Badaud Dispatch 3-- It's A Cultural Thing

Disclaimer 1-- due to a water catastrophe I had to get a new laptop. It has a Japanese keyboard. The apostrophe is very awkwardly located. Therefore there will be few contractions and possessives. I wonder what this will do to my style? 

Disclaimer 2-- I claim to be a badaud, gaping my way through Japan-- but my colleague here has his gaping game down much tighter than me! 

A night out in Shibuya

It is really hard to write about the cultural differences here. I have not been in the country long, and I'm very much in a bubble of academia and I have so many observations and opinions on everything but don't want to be disrespectful. I've heard long term expats griping and moaning about the travails of living in Japan and it bugs me. So I'm going to try my damnedest to be somewhat objective and sensitive, though gods know that's not my default setting (ok, one subjective insensitive statement: JAPANESE LANGUAGE KEYBOARDS ARE THE WORST!) 

Yesterday a chum and I went to a swap meet at a velodrome, and shut it down Trexlertown because Keiokaku track has a water feature. 

Wa.

It also had the kind of swap meet that would make my vintage nerd friends lose it in every possible direction. There was Campy, there was Dura Ace, there were ancient, perfectly preserved tubulars being vended by ancient, perfectly preserved guys. There were wonderful 70s manga about Bike Cowboys-- a closer look revealed that they were in fact about two boys who rope cows off lovingly drawn lugged tourers. It was really crowded. The old head Japanese bike scene may not be huge, but it is passionate.

 

My people!

We met a very nice British dude with a righteous foldie (you can't quite tell, but the handlebars swivel in and are height adjustable).

Imagine the squeaking...

He also had one of these excellent chainrings that I've never seen in the wild:

See the hand? 

Inside the giant, immaculate building adjoining the velodrome were rows and rows of betting keirin enthusiasts:

There wasn't even a race that day.

They were all elderly men, silently chain-smoking. I was reminded of the British races from novels, with the toothless bookies named Nigel. 

Also, well dressed. Betting is legal and respectable.

There were screens everywhere (apparently there is a race somewhere in Japan just about every day) and packs of anxious gentlemen surrounding each one. Anxious, elderly, smoking, drunk gentlemen. It was surreal. 

'Blendy' coffee, ice cream and beer.

There is something surreal about being here in general, whether its the 85 degree days with sunsets at 5.30, or the oversized crows or the incredibly well synchronized high school athletic team that sings past my window at six or the complete lack of trash AND trashcans.  

I think a lot of the things I like best about Japan are entirely reliant on people following the rules. I was gaping my way through the subways with their wonderfully well organized walkway graphics and sliding barriers and I pictured a horde of screaming New Yorkers destroying everything in about three minutes. Apparently the penalties for things like jaywalking and littering here are draconian, but there are never any cops around so it must be largely self-policing. When I accidentally break the rules (dozens of times a day I imagine) I am made aware of my transgression with nervous smiles and chilly bows. I have particular trouble remembering which side of the sidewalk to walk on, not just because it's different from home but because I am accustomed to barreling down the middle all oblivious because I'm an A-MER-ican, dammit. 

I suppose it's right to do my best, to accept that I won't ever blend in and just try to experience as much as I can as an outsider. I'm going to go hiking this weekend and trees and lakes and birds are universal and I'm looking forward to that very much. 

The above is not to say that people haven't been friendly-- everyone I have spoken to, from every country, has been exceptionally patient and kind. But there is pervasive strain in the air that I can't quite put my finger on. I may never. 

And then I am walking down the lane and come upon a view, like this glowing building, and it is amazing. 

Golden hour

Oh, and there is school too. But that's another post. Anyone know if you can reprogram an apostrophe  key to go back where it belongs?

-Isis

Badaud Dispatch 2: Come on pilgrim!

I haven't had a lot of spiritual experiences in my life. I love beautiful things and adventures, but I can count the times I've been actually overcome by an experience on one hand. For example, several years ago I and my gentleman-friend went to see the synchronous fireflies in Tennessee.  Standing in the dark and watching waves of light sweep over the hillside I was quite speechless, and while not a religious experience it was an awe inspiring and unforgettable one.

Yesterday I went up Mt Fuji and it was like that. 

 JUST like that! 

We left Hiyoshi at some ungodly hour and sat on a subway and dashed for a bus and sat on that in gridlock for ages. I brought a cubic foot of food and a lot of sweaters packed into a (small, civilian) messenger bag. I was also wearing brand new running shoes and got really lucky- ill-fitting shoes have always been my downfall, but these were fine (I wear two sizes larger in Japan than I do in vanity-sized America). Later, hikers and mountain staff looked at me with concern. 

Driving up through the foothills was extraordinary. The landscape folds and ripples and the beautifully designed roads flow through and over the hills without a perceptible change of elevation until suddenly you're looking down at the clouds. 

Bad bus photo, but you get the idea. 

Once at the foot of the trail (halfway up the mountain?) we ate butter smothered potatoes and took off. The nice lady in the Foreign Climbers Office told me that we had to set off RIGHT THEN or we wouldn't reach the hut we reserved for the night. So I ran off with three other impatient colleagues through the thick white mist (everyone made it eventually).

You could see about 30 feet ahead

The trail was quite crowded, mostly with tour groups shouting and ringing bells to keep in touch in the clouds. 

A well worn, heavily traveled path

And then we were suddenly above the clouds, looking down at them, in the almost unbearably clear air. 

Eagle View

This too

Walking up to meet the setting sun in a long trail of people of all ages and nationalities was amazing. I wasn't particularly tired and my bag felt weightless. The trail is so heavily traveled that the few places you need to scramble have deeply worn grooves in the rock from tens of thousands of boots. 

Meeting the sun halfway

And it's gone

As the air thinned I became first lightheaded, then giddy, then a little delirious. I heard voices of people I love who certainly weren't there. It wasn't scary (I have been in thin air before) but seemed almost necessary for the journey. And I was so astonished by the beauty all around that I couldn't concentrate on my own weakness. Also, two of my companions had gone a bit ahead and the hut reservation was in my name so I hurried for the last kilometer so they wouldn't have to wait too long in the increasingly frigid wind. 

We stayed in a mountain hut, which is a fairly primitive windowless box built into the hillside (the bathroom was modern and immaculate though). We wolfed the horrible (but hot) food and packed into a little curtained cubicle with half an inch of mattress and a foot of blankets. There were a bunch of angry cursing Europeans who objected to being cold and we stifled laughter and managed to sleep for a bit until they started cursing and hollering again at 2 in the morning and it was time to go. 

One thing I noticed was that the mountain staff gives out distance estimates of about twice the time it takes to actually do things. So we gave ourselves two hours to reach the summit in time for sunrise and it barely took one. I wish I'd had a decent camera with me to take pictures in the dark, because it was absolutely dreamlike. A long line of lights winding up the trail, most white, some red. Those who had enough breath sang. It was like something from a mythology book, a torchlit procession climbing to greet the sun. I was weak from the altitude and trying desperately not to overheat so I wouldn't freeze later (I was down to my t-shirt and still overheated and subsequently still froze). They had sold oxygen at the hut, but I thought 'dammit this is a damn pilgrimage and I'm not making it artificially easier dammit' so didn't get any. It was quite hard, but like with the previous night's hallucinations the difficulty seemed necessary. Then we passed the two stone lions and the white gateway and were at the top. And it was about 20 degrees (Fahrenheit) and there was no sign of a sun. So we huddled together like penguins and waited. 

Sun?

And waited...

 Penguins

Until suddenly....

Oh.

My fingers were too cold to take a lot of pictures so I just stood there and gaped. I staggered up to the crater rim and it was dyed the brightest blood red:

I would have thought this was enhanced if I hadn't taken it

And then we'd had just about enough freezing and ran down the wide path into the morning. 

Still dark to the north

As we got lower and warmer my strength came back I was filled with an extraordinary sense of well being. A bunch of (drunk?) European dudes skipped by waving their walking sticks and laughing and I found myself doing the same. It was nice to be able to breath again as we slid and scrambled down the loose red track. 

And the view was extraordinary

Still, as we neared the bottom I started to get really tired. Three hours of sleep and thin air followed by relentless (albeit beautiful) gravel did me in. 

Relentless gravel!

But we did make it down and I was glad to see trees and even gladder for coffee and food and chairs. 

Green, how I love you green!

We ate sweet doughy 'Fuji cakes' and dozed in the visitor's centre until the bus came to bring us back to (30 degrees warmer) Tokyo. Then I lay in the bathtub and ate green tea ice cream. 

I kept thinking about the (apocryphal?) Japanese proverb 'A wise man climbs Fujisan once. Only a fool climbs Fujisan twice.' and that's absolutely right. I won't do it again. But to walk up the track in the company of hundreds and to stand on the mountain's rim and watch the sun blasting the clouds into the brightest red, that was worth it. I won't forget it. 

And now I have to start classes? That's gonna cut into my adventure time! Waaaaaa.

--Isis

Badaud Dispatch 1

I arrived in Japan on Tuesday and I don't think I've quit gaping for a minute. The first morning I wandered out of the hotel and immediately got lost in the twisty, illogical nameless streets of Kanagawa. I met an adorable little cat and saw a tiny makeshift waterwheel in a canal, and watched smiling women ride by on giant bikes with a kid in the back, a kid in the front and an infant strapped to their chests and I decided I liked Japan a lot.

Wonderful scaled down canal

 Hardly anyone speaks English, and after a panicky first day I found that I can get by with my terrible Japanese and a lot of flailing and pointing. People are patient. I'm living in a dorm complex about fifteen minutes from school, a lovely walk along a narrow lane that turns into a shopping district about halfway there. There aren't a lot of sidewalks here, and everyone walks, bikes and rides quite slowly but very aggressively.

Also, the trucks are ADORABLE.

I get the impression that using English non-kana [hrrmph Bart! ed.] words is a popular advertising strategy, though sometimes having a native speaker check things over would have been a good idea.  

FROMAGE bike!

Foppish Accessories from Rank Up

Classes don't start for a bit, so I'm free to wander- in between mandatory hours of relentless bureaucracy. I'm definitely a badoud which bothers my fragile American ego, but there's so much to look at I don't feel too terribly self-conscious. I walk up mysterious flights of stairs...

 

 And find shrines at the top...

And run after strangers to document their amazing watermelon carrying system,

And love the orange that is everywhere- so bright! So elegant!

And go up the Tokyo Tower...

And realize how very huge the city is....

And look down through the 'Lookdown Window' (I'm the sandals)

And witness some truly disturbing fashion options in Harajuku:

Run away!

Today I went to a cat cafe because I missed my Dorian and it was not quite what I expected. Yes, there were the helium voiced attendants and the impossibly kawaii cats (where do they find them? Their little faces are the PERFECT ratio of big eyes to tiny noses for maximum cuteness. One percent in any direction and they would be terrifying) but the clientele was sad looking 30-something dudes in business causal, quietly drinking tea and stroking the bored staff. I had expected squealing tourists, but I was the only westerner. I made friends with this little fellow who condescended to sit on me for a bit. 

Aki-san

I also got fantastic cat furniture ideas.

The cultural differences are endless and overwhelming and strange and fascinating. I think I'll hold off on going on about them until I've been here longer. But for example: the subway turnstiles in New York are closed by default, and only open when you swipe your Metrocard. In Japan, the turnstile stands open and only closes if you try to pass without tapping your Passmo card. It closes fast. 

Shibuya in the rain

I will try to update a lot, since I've said about an eighth of what I meant to. My brain is full and I am not a fast writer. I miss certain dear ones at home with a steady, constant ache and I need a bicycle and I am still jet lagged and I am so very, very glad I'm here. 

Isis

Los Angeles, You're Weird

I wrote the following on an airplane in the nebulous time slot that was basically yesterday. Now I'm in Japan and completely distracted so no editing happened. Oh well! 

I stopped in LA for a couple of days for the hell of it, and oh my word I did not like it one bit. It is too big, too smoggy, too spread out, and looking up into the hills and seeing the ridiculous mansions and then around on the half deserted streets and seeing so many homeless and destitute folks made me mad. 

You can't really tell how grim the streets are, but they are.

I noticed that when people feel unobserved their faces fall slack and miserable, but when they make eye contact a creepily insincere smile immediately appears. LA Nice isn’t something I’ve encountered before and it made me jumpy. For example, in a coffeeshop:

Isis: Do you know what time the busses stop running?

Creepily smiling Barista: Oh no I never take busses. I love your hat. And your dress too! So pretty.

Isis: (who is covered in sand and salt and sweat from an overambitious beach walk and does not look good) Um, thanks? People are not this nice in Brooklyn.

CSB: Welcome to LA! I hear Brooklyn is cool! Even though they shot Tupac! You’re wonderful (smile, smile smile).

The only sincere native I spoke to was a guy named Charles Aslan who is restoring some lovely tilework in an old chocolate shop. He told me where I should go in Tokyo (I promptly forgot) and didn’t say a thing about my hat.

Completely out of place in the horrible downtown

The main means of transportation (after cars) appeared to be taking skateboards on busses. I’ve never seen skateboards so ubiquitous, especially in a city so completely inconvenient.  Not that anyone uses them for their intended purpose! In fact, skateboard havers outnumbered skateboard riders about three to one. I saw a woman in five inch platforms teetering out of her building with a skateboard under her arm. I did see people actually skating at a skatepark in Venice Beach, and when I passed by later I saw one getting carried out on a stretcher.

I also noticed several cyclists, though nowhere near the volume of NYC or Philly. Most, bafflingly, did not have helmets. I saw a guy zipping along with a surfboard strapped to his bike and gods help him if a crossbreeze came up.

LACMA, the giant complex of art museums and tar pits, was lovely. 

There were some very dated fake elephants in the treacherous goo, too.

I spent all day there. It was great to see paintings in real life that I’ve only known from postcards on my wall, especially some blue period Picassos that made me tingle. It was also quite deserted, and I liked having the grand, well curated galleries to myself. I also went to the museum of Architecture and Design which was terrible, and the car museum which had some ill-conceived dioramas:

Why a problematic fish chef needed to be in a car museum is anyone's guess

For the record, I recognized no celebrities, was approached by no casting agents, got knocked over by one wave, watched one sunset (and about a hundred people taking pictures of it) counted several cars that cost more than a Manhattan apartment, got prickled by two cacti, ate one righteous burrito and some disappointing ones and judged everything.

You call that a sunset? Hrmph.

Maybe I was a bit anxious and distracted, but it made me appreciate New York that much more. I can ride everywhere and the wealth stratification, while egregious, isn’t quite so blatant. And no one SMILES at me! Or if they do, I know for a fact they’re being a creepazoid and can scowl accordingly without feeling guilty.

Ok, all together now.....

Please don't listen if opposed to vulgar language, hating LA, or AWESOMENESS

I'm off, got an entire country to explore. Unpacking can wait. 

-Isis