of this trip.  From our hotel, we can take the Sobu line to Asakusa, where we transfer to Yamanote and can access from there the main Tokyo station, Shibuya, Harajuku, or a million other little stops along the way.  This sign is of the Nishi-Nippori stop, something I remember passing on our way to Kichijoji, where the Cat Cafe was located.

Tonight, though, we're going only one stop away from Asakusabashi to Akihabara--the "Electric Town."  Known as a mecca for electronics, all the buildings are gloriously lit up at night.  Mata ne!

day six--kutsu wo nuide kudasai

Kyo wa kayoubi desu.

I think the Japanese deal with earthquakes so well because of the constant movement and transportation they encounter in their daily lives.  We have gone on so many trains and escalators and moving things that I sometimes feel the bathroom sliding.  When I lie down to sleep at night, my body always slightly wants to continue moving forward.  Even right now, I can feel myself leaning in the direction of needing to go somewhere.  For a culture often equated with slooowness, there is an awful lot of moving people.  I may have experienced something like 12 earthquakes since arriving, and I'm not even phased by it.

So many little things are conflicting with what I expected to find here.  This dichotomy between slow and hurry.  Americans have fast food drive-thrus, but in Tokyo they have these little food stands that I keep seeing at most of the train stations.  They are stands in the sense of being a standing building, but it also refers to how the customer eats: while standing.  If anybody was going to place importance on the act of sitting down for a meal, I just would've assumed it would be the Japanese.
But today we decided to stand with the rest of them.  We walked up to the building and put money into a sort of vending machine.  Then we selected what we wanted to order based on little pictures and flashing lights for where to push the button, and corresponding tickets shot out along with our change.  After that, we walked around to the doors and slid them open, walked inside, and had just enough room to be able to stand at the counter, and maybe turn around if I took my backpack off.  The woman that I handed my ticket to--the only person behind the counter--then proceeded to make my kitsune udon in approooooximately 15 seconds.  I stood there and watched the whole thing and I still can't explain how she did it.  It's an udon soup with fat noodles, huge spiraling slices of green onion, and this thick piece of what I'm gonna call a tofu curd, but it's sweet and tastes a lot like inari and just soaks up all the broth so that when you bite into it, it literally bursts in your mouth.  It's delicious.  When you're all done eating, you slide the bowl a little toward her, nod your head, and hop onto the train that is surely waiting outside for you, or else will be there within the next 3 minutes.

***

Yesterday I went to my first Lomo store.

Lomo wall supreme!!

My friend Takuji was busy busy busy working and running around the town, but Nao had a moment to come down from her office and welcome us to the shop.  She apologized for the heavy rain that day, as if she would have single-handedly postponed it for us if she could have (I believe this 100% percent).  The rain in the city felt really good though, and it was nice to finally feel appropriately dressed and bust out the gloves I'd bought for the trip.  After Anthony and I bought our own umbrellas (sharing was just ridiculously hard, even for a few blocks) we happily wandered through Harajuku and took on the mission of locating the Lomo store in the first place.  It kinda reminded me of Seattle, only minus all of the automatic cliche stuff filling your head when you read that.  The only way I can try to explain is through some sort of double negative: it's like, the rain so completely did NOT matter and did NOT have any sort of negative affect on our day, that it's existence felt completely appropriate and right.  It couldn't have been any other way.

The Lomo store was wonderful, and I'm looking forward to the grand opening party of the new location this Friday night =) and in the meantime, I finally fixed my broken LC-A strap!

Also, I smiled at a black man on the train today.  It was really, really nice.

Neko no kissaten

I am missing my kittens sooooo terribly bad, and today I coped with it by going here:

I am so very happy today.