Ha-re-ru-ya! Ha-re-ru-ooooo-ya!

I realized I haven’t mentioned karaoke yet! I think if there were three things that summarize the material Japanese landscape they would be:

 #1 Vending Machines – I have only seen drink and cigarette machines. No, I have not seen any panty vending machines. I will wonder to my dying day why there are no snack vending machines. While the abandoned island to the north has a population of zero (...), there is still one vending machine, from which I enjoyed a cold beer.
#2 Pachinko Parlors – I have been in one Pachinko Parlor, just long enough to realize it is an alternate universe of zombies playing for convenience store food, and I escaped before blood started coming out of my ears from the incessant noise of hundreds of miniature pseudo pinball machines.
#3 Karaoke – Speaking from my brief jaunts onto the mainland, karaoke happens by default when you go out, and are wondering what to do next, usually between 1-4am. There are giant Karaoke houses open 24 hours. You rent a room for a certain amount of time and order unlimited drinks by telephone.


Honorable Mention: Snack Bars – NOT a place to go for snacks. I have never been in one, but I did send a willing couch surfer to do some reconnaissance, and their reports confer with others descriptions, that snack bars are seedier versions of hostess bars. You pay a lot to talk to a woman, levels of attractiveness significantly vary, while drinking beer and eating dried squid.


The fact that my island has TWO miniature Karaoke places may be a testament to the prevalence of this cultural pastime. I have only been when enkais (organized work drinking parties) take me there, which I feel has made for some real “authentic” experiences. By the time I find myself at either “Melody” or “Pegasus,” my coworkers have already been drinking and eating for a good 4 hours. This doesn’t mean they take Karaoke lightly.


At my welcome party I was offered the mic first. I knew this was a big moment. I had to pick a song that did not require vocal skills, that Japanese people would know, that would show I can simultaneously act a fool and take Karaoke seriously. I’m sure most of you understand that this naturally means Bohemian Rhapsody.



Some guidelines for Japanese Karaoke I have learned since, if you will:


-You will sing. Just like you WILL eat your peas before you leave the dinner table. The nice way, or the shove it in your face way, you will sing.

-The background videos will never make sense. I’ve seen fabio riding on Route 66, businessmen lying depressed the forest, waves crashing upon lovers, etc… all with no correlation to the song.

-You cannot casually share your song with other people.

-There are entertaining snippets of English in many Japanese songs. For example, “My little girl, my little girl. Oh desire morning,” or “Stop! Love Always Oooooh uh uh uh.” My personal favorite, “Hallelujah,” which written in Japanese, can only get as close as “Ha-re-ru-ya”

-If you take requests, expect “I Will Always Love You,” or something by Celine Dion.


The first time I took requests I had to sing “My Heart Will Go On.” That should have been the last time I took requests.

 But one particular enkai, I humored both my Vice Principal’s strange obsession with “Country Road,” and my co-teachers farewell duet request for “We Are the World. We Are the Children.” He declared it was important to sing before I go to Africa, and he sang it on his knees.
At my last enkai I vowed it would be the last time I went to karaoke without a song already in mind. This is because when I didn’t know what to pick, they asked for Mariah Carrey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You.” “Really,” I said. “It’s June.”

Triathlon Fever

I feel extremely bored sitting at my desk with nothing to do the day after the triathlon. I know better. I know that I could be swimming with the fishies or flying down a mountain at 40mph on a skinny bike screaming "DAHHHHHHHH", or running through a quiant fishing village with stunningly clear toquoise water. I think I have a case of triathlon fever. 

Before the race I was deeling with the "feeling a bit too casual" jitters. Here, people don't even casually go for a jog around the block. But all in all is was TOPS. I was high for hours after. In fact I might still be high.

Some higlights of the race:

~Tiny Japanese women trying to ride me like I'm a freaking whale at Sea World during the swimming portion.

~My swim cap...a duck. Never underestimate the Japanese appreciation for cute things. It is very powerful.

~The course: I literally went from being in the sea to on top of a mountain overlooking the sea all the way to China. Twice.

~The spectators: Little ancient village women in their gardening getup (read full on sun protection with bonnets) cheering us on. From their expressions, I think they got the same kick out of me as I did out of them.

~The oldest competitor: A 77 year old man. Baller. Should I feel proud that I beat this man? (I was the second yougest, by 10 years! The 13 year old didn't even break a sweat)

~My competition: Japan's Iron Man athletes. (The Iron Man race was cancelled this year because of foot and mouth disease. It is THE Iron Man and it is held on the island to the south of me, so a few came here instead.) This took the pressure off us regular folk, aka me.

~And the winners: a HOT couple that knew they were the shiz and had matching gear, from sunglasses to shoes. (in Japan couples like to match) I like to imagine they order the same drinks, have matching his and hers sport toothbrushes, and viciously compete for everything.

Walking in silence through the rice paddies under a moon that was full 2 days ago, but looks just a bright, like it is sticking around to be the last man standing at the party, I fall behind the crowd of us because I am looking at the stars thinking that THIS is my life, wondering how this is my life, feeling that life is ineffably beautiful. I think about not pulling out my camera, the moment is all too encompassing. Its too dimensional - from the stars in the sky fading away into the moon light, which reflects off the shimmering flooded rice fields, to the shadows of Japanese roof tiles peeking above the hedges, and the movement of us passing through.

We are a new tribe. We are appreciative of our differences and the fact that we are now so similar because we, in all the people in the world, live on these islands that are magical. And we are, at 4am, walking through a sleeping fishing village to get to our boat and one by one go home to our own islands. 

My legs are hard from the journey to a shrine built on a speck of earth that faces away from everything else. It was built when Constantinople was the biggest city in the world, when a plague killed half of Europe, when the Arab Expansion began and when the Vikings went on their first raids. (obvious shout out to wikipedia) My mind is swirling with the hearty revelry of company and dance parties and bob marley in an old traditional japanese country house, saying what we already know, that everything is gonna be alright, especially right then.

There are so many little details that color my life, to add into those sentences. Like rocking to Wagonwheel out in the garden watching the coal get hot for the bbq, barefeet and practicing my squatting as the sun sets. Or too many of us dancing on tatami, ducking our heads a little if we cross over into the other room, where a table sits shrouded in the room light, awaiting our gathering like much shorter Japanese people did for the last 120 years.

Or that on the way to the shrine, we took a small boat that cut through giant waves like modernity through the traditional Japan, without changing the flow of the ocean. Or the abandoned island and its priests house with counters two feet high in the kitchen and sandals still perfectly lined up at the edge of the tatami, with crates and crates of sake and beer bottles intended to be made into something new, but now forgotten. Life chanced a much different path.

In some way we have all forsaken the city life. We are learning something that only we think is a secret, but has actually been knowledge for all of history. To feel the earth. To know it’s where our food comes from. To feel the rain. To know its power. To not have things and know they don't matter. To not have people and to know they are a gift.

In some ways I have felt too young for this, but in other ways I feel like I didn't learn these lessons young enough.

I am not sure if I could have learned these lessons if my life was not islands. Not only the mindset that you are separate from what is going on, but the daily visual reminder of the great and powerful sea that must give you permission to go see it, mean that if I am to look, I am too look inward more. . From its stormy green potion to its calm cold blue, here, the ocean is one big magical mirror.

BBQ

We tried to have an American style BBQ. I know, it was a bit particular of me, to tell people that the "salsa" was meant for the chips, and the hotdog buns were to be opened vertically not broken in half. But principals are sometimes the only thing I have left here.


Anyways, it was one of those precious moments of cultural exchange to explain hotdog and hamburger assembly. And despite our efforts, people kept pulling out stealth chopsticks and cutting the hamburger patties into small pieces. No regrets though. I learned the magic that is corn and soy sauce.

The dark side of Japanese

I’ve come to really appreciate Japanese, but there are hours when Japanese sounds horrible to me. It grows claws that scrape along the blackboard until it gets to me and then  slaps me in the face, repeatedly until I leave the room and start over.

I think these Nihongo demons exist when people all start talking together over something seemingly important for a long period of time. The conversation rages on, holding me besieged by its gathering emotion and urgency, not to mention my unfortunate desk location in the middle of the staff room. The only words friendly to understanding are emphasis words and “don’t you agree?!” words. Those are mocking words.

*Also, Japanese sounds really awful when it is co-workers snorting up flem all day long. 

National Geographic

I’ve seen some National Geographic going down on Goto; Flying fish, bioluminescent blooms in the water, birds hunting fish, a bog of sleepy white cranes at dawn. I’ve even seen a hawk with a live wriggling snake in its grasp. I finally saw a wild boar. I pretend the spiders the size of my palm cohabitating with me are a new species. Think Furby; still creepy but harmless so far.

But this weekend, all I saw was a brown blur smack my hand down and send my lunch flying. I couldn’t get over my shock until I considered my food’s point of view in comparison. Imagine you are a tasty banana walnut pancake in transit from hand to mouth, when A GIANT GOTO HAWK makes a stealth dive and grab for you as quick and silent as light.

Rich Villages

I took my scooter to the northern ends of the Earth as I know it. The type of joy that filled me was the adventurous kind, where the only things that can stop you are your own personal decision to turn back, or the vast expanse of ocean. It’s fascinating to think about the people that live really out there. When I see these houses I think, now this is someone who has really “gotten away from it all.” But maybe it is closer to the truth to say that they never had to go anywhere. The world went the other way without them.

I think about impoverished villages – the kind with happy people and lots of kids, which distract from the tragedies happening in confidence - and see that there can be rich villages. I have never seen a rich village before. I have seen rich build walls between the village, I have seen rich move away to stand solitary of the village, and I have seen rich build a bigger better city. But looking at these houses I think things don’t have to change when you get more money, get happier or get healthier. Maybe even when you get more educated, but I’m not as sure about that one.

Nevertheless, there is something universal about going through a poor village or a rich town, a poor city block, or a rich neighborhood during dinner time, if you are lucky to catch that sliver in time and space. It is when nobody is out but you can smell the food that is bringing people together in their homes in that speck on a speck of Earth in the Universe, and you know it's the same everywhere, yet I feel privileged to be humming through these lives on my scooter, disappearing around the bend.